Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

This is a work of fiction. The main characters and the incidents in their lives are fictional. The setting, historical personages, and events in the Civil War are real.

Chapter 14 << – Index – >> Chapter 16

Chapter Fifteen

Monday, September 19, 1864

“You must let the past go,” Silver told Amanda. “I am worried for you. You have lost weight. You are pale as a ghost. You cannot continue to relive Luke’s death every day.”

“Pray tell me,” Amanda said tearfully, “how do I stop?”

“I know,” Silver conceded. “It is easy enough for me to say, but you have to do it.”

“I’ve tried, but his dead face is the last thing I see before I go to sleep, and the first thing in my head when I wake up.”

“Not only do you barricade yourself in that house, but that poor child.” Josie was playing at the edge of the woods. “Has he eaten yet today?”

Amanda reluctantly shook her head. “A little.”

“Come, Josie,” Silver called, “beans and bread.”

“Our food supply is low already. We’ll be on short rations just to make it through the winter. Widow brought some potatoes and cabbage, which we buried in the ground, but that doesn’t stick to your ribs like meat does.”

“You have forgotten my teaching,” Silver said. “You must hunt rabbit and squirrel to supplement your diet.”

“You know I can’t kill an animal, not even the ones you say God gave us to eat. I just can’t pull the trigger.”

“Wait, I thought of something the other day. You said some of the women who left home because of the war are returning to the Valley now that things have settled down a bit?”

“Yes, I saw three of them at church yesterday.”

“The Cherokee grew gardens communally—beans, corn, squash, potatoes. Everyone who worked the gardens got a share of the food. You can gather these women at Bluesmoke and plant a garden large enough to feed everyone.”

“Do you think that would work?”

“I do. And you could be the leader. It might be just the thing you need right now—you will be too busy to dwell on the past every day.”

“I don’t know,” Amanda said. “I’m not good with people.”

“I think you are better than you know. What about the people you fed in Knoxville?”

“They were poor, and starving.”

“Aren’t these women poor and starving?”

“I guess, since they’re coming back, they’ve learned what I learned—there is no better place to go. The Valley, as battered and destroyed as it is, is still our home.”

“A woman alone can’t grow enough corn for meal, vegetables to preserve, and root vegetables for the cellar to last the winter.”

“But it’s autumn.”

“I think autumn would be a good time to come together. There are nuts and berries to collect, wild yams to dig, squirrel and rabbit to hunt, and firewood to cut for the winter.”

“I doubt if anyone has guns to kill small game. I’ve only managed to keep my revolver,” she said, patting the waist of her skirt, “because I keep it on me at all times.”

“They can make bows and arrows. I will teach them.”

“You hate being with whites.”

“Most women are tolerable,” Silver said, smirking.

“And you would do that for me?”

“I will take the chance if you will.”

“How is it you always have the right answer?”

“I am very wise,” Silver said, a look of total satisfaction on her face.
***
At church the following Sunday, Amanda invited all women who were living alone to come to Bluesmoke the next morning.

Sally Jensen came that first morning, and Dorothy Jacobs, Althea Davis, Nell Jones, Rachel Harris, and Rebecca Brown—Becca, people called her. Amanda stood on the front terrace.

“Ladies,” Amanda said, “who knows how long the war will last? If we pool our resources, maybe we can make our lives better. We will share everything equally. I can accommodate up to ten women in my house, if you bring your own bedding.

“There’s room enough for a nice garden in the forest behind the cemetery. There’s a nice size clearing that gets sun most all day long. Maybe back there we can keep it out of view of foraging troops and hungry civilians. It’s too late to plant anything now, but we can get the ground ready to plant in the spring. If anyone has any poultry or livestock, please bring it.”

Amanda paused, trying to read the women’s faces. “What do you think?” she asked, hesitantly.

“A commune—is that what you’re proposing?” Sally asked.

