Celia Garth: A Novel (24 page)

C
ELIA WAS ASHAMED OF
herself. She had never fainted before and she told Marietta vehemently that she never would again. But Marietta said everybody was entitled to an occasional weakness. Marietta herself had finally had that good cry, and she felt better for it.

Celia had come back to her senses with a skinned elbow and a lump on her head, and such a queer dizzy feeling that she was still huddled on the floor when Marietta came to look for her. Marietta said Mr. Jimmy was dozing. As soon as Hugo had gone Amos had told her to bring Mr. Lacy’s best West Indies rum, and he had made Mr. Jimmy take a big drink, big enough to give him some rest. Then Amos had left to see if he couldn’t get a message to Mr. Miles Rand. And now, Miss Celia had better eat some dinner.

Celia had forgotten that she had not eaten anything since early this morning, eight or nine hours ago. Maybe that was one reason she had keeled over. She had a plate of rice and beef and snapbeans, and it did her good.

When Jimmy woke, blazing with fever and thirst, Marietta held his head while Celia gave him spoonfuls of the beef broth Marietta had made. It was a long hard meal. Over and over Celia had to sit helplessly with the bowl in her hands, while Jimmy trembled under a wave of pain and she tried not to let her tears drip into the broth. All afternoon the guns rumbled in the sultry air, the mosquitoes whined, and Celia waved her fan over Jimmy and prayed that Miles would get here soon and bring a real surgeon with him.

It was after dark when Miles finally arrived, but he did bring a surgeon. While Amos held a candle the surgeon bent over Jimmy’s pallet, and Miles put an arm around Celia and whispered, “Thanks for all you’ve done.” She was surprised to be thanked. But she found Miles’ arm around her a comfort. It made her feel like what Miles’ mother had said, one of them.

The surgeon said Hugo had done a good job. Jimmy’s main trouble was that he had nearly bled to death. Given a rest and plenty of good red meat, he would be all right. Miles had managed to borrow an army litter, so when Celia and Marietta had made up the bed in Vivian’s room he and Amos carried Jimmy indoors. Marietta brought a mosquito net from a closet and made a pavilion over his bed. This done, Miles said he had leave to stay till morning, so the others could get some sleep.

Celia felt her way down the cellar stairs. She had not brought a candle, as their supply was limited and they had no way to get more. In the darkness she found her mattress and sank down. Too tired to undress, she took off her shoes and buried her face in the pillow and tried to shut out the noise of the guns. She thought of Jimmy helpless in the room above her, as she gripped the pillow and whispered the evening prayer. “Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, oh Lord, and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night—”

She fell asleep, and in spite of the noise she slept till morning. When she came to the door of Jimmy’s room Amos was giving him spoonfuls of beef broth. Amos said Mr. Miles had had to go back on duty, but Mr. Jimmy had slept some, off and on, and now he was taking his broth just fine.

Celia drew a bucket of water at the well and went up to her room. When she had washed and put on clean clothes, she felt well. Rest and red meat, that was all Jimmy needed. She would manage.

She started out to the kitchen to see about her own breakfast. On the back porch she stopped with a sense of pleasure. No wonder she felt so well. It must have rained during the night, for the trees were sparkling as though every leaf held a jewel. The temperature had fallen, and even with the smell of smoke and gunpowder there was a luscious April tang in the air. Celia gave a happy little skip as she went into the kitchen, where Marietta served her a dish of hominy grits with slices of grilled ham.

Later, Celia remembered how light-heartedly she had eaten that ham. She had even tossed scraps to a jaybird that was hopping on the window sill. She told Marietta—still light-hearted, never dreaming of what was about to happen—not to make any more beef broth for Jimmy until tomorrow, as they had enough for today.

About ten o’clock, the disaster came.

Celia was standing on the back steps, reflecting that since all the shooting seemed to be up on the Neck this would be a good time for her to gather vegetables. Just then Amos appeared on the porch.

“Miss Celia,” he said to her, “there are some soldiers at the front door.”

Celia turned in alarm. “Soldiers? What kind of soldiers, Amos?”

“Oh, they’re our kind, Miss Celia, they’re rebels, but they want to see the lady of the house. They say it’s orders.”

