The Velvet Shadow (41 page)

But the Confederates cared nothing about McClellan’s carefully laid plans. As the monstrous guns pointed toward Yorktown, Confederate cannon began to bombard the Yankee position, shells and shot pouring into the camp from one line to the other. The flashes of gunfire and arches of trailing smoke created a pyrotechnic display unlike anything Flanna had ever seen.

Not a man slept Sunday night. Most huddled behind the earthworks, their hands over their ears, their eyes wide to the sky above, always looking for that one shell that might be intended for them.

Flanna ducked into the dirt as one particularly loud shell screamed over her head. When she lifted her eyes again, she was surprised to see Major Alden Haynes crouching in the dirt in front of her.

“Major Haynes?” Her heart flooded with relief at the sight of him, fit and well. Since the shells had begun to fly, she and her messmates had not dared venture out of their trench.

“Private O’Connor, I need to speak with you.” His voice sounded uneasy, and the look in his eye sent a shiver down her spine.

“Speak, Major.” They both instinctively ducked as another shell rocketed overhead, but this one flew with the wailing sound of a winter’s wind, not the loud whistling that meant it was coming their way.

Alden turned and sat in the dirt, his back to the piled earth. He bent low so that his words reached her ears alone. “Flanna, you can’t stay here. This is real fighting, and there may be a real battle on the morrow. I owe it to Roger to see you safely away.”

Always Roger
. She pressed her lips together and waited for the dull thump that meant the wailing shell had landed. They both cocked their heads, listening for the sound, and slumped in relief when it came.

“Major Haynes.” Her gaze flew up to study his face. “I want you to know that I am honestly grateful for your concern. You have taken good care of me, and I appreciate it, even if Roger doesn’t. But I’ve learned something in the last few months—something they did not teach me in medical school. I’ve learned that the Bible is right when it says that to everything there is a season—a time to be born, and a time to die. And I believe God will preserve me until it is my time.”

“Surely you don’t believe that God protects those who take foolish risks.” In spite of his reserve, a tinge of exasperation lined his voice. “I want to protect you from those risks, Flanna.”

“I’m not being any more foolish than you are.” She watched the play of emotions on his face. “Do you remember some weeks ago when a young boy was crushed under one of the artillery wagons? I sat with him for an hour and helped him make his peace with God. And when it was done, I realized that for some reason I cannot understand, it pleased my sovereign God to take that boy home.”

“War is a dangerous business, even in camp.” Alden looked away into the darkness. “Soldiers have to be prepared for death. You, on the other hand, should not be expected to face those risks. Let me send you away. You’ve been an escort, and it would be natural for me to choose you to escort some of the wounded back to Washington.”

“No.” Knowing that the darkness cloaked her movements, Flanna reached out and slipped her hand over his. “We must all be ready for death, Alden. Once, in Charleston, a young lady was climbing into a carriage when her crinoline caught on the carriage step. The groom made a great noisy to-do as he attempted to free her, and the girl screamed in frustration. At that noise the horse bolted, dragging the poor girl for blocks before the carriage could be stopped. They called my father, but nothing could be done. That girl died on her way to a barbecue on a peaceful summer morning.”

Flanna’s heart squeezed in pain at the memory. “So you see, Alden, death can come anywhere, at any time, in God’s sovereign will. God holds my life, and he has seen fit to make me a part of this company, at home with these men. I will not leave them unless I have a clear indication that God wants me to depart. I will not go simply because I fear death. I don’t.”

He looked at her, his eyes compelling and magnetic in the gloom, then his free hand swept behind her neck. Her heart pounded as he held her at arm’s length for a moment, then the silence shattered with an angry howl. “Look out! Here comes another cook stove!” The shell screamed overhead and Alden drew Flanna’s head to his chest, shielding her until the canister landed somewhere near the center of the camp.

Within Alden’s arms, Flanna felt an unwelcome surge of excitement that had nothing whatever to do with the shell rocketing overhead. Her heart jolted, her pulse pounded, and she heard an answering uneven rhythm within Alden’s own chest.

