Southern Complications

By Cheryl Anderson Davis

Only sweet Southerner Becky Souder's charms seem so soothe shell-shocked Lt. Andrew Pike, a surgeon in the Union Army of occupation in Georgia. Though they dearly love one another, Becky's husband Harlan never returned from the war and, being a woman of high morals, she refuses Andrew's advances—unless they can discover the fate of her missing husband. Andrew struggles to convince Becky of the rightness of their alliance in the face of disapproval, both North and South, in the form of family, friends and the vengeful night riders. Andrew's brother Calvin is especially upset by Andrew's determination to marry Becky Souder. Calvin might accept the fact that Andrew adores gentle Becky, but he has difficulty understanding why Andrew allows these troublesome Southerners to keep complicating their lives. But perhaps the greatest obstacle to their happiness is not if Harlan is truly dead but the dreadful secret Becky has been keeping why Harlan Souder never wanted to come home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2006
• ISBN: 9781593744427

Cheryl Anderson Davis

An avid history buff, Cheryl Anderson Davis lives south of Atlanta, Georgia on a picturesque country road complete with a neglected graveyard and an abandoned railroad. After she retired from full-time employment with a local county government (where she honed her insight as to the strange behavior of the human species through such diverse duties as taking emergency calls at the police department and supervising a busy computer center help desk), she subjected herself to more studies of strangeness by working in a law office before becoming a full-time writer. She and her husband have three children, three grandsons and a clowder of rescue cats.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Georgia

Fall 1865

Doctor Andrew Pike was glad he had bothered to grab his overcoat because the sky was pouring buckets of rain before he reached the hospital ward. His broad brimmed hat low over his eyes, Andrew dodged the mud puddles and increased his pace to a jog. He wanted to check on the status of Private Lonnie Simmons before turning in for the night.

Andrew hesitated in the downpour. Maybe all those years in the war had trained him to be forever looking into shadows. Someone was moving in the open crawlspace under the old house that was being used as one of the barracks for the military hospital. Who would be sneaking around in this miserable weather unless they were up to no good?

He was tempted to get a soldier from the ward to accompany him around the house. But he would feel foolish for causing a bother on a rainy night if this turned out to be just another vagrant rifling through the garbage. The ex-Confederates were sometimes lurking about in search of food or cast off goods.

Andrew cautiously put his head around the corner of the house. Swaying trees were outlined as gray shadows dancing in the feeble light. Well, this was a bold move. Someone had stacked crates under a window and Andrew caught sight of a hand closing the shutter from the inside. That was the storeroom window. Clever Reb!

For once Andrew was glad staff officers had been ordered to continue to wear their side arms while on duty. Andrew took the pistol from his holster and cocked the piece. He really did not mind the poor and destitute pilfering cast off garbage, but breaking into his hospital and stealing medicine and supplies from his patients was a brazen insult.

Entering the barracks, he squinted in the pale light. The fire had burned low in the wood heater. He put a straw against the embers then touched the flame to the wick of the lantern on the hallway table.

Lifting the spluttering lantern high, he ventured down the ward between the neat row of beds. Snoring filled the warm, heavy air. A floorboard creaked under his foot. Andrew stopped and listened. If someone had heard him crossing the room surely they would be scrabbling for an exit by now. Nothing. Not a sound. There was only the soft patter of rain on the roof. For a desperate reason, known only to Andrew, he hoped this was but a short shower without thunder and lightning.

Andrew entered the back hallway and stared through the shadowy gloom at the closed door to the storeroom. To free his hand, he put the lantern down on a table. Andrew could not force his racing heart to calm. A wave of panic overwhelmed him every time he reached for the doorknob. He was a doctor, not a lousy soldier. He did not want to harm anyone. Andrew closed his eyes and resorted to the old tactic of overcoming these panic attacks. One, two, three. Reach. He jerked the door open.

Almost mouse-like in their softness, footsteps retreated to the back corner of the closet. I know you are in there. Come into the light. No one stirred. I have a gun.

There was a soft cry, like the mew of a kitten. Was this a child? No, the person who ventured into the light wrapped in one of the hospital wool blankets was petite and frail, but she was definitely a grown woman. A pair of large, hollow, terrified, Confederate-gray eyes stared up at Andrew. She trembled so violently that Andrew wondered she did not vibrate the floor.

I only wanted...out of the...rain, she chattered. I didn’t...take...anything. I just borrowed...this blanket...while I got out of the wet.

Are you alone? he asked looking past her with the lantern held high.

Yes, sir.

At least she was a polite Reb.

Please let me...go. I didn’t...mean...mean any harm. I’m just cold and wet. She was not exaggerating her misery. Her hair was bedraggled and her clothes no better than muddy rags.

You live around here?

She dropped her sad eyes to the floor. No, sir.

