Spring Will Come (63 page)

Carrie arranged a piece of greenery on the mantle
and tried to push the plantation from her mind.  How she missed it!  Especially now that Christmas was here.  Visions of their elaborate celebrations rose up to taunt her.  She sighed and pushed another sprig of magnolia into the arrangement. 

             
“That’s an awfully heavy sigh,” Thomas commented, dropping his paper low enough to stare over it.  “Very pretty,” he commented, his eyes sweeping the mantle.

             
Still holding the rest of the greenery she had gathered from the yard, Carrie dropped into a chair.  “Is it bad to wish for Christmases past?  I know I have to live in the present but...”

             
“Bad to miss happy, peaceful times when our family was all together and our world was not being destroyed?  I hardly think that’s bad.  I would be more inclined to doubt your sanity if you
didn’t
long for them.”  Thomas put down his paper.  “I appreciate all you’re doing to make it special.”

             
Tears blurred her eyes.  “I have to do something...”  She couldn’t say any more.  It had been almost three months since the battle of Antietam.  There had been no word from Robert.  The hospitals that had responded to her letters had stated there was no record of him ever having been there.  Hope died in her daily.  If he was alive, surely she would have heard by now.  Both North and South did a good job of keeping a list of prisoners of war.  Robert’s name wasn’t showing up anywhere.  It was as if he had simply disappeared.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

             
Thomas stood and walked to the fireplace to embrace her.  “You can’t give up hope, Carrie.  We still don’t know for sure.”

             
Carrie nodded then turned away to stare into the fire as she took deep breaths to regain control.  Her father was right.  Giving into her fears would do no one any good.  She squelched the sudden urge to fling the greenery into the flames.  If she were out on the plantation, she could jump on Granite and go tearing off across the fields.  That always helped. 
Granite
... another huge lump formed in her throat.  She had lost her beloved horse as well.  Suddenly the allure of the plantation dimmed.  There was too little to go back to - too many memories it would be better not to dredge up. 

             
“Have you heard any more about President Davis’ trip?”  Carrie asked.  It would do no good to dwell in the past; she might as well think about the present.  President Davis had left Richmond several days earlier bound for Tennessee.

             
Thomas frowned.  “It was very hard for the president to leave.”  He shook his head.  “But he knows that no matter what happens here in Virginia, the Confederacy is probably doomed unless the tide in the West can be reversed.  I can assure you that is the only reason he would leave during the current situation around Fredericksburg.”

             
“Is it really that bad?”  Carrie asked, more to keep the conversation flowing so she didn’t have to think than because she was really interested.

             
“I’m afraid so.  There are thirty thousand Federals marching down through Mississippi, headed for Vicksburg.  The Union’s General Grant is leading them.  He is known for his aggressiveness.  If Vicksburg falls, I’m afraid it’s all over.  All our western states will be broken off if the Mississippi Valley is held by the Federals.  If that happens, there will be no good way to save what is left of Tennessee or any of the Gulf States, for that matter.  If we lose them, the rest of the country can hardly hope to survive.”

             
The morose sound in her father’s voice caused Carrie to forget about herself.  She looked at him closely while he continued. 

             
“President Davis has gone out to try to renew the patriotism in those states.  I’m afraid that area of the country has come under so much attack the citizens are tiring of the war.  There needs to be a huge surge of men into the army, but very few are coming forward.”

             
Carrie bit her tongue to keep from saying she could hardly blame them. 

             
“The Southern generals are squabbling among themselves about how to best take care of the situation.  They know more men need to be sent to Mississippi, but none of them want to send theirs.  According to each general, if they were to lose any of their men, the positions they presently hold would fall into jeopardy.”

             
“Would they?”

             
Thomas shrugged and sighed.  “It could be Davis’ plan to strengthen Vicksburg, while not losing our grip on the other areas, is simply not possible.  I’m afraid there is not enough manpower in the country to pull it off.”  His voice sounded even more defeated.  “I’m afraid too many people are losing heart.”

             
“Do you blame them?”  Carrie couldn’t keep from asking.

             
Thomas raised his head and looked at her.  “They will lose heart even more if they lose all they hold dear.  There are simply times when it is necessary to make great sacrifices if you are to achieve something great.”  His voice was bitter now.  “I’m afraid there are too few people willing to pay the price for what they want.”

             
Carrie picked her next words carefully.  “Maybe some of them never wanted it in the first place.  Could it not be that many men went into battle not fully understanding what it was all about - that the reality of it is more than they can handle?”

