Fire Over Atlanta (5 page)

Back at the Union camp, Drake found that some of his squad had already returned. Major Bates was just coming out of his tent. Seeing no other officers, Drake walked up to him and said, “Major, sir, this here civilian tried to shoot me. I took his rifle away from him, but I was afraid to turn him loose.”

A small crowd began to gather, and Major Bates, a tall man with a powerful voice, looked at the prisoner with some disdain. “We’re not supposed to be fightin’ civilians!”

“I didn’t know what else to do with him, major. It’s up to you.”

Major Bates hesitated. Some civilians had indeed been shooting at the troops, and this might be one of them. “We’ll just hold him here until we get the city secured. Where you from?” he asked the prisoner.

“Used to be from Macon, but I ain’t from nowhere now!”

Major Bates seemed taken aback. “What do you mean, you’re not from anywhere?”

“I mean me and Pa came here a spell back, and then you Yankees come and surrounded the city. And day before yesterday my pa got killed when a cannonball fell on him.”

Major Bates stared hard at the young face. “I’m sorry about your father. You have any other relatives?”

“No, it was just me and Pa—now I guess there’s just me.”

“Well, you can’t go running around the city. One of our men’s liable to shoot you if they see you sneakin’ around with a rifle.”

“I don’t know where else to go! Pa sold the farm when we left from Macon, and now there ain’t nothin’ to go back to there.”

Major Bates glanced around at the soldiers and saw Royal. “Sergeant,” he said, “take care of this young fella. Keep him close until the city is secured, then you can let him go.”

“Yes, sir!”

Major Bates turned and left.

Royal came forward and said reassuringly to the boy. “You’ll be all right.” Then he looked at Drake. “I guess he’s your prisoner, Drake, so you can watch out for him.”

“I ain’t baby-sittin’ no Reb prisoners!” Drake said. But he said it carefully, for he was still keenly aware of having ridden the wooden horse.

“I don’t need nobody to take care of me!” the prisoner exclaimed.

Drake turned on him with some irritation. “Well, you can’t take care of yourself! I’da shot you back there, only my rifle misfired.” He still could not see the boy’s face very well. “Take off that blasted hat so I can see what you look like!”

Drake jerked the hat off the prisoner’s head, and a wealth of curly brown hair cascaded down over the shoulders of what was clearly a young woman.

A gasp went around the group of soldiers that had gathered to watch the scene.

“By george!” Rosie said. “That there’s a
girl
prisoner you got there, Drake!”

“Boy, you’re some soldier, ain’t you, Drake?” Walter Beddows said. “Caught that young lady all by yourself, did you?”

The men laughed. Drake flushed and felt anger rising. He threw down the hat. The laughter grew, and his face grew hotter.

Royal said, “You fellas clear out of here. Drake, you come with me—and you too. What’s your name?”

The girl picked up the hat. “Charlie.”

Royal stared at her. “That’s no name for a girl! What’s your real name?”

She twisted the hat around in her hands. She appeared as embarrassed by the laughter of the soldiers as Drake was. She almost whispered, “My real name is Charlene, but Pa always just called me Charlie.”

“Well, come on, Miss Charlene,” Royal said. He led Charlie off to the mess tent, where he sat her down. “Now, tell me where you’re from and what you’re doing here in Atlanta.”

“My name’s Charlene Satterfield. Me and Pa come here after we sold the farm, and Pa thought he’d go into business here. He always wanted to be a saddle maker. Then the Yankees come, and we couldn’t get out.” Her eyes filled with tears. Her voice faltered. “And then Pa got kilt.”

“Well, I’m real sorry about that, Miss Charlene. How old are you?”

“Almost eighteen.”

“You got any relatives or friends in Atlanta?”

“No, there was just me and Pa.”

Drake stood by, listening with chagrin.

Royal turned to him. “Did you really try to shoot her, Drake?” he asked caustically.

“I didn’t
know
it was a girl. She had a rifle in her hand, and she come up behind me …” Drake suspected his face was still red. He felt a surge of shame when he considered that he might have shot
a girl. “She didn’t have no business comin’ out of that alley behind me,” he said roughly.

“I didn’t even know you was there,” Charlie said. She was watching Drake, studying his countenance. “What’s
your
name, soldier?”

Drake glared at her. “Drake Bedford.”