Andrew twirled the gun barrel in a circle. "Do you live anywhere?"

No, sir. I hoped...for a job...but didn’t... She gulped, as if unable to continue.

Andrew nodded. Policy was to hire ex-slaves rather than any whites with Confederate ties. Are you hungry?

She looked up with such hope in those big, liquid eyes.

I think there’s a little bread in the pantry. He pointed, holding the lantern high. He might feel sorry for this woman, but Andrew was no fool. He did not want to risk a knife in the back so he made her walk in front of him.

She literally pounced on the bread when he put it on the pantry table. Andrew decided he could safely re-holster the pistol as he stoked the potbelly stove. There was a loud moan of agony from the ward.

Stay put, Andrew ordered with a sharp, warning finger.

Yes, sir, she said even with her mouth packed full of bread.

She was so polite that he softened. Maybe I can scrounge something else when I get back...if you don’t try to steal while I’m gone.

Thank you, sir.

Andrew wagged his head. This was the politest Rebel he had ever encountered.

The moment Andrew placed his hand on Lonnie Simmons’ brow he knew there was little time to waste. He had hoped to put off the surgery until the morning, when there was better light, but the man was lucky Andrew had returned to the ward tonight.

Andrew stuck his head through the pantry doorway. Do you still want a job?

Avidly chewing, she just as avidly nodded her head.

Wash your hands at the pump then bring that other lantern.

Yes, sir.

As she joined Andrew in the back room that he used for his operations, Andrew asked, You’re not squeamish, are you?

No, sir. No explanation. No bragging. Just that very polite assurance she could handle what was asked of her.

Have you worked with the sick and injured before? Andrew demanded as he arranged his operating tools in a neat and precise manner, making certain everything was just where it should be.

Yes, sir. She still did not elaborate. He supposed he should take her at her word and get down to work.

I wanted to wait until he was a little stronger, but I’m going to have to clean that infected wound in his leg tonight. I don’t have time to get another helper. Just hold this over his nose. Like that. Right. Looks like you have done this before.

Yes, sir.

Andrew was relieved this woman was nimble fingered and quick to obey. She did not wince once as he cut open the unconscious patient.

I don’t suppose you know what happened to the soldier who was assigned to watch this ward, he said as he quickly operated on Private Simmons.

He’s playing cards with his friend next door, she matter-of-factly informed, holding the lantern a little higher to light his work.

So you knew you could slip in unnoticed?

Yes, sir.

What’s your name, my clever friend? She did not respond. "If you want a job, you’ll have to give me your name. Your real name."

Rebecca Souder.

I bet people called you Becky when you were little and you wore your hair in braids, he idly chatted.

Yes, it’s still Becky, she stated, craning her neck as if curious about his task.

Andrew Pike had operated on so many men in the last few years that tonight’s work seemed mechanical and unchallenging. He had seen so much death that if this patient failed to survive Andrew doubted the loss would faze him. He was just here doing his job.

For some unusual reason, what happened to Becky Souder did matter to Andrew. He was unnerved by his concern. What did it really matter if another Reb starved or froze to death? Andrew had grown so detached from the tragedies unfolding around him that his colleagues had nicknamed him the cold fish.

Can you read, Becky Souder?

Yes, sir. He was surprised when she added, I miss books the most.

As he closed up Lonnie Simmons with efficient stitches, he stated, None of the ex-slaves know how to read. I need someone to help me keep records as well as write letters to the men’s families.

I can do that, she assured him.

Even for Yankees?

I’m so weary and tired I’d agree to work for the devil himself.

I’m a fool to trust you. You’ll probably rob us blind.

I’m not a thief, Becky boldly insisted. The book I miss the most is my Bible.

So you’re a good Christian, are you? Andrew chuckled as he washed his bloodied hands in a water basin.

Becky tucked a clean sheet around the patient then picked up the soiled sheets from the floor. Andrew was impressed with her efficiency and cleanliness.

Do you think you can sit up with him for the night?

It will be hard staying awake now I’ve gotten warm, but I’ll try.

Andrew nodded, appreciating her candor. Would having a Bible to read help? he asked as he sat a chair by Lonnie Simmons’ bed.

It might, she decided with a tired smile.

I’m going to tell our missing guard you are here working for me and if Simmons takes a turn in the night he’s to send for me.

Yes, sir.

Andrew went to the back of the house and returned with the promised Bible and some bread and cheese. Andrew did not know what good, if any, he was accomplishing by getting this woman out of the wet and cold for one night, but he was gratified to see her in a chair at the end of the ward snuggled up under a blanket. She was reading the Bible and nibbling at the meager dinner.