“Yes,” Amanda said nervously. “Some will say it’s a crazy idea, that I’m crazy to suggest it. Planting, tending, harvesting, and gathering—such are the rhythms of rural life. I miss that. I am pledging my time and property to the women of Armstrong Crossroads. Come again tomorrow morning. Bring whatever you have to contribute.”

The same six women arrived at Bluesmoke the next morning, carrying, leading, and dragging their last worldly possessions. Nell brought a rooster, Becca two hens, and Rachel, a horse and wagon. Oh, the luxury of a wagon! They would use it to gather furniture from the women’s homes and much needed firewood.

“We have, among us,” Amanda announced, after making an inventory, “not a single plow, two horses but only enough harness for one, one rake, and two puny weeding hoes, one with a broken handle. We’ll have to make everything else we need.”

Sally brought five little pigs—one male and four females. “ The sow died,” she explained. “I don’t know if the pigs will live. They weren’t weaned from their mother yet.”

“We’d better make sure they do,” Amanda said. “Our future depends on them.”

“The first thing we have to do is build safe housing for our animals. Livestock will be stolen if they can be found in the usual places. So, I propose we build pens in the woods behind the cemetery as well.

“After we plant the garden there next spring, everything will be in the same area, and easier to guard. Our guards will be safer if they’re not out in the open, too. As with any group, we have to have some rules of conduct.

“Number One, we don’t go anywhere off the property alone, not even in daylight. It’s too dangerous.

“Number Two, I have vowed to neither help nor hinder the Yankees nor the Rebels. Each of you must pledge to do the same, and you must sign your name to this document,” Amanda said, holding up a single piece of paper. “I will not inquire about your politics, nor should you ask that of each other. Any of you who feel you cannot live under these rules must leave now.” No one moved.

“Number Three, everybody must take their turn at guard duty. There will be three eight-hour shifts a day. I know the nights will be frightening. I’ll make it as safe as possible for you, and you will have a gun with you at all times.

“Number Four, you may volunteer for jobs you like or do well, but for those nasty jobs no one likes, everyone must take a turn.

“Number Five, if you hear the bell above the summer kitchen ringing, come running. We will only ring it in times of emergency.

“Last, is my little Josie. If any of you object to living with a Negro child, you must leave right now. If you take the time to get to know him, you will find that he is anxious to do his part to make this commune a success.”

“Any questions?”

No one spoke.
***
The Cuthbertson house was a plain two-story frame dwelling. Except for the kitchen, the entire ground floor was one big room. Amanda crept slowly up onto the porch.

“Emily,” she called softly. “It’s Amanda Armstrong. If you’re here, please show yourself,” she said.

No answer.

Amanda entered the barn and called Emily’s name several times. Just as she was turning away, she heard a sob.

She found Emily in a horse stall, with only a fireplace grate covered with a piece of iron grid for heat. She lay on a straw bed in the corner. The place was smelly, cold, and damp.

Amanda rushed to her. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“I’m too scared to stay in the house,” Emily said, beginning to cry.

She was so weak that Amanda held on to her securely and helped her to the wagon.

“Bless you for thinking of me,” Emily said. “I thought you still hated me.”

“I never hated you, Emily. I was very disappointed in you, but I’ve learned that our heart won’t always let us do what our head knows is right.”

Crocker passed the word through Sally that he would like to join the commune—not to live there, of course, but to help with the garden and the livestock.

“I think he’s afraid to ask you,” Sally said.

“I haven’t seen him since Luke’s funeral,” Amanda said. “He’s just looking for an easy way to feed his family, without doing a lot of work. I know he’s getting up in years, but he’s one of the laziest people I know.”

A few days later, Sally came to Amanda again about Crocker.

“I know how you feel about the man,” Sally said patiently, “and I understand why, but I think he has a good idea this time.”

“What?” Amanda barked.

“He wants to run Mr. Charles’s mill. He says there’s some people around here who have a little corn saved up, but no way to grind it into meal. Since nobody has any money, Crocker suggests that a small portion of the customer’s corn meal be taken as payment to the commune—and Crocker would take a small portion for his family.”

