The Titans (39 page)

out between lips stained by the blackberries he'd picked coming down from Centre- ville. Because he hurt so badly, he knew he had very little time. And in three more days, his enlistment would have run out. He could have gone home to Massachusetts- Well, it was too late to think of that. One fact bothered him. The yellow-haired man wore blue. The Titans537 Yet it wasn't regular Union blue. It was a queer, light shade, unlike any he'd seen among the Federal divisions. Nor did it carry any insignia he recognized. Maybe the man was from some cavalry regiment with which he was unfamiliar- No, he'd seen the cavalry, too. They wore dark blue. Attempting to quiet the horse, the man turned slightly. His right side was exposed. What the boy saw then told him the man was probably a Reb. A fly crawled into the mouth of a dead man a foot from the boy's face. The boy didn't stir. He felt a terrible hatred as he stared at the small flag hanging on the man's sash. He saw only part of a red stripe, and a narrower parallel of white. But the width of the stripes told him it wasn't the flag he followed. He bit down on his lower lip, fighting pain. The man turned his back again, speaking to the horse in a tired, almost quarrelsome voice. Very carefully, the boy slid his musket to his shoulder. Was it loaded? He thought so. He couldn't remember positively. He believed he'd loaded it just before the retreating company broke at the Turnpike and ran for the stone bridge with the Rebs howling that strange, godawful yell. He sighted. Vision was difficult. The man and the horse blurred, sharpened, blurred again. He heard wagon wheels on the stone bridge. He steadied the musket so it was aimed at the yellow- haired man's broad shoulders. He wished the horse would stand still. Quit switching its tail and shifting its hind legs between drinks. The movement kept blocking his target- Finally he had a clear shot. Again the horse moved, spoiling it. No time left. Up on the bridge, a wagon driver shouted a warning. 538The Waters of Wrath But the horse was drinking again. The musket pointed straight at the man's back. The Massachusetts boy pulled the trigger and heard the explosion. His blackberry lips curved into a small, sleepy smile as he died. CHAPTER IX The Wounded "THE SHOP WILL BE CLOSED until further notice," Eliza Marble said, tying her bonnet ribbons under her chin. The roar of rain was punctuated by bursts of thunder, flares of lightning and the howl of the wind. Dumbfounded, Margaret asked, "Are you serious?" On the counter near her hand lay a stop-press edition of the Examiner. She'd been scanning the upsetting headlines when Aunt Eliza came in from the street, soaked. Margaret had no idea where the older woman had been for the past hour and a quarter. Nor had Aunt Eliza explained. She'd gone directly to the back room to fetch the bonnet, a shawl and her umbrella. Margaret felt miserable. Yesterday-Sunday-had been bright and warm. Today, a torrential storm was lashing Richmond. But the weather wasn't the sole cause of her distress. She wanted to study the paper again, even though she detested the thought of doing so. "Perfectly serious," her aunt snapped. "It's nearly four and we haven't had a single customer since we opened." "You can't expect many shoppers today, Aunt Eliza. I don't suppose a person in the city had more than an hour's sleep last night." Her aunt's reply was unusually testy: "I should imagine you slept quite well."