Andrew remembered the notes he had been writing earlier that afternoon. He had been summoned to the colonel’s office and forgotten to put the work away. He was anxious someone might read confidential patient files so he headed for his small office next to the storeroom. Thunder rumbled. Andrew apprehensively slowed his pace and rolled his eyes toward the roof. The rain grew louder, perhaps now even sprinkled with tinging hail. A flash of light brightened the hospital and thunder was not far behind. Andrew froze in place. He was unable to move with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The storm was growing more intense as it grew closer. He forced himself to open his eyes. Perhaps half a dozen paces and he could slip into the privacy of his office and no one would see him panic.

Flash! The boom was right on the lightning’s heels, reverberating so loudly that the building popped and shook. Andrew covered his ears with his hands and fell to his knees. The cowering lieutenant crawled toward the wall, under the sideboard table, and kept his eyes tightly squeezed shut.

Crash, boom! Andrew could almost hear men screaming, horses running and cannonballs pelting the earth. All the screaming and fright was real, even the earthen smell of the ditch—

Something unexpectedly jolted Andrew. A human hand was caressing his face. He was too far along in his panic to free his frozen muscles and react, but he was intensely aware he was no longer alone under the table.

It will be gone soon...the cannon fire.

Her frail arms were far too short to totally encircle broad, healthy Andrew, but Becky Souder hugged his shoulders and shared her blanket with him.

See, it’s less this time.

The thunder did sound further away. Andrew finally forced his eyes open. He was so ashamed. He usually had time to retreat to a private place before he resorted to crawling into a corner, but tonight he had been so busy dealing with Lonnie Simmons that he had quite forgotten to listen for the approach of thunder and lightning.

I was in a ditch all day before I dared to get out, her soft voice comforted as she pulled his head to her shoulder.

It was the worst sound in the world...until the hellfire started hitting its mark and the screaming began. She gulped hard. I image that’s what it sounds like as one descends into Hell itself to meet Satan.

Becky entwined her fingers in his and held on very tightly. The thunder rumbled in the distance.

I just couldn’t move, she stated. I don’t see how anyone moves, unless they’re already dead inside or just don’t care about anything or anyone anymore.

The rain was just a gentle patter on the roof now.

I’m glad to know there’s someone else who reacts the same way to storms.

The tension slowly unspiraled from its tight coil and Andrew had control of his body again. He did not move. He thought he could stay here in her gentle embrace forever. Foolish the thought might be, but this was the first time in four years that Andrew Pike had felt safe.

It’s a cruel world where men blow each other up. If you make your heart cold and accept it without a tremor, and turn away from others when you hear them hurting, you’ve just joined the murderers in their mission to make the world a little crueler.

There was something a little unreal about a grown man and woman sitting in the floor in the dark. Andrew felt detached from his body, as if he was standing across the room watching them cower under the table.

I’m glad God brought me here to die. I didn’t want to die alone.

Andrew felt her go limp against the wall. Becky? She did not move when he touched her shoulder. He felt her brow. She was on fire with fever.

Chapter 2

Lt. Andrew Pike’s office in the back of the ward had a battered, red leather couch. No one missed the extra blankets from the storeroom and since Andrew had the key to the office no one discovered he was sheltering a refugee. Civilians were forbidden sanctuary at the military hospital, especially women civilians, but Andrew Pike was not going to betray the new friend who had been so kind to him.

Andrew became fanatically adamant that this woman was going to have a chance to survive. As small as that chance was. Her prospects were not good even if Andrew could nurse her back to a little strength. No food, no family and no job. If he did not intervene, she was going to fall as yet another unnumbered victim of the war. Even if this war had already been over for almost six months.

When would this war ever stop taking lives? The nasty thing had an unnatural span, like a tapeworm that sucked the life out of everything decent. Andrew was worn out with death and waste. Becky Souder’s death would be just one death too many for Andrew and he absolutely refused to let go of her. He was going to spit in the eye of destiny or fate or whatever it was that had brought this curse onto his country and he dared any individual to take issue with his defense of this one, precious life.

So for two days Lt. Andrew Pike lingered near his office. He force-fed his patient broth and practically willed Becky Souder to stay alive.

The color in your cheeks looks a little better this morning, Andrew decided as he put a hand on her cool brow.

Becky Souder sadly raised her dull, gray eyes and rasped, I was just laying here praying I would go ahead and die. She turned her face to the white wall and stared at nothing.

Andrew swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. He had no encouragement to give her. Do you have a family?

Not much to speak of. My Ma’s been dead since I was twelve. My Pa’s gone now, too. My brothers were killed in the war. Harlan’s brother and his family are down to cornbread and buttermilk so I left to look for work.

Is Harlan your husband? Andrew asked. He drew a stool up beside the couch that served as his patient’s bed and sat down.

He didn’t come back from the war.

Is he dead?

