Undaunted Love (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

May 7, 1861

Richmond, Virginia

S
ERGEANT RAFE COLTON AND CORPORAL Satchel Coburn hastily threw a few of their belongings into rucksacks. They’d just been granted a one week furlough, as had the rest of the long-serving former 1st South Carolina Volunteers, and they wanted to catch the early train from Richmond so they could arrive in Charleston by nightfall. Rafe also wanted to send a telegram to his wife, although he knew a telegram would scare her to death, and, if her father was home, would cause no end of trouble. Weighing the pros and cons, he’d decided he would risk it, and pray. He cinched up his pack and looked at his friend, who was dithering over his meager belongings.

“Come on, Satch, that train ain’t gonna wait!” He hoisted the rucksack over his shoulder. “You don’t need the paper and pen, who you gonna write that you ain’t gonna see in a week? Get a move on!” He slung open the tent flap and went out into the camp.

The encampment was noisy, dirty, and smelled of rotten things. Piles of refuse were stacked behind tents. The bones of thousands of chickens scattered the ground, thrown by soldiers or dragged by cats and dogs. When it rained, trash and filth ran freely in gullies. The grass was long since trampled away, and the red mud stuck to everything. Rafe shook his head. He’d be glad to smell the salt air and see wide-open spaces again.

Satchel came out, ducking through the flap. They could see others of their regiment following suit, and many were already heading towards the railway station. Rafe and his friend walked quickly, Rafe’s long stride making Satchel jog to keep up, but they made the train, hopping on just as it was beginning to chug down the track.

“When we get to Charleston, you know where I can send a telegram?” Rafe asked Satchel.

“I reckon, only it’s gonna be kinda late. Maybe you can get the officer at the train station to do it.” He lay down with his head on his pack and promptly fell asleep, a trick all soldiers learned early on.

Rafe lay down as well, but he couldn’t sleep. Looking up at the passing clouds, all he could think of was his wife.

It took a lot of talking and pleading, but the officer at the station finally agreed to send the telegram to the Colton house. Rafe prayed that it would be delivered to a slave, and not Hugh Byrd, and then put it out of his mind. Satchel’s father took him to Jeb Greene’s house, and agreed to pick him up there in one week’s time, for the journey back to their regiment.

Knocking on the door, Rafe bounced nervously, anxious to get home. Mrs. Greene opened the door and her mouth opened and shut before she could form words. Finally she exclaimed, “Rafe!” and threw her arms around him, dragging him inside the house. “Jeb, you come see what the cat brought in, now, will you?” she yelled.

Jeb came out, wiping his hands on a linen towel. When he saw Rafe, he threw the towel over his shoulder and strode forward, arms out. After a crushing embrace, he said, “Did they kick you out?”

Rafe laughed. “Decided to give us furlough at the last minute. All us old 1st Volunteers. We wanted to catch the early train, so I didn’t stop to send word. I hate to ask, but…”

“Can you borrow the horse?” Jeb interrupted. “You sure can, son. She’s out in the barn right now, fit as a fiddle. You gonna go in the morning? You know you’re welcome here.”

“If it’s all right, I’d like to go on now. I’ll go all the way home, or at least to the Kinney’s on Wadmalaw so I don’t have so far to go in the morning.”

“And Livvie knows you’re coming?” Jeb asked.

“I sent a telegram,” Rafe said. At Jeb’s quizzical look, he shrugged. “I know, but the only other thing I could do was show up in town tomorrow. God willing, her daddy’s in Charleston, and the telegram boy will hand it to Emmy and not Mrs. Byrd.”

“We’ll join that prayer, son,” Jeb said. “I’ve heard enough stories about old Hugh Byrd to think you don’t want to cross him, leastwise til you’re ready to.”

It was almost midnight before Rafe reached home. He’d accepted the invitation for a late supper, realizing he’d eaten nothing since breakfast and wasn’t likely to eat again until the next day if he declined. Jeb walked him out to the barn, telling Rafe the rumors that were circulating around Charleston, and Rafe telling Jeb what news he knew. So far, many ships were slipping through the Union blockade, but Lincoln was sending more all the time, and supplies and food were getting scarce. The biggest problems were seed and wheat, and if the Confederacy didn’t break the blockade, harder times were ahead.

Since the Battle of Manassas, which the Federals called the Battle of Bull Run, there had been smaller battles in West Virginia and out west, in Missouri, Oklahoma, Kentucky, Tennessee, and even New Mexico. Virginia had seen a few, but none involving Gregg’s Regiment. Gregg had dithered about the furlough, but in the end decided to release the longest serving half of the original five hundred Volunteers in hopes that they’d return rested and ready. The War hadn’t ended quickly, as everyone had supposed, and commanders were trying to balance readiness with the fatigue the men were feeling.

