The Bone Pile: Shattered Stones

By Sharon Traner

As the war enters its final stages, General Paine is called to the War Department to chair a court-martial panel and is involved with such historic events as the implementation of Grant and Lincoln's "total war" and the Confederate attack at the outskirts of the capital. Solomon, who is grieving deeply th

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890913906

Sharon Traner

Sharon grew up on a farm in Iowa where she learned the importance of family and a reverence for the land which are central themes in her novels. She and her husband lived in Dubuque in the 70's and fell in love with the splendor of the Upper Mississippi Valley. She wanted to write a novel which not only captures the beauty of the area but also depicts a chaotic time in American history when families struggled with heartbreaking events while questioning long established beliefs.

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The Bone Pile: Shattered Stones

Copyright © 2023 by Sharon Traner

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 979-8-89091-389-0

ISBN eBook: 979-8-89091-390-6

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For my dad, Ralph Hackert . . .

I think he would have liked these books.

Chapter 1

The horse Solomon was riding was wet with sweat, its flanks and withers white with the frothy residue. There was foam oozing from its mouth and the beast was nearly spent but Solomon pressed him onward. Reaching for a branch of a low hanging tree, he used it as a switch to keep up the torrid pace as he pushed toward the Red River.

He wasn’t even sure where he was going but had determined instinctively that following the tracks of the wagon wheels in the dry, Texas dust seemed logical. The caravan of carts had delivered supplies to the troops and returned south with the bodies of the wounded and the dead to be taken to the transports waiting on the river—the boat where Nettie worked, where Lit’l Ell played and slept, the boat which had reportedly been targeted by saboteurs and blown up.

So single-minded was his drive to reach Nettie and his daughter that he barely allowed himself to think. There was only the pounding of the horse’s hooves on the rutted trail and the wretchedly hot sun that bore down on him so severely that his eyesight was blurred. His woolen Yankee jacket was heavy with sweat so he peeled it off and flung it into the brush as he sped past. He needed to get to the boat, to find Nettie’s welcoming arms and the smiles of his little girl.

You shouldn’t have rushed so, she’ll say. Yes, the boat blew up but I was on the shore tending the sick and Lit’l Ell was playing nearby. Besides, Terry was here. He swore he’d protect us. You should have known we were safe. But Solomon didn’t know. He needed to see them, to kiss and hold them, and then he’d load them onto the first boat heading back to New Orleans and take them away from this place.

The sun was ebbing toward the western horizon when he arrived at the docks. Even from a distance he could see two boats partially submerged in the shallow waters. He was sickened by the sight of the smoldering timbers and the bent and twisted smokestacks.

Where are they? Solomon cried, rushing toward the huddled doctors and attendants standing nearby. Where’s Nettie and my baby girl?

No one answered him so he began to run among the heaps of bodies lying on the shore. Some were moaning and writhing in pain, their faces blistered and bleeding, while others were laying still, unmoving, unhearing, unfeeling.

Nettie, he screamed, I’m here!

Sergeant, a voice called. I’m sorry, but— It sounded like Isaac, speaking in a hushed, faraway voice. They’re both gone.

No! Solomon shrieked, pushing away the hands that held him and the vile words that pierced him. Don’t say that. That ain’t true. Nettie! Ellie! he cried, crawling in the sand like a crazed, wounded dog. I’m here. Where are you?

They didn’t suffer, Solomon—they were asleep. Big Terry’s gone, too.

How’d it happen? Solomon demanded. Where were the guards?

Them devils had Yankee uniforms and must have had the password, but . . . Isaac’s voice faltered, the words swallowed by such sadness. We think Big Terry must have recognized some of ‘em ‘cause he raised the alarm.

Who, Big Terry? How?

He was screamin’, ‘Rebs! Rebs!’ and then there was gunshots just before the boats blew. We figured they would have caused more damage if Big Terry hadn’t tried to stop ‘em. Some of ‘em got away but here’s the ones Terry kilt before they kilt him. Isaac led Solomon to a line of bodies, covered and still. He flipped open the canvas to reveal the perpetrators.

The fat one over there with the yella hair—that was one of ‘em who raped Nettie, Solomon spat. That one, too. No wonder Big Terry knew ‘em. Solomon began trembling so violently that he crumpled into a gut-wrenching heap of misery. How they’d find her? he screamed. How’d they know?

But dead men give no answers and there was only the sound of the sorrowful waves lapping the shore, echoing Solomon’s sobbing grief that washed over everyone who could bear to watch.

She told me to kill ‘em, he cried, but I said I couldn’t. I couldn’t kill no white man cause I’d get hung. I shoulda listened to her. I shoulda kilt those bastards with my bare hands. His fists were clenched as he began beating upon the chests of the dead men. I’m sorry, Nettie. I’m so sorry!