?" 540The Wounded "I didn't." "How peculiar. I thought you had no concern for the welfare of the troops." Margaret held back a furious retort. Aunt Eliza was obviously tired. And there was good reason for her remark about Margaret's indifference. She knew her niece hadn't communicated with Gideon Kent since their quarrel in May. Margaret had absolutely refused to discuss the subject-or.the reason she'd grown so wan and listless during the intervening weeks. The truth was, she hadn't slept well for days. Her anxiety had grown to the point where Gideon was seldom out of her thoughts. Worrying about him kept her tossing night after night. Even now, she saw his face; remembered the feel of his caresses that evening on the towpath- Just as she remembered the bitter words afterward, when her fear had driven him away. Aunt Eliza walked to the door, preparing to open her umbrella. She gave her niece another unsympathetic look i "The ladies of St. Paul's don't share your indifference, I'm happy to say. We've been holding a special meeting for the past hour. The cars carrying the casualties from Manassas should start coming in by nightfall. St. Charles and the other two hospitals can't possibly accommodate all the men. People are being asked to go to the depot to help receive them. And to open their homes. We haven't adequate space in Rockett's so I want you and Willa to clear away the cuttings in back. We'll take one or two of the soldiers here-was "That's really-why you're closing the shop, then?" "Correct. If your sensibilities are too tender to permit you to help care for the men, I'll rely on Willa." Margaret shook her head. "You're very angry with me, aren't you?" "It's un-Christian of me, but I am." The Titans541 "I've felt it for days." When the older woman spoke again, her tone was less severe: "Margaret, I have a good idea why you and Lieutenant Kent severed your relationship. Your father talks excessively while under the influence of spirits. You took the lieutenant to Rockett's-was "Yes," Margaret murmured. "comfora purpose which some of the Sergeant's subsequent remarks helped me to understand. He overheard your quarrel on the stairs. You tried to discourage your young man from being too ardent about this war." Margaret's silence was an admission. "Though I find it hard to sympathize, I can understand that too. What happened to your father hurt you. You're afraid of ever being hurt again. So you've built a kind of wall around yourself-was "Do you blame me?" Margaret cried. "I can't stand the sight of suffering! I've seen too much. I don't want to see any more!" "Then you'd better lock yourself in a room, young woman. And hide there for the rest of your life! If you don't have the courage to take the world as it is-to accept its irrational cruelties along with its God-given goodness-was "I don't," Margaret whispered. Softly: "Then I suppose you don't deserve anger. Merely pity. However, the decision's yours." "I appreciate your granting me that much!" "Margaret-was The older woman still spoke gently. "You must realize it was never mandated in Heaven that our existence on this earth would be easy. Until you understand and accept that fact, you don't deserve to be called an adult. Nor fully conversant with God's plan for man, I might add. I'm not saying this to hurt you-was Margaret's scornful glance questioned the statement i"" 542The Wounded "Quid, I'm not. I love you. But I can't abide self- centered behavior. Or cowardice. I'm sorry to be harsh, but that's how I feel. I've kept it to myself too long." Margaret turned away, bitter: "Thank you so much for telling me." "See here." The ferrule of Aunt Eliza's umbrella rapped the floor. "I should think you'd at least be pleased President Davis has returned safely. That we've won a victory. I am." Her niece remained silent, her back turned. Aunt Eliza jerked the door open and raised her umbrella. Rain gusted into the shop. Wind flapped her bonnet. She was seething: "Very well. Your attitude's quite clear. After you help Willa prepare the back room, go home. Behind your wall." Crash. The closed door lessened the noise of the storm. Margaret bowed her head. Aunt Eliza was right. She was afraid to give herself to Gideon-to the war-to anything that might expose her to suffering of the kind that had made her early years so unhappy. Although she'd thought of Gideon constantly since their parting, and had come close to writing him a dozen times, she'd held back. But now there was a new and agonizing worry rising within her. She knew from the paper that he had probably been in the fighting yesterday. With an unsteady hand, she spread the front page and forced herself to look at it again. GLORIOUS TRIUMPH OF OUR TROOPS AT MANASSAS! McDowell's Hirelings Utterly Routed In The Greatest Battle Ever Fought On This Continent! The Titans543 A Victory Unprecedented On American Soil! Foe In Wild Retreat To Washington. A Panic Among Northern Civilians Present Near Battle Site. President