I don’t know. My Cousin Josh, who is still in a Yankee hospital, wrote me to say he saw Harlan about two months before the war was over. Harlan just didn’t come back. She was quiet for a long moment then admitted, It’d be better for me if he was dead. At least widows...

She seemed unable to say more.

Andrew understood her plight. At least widows and orphans were in line for the very little assistance available from fellow Southerners. Widows were also given priority in the few jobs around such as washwomen and seamstresses. Living in limbo by not knowing her husband’s status had left Becky Souder on her own. Everyone expected her man to eventually return to take care of her.

Becky, maybe God has a reason for leaving you here on this Earth a little longer.

Andrew surprised himself by speaking of God. He had not looked to God for any answers in his own life in a very long time. She had her back to him but it was evident she was sobbing. Andrew gently put a hand on a shaking shoulder and assured, You can stay here as long as you need to.

Dr. Pike, why are you so kind to me? It’s been so long since anyone has been good to me.

Andrew screwed up his mouth. He wished he could say this kindness was nothing uncommon for him, but that would be a lie. It’s been a long time since I’ve been kind to anyone. I forgot my oath, forgot what it was to be a real doctor. Maybe I should be thanking you for helping me learn to be kind again.

Becky snuffled. "Everyone keeps talking about how good life was before the war. Dr. Pike, I don’t remember life ever being good. I don’t know why I’m here in this world. I just want to die and be out of this suffering."

He patted her turned back and wished there were some comforts he could offer.

I haven’t had anyone to talk to in so long. Harlan never talked much. We just sort of grew up together and it was expected we’d get married. He got so bitter.

Andrew stared at the wall, too. That’s the way it was with me and Jessica. She got bitter about life.

Andrew was astounded he had said such a thing aloud, much less confided in a complete stranger. He had not even told his brother Calvin any of this. Now that he had started talking, Andrew could not make himself stop.

We just sort of did what was expected, too. Getting married. Then the children came. And Jessica hated the whole idea of marriage. And I was so busy learning my profession I just backed away and left her alone.

Andrew had certainly never confided that fact to anyone before.

With a numb monotone, Becky stated, Our children died. One was stillborn. Another died the day it was born.

I’m sorry, he consoled.

A boy then a girl.

Andrew imagined if those children had lived a lot of people might have helped her. Alone as she was, no one seemed to care if she simply dropped out of existence.

I’ve been very lucky. My son is safe at home with my father on the farm in New York. He sighed. Neither my brother Cal nor I were much for farming, but it seems to be in Simon’s blood. My daughter is married and has moved to Vermont.

They’re grown? she asked, rolling on her back so she could face him.

Didn’t you realize Doc Pike is an old man? he joked. I was very young when I married Jessica. Eighteen. My daughter Jenny is about eighteen now. Simon’s almost seventeen.

You must miss them.

Andrew looked at the clock on the desk. He should be making his rounds, but he enjoyed talking to Becky Souder and wanted to stay awhile longer.

I went home a few times during the war. I’d like to see them now, but they seem pretty much on their own. No time for their old man. And there were so many other doctors with small children and wives to go home to...well, I volunteered to stay so they could go home. I’m in no hurry to go back. Too many bad memories.

But your wife...won’t she be expecting you?

Becky’s voice sounded so raspy that he wondered if he should cut this conversation short. He put his hand on her cool brow, once more checking for fever. Or was he just wanting to touch her again?

Jessica died several years ago. She never was very healthy.

I’m sorry. While you were away in the war?

Yes, he confirmed. But I really don’t think she cared to have me there to say farewell.

That bad?

Yes.

Did you beat her?

Andrew could not repress the smile. No, he chuckled. Then he realized the implication behind such a question. Harlan must have been an abusive husband and she believed brutality was the norm in an unhappy marriage. We just beat up on one another with our tongues.

Yes, she agreed, as if she truly understood. Becky finally looked him in the eye. I guess nobody lives like those stories in the pretty books.

Pretty books?

You know, the novels where the heroine is pretty and she has two or three pretty beaux fighting over her and they live in a pretty place.

Pretty books, he repeated as if to himself.

I like to read those books all the same and pretend there’s someone out there living that way.

Would you like to have some books to read, Becky?

Her eyes lit up. You mean that, Dr. Pike? In her enthusiasm sickly, downtrodden Becky Souder almost looked like a youngster.

Why not? There are tons of books around here. The soldiers’ families are always sending my patients books.

Becky wagged her head. I don’t need to lay around reading. I should get up and work.

He put his hand on hers. You’re not worth much to anyone until you get stronger. Now lay back and rest. Indulge yourself.

"Nobody ever said that to me."

You know, Becky, I think I’d like to hear about pretty people, too. Your job is to read such a book then tell me all about it.

Thank you, Dr. Pike.

He stood, still patting her tiny, pale hand. He wanted to keep talking,