* * * * * * * *

Two telegrams were delivered to the Paine household that day, the fifteenth of March, 1864. The first one arrived that morning from the War Department. Mary waited with bated breath as her husband read it, hoping desperately it was good news. But his expression quickly turned indignant as he cast the paper aside.

Did you write to them, Mary, he snapped scornfully, or did you ask someone else to do it?

I have no idea what you’re talking about, she retorted. What does it say?

I’ve been ordered to go the War Department in Washington City. They want me to sit on the court-martial panel.

Mary waited for him to say something further but when he turned away with an anguished frown, she felt compelled to ask, Well, Halbert, will you do it?

I haven’t been discharged, he howled defiantly. I’m not sure I can refuse.

When will you go?

It says I am to report by the first of April, he replied but then added more forcefully, But Mary, I’ve been in that building several times and know it to be a large place with most of the meeting rooms on the second or third floor. How can I do it?

Your walking has improved immeasurably. You have two weeks to practice climbing stairs. You can do it, Bertie, I know you can.

Perhaps it would be better if I just resigned my commission and not even attempt to undertake something so ambitious. Yes, I think that’s a better idea.

His wife cast a forlorn look at him but as usual he didn’t notice. She stepped away, retreating back to her kitchen. For just a brief moment she had been so hopeful. Going back to Washington City might actually revive his spirits, engaging him in a worthy pursuit that would occupy his mind. He hadn’t left the house in six months, since the day they arrived home from Louisiana. Her husband was a broken man, drowning in a flood of consuming guilt and sadness.

Three hours later, the telegraph boy appeared at the front door again. Mary took the paper to Halbert and waited for him to read it , but the moment he looked at it, his face lost all color and he appeared stricken beyond words.

Halbert, she cried, what is it?

He could not speak as he handed the note back to her. It said:

General and Mrs. Paine, I regret to inform you that Nettie and her child where killed when the Rebs blew up the Laurel Hill.

Colonel Broadman

The torrent of grief that assailed them at that moment was nearly too terrible to bear. Mary began to weep and would have thrown herself into the comforting arms of her husband but he sat frozen and dazed and did not even look at her. They had loved Nettie and the child very much and mourned their loss, but their profound sadness was for Solomon who they knew would be devastated. They were afraid for him, wishing they could be nearby to comfort him instead of a thousand miles away in Milwaukee.

Lizzie came home from school and listened quietly as her mother explained the news of the day. Should I go in by Papa? she asked.

If you want, her mother replied, wondering if their daughter might be able to offer her father some comfort.

No, he seems to prefer the quiet. I have studying to do so I shan’t bother him.

Lizzy’s words cleaved Mary’s heart even deeper because she knew her daughter was being badly affected by her father’s reticence. Halbert had always cherished his child with whom he had a close relationship, but since sustaining the horrendous injury on the battlefield at Port Hudson, nothing had been the same and their little family was drifting apart.

Later that evening, Mary brought a supper tray into her husband’s bedroom but found it untouched when she returned later. Mary pitied him, empathetic to his suffering, but she resented the way he had closed himself off, unable to be comforted or offer solace to others. They were co-inhabitants in their home on Knapp St. but the familiarity and closeness were gone and Mary was beginning to wonder if they would ever find their way back to each other again.

Brenden O’Rourke appeared a short time later. The son of a dear friend who had died at Port Hudson, the boy had been hired to provide assistance for Halbert who reciprocated with nightly lessons. Mary was glad the boy was here. He would provide her husband a distraction from his desperate sadness.

However, when the boy crept quietly into his schoolmaster’s room, he noticed his normally austere tutor was even more non-communicative than usual.

Would you mind if we didn’t study tonight, Brenden? Halbert asked quietly. I don’t think I’m up to it—not now.

Yessir, that would be fine with me. Are you ready to do your exercises?

The boy helped pull Halbert to his feet. Brenden knew how painful it was and marveled how the tall, lanky man never uttered a moan or complaint. It was their routine for Halbert to hang his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they began to walk across the room, but he only took a few steps before he murmured, I can’t do this tonight. I think I should just go to bed.

Brenden was surprised by the general’s refusal. He was normally insistent on walking every day and had managed to make slow progress since the doctor had given him permission to wear his prosthesis again after the laceration on his thigh had healed. Brenden helped the general lower his trousers and unbuckle the prosthetic limb. Mrs. Paine had reminded him several times to assess the stump carefully every night and report to her if there were any abnormalities. It looked reddened, Brenden thought, but there was no open abrasions. Halbert put on his nightshirt and seemed eager to get into bed.