In The Field To Inspire The Soldiers. General Bee And Colonel Bartow Mortally Wounded. Heavy Casualties On Both Sides. Lists Of Killed, Injured And Captured Not Yet Compiled. The Heroic Exploits Of General Jackson's Virginia Infantry Defending Strategic Hill. Rout Of The Ferocious Fire Zouaves By Colonel Stuart's Cavalry. Scattered words drew her eye again: Heavy Casualties- Lists Of Killed, Injured and Captured- Colonel Stuart's Cavalry- Quickly, Margaret turned the paper face down. She walked to the door, her eyes wet with tears. Main Street was almost as dark as midnight Gideon- No. She mustn't permit herself to think of him. If he were hurt, or dead, it would destroy her- She'd told herself the same thing for weeks. Repeated 544The Wounded silently that he meant nothing to her. That she was better off never seeing him again. Then why didn't she believe it now? Furious at her weakness, she rubbed the stubby nose she disliked so much. She sniffed twice, controlling the tears. Then she squared her shoulders and walked into the back. Willa was busy removing cloth, pins and other paraphernalia from the cutting table. Without a word, Margaret began to help her. She moved awkwardly; self- conscious. Willa had surely heard the exchange with Aunt Eliza. But she had the good grace not to mention it. At last, Willa said in a cool voice, "Is it all right if I leave as soon as we're finished?" "Are you going home?" "No, to the Spotswood. President Davis is "sposed to speak from the balcony if the rain lets up. He's gonna talk about the battle yesterday. I'd sort of like to see the manacles, too." "What manacles?" "Didn't y.read about them in the war news?" Willa's tone implied a failing on Margaret's part. "I don't read the war news, Willa." "Well, our boys captured chains and manacles at Manassas. Meant for lockin" up our generals and maybe President Davis himself when the Yanks came on to Richmond. That ain't gonna happen now," Willa finished, her pride obvious. A moment later she blurted, "I don't understand why you ain't happy about the wonderful victory!" "Happy? We may have lost as many as two thousand young men. That's something to be happy about?" Willa didn't flinch from the hostile gaze. "Yes. Yes, I think so-was A shrewd glint in her eyes then. "How do you know the figures? Thought you didn't read the war news." The Titans545 "t n Scarlet, Margaret stopped. Thunder exploded, loud as the artillery fire she'd dreamed of Saturday night. She knew from the Sergeant's incessant retelling of Buena Vista that exploding shot could tear a man apart- Gideon. The rain pounded the roof. A wagon clattered by on Main. Perhaps a farmer's wagon. Earlier in the day, Aunt Eliza had said every farmer in the district was being asked to rush fresh vegetables to the city's hospitals. Margaret realized Willa was still watching her. In a faintly contemptuous voice, Willa said: "Do I have permission to leave?" "Yes. Get out of here!" "That'll be a pleasure!" Willa flounced out. Go on! Margaret thought. Go listen to Davis tell you how splendid it was. Then go down to the depot and look at them. Smell them. Listen to them wailing. Watch the coffins being unloaded- "Then come back and tell me how happy you are, damn you!" She beat her hand on the cutting table, shaking her head savagely. It didn't help. Nothing helped. Not reason. Not rage. Nothing. "Gideon," she said to the gathering darkness. "Dear God-are you safe?" For more than an hour, Margaret struggled with her own fear and confusion. She read the Examiner dispatches half a dozen times. Finally she extinguished all 546The Wounded but one gas lamp, put on her shawl and bonnet and went out, locking the door behind her. Rain pelted her face and soaked her skirt as she turned up Main. The street was dark. Gaslit windows of shops and saloons had a pale, watery look. Even with the downpour, the sidewalks were crowded. Most people were going the same direction- up Eighth Street toward the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac depot. The people around her were quiet; speaking in subdued voices if they spoke at all. She paid little attention to them, or to the driving rain, as she walked the four blocks to the station. She was terrified. But she had to know about Gideon. She had to see whether he was among the wounded. If she didn't find him, she'd ask some of those returning whether they knew him. The odds against it were staggering. But any effort was better than the futility and torment of trying to pretend she didn't care. A huge crowd waited outside the depot. Tonight there were no illuminated banners. No oratory. No rhythmic stamping of feet to the cadence of martial music. The people were still, gathered around the long lines of canvas-topped wagons, farm rigs, private carriages ready to receive the casualties- Lightning raked across the sky. Off to the north, she heard the whistle of a train. She began to run, her cheeks streaming rain and tears. The Public