The house was dark when he trotted up, and he went straight to the barn to cool down, unsaddle, brush, and feed the borrowed mare. He was setting the saddle on the saddle horse when Nackie walked in, holding a lantern in one hand and a shovel in the other. Rafe laughed when he saw him, and the old negro breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mistuh Rafe, suh, I thought you was a Union soldier come to steal the silver!” he said.

“Just me, come to use it, if there’s any left,” Rafe teased. “We didn’t know about the furlough ahead, so I just came on home. Sorry I scared you, Nack,” for he could see that the old man really had been scared. He thought of his sick mother and this old man alone here, and then pushed the thought back. There wasn’t any help for it.

“Is Miz Livvie comin’ on, then?” Nackie asked.

“I hope so, tomorrow. I’ll go in to meet her, and we’ll see!” He clapped the man on the back and they walked together to the house.

Rafe woke, but kept his eyes closed. The down mattress held him in delicious softness. Under his head were down and cotton pillows. Soft sheets slid on his skin. He grinned. He sure wasn’t in his tent in Richmond! He leapt out of bed, throwing open the curtains to judge the time. In his telegram, he’d said he would meet his wife at nine o’clock. Suddenly he was overcome with anxiety. Had the telegram been intercepted? Had she even been in Byrd’s Creek? With the post unpredictable, he might not have gotten a letter explaining a trip to Wadmalaw. He berated himself – he could have stopped at the Kinney farm last night and found out.

Exasperated, he threw on homespun trousers and a white cotton shirt, tugged on his boots, and ran down the hall to his mother’s room. He knocked softly, and, hearing no response, entered quietly. He was surprised to find her sitting in a chair by the window, reading.

“Mama?” he said. She turned her head and smiled, the first time she’d smiled at him in at least three years. He smiled back and rushed to her side, hugging her gently. She was painfully thin, a pile of bones covered with skin, and her face was pale and drawn. But her eyes had life in them, and that was enough. “You look beautiful!”

She laughed – laughed! – and took his hand. “Your Livvie’s been coming to visit me, bringin’ flowers, and readin’ me books. Between her visits and Nackie’s care, I believe I’m feeling much better these days. I’m not very strong yet, but I will be. And what are you doin’ home, young man? Did you desert?”

“No ma’am, we got a last minute furlough and I got home as fast as I could. I’m supposed to get Livvie soon, though. Can I come back later and visit with you some more?”

“As long as you bring that wife a’yours, you most certainly may,” she teased, and released his hand. “And tell Nackie I believe I’d like eggs today, if we have some.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

N
O ONE WAS NEAR THE old barn when Rafe pulled the cart to a stop behind it. He hadn’t seen Livvie walking down the road, either. Well, he was a bit early. He’d just enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.

An hour later, it was apparent Livvie wasn’t coming. What wasn’t apparent was why, nor what he should do about it. He didn’t think he should go to the Byrd house, but then, how would she know where he was if he didn’t? They had an ally in Emmy, so he finally decided that she was the key. He followed the road into town, hitched the horse near the general store, and went in, hoping to catch some gossip that would help him determine the best course of action.

“Rafe!” several people called out happily as he walked in. Friends and acquaintances greeted him on all sides. Mr. Smith, the store’s owner, pushed several people aside with his large paunch, shaking Rafe’s hand forcefully.

“I’m right glad to see ya, son, right glad!” he said. “How long ya home for, then? I know ya ain’t out, cause we heard all about that new conscription law, and seems like not only ain’t anybody out, lots more who were trying to stay out is in.” He laughed, then got serious. “This town ain’t gonna be nothing but us old men, children and the women pretty soon, ‘less President Davis and Mister General Robert E. Lee and that Stonewall Jackson get a move on and win this here War.”

Rafe murmured agreement, looking around for Emmy. He spoke to everyone, but left without buying anything, promising to come back and set a spell when he had some time.

Turning onto Main Street, Rafe walked towards Livvie’s house. He knew that there was an alley behind her house, a service road for deliveries and slaves, so he made his way there, counting the houses to make sure he knocked on the right door. Looking around furtively, he walked to the kitchen and rapped on the pane. He could see the back of a large negro woman bustling about. He knocked again, and she turned, surprised. When she saw who it was she clapped a hand over her mouth and threw one arm in the air, hurrying over to open the door.

