The Velvet Shadow (23 page)

On Saturday morning, August 31, Flanna and her comrades rose with the bugle and polished their uniforms. Last night she and the others had carefully packed their knapsacks with whatever goods they would need for the long journey ahead.

The Twenty-fifth Massachusetts was moving south.

But first they had to endure the army’s love of ritual, and Flanna shivered through fleeting nausea as she checked and rechecked her uniform. She had borne a multitude of inconveniences and trials for this day, but tonight she would lay her head someplace outside Boston. She had begun the long trek home.

“Company M, fall in!” Sergeant Marvin called. Charity helped Flanna adjust the ponderous weight riding her shoulders. Her woolen blanket was draped across her right shoulder, with its ends tied at hip level on the opposite side. Her journal was wrapped inside the blanket, an extra weight, but a necessary one. Her rifle rode her right shoulder, and from her belt dangled her bayonet, cartridge box, cap box, tin plate, cup, and haversack.

Charity stepped back to eye Flanna’s efforts, then shook her head. “Land’s sakes, Mr. Franklin,” she said, a smile in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet Flanna’s. “You has gone and made a soldier!”

Flanna rolled her eyes, then stepped toward the tent doorway, clanking like a peddler as she walked. “Remember, this is only temporary,” she called over her shoulder, “and you’re here to help me! So stay close, and don’t be left behind!”

Charity could not march in the dress parade, so she hung back with the other camp followers—a few officers’ wives, a corps of brazen prostitutes, and the regimental surgeon and his assistant. Flanna followed her messmates, taking her place in a long line that made up the hundred man Company M, part of the proud Twenty-fifth Massachusetts.

As the band played a spirited song, they marched to an open field on the Common. Flanna recalled that last summer this field had been bright with grass, but the daily drilling of nearly one thousand men had worn it to nothing but dust and dirt. A special platform rose from the worn center of the field, and an imposing array of colorful ladies and stern men sat atop it, their eyes trained on the troops beyond.

The sun glared hot overhead, and Flanna felt a trickle of perspiration run from her underarm down to her rib. The uniform she wore had obviously been designed for winter wear; the dark blue dress coat was as hot as blazes. She envied Charity, who was lounging in the shade with the other servants. She also envied the young women on the platform, who wore lovely dresses of summer cotton, their arms and necks exposed to the light breeze that cooled the hot, dusty field.

Flanna narrowed her gaze. Why, one of those young women was Nell Scott, Mrs. Davis’s niece from Roxbury! Nell wore a stunning blue silk dress, cut off the shoulder and most daring for daytime. A white silk ribbon stretched from Nell’s dainty waist to her right shoulder, a gorgeous sash to honor the brave men setting off to war. She looked as bright and beautiful as a butterfly, while Flanna felt heavy, dirty, and sweaty. And though she and her fellows had brushed and polished their uniforms and rifles for inspection, there had been no opportunity to bathe. Flanna suspected that sweet Nell would find the lot of them repulsively odorous.

Nell shifted her parasol to shade her fair skin from the sun, and Flanna trembled with a thrill of recognition when she saw the lady
standing behind it. Mrs. Haynes stood there in a full-skirted gray silk, a color only two shades away from mourning black. The woman appeared pleasant and content, but the marks of grief were clear, etched in the lines beside her mouth and eyes, thrown into shadow by the slanting sun.

What was she feeling at this moment? She had always been an ardent abolitionist, but did she support the cause as ardently since it had demanded the service of her sons?

The last company filed into place in the hollow square around the platform. The band stopped playing, and the air seemed to vibrate in the stillness as a clergyman stepped forward and lifted his hands for prayer.

After a lengthy benediction, the mayor of Boston rose to address the troops. While he droned on with compliments for the officers and pleas for God’s blessing upon this endeavor, Flanna found herself watching the women on the platform. Nell occasionally brought a lovely lace-trimmed handkerchief to the corner of her eye—but just one eye, Flanna noticed, and only when the speaker paused and some disciplined soldier might be tempted to look over the rest of the platform. Mrs. Haynes sat motionless, her hands in her lap, her eyes trained upon the wooden platform. And yet, Flanna knew, both Roger and Alden were somewhere in this crowd. Had either of them managed to embrace their mother in a quick farewell?

After the mayor’s speech, Mrs. Haynes stepped forward, followed by Nell Scott and two young ladies Flanna did not recognize. As the three young women unfurled a resplendent silk flag in blue and white, Mrs. Haynes pressed her hands to her breast and addressed the men of the regiment.

“When you follow this standard in your line of march or on the field of battle,” she said, her narrow face twisting in a fragile smile, “and you see it waving in lines of beauty and gleams of brightness, remember the trust we have placed in your hands. We will follow you in our hearts with our hopes and our prayers. You are to go forth to the conflict to strike for our noble Constitution, for freedom of speech,
for freedom of thought, for God and the right. From her mountain nest, the eagle of American liberty has at intervals given us faint warnings of danger. Now she swoops down on spreading pinions with unmistakable notes of alarm; her cries have reached the ears of freemen, and brave men rush to arms. She has perched on this banner which we now give to your keeping. Let your trust be in the God of battles to defend it.”

The men remained at attention, but a handful of observers applauded from the bleachers. Mrs. Haynes wiped her eyes, then clasped her hands again, her eyes settling on one specific form in the line of men. Without looking, Flanna knew that the lady had found one of her sons.

