A Heart Renewed (30 page)

“Is something not to your liking, Miss Colter?  If so, I will be more than pleased to correct the situation.”

“No, it is not that.  I…um…was hoping to inquire if there were any positions available at the hotel.”

“Ah, I see.  Well, in that case, I will see if Mr. Barnard will see you.”  He started to turn, but paused.  “By the way, my name is Mr. Albert Hamilton and I am pleased to meet you Miss Julia Colter.”  He smiled broadly before taking his leave.

Julia stood there, hoping that Mr. Barnard would see her.  She hoped to convince him she was qualified for any number of jobs.  If he did not hire her, she was not sure where else she could work.  Betty had all the help she needed at her boardinghouse—not that she wanted to work under the frequent attention of such a large group of men, recalling her nervousness the one time she tried to help.

Very little time passed before Mr. Hamilton returned.  “Mr. Barnard will see you.  This way.”  He motioned for her to step around to the side of the counter.

She followed him until he stopped to open the door.  Mr. Hamilton motioned for her to enter the room then closed the door behind her.

“Miss Colter,” the man seated behind a large mahogany desk said.  “Pleased to meet you.  Please take a seat,” he added pointing to one of the chairs across from the desk.  “Mr. Hamilton said you were asking about working at the hotel.  What qualifications do you have?”

Julia quickly took a seat.  “I am trained in the social graces as well as domestic chores.”  She had not expected the question, so she kept her answer brief.

“Well, I doubt that you are trained in gourmet cooking,” he said.  She shook her head.  “I already have sufficient staff to clean rooms as well as in the kitchen.”

“Oh.”  Perhaps he would not have a need for her services after all.

Mr. Barnard propped his elbows on his desk and formed a tent with his lengthy fingers.  As he looked her up and down, Julia tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.  He bobbed the index finger of his right hand against the complementary finger of his left hand, keeping them formed in a tent.  She wondered if he even realized he was doing so.

“I think you are in luck, Miss Colter.  How would you like to work the front desk?”

“First,” she started, making direct eye contact, “I want to be clear that I cannot start until after Christmas.”  When Mr. Barnard nodded, she continued, “Second, what does such a job entail?”

“Well, you would greet the customers each and every time they entered or left the hotel.  Then you would manage reservations, assign guests to rooms, collect payment for their visit, and show them to their rooms.  You would have to be well versed in all of the key features of our establishment.  In addition, you would have some oversight of the cleaning and kitchen staff acting as an intermediary between them and me.”

“What would Mr. Hamilton do, then?”  She wondered aloud.

Mr. Barnard chuckled.  “Mr. Hamilton would oversee your duties.  Once you are fully trained, he would watch the desk after dark, for your safety, of course.  During the primary business hours he would assist me with other matters.”

“What about living arrangements?”

“There is one small room left back near the offices for staff.  You may have that as part of the arrangement.”

“There are no concerns with me waiting until after Christmas to start?”

“I want you here on the Monday after Christmas.  If you can be here by eight then the job is yours.”

Dumbfounded, she could barely speak.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnard,” she managed as she stood.

Mr. Barnard stood and showed her to the door.  “Tell Mr. Hamilton to give you a quick tour, Miss Colter.  We shall see you soon.”

Her head spun as Mr. Hamilton showed her around.  She hoped she would remember where everything was in a few weeks.  When Mr. Hamilton finished the tour, she joined Adam in the lobby.  Her smile confirmed she would be working there.

Chapter 23

Nashville, Tennessee

December 14, 1864

Sergeant Thomas Anderson stood before Major General Thomas with a dispatch from Major General Smith.  The day prior, Smith instructed him to report the status of their fortification attempts along the southwestern edge of Nashville to Smith’s commanding officer, Major General Thomas.

Once Major General Thomas completed reading the dispatch he instructed Sergeant Anderson to wait for his response.  Having heard a rumor this morning, he wondered if the major general before him was planning any action against Hook’s army.  The rumor was that General Grant was so displeased with Major General Thomas’s inaction that he ordered Major General Logan to go to Nashville to assume command.