Did something happen, General? Brenden asked quietly.

We received some bad news today, Halbert murmured. Someone very close to us has died. Halbert reached for the boy’s shoulders and began to position himself to pivot into bed.

Was it someone in your regiment, sir? Someone my da’ knew?

Yes, Brenden, Solomon was a black man who came to our camp in Baton Rouge. His woman and small child have been killed in an explosion onboard their boat. Mrs. Paine and I were very fond of them and the news has wounded us deeply.

I think my da’ mentioned Solomon in his letters. He was a slave who came to you in a real bad way. My dad said he was close to dyin’ but you saved him and you got into a lot of trouble over it.

Halbert smiled briefly in recognition of the kind words. I didn’t save him, Brenden. I simply gave him refuge by obeying the law.

That may be true, sir, but my dad thought it was one of the bravest things he ever witnessed. He said after he saw what they did to that man, he was more convinced than ever that this war needed to be fought. He said no human being should be treated like that.

Yes, your father told me once that as an Irishman, he understood what it was like to be treated badly, simply because of prejudice and racism.

You mean, hated and spat on just because you’re a dumb Mick? the boy retorted with bitterness ringing in his voice."

Your father wanted something better for you, Bren. He would be so proud of the way you’ve shouldered your responsibilities for your family and how well you’re doing with your studies. I have high hopes for you. Perhaps someday you’ll be a teacher or practice law.

Thank you, sir, but I turn eighteen next summer. If the war doesn’t end by then, I’ll have to go fight.

This wretched thing has already lasted nearly three years. Surely, we’ll wear those Rebs down by the end of this year or the beginning of the next. I shall pray for a speedy end to it all. I don’t want you to go, Brenden.

I could, you know—I wouldn’t be afraid or nothin’. My dad thought it was his duty and so would I. The boy stood up and squared his shoulders as though he was standing at attention. I just hope I will serve under a general as good as you, sir.

Why would you say that, boy? Halbert retorted roughly. I’m the one who got your pa killed.

My ma told me you blamed yourself but I don’t know why. My da’ was proud to serve under you. You got no call to feel so bad all the time. This war isn’t your fault. You and my da’ were just doing your duty and he was proud to serve. I will be, too, if I get called up. The boy’s job was completed so he turned to leave. Good night, sir, he murmured. I’m awful sorry about that woman and child dyin’.

Brenden, the general called after him, did I ever tell you that your father’s last thoughts were about your mother and you children? We were laying there, in the hot sun, both of us shot, but he knew he was dying—he was hurt worse than me. He asked me to look after his family. I wish I could—I want to do more but I’m a cripple. I can’t take care of my own family, much less yours. I’m sorry—I’m just so damned sorry.

The boy returned to stand at the foot of his teacher’s bed and looked at him with intense, steadfast eyes. You’re the smartest man I ever met—a better teacher than ol’ Mr. Haggerty by a long shot. Your leg is gone but your mind ain’t. I bet there’s a lot you could do if’n you wanted to.

You’re a good boy, Brenden, like your father, the general murmured. He told me...he said... He swallowed hard as he struggled to finish the sentence. He said, ‘Don’t take away my honor’.

Why would he say such a thing?

Because I told him I should have argued with General Banks—I should have never allowed that wretched assault. I knew it was foolish—utterly ill-conceived, but I ordered my men onto that field anyway, even though I knew it meant certain death.

Are you sayin’ my da’ died for nothing? the boy spat forcefully. Is that what you think?

No, not exactly. I—

Then why did you say it? the boy demanded.

I shouldn’t have, Brenden. Your father was brave and loyal and a good soldier—they all were. By lamenting my own ineptitude, he must have felt I minimized his sacrifice but that was never my intention.

A good soldier always does what he is told to do, ain’t that right, General?

Yes, Brenden, that’s true.

You got no call to feel shame, he pronounced vehemently as though he intended it to be the definitive statement to which there was no reply. Good night, sir, he mumbled and left.

General Paine sat quietly in his room and listened to the muffled conversation in the next room.

He didn’t want to study tonight or do his walkin’, ma’am, Brenden explained as he walked toward the front door. He feels real bad for that woman and child that died.

I know, Brenden, Mary replied. It seems like he blames himself for everything—even when it’s something so far away.

A few minutes after Brenden left, Mary crept into her husband’s bedroom. It was her habit to check on him before she went upstairs, usually bending over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. This time, when she turned to leave, she felt his hand reach for hers and he grasped it tightly.

Don’t go, he murmured beseechingly. Please, stay with me. He swept the blankets aside and motioned for her to climb into bed with him. Tears began streaming down both their faces as he held her and whispered, Poor Nettie and that beautiful child. Solomon must be heartbroken.

