Legacies (28 page)

"I see." But it was a second face beyond Ike that Temple fastened her attention on.

"Miss Eliza, Miss Temple," Shadrach called to them, a smile wreathing his face.

Temple was a step slow to follow when Eliza and Susannah hurried to meet him. "Shadrach, it's so good to see you again," Eliza declared, smiling through her tears. "My, don't you look fine in your uniform. How are you?"

"I am fine, Miss Eliza. Just fine."

"Will would be so proud if he could see you."

His bright smile faded, his eyes darkening in sympathy. "Major Parmelee told me about Master Will. I am sorry, Miss Eliza. I wish—"

"I know." She briskly wiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed her chin out, refusing to dwell on her grief.

Taking the cue, Shadrach turned to Temple as she joined them. "How have you been, Miss Temple? Your brother Kipp is with the train, somewhere up ahead, I think."

"I saw him. He said the train was attacked at Cabin Creek. He said it was General Watie's regiment."

"That's true. But I checked, Miss Temple. Your boy Lije and The Blade weren't among the rebel dead and wounded we found after the fighting stopped. If they were with General Watie, they got away clean."

"Thank God," Temple murmured in relief.

"Is Major Parmelee still attached to your regiment?" Susannah scanned the trio of mounted officers as they rode past.

"Yes, but . . . the major was wounded during the fight at the creek. Hit in the arm."

There was a look of worry in Shadrach's eyes. Susannah saw it. "How serious is it?" she asked, her mind flashing back to accounts she'd read in eastern newspapers that told of hospital tents set up near battle sites, blood-splattered surgeons with their bone-cutting saws, the screams of half-drugged patients.

"The surgeon thinks he was able to save it . . . unless gangrene sets in."

Eyes closed, Susannah offered a fervent, "Dear God, no."

"Where is he now, Shadrach?" Temple asked.

"He's bedded down in the back of one of the wagons, along with some of the other wounded. They're giving him something to keep him asleep so he doesn't feel all the jostling of the wagon."

"Thank God," Eliza murmured.

Shadrach glanced after the other Negro soldiers, nearly out of view. "I have to catch up with my unit now." He took a step in that direction. "We should reach Fort Gibson tomorrow."

"We'll see you there when we come for supplies," Eliza promised and waved as he jogged after his company.

There was no more reason to linger by the roadside. As one, they turned and started back to the house, sobered by the things they had learned.

"I can't stop thinking about Jed." Eliza shook her head in dismay. "I pray he doesn't lose his arm."

"Diane will be sick with worry when she learns of this," Temple declared with a sigh. "The poor girl."

 

"Susannah? Susannah, do you hear me?" Eliza's sharpening voice finally broke through her abstraction.

"Sorry, Mother. I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

"Tonight we must make a list of supplies we need," Eliza stated. "And I promised Nathan the next time we came to the fort, we would bring any old clothes we have, blankets, household items, anything that might be of use that he could distribute among the destitute families who have sought refuge there. We need to gather those things together as well."

"I have lots of dresses that are too small for me. We can take those," Sorrel declared.

"And your shoes," Temple added. "Don't forget your old shoes."

Sorrel nodded absently, her thoughts already running off in another direction. "I hope I can see Alex when we go to Fort Gibson."

"Alex," Temple murmured in irritation. "I swear he is all you ever talk about."

"But I never had a chance to talk to him at all today," Sorrel said in her own defense. Then her face brightened with a sudden thought. "I think I'll wear my green dress with the little sprigs of violets on the trim. I look quite grown up in that. I wonder if he'll recognize me. Do you think he will, Mother?"

"I expect he will." It was Temple's turn to reply absently.

"You look sad, Mother. What's wrong?"

"I was thinking about Major Parmelee—thinking it could have been your father, that he could be the one in the wagon, his arm . . ." She swallowed back the rest of the words.

"Jed's arm will be fine," Eliza assured her.

 

The hospital, like the rest of Fort Gibson, overflowed with soldier and civilian alike. Every inch of space was occupied by the ill and the injured, leaving little room to walk among them. Susannah stepped through the open doorway and paused, assaulted by fevered moans, labored wheezings, and faint whimperings that filled the air. She made the mistake of taking a quick, deep breath and inhaled fetid odors intensified by the sweltering July heat. She coughed and quickly raised a hand to block the rank smells.

