Leigh Ann's Civil War (8 page)

Without a word the woman set her basket down, removed her neckerchief, and reached inside the top of her stays. She drew out a letter and handed it to Viola, who grabbed it and gave a low cry and clutched it to her bosom.

"Oh, thank you,
thank you!
But who are you? Is this what you do?"

The woman wagged her finger and shook her head no. No questions. "We gots a way," she said. "Negro womens in South to negro womens in North. If'n you gots a need to send a letter, put a quilt over the fence in front. You gots a quilt?"

The woman left, refusing one of the gold doubleeagle pieces of coin from Viola, mumbling, "Cain't have no Yankee money on me." So Viola gave her Confederate script.

The letter was from Teddy and Louis.

Dear Viola and Leigh Ann:

I'm afraid we've come here with romantic ideas of patriotism and war. The enemy, from what we can see of them, looks formidable in force. Up to now we have spent hours waiting around in boredom. It is difficult adjusting to the food and, of course, at night, with some men playing harmonicas and singing, thoughts of home grab at the heartstrings through the firelight. What have we gotten ourselves into? What is
it all for? In spite of such considerations, we have met some fine fellows from other regiments. We are forming lasting friendships with men from the 8th Georgia Infantry, the 7th Georgia, and the 17th Virginia. Louis has even met an old college buddy. They say we will soon go to battle. Pray for us, and if anything befalls us, remember that we love you all beyond words to tell.

We trust everything is fine, that you girls are helping to hold home and hearth together, and abiding by everything we taught you. Viola, we realize we have left a lot on your shoulders, but know you are equal to the task. Leigh Ann, we also trust, sweetie, that you are doing your best. Don't disappoint us. Give our best to Pa, and, Viola, Johnnie is fine and sends his utmost sentiments. He will be writing to you soon. Don't write until this battle is over and we know where we will be. We send our love and prayers, Teddy, Louis, and Johnnie.

***

On Friday morning Pa received a note from a man named Olney Eldredge. Jon gave it to Viola. It said that Mr. Eldredge would consider it a pleasure to see Pa this day.

"Your pa's not himself," Jon said. "He wants you to take care of it."

Viola was almost paralyzed with dread. "Olney Eldredge is the new superintendent of the mill that Teddy hired before he left," she told me. "Oh, I don't know tiddlywinks about mill business, but we must invite him to dinner just to be courteous."

He came to dinner that very night, a middle-aged man with downward-slanted eyes, large lips and jowls, and a worried look on his face.

"I am a native of Massachusetts," he told Viola as she offered him a glass of sherry in the front parlor. He wanted her to know it upon meeting him. In case she felt it necessary to throw him out of the house, I guessed.

"But I've heard you've been here awhile now." Viola had done her homework. She had searched Teddy's desk for the folder on Eldredge and read his background.

"You've been in Georgia since 1846," she told him.

Oh, Viola was smart! I was so proud of her. She knew his wife had died and that he had three children, and at the dinner table she asked about them with real interest.

"Because the mill lost clients in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Newark early this year, it had to lay off thirty people," Eldredge told Viola. "Now we have lost at least ten male workers to the army. And we are getting large military contracts from the Confederacy. I would have liked your father's permission to hire more hands."

"He isn't well," Viola said. She did not elaborate.

"I would write to your brother Theodore, then. Is it possible to get mail through?"

Viola and I looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing. The lady with the basket full of vegetables.

"First, Mr. Eldredge," Viola told him kindly, "I am sure that when my brother hired you he gave you full authority to hire people when they are needed. That is why he made you superintendent, is it not?"

He swallowed deeply and took a sip of wine. "Yes, I suppose you are right, Miss Viola. I am, you see, not as confident as I used to be. Not since my wife died."

Viola nodded. "So why don't you just go ahead and hire them?" she suggested. "And then write to Teddy and tell him about it? If you leave the letter with me, yes, I have ways of getting the mail through. But not until the battle they're about to fight is over. Not until then, Mr. Eldredge..."

Her voice trailed off. We all fell silent. The grandfather clock in the hall struck seven.

