My Vicksburg (7 page)

Back in the cave he told Mama how he'd been reassigned to the hospital at Milliken's Bend and how, this afternoon, he wanted to take a ride down there to introduce himself to his commanding officer before he reported for duty. He'd be in late, he told her. We were to keep an eye on Robert. "Give him some more quinine if his fever persists."

First, though, he had to clean himself up, polish his boots, and walk home to get Rosie, his horse. And he had to talk with James.

"Your father would paddle him good," Mama said.

I followed him down the hall. "Landon."

"Yes?"

"Pa wouldn't. He wouldn't paddle James. He never hit us."

His smile now was solemn. "I know, Claire Louise. I was once a little boy in this family, too, remember? Now don't worry yourself. I know what I'm about."

I think it is eighteen days now that we have lived in our cave.

I never thought I could learn to do this. I, who come from a bedroom with English wallpaper and Persian rugs.

I never thought I would see my mother do it. But she does. She has accommodated herself, like Lady Jane Grey did when she was sent to the Tower of London. That is how I see her when I come into the kitchen mornings, after we have spent the night with the thundering of the Parrott guns, the unrelenting fire of small arms, the shrill whistling of shells. Early this morning, though, what woke me was the cooing of swallows on our roof.

I found Mama at the table, dressed in her morning gown, sipping her tea, just as she'd be in her sun-filled dining room at home. Never mind that she is worried about the shortage of food, or if the mail will come through.

Does she think, even for a moment, of the pots of flowers she left on the front steps at home? Does she wonder if our house will be hit with cannon fire this day?

I do, though I do not mention such to her. I just sit down at the table with her and pour myself some tea.

But there is one good thing we have working in our favor. Unlike a lot of other caves around us, we have water. Pa made sure of that. Unfortunate others trudge, daily, with pails and buckets to the stream far below us to fetch water of an uncertain color and character, to wash with, cook with, and even drink. As at home, we have a cistern in the cellar of this cave, round and full of God's good rainwater. And we all, in turn, go down with a lantern and becalm ourselves and bathe with some of Mama's lavender soap from home.

This tub of water, which flows in and out, always fresh, is our gift from God.

I took a bath that very afternoon. I put on clean clothes and made my decision like a human being, not like a rat in captivity.

I would go to the hospital twice a week and write letters for the brave boys who needed them written. I felt good, making my decision.

But now there was another one to make. Something else was gnawing at my innards.

What to do about Robert.

For it was as clear to me as water in the cistern that I would have to do something. I could not leave it to Landon. He was too tied up with his honor codes, all twisted between his duty as a doctor and his duty as a soldier, to do anything.

Anybody who had honor like Landon had would always be in trouble.

So if something had to be done, I had to do it. Because he'd told me about it. He'd dragged me into it. And
anyway, he was too busy. He had to report to Milliken's Bend hospital soon. And then what? Leave Robert here with us?

Suppose the authorities traced Robert down? And found him hidden away with the mother of a son who was with the Union army?

No. The more I thought about it, the faster my imagination worked. That's what comes from reading too much Edgar Allen Poe.

And whatever I did, I had to do it soon. I was un-emcumbered by honor. My life wouldn't be ruined if I slipped Robert out of the scene.

It was still light when Landon left and about dusk when Mama called me aside. "Nobody knows but me and Easter and now you," she said.

Oh, good. More conspiracy. Just what I needed.

"The food is almost gone," she told me. "And I don't know what to do. I didn't want to tell Landon. He has enough on his mind. Mostly, it's you children I worry about. And Robert. He needs food if he's to get well. So I was thinking, Claire Louise, since the shelling has stopped for supper, can you take James and go on down by the creek and see if there are any blackberries left? I have enough meal for Easter to make some cornbread."

So James and I went off. It was a night in early June. And there is no finer thing made by God except maybe the look in a horse's eyes when she loves you. Apparently the balmy evening with the mild breeze moved everyone
because once again we came across Confederates and Yankees visiting each other's campsites, exchanging coffee and cigars, and telling each other that if it were up to them, the enlisted men, they'd go home tomorrow.

