Spring Will Come (76 page)

             
Polly finished the exercises and pulled the cover up over his legs.  “I reckon that’ll take care of it for now.  I’ll fix us some lunch.”

             
Robert nodded and gazed out the window.  Dark clouds portended yet another snowstorm.  He had never seen so much snow in one winter.  Automatically he reached for the pole over his head.  Still staring out at the snow, he lifted himself fifty times before finally relaxing back against his pillow.  His upper body had grown quite strong.  Now if his lower body would just cooperate. 

             
Robert allowed his thoughts to drift to Carrie.  His love for her grew stronger every day.  Every time he looked at his legs he saw evidence he would never walk again, but the hope              Amber instilled in him helped him deny the evidence.  If his heart could be so completely changed, surely he would walk someday.  He smiled slightly, reveling in the lightness of his heart.  The miracle of it continued to amaze him.  Gone was the heavy burden of hate and bitterness.  In its place was a peace that defied his understanding. 

             
He yearned to share the newness of his heart with Carrie.  He especially longed to let her know he was alive.  It had been five long months since the battle of Antietam.  Surely she must believe he was dead.  A dark thought rose to taunt him.  He tried to push it away, yet it persisted.  What if Carrie had found someone else?  He knew there were numbers of men who would jump at the chance to be her husband.  Had Carrie given up hope and turned to someone else?  He shook his head firmly.  Carrie wasn’t like that.   Even if she did believe he was dead, she would not give up her love for him so easily.  That he was confident of. 

             
“Will you read to me, Robert?”

             
Robert turned away from the window and smiled at Amber.  “Sure, honey.  What are we reading today?”  This was another of their daily rituals.

             
Amber crawled up onto the bed and handed him a book.  “My daddy brought this home last night.  He said it had a lot of big words in it.”

             
“This is
The
Last of the Mohicans
!” Robert said in astonishment.

             
“Is it good?”

             
“Sure it’s good, but...”

             
“But what?”  Amber asked innocently.

             
“But it’s an adult book.  I’m afraid it might be over your head.  I’m not sure how much of it you’ll understand.”

             
Amber leaned close and beckoned him to lower his head.  “That’s okay,” she whispered in his ear.  “I like it when you read anything to me, but this one is really for Mama.  She likes it when you read, too.”

             
Robert smiled, opened the book, and began to read.  Amber snuggled in close to his side and closed her eyes to listen.  Within a few minutes, he could tell she was sound asleep.  Robert glanced at Polly sitting by the fire and continued to read.

Robert woke the next morning to water dripping from the roof of the cabin. 

              Gabe came stomping in just moments later.  “There’s the nicest warm breeze you could ever imagine blowing out there.  I reckon it’s time for our false spring.”

             
Robert knew what he meant.  Every year, usually in February, winter took a deep breath and let spring creep into its territory.  The air flow would turn southerly, bringing in soft, warm breezes.  Snow would melt, birds would sing, and people would eagerly plan their spring gardens.  When winter had teased the earth just long enough, it would let its breath back out, blasting the world with cold air and more snow.  But the damage would have been done.  The longing in people’s hearts for the new life of spring would expand and grow stronger until finally winter gave up and retreated until the next year. 

             
Wishing with all his heart he could feel the breeze, Robert gazed out the window.  How he longed for the feel of fresh air and warm sunshine on his face.  He had lived most of his life outdoors.  All the months of confinement and inactivity were unbearably hard.

             
Gabe swung the door open and propped it back with a chair.  “Time for some fresh air,” he said cheerfully.  Then he laughed.  “Think I can’t read a man’s face, Robert?  I know how I’d feel if I’d been cooped up in that bed so long.”

             
Robert’s heart swelled with gratitude.  “Thank you,” he said softly.  He lay back against his pillows and luxuriated in the fresh breeze bathing his face.  He closed his eyes and just wanted to concentrate on the sensation of feeling. 

             
“Can I come up there with you, Robert?”  Knowing he would give permission, Amber clambered up.  “I’m gonna feel spring with you!” she chirped. 

             
Robert smiled but didn’t open his eyes.  His mind had transported him back to the spring day he and Carrie had taken the packet boat,
The John Marshall
, up the river.  A soft breeze had been blowing, warm sunshine had bathed the deck of the boat, and a band had played music while they danced.  The memory both taunted and thrilled him.  He could hear the music so clearly in his mind.  As Carrie laughed and spun, he tapped his foot in time to the music.

             
“Robert!”  Amber screamed.

             
Robert jolted forward.  “What’s wrong?” he asked sharply.

             
Gabe came dashing back into the cabin.  Polly spun away from the fire, her eyes wide with fright.

             
“Your foot!” Amber screamed again.  “I saw your foot move.  Under the covers there!”  She was so excited that her words all ran together.