Stepping forward, Colonel Farnham bowed to Mrs. Haynes, then assured her that the trust reposed in him and his men would never be abused. “This flag,” he said, his voice stentorian and booming, “will never be given up to traitors, but will be defended by myself and my associates with our lives. Its luster will only be increased by deeds of valor, and our watchword shall be ‘The Union, now and forever, one and inseparable.’”

The men around Flanna erupted in cheering. Swept along on a tide of emotion she could scarcely understand, she caught her breath. She was an American, yes, and part of her would always stir at the sight of the red, white, and blue flag, but she was also a Carolinian!

The drum corps began its steady beat. The sergeant called a command, and the band began to play a bright march. Flanna shifted automatically, turning right, and lengthened her step to match that of the man in front of her. A thrill shivered through her senses as she realized that these steps would lead to the depot, where a train waited to carry the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts to Washington. The war might be only a few nights away, but beyond that lay her home.

She forced her mind to focus on these thoughts as she marched, her legs moving stiffly to the steady beat as the men ahead of her began to sing, “John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave…”

As he shifted in the saddle and rode alongside the columns of marching men, Alden Haynes’s mind kept turning to the image of his mother on the platform. Colonel Farnham had given the Haynes brothers a four-hour pass last night, so he and Roger had gone home to bid her farewell.

His mother had attempted to pretend the occasion was just another family dinner, but though the food was a sight better than army rations, Alden had no appetite. When Howard noticed Alden’s mostly untouched plate and asked if everything was all right, Mother burst into tears and fled the dining room.

Alden sighed and watched her go. Obviously, Flanna O’Connor had made the right decision when she decided to leave before the regiment pulled out. She had completely avoided the pain of parting, the floods of bitter and worried tears.

Despite his best intentions to forget his brother’s girl, Alden found himself missing her. She had certainly made their family dinners…interesting. It was far better to have Mother fuming about Roger’s unsuitable Southern sweetheart than weeping uncontrollably.

He turned to Roger, who sat still and silent in his usual chair. “Did Miss O’Connor weep when she said farewell?”

A deep, painful red washed up from Roger’s throat and into his face, as sudden as a brush fire. “She disappeared rather abruptly, I’m afraid.” He swirled his half-empty glass and stared at his untouched plate. “I had hoped she’d come see us off, but apparently the strain of my imminent departure was too much for her. She left a forwarding address in New York, in care of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell.”

“You’re going to write her?”

“Of course.” Roger managed a quick half-smile. “I have been writing her every day. Her example keeps me motivated.”

Alden’s heart sank. “She writes you every day?”

“Well—no. Actually, I haven’t heard from her since she left. But she hasn’t had time to write, with the trip to New York and her need to settle in. And there’s the matter of the mail taking time to catch up to us.” He shrugged. “I meant that she keeps me motivated by the
example of her hard work. She labored in medical school to establish herself, and I will labor in this war. When it is over, I shall have the reputation I need for a career in politics.” A secretive smile softened his lips. “War veterans are extremely electable, Alden. Surely you knew that.”

“No.” Feeling restless and contentious, Alden leaned back in his chair. “I never gave it much thought.”

Roger glanced over his shoulder, making certain his mother had left the room, then pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it. “Actually, I think Flanna’s move to New York is a good idea. There she’ll have an opportunity to get this infatuation with medicine out of her system. She’ll be more than ready to marry me when I’m home again.”

“I thought she wanted to work with her father.”

Roger snorted softly and puffed on his cigar. “Who will want to live in the South once we have chastised it?” he asked, smoke trailing from his mouth. “No, brother. Flanna was smart enough to come north for medical school and go to New York to work with Dr. Blackwell. That same good sense will lead her to stay here.”

“Major Haynes!” Jarred from his memory, Alden glanced out at the crowds lining the sidewalk. Miss Nell Scott had pushed forward and stepped into the road. Instinctively, Alden pulled back on the reins and steadied the nervous gelding under him.

“Major Haynes?” The young lady came boldly forward, her hand brushing the hem of his trousers.

Unnerved by the approaching mountain of blue silk, the gelding tossed his head and bounced in agitation. “Easy, boy.” Alden settled the horse, then removed his hat out of respect for the lady. “Can I help you, Miss Scott?”

“Yes, Major.” Her curved mouth smiled up at him. “May I, Major Haynes—oh, I shouldn’t ask, this is so terribly forward of me!”

He forced a smile. “Please speak, Miss Scott. I haven’t much time.”

“You’re so right!” Her hand was now tenaciously fastened to his ankle. “Major Haynes, it would do my heart good to know that you would approve…”

Her eyes fell as her voice drifted away. Alden heard the steady tramping of the men passing beside him, and duty tugged at his heart. He heard a note of impatience in his response. “Miss Scott, please speak freely.”

“Major Haynes,” her arched eyebrows lifted, “may I pray for you while you are away? On my knees I will pray most devotedly, every night and every morning, for an hour each time!”

Her grip was like iron, and Alden resisted the urge to kick himself free. “Miss Scott, I would be most grateful if you would pray.” He smiled down at her in bewildered amusement. “Not only for me, but for all my men. Some of these fellows are yet raw and inexperienced. They will most decidedly need your prayers.”