Beside her, Temple murmured, "I knew conditions had deteriorated here at the fort, but I never realized . . ." Her voice trailed off as she stared at the crowded row of cots draped with mosquito netting.

An orderly emerged from behind one of the tented cots, a battered basin in his hands. His face was unshaven and gaunt with fatigue. His glance swept over them in quick assessment.

"If you're lookin' fer the surgeon, he's restin'. If it ain't serious, go see one of the assistant surgeons in the tent outside." He started to turn away, then swung back, brightening a little. "Or if you come t' help—"

"We came to see Major Parmelee," Susannah said, hurriedly averting her gaze from the greenish yellow pile of pus-soaked bandages in the basin.

"The major? He's down this way. Follow me, and I'll show you where he's at." He took off to lead the way.

"How is he?" Temple asked.

"Good, considering," the orderly tossed the answer over his shoulder.
 

"Considering what?" Susannah wanted to know.
 

"His arm—they didn't have to—" Temple began.
 

"Amputate?" he finished the question. "Naw. The doc did a piece of work saving it. But that ball sure tore the he—tore the dickens out of his arm. Chewed up a bunch of muscle, it did. Even if it heals up right, I ain't sure how much use he'll have of it, but he's got his arm." He stopped and used the basin to gesture at a partitioning screen. "He's in the cot on the other side. His striker's there, lookin' after him."

At the orderly's less than heartening prognosis, Susannah glanced at Temple. A crippled arm—the anxiety of it was there in her sister's eyes.

"It could be worse, Temple," she offered in a low voice.

"I know." Temple swept her skirts to one side and stepped around the isolating partition. Susannah followed.

A summer breeze drifted through the opened window to the right of the hospital cot, its dusty freshness providing a respite from the rank odors that permeated the rest of the ward. A Negro private rose quickly from the straight-back chair situated close to the cot, his bright glance darting from Temple to Susannah.

"I was jus' feedin' the major some soup. He ate nearly all of it" He set the bowl and spoon on a wooden box under the window. "Nobody said the major was gonna be havin' visitors. If you's jus' gives me a minute, I be gettin' the major fixed up here." He returned to the cot and swept away the cloth he had tucked under the major's chin. Taking a corner of it, he gently wiped around his mouth. "The major be some tuckered out from eatin' all that soup, but he be gettin' stronger every day now."

In Susannah's opinion, the man on the cot looked anything but strong. His eyes were closed; his face, pale as chalk; his breathing, shallow; and his left shoulder and arm, swaddled in bandages.

"Major." The private leaned over the cot and placed a hand on the undamaged right shoulder. "Major, suh, you gots visitors. Some ladies to see ya, suh."

His head moved slightly, his eyelids fluttering open. "Johnson," came the weak, but unmistakable voice of Jed Parmelee.

"Yes, suh, it's me, suh. You gots visitors."

"Visitors?" Jed licked his dry lips and shifted his head a fraction on the hard pillow, his dull glance searching. "Who . . .Diane?"

Temple moved to the opposite side of the cot and laid a hand on his right arm, a determined smile on her lips. "No, it's me, Jed. Temple."

"Temple." His eyes brightened, life and light springing into them. It was a reassuring sight. "Been worried about... you."

"We have been worried about you," she countered. "Shadrach told us you have been wounded."

His head moved in a faint nod even as his mouth curved in a slow smile. "Arm. Told that sawbones . . . had to save it. Needed two arms to waltz with . . . beautiful lady."

"He be ramblin' a bit, Miss," the private inserted quickly. "They give him morphia for the pain. Sometime he don't make no sense."

"This time, he is." Temple's voice softened with remembrance.

"First time, Temple," Jed spoke with slow care. "Remember . . . showed you. . . ."

"Yes, you taught me how to waltz a long time ago."

He nodded his head. "Do it again . . . war ends . . . soon now." His bright gaze swung to his striker. "Tell . . . news."

"Yes suh, Major," the man replied, then looked at Temple, his expression aglow with excitement. "We jus' found out— the same day the major wuz fighting them rebels at Cabin Creek, over in Pennsylvania, Gen'ral Meade wuz whippin' old Bobby Lee at a place called Gettysburg. An' the very next day, Gen'ral Grant tooks Vicksburg. The No'th gots the whole Mississippi River in its hands now an' cut the South right in half. The war be over soon foh sure."