             
Polly approached them.  “That so, Robert?”

             
Robert just stared at his feet.  “I don’t know,” he said slowly.  Polly reached down and pulled the cover back.  Robert stared at his feet as he willed them to move again.  Nothing.  With a sinking heart, he realized Amber must have imagined it. 

             
Amber read his mind.  “I saw it move,” she insisted.  “I know I did.”  She paused.  “You was smiling right before your foot moved.”

             
“What was you thinking about?” Polly pressed.

             
“Dancing with Carrie,” Robert admitted.  His mind drifted back to the very real memory.  “We were on a boat on the James River.  We were dancing to a band.”

             
“There!”  Amber screamed again.  “It moved!  Did you see it move, Mama?”

             
Robert shot a look at Polly.  Her eyes were wide, and she was nodding her head.  Robert stared at his feet again.  He could feel nothing.

             
“Hum that tune, Robert,” Polly commanded.  “The one you and Carrie danced to.”

             
Robert’s heart was pounding so hard now he was having a hard time breathing.  Taking a deep breath, he began to hum softly.

             
“Louder!”  Amber begged.

             
Robert complied.  The sound of his humming filled the cabin and spilled out into the morning air.  He saw it before he actually felt it.  Then from somewhere deep inside, the sensation filtered into his brain.  He stared at his right foot - hardly able to believe it as he watched it keep time with the music.  He watched in wordless amazement as the withered muscles in his right leg moved and contracted. 

             
“Thank you, Jesus!” Polly cried, grabbing Amber up into her arms and spinning around the room while great tears rolled down her cheeks.

             
Clint dashed into the cabin, obviously alarmed by all the commotion.  “What’s going on in here?” he cried.

             
“Robert done moved his foot,” Polly exulted.  “He done moved his foot.  The Lord done give us a miracle!”

             
Robert stared at her, the reality of what was happening finally sinking into his brain.  A smile exploded on his face even while tears blurred his vision.  He had held on to hope for so long.  Was it possible he would really walk again?

             
“Where’d Daddy go?” was all Clint said.

             
“He went after Auntie JoBelle,” Polly said happily.  “She just ain’t gonna believe this!”

             
Robert brushed away his tears and stared hard at his foot. 
Move
, his mind commanded.  He laughed loudly when his foot obeyed.

             
“It’s just his foot,” Clint protested.  “It ain’t like he’s walking!”

             
Robert sobered.  Clint was right – he wasn’t walking.

             
Polly whirled on her son.  “You just hush up with that kind of talking.  I’m ashamed of you.  I know I didn’t raise no son of mine to be hateful and small.  You best figure out where that be coming from and get rid of it!” she said firmly.  “Now go out there and get that horse.  I reckon Robert will ride it out of here one of these days after all.” 

             
Robert shook his head.  “What are you talking about?”

             
Polly turned to him with a smile like sunshine.  “We figured it would be better if you didn’t know that fella who brung you here, brung you on a horse.  Seein’ such a beautiful animal and not being able to ride it...,” she shrugged.  “We just figured it would make things harder on you.”

             
“I been feedin’ that horse every morning and night,” Amber piped in.  “He sure do look a lot better than when he got here.  Clint takes him out sometimes but only when you be asleep.  Ain’t nobody rode him, though.”

             
Robert heard the door on the barn open.  Holding his breath, he stared out the window while trying to guard his heart against a futile hope.  It wasn’t possible.  It just wasn’t possible that the horse was...

             
Robert recognized the ringing neigh even before the beautiful gray Thoroughbred pranced out into the glistening snow.  “Granite...,” he whispered, dashing away the tears blurring his vision.

             
“That be his name?” Amber asked.

             
Robert just nodded, unable to take his eyes off the animal.  “How...?  Who...?”

             
Polly put her hand on his shoulder.  “That fella who brung you just said the same thing about that horse.  Said to take care of him for Carrie.”

             
Robert pushed away the questions spinning through his mind.  None of it made any difference right now.  He gazed at Granite hungrily.

             
Granite let out another ringing neigh then pawed the ground impatiently, staring at the house.

             
Polly laughed.  “I reckon that big guy knows you’re in here.”  Moving to the door, she called to Clint.  “Bring him on over here.”

             
Seconds later, Clint stepped into the cabin.  Granite stopped short of the threshold but stuck his head, his long neck reaching as far as it could, into the cabin.

             
“Hello, boy,” Robert managed to say, tears choking his words.

             
Granite pricked his ears forward then snorted softly, his velvety nostrils flaring.

             
Amber laughed and clapped her hands in delight.  “He remembers you.”

