Songs of the Shenandoah (17 page)

“Garret, hand me your father's bowl there from the table, will you dear?” She lifted the ladle resting against the hearth, then dunked it into the pottage and emptied it into the bowl her son held out to her. She filled it a bit too high and watched with concern as Garret carried it to his father with two nervous hands.

“Oh, Andrew, isn't this just marvelous?” Clare motioned to Garret to get her the rest of the bowls from the table.

Andrew brought his nose close to the pottage and closed his eyes. “Yes, this smells delightful.”

“No. Not the stew. I mean that, you know, with Muriel and Caitlin leaving to serve the soldiers and Cassie so busy these days. I know it's made it difficult for us, with me having to write from home as much as possible. But it's been splendid for me to spend more time with these little ones. And for us to create sweet memories. It's just, I believe it's better we don't have a nanny. It's a blessing from God. That's what it is.”

He laughed. “Well I should have gone broke a long time ago then.”

“Please, Andrew. Don't talk about such in front of the children.”

“I already know we're broke,” Garret said. “That's why Ma had me ask Mr. Catton for some wood today. I brought it myself. Do you like the fire, Da?”

“I do. Very much, son.” The defeat returned to Andrew's voice. “Let me pray over our meal. Father, we thank You for this day. Your ways are a mystery to us, but we trust You, and love You. Thank You for the many blessing You provide for my family, despite my . . . many inadequacies. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ella and Garret echoed.

Clare filled the other three bowls and handed one to each of her children and then sat next to her husband, who remained silent as he slurped his food.

Finally he spoke, his voice trailing. “And the stove?”

Her heart ached. Clare was hoping to make it through the night without explaining. She wanted his birthday to be the one day when Andrew wouldn't have to worry so much. She glanced up to see that her son and daughter were busying themselves with their meal.

She whispered, “Mr. Barnes said he wouldn't extend any more credit. It won't heat without coal, as you know.”

“What's next?” His eyes watered. “For my children to march through the snow following the coal carts, hoping for something to fall?”

“If that's what we must do, we will. You are doing fine work, Andrew Royce, and we are behind you.”

“Here I am trying to save the world when I can't even feed my own family.” He sighed and shook his head. But then he smiled sweetly. “I love you, Clare. More than you'll ever know.”

And that was it. He was finished being outwardly despondent about the coal bill. Andrew returned to playful conversation with the children.

After they finished their supper, Andrew threw some chestnuts in the coals of the fire. It took about five minutes, but they finally exploded, which were met with yelps, screams, and then laughter.

Then Clare shared stories of growing up in Ireland, and Ella asked to hear more about the grandmother she was named after.

The children fell asleep, leaving Clare to be cradled in her husband's arms as he ran his fingers through her hair. It had been a long time since she felt this content.

Chapter 19

The Fields

Taylorsville, Virginia

March 1862

Ashlyn pressed the spade into the soil, and she lunged poorly and in turn felt the pain driving through her spine and up through her hands. She let out a deep moan.

“What is it, Ma?” Grace had a hoe in her hand and eyed Ashlyn with concern.

“Oh, still trying get accustomed to the spring work.” Ashlyn rubbed her wrist and noticed a blister on her thumb had breached and was oozing.

“Or the winter work, or summer or fall.” Grace wiped the sweat off of her forehead.

Ashlyn observed her daughter. At fifteen, she was sprouting into a beautiful young lady. She had noticed a big change in the girl since Seamus had preached that Sunday. And even more so when he left to join General Jackson's army. “You are a hard worker, Grace. I don't know how we would ever make it without your help around here. And I was so fearful you would hate living out here.”

The girl shrugged. “I suppose we've all got to do our part.”

“How are you doing?”

Grace shrugged and dug her hoe into the soil.

“With your father being gone.”

“I try not to think of it too much. He did say it wasn't dangerous being a chaplain in the war.”

“If your father said it, then it's true.” Ashlyn tried to sound confident but she worried about him as well. How could anything be safe about being in a war? She tried to talk Seamus out of his decision, but he was right. They had few choices. If he hadn't enlisted as a chaplain, then he would have lost the opportunity to serve on his own terms. He didn't buy into the Southern ways, and how could she blame him? It was a difficult subject for her as well, and she had grown up around slavery all of her life. Yet she did love the land and she cared for her people, even if they did have it all wrong.

And with Union troops pressing down in the valley, even Seamus had changed his attitudes about the Confederacy. This war had become so much more complicated than merely the cause.

Most of all, she supported Seamus in his decision because he was convinced he was being called by God. It had been so long since he spoke in those terms, it was like having her husband returned to her. The man she so loved. Ashlyn was so encouraged to see the spark again in his spiritual fervor. She was willing to embrace any journey of his that would bring him closer to having those flames burn brightly again. At least, this was the belief she was using to try to comfort herself and bring peace to the worries that caused sleepless nights.

Seamus had blamed himself for abandoning their ministry of
La Cuna
in San Francisco, but as she told him many times, she was ready to move on as well. They had help and resources and the orphanage probably was ready for fresh, new leadership.

Ashlyn's passion for the Shenandoah Valley and its imperfect people had never faded, and something inside her was uncomfortable with how she had left Taylorsville to avoid shame. Being back home again brought closure and healing for her. Now she prayed it would come to her husband too.

She knew it was unchristian for her to feel this way, but she couldn't see herself forgiving Davin for the hurt he caused Seamus. Although they were living without much financial margin in their lives, she was grateful they had weaned themselves from being dependent on Davin's support. In fact, they were far along in saving enough money to be able to pay him back for all they borrowed.