“Well, of course, he would,” Amanda said, with contempt. “I knew there was a hidden motive there somewhere!”

“But it’s only fair.”

“It will take a lot of work to get that thing running again.”

“He says he’s prepared for that,” Sally said. “It would help the commune, and other people in the community.” Sally was a petite woman, but she was as feisty as a bulldog.

“All right,” Amanda finally said. “Just tell him to stay out of my sight. He can come and go, and run the mill without being in my presence.”

Charles had built a gristmill on Bottom Creek, a little ways downstream from the house. It used waterpower to grind corn and wheat into meal and flour. Jonathan had to run the mill when he was a boy, and he detested it. He closed the mill down the day after Charles died.

One afternoon, a thunderstorm came rolling over the mountains. Horizontal rain and hailstones the size of a fist poured down. A flash of lightning struck a large tree in the middle of the pigpen. Sally, who was on guard duty, rode quickly to tell Amanda that the lightning had killed all five piglets.

Widow wept openly. “I bottle-fed two of them for weeks,” she told Amanda. “You didn’t think they’d make it.”

The commune women were up all night in the summer kitchen, rendering fat, cooking the meat that couldn’t be salted down—with precious little salt available—and making sausage. The liver, innards, brains, and tenderloin—almost every part of a pig is edible. The hams and bacon were hung in the smokehouse to be smoked with hickory wood.

Everybody around Armstrong Crossroads ate very well for several days. Amanda sent Emily and Sally to deliver fresh meat to everyone they found at home.

Amanda visited Silver, and gave her a large ham and a side of bacon to hang in her cave.

“How are you?” Silver asked, always anxious to hear about the commune. “You are looking better every time I see you.”

“Well, I must say I’m feeling better than I have in a long time.”
***
At dusk one evening, Amanda heard a voice calling her name at a far distance. She went to the front windows in the dining room and looked out. The shadows had begun to recede into darkness. She squinted her eyes, but saw nothing.

On her way back to the sitting room, she heard the voice again.

She took a candle from the hall table and stepped out onto the front terrace. “Who’s out there?” she called.

“It’s me, Mrs. Armstrong. I’m over here.”

“Crocker?”

“Here I am,” he called, “down in the dirt. And feeling lower than a sow’s belly.”

Yes, there he was, by the gatepost.

“Stand up.”

“I’m afraid you’ll shoot me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s my baby girl, Pearl. She’s had the fever almost a week now. She won’t take no nourishment.” He sounded like he was a mile down a well.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“You’ve learned how to use Silver’s medical roots and things. I know you can save her—if you will.”

“Well, look at the shoe on the other foot,” she said. “You sent my only child to his death. Now you have the gall to come bawling to me to save one of—how many do you have now, Crocker? A dozen?”

“I’ve done everything I know.”

“That wouldn’t take long,” Amanda mumbled.

“And she’s not a bit better. I’m begging—for her mother’s sake if not for mine. She’s the sweetest thing you ever saw, my little Pearl. Looks like an angel with pretty yellow ringlets all over her head.”

“Shut up,” Amanda shouted. “Let me think a minute.”

She stepped back into the house. The commune women were gathered in the hall.

“What’s going on?” Widow asked.

“It’s Crocker. He’s come begging me to help his sick little girl. What nerve!”

“Amanda,” Widow said, “it’s a sick child.”

“Of course,” Amanda said, “you’re right. The child can’t be held responsible for the deeds of the father.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” she called to Crocker. “You just stay out of my sight.”

“Yes, Mrs. Armstrong, I surely will. Can I stand up now?”

“I don’t care what you do.”
***
When Amanda arrived at Crocker’s cabin, his wife was angry. “I told you I don’t want her here,” she said, glaring at Amanda. She stood in the doorway of the cabin and wouldn’t let Amanda pass.

“Do you want to save your daughter’s life?” Crocker asked his wife. She moved aside.