             
“Carrie has owned Granite since she was a child,” Robert said quietly, his eyes never leaving the horse.  “She gave him to me when I left for battle.  Said she could trust Granite to bring me home.”  Once again hot tears rolled down his face.  “I guess he might after all.”  He reached out for Polly’s hand.  “Thank you for taking care of him.”

             
Polly just shook her head.  “It wadn’t me.  Clint’s the one been taking care of that big animal.  Amber’s done the feeding, but Clint’s done everything else.  I declare I think he’s fell in love with that animal.”

             
Robert turned to Clint.  The boy was looking back at him defiantly.  “Thank you,” Robert said.  Clint just shrugged.  Robert knew the boy hadn’t done it for him.  A thought came to him.  “Do you know how to ride?”

             
Clint shook his head.  “Ain’t never had a chance.”

             
“I’ll teach you how when I can walk again,” Robert stated firmly. 

             
“On Granite?”  Clint breathed, reaching out to pat the horse’s glistening neck.

             
“On Granite,” Robert promised, hoping it would create a bridge between him and the bitter boy.

             
Auntie JoBelle came stomping into the house seconds later.  “I hear we done got a miracle here.  I can always be handlin’ a miracle.  There be plenty enough bad news to get a person down already.”  She walked over to Robert’s bed.  “Let’s see that foot.”

             
“Which one?” Robert smiled.

             
Auntie JoBelle turned to Gabe.  “I thought he just could move one?”

             
“That was a few minutes ago,” Robert said confidently.  Seeing Granite, realizing the possibility of going home was a distinct reality, had bolstered his hope.  Staring at his right foot, he willed it to move. 

             
Auntie JoBelle gave a whoop when she saw it move.  “Now let’s see the other one,” she demanded.

             
Robert stared at it hard.  For several moments there was nothing.  Then his big toe twitched. 

             
Amber sat up and began to hum the tune he had been humming earlier.  “Let your foot dance to the music,” she urged. 

             
Seconds later Robert’s left foot began to move.  He laughed as cheers broke forth in the cabin.

             
Auntie JoBelle sank down into the chair next to the bed.  “I never,” she said shaking her head.

             
“But I thought you said you’d seen stuff like this happen before,” Polly exclaimed.

             
Auntie JoBelle smiled.  “Wadn’t true.  I done heard about it, but I ain’t never seen it.  Not till now.  I just figured if Robert believed it could happen it just might.  Hope can be a mighty powerful thing.  And besides, whether he walked again or not, he had to have hope to keep on surviving.  It sure wadn’t gonna hurt him none.”

             
The cabin erupted in laughter.  The laughter grew even louder when Granite tossed his head and snorted loudly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

             
Robert leaned heavily on the crude cane Gabe had fashioned for him.  His legs were still weak, but he was getting stronger every day.  A month had passed since his feet had first moved.  His progress was agonizingly slow, but he was improving every day.

             
His thoughts swung to Carrie almost hourly.  How long before he would be well enough to try to cross the lines back into the South?  He frowned as the familiar questions rose to mock him.  How did he think he was going to get across the lines?  What was he going to do if he was captured by Union troops after all he had been through?   He pushed the questions back firmly.  He was learning to take one day at a time.  Imagining trouble before it even happened was silly.  He would cross those bridges when he got to them.  Right now he had another job to do.

             
Clint had just finished brushing Granite when Robert walked slowly into the barn.  “He looks great,” Robert commented.  “Even with his winter coat on, he shines.  You’ve taken excellent care of him.”

             
Clint looked at Robert for a moment then turned back to Granite.  “I always wanted to work with horses,” he said in a low voice.  “Never figured I’d get the chance to.”

             
Robert smiled.  “You’ve definitely got the touch, but you’ll go a lot further in the business if you know how to ride.  I think today would be a fine one to start the process.”

             
Clint gasped and spun around.  “You mean it?  You actually gonna teach me how to ride Granite?”

             
“I told you I would,” Robert said firmly.

             
Clint eyed him for a long moment then nodded his head reluctantly.  “I reckon you did,” he muttered.  Then his voice strengthened.  “The saddle and bridle that was on him are clean.  I oiled them up real good before cold weather set in.  I’ll get them,” he added eagerly.

             
Robert stroked Granite.  Clint was just as excited as Robert had been when he learned how to ride.  He had only been five years old when his father put him on a horse, but he could still remember the thrill.  It had never dimmed for him.  He could hardly wait until he could climb into Granite’s saddle again himself. 
Patience
, he told himself. 
Patience
. 

             
Clint reappeared, clutching the gleaming saddle and bridle.

             
Robert laughed.  “I don’t think they’ve been that clean since the day they were bought.  Thank you for taking such good care of them.”  Clint mumbled something and looked at the ground.   Robert understood.  Clint was glad to have the opportunity to ride, but it didn’t mean he was thrilled about the conditions.  Robert knew the boy still didn’t trust him.  That was all right.  Clint would have to work through his feelings in his own time. 