I know how I would feel if I lost you and Lizzie, Mary murmured. I don’t think I could bear it.

They laid in each other’s arms for several minutes until she said, But there have been times when I felt . . .

How did you feel, Mary?

Like I already lost you, or at least the part of you that was loving and caring. It’s like I’m living with a ghost, Bertie—you’re not dead but you’re not alive either.

He caressed her shoulder and kissed her forehead. I’m sorry, Mary, truly I am but I don’t know what to do, how to feel, how to carry on. There was desperation ringing in his voice. All those men, strewn across the field—bleeding and dying, the men who lived but were so grievously wounded. How can we carry on with our lives—no legs or feet, many without arms or hands. It was all so senseless—Americans shooting at each other.

But it wasn’t your fault, Bertie—you didn’t start this war.

I know, but it’s . . .

It’s what, Bertie? He said nothing so she said, I didn’t want you to go. I was so afraid that something would happen to you and it did—you suffered a terrible injury, but thank God, you didn’t die. But while we were in that cabin together with Solomon and Nettie and their dear sweet child, I began to understand why this war was important. Once, when Solomon was washing by the well, I saw those awful scars on his back and Nettie told me how she was raped. Those Southerners think they can do anything they want to black people. It makes my blood boil. I think if I was a man, I’d pick up a gun and I’d fight this war, too.

She rose up on her elbow and looked at him earnestly. You told me from the beginning that this war is about saving the Union, but it’s more than that. Those Confederates are willing to give their lives and fortunes to preserve their wretched way of life but we cannot allow it. Slavery must end, it has to or people like Solomon will never own their own souls. I want them to be free, Bertie.

He did not respond for several minutes but she could tell he was struggling to find the words to say what he was feeling. Mary, I am hesitant to agree that this is a righteous war—it should have never started, but once it did I felt dutybound to join the fight. I have been mourning the loss of lives and limbs but I can see now that wallowing in this self-destructive pit does no one any good—especially you and Lizzie, but . . .

But what, Bertie?

I’m not sure I am physically able to do anything about it. I just feel so damned useless.

What about the telegram from Washington City? They know you have a sharp legal mind and have arrived at the logical conclusion of how you can best put it to use. I think you should do it, Bertie.

Again he contemplated a few minutes before he replied. I suppose you’re right, Mary. I have long complained that the army is full of laggards and incompetent fools, so sitting on a court-martial panel would give me a chance to weed out the worst ones—those who don’t have the political clout to avoid a hearing, that is. I guess I can at least try it. I think I’ll send a wire to Major Broadman to ask him to send Solomon to Washington City. He can assist me like young Brenden is doing here. He’ll probably want to kill every damn Reb he can find but it would be better for him to be removed from the area.

I feel badly for Brenden, that he won’t be able to continue with his schooling.

He is a very driven young man. We’ll make sure he has access to our library so he can pursue his studies on his own. The best thing I can do for him is to help hasten the end of this war as quickly as possible. I don’t want him to get drafted, Mary. He turns eighteen next summer. I pray it will be over by then.

* * * * * * * *

The winter had been difficult in the Shenandoah Valley. It’s inhabitants were accustomed to copious amounts of everything—plentiful crops with root cellars full of canned vegetables and smoke houses full of pork, beef, and chicken. The Shenandoah Valley had always provided everything a person needed—wool from the sheep that grazed in the meadows, milk and creamy butter from the dairies, highest quality horses and mules, general stores full of everything a person could possibly need, and the money to buy it.

But this winter was different. There was a shortage of everything and the prices of available staples were inflated to such high prices that only the wealthiest of the Valley inhabitants could afford them and the ranks of the very rich were dwindling. The crops in the preceding summer had been plentiful, but government officials with military escorts had come through with wagons to haul most of it away. Horses and mules were confiscated and many of the pastures were empty as most of the livestock had been butchered for the Valley’s dinner tables or taken away to feed the Rebel troops.

The Hanger family had willingly given as much as they could spare but they, like many others, had hidden a portion of their crops to meet their own needs.

So what if soldiers need food for the winter, David’s wife, Winnie, wailed, I will not allow my own children to starve.

Eliza hanger and her family were assembled around the dining room table at Mt. Hope for Sunday dinner. They were eating roast chicken, beets, and potatoes. James surmised that Winnie’s idea of starving children meant depriving them of pudding and cake but said nothing.

We shan’t starve, Winnie, David muttered, but I am concerned about our spring crops. The wheat is half as tall as it should be. I’m glad I have the seeds for the summer crops under lock n’ key. They’re more valuable than gold right now.

