Songs of the Shenandoah (24 page)

“What would your father do? That's the question I always ask of myself.”

Grace shrugged. “I suppose . . . he wouldn't approve.”

“Then maybe,” Mrs. Fletcher interjected brightly, “we'll just let Anders correspond to you through our letters. What about Seamus? What has he written?”

The question drew pain for Ashlyn. Her husband wasn't much of a letter writer, and the couple she had received read more like a newspaper. “He seems to be doing well enough, I suppose. As well as one would expect in these circumstances.”

Music started, and they looked over to see a fiddler standing on a crate jabbing his bow as a few people started to gather around him. This was about the time the wind shifted and the smell of the pig roasting filled the air.

“Do you suppose it's proper for all of us to be celebrating like this, you know with what all is going on?” Grace squinted from the sun which was shining in her direction.

“I think it's a fine thing for us to take our thoughts away from war, if only for a day.” But as these words came out of her mouth, Ashlyn looked over to Callie Fernsley, who had already lost two sons in the war.

“Celebrate we must.” Coralee picked up the pitcher of lemonade and refilled all of their glasses. “And soon, I believe we will have much more to cheer about.”

“Oh, Coralee.” Ashlyn swatted at a fly buzzing around her ear. “I wish I shared some of your optimism for the progress of this war.”

“Don't believe me then. Believe Fletch, who is the worst of all pragmatists. He's heard from some dependable sources.”

“You mean the smugglers and moonshiners?” Ashlyn interjected.

“Indeed. You would be surprised what a soldier will share for a nip of hooch.” Coralee lowered her voice. “I hear word our General Lee is now pushing up north. With all of his victories, he's got the gumption now to give the Yanks a bit of their own measure. See how they feel with enemy boots marching on their own fields. Why if they make it up to New York, you can consider this whole conflict settled.”

“I certainly wish that would be so. Anything that would bring our boys back home.” Ashlyn knew better than to mention this out loud, but if the rebel army made it up to New York, it would put Seamus in a precarious situation. He would not participate in anything that might put Clare at risk. He would draw that line. As it was, it grieved him not being able to correspond with his family up north. This war was tearing apart much more than just a nation.

A banjo player and a man with spoons joined the fiddler, and now a few of the women and old men were beginning to move to the music.

A voice came from behind them. A familiar one. “May I have a dance?”

Colonel Percy Barlow, in full uniform with polished brass buttons, stood with his hand extended to Grace. She looked to Ashlyn for rescue.

Ashlyn stood to her feet and the knitting dropped onto the dirt. How had she ever been so enamored with this man? The mere sight of him now made her ill. Was he different in his youth? Had the rigors of the army turned him into a much different man? Or was it she herself who had changed?

Coralee stood as well and gripped his hand in both of hers. “Why Colonel Barlow, our own dear Percy. What brings you here? What news do you have from the front?”

He retracted his hand and fixed his gaze on Ashlyn, his eyes probing deep, as if looking for some trace of the feelings she once had for him. Then after an uncomfortable pause, he turned to Coralee. “I have just returned from Richmond and was in the company of President Davis himself.”

“Ooohh my, have you really, Percy?” Coralee fluttered her hand before her face.

“There is a great mood of hope among our leadership.” He returned his gaze to Ashlyn, which she avoided.

“What with all of the whipping you boys have put on them Yanks, it is no wonder the president is well pleased.” Coralee clasped his hand again. “But tell me, Percy, have you truly spoke with the president? And to think I scolded you when you were knee high. Perhaps you will forgive me for this.”

“As a matter of truth, I am here on behalf of President Davis. He requested I visit the people of the valley to share the president's deep gratitude.”

“Well . . . well . . . Percy, I mean Colonel Barlow.” Coralee's voice dripped with even more twang. “Why don't you go about spreading some of those compliments with us?”

“I will.” Percy glanced around the gathering and he took advantage of the pause in the music and stood on a chair. “I am here to share encouragement with all of the farmers who are doing their part to feed our brave soldiers. President Davis wants you to know that the Shenandoah Valley, with its rich harvests provided by your labors, is one of our greatest assets in this conflict.”

This was met with applause and some hoots, and then the musicians began their next song.

“Isn't that wonderful?” Coralee smiled at Grace. “Did you hear that, child? You are a war heroine.”

Percy straightened and faced Grace again. “Now, would the young lady favor a dance with the colonel?”

“Oh yes, please do.” Coralee stopped herself once she caught Ashlyn's glare.

Ashlyn did all she could to gather herself. “Colonel Barlow, it is most kind of you to offer my daughter a dance; however, her heart is already given to a young man in the war.”

“I see.” He lifted his chin. “And does your daughter know who I am? If she did, maybe she would answer the officer's request more favorably.”

It wasn't just the words he was saying but the smugness in his face. All of Ashlyn's maternal instincts were about to overcome her Southern sensibility. Still, she struggled to restrain herself. Would Grace be able to recognize herself in this man's features? It would be confusing for her to know the truth. For all she could remember, Seamus was her father.

She must have understood Ashlyn's discomfort, because Coralee became an ally. “Well, Colonel Barlow, you are one of the most impressive bachelors from Taylorsville. I am quite certain you will not struggle in finding a lady over there to dance.”

“Have you not yet told her?” Percy put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Does she not have a right to know?”

“Know what?” Grace wrinkled her nose.

Ashlyn drew Grace in close to her. How would she ever be able to protect her daughter from her past? Was this a mistake to bring her back to Taylorsville? Surely, Ashlyn knew this would always be the great risk of their return.

“Has Seamus told her about me? Well?” Percy's tone began to frighten Ashlyn.