Within a week or two of Manassas, which was what we called that first battle, we got the telegraph in Roswell. But even without it, we knew the next day from couriers arriving on horseback from Marietta that the South had won.

To say there was rejoicing in Roswell makes words cheap. The dram shops were overflowing. The women opened their houses and had high teas. The band played in the town square all day. People had picnics on their front lawns. They put up colorful ribbons on their front porches. The churches held special services for the wounded.

That afternoon more couriers arrived with handbills saying that the Confederate Congress in Richmond called for a day of thanksgiving. They also said that our army had 387 killed, 1,587 wounded, and 13 missing. The Federals had 460 killed, 1,124 wounded, and 1,312 missing.

We sobered when we heard that. Viola hosted a high tea and invited Camille Smith, her sister, Emily, her younger brother, David, her parents, Archibald and Anne Smith, as well as the Reverend and Mrs. Pratt. Now she looked first at me, then at Camille, who had another brother off fighting.

"How will we know who was killed or wounded?" Viola asked.

"We'll hear soon," Reverend Pratt promised. "Another courier will come."

The tea soon ended. Camille and her parents hugged us as they left. Viola and I sat by candlelight at dusk, staring at the remains of the rum nut pudding cake, petits fours, the pudding pecan pie, the sparkling punch bowl, and the brandied cherry ring.

From the distance we heard faint shouts of celebration and band music. Viola had a glass of sherry in her hand.
When did she start drinking sherry?

I said nothing. Jon stood in the doorway. "Is there anything I can do, Miss Viola?"

She did not even turn to look at him. "No."

"I know you are worried. I never told you all, but I feel guilty because I can't go and fight. I should have been at Manassas. Your pa's asleep. Now why don't you let me take you for a little walk outside in the garden. It will do you good."

Now she did look at him. "Because it isn't your job to take me for a little walk in the garden, that's why."

"You are a beautiful young woman, Miss Viola. And your sister soon will be. But I have no untoward motives. I feel protective toward you and your little sister is all."

"My brother Teddy told you we were not your concern. And my brother does not take easily anyone who goes against his wishes."

"No man can tell another what his concerns should be, Miss Viola."

My sister had confided to me that she thought Jon wanted to "take liberties" with her, and told me never to be alone with him. "And if he starts anything with you, scream, kick him, bite him." And she told me a few other secrets girls have to protect themselves.

Now her suspicions about Jon were confirmed. "You will please leave us now, Jon," she said sternly.

He hesitated for a moment. "I wonder if your brother would take easily the information that in his absence you are drinking sherry."

Viola slammed her fist down on the table. "Get out!"

He left.

We sat until the grandfather clock chimed ten, while Careen and Cannice cleared the table, and Cannice finally came over and pulled out my chair and said, "Time for my lamb to go to bed."

Viola had forgotten it was past my bedtime. She jumped up. "I'll do it," she told Cannice. "I just wanted her company. After all, it is a special day."

And then, just as she was about to lead me up the stairs, Cannice came to us. "Miss Viola, that vegetable lady, she be here again."

Viola fled through the kitchen to the back door. "Come along, chile," Cannice said to me. "I put you to bed."

All I could think of was that the vegetable lady had a letter! I broke away from Cannice and fled to the kitchen to be with Viola. A letter meant news. Either both Teddy and Louis were dead or wounded. Or one of them was. I had to know.

Cannice was right behind me. Viola did not order her away. The vegetable lady stood in silence until Viola told her it was all right, that Cannice could be trusted, and then she took off her neckerchief and drew out the letter.

Viola snatched it, tore it open, and read it in silence. Her hand flew to her mouth. "What?" I demanded. "Tell us!"

"Louis has been shot. In the ankle." She spoke in a low, shaky voice. "Teddy pulled him off the field and while doing so was shot in the arm. They were both sent to a hospital in Richmond for medical care."

I burst into tears. "No," she said, "no. It's all right. They will both be all right. They will soon be home to recuperate." She held me.

"And Johnnie?" I asked.