Could he possibly feel what she felt?

He released her after the explosion, and she looked at him, her eyes searching his, but she saw nothing there but an aloof and protective pride. “Good night then,” he said, standing. He brushed the dirt off his uniform, gave her a distracted smile, then turned and walked away.

A blurred, red sun finally rose above the clouded eastern horizon. Tension hung in the air like dense smoke, waiting to descend and smother
any man foolish enough to acknowledge his fear. As the rain began to fall again, Flanna and her company quietly loaded their cartridge boxes, formed lines, and advanced through the mud. Flanna gripped her rifle and moved out to the drummers steady beat, marveling at the eerie silence of the landscape ahead.

When the foremost company breasted the earthworks, the sergeant lifted his hand. “The Rebs are gone!” he yelled, his voice echoing over the flat land between camps. “Every last one of’em!”

Flanna and the others quickened their pace. Within moments they stood in a deserted Confederate camp, staring at refuse that pointed to a hasty departure. The ground around the campfires was strewn with heaps of oyster shells, empty bottles, cans of preserved fruit and vegetables. Flanna found a loaf of unbaked bread nestled in a kneading trough, and a slab of pork dripping over a still-warm fire.

“They’re all gone,” Sergeant Marvin said, coming to stand beside Flanna. The corner of his drooping moustache lifted in a wry smile. “Imagine that.”

Flanna closed her eyes. Thank God, they’d gotten away. General Magruder, whoever he was, God bless his cleverness.

The Army of the Potomac halted while General McClellan conferred with his officers. Flanna knew he’d pronounce the effort a great success, though the Rebel army had escaped and the war would continue.

Exhausted by the thought, she sank to the ground by some Rebel’s discarded campfire. A pan of beaten biscuits lay upon the coals, and she picked one up and stared at it. Had Wesley or one of her cousins taken that half-moon bite?

“Miss Flanna,” Charity whispered, crouching as she came near, “I wants to talk to you.”

“Talk.” Flanna leaned upon her rifle, watching the others forage for useful items. After the tension of the morning, she felt strangely relieved…even elated. No Rebels would die today, and none of her messmates would be torn apart.

“Miss Flanna, I was thinking about going home.”

“I know, Charity.” Flanna sighed. “I’d have slipped away long before this, but we couldn’t—not with the Rebels camped right here in our path. But now we may find a way. We’ll be moving further into Virginia, maybe even into Richmond.”

“I know.” Something in the girl’s voice struck Flanna as odd, and she turned to look at her maid. Despite Charity’s cropped hair and dirty clothes, a sort of passionate beauty shone from her face, an elegance Flanna had never seen about Charity before.

“Charity,” Flanna began, puzzled and more than a little nervous, “what’s happened to you?”

The maid lifted her head. “I met a man,” she said simply, featherlike laugh lines crinkling around her dark eyes. “He’s a body servant to one of the Yankee officers, and he wants to marry me.”

Ripples of shock erupted from the midst of Flanna’s chest. “He knows you’re a woman?” She grabbed Charity’s arm in a furious grip. “You told him?”

Radiating offended dignity, Charity shook her head. “Miss Flanna, I didn’t tell anyone about your secret. Beau says he knew I was a woman the first time he looked at me. And he never asked me about your reasons—I don’t think he cares much. But he wants to marry me, and I’m going to let him. We’ve been waiting a long while, and now’s the time.”

Flanna released Charity’s arm and stared at the fire in stunned silence. She tried not to cry, but her chin wobbled and her eyes filled in spite of herself.

Charity bent low to look in Flanna’s eyes. “Are you cryin’ ’cause you’re happy for me?”

“No!” Flanna gasped in disbelief. “I’m crying because you’re leaving me! I’ll be alone! Charity, how could you? I thought—I thought we were friends.”

Charity’s left brow shot up in surprise. “Friends? Miss Flanna, I was your maid, nothing more. I ain’t even been that since we left Boston ’cause you ain’t had any money to pay me. Truth is, you’ve always treated me more like a slave than a friend. And it’s time I moved on.”

