A Quilt for Christmas (19 page)

Eliza and the others stopped at the main road and watched until the wagon disappeared. “I was never happier to perform a wedding,” John said, as he stood in the dust. He took Mercy's arm as they walked back to the house, and Eliza knew there would be another wedding before long. Of all the members of her quilting group, only she would be without a husband. And suddenly, Missouri Ann's wedding day became the lonesomest day Eliza ever saw.

*   *   *

The Wabaunsee County men began returning home. Ettie's husband and son rode into the Espy farm one morning, the man whole but the boy weak in mind. He'd seen too much savagery, Ettie explained to Eliza. Cosby Bean came back, too. Not long after Missouri Ann's wedding, Eliza went to the Bean farm to present Anna with a washboard she had found lying in the road. It must have fallen from a wagon passing through and would be sorely missed. But it had been Eliza's good luck to find it, and as she had a serviceable washboard herself, she thought to give it to Anna, whose own board had worn through. As the two women stood talking in the kitchen of the Bean house, they glanced out the window to see a man in a ragged Union uniform on the road. Anna sighed and asked, “Will they never stop coming, those poor men?”

“They fought to keep the country together, and now they are let go as if they are of no more consequence than a used-up horse. You stay, Anna. I'll see if he wants a drink of water.” Anna still suffered from childbirth, and the farm work taxed her. Eliza went outside and stood on the stoop and watched the man turn into the dirt lane to the house. She started forward to offer him a drink, but suddenly, she stopped and called, “Anna, come quick.”

Anna stepped outside the door. “What…” She stopped and froze for a moment, and then she flew down the lane, her arms wide, calling, “Cosby, Cosby.” She all but jumped into his arms, and the two held each other for a long time. Eliza could see the sheen of tears on both faces. They walked slowly to the house, their arms around each other, and Anna said, “It's Cosby! Cosby's come home!”

“I can see that,” Eliza said.

Anna's two little boys heard the commotion and ran outside, then stopped, looking at their father in awe, and Eliza realized they did not know who he was. “Your papa,” she whispered.

“Papa?” the younger one asked, as if he didn't know what the word meant. But the older one did and he looked at Cosby shyly.

Anna held out her hands to the boys, and they came to her. And then Cosby grabbed them up. He carried them to the house, past Eliza, who wondered if, in his joy, he hadn't even noticed her.

“Eliza…” Anna began, but Eliza shook her head.

“I'm so glad, Anna. It's a time for your family.”

Anna nodded and followed her husband into the house and closed the door, while Eliza went to her buggy and untied Sabra. She
was
glad for Anna, Eliza thought. She would not dwell on why her friend's husband had come home and hers had not. She thought to call on Mercy then, since Mercy's husband, like Will, would never return. But Mercy was being courted by John now.

“Oh, Will!” Eliza cried, as she climbed into her buggy. “Why wasn't it you? Why weren't you the one to come home?” The loneliness was terrible. Eliza thought she might die of it, this needing of her husband. When she arrived home, she put the horse in the corral and then went inside and took down the candle box where she kept Will's letters and removed one. She had read it when it arrived at the post office. The final letter, of course, had never been opened. She could not read that one yet, perhaps not ever.

October 30, 1864

My Beloved Wife

I am sick of this war & tired, very tired. We have marched long & late, from sunrise until 5 in the evening, went two miles on the wrong road & had to turn back & retrace our steps. Now I have thrown myself on the ground determined to write to you before I fall asleep. We were lucky to forage a few potatoes from a farmhouse & that kept me going. May the Lord God forgive me for breaking His commandment. I hope He knows I steal only to keep body & soul alive. Surely He is a Yankee & understands. I believe He must despise the Confederates as much as I do.

The only thing that sustains me is knowing you & Luzena & Davy are safe at home, away from this cruelty & death. Many escaped slaves have come into our camp, & you would be disheartened to hear their stories. Be grateful you are too far away to encounter them.