Guards tried to keep worried families and the curious out of the depot and train shed. But the The Titans547 guards were too few and too feeble to accomplish the job. The depot waiting room was hopelessly clogged with people. But an almost hysterical compulsion was driving Margaret. She twisted, shoved and jabbed her way to the platforms. She shielded her eyes against the glare of a locomotive lantern. The first train had arrived. A harried man in a white duster caught her arm: "Ma'am? Please go back. There are too many people out here already. We won't be able to get the boys through-was She tore away from him. Stepped off the platform to the bed of the track adjoining the one where the train stood. Freight cars stretched out past the last arch of the shed. The rear of the train was lost in the wet darkness. Doors rolled back. Uniformed men began to climb out. Civilians-children as well as adults-surged down the platform alongside the cars. There were sudden outcries as parents or wives saw familiar faces. Hurrying up the track, Margaret watched a red-haired boy in soiled gray stumble against an older woman. The woman clasped the boy in her arms and pulled his head to her shoulder, weeping. The boy's left leg was wrapped in brown-spotted linen. They poured off the cars by the dozens, some with exhausted smiles, others grimacing, still others with lost, vacant looks. Most of them had bandaged heads or splinted arms. The walking wounded; leaning on canes; crutches; a piece of a tree branch- The babble of voices grew louder; almost painful. The shed itself was steamy, and poorly lit by lanterns hanging on wooden pillars beween the tracks. A woman's scream knifed through the din. Margaret saw her- a matron in a fine brocaded dress. She dropped her parasol, swooning onto the tracks several yards ahead. On 548The Wounded the platform, a boy on crutches asked someone, anyone, to help his mother. The boy's right leg had been amputated at the knee. The woman roused; began thrashing from side to side, hands over her face. She screamed again. Leaning on a gray-haired man in a frock coat, the amputee tried to calm her. She kept screaming. Two other men pulled her up and dragged her away. Now stretchers were being handed down from the cars. Orderlies fought to hold back the crowds. All at once Margaret smelled the stretcher cases. They stank of dirt, sweat, pus, urine. She gagged. The high sides of one stretcher completely concealed its occupant. But his chalk-white hand was visible, clutching the pole that ran through the canvas. The hand opened and closed; opened and closed- She could almost feel the unseen soldier's spasms of pain. As she worked her way down the track, the cars outside the shed became visible. Rough-clad men were hauling off pine boxes. Handling them carelessly. Slamming them on the platform; stacking them like so much cordwood. At intervals along the platform, small aid stations had been set up: crates with wash basins on them, and casks on adjoining trestles. Women dippered water from the basins, or dampened cloths, then picked out a stretcher and rushed along beside it to offer a wounded man a drink or sponge his face. By the time Margaret had gone halfway down the length of the train, she'd passed three such stations. Another headlight loomed out in the darkness, growing larger. The second train was chugging in on the track on the extreme left side of the shed. The bellow of the whistle and the clang of the bell only added to the noise. She moved more slowly now, searching the faces of The Titans549 the walking wounded. She saw no uniforms resembling Gideon's but she kept looking, her breathing fast and shallow. A boy with both arms splinted tried to embrace a portly man. The boy burst into tears. "Oh, Pa-I thought I'd never get here. Oh, God, you can't imagine what it was like-was The press on the platform worsened as more and more civilians crowded into Jhe shed. The frustrated volunteers handling the stretchers began to swear; loud, ugly obscenities. Chuffing and grinding, the huge locomotive pulled in along the far track. Margaret fought an impulse to flee the bedlam of foul odors and maimed bodies and grief. Not watching her footing, she stumbled on a tie. Gasped loudly. Three women operating an aid station turned to stare- Aunt Eliza's eyes glared with reflections of the shed lanterns: "What are you doing here?" Margaret gained her balance. With a look of shame, the older woman rushed to her niece: "Are you all right?" Margaret nodded. Aunt Eliza put both arms around her, pulling her close. Margaret clung to her for warmth and comfort. "Child, you're soaked through!" "Don't worry about it, Aunt Eliza, I-was Over her aunt's shoulder, she saw the pole of a stretcher slip from a volunteer's hand. The head end of the stretcher dropped. A blond boy rolled off the canvas, shrieking. Both his arms were missing. "Clumsy dumb son of a bitch!" the other volunteer yelled. "Get him up! Goddamn it, woman, stay