             
Thomas nodded heavily.  “I know what you’re saying, Carrie.  I know you disagree with the war.  But it’s simply too late to go back and pretend it never happened - to try to work with the North to preserve our way of life.  If we lose this war, our way of life is gone forever.  Lincoln made that clear when he signed the Emancipation Proclamation.”  There was no anger in his voice, just a stark resignation.  “We simply can’t lose.”

             
Carrie turned back to the fireplace and began to place greenery again.  There was simply no good answer.  All any of them could do was wait and see what happened.

             
Matthew woke with a start.  Sometime during the long night, he had drifted off to sleep.    A distant call had roused him awake.  A quick look told him his colleagues were still asleep.    He realized as soon as he stuck his head out of the tent that the fighting would not start early.  The area was once more shrouded with thick fog.  Within a few minutes, however, the whole camp began to stir.  They would be ready as soon as the fog lifted. 

             
Matthew put on his heavy coat and moved to the fire to make some coffee and cook his ration of bacon.  Fog swirled around him, its dampness penetrating his heavy clothing with its chill.  He had spent so many days studying the area he knew it like the back of his hand.  Behind him the Rappahannock River flowed nearly north to south.  West of the town there was a low ridge known as Marye’s Height.  Most of Lee’s army was perched there.  At the base of the ridge was a sunken road flanked by a stone wall.  On the crest was a fine pillared mansion surrounded by lawns and open areas, abandoned by the unlucky family that had found themselves sandwiched between the two armies.  The ridge ended in a shallow stream known as Hazel Run.  South of the stream was a chain of little wooded hills that stretched about three miles.

             
None of the elevated ground was really very high, but Lee’s army occupied all of it.  For purely defensive purposes, the position was extremely strong.  Matthew was somehow certain Lee was not planning an offensive.  He could not possibly have enough men after Antietam.  Reinforcements had poured into McClellan’s army after the vicious Maryland battle had decimated his ranks.  Lee could not have had the same advantage.  Would the Federals just walk into Lee’s snare?  A burning in Matthew’s gut told him the day was not going to go well.

             
At ten o’clock the thick fog lifted, floating away on the breeze as if it had no appetite for what was to come.  Burnside’s artillery began to roar.  There was silence from the Confederate heights.  They were choosing to wait. 

             
Burnside ordered his first assault at eleven-thirty.  Matthew watched, sick at heart as the first wave of bluecoats surged up the hill.  From his vantage point, he could hear the screams of men as they fell, mowed down by strong Confederate fire.  The Federals continued to advance, leaping over the fallen men in front of them, their yells filling the air.   Finally they were beaten back. 

             
Another wave of blue flowed up the hill in a relentless assault.  Equally relentless Confederate firepower drove them back again and again.  Matthew stared in disbelief as the pile of dead continued to grow.  He wasn’t sure how the Federals could continue to advance with so many lifeless bodies blocking their way.  About three-thirty there was a lull.  Matthew held his breath, hoping it was over - hoping Burnside would realize the futility of sending any more of his men to certain death. 

             
He heard a distant yell and once again the Federals shot forward.  Matthew groaned as nausea rose in his throat.  This was not a battle.  This was slaughter of the worst kind.

             
There was another lull at sunset.  Surely it would be over now.  Matthew stared in disbelief as yet another assault was ordered.  The carnage finally ended around six o’clock, darkness cloaking the awful reality. 

Matthew welcomed the numbness in his heart and mind as he moved out onto the battlefield.  He had been at Antietam - nothing could possibly be worse than that.  There was a stark difference on this battlefield.  At Antietam the dead had been a mingling of blue and gray.  Tonight there was nothing but blue - as far as the eye could see.  If there were Confederate dead and wounded, they were on the hills.  On the open plains
, there was nothing but dead Federal soldiers. 

             
Matthew stared up into the starry sky, wondering how they could dare shine on a night such as this.  It better suited his mood to stare down into the white mist shrouding the river valley.  The demolished town was swallowed in the fog.   He felt as if he was groping along the shore of some nightmarish lake – a chillingly silent, nightmarish lake.  Suddenly Matthew realized the night was not silent.  As the rescue workers and correspondents emerged from the fog, they could hear the cries of the wounded.  The noise rose on the still air, echoing all around them, wrapping them in the eerie sound.  For a moment the echo died away then was pierced by an agonizing scream quavering across the darkness, only to rise again as thousands of men joined in a desperate chorus.