Kary, Elizabeth (58 page)

Leigh
thanked the woman for her help and set off up the street deep in thought.
Though Hayes had learned that Charles was not his son, he had clearly felt an
obligation to insure his welfare. Now with the boy's mother dead and Hayes not
here to see to the child, the responsibility for his safety seemed to fall to
Leigh. It was not an undertaking she welcomed, but it was an undertaking she
was willing to accept.

Leigh
spent the rest of the day making inquiries about Charles Bennett, and by noon
the next day she had succeeded in locating him. His mother's mammy had taken
him to the Sisters of Charity's hospital, where the two of them were sleeping
on makeshift beds in one corner of the yard.

Charles
Bennett, a shy child with huge black eyes, ran to the old black woman when
Leigh approached. That he was clearly terrified by the turmoil in the city and
the horrible way his mother had died was painfully obvious.

"I'm
Leigh Banister," she told the older woman as she came nearer. "I've
come to give you and the child what help I can."

The
child's mammy eyed Leigh suspiciously at first and then, reading no malice in
her face, spoke softly. "Do you know Mr. Hayes Banister, who came here in
the spring?"

"I'm
his wife," she confirmed.

The
old black woman nodded. "His wife and not his widow. Well, I am pleased to
hear that."

Leigh
volunteered no information about Hayes or the incident months before, and Old
Mammy kept silent, too. It was as if both women sensed there was nothing to be
gained by bringing up the past.

"I
went to the Bennett house yesterday," Leigh continued, "and when I
heard about the fire, I knew that, for my husband's sake, I had to be sure the
boy was safe."

"We've
got no money and no home, but we're safe as can be here." There was a
proud tilt to the old woman's chin, and Leigh knew she would let no harm befall
the boy.

"Yes,
I can see that," she agreed, "but what's to become of you? You can't
live out in the open, not once winter comes." She glanced at the sea of
refugees around her, knowing that they too would be needing accommodations.
"Does the boy have family in the city? Is there someone who will take you
in?"

The
Negress shook her head. "There's only Miss Monica's family down in
Georgia."

"In
Georgia," Leigh repeated. "There's a whole war between you and
them."

"Yes
ma'am."

"But
that's where you'd want to go if I could make arrangements?" Leigh offered
dubiously.

The
woman's dark eyes widened. "Could you do that, Mrs. Banister?"

"I
suppose I could try," she agreed, wondering just how she would go about
seeing to the welfare of Monica Bennett's child.

It
was almost a week later when Leigh finally put Charles and his mammy on the
train. Even as she gave the black woman the tickets and passes she had managed
to secure, Leigh was not certain they would reach their destination. She was
trusting in the fates to see the old woman and this frightened child safely
through the lines, and Leigh was more than a little apprehensive as she stood
on the station platform.

Through
the open window, Leigh pressed a twenty-dollar gold piece into Old Mammy's hand
and admonished her again to take good care of Charles. For his part, the boy
only watched Leigh as he had every time she had come to see them. The huge,
black eyes in his pinched face roved over her once more as the train began to
roll. Leigh skipped along the platform waving, and Old Mammy waved back. Then
slowly Charles Bennett raised one hand. It was the only acknowledgement of any
kind he had given Leigh, and the faint, friendly gesture brought the sting of
tears to her eyes.

When
the train was out of sight, Leigh ambled back to the house she and Delia had
been assigned after the surrender. She was glad of the effort she had made on
her husband's behalf to see to Charles Bennett's welfare. There was no doubt
that Hayes would approve of her actions, and she felt more at ease within her
marriage than she had since learning from Nathan Travis why Hayes had gone to
Vicksburg.

For
the first time she was truly glad to be carrying Hayes's child, a child that
would bind them forever as
one. It heightened her appreciation of life in all
its forms: in the child she had sent on his way to his grandparents, in the men
she had fought so hard to save. It gave her hope for a future with the man she
loved, a future that until that moment had seemed dark and uncertain.

***

August 15, 1863—Tullahoma, Tennessee

Dearest
Leigh,

Those
of us with General Rosecrans are preparing to move at last. Since the Army of
the Cumberland has had the center of the Confederacy in its sights for some
time, I don't think it will be breaching military security if I tell you that
we are headed for the Tennessee River and Chattanooga beyond. With the opening
of the Mississippi and the tightening blockade of Southern ports, the only area
yet to be penetrated by Union forces is the very heart of the South.
Chattanooga is the gateway to that region: a region rich in resources where
most of the Rebel foundries and munition plants are located. Surely this will
be one of the most significant campaigns of the war, and I consider myself
fortunate to be with the Army for this crucial stage of maneuvers.

Hayes
raised his pen from the page and sighed. The words he had written to Leigh
seemed so impersonal and cool, not at all the sentiments a man should write to
his wife on the eve of a campaign. He should pledge his love and express the
feelings in his heart. But he could not bring himself to pen the words—not when
so much lay unresolved between them, not when Leigh had refused to answer even
one of his letters. For what must have been the hundredth time he wondered at
her silence and cursed the way they had parted in St. Louis nearly two months
before.

The
minute he opened his eyes that warm June morning, he had known Leigh was gone.
Hayes had dragged himself
out of bed and across to the window, sure even before he pulled back the
curtains that it was already too late to bid his wife good-bye. And, he had
realized angrily as he stood staring out across the sunlit garden, this was the
way Leigh wanted it: to leave without a word, without tears or explanations.

The
night they had spent together had been spontaneous, filled with emotions
neither one of them could deny. Leigh had given and taken pleasure freely, and
they had both unabashedly murmured words of love. But this morning, Leigh had
retreated. She had left without making another attempt at resolving their differences,
without telling him one last time that she loved him.