"Let us pray that it is." But Susannah found it difficult to be as positive.

Frowning, Jed Parmelee raised his head an inch. “Who—”

"Susannah is here with me," Temple explained.
 

The lines faded from his forehead as his hand lifted, fingers curling. "Susannah."

She moved closer to the cot, her fingers reaching to take his right hand. "My mother sends her regards, Major. She's with Reverend Cole. She said she would come see you before we left."

"Diane . . . tell her not to worry. I'll . . . be fine.''

"I'll write a letter and tell her I've seen you and assure her that you're on the road to recovery.''

"Please." It came put in a whisper, his eyelids growing heavy with fatigue.

"Be best if the major rests a bit," his striker suggested. "Talking wearies him some."

"Of course." Temple bent closer. "You sleep now, Jed. We'll come back another day when you're stronger." His mouth twitched in a near smile as his eyes drifted closed, his breath evening out. Temple straightened. "Thank you, Private."

"Johnson, ma'am. Private Johnson," he said, and moved quickly to escort them from the partitioned area. "Don't be worry in' 'bout how puny the major looks. The way he be eatin' he'll get his color in jig time. An' the next time you come, the major be up and about."

"I hope so," Temple murmured none too certainly.

"Don't be a-frettin' 'bout him none. I looks after him. The major, he be a good man."

"A very good man," Susannah agreed. "Thank you, Private Johnson."

"Yes'm."

Outside the hospital, Susannah paused, a sick feeling in her heart. "Did you take a good look at his arm, Temple? He'll never regain the use of it."

"But he lives. What is the loss of an arm when it could have been his life?" Her eyes blazed with a light that was too hot, too bright. In that instant, it was obvious Temple was not thinking of Jed Parmelee, but of The Blade and her ever-growing fear that the war would take him from her.

There were no words of reassurance Susannah could offer. In silence they crossed the compound, threading their way through the crush of army vehicles, soldiers, and refugees to the sutlery where they met up with Eliza and Sorrel.

"How is Jed?" Eliza wasted no time on preliminaries.
 

"Weak, but lucid. He didn't appear feverish at all" Temple replied. "It's been five days since he was wounded. I think the danger of complications has passed."

"That is good news."

"Where's Phoebe?" Temple looked around for her maidservant.

"She's still fussing over Ike—to his utter embarrassment." A smile edged the comers of Eliza's mouth.

"And scolding Shadrach for running off and leaving Granny El," Sorrel added, then paused, her eyes aglow with excitement. "I saw Alex. He was amazed at how much I've grown up. He said I was turning into a beautiful young lady. Mama, he looked so handsome in his uniform."

"I'm certain he did."

"Do you know what else he told me?" Sorrel declared, making a lightning switch to wide-eyed and solemn. "He said the rebels are massing across the river, that you can see their tents from the top of the buildings here at the fort. They're that close."

Temple whipped around to stare in that direction, straining to see the distant bank through the people and buildings that blocked her view. "So near," she murmured, and Susannah knew she was referring to her husband and son, not the presence of the rebel troops.

"Alex said you can see their campfires at night scattered all over. He said the whole rebel army is gathering over there, and our Union spies say they're getting ready to attack the fort, that there's six thousand or more of them. Everybody is afraid because we don't have enough soldiers to fight that many. They've asked for reinforcements, but they don't know if they'll get here in time. Everybody could be killed."

Susannah pressed her lips together, irritated with Alex for alarming Sorrel with rumor and speculation. "He should never have told you such things."

"I'm glad he did." Sorrel stiffened at the implied criticism of her cousin. "I hate the rebels. I wish they were all dead."

Temple swung back around. "You shouldn't say what you don't mean, Sorrel. If you want to wish for something, wish for the war to end, but don't wish for the death of all the rebels—because you'll be wishing for the death of your father and brother. And you don't want that."

Sorrel flung up her head in sudden and angry defiance. "They don't care what happens to us, so why should I care what happens to them? Look what they've done. Look at the homes they've burned, the people they've killed, the food and crops they've destroyed. People are sick and starving because of them. They deserve to die for what they've done."