“What about my father?” Grace's body tensed.

“Why, my good Percy.” Pastor Asa made his way over. “What brings you back here to Taylorsville? Have the Federals surrendered already?”

Ashlyn's shoulders relaxed as she had never confided to the pastor about Percy, but she always felt he somehow knew. She saw disappointment in Percy's eyes, as his attempts to confront her were now thwarted.

“Good afternoon, Reverend. I am afraid it is too early to declare that kind of news, but progress does seem to be leading us in that much-desired direction.”

Pastor Asa put his arm around Percy's broad shoulder. “Well, son, we must have you share your good graces with the rest of the townspeople. They will be so encouraged to hear more of your exploits.”

They started to walk away, and Percy looked back over his shoulder. “I will look forward to continuing my conversation soon, ladies. A fine day to you.”

Realizing her daughter's gaze was upon her, Ashlyn forced a smile.

“What did he mean by all of that?” Grace was too smart and sensitive to let Percy's intentions go unnoticed.

Ashlyn squared Grace's shoulders to her and then brushed back her daughter's light brown hair. “There are some people you must avoid. That man is one of them.”

“What was he saying about Father?”

Coralee leaned in and whispered, “I never liked that man, even when he was a boy.” She glanced with apology at Ashlyn. “No offense to you, dear. We all dallied with foolishness in our youth.”

This brought another curious glance from Grace. Poor Coralee couldn't keep from tripping over her own tongue, but she meant well. “Just pay the man no heed, Gracie,” Ashlyn said. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, but Ashlyn could see her curiosity was still simmering.

Pastor Asa's ruse had worked well. Percy was surrounded by many well-wishers and seemed to be enjoying all of the attention.

“We should go home now.” Ashlyn lifted her daughter's knitting from the ground and dusted it off.

“Yes, Ma.”

“Good day, Mrs. Fletcher. Please give your husband our regards, and thank him for the turnips.”

Then the two of them scurried away, able to depart without much notice. After they had walked down the pathway, Ashlyn ventured a glance back. Percy had freed himself from his admirers and was watching the two of them make their way home.

She pressed Grace on the back. “Let's hurry a bit.”

Clare looked back again and he was gone, and a terrible thought came to Ashlyn that brought her shame.

She hoped Percy would not make it back from the war.

Chapter 28

St. Patrick's Day

Stafford County, Virginia

March 17, 1863

The screams and shouts saturated the camp of the Army of the Potomac.

Davin stepped on a table to try to get himself a better view of the surreal revelry. It was hard to believe he was in a war at all. After two months of enlistment, this was the closest he had come to battle and never had he imagined such quantities of champagne and whiskey punch would be distributed so freely to the soldiers.

Thousands of men, many of them boys, formed a wall around the makeshift steeplechase course, fists raised with wagers, and arms and voices urging along their favorites. Davin could barely venture a view above the flailing of the crowd, but in the distance he saw horses and riders from the cavalry toeing up to a starting line.

This crude competition participated by the finest of the Union's cavalry was ordered by new commanding officer General Joseph Hooker. This, along with heavy libations, a grand feast, and several other planned activities was all part of a St. Patrick's Day celebration aimed at lifting the tilting morale of the troops.

The North had strung together a few demoralizing losses and the Irish Battalions, although credited with exceptional bravery, had been hard hit with casualties during recent battles. So it seemed a slice of unorthodox brilliance to host an event that could salve so many wounds. Certainly, none of the soldiers were complaining, least among them the lads from Dublin and Cork.

Except perhaps for Davin, who wanted to get started with his penance. He figured he could start relieving his guilt in the throes of battle and was anxious to hear the sounds of angry gunfire.

But on a day like this one, even someone with a burden as heavy as Davin's could forget his problems. That and a cheerful friend like Private Barry Magee, who worked his way up beside Davin on the table.

“Can you believe all of this, Davey boy?” Barry always spoke with a melody. “Why if this isn't Bobby Lee's most brilliant plan, getting all of these boys liquored up and dumb. I imagine the rebs will be popping out of the trees soon enough.”

“I believe you may be right, my friend.” Davin stepped on his toes to try to get a better view. “Ol' General Hooker has done lost his senses.”

“Well, if he has, don't help him find them none because I haven't eaten this proper since my great-aunt's wake.”

A gun sounded and a dozen or so horses surged down the nearly oval track, their hooves pounding against the turf in a fury.

“Which one is yours?” Barry asked.

“Huh?” Davin's gaze was tracing through the crowd.

“Which of them mares? Who'd you wager on? Goodness, Davey, it beats betting on bedbugs for a change.”

Davin glanced at the horses that were taking turns clearing the first hurdle. “Uh . . . the brown one.”

“What? That's no use. They're all brown.” He patted Davin on the chest. “It's that girl of yours again, isn't it?”

The last of the horses and its rider barely managed to clear the log it was jumping and stumbled awkwardly, which resulted in gasps, shouts, and drunken mockery.

“What?” Davin resumed his search.

“The Irish girl. The one in the infirmary. You think we don't all know about this nurse?”

“You mean Muriel? Ah . . . she's just a friend I knew from back in the city. She used to watch my sister's kids. A nanny.”

“Oh, is that so? Well then, you wouldn't mind me giving her some affection then, will you?”

Davin shot a glare at his friend but realized he had been trapped into revealing himself. “All right, then. I like her some. But don't breathe a word of it because those Sanitary Commission ladies will send her on her way.”

“Yes, yes, Davey Boy. And what does the little nursie say about her brave soldier, the one who hasn't even caught a whiff of gunpowder?”