What about my mother’s silver teapot and candlesticks? Winnie cried. They had the audacity to take those things, too. You should have buried them somewhere, David. But then, I heard the Moynihan’s thought their valuables were safe until the appropriations officer noticed the freshly dug hole and had their things carried off. For God’s sake, even if we win this wretched war, we won’t have anything left, so who cares? I hate it—I just hate it.

James was waiting for her to stomp her feet like a petulant child having a temper tantrum over a lost toy but he was aware that Winnie wasn’t the only one having a hard time accepting their current predicament. James had recently visited the Glosson home to speak with his brother George’s fiancé, Sally, and found her mother similarly annoyed. These women had been pampered and sheltered their entire lives, always surrounded by opulence and elegance, making this new station in life barely tolerable.

The Confederate government is taking our crops and possessions, David muttered angrily, and the Yankees have seen to it that our Darkies no longer feel the need to stay put. We’re luckier than most—only Adeline, Johanna, and Big Ben have run off, the ungrateful wretches. If the others stay, we should be able to plant the summer crops, but . . . His voice trailed off in despair.

Weary of the melancholy and complaining, James left for Staunton soon after the meal was over. As he drove through Churchville, he decided to stop off at the Hanger town house to pick up a few extra clothes. The house had been closed for the winter since his mother spent most of her time at Mt. Hope to help care for David and his family and because it was easier to heat one house instead of two. Ellie Mae and the other house slaves had moved back to the plantation, too. In fact, much of Churchville was shuttered as families downsized their households.

It was a cold blustery day and the streets were deserted. He passed the church, looking desolate and drab, and noticed Mr. Trenworth’s bench was gone. He recollected his mother mentioning it had fallen into disrepair and since both Mr. and Mrs. Trenworth had passed in October, no one wanted to bother restoring it so it was torn apart and burned in the church stove for heat.

How sad, he thought, remembering how the proud, elderly gentleman had held court every Sunday morning, surrounded by his peers and cohorts in that corner of the churchyard. It seemed that war had taken so many of Churchville’s residents—fatherless children who died of diseases and want of food, soldiers returning home from the war to die in their own beds, and the old people like Mr. Trenworth whose hearts had been broken by grief. This village, James’ hometown, seemed barren and inhospitable as there were more boarded up houses than homes with lights shining in the windows.

As he drove his carriage up to the front gate, he was saddened by this own empty and bleak house which had been so full of love and lively activity before the war. He took out his key to unlock the front door but noticed one of the shutters was ajar and the window appeared to be cracked open. That’s strange, he thought, knowing that his mother was very concerned that her home would be vandalized by marauding scallywags and had made sure the house was securely locked. It was well known that the area was fraught with deserters and runaway slaves who were desperate for food and shelter. He crept inside, moving quietly from room to room, knowing full well he had no weapon nor the physical capabilities to confront anyone.

Having satisfied himself that nothing was out of order in the downstairs rooms, he climbed the stairs and stopped short when he found someone sleeping in his bed. The perpetrator was sleeping soundly under a mound of blankets and unaware he had been found. James grabbed the empty wash basin off the bureau and stepped toward the bed, planning to pummel the vagrant over the head.

He yanked the blankets away and lifted the heavy porcelain bowl to smash it down when the culprit moaned and awakened. James froze and stared at the intruder, dropping the basin and jumped when it noisily shattered onto the floor. The trespasser was his friend, Willie Bigler.

Actually, James barely recognized him as he was unshaven and his hair was long and dirty. His cheeks were sunken and reddened with fever and he was visibly trembling. His clothes were threadbare and worn, with missing buttons and holes in the sleeves. He looked up at James with sick and beseeching eyes.

Jimmy, please, Willie gasped, I’m sorry . . . I had no place . . .

I don’t understand, James stammered. Why didn’t you go home?

I can’t, Willie murmured. I deserted—they’ve probably already looked for me there.

You deserted, Willie? I don’t believe you.

Well, it’s true. Please don’t look at me like that, Jimmy. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was cold and tired and wretchedly sick. I asked for a furlough but they wouldn’t give it to me. His voice cracked with a deep-chested coughing spell. He brought up green sputum which he expectorated into his dirty handkerchief. The colonel called me a weakling and gave me extra sentry duty. It was raining and I was so blasted cold, I just left—took off running. He coughed again, gaging and gasping for air. Don’t hate me, Jimmy. I’m sorry. I’ll go, but just don’t tell anyone, especially not my father.

I could never hate you, Willie—you know that, but what are we going to do? There’s patrols coming through town all the time, looking for stragglers. You were smart to come here. The house is shuttered and looks empty. Have you eaten anything? James approached the bed and covered his friend with the blankets again.

