Uncertain Glory (13 page)

“I'll get everything organized so we can print the cards first thing in the morning, and start setting type for the Act,” I told him. “If we're fresh then, we'll be able to work through tomorrow, except that I'll have to take an hour or so off in the afternoon. I promised my parents I'd watch the store. By that time we'll all need a little time off.”

Since Charlie was still convinced Nell was a fraud, I didn't want him to know that Ma and Pa were going to consult her. That was our family's business, not Charlie's, although I knew he'd probably find out
somehow. Wiscasset was a small town. Few people could keep secrets here.

Charlie nodded. “I can deliver the cards while you're at the store.”

“Good plan,” I agreed. I kept thinking of the $5.00 Mr. Pendleton had agreed to pay. I wanted those cards finished and the money in my box before he changed his mind. “I'll stop and fetch Owen on my way to the office,” I added. “I'll be here by six-thirty tomorrow morning. Sharp.”

“I'll check at the telegraph office,” Charlie volunteered, “to make sure nothing happened down south overnight.”

“Agreed.”

“See you tomorrow,” said Charlie, pulling on his jacket. “I'm curious to hear what people are saying about this afternoon's meeting. Travelers may not be interested in local details, but some Wiscasset men come to drink in the Mansion House tavern. I suspect there'll be some interesting talk tonight.”

“I wonder who'll volunteer.” I wondered out loud. “Captain Tucker said we need one hundred men. One hundred!”

“We should be finding out soon enough,” said Charlie. “Good night!”

As I'd anticipated, it only took me an hour to set the type for the soldier's identification card. I hated thinking of what such cards might be used for, but was careful to make them large enough to inscribe with the information needed, and small enough to put in a pocket. I wished there was some way to keep them from smearing in the rain, but all ink smeared. Soldiers would have to wrap their cards in cloth or leather.

It was dark by the time I left the office and walked slowly toward home.

What would families do when their men were gone? What would the town do? Men farmed the land, ran the stores, and fished the rivers. They were pharmacists and smithies, shipbuilders and ministers, like Reverend Merrill. They were doctors and lawyers. How could these men just leave and turn into soldiers?

For a few young men, like Edwin Smith—who'd finished his time at Bowdoin College and hadn't yet married or opened his law practice—it might make sense to go. But there weren't a hundred Edwin Smiths in Wiscasset.

Our kitchen was warm and smelled of baked apples and cinnamon. Ma was pulling a hot dried-apple pie out of the oven, and Pa had gotten his Bible down off the shelf in the corner of the kitchen where it always sat. Trusty wagged his tail in happiness at my arrival.

Pa never read the Bible unless it was Sunday.

“Mmm!” I said. “Apple pie! What's the occasion?”

“I put the pie in before we closed up the store and went to that meeting,” said Ma. “I hoped you'd be coming back here soon so we could all eat together. With the world moving so fast these days, we've hardly seen you in the past week.”

“Sorry. I have to get up early tomorrow, too. I've been asked to print copies of that Act Mr. Bowman read from—enough copies for every town in the county.” I sat down at the table. Pa moved the Bible to one side and Ma started cutting large slices of her pie. “But I haven't forgotten I'm to be here to watch the store for you tomorrow, while you talk with Miss Gramercy. What time is that?”

“One o'clock,” said Pa. “We appreciate your taking the time, son. I expect we'll be getting many customers tomorrow, as people start thinking about what was talked about today at the meeting, and making their decisions.”

“Who do you think'll go to soldiering?” I asked, filling my mouth with crisp crust and sweet apple filling. “It's a big decision, to sign up to fight, and be gone two years.”

“Thank goodness you're too young to be thinking about it for yourself, son,” said Ma. “Eighteen is still young to be going. I'd hate to be the mother of one of the boys who sign up.”

“No; I'm not thinkin' that way,” I said. “I love my country, but soldierin' isn't for me. I'm good with words and accounts. I have the newspaper to run here, and I can help you and Pa with the store. In war, people will want news, and they'll need provisions. There'll be plenty for me to do in Wiscasset. And Captain Tucker said he was settin' up that Home Guard. I'll ask if I can help with that. I suspect I can make more difference here in Wiscasset than I could as one more soldier on a battlefield.”