Toward dawn, Pearl’s fever finally broke. She took a few sips of herbal tea before going back to sleep. Amanda stepped out onto the front porch for some fresh air. Crocker was there. He had been peering in the window all night while she cared for Pearl.

“I know,” he said, turning away, “you don’t want to see me.”

“Why is your wife so hostile toward me?” Amanda asked before he could leave.

“She hates you.”

“Why? I’ve never so much as spoken to her.”

“Yes, you have,” he said. “She came to your Saturday tea years ago, remember? Our son is the one who broke your Grandma’s china.”

“Oh,” Amanda said.

“And you broke her heart that day,” Crocker said. “She wanted to learn from you, but you brushed her off like she was a pesky housefly. Sometimes you don’t consider other people’s feelings before you speak.”

“That would make me pretty much like you then, wouldn’t it?” Amanda said.

Crocker shook his head, but said nothing.

“Was she the one with all the children? She said her husband was at the tavern drinking with Jonathan.”

“I was,” Crocker said.

“You were one of Jonathan’s drinking companions?”

“Yes,” he said, “I was at your house every week night and at the tavern on Saturdays, and I’m not proud of it.”

“Where is your wife?” Amanda asked. “I want to apologize to her.”

“She’s probably listening,” he said, nodding toward the corner of the house. “That was a hard time for her. She was very young and had just married me, and got a ready-made family. She had no control over my children. They were still missing their mother. She thought you were the grandest lady who ever existed.”

“Then, please tell her I truly am sorry, but that doesn’t mean I’m anywhere near ready to forgive you for what you did to Luke.”

“I didn’t expect you would be.”

Amanda was taken aback. It wasn’t like Crocker to take her sass, without giving her the same in return.

December 1864
In answer to Josie’s call, Amanda stepped into the center hall. Crocker was standing in the open doorway. Josie was hiding behind the door.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said.

Crocker nodded, holding his hat in his hand.

“Come on out of there, Josie,” she said, pulling him out of the corner. “You have nothing to fear from Crocker, isn’t that right?”

“Certainly not. I love children.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Amanda said, “which is exactly the way I like it. What do you want?”

“I’m sorry to have to bring such bad news, Mrs. Armstrong,” he said, twirling his hat in his hands, “but there’s been quite a little cavalry fight over at the Crossroads—”

“Yes, we heard the horses, and the shooting—”

“And your husband—”

“Some of it sounded quite close by.”

“What I’m trying to tell you,” he stated, “is that your husband has been wounded.”

“Jonathan’s been wounded? What’s he doing here?”

“He was riding with Stoneman’s cavalry out of Knoxville.”

“Is he hurt bad?”

“I don’t know,” he stuttered. “The major sent me to fetch you. He’s waiting for you at the church.”

“The church?”
“That’s where most of the fighting took place. Looks like the church caught quite a few rounds. There’s holes in the walls everywhere.”

“Dear Lord,” she said, shaking her head, “is nothing sacred?”

“Is there something I can do to help you?” Crocker asked.

“No,” she said absentmindedly. The full comprehension of what he had said suddenly registered in her mind.

Amanda rode quickly to the Crossroads. Union soldiers and their horses filled the churchyard.

“Are you the major?” she called to an officer.

“I’m him, ma’am,” he said, walking toward her. “You must be Mrs. Armstrong.”

She nodded, out of breath.

“He’s at the edge of the woods beyond the church there.”

“Is he severely wounded?” she asked, peering through the smoke of battle in the direction the major had pointed. She tasted gunpowder on her tongue.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “He asked me to tell you if he should die before your arrival—he’s been going on about it for three-quarters of an hour. Frankly, I don’t know how he’s still alive, except for his determination to speak to you before he—”

Tears filled her eyes. “Please,” she said, “just tell me.” Her voice came out in a gruff whisper.

“I’ve known Colonel Armstrong since he came into our camp at Cumberland Gap,” the major said, “over a year now. And I’ve never known anyone so afraid of death. His conduct in battle has been controlled by that fear.”