Puzzled and somewhat frightened, Celia went in. Just inside the front door stood an officer of militia and two privates, and through the doorway, still open behind them, she saw a handcart by the front steps. The officer, a smallish young man with a shock of light hair, stood straight, heels together and hat in hand. He spoke politely.

“Good morning, ma’am, how do you do. I’m Lieutenant Boyce. You’re Mrs.—Miss—?”

“Miss Garth,” said Celia.

“Yes ma’am. Will you show us the way to your kitchen storeroom, please ma’am?”

Celia started. “But what—”

“Orders, ma’am,” said Lieutenant Boyce. “And we’re kind of in a hurry, please.”

Though very polite, he evidently meant what he said. Bewildered, Celia made a gesture toward the back door. “Through here.”

“Thank you ma’am. And you’ll please have somebody unlock the gate to your driveway, so we can bring in the cart. Now we’ll follow you.”

She led them through the hall, past Jimmy’s bedroom to the back door, where Amos stood watching with wide questioning eyes. Celia gave him the key and told him to unlock the gate. The lieutenant sent one of his men to bring the cart, while he and the other man went on with Celia. Still perplexed, she led them through the kitchen and into the storeroom beyond.

The storeroom was kept cool by heavy brick walls and a high ceiling. Against the walls were barrels, above the barrels were shelves lined with jars and canisters and boxes of many sizes. The air had a tempting spicy smell. The private soldier sniffed with enjoyment; Lieutenant Boyce gave him a look, and spoke to Celia.

“Now ma’am, we’ll be grateful if you don’t make any fuss. We want all the meat you’ve got, and all the salt.”

Celia gasped. The other private who had been sent for the handcart came into the room, and without looking at Celia again Lieutenant Boyce gave the men quick orders. They began taking the lids off the barrels to see what was inside.

Standing in the middle of the room, Celia watched in a rising panic. The men were opening every box and smelling the contents of every jar. One of them brought a chair from the kitchen and climbed on it to reach a side of bacon that hung from the ceiling. Lieutenant Boyce began rolling the barrel of spiced beef toward the door. Celia went to him.

“Please!” she begged. “There’s a wounded soldier in the house—Captain Rand—he’s nearly bled to death—he’s got to have meat!”

The lieutenant spoke with strained patience. “Sorry, ma’am. We need this for the ones that can still fight.”

The ones that can still fight.
Celia thought of Jimmy, drained of blood, his face green on the white sheet. He could not fight, it would be many weeks before he could fight again. So they did not care what became of him. She cried out in anger.

“What have you done with all those boatloads of stuff that I saw coming down the Cooper River? You’ve got food enough to—”

“Please step out of the way, ma’am,” said Lieutenant Boyce, giving the barrel another turn. It was plain that Lieutenant Boyce had been given strict orders to be courteous, and equally plain that he thought it was easier to face British guns.

Celia tried once more. “What can I give Captain Rand to eat?”

“I reckon he can eat rice, ma’am,” Boyce answered wearily.

“Without salt?”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am. What’s in that jar, Perkins?”

The man addressed as Perkins took his nose out of the jar he held, shook his head, and reached the jar toward Celia questioningly. She took a whiff and looked up.

“Cloves.”

“We’ve got no use for ’em,” said Lieutenant Boyce. “Put ’em back. What’ve you got there, Kane?”

“Rice, sir.”

“We don’t need rice. Leave it. What’s that now, Perkins?”

“Cheese, sir.”

“Bring that.”

Amos and Marietta stood in the doorway watching with dismay. The lieutenant spoke to Amos. “Give me a hand with this barrel.” Amos glanced at Celia. She said despairingly, “I guess you’ll have to.” As they rolled the barrel out to the cart she thought of Jimmy. Didn’t these men know they were killing him? She felt a sob come up into her throat, and swallowed fiercely. They were not going to see her cry.

When they had filled the cart the two privates pushed it out to the street, transferred its load to a mule-drawn wagon standing by the steps, and trundled the cart back to be filled again. Celia, who had followed them outside, stood looking up and down the sidewalk at other groups of soldiers bringing food from other homes. Here and there women stood by the doorways, some of them weeping or screaming threats, others like herself simply looking on. Far up on the Neck the guns sounded. In the doorway of the house next door old Simon Dale leaned on his cane. His son was on the earthworks, but his son’s wife and her children stood by the front steps, watching dumbly. Young Harry Dale, about twelve years old, had his arms around his two little sisters.

