Spring Will Come (69 page)

             
Suddenly he felt a presence move into his grief.  A presence that picked up his shredded heart and handed it back to him gently.  Even in the midst of his grief, Robert wondered if he was losing his mind.  He could see the presence in his mind, just as clearly as he had seen the little boy he had killed, yet the presence had no real form.  It was simply there.  Robert could feel great power as well as an embracing love reaching out to him.  Wonderingly, Robert reached for his heart.  As the presence held it, Robert watched in awe as his shredded heart was miraculously transformed into a whole, healthy one.   

             
Robert had no idea how long he had been sobbing before he began to gain control.  Finally he gave a final gulp and was quiet.  He dreaded looking into Polly’s eyes.  He knew he would see justified condemnation. 

             
“Feel better?”  Polly asked quietly.

             
Robert raised his head slowly, not able to believe what his ears were hearing.  His eyes met hers.  There was nothing but loving acceptance in her eyes.  “You don’t hate me?” he whispered disbelievingly.

             
“I told you once I done all the hating I ever intend to do.  I figure all the hating I done when I’s young be enough for a lifetime.  I sure ‘nuff hate what you did to that little boy, but I don’t hate you.  I sure ‘nuff hate what I almost done to that little baby I’s take care of, but God didn’t hate me.  I’s don’t reckon I can hate you.  You didn’t do nothing I didn’t want to do myself.”

             
“I didn’t know,” Robert whispered.  “I didn’t understand...”  Finally he gained enough courage to look up at Gabe.  “I’m sorry,” he said weakly.  “I know that doesn’t change what I’ve done...”  Robert sighed heavily.  “I know you want me out of here.  If you call the army, they’ll come get me.” 

             
Amber didn’t wait for her father to respond.  Walking over to Robert’s bed with a very serious look, she stopped and stared into his face for a long minute.                              Robert gazed back with no idea of what to say to the little girl.  “Amber...”

             
“Hush, Robert,” she said sweetly.  “You done been crying too much to have to talk.”  Pushing aside his hand, she climbed into the bed next to him and looked up at him.  “I love you.  I don’t care what you done.  Anyway, I don’t think you like that anymore.  My mama say she changed.  I reckon you have too.”  Once she had made her announcement, she turned to stare at her father defiantly. 

             
Gabe stayed where he was by the fire, his face hard and angry.  Nothing was said while the log he had just thrown onto the fire crackled and sputtered.  As if the fire were melting it, the hardness on his face began to soften.  After a long while, Gabe shook his head and settled back in his chair.  “I don’t reckon we need the army.”

             
“I don’t expect you to keep me here,” Robert protested.  “Not after what I’ve done.”

             
Gabe just held up his hand.  “There been enough hatin’.  I hate what you did to that little boy, but I also knows if I’d ever had half a chance, I would’ve killed the man who owned me ‘fore I run away.  I planned it in my mind a hundred times.  No, I reckon the hatin’ gots to stop sometime.”  He paused for a long while.  “Maybe this Emancipation Proclamation will help folks.  Maybe it’ll make people stop to think long enough to realize folks be just folks - no matter what color they is.  Maybe that’ll stop some of the hatin’.”

             
Robert exchanged a long look with Gabe, and for the first time understanding flowed between them. 

             
Polly nodded.  “Slavery done rip humanity away from people.  But it didn’t just take it away from black folks - it done took it away from whites, too.  I reckon you gots to give up some of your own humanity when you take someone else’s.  I figure that the only way you can live with yourself.”

             
Across the room Robert heard Clint give a disgusted snort.  When he looked over toward the corner, Clint’s glowering eyes locked with his.  Robert understood.  Clint was too young to sort through all the passions of his heart.  Of course, age didn’t really have anything to do with it. He had seen enough proof of that. He couldn’t fight Clint’s battles for him.  Clint would have to fight them on his own. 

             
Robert was exhausted, but he had never felt more peaceful.  It was as if a spreading gangrenous sore had been ripped from him.  His heart was raw, but it had never felt more whole.  He reached out to take Polly’s hand.  “Thank you,” he said softly. 

             
Polly looked satisfied.  “Folks gots to stick together, Robert.  Black and white.  That the only way any of us going to make it.  God might never have wanted blacks to be hauled to this country as slaves.  But now that we here I know for certain he wants the hatin’ to stop.  It be our job to make sure it happens - at least in our own hearts.  I reckon our own hearts the only ones we can really answer for.”

             
Gabe threw another log onto the fire.  The snow clinging to it hissed and sputtered until the licking flames melted it away into oblivion.  “I reckon it be a lot like that junk I found the other day.”

             
“What you talking about Daddy?”  Amber asked from the protective curve of Robert’s arm.

             
“I found a pile of somebody’s garbage down in one of the valleys not too long ago.  Looks like somebody just drove a wagon down and pitched a bunch of stuff.”  He paused.  “I remember looking at that garbage then lookin’ round at all the beauty surrounding it.  It just sure didn’t fit with all that white snow heapin’ up and layin’ so nice on the branches.”  He smiled sheepishly.  “Might seem crazy but I kinda figured that what folks be like.  Everybody’s gots some beauty in them - everybody’s gots some garbage.  I reckon folks all gots some stuff in them they’d rather just throw in the trash pile and pretend it ain’t there.  Lots of people hides it real good, but I figure it’s there just the same.  Shouldn’t come as no surprise.  Seems that folks who try to hide it the most end up judging the most.  Guess they figure if they judge other people’s garbage it makes they own not quite so dirty.”  He shook his head.  “I know I’s done it.”  He paused again then spoke wistfully.  “If people could accept that we all gots trash, it sure would be a lot easier to accept each other.  We gots a awful lot in common - no matter what color we be.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Putting finishing touches on the preparations for dinner, Carrie moved gracefully around the dining room.  It seemed somehow too good to be true that all of her father’s male boarders had gone home for a few days or left town on government business.  She was happy to have them in the house, but it was wonderful to have a few days with just Janie and her father.