“Mistuh Rafe, suh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Miss Livvie, she be stuck in the parlor with her mama and daddy and that high falutin’ Mistuh Phelps.” She grunted in disgust. “She been tryin’ to git out dis house for a’most two hours now. You jes sit right here, and Emmy’s gonna figure this here out.” She pushed Rafe into a chair, put a plate of biscuits and a pot of jam in front of him, and bustled out the door before he could speak.

Several minutes later the door swung open and Livvie entered, talking to Emmy. When she saw Rafe she gasped and ran to him, clinging to him and laughing. She pulled his head down and gave him a long, passionate kiss, which made Emmy guffaw.

‘Shh!” Livvie said to the old woman, laughing herself. “They’ll hear!”

“I don’t care,” Rafe said, pulling her into another long kiss. She gasped, her cheeks pink and her eyes aglow, and pushed him back.

“Rafe Colton, you stop that now! We’re in my daddy’s house, and if he finds us kissin’ in his kitchen there’ll be a lot more conversation than I’ve a mind to have.” She picked up a tray from the table. “I’m gonna go clear out the dishes and make my excuses, again. This time I’ll just bring the tray back and we’ll walk out the door.”

“You do that, honey,” Emmy said. “If’n your mama or daddy comes lookin’ for you, I’ll tell them you went on out, off to your sister’s like you told ‘em at breakfast.” She grinned at the young couple and shook her finger at Rafe. “Now you, go on, git. Won’t do anybody no good to see you two awalkin’ down the street, grinnin’ like fools. You go back to that barn where you meet, and wait for your purty wife, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rafe said meekly. He kissed his wife one last time, smiled, and left through the same door he came in.

By the time Livvie got outside of town, she was almost running to meet her husband. Rafe had been leaning against the few remaining upright boards of the barn, and when he saw her, he ran to her, picking her up and swinging her around. Her arms entwined around his neck as she threw her head back and laughed, then leaned into him and kissed him.

“Take me home, Rafe Colton.”

The week passed blissfully. God had planned his best spring weather for them, and every morning dawned cool and clear, every day was warm but not muggy, and every night gave them a spectacular showing of a star-laced sky. One night, shooting stars flew across the blackness, dozens at a time, the parade lasting for hours. The young couple made many wishes on those stars, sprawled on a blanket in the back yard.

Mariah Colton began to go outside, walking slowly to a settee under the huge oak in the front yard. Livvie often sat with her, working on her quilt or reading, and the two women talked for hours about fashion and the War and the Colton men. Rafe made some minor repairs around the house, fixing a roof leak, replacing the broken windowpane, and repairing the back porch floorboards. Mariah even joined them for some of their meals, although she still took many in her room, her stamina quickly exhausted.

Every night, Rafe and Livvie walked hand in hand to their bedroom, relishing the time alone. This time, Livvie prayed that she would be with child, no matter what her father would say. If the War didn’t end soon, and it didn’t look to, there was no telling when she’d see her husband again. She dreamed of holding a baby in her arms that looked like Rafe: blond hair, bright blue eyes, long limbs and fingers, and a broad smile. She didn’t share her dream with Rafe. She knew that it would make him sad and anxious to think about bringing a baby into the world without him.

Inevitably, the week ended. There hadn’t been enough afternoons in the duck blind, enough evenings spent telling old stories with Nackie on the porch, enough mornings walking along the river. There hadn’t been enough nights in the big bed, the soft breeze drifting through the open window, the candlelight flickering and casting shadows on the wall. There hadn’t been enough “I love yous,” nor enough kisses. And yet time still marched on, and Rafe had to pack his rucksack for the journey back.

“I’ll write,” he said, holding her at the top of the front steps. “I’ll think of you every minute.” He kissed her head, inhaled her scent, then closed his eyes and feasted on memories from the week.

“And I,” she agreed.
Let me be pregnant,
she prayed.

There wasn’t anything to say that they hadn’t said a hundred times, and yet it all seemed to need to be said again. They didn’t say anything, holding each other tightly for several minutes. Livvie felt too forlorn to cry, as if her heart was being removed from her chest with tongs made of ice. Finally, Rafe held her at arm’s length to look at her.

“I love you Livvie Colton. However long this takes, however far they make me go, you remember that, you hear?”

She nodded, tears finally falling. “I love you, Rafe Colton. You come back to me.” She smiled wanly. He nodded, jaw clenched. He took the steps at a run, kissed his mother, who was standing next to Nackie at the bottom of the steps, hugged the old man, then leapt on the horse and took off.