The major general motioned Thomas forward and handed him the dispatch.  As Thomas was leaving, he saw a line of the other corps commanders’ dispatchers waiting to give their report.

Quickly finding his horse, he rode back to Major General Smith in the dimming light of the setting sun.  He pulled to a stop in front of the major general’s quarters, giving the appropriate signals.  Smith smiled a greeting as Thomas entered.

“Did you arrive before the others?” Smith questioned.

Thomas smiled at the major general’s enthusiasm.  “Yes, sir.”

“See, that is why I ordered you to be reassigned as my dispatcher.  You have a fine reputation for being the fastest.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas replied, glad for the praise.  He pulled the missive he carried from the copper tube and handed it to Smith.

“Odd,” Smith commented taking the paper from Thomas.  “He normally sends no lengthy reply.”

Thomas knew Smith was not speaking directly to him so he stood there waiting for his next assignment.  Having worked closely with Smith for the past month, he anticipated the major general would send him off with a reply.

“Captain!” Smith shouted for the captain of the guard.

The captain entered and standing at attention, replied, “Sir?”

“Gather the colonels immediately,” Smith commanded.  As the captain left the tent, Smith whispered to himself.  “Didn’t give us much notice did he?”

“Sir?”  Thomas inquired confused by the major general’s behavior.

“Huh? Oh, Sergeant, you may wait outside, but stay nearby.  I will need your services again after I meet with the colonels.”

Thomas exited Smith’s quarters and waited at a small campfire nearby.  He opened his rations, eating slowly—a hard habit to break even when he was at camp.  The colonels of the brigades of the XVI Corps arrived in short order.  He was close enough to the major general’s tent to overhear part of the conversation, but not close enough for it to be clear.  The colonels seemed as displeased as Smith had been.

“Sergeant Anderson, the major general is requesting you,” the captain of the guard informed him.

As he stepped back into the tent, Thomas barely announced his presence when Smith started in.

“Sergeant, I need you to run this dispatch up to Major General Thomas in quick order.  Wait for his confirmation, then report back here.”

He did as instructed and made the trip back to headquarters for the second time that evening, now in the cover of darkness.  He delivered the message to Major General Thomas whose reply was simply a verbal acknowledgement with no further instructions.

Jumping back on his mare, he rode down the line to Smith’s quarters.  Once he delivered the message, Smith instructed him to ready his gear and to report back at three in the morning.  That was only a few hours away.

Yawning, Thomas handed his horse off to the captain of the guard for care.  He made his way to his tent.  Once there, he checked his pistol and carbine, ensuring he was ready for the morning.  Curling up on the ground, he pulled his blanket around him and fell fast asleep.

The night captain of the guard woke him shortly before three in the morning, giving Thomas just enough time to make his way to Smith’s quarters.  Smith instructed him to wait nearby and be ready at a moment’s notice—meaning drink some coffee.

Despite the fatigue begging him to sit and rest, he remained standing as he sipped his coffee.  Over the last twenty-four hours he must have ridden up and down the line half a dozen times.  Something was definitely afoot in their current campaign moving them most likely towards a confrontation with the rebels.

Shortly after sunrise, Smith called him in.  Giving him dispatches for each of the colonels commanding the brigades, Smith instructed Thomas to ride the lines, yet again.

Thomas mounted his horse.  Dense fog still hung in the air, forcing him to ride at a slower pace, requiring his attention to remain sharp.  It took him nearly a half hour to cover the short distance down the line to the farthest colonel.  With each message he received verbal acknowledgement of the orders before riding on to the next.  An hour later he reported back to Smith that all brigades were ready for battle.  Smith again, instructed him to remain nearby. 

While he loved the excitement and adventure of riding in a battle, he despised the waiting game.  He sensed the anticipation building around him, yet he could not be involved.  Shortly after eight in the morning, the fog lifted enough for the battle to begin.

The loud thunder of cannon fire preceded the low whistle of the cannon balls flying through the air.  Another loud, but muffled sound indicated the weapon made contact with the intended target.  Over and over again the same pattern repeated.  Even though he was far from the front lines, he imagined the scene of men shouting accompanied by rifle shots, smoke and ash filling the air.