Absently
Hayes had begun to dress, pulling on his shirt and trousers with careless
haste. But in the pocket of his jacket he found a carefully folded note wrapped
in a gauzy square of lace. With clumsy fingers he had opened the paper.

Dearest
Hayes,

Please
forgive me for my cowardice in not awakening you this morning. I wanted to
remember our good-bye as it was said last night—with kisses and caresses, not
with words. There are too many difficulties between us to try to resolve them
in the few minutes we have left. We both need to think about what has happened,
and perhaps it is just as well that for a time we will be apart.

I
love you, Hayes. More than anything, I want to spend my life at your side, but
now there are other responsibilities calling us both, priorities far more
important than our own happiness. Please be careful for my sake, and I will be
careful, too. I yearn for the day when we can once more be together as man and
wife. You are forever on my mind and in my heart.

Your
wife,

Leigh

The
words in a note or even in a good-bye could only say so much, and as Hayes read
the message a second time, he felt a sting of disappointment. Yet what more was
there for Leigh to say? She had told him that she loved him and promised him a
future together. What more did he want from her?

The
war, he realized, would have taken them apart even if everything between them
was as it should be. They both had duties and responsibilities to discharge,
and Leigh said she still cared. There was no doubt in his mind of her
sincerity; no woman could counterfeit the feelings he had seen in her face as
they had made love. Until they could be together, that memory, that unspoken
pledge, would have to sustain him.

Absently
he had looked down at the scrap of cloth Leigh had used to wrap the missive.
The gift of a handkerchief had medieval associations: a favor from a lady to
her champion, a promise of affection granted. Somehow the romantic gesture
pleased him. He had always been struck by the incongruity between the frilly
wisps of lace Leigh carried and the tailored clothes she wore, between the
feminine bits of frippery in contrast to the strong, sensible woman he had
taken for his wife. This was a fine example of her secret frivolity, a square
of delicate linen with a deep fluff of Belgian lace along the edges. Even
Leigh's special, spicy scent clung to the cloth. With a smile upon his lips he
had tucked the square of cloth into his pocket.

Now
as he sat at the edge of the campfire in the rolling hills of Tennessee, Hayes
withdrew the handkerchief from the breast of his tunic and pressed it to his
cheek. For weeks he had been waiting for some written word from Leigh: an
answer to any of the letters he'd written, a few scrawled lines to let him know
she missed him. He wanted and needed more from his wife than a promise secured
by a frilly scrap of cloth. Yet the letter he had anticipated had not come, and
he did not know what to think of Leigh's lengthening silence.

He
glanced down at the page before him and tried to think of what more he had to
say. Once they crossed the Tennessee River and turned toward Chattanooga,
nearly thirty miles away, they might well be under fire. Deep inside he felt a
stir of fear. Could he tell Leigh how he felt? Would she understand his
uneasiness without believing him a coward?

With
deliberation he penned the lines, framing sentences that expressed his concerns
and uncertainties. He wrote of the country they had seen and the rugged hills
that lay before them. He told her about the other men who attended Rosecrans's
army as engineers and the friends he had made. This letter bore a certain
similarity to the others he had written, and he ended it as he had ended the
others, with a pledge of love.

Eloquently
he spoke of his deepest feelings, hoping that the words would stir in Leigh the
need for a like communication. Silently he sealed the letter and addressed it
to the Western Sanitary Commission's offices in St. Louis. Were the nurses
still at Vicksburg with Grant's army, he wondered, or had they moved on after
the city fell? Had Leigh returned to St. Louis, or was she as far from home as
he?

Wherever
she was, whatever she was doing, he needed to hear a few words from her. It was
one thing for a man to go into battle knowing that his wife and family were
behind him. But Hayes had no assurance of Leigh's feelings, and it was a lonely
man who posted the letter with the company clerk and went into the muggy
Tennessee darkness to seek the comfort of repose.

September 23, 1863—Vicksburg,
Mississippi

Leigh
stood alone on the crest of Fort Hill, looking out across the earthworks and
rifle pits to the city on the bluffs. Vicksburg was a town that had given its
lifeblood to the war, losing its identity to a holocaust of shot and shell,
sacrificing its culture in the face of the overwhelming Union victory. She had
seen first-hand the destruction of Southern life that her mother had
prophesied, and Leigh mourned with the people of the Confederacy for all that
was being lost. Through the long, hot summer days, her emotions had become
inextricably bound to the fate of the captured city, and now as she prepared to
return to St. Louis, she had come seeking the solitude of this hilltop as a
place to say good-bye.

As
her eyes moved over the familiar scene, her melancholy grew. She saw the
narrow, rutted road that ran into town, the barren, broken trees that had been
shattered by the fierceness of the battle. Behind her lay Vicksburg's ruined
hills, land that lay parched and exposed beneath the fiery setting sun.

How
much had been destroyed in the name of slavery and union? she wondered. How
much grief had been caused by the conflict of men's beliefs? Lives had been
spent, resources depleted, a way of life damaged beyond repair. The price war
extracted from both its victims and its victors seemed far too high for
rational men to pay. Surely anyone who viewed the scene before her could see
the futility of this conflict.

Yet,
miraculously, life went on. Already some of the trenches were beginning to
disappear beneath a growth of vegetation as nature fought to reclaim its own,
while back in town, enterprising men had begun to repair the damaged buildings.
But Leigh knew the terrible division between North and South would not heal as
quickly or completely as the land itself or be forgotten with the construction
of a few new stores and warehouses. The rift between the factions in the nation
ran deep, and it might well be decades before Americans would again call each other
brother. For herself, Leigh had seen enough of war and was glad to be going
home.