I explained it all to James, who was very taken with the friendliness of the two sides now that the white flags were up once again. And disappointed. "Why don't they just pretend to be friendly and then kill each other?" he asked with all the wisdom of a five-year-old. "At least it'd save everybody a lot of time tomorrow."

I leaned down to hug him. Five-year-olds are so dear. Then James pointed a small finger at something behind me. "I think he's a Yank, Claire Louise," he said, "come to tell you something. Or give you something. He's got it in his hands."

I looked. Sure as God made apricots, it was a Yank. An officer no less, a lieutenant, if I knew my insignias right. And in his cupped hands he was holding something.

"Don't be scared, miss," he told me politely. "I just found this little fellow on the ground by that tree over there. And he looked in big trouble. Being a local girl, I thought you could take him home and nurse him until he gets strong enough to fly away."

He opened his hands just a bit, and inside I saw a bluebird looking up at me with the brightest and most kindly eyes. The lieutenant held his hands lower so James could see, too. "Hey," James said, "look at that. Can we take him home, Claire Louise? Can we?"

Afraid that he might start talking of home and who was in the cave with us and mention Robert, I quickly said yes. And there I went, laying the groundwork for trouble again.

"He's yours then," the lieutenant told James. "Here, where do you want to put him?"

I handed the bucket for the blackberries to James and picked up the ends of my apron, fashioning a bed for the bird. The lieutenant put him in and I closed the ends of the apron so he wouldn't fall out.

Then the lieutenant stood up straight and did something I never expected. He saluted us. "Thank you from the army of the United States," he said. Then he turned and walked away.

James was openmouthed. "Wow," he said. "Wait'll I tell Landon."

"Yes," I returned. Then I untied my apron in back, took it off, and fashioned a sort of bag out of it and handed it to James, cautioning him not to drop it. We picked our blackberries, then found our way home.

Mama was happy about the blackberries and immediately asked Easter to make some corn muffins with blackberries in them. Everyone exclaimed over the bird and Easter found some cornmeal for it. I fashioned a nest out of an old cloth and it kept James busy all evening.

I saw several looks pass between Mama and Easter, but I did not know what for. Then, as she sometimes did, Mama asked me to take James downstairs and bathe him
in the cistern, that he was the nearest thing to filthy she had ever seen. Robert, who could whittle, had made James a small boat for the cistern and so taking a bath was not such a chore anymore. The chore was getting him out. I let him stay about half an hour before I got him out, and by that time he was exhausted and near sleep when I put him in his pajamas.

I dried his hair good and carried him upstairs to his little room and put him to bed. No, he hadn't had any supper. At this point sleep was more important.

As I went down the hall and into the kitchen, Mama was just coming out, holding a tray with a bowl of soup on it. Next to the soup bowl was a dish of white meat. I stared.

She smiled. "For Robert," she said. "The soup will bring his strength back."

I don't know what made me realize what had happened. I just knew. Even before I looked around and saw Easter cleaning up the mess of blue feathers on the floor.

I gasped. "Mama! You didn't!
That was James's bird!
"

The smile never left her face. "Oh fiddlesticks, Claire Louise. Come now. You have to grow up sometimes. Anyway, what are we going to do with a bird in a cave?"

"Mama! Don't you care about anything anymore? That bird was James's new pet!"

"The cat would have eaten him," she retorted.

"I don't understand you, Mama. You've become so, so"—oh, I covered my face with my hands and started to cry—"uncaring!" I stamped my foot.

"Claire Louise! Apologize to Mama this minute! How dare you speak to her like that?"

Oh God, Landon, come in the front door. I'd heard someone come in, someone set something down, hard, on the floor, but in all my anguish, I hadn't paid mind. I sniffed and wiped my tears. I squared my shoulders.

"Do you know what she's done, Landon? Do you even care?"