It’s been a while, I guess. We didn’t have much food in camp either.

Wait here. My mother gave me some leftovers from dinner to take back to Staunton. I’ll fetch them for you. He hurried out to the carriage and realized that the neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell, were sitting in their parlor with the drapes partially opened, probably watching him. James’ mother had asked them to keep an eye on the place so James slowed his gait and began walking nonchalantly to retrieve the basket of food.

It’s cold but I’m not sure how to heat it, James murmured, but Willie sat up in bed and devoured the food in frantic gulps as though he hadn’t eaten anything in weeks.

I don’t even remember what hot food tastes like, James. This is the most delicious meal I’ve had since I left home. He glanced up at James, looking embarrassed. Oh, I’m sorry. I should have saved some for you. I—

No, Willie, that’s quite alright. I wish I had more to give you. He put his hand to his friend’s forehead. You have a raging fever. I’ll fetch the doctor.

No, James, you can’t do that. I have to hide. Dr. McCreery would turn me in for sure, especially since his son was killed last fall. I’m sure he has no tolerance for deserters like me.

James sat down on the side of the bed and looked piteously at his friend. He had heard stories from his clients and others of the horrendous conditions with little food, rampant diseases, and rags tied around their feet as they marched, although he was told that the cavalrymen were better equipped than the foot soldiers.

I don’t blame you for deserting, Willie, but I’m not sure what I should do with you now. You can’t stay here and die in my bed.

Just let me lay here, Jimmy, Willie pleaded. Please, leave me be.

How can I do that, Willie? Would you walk away if it was me laying here?

I’m too sick and tired—I can’t fight this anymore. Please, just go and forget that you ever saw me.

Shut up, Willie, and let me think. Old lady Caldwell is watching the house like a hawk. She’d see you for sure—unless we go through the back door. The fence and the trees block her view of the backyard. I’ll take my carriage around back and pretend I’m loading some wood from the stable. It’s almost dark. I’ll take you to my factory, Willie. You can hide there.

Don’t you have workers there? Won’t they see me?

Gerald and I are the only ones living there now. The others never go into that room anymore. You’ll just have to be very quiet.

Jimmy, please, you need to think about this. If you get caught harboring a deserter, you’ll get into as much trouble as me. It’s too great a risk. I won’t go.

Do you have a better idea?

No, but I—

You need to walk downstairs and wait for me in the kitchen.

No, I can’t—

Yes, you can! Your mother and father have already lost one son and Frank is still ailing. I simply will not allow you to die—I won’t.

My parents would rather see me dead than be a deserter, Jimmy. I shouldn’t have come back here. I should have just crawled into the woods and laid down to die, but I didn’t want to—die, I mean.

I know, Willie, but we need to get you out of here. Now!

James pulled back the blankets and pulled Willie’s legs onto the floor. He noticed Willie was so weak and flaccid there was little resistance. James was afraid that his friend was right—he wouldn’t be able to get downstairs or walk to the barn and James would be a poor assistant.

C’mon, we have to try, he insisted.

He pulled Willie onto a nearby chair and straightened the bed, but realized he needed more blankets so he removed the quilts and threw them down the steps. He went back for his friend and managed to get him on his feet. Together they struggled out of the room and began descending the stairs. Leaning heavily on the banister, Willie slipped out of James’ grasp and began falling. James nearly tumbled after him but managed to stay on his feet. He rushed to his friend and found him barely conscious.

That’s one way to get downstairs, Willie mumbled, managing a grin.

I’m sorry, but I can’t carry you. You need to stand up. But his friend didn’t move. Goddamn it, Willie, stand up!

I can’t, Jimmy, I’m too tired.

Stop your complaining and get up! C’mon, Willie, we have to get you out of here.

Heaving with all the strength they had left in their bodies, the two friends managed to drag each other into the kitchen. It was a painfully slow and difficult process but finally, Willie was able to rest on a chair near the back door.

James hurried outside with the armloads of blankets and noticed Mrs. Caldwell standing at her window, watching him intently. James waved and managed a friendly smile as he took the reins of his horse, Duchess, and led her to the barn behind the house. James went inside and brought out a few pieces of wood, just in case the Caldwells were still watching. When he was sure it was safe, he went back into the house to get Willie.

His friend appeared near collapse. I know you’re sick and very tired, Willie, but you need to get to the carriage. I wish I was stronger so I could carry you, but I can’t, so c’mon, let’s go.

Willie managed to get to his feet and the two friends leaned heavily on each other as they staggered the fifty feet to the barndoor. Getting Willie onboard that carriage was one of the hardest things James had ever done. He climbed onto the seat first and reached down to pull Willie up. At first, it appeared as though he couldn’t do it but finally, with one final yank, Willie sailed upward. James settled him into the small space behind the seat and covered him with blankets and stacked some wood on the sides.