It was afternoon before Thomas was called into Smith’s tent for further instruction.  Smith sent him with a dispatch to Major General Thomas. 

Eager to be part of the action, he mounted his horse and urged her to a gallop.  As he rode down the line, he kept his body leaning low, using his mare for cover from rifle fire.  Ash and smoke made visibility difficult.  He nearly missed instructing the mare to jump one of the fences along the route, having lost track of where he was along the line.  He squinted hoping to better identify his position.  When he rode through here last night, he was well within the Union camp.  Something seemed off.

Slowing his horse’s pace, Thomas glanced at the men on the east side of the line.  Through the thick polluted air, he was not able to distinguish the uniforms to determine if they were Confederate or Union.  Deciding to move to a more sure position, he pointed the mare in a slightly westward direction.  That should position him deeper into Union troops. 

Thomas was relieved to see one of the captains of the guard for another corps.  He was more confident of his position in the line and, for the remainder of the ride, he should be safe—well as safe as riding the line in the middle of a battle can be.

Suddenly the noise of the cannons ceased.  Thomas marveled how the onset of cannon fire was so noticeable. But, it became less so when in the midst of the battle until they sounded no more.

He pressed on to Major General Thomas’s position.  He delivered the message then waited for instruction.  The major general wrote a hasty reply and blotted the ink, too impatient to let it dry fully.  He instructed Thomas to deliver orders to Smith to move their position to cut the Confederate’s line in half.

The ride back to Smith’s camp was quieter, with no cannon fire, only the occasional pop and whistle of rifle fire.

Thomas’s body jerked to one side seconds before he felt the heat in his right arm.  Keeping his grip on the reins, he glanced down.  Blood drenched the right sleeve of his uniform just below the singe marks.  Hoping he was just grazed, he kicked the horse for more speed.  He started to feel a bit dizzy and his field of vision narrowed to a few feet in front of his mare’s head.  Willing his eyes to stay open, he concentrated on what he could see.  He was there, in Smith’s camp and he was fairly sure the captain of the guard was giving a signal.  He tried to remember what he was supposed to do next as fire shot up his arm and into his shoulder.  Just before running into the captain, he yanked back on the reins, coming to an abrupt stop.  The action served to unseat him from his horse. 

Falling to the ground, Thomas tried to keep his focus.  Once on the ground, he sat up and gave the return signal to the captain of the guard.  Ignoring both the man’s concern for his wellbeing and the pain fighting for his attention, he stood to his feet.  The world was spinning and tilting, causing his stomach to lurch.  A scene of another dispatcher flashed before his eyes.  That man had died and Thomas was the one who picked up the dispatch.  Shaking the image from his mind, he walked into the tent and handed the missive to Smith.

When Smith saw his arm, he yelled for the captain of the guard.  He heard something about keeping this man from bleeding all over his desk.  Thomas was confused, but followed the captain as he left the tent, certain it was not entirely by his own power.

The captain led him to another tent where the moans of the injured intermingled with smell of rotting flesh.  The acrid smell of blood—his own blood—was too much to consider. 

Closing his eyes, he thought of home and warm summer days and how a fresh breeze tickled his face.  He tried to focus on the memory of the sweet cinnamon aroma of Hannah’s fresh baked apple pie and Drew’s laughing smile when he forgot some of his concerns.

He had to stay conscious.  He felt something being lifted from his back.  His left hand immediately went up to his chest feeling for the leather strap attached to the copper tube.  It was gone!  He has to get the message to the major general.  He tried to sit up.  He must complete his mission.  Or had he already?

Someone pushed him down onto a cot.  When he tried to sit up again, strong hands held him down.  Cold air hit his chest.  He opened his eyes and glanced down seeing only his long johns covering his chest.  The pounding in his head prompted him to close his eyes against his will.

Thomas screamed in pain as someone put pressure on his right arm.  He felt like he was floating on a lake or down the Ohio River.  He was cold.

Someone jabbed his arm and he gritted his teeth.  It felt like they were cutting his flesh.  The pain was too great and a blanket of warmth enveloped his body. 
I don’t want to die.