Ashlyn looked over to Tatum and Mavis who were off in the distance working on the farm. Where would they have been without those two? They had become more than friends. They were part of the Hanley family.

She surveyed the field. There was so much work to be done. Although Seamus didn't give himself much credit for being a farmer, his strong back and work ethic were greatly missed. Would they yield a proper harvest this year without him? They had no choice. They must. Just as many other women in the valley, she and Grace would need to labor harder.

Glancing toward the gateway leading onto their property, she saw dust rising from the road. Ashlyn squinted and saw a familiar cart heading their way. “Oh, dear, what now?”

“What is it?” Graced looked up from her work.

“It's that horrible man.”

“Mr. Fletcher?”

“What could he want now? As if he isn't already squeezing as much out of us as we can bear.”

“You're talking about Anders's father, Ma.”

Ashlyn scowled at her daughter. “I would rather you run off with a pirate with a termite-riddled wooden leg than have anything to do with that family.”

“Anders is so sweet and kind. He's not like them. Besides, Mr. Fletcher has been so much nicer since Da left.”

This was something Ashlyn couldn't argue. Since his son had been conscripted, Fletch had been somewhat of a different man. Still, she didn't believe someone like him would be able to change enough to make him palatable to civilized society. Fletch had been Fletch since she was a little girl. Seeing him as anything else but a greedy, thieving bootlegger would take more faith than she had.

In a few minutes, Fletch was retracting the reins of the horse pulling his overloaded cart, and he came to a stop and climbed out of the wagon.

Ashlyn stabbed her shovel into the dirt, brushed her hands free of soil, and sauntered over to her visitor. “What brings you here today?”

He lifted his hat and then went to the back of the wagon and flapped down the rear tailgate. He tossed back the burlap cover revealing a rich bounty of cans, jars, and bulging sacks. “Let us see.” He lifted out an empty fruit crate and began to fill it up with items he seemed to be carefully selecting.

“Mr. Fletcher, we haven't placed any orders.” Ashlyn glanced over his shoulder. “Oh my, are those peaches?”

He grinned at her with yellowed teeth. “Peaches, pears, apricots, nectarines. Flour, barley. Got some shine in there . . . and some of the finest hard cider you've ever tasted.” Fletch cupped his mouth with his big hand. “I won't tell the old man if you don't.” His laugh was crusty but genuine.

Grace had made her way over and was craning her neck over the wooden sides of the wagon. “Is that—?”

“You bet it is, young lady. Peppermint. Licorice. Lemon drops. Let me know your preference.”

She looked up to Ashlyn. “May I?”

Ashlyn sighed. “Mr. Fletcher. You know as well as anyone that we can't afford such frivolities.”

He lifted up a jar of beets. “Look at this frivolity. These are pretties here.”

“If . . . if we were to make a purchase, it would most certainly be that sack of flour.”

Fletch held up a bag. “Not this? From the Caribbean.” He unfastened the tie at the top of the sack and opened it for both Ashlyn and Grace to see.

“Is that . . . ?” Grace's mouth was agape.

“Only one right way to determine that.” He held it out to Grace.

She reached in with her thumb and forefinger, pulled out a pinch of the brown crystals, then put it to her mouth and let out a squeal. “Sugar!”

“Where did you get all of this?” He hadn't folded back the cover entirely, but what was visible seemed to be an entire store of goods.

He squinted his one good eye and got close enough to her that Ashlyn could smell his foul breath. “There are two questions ne'er to be asked. One is a lady's age. And the other is where ol' Fletch gets his fineries.”

“Well . . . I already told you. We have no means to purchase any of this, except for some necessities.” Ashlyn gave Grace a purposeful glare and the girl reluctantly stepped back from the cart.

“Oh, you have the means, all righty.” He cackled.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Ashlyn couldn't trust the old man.

“Your husband. Seamus. We made arrangements.”

“What kind of arrangements?”

“He's keeping a good eye on my boy, and I'm keeping . . . well . . . the only good eye I have on you-all.”

“Have you heard from Anders?” Grace clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

“Not much of a writer, that boy. Nah, just as long as I don't have no Confederate officer coming to our front door with bad reports, I'll consider myself good and lucky.” He pointed a finger at Ashlyn. “Now, I'm a countin' on your husband good and proper. He promised me well. And Coralee too. In fact, she's the one said I needs come by and fatten you up, so as not to be short on our deal. We ain't want nothing missing on our side of the ledger.” He lifted a jar of peaches and held it up to Ashlyn. “These here, from Georgia. Imagine you'd love a taste of these. Now girl, I best be going on my way soon, so time to take what you wants.”

Grace shook her clasped hands and mouthed the word please to her mother.

“Well, all right I suppose. Wouldn't want to get in the way of any . . . arrangements you made with Seamus.”

Fletch shook a fist. “Now, that's it. So let's fill this crate up nice and good and grab that sack of flour and a bag of sugar, and I'll be expectin' a slice of peach cobbler when I make my deliveries here next week.”

“That, Mr. Fletcher, is a fair arrangement indeed.”

They filled the wooden crate with all kinds of Southern delicacies, and it took two trips for her and Grace to tote it along with the other items. When she returned outside the second time around, Ashlyn was disappointed to see Fletch was already nearly out of sight down the road. She didn't have the chance to properly thank him.

Grace went to return to her tilling duties. She really had become such a hard worker.

“You put that hoe down, young lady. We are going to surprise Tatum and Mavis with something fresh baked this evening.”