He headed out of town, careful not to do anything that looked suspicious. His horse was old and even the added weight of an extra passenger would make the seven-mile trip more difficult. The wind was whipping across the Valley and James had to brace himself to keep from being blown off the carriage.

We’ll be back in Staunton soon, Willie, he called. Don’t you dare die on me, ya hear? But there was no response as the two friends headed east down the windswept, dark country road.

Chapter 2

In his sorrow, Solomon laid upon the shore of the Red River and sobbed uncontrollably but his sadness turned quickly into a deep-seated fury of burning anger. He screamed in the darkening skies like a wounded wolf howls at the moon. It was a pitiful, gut-retching spectacle that brought others to tears. Some tried to approach him to offer comfort and solace but he pushed them away.

Where were the sentries? he cried. How could they let this happen?

As far as he was concerned they were all complicit in his agony—them and the devil Rebs who had perpetrated this heinous crime. It was incomprehensible that they would target a hospital ship. How would they know, someone said, intending to lend some justification to perhaps soften the blow, but Solomon didn’t want to hear it. They had killed his woman and his beautiful baby girl. They had to pay—someone, all of them.

Sometime during the night, he had fallen asleep, his body weak from utter exhaustion, his mind too full of pain. But when his eyes fluttered open again, he was washed over by the awful truth of what had happened and began crying piteously again, beating on his chest, clawing at his face until there were bloodied streaks across his cheeks.

Unable to walk, he crawled into the shallow water and began to fling the charcoal black, splintered wood aside. This was the bow of the ship where he and Nettie had sat together so many times, cradled by the gentle swaying of the Laurel Hill. This was the door of the one of the small staterooms, perhaps General Paine’s room where he had patiently taught Solomon and Nettie to read.

The general had insisted that they’d have a better life if they learned their letters and numbers, having a huge advantage over the hordes of other former slaves. Solomon had believed him and promised Nettie they’d live happily together in a house with a yard and a picket fence. But it was all gone now, erased off the face of the earth like a giant wave that swept away everything that was clean and good and left behind only the filthy, decaying remnants of evil hatefulness.

Solomon wanted to kill something—wanted to punish anyone and everything that had ripped open his heart so brutally. He waded back to the shore and dragged himself out of the water. He’d find some Rebs and eviscerate them with horrific, powerful hacks that would gut the devil himself. He needed a horse. There was one, tied to a nearby tree. Solomon lunged at it and began to mount the beast but felt someone dragging him back onto the ground.

Let me go, he screamed. I gots to go catch ‘em.

Ain’t no use goin’ off like that, Solomon, Isaac muttered. There ain’t no Rebs hidin’ around here. And you ain’t got no gun. What’cha gonna do, Solomon, kill ‘em with your bare hands?

Solomon flailed at his captor but he was so weak that he fell onto the ground again. A group of Colored troops encircled him, watching as he curled up like a lost child and began crying again. One by one they turned away, unable to gaze upon such a cruel, sad sight. They knew of no words of comfort that would even begin to touch such a sorrowful, lost soul as this. Best to leave the man to grieve alone.

Isaac made his way across the field to where a Colored woman, Flo, was standing, weeping as though her heart was shattered.

He ain’t doin’ so good, Flo, he said, and I don’t know what to do to he’p ‘im.

I know, Isaac, Flo murmured. I tried to get ‘im to eat n’ drink a little, but he just sat there a sobbin’ and rockin’. It’s a terrible thing to see. She had been the woman who helped Nettie birth her baby and had watched Lit’l Ell grow from a tiny, fragile newborn baby into a healthy, happy child. She had remained close to the family ever since. She was the only one in whom Nettie had confided that she was pregnant again.

Nettie had somethin’ important to tell ‘im, she whispered. She was carryin’ his chil’, Isaac, but we can’t tell Solomon. It would break his po’ heart worser than ever. She approached Solomon again with food and coffee but he sent her away.

For three days, he cycled through moments of intense hatred and the need to spill blood and times of wailing and uncontrollable sobbing. When he slept, he was tormented by dreams of feeling Nettie’s naked body beneath him, touching her skin and drinking her sweet smell. He rocked his baby girl in his arms and could hear her giggle above the roar of the guns. He could see them, touch them, smell them, but when he awakened he was pierced by the cruel realization that they were only with him in his dreams.

The regiments began arriving from the battles at Mansfield and Pleasant Hill. General Banks rode into Alexandria like Caesar returning to Rome after vanquishing far flung hordes of heathens. The nine boats Admiral Porter had managed to move above the Alexandria dam returned as the whole of the Union expeditionary forces prepared to return to New Orleans.