"Teddy wrote that Johnnie was unhurt. He remains with the Roswell Guards. And he will go on with them to wherever they go to fight next. He will write to me soon."

"Soon's here." The vegetable lady drew another letter out of her bosom and gave it to Viola, who grabbed it and kissed it.

Coffee was heated up for the vegetable lady. And she was given some pudding pecan pie. "I knows," she told us, "that you all's got the telegraph. I done saw the poles on my way here. But I knows, too, that both armies ain't gonna let those lines be gettin' messages through wiffout bein' cut. Those lines jus' beggin' to be cut. So I still be sellin' my vegetables, thank you all."

Viola nodded and said, "Oh, Cannice, please put your lamb to bed."

She was clutching the letter from Johnnie to her breast as she said it.

***

The boys came home two weeks later.

Carol came back to us a good week before and insisted on being the only one to ready things for Teddy. This was the first time I saw the other side of Carol, the side that truly loved him. Now Viola and I stepped aside and let her have her own way in preparing for his homecoming.

We got things ready for Louis. We were going to fix up the back parlor for him, deciding he wouldn't be able to make it upstairs. Then Camille dropped by.

"Louis being Louis," the girl said, "he'll make it upstairs if it kills him. He'll be uncomfortable sleeping downstairs."

She was right. And Viola asked her to help us prepare his room, and she did.

They came by train to Marietta, thirteen miles north of us, and then by stage to Roswell. Viola and I went with Primus and Carol and Camille to meet them in town.

Viola held me back as they got out of the stage so Carol and Camille could greet them, could hug them and receive their kisses and return tears and whispered endearments. We busied ourselves paying the stage driver.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Teddy was wan and his arm was bound up. Louis was on crutches and he looked thinner. Both wore their uniforms, a little worse for wear.

Then Teddy looked at us, not quite knowing what to say. He'd never been anything but strong, capable, and well, and now he looked as if he wanted to apologize for his imperfection. Instead, he grinned. "The stage ride was as bad as the battle." He winked at me and it near tore my heart out. He held his good arm toward me and I hesitated, not wanting to hurt him. "Come on," he said. "They haven't broken me, not yet."

I hugged him.

"Have you been good?" he asked.

"Yes." I would never tell him about Mother whipping me.
Never.

Louis was next. He smiled his wonderful Louis smile.
Oh, thank you, God,
I said to myself.
They didn't take that from him.
I hugged and kissed him. "I'm glad you're home. I missed you."

"Wouldn't be here if Teddy didn't pull me off the field," he said. "I missed you, too, sweetie."

We got into our carriage. It took a while because Louis had some difficulty. Then Primus drove us home, where Cannice had waiting a wonderful supper that, she promised, would include ice cream.

I got out of the carriage first because I had to hold Cicero back from jumping all over the boys.

The announcement in the
Richmond Enquirer
read:

The Conners brothers of the Roswell Guards distinguished themselves in Manassas, 21 July 1861. Ordered up to support General Bernard Bee, the Roswell Guards found Bee's Brigade routed and took the lead. In four hours of desperate fighting, Captain Louis Conners was in front of the line, encouraging the troops, when he was shot and his ankle shattered. Lieutenant Theodore Conners took his place, leading the Guards in the bullet-laden air, shouting, "Forward, boys" until the Guard completed a gallant charge, which contributed to the victory of the day. Lieutenant Theodore Conners then rescued his brother from the field.

Pa was not himself. He greeted the boys as if they had been away to the horseraces in Savannah.

"You fell off a horse, eh?" Pa scolded Louis. "Told you that bareback riding would cripple you someday."

Everything was the same, yet everything was different. My brothers were heroes and people came to call and made a fuss over them, but a somberness was in the visits. At least seven other Roswell men had been badly wounded. And four others were killed.

Louis made his way up and down those stairs once a day. He always came to the table for meals. Sometimes in the mornings he set himself up on the verandah in the shade. I stayed with him there. I kept him supplied with fresh cups of coffee and he told me of things he and Teddy had done as little boys. He confided in me that he was in pain. I asked him why he didn't take the laudanum that Dr. Widmar had given him.