             
“What time are Pastor Anthony and Dr. Wild supposed to arrive?”  Janie asked, looking up from setting the table.  “Matron Pember said she would be here around seven o’clock.  Thankfully, things aren’t quite as busy at the hospital.”

             
“They said they would arrive as close to seven as possible,” Carrie answered.  She stepped back to survey the room then frowned.  “It seems so odd to be hosting a dinner party when people all over Richmond are cold and hungry.”

             
“I would hardly say three people constitute a dinner party,” Janie responded.  “It’s not as if we’re being elaborate.  Soup, sweet potatoes, and biscuits are definitely not a feast.”

             
Carrie nodded.  “You’re right.”  She knew she should just enjoy the evening ahead, but she had seen so much suffering.  The anticipated cold winter had indeed roared in as a brutal monster.  There had already been several snow storms.  The accumulation wasn’t substantial, but the accompanying frigid temperatures had made the shortage of wood and coal even more critical.  Combined with the scarcity of food, the situation in the city had become increasingly bleak.  Carrie shivered and moved closer to the fire as another Nordic blast rattled the windows.  “I wonder where Father is?  He said he would be home before now.”

             
“Probably just taking care of some extra business at the Capitol,” Janie said soothingly.

             
“Don’t you get tired of constantly relieving my worries?”  Carrie laughed. 

             
“I don’t think of you as a worrier,” Janie protested.  “You’re one of the most optimistic people I know.  Your problem - which I hardly think of as a problem - is that you care so deeply.  You’re always thinking about how something affects the other person.”

             
“I much prefer that viewpoint,” Carrie smiled gratefully.  Then her smile faded, and she turned to stare out the window.

             
“Carrie?”

             
Carrie shook her head.  “I’m fine,” she murmured. 

             
Janie walked up close behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder.  “It’s Robert.”  There was no question in her voice.

             
“Somehow,” Carrie started slowly, “I thought a new year couldn’t start with my still having no idea whether he’s dead or alive.  I know 1863 arrived a few days ago.  I’m afraid I’ll be forever stuck in 1862.”

             
“No you won’t,” Janie said firmly.

             
“You sound very sure of yourself,” Carrie commented dourly.  Every time she thought she was getting used to living with the uncertainty, a fresh wave of grief and fear swept through her. 

             
“Grieving is a very natural thing,” Janie said gently.  “But you are too full of life to remain under its weight forever.  Time takes care of many things.”

             
Carrie swung around to stare at her friend.  “You think he’s dead, don’t you?” she said accusingly.

             
Janie returned her look for several long moments.  “I think it’s been almost four months since the battle.”  Her voice was blunt but kind.

             
Anger flared in Carrie then subsided just as quickly. She knew that reason deemed she accept the inevitable.  Yet somehow she couldn’t.  She knew better than anyone that Robert was probably dead.  How could she expect anyone to share her belief - completely unfounded - that he was out there somewhere, still alive? 

             
“Carrie, I’m sorry,” Janie cried contritely.  “Until there is some final proof Robert is dead I know you have to keep on hoping.”

             
“Yes,” Carrie agreed softly.  The front door swung open, a blast of cold air announcing her father’s arrival.  Carrie spun gratefully to meet him.  Once all her guests were here she would have no time to think of Robert. 

             
“Sorry I’m late,” Thomas called, shrugging out of his heavy coat and moving close to the fire.  He held out his hands to the warmth and rubbed them together to restore the circulation.  “Brutal out there,” he muttered. 

             
Carrie handed him a hot cup of coffee.  “This should help.”  She looked closely at her father.  “You seem angry.”

             
qThomas scowled.  “Lincoln has made a very grave error,” he snapped. 

             
Carrie contained a groan as she saw the light-hearted mood of her dinner party dissolve before it even started.   She opened her mouth to inquire what Lincoln’s current misdeed was but was saved by a guest knocking at the door.  She hurried to answer it. 

             
“Matron Pember,” she said warmly.  “I’m so glad to see you.  Please come in.”

             
“Is it all right for my driver to wait inside?”

             
“Of course!  It’s too cold for anyone to be outside longer than is necessary.  There is no need for him to come back for you.”  Carrie started to invite the driver in through the front door then thought of her father.  Out of respect for him, she stepped out onto the porch.  “Take your carriage around to the back,” she called.  “You can put your horse in the barn and go in through the back door.  May will fix you something hot to drink.”

             
“Thank you, ma’am,” the driver said gratefully.   He picked up the reins immediately and started the carriage down the drive.

             
Thomas was helping Matron Pember off with her coat when Carrie stepped back inside.  Moments later she heard a clatter of wheels as Pastor Anthony and Dr. Wild made their way to the house.  Soon, they too, clustered around the fire warming themselves.

             
Pastor Anthony rubbed his hands briskly then turned.  “Happy New Year,” he said, smiling. 

             
Thomas spoke before anyone could say a word.  “I do indeed wish it was a happy new year,” he growled. 

             
Dr. Wild was the first to respond.  “Is something wrong, Mr. Cromwell?”