             
Robert coached Clint carefully in the basics for almost an hour.  He firmly believed that most of riding was in the rider’s head.  If  confidence was transmitted to the horse, his response was much easier.  If Clint wanted to work with horses, he needed much more than the mechanics; he needed an understanding of the art of horsemanship.  His expression intense and concentrated, Clint listened to every word Robert said and drank it in hungrily. 

             
Finally Robert was ready to put the boy in the saddle.  He handed Clint the reins.  “Just walk him around over there in that pasture.  I want you to get the feel of him.”

             
Clint’s eyes were wide but confident as he took the reins.  Talking to Granite softly, he put his foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.

             
Robert smiled with satisfaction as Clint’s tall, muscular body settled lightly into the saddle.  His form wasn’t perfect, but it was obvious he was comfortable.  “You know what to do,” he stated quietly.  “Go do it.  When you’re feeling completely comfortable, ask him to trot.”

             
Clint had made amazing progress by the end of the morning.  His eyes were shining when Robert finally called him over.  “What a horse!” he exclaimed, reaching down to rub Granite’s neck. 

             
“You did a good job,” Robert praised.  “You have what it takes to make a fine horseman.”

             
“Really?”  Clint asked eagerly.

             
“I would let you work with my horses any day,” Robert said.

             
The spark in Clint’s eyes was replaced by a dark shadow.  “I ain’t never gonna be one of your slaves,” he muttered, swinging down from Granite and handing Robert the reins.

             
Robert took a deep breath.  “I understand your bitterness, Clint, but I think you know I’ve changed.  I’m not going to own slaves anymore.  Your family has taught me so much.”  He paused then decided to plunge ahead.  “I think you’re using me as an excuse to hang onto your anger and hatred.  I know what it’s like.  You get used to feeling it.  It becomes a big part of who you are.  You’re afraid you won’t know yourself anymore if you let it go.”

             
“What do you know?” Clint muttered angrily.

             
Robert took hope from the fact Clint wasn’t stalking angrily away.  “I was the exact same way,” he replied.  “I’d had hate living inside of me so long, I’d just gotten used to it being there.  I held onto it as a protection against having to look at the truth.  The truth was I was judging a whole race of people by the actions of one man - actions I probably would have taken myself if I’d been in his position.  It was easier to do that than look at the truth of who I had become.”  He paused.  “It takes a lot of courage to look at yourself honestly and let God show you the truth.  It took me a long time to become brave enough to do it.  I don’t know that I ever would have if I hadn’t been paralyzed for months.  I was so used to being in control.  It took losing control before I could listen to anything else.”

             
Clint stared hard at the ground for several minutes.  “I reckon you ain’t so bad, Robert.”  Then he took Granite’s reins and strode into the barn.

             
Robert watched him go with a broad smile.  He knew that was Clint’s way of saying he had registered everything Robert had said and would think about it.  It was also the boy’s way of saying Robert had been accepted.  Whistling, Robert walked back into the cabin. 

Carrie gazed around her sadly as Spencer drove the carriage down the road.  It was almost the middle of March, and still the city was gripped by
Old Man Winter.  Great piles of gray snow were pushed to the side of the roads lined with litter.  Richmond had once been a proud, beautiful city.  Two years of siege and overcrowding had exacted a heavy toll.  Paint peeled from once immaculate storefronts.  Shutters hung loose, swinging in the breeze.  Wounded soldiers were everywhere, pushing through the snow on crutches.  Prostitutes hung from windows and beckoned the men in for an afternoon of entertainment.  Gambling halls sent music blaring into the streets.  And everywhere were thin, pinched faces that spoke of hunger or illness.

             
“Your father doing better?”  Spencer asked over his shoulder, driving carefully to avoid as many of the deep potholes as possible.

             
“Yes.  He’s been out of bed for several days.  Almost all the scabs have fallen off and the scarring is very minimal.  He’s been doing work at home, but I think he’ll be able to go back to the Capitol by the end of the week.”

             
“That’s good.  Lots of people died from the smallpox so far.”

             
“I know,” Carrie said grimly.  She was on her way to the black hospital to check on her patients.  As in the outbreak of any disease, the poor were always the hardest hit.  It made her sick to realize the vaccine to prevent smallpox had been held from them by the Federal blockade.  So much suffering could have been prevented.  The black hospital was full of people sick with the dreadful disease.  So far she and Janie had managed to avoid it.  She could only pray their good fortune would continue.

             
Pastor Anthony was rushing out the door when she arrived.  It was not yet noon.  She had taken a full day off from Chimborazo to care for her patients down by the river.  A winter of no fighting had significantly lessened the load in the military hospitals.