The girl’s lips turned up. “My, ain’t that purty! Drake. I ain’t never known no boy named Drake.”

Royal watched this and then said, “Drake, I’ve got something to tell you. We’ve got to do something with this young lady.”

“Well,
I
don’t know what to do with her. I didn’t join the army to take care of stray girls!”

For a moment Royal hesitated, then said, “There’s something I haven’t told you yet. I got a letter from Lori.”

Instantly Drake turned his eyes toward Royal.

“She’s here in Atlanta.”

“What’s she doin’
here?”

“She’s got an aunt here. Her father’s sister, and she’s real old and needed help.” Taking a slip out of his inner pocket, Royal handed it over. “As you can see, she just wanted to let me know that she was here. And she says to tell you too.”

“Why didn’t she write to me?” Drake said sullenly.

“I guess she thought a sergeant would get a letter quicker than a private.”

Drake studied the letter. “I guess you’re planning to go callin’ on her.”

Royal probably had planned doing exactly that, but he shook his head. “I can’t leave camp. The lieutenant’s gone, and I can’t get away till he gets back.” He looked again at their prisoner. “I’ll tell you what. I think Miss Lori would be glad to look out for you until things settle down a bit here.”

“Who is this Miss Lori?” the girl asked with interest. Her eyes still had not left Drake’s face, but she listened as Royal explained.

“She’s a young lady from Tennessee. She’s come down, as you heard me say, to be with her elderly aunt. I expect you could stay with her. She says her aunt’s got a big house. I think they could probably find room until you decide on what to do.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

There was a plaintive quality to the girl’s voice. She seemed sturdy enough, but the loss of her father had no doubt shaken her. And now she stood there in her oversized, worn clothes, a pathetic figure.

Royal said, “Drake, Lori tells in this letter where her aunt’s house is, so you take Miss Charlene over there and ask Lori if she’ll keep her until she can decide what to do.”

Suspiciously Drake said, “Why are you lettin’
me
go see Lori?”

“Because I can’t leave here, like I told you!” Royal snapped. “Will that be all right with you, Miss Charlene?”

“I reckon so. You’ll be takin’ me, will you, Mr. Drake?”

“I guess I will. Come on, then.”

As they left camp, Drake had to endure some more teasing. “If you capture any more girls, bring some back for us!” Ira Pickens called out.

His face burning, Drake stomped off, conscious that the girl was staying close to his side. He did not look at her for a long time but simply walked straight forward.

“Do you know where we’re goin’, Mr. Drake?” she asked.

“The letter says that Miss Lori’s aunt lives right down the street from the city hall. That ought not be too hard to find.”

Silence ran on as the two made their way back into town and through the blasted streets of Atlanta. People were beginning to move about, and Charlie kept close.

Suddenly he thought of something, and he turned and looked down at her. “You got stuff? Where are your things?”

“Back in that alley. I slept there last night.”

“Then why didn’t you—what about your pa? Is he … is he buried?”

The girl’s eyes turned to him, and her lip trembled. She looked fragile despite her height. “Yep, the preacher at the Baptist church, he buried Pa. He said some good words over him too.”

“All right. We’ll have to go back to that alley and get your things.”

They found the alleyway. Charlie darted inside and came out with a bedroll and a large canvas bag, evidently stuffed full.

“Give me the bag,” Drake said with irritation and picked it up. “Let’s go find Lori and get you a place to stay.”

Lori Jenkins, a small girl with a wealth of auburn hair, brown eyes, and an oval face, looked surprised to see Drake at her door. “Why, Drake,” she said, “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Royal showed me your letter,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course, I’m all right. And you’re not hurt? Neither you nor Royal?”

“No, we’re both all right.”

She glanced at Drake’s companion and waited for an introduction.

“This here’s—Charlie. Well, her real name’s Charlene,” Drake mumbled. He chewed his lip. “She’s in quite a bind, Lori. She doesn’t have any place to stay, and her father got killed recently.”

Instantly Lori said, “Come in, Charlene.” She took the girl’s arm and drew her inside. “I’m so sorry about your father.”

Charlie pulled her hat off, and the thick, springy curls fell around her shoulders again. She raked a hand through them, trying to create some order, but it was hopeless. They framed her face in a halo as she studied the smaller girl with her large, dark eyes. “I don’t want to put you out,” she said.