She began to walk toward the church. The major fell in step beside her. Someone took Molly’s reins from her hand.

The major stopped and looked into Amanda’s eyes. “We were trapped in the woods there,” he said, pointing at the rear of the churchyard. “Nothing behind us but a creek too deep to cross, and nothing in front of us but Rebels. Colonel Armstrong went flying out of the woods, and rode deliberately toward the enemy, drawing their fire away from the rest of us. He fell almost as soon as he entered the clearing, his breast riddled with bullets. He saved our lives,” the major said, his voice trembling, “that’s what he wanted me to tell you.”

Before they reached the corner of the church, the major grabbed her arm. “You must prepare yourself, ma’am, for his appearance,” he said haltingly. “He’s shot up pretty bad.”

Amanda pulled her arm from his grasp and walked on past the church. She recognized Jonathan immediately. He was propped against a tree at the edge of the woods. As soon as he saw her, he began to cry.

“I did it, Amanda,” he said, weeping. “I did it. Did you tell her, Major?”

“Yes, sir,” the major said humbly, “I told her everything.”

She got down on her knees beside Jonathan. The full front of his uniform was soaked with blood. It had even penetrated the heavy winter coat he wore. A thick line of red spittle drooled from both corners of his mouth. Drops of perspiration covered his face and sopped his hair, in spite of the cold. Her emotions suddenly boiled up, and settled in her throat.

“Yes, Jonathan,” she said, trying not to cry. “He told me, and it’s the bravest story I ever heard.”

His eyes brightened as he talked about the skirmish. She begged him to be quiet, to conserve his strength.

“When I learned those Rebels were part of General John Hunt Morgan’s old command, I wanted to kill those bastards for what happened to Luke.”

“There’s nothing to be done about that now,” Amanda said patiently.

“General Stoneman gave us strict orders to chase down those damned Rebels, and to kill or capture as many as possible. He was just up here three weeks ago, and he didn’t want to contend with them again.”

“We must carry him to the hospital,” Amanda told the major, pointing toward a group of wounded soldiers she saw in the shade of a cluster of oaks in the meadow beyond the church.

“There’s no doctor here. Only a medic,” the major said. “He examined him before you arrived.”

“What can we do?” Amanda asked. “Surely there’s—”

“There’s nothing we can do,” the major said patiently, but firmly. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

Amanda thought Jonathan hadn’t enough air left to speak again, but he fooled her. “We got this little detachment on the run, you see,” he said, excitedly. “They’d ride on a little, then stop and look back to see if we were coming. They thought they were baiting us; all the time I was baiting them. I left a few men on the road to make them think we were still coming.

“The rest of us veered off onto the wagon road along Bottom Creek, so we could ambush them at the Crossroads. But the wagon road hasn’t been used much in recent years, and it’s grown up in thickets. Our horses kept getting tangled up in it. I was sure we’d make it in time to ambush them when they arrived.”

“Don’t try to talk anymore,” she said softly into his ear as she kissed his cheek.

“They beat us here. It was my mistake, so I had to rectify it.”

“Please, Jonathan,” she whispered.

“You know how you hated it that you had to be dependent on me. You never saw the truth.”

He tried to rise up, but she held him against the tree trunk, sure that every word would be his last. “I was the one who needed you, but I couldn’t tell you, except when I was drunk, and you didn’t want me then.”

Her face reddened.

“Please forgive me for failing you so miserably,” he whispered.

“Sshh,” she said. “It sounds like you failed yourself.”

“I’ve missed you so,” he said. He grabbed her hands and clutched them to his bloody chest as if she were his last hold on life.

He began to cough. Blood gurgled up in his throat. “I’m sorry for Luke, for Emily, for the woman in the tent. For everything I did that caused the disappointment I saw in your eyes.”

“In my eyes?” Her heart suddenly felt heavy in her chest.