Eliza smiled to herself. If only Will had known. But maybe he had. Maybe it was Will who had watched over her in the rain on that dark night with Clara.

I have not much to tell. We tramp & tramp & then we engage the enemy & for an hour or two, we live in terror. The dirt & smoke are so thick in battle that we do not know if we are shooting foe or friend. May God have mercy if I have murdered one of my comrades. In the last engagement, the man fighting next to me was felled by a bullet from behind. He had raised up his head at the wrong moment & was killed by a Union soldier. Had I been a little closer, I might have gotten the bullet. Never fear, dear wife, I am disposed to keep my head down. A Secesh had me in his sights that same day, but I laid him aside. It was a bad fight. The bushes were chawed off by the bullets, not a leaf was left. When all was done, the bodies of the dead were covered by a network of twigs & leaves. The dead are placed in trenches & covered by soil, the way I cover the potatoes to protect them from the frost of winter. Often our men are buried in bunches, like dead chickens. Sometimes the graves are so shallow that the wild hogs dig up the bodies & consume them. The people hereabouts refuse to eat the pigs.

We barely have time between battles to rest but must be on our feet to march again. Time marches on even faster. I thought it was only mid-October but am told the month is nearly over. Still, time cannot move fast enough for me. We have been ordered to lay by a day, then take the town, but God bless me, I do not know what town that is.

I have the picture of you taken just before I went for a soldier. You are wearing the blue dress, your hand with the old wedding ring at your throat, & it reminds me I never bought you the gold ring with the ruby. I intend to do it first thing I return. I hope you are getting on well—but not too well—without your old husband.

Now, Eliza, I forbid you from working too hard. You will do the children no good if you are not fit because of overwork. But I would like to ask you to knit me some mittens, if it is not too much trouble. We received a shipment of them made by Quaker ladies, but they are worthless, as they were knit without trigger fingers. You would laugh were you to see some of the items made by wives. One sent her husband velvet slippers with roses embroidered on them, while another made a pair of trousers that button on the wrong side. The soldier must stand on his head to button them.

Scurvy has broke out & I wish you could send me a sack of onions. We don't eat so good now. Last night all I had was ramrod bread, which is cornmeal smeared on my rifle ramrod and cooked over a fire.

Eliza had sent the onions. She'd made the mittens, two pairs, and a muffler, too, but Will had never written of their arrival. She wondered what had happened to them.

I have never been so weary. I would trade a week's rations for one good night's sleep. If it were not for the bugle or the kicks of the officers to send us on our way, I believe I could sleep for a month. I have not shaved since I left home & must carry five pounds of dirt in my beard and clothes. My appearance would make a cat laugh.

Forgive me for writing such a sorry letter. If I could not unburden myself on you, I do not think I would make it. I know this war is not easy for you, either & that you endure hardships you do not tell me about. Dearest Eliza, I push on to finish off this war. I feel it will end soon & I will rejoin my family & friends in Kansas ere long.

Remember me to the children. Give them love from their old Papa & keep a good measure of it for yourself.

Your Devoted Husband

William T. Spooner

*   *   *

In June, the Starks left Wabaunsee County. Nobody knew for sure where they had gone, but several noted that when they left, the Starks headed south. And later on, a man passing through remarked about a family of surly men he'd encountered on his way from Texas.

Because he held the mortgage on the farm, John Hamlin claimed the Stark house and land, which was foul with refuse and dead animals and a mule in such poor condition that it had been left in the barn to starve. John brought it to Eliza and said if the animal was cared for properly, it would heal and could be hitched to a plow. “It would be a kindness to one of God's creatures if you'd take it in,” John said.

Eliza saw through the ruse. John was like Eliza's other neighbors, who under the pretext of asking her for a favor were doing her a good turn. She did not have the money for a mule, and Sabra was too old to work much in the fields. John knew that and was giving her the mule in such a way that her pride would not be hurt. Eliza accepted the animal in the manner in which it was presented. Perhaps John should have given the mule to the man who let the Stark farm, but Eliza was in such need that she didn't suggest it. The new tenant was a one-armed Union veteran named Root who would work the place with his twin boys, Chad and Cheed. The man's wife, John mentioned, had hung quilts on the wall, quilts almost as pretty as Eliza's. She understood that John expected her to return his kindness by calling on Mrs. Root and becoming her friend. Eliza would do that.