“We’ve plenty of room here. My aunt is Mrs. Holcomb. She’s very old and needs care. Maybe you can help me take care of her.”

“I could do that. I can keep house a little bit—and maybe cook some.”

“Fine,” Lori said. “Now that’s settled. Both of you come into the kitchen and sit down. I’ve got some ham cooked, and we can all have lunch together.”

As they ate, Charlie kept her eyes fixed mostly on Drake. From time to time she would examine the pretty face of the girl who sat across from her, but she said little or nothing.

Finally Drake got up to return to camp. “Well, Charlie,” he said, “I’m glad I didn’t shoot you.”

“I’m proud you didn’t, Mr. Drake.”

“I’ll be seeing you later.” Drake turned to Lori then. “Don’t know how long we’ll be here. Can I come back and call on you?”

“Of course you can, Drake. That’s why I sent the note.”

“I reckon Royal will be wantin’ to come too.”

“He’s very welcome.”

Drake did not find that an attractive thought.

As soon as the door closed, Charlie turned to Lori. “He’s a fine-lookin’ fella, ain’t he, now?”

“Yes, Drake’s very nice-looking.”

“Is he married up with anybody?”

Lori smiled slightly and shook her head. “No, he’s not.”

“Is he spoken for?”

“I don’t think he is.”

Charlie leaned back in her chair, picked up a bit of ham, and chewed it thoughtfully. “He’s a big fella. I always did think big fellas were nice.”

“Did you now?”

“Yep, I sure did.”

Lori appraised the girl and the awkward clothes that scarcely fit anywhere. “What about yourself, Charlie? Have you been to school?”

“Pa taught me my letters. Mostly I been huntin’ and fishin’. I had two sisters. They’re both married up now, off in Louisiana.”

“You’ll want to go stay with them, I suppose?”

“No, don’t reckon I will.” Charlie picked up her glass of tea and sipped it with satisfaction. Then she murmured dreamily, “He sure is a fine-lookin’ fella, Mr. Drake. Ain’t he, now?”

C
ol. Nelson Majors looked up from where he sat in a padded chair and smiled. “My favorite nurse coming with my favorite breakfast.”

Eileen Fremont was a small woman with red hair and green eyes and was wearing a blue-and-white apron over a dark blue dress. She had undertaken the care of the colonel’s three-year-old daughter and then, when the colonel was wounded, had gotten him out of the military hospital, where care was sometimes terrible, to care for him at home. She had grown very fond of her patient. They planned to marry soon.

“I don’t know what your favorite breakfast is. Everything I bring, you gobble down like a bear.”

“You shouldn’t be such a good cook. Now, sit down and talk to me while I eat.”

“I have housework to do.”

“I’m your patient. I’m more important than any housework.” He reached out and took Eileen’s wrist as she set down the tray on the table next to him. “After all, I’m a sick man. You need to humor me a little bit.”

Eileen sat. She could not resist smiling back at the tall soldier. Nelson Majors was more than six feet, with very black hair and intense hazel eyes. He had a neat mustache and was close shaven.

“Now then, let’s see what we have here,” he said as he looked at the tray. “It looks like eggs, grits, biscuits, and sawmill gravy. Is that all I get?” he asked mischievously.

Eileen laughed aloud. “You’re going to be fat as a suckling pig if you keep on eating, Nelson.” She watched him pour coffee out of a china pot into a thick mug. “But I like to see a man enjoy his food. I’ve missed having someone to cook for.”

The colonel looked up quickly, swallowed a bite of biscuit soaked with gravy, and said, “It does get lonesome sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Eileen had lost her husband at Shiloh and shortly after that her two-year-old daughter. She smoothed her hair over the back of her head and nodded. “It’s good you have Tom and Jeff.”

“I won’t have them long. They’ll get married and be gone. That’s what young men do.”

“Fortunately you’ll still have Esther. She’s only three. She’s going to take a lot of raising.”

“And I’m an old man to be raising a little girl,” he said thoughtfully. He took a bite of grits. “These are good, Eileen. You’re a fine cook.”

“Anybody can cook breakfast. How can you mess up eggs and grits?” She leaned back in the chair and folded her hands. As Nelson continued to eat, she said, “Esther’s outside with Leah. I never saw a child who likes to dig in the dirt so much—except boys.”