“I couldn’t bear to look into your eyes. The disapproval was always there, but I deserved it all.”

“Why did you not tell me of your feelings back then?” she asked.

“I thought you hated me,” he whispered.

“You changed today,” she said, smoothing the hair on his forehead. He was sweating profusely now, his breathing shallow, his lips as transparent as paper.

“It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Can you forgive me?” he cried.

She nodded. “I forgive you, Jonathan.”

He pressed her bloody fingers to his lips. “Bury me beside Luke,” he said weakly. “I can’t wait to see him in Heaven—if God is kind enough to let me go there. I love you, my wife,” he said, raising his bloody hand to her cheek.

His eyes suddenly went wild.

“Are you frightened?” she asked.

“No,” he said, suddenly calm. “I find it quite comforting to know that my life will end here, where it began.”

“You’ve done everything right here today,” she said, “and I admire your courage.”

“Bless you,” he said, and took one last shaky breath. She wiped his tears away, and gently closed his vacant eyes.

She wanted to honor his last wish, but how could she transport his body to Bluesmoke? The cavalry detachment was traveling light. They had no ambulance with them, not even a wagon. By the time she brought the wagon from Bluesmoke, it would be long past dark, and too dangerous for women to be out on the road, but the thought of wild animals attacking his body during the night filled her mind with horror.

“We can put his body across your horse,” the major offered.

“No,” she said, shaking her head violently. “I couldn’t bare it.” The vision of General Morgan’s body being paraded through Greeneville flashed through her mind.

“We can bury him in the church cemetery—inside the wrought iron fence,” the major said. “I’ll mark his grave, so you can find it later and give him a proper burial.”

“Yes,” she whispered, feeling better. “His great-grandfather is buried there.”

Amanda remained until Jonathan’s body was interred. She touched the mound of earth under which his body lay, whispered a prayer for the salvation of his soul, and promised to carry him home to Bluesmoke as soon as possible.

When there was nothing left to do, she walked trance-like toward Molly. “I have so many regrets,” she said.

“I have a lifetime’s worth of regrets from this war,” the major said.

“If you mark the graves of the other soldiers who have died here today, I’ll try later to find their families, in case they should want to carry their bones home.”

As she mounted Molly, a young man handed her Jonathan’s personal possessions, tied up in a bundle.

At Bluesmoke, she tried to explain another death to Josie.

“Josie,” she asked, “do you feel like I don’t like you sometimes?”

“Sometimes,” he said sadly.

“How does my face look when you feel like that?”

“Mean.”

“You know I still love you, don’t you. Even when I look mean.”

He shrugged his little shoulders.

“Well your Mama’s not very patient sometimes. She needs to ask God to help her with that.”

“He will, if you pray,” Josie said.

“Do you pray?”

“All the time.”

“What do you pray for?” she asked.

“That we don’t go hungry, that no bad soldier men come to hurt us, that you don’t get sick again—all kinds of things.”

“Really?”

“But I really pray we don’t get stuck on the roof no more.”

Amanda laughed out loud. “Promise me one thing. No matter what Mama’s face looks like, I always love you in my heart.”
* * *
Among Jonathan’s possessions were a clean Union uniform and a knapsack. Inside the knapsack, she found a journal that he had begun to write shortly after leaving home. Interleaved in the pages of the journal were several letters, and parts of letters.

Apparently, he had begun to write to her many times. Behind one page, there might be another, with the same beginning as the one previous. He had swiped harsh scrawls across some of them. Some of them had been balled up, and then carefully flattened out again.

In the back of the journal were several complete letters he had written to her. The dates ranged as far back as October of 1863, not long after she saw him at Strawberry Plains. Some of them were attempts to beg her forgiveness. In those writings, she became re-acquainted with the man she knew in 1841.

A profound sadness overcame her. She re-tied the bundle, and hid it in an old trunk in the attic. Maybe someday, she might find it easier to look at its contents.

Chapter 14 << – Index – >> Chapter 16