“Like a
slave?”
Flanna’s shock yielded quickly to hurt. “How can you say that? I am personally opposed to slavery; I’ve said so a thousand times. You were always paid good wages.”

“Miss Flanna, what’s the difference in paying wages over the long haul and paying them up front when you buys a slave? Truth is, the difference between a slave and a free colored is that freedom means I can go when I wants to. And I wants to go now.” Visibly trembling with intensity, Charity swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. “If I is free like you say, you won’t stop me from going. And if I is your friend, you’ll want me to be happy more than you want a maid.”

Flanna felt the bitter gall of guilt burn the back of her throat, then she gave herself a stern mental shake and fumbled for another argument. “What about your mother and father in Charleston?” she asked, dismayed to hear a faint thread of hysteria in her voice. “Have you forgotten about them?”

“No ma’am, I ain’t forgotten.” Charity looked away, her eyes soft with pain. “I love my parents, but I can’t know if they’ll still be there when this war is over. I can’t know that I’ll even make it home. You’re shooting for an awful faraway star, Miss Flanna, and I don’t know if you’re gonna make it. So I figures I needs to be happy now, and Beau makes me happy.” She blinked, then focused her gaze on Flanna again. “I wish you the best, but I can’t go with you no more. Not one more step. Beau and I, we’re thinking of going back to Washington with the next load of sick soldiers. We’ll live someplace up there, at least until the war’s over.”

Still reeling with disbelief, Flanna lowered her head to her hands. She had thought she could endure the worst the war had to offer, but she’d never imagined she’d have to endure it alone.

“Miss Flanna.” Charity straightened and lifted her chin. “Miss Flanna, don’t you be going on about this. You have always treated me good, but you have always treated me like a child. Well, folks like you tend to forget—children grow up. Truth is, I don’t need you, Miss Flanna. And it’s about time you learn that you don’t need me neither.”

The truth crashed into Flanna’s consciousness like surf hurling against a rocky shore. Blank and amazed, she sat very still, her hands clasped around her head, her eyes wide. Charity didn’t need her—what an unexpected, inconceivable thought! Flanna had grown up feeling responsible for Charity’s clothing, education, and wages, and yet she had ceased to provide those things months ago. And though it might be possible that she didn’t need Charity, that truth would be harder to accept.

But Charity was right—what was freedom if not the right to chart the course of one’s own life? Right now Charity had more freedom than Flanna did, for not only was Flanna caught in an enemy army, she was trapped in a false identity.

“I’m sorry, Charity.” Flanna’s voice cracked with sardonic weariness. “I’m sorry for…everything. Go, be married. I’m happy for you.”

Charity just sat there in the hush, her arms folded loosely across her knees, then she reached out and patted Flanna’s arm. “Miss Flanna, don’t feel sad!” she said, her face alight with eagerness. “You ought to get married too. Forget about going home till after the war, and get yourself out of this mess before you get killed.”

Flanna’s eyes screwed tight to trap the sudden rush of tears. “Roger won’t marry me,” she said in a choked voice. “Not now, not like this. Not until after the war.”

“I wasn’t talking about Roger.” Charity squeezed Flanna’s arm. “There’s another man that loves you, only you is too stubborn to See it.”

Flanna’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t mean Paddy O’Neil!”

“No.” Charity looked at Flanna in amused wonder. “I’m talking about Major Haynes. The man is crazy in love with you, and if you can’t see it, well, you’re blinder than most of the men around this place.”

“Alden?” Flanna muttered, half-laughing, half-crying. “Why, he feels nothing for me but responsibility. I’m nothing but a burden to him, a trial he’d rather send to Charleston than be mindful of.”

“Land’s sakes, Miss Flanna.” Charity shook her head in wonder. “You’re smart, but you can be awful thick sometimes. I know how
you feel about Mister Alden. I’ve been with you eight years, and I know you. I saw you looking at him that morning before you went up that mountain at Ball’s Bluff. And I know you decided you’d rather take your chances against the Rebels than slip through the woods and leave Major Haynes.”