When the men were gone Celia and Marietta left Amos with Jimmy while they went to see what was left. The men had taken all the hams and bacon, all the beef, all the salt and cheese. They had left the rice and grits, cornmeal, coffee and sugar and molasses. And of course, Celia recalled, there would be vegetables, if the shells didn’t tear up the garden and if she could keep the weeds down. She could live, and Marietta—she had never tried to eat unsalted food but she supposed they could if they had to—but what about Jimmy?

A shell whistled, closer than they had been coming today, and another shell screeched across the path of the first. Marietta cried out and Celia covered her face. But as the sounds dwindled they relaxed again.

“One thing I keep thinking about, Miss Celia,” Marietta said stoutly, “we’re shooting at them just as hard as they’re shooting at us.”

Celia had started for the door, intending to go in and see how Jimmy was. “I hope,” she said savagely, “we’re killing them by
swarms
.”

In Jimmy’s room Amos sat on the bed, under the mosquito net, holding Jimmy’s head so he could swallow water from a cup. When Jimmy had had all he could take, Amos stood up. The effort of swallowing had used all Jimmy’s strength. He lay exhausted, his eyes closed.

Celia waited. After a while she raised the net, saying softly, “Jimmy. Jimmy dear.”

He half opened his eyes, murmuring her name. This was all he could do. Moving back, Celia let the net fall, and as her eyes met the black velvet eyes of Amos she knew they were both thinking the same thing. “If we can’t get him some meat to make blood, he’s going to die.”

She ordered herself, Whatever you do, don’t act scared! Beckoning Amos outside the hall door, she spoke in a low voice.

“Give him the rest of the beef broth whenever he’s able to take it. And don’t worry. I’ll find something else for him by tomorrow.”

“Yes
ma’am
!” said Amos. He was so eager to believe her that his voice was enthusiastic.

Celia had an inspiration. “I’ll speak to Mr. Godfrey Bernard,” she said. “I’ll go right now.”

She turned and ran toward the back door. How stupid of her not to have thought of Godfrey before. One of the chief heads of supply, he would surely know where she could get meat for a wounded soldier.

The shells were wheezing as usual, but none seemed close. Catching up her skirts Celia ran across the back yard, through the gate and into Godfrey’s property.

On Godfrey’s back porch three Negro maids were wandering up and down in a state of near-hysterics, while on the steps a small black boy sat bawling. The women rushed toward her with the dreadful news. The soldier-men had been here and had taken all the meat they had, and what was worse Mr. Godfrey himself had helped carry it out, and now they were all going to starve.

Thanking heaven that Marietta did not carry on like this, Celia asked if Mr. Godfrey was at home. They said yes, he was in his study.

She went down the hall toward the room where she had seen Darren yesterday. Godfrey would help her, he
must
help her; the colored women had said the soldiers had taken all the meat, but how did they know what supplies Godfrey had access to? She knocked on the study door.

Godfrey’s voice answered. As she pushed open the door he stood up in surprise.

“Why Celia!—how’s Jimmy?”

She ran to him and caught his hand in both of hers. “Oh Godfrey, Jimmy’s desperately hurt! Please help him!”

Moving a ledger from a chair Godfrey told her to sit down. He returned to the chair by the desk where he had been sitting before she came in. He told her he had heard of Jimmy’s wound but had not been able to come over and inquire. He had been out since before daybreak helping organize the search, which had to be unexpected lest people hide their supplies.

While he talked, Godfrey sat with his head on his hand, as though too tired to look up. She had never before seen Godfrey when he looked the least tired. He was saying,

“I’ll be free for the rest of the day, so if there’s anything I can do for Jimmy—”

“Oh yes, yes,” Celia cried. She went on to tell him about Jimmy’s loss of blood. “He’s got to have meat, Godfrey! Tell me where I can get some.”

Godfrey did not look up. His voice had a weary sound as he said, “You can’t get any meat, Celia.”

She started, unbelieving. “But haven’t you got—”

He shook his head. “No more than you have.”

He sounded strange, and he looked strange. Godfrey had always looked like what he was: a rich man, a successful man, a man who knew how to get along in the world. But now his face was lined, his body slack, his whole attitude that of defeat. Celia felt a creeping dread.