"I care about one thing, Claire Louise, the way you're speaking to our mother. This war has done a lot of things to a lot of people. Good people. It has torn them apart, questioned their loyalties, turned their hearts, but when it starts turning members of a family against each other, it's time to lay down our arms and think what we're about. Now apologize." His voice was quiet, even, like Pa's.

He was getting more like Pa every day. Well, I decided, that wasn't such a bad thing to be like, was it? I did as he said. "I'm sorry, Mama," I said.

She compressed her lips, nodded her head. "So am I, daughter, sorry that I had to do this with the bird. Now just let me take this to Robert, and we can talk about it if you want." She walked past me, out of the kitchen.

James came running in then, past her. "What you got, Mama?" he asked.

"Some soup for Robert, so he can get better."

"Can I have some?"

Landon was across the kitchen in two strides. He picked up James and held him in his arms. "You wanna see
what I've got here, Buddy? Look, I've brought food. All of this is food. For all of us. See? Look, bags of potatoes and corn and coffee, sugar and cans of sardines and pickles and big pieces of cheese and sides of bacon and—"

"Where'd you get it?" James asked.

"Well, my commanding officer said I could borrow a mule and take him and Rosie down to Chickasaw Bayou, to the river landing where supplies for our army are received. And I could take food for my family. Now and anytime in the future of this siege. So they won't starve. But we're not allowed to tell anybody. Got that?"

James nodded his head. "Mama cooked my bird and made soup out of it 'cause we had no food to make Robert strong," he said solemnly. "I heard everybody yelling about it."

Tears were coming down his face.

Landon wiped them away. "Yeah, but sometimes we have to make sacrifices in a war. Everybody does. Even down to a five-year-old boy," he told James.

"I'm a little man," James corrected him.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Then you mustn't cry. After the war, I'll make it up to you."

"How?" James wanted to know.

"Well, give me a chance and I'll see. Maybe I'll buy you a pony. How's that?"

James was ecstatic. He hugged Landon, who hugged him back, wholeheartedly. "Now come on, let's get this stuff out of the bag so Easter can make supper," he said.

What to do about Robert.

Robert deserved a second chance, I decided. Everyone did. So somehow he lost or dropped the order from General Lee. Should a person die or be put into prison for life for that? Should a person's life be ruined because of an innocent mistake?

Of course I could say no, because I was not in the army. It did not have its tentacles wrapped around me. I was not a doctor, with another whole barrel of fish to account for. And if I did what I wanted to do, no shame would come down on my family.

But first, before I set out to become a heroine, I had to get to know Robert, proper like. I had to at least spend some time with him and find out what he was about.

We were at breakfast. We had food now, anyway, thanks to Landon. No one was to know it, of course. It was to be shared with no one. This was difficult. No one was to know that Landon had been treated "special" and allowed to bring his family food. For the simple reason, he'd been told by his commanding officer, that the Yankee
army believed that the only way it would finally take Vicksburg was to starve its people out.

Mama said, "The idea of starving our neighbors out, while we eat in plentitude, bothers me, Landon."

"You want me to leave off bringing food, Ma?" he asked.

Landon could always come up with a reply that made you stand by your statements and abide by them, even while they squirmed beneath your feet.

"You know better," Mama said. "I've got to take care of my family."

Mama looked at him, long and hard. "The Yankees know that's the only way they'll get the city, don't they? Our soldiers can hold them off as long as they want to. We can't be beat with shelling. Only with starvation."

We ate in silence for a while then. Everyone but Robert. He wasn't eating.

"Did you decide whether you're going to work at writing those letters for our boys?" Mama asked me.

I nodded yes. "I've got to do something. I just can't sit around and do nothing," I told her.

"All right. I'll send a courier with a note to Dr. Bal-four this morning that you'll come."

"I need you this morning, too," Landon announced. "I've got three patients due in the surgery. You can come over and play nurse and receptionist."

"I was going to read some Dickens to Robert this morning."

"Robert can wait." He winked at his friend. "He can have you when I'm finished. All right, old friend?"

Robert said it was all right. He was tired anyway, he said. Neither he nor Landon knew that this was the day I'd picked to get to know him.