And she would care for the soldiers, just as she hoped someone would have cared for Will if he'd needed it. Eliza was used to seeing bummers and Union soldiers tramping along the road on their way west. Some bore wounds. Others had soldier's heart, the weariness that came from seeing too much death and carnage. A few rode horses but most walked. Sometimes they stopped at the farm and asked for water or begged a meal, and Eliza, knowing Will would have wanted her to, shared her supper or even went without to give it to the hungry men. A few inquired about work, but Eliza could not pay them. On occasion, a soldier, asking nothing more than a little food and a place in the barn to bed down, stayed a day or more and worked the fields or repaired the barn or mended harness. The familiar work took his mind off the terrible war, he would say. But after a time, each of them moved on.

The last one had disappeared the day before a man Eliza thought never to see again rode into the Spooner farm.

 

CHAPTER TEN

July 2, 1865

The afternoon had been hot, and Eliza had taken a resting spell under the cottonwoods that lined the creek. She and Will had fished the creek on summer afternoons, never catching much more than crawdads, but they didn't mind, because it was peaceful in the shade. They had been lucky to find land with a grove of trees. The creek was Eliza's favorite place on the farm, and she couldn't help but think of Will as she sat on the bank with her bare feet in the water.

Was it only the summer before that Will had caught her like that? He had crept up and howled like an Indian, and Eliza had been so startled that she fell into the creek. She was furious at her husband, who laughed at her as he reached down to help her climb the bank. “How could you!” Eliza cried, and then she yanked Will's arm, and he, too, fell into the water. He looked so comical as he stood up, water dripping from his head, his clothes soaked, his hat floating on the water, that she forgot she was angry and began to laugh. They both laughed.

“I can't work in wet clothes,” Eliza said, removing her dress and hanging it on a tree branch in the hot sun. Will took off his shirt and pants, too, then suddenly turned and grabbed her up. He lowered her onto the ground, and they made love. Right there, in the daylight, on the ground, not even thinking someone might come upon them.

The memory made Eliza flush, and sitting under the trees alone, she thought this a sacred place. She felt Will's spirit and wished she had brought one of his letters with her. The remembrance of Will brought her pleasure then, not pain, and Eliza wondered if that was a change in her, if from now on Will's life and not his death would be foremost in her mind. Perhaps the joy would come only once in a while, but it was a start toward acceptance.

Eliza would have stayed there all day, but there was work to be done. So she walked back across the fields to the barnyard and was startled to find a man there sitting on a horse, his back to her.

“I say again, hello the house,” he called in a harsh voice. That was the proper thing for a stranger to do, to wait in the yard until someone came out to greet him. He was a large man with a beard the size of a rosebush, and his horse was a fine one. If he was a soldier, he was no ordinary soldier.

He did not see Eliza as she emerged from the field behind him. She saw him look around the farm as if it were his, and she thought him a little arrogant. Because of the horse and the rider's fine suit of clothes, she wondered if he was an officer, and then she noticed the gray cape and decided he was a Confederate. She would offer him a drink, but she would not give him a meal. She hoped Davy was not around. Since he hated the Secesh as much as Will had, he might start a quarrel. When the man saw her, he made no move to dismount or even remove his hat.

“There's a dipper by the well,” Eliza said.

“Didn't come for water.”

Eliza waited.

“I said I didn't come for no water.”

“Then what is it I can do for you, sir? Why are you here?”

The man threw his leg over his horse and looked around the farm again, peering at the house and then the barn. He studied Luzena as she came outside and threw a pan of dishwater into the flower bed, stared at her as if he had the right. “I come looking for someone.”

“There is no one here to interest you. I believe you may have gotten the wrong farm.”