Where is he? Colonel Broadman asked Isaac, someone he knew was a good friend of Solomon and Nettie’s. The three of them had come to the Union camp at Baton Rouge together.

He’s over there by the shore, Isaac murmured. He just sits there all day, moanin’ and cryin’. I don’t think he’s ate or drank anything since he got here.

Major Broadman asked Isaac to get a plate of food and a cup of coffee and they approached Solomon together.

Ten-hut! Isaac cried. You’re in the presence of a colonel, soldier. Get to your feet and salute a senior officer.

Solomon shrugged his shoulders dolefully as he gazed up at them with blank, non-seeing eyes. I ain’t no soldier in no goddamn army no mo’, he muttered.

Never mind, Isaac, Colonel Broadman mumbled, realizing that Solomon was too weak to stand even if he wanted to. But, Solomon, I want you to eat and drink something. Here’s some food and a cup of coffee. He said the words as though he was ordering his regiment to line up, but again Solomon ignored him and continued staring at the decaying, grotesque hull of the wrecked boat.

Colonel Broadman squatted down next to Solomon. You need to eat and drink something, Sergeant. I don’t want another—

Another dead Nigger? Solomon spat bitterly.

Dead anyone—white or black. Haven’t we seen enough of death? Solomon didn’t respond so the colonel continued. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now but . . . I’m sorry, so very sorry that this happened.

The two men sat in quiet contemplation for several minutes until the colonel said, I think you should know that I sent a telegram to General Paine as soon as I heard. I just received a response. Here. He reached for a scrap of paper from his jacket pocket and thrust it into Solomon’s limp hand, but the grieving man didn’t look at it so the colonel took it back and read it to him.

Colonel Broadman, I am to go to Washington City to sit on the court-martial panel. Need an orderly. Send Solomon. Will await his arrival at the Willard Hotel. Please make arrangements for his safe passage.

Brigadier General Halbert Paine

Do you understand what the general is asking, Solomon? the colonel asked quietly.

I ain’t deaf and dumb. I heard what you said.

It’ll take you a few days to get back to New Orleans and there you will board a ship to take you to Washington City. You should be able to get there fairly soon.

Solomon slowly turned his head toward the colonel. Why? Why should I go there? I can’t kill no Rebs sittin’ in no hotel.

Haven’t you seen enough war? You need to leave this place and—

And what, Colonel? Solomon spat vehemently. You think I’m gonna miss my woman and my baby girl less if I’m not here?

No, of course not, but I do think spending time with the general and his wife would be preferrable to sitting here, staring at the carcass of a dead ship. Nothing is going to make you feel any better, Solomon, but it would be good for you to help General Paine. He probably can’t walk very well and needs assistance to do his job. Who better to help him than you?

Solomon looked away, disgusted that the colonel’s argument was valid. I suppose I could go, but I think the only reason he’s asking me to come is on account of him feelin’ sorry for me.

Is that a bad thing, Solomon? All of us have seen so much death that we’d welcome a chance to get away from it. I think this is a good idea and besides, he added as he stood up and straightened his shoulders, you’re a soldier in the US Army and these are your orders.

Yessir, Colonel Broadman, Solomon moaned quietly, I’ll do whatever General Paine says.

Good, I’m glad to hear it. Now, eat some food and drink this coffee before it gets cold. Solomon made no gesture to take the plate and cup, so the colonel placed it on the ground next to the stricken man and began to walk away, but stopped and murmured, She was a good woman, Solomon. She helped many of my men and your daughter was a source of joy for all of us. They’ll be greatly missed, but Solomon, every one of us have lost someone or something—a friend, a brother, an arm, or an leg. That’s what war is—even the victorious lose something they hold dear. There are no winners.

Solomon sat at his place a few yards away from the burnt ship until the sun set behind a shroud of dark clouds as it dipped beyond the western shore of the Red River. He drank a few sips of the cold coffee and ate a few bites of food until he began to choke on the bitter hurt that filled his innards. He got up and found a tree beyond the camp and laid down to sleep. Even as the rain splattered his face and a chill wind slapped his body, he slept, comforted by the wonderful dreams that filled the night.

* * * * * * * *

The first thing Mary did was order a new uniform, but since her husband was unable to travel to the shop, the tailor obliged them by coming to the house to measure him there. Mary reminded Mr. Templar that Halbert was a brigadier general now and his uniform should reflect his stature with embroidered sleeves, golden epaulets on his shoulders, and a silver star on his collar. General Paine argued, saying that it was too expensive, but Mary insisted.

I’m very proud of you, Bertie, and I want everyone to see you splendidly clad.