She smiled. “I'm glad you're thinking that way, Joe. After losing your brother, I don't want to lose you, too. Tonight I suspect a lot of boys in town are aching to go and be heroes.”

“Could be. Charlie would like to go, I think, but he's not eighteen, so Wiscasset's stuck with him, too,” I said.

Ma looked over at Pa, who'd been quiet the whole time. “You want to say something, Abiel?”

“Son, sounds like you and Charlie'll be taking real good care of Wiscasset during this war we've gotten ourselves into,” said Pa, in a low voice.

I looked at him. “Not everyone's leavin', Pa. Charlie and I won't be the only ones here.”

“Well, now, that's true. But I want you to know, I believe you're going to do a darn good job of it all. You're close to a man now, and I trust you with everything I hold dear in my life.”

“Pa?”

“That's why. . .” Pa looked over at Ma, and reached his hand out to grasp hers. “That's why I've decided that tomorrow, I'm going to enlist.”

“Pa—no! We need you here! What if . . .”

I looked from Pa to Ma and back again. I couldn't say the words.

“I'll be home just as soon as Mr. Lincoln is sure we've got the job done. You know us Mainers, Joe; we're reliable. When our country needs us, we go.”

I couldn't say anything. Didn't he think his family needed him, too? Was his country more important than Ma and me?

“You'll be fine. You'll be the man of the house when I'm gone. I trust you to take care of your ma. Watch out for her, and make sure she doesn't work too hard at the store.”

Ma had tears in her eyes.

“Why, Catherine, you'll both be so busy, you won't even know I'm gone.”

“We'll know you're gone, Abiel. We'll know,” said Ma.

How could he leave? Just when everything at home seemed so much better?

I banged my fork down on the table, ran upstairs, and slammed the door of my room. Hard. How could Pa desert us?

Even if I could pay Mr. Shuttersworth his money, there was no way I could run a printing business and help Ma with the store, too.

It wasn't fair. I hated this war, and I hated what Pa was doing.

Chapter 26

Wednesday, April 17, morning

Perhaps God wanted to remind us mud season hadn't ended yet.

Heavy rain drilling on the low roof over my head woke me in the dark morning. I pulled Ma's soft quilt over my head. Why should I get up in the cold and dank and work long hours? With Pa enlisting, I'd never be able to keep the
Herald
going, even if I
did
manage to pay back Mr. Shuttersworth.

I buried my head further under the covers.

But rain meant little to Trusty. “No, Trusty—not today!” Seeing me move, he'd jumped up on the bed and pulled the quilt down, hoping for a game.

I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on my trousers and a warm shirt and jacket. It might be halfway through April, but warm weather had not yet reached the coast of Maine.

Ma had already set the kettle on to boil. One benefit of having a store in the family was always having both coffee and tea at hand. She handed me a mug of steaming coffee. It smelled bracing, but was too hot to drink. I sat down at the table.

“Where's Pa?”

“He's already gone to talk with young Mr. Smith about the enlistment,” said Ma, pouring hot tea from the teapot into a cup for herself. “He wanted to be one of the first to sign up.”

“He's really going to do it, then. Enlist.”

“He is.” Ma stirred her cup of tea hard and fast, as though she were mixing biscuits. “He won't be deterred. Your pa's a stubborn man.” Her lips were taut. “And a patriot.”

I put the coffee down. My stomach was beginning to knot, but I couldn't complain to Ma. She'd bear most of the burden in Pa's absence. “We'll be fine, Ma. I'll take good care of you.”

Ma smiled. “You will . . . and I of you. And we'll write to your pa and keep in touch. President Lincoln said the war might only be a few months. Let's hope he's right.”

I nodded.

“There's a small piece of pie left from dinner. I saved it for you.” Ma fetched the pie from the pantry. Pie was a common breakfast in Maine, and apple, one of my favorites. And, for all of my thoughts, I was hungry.

“I'll be back before one o'clock,” I said.

“Thank you. We'll see you then.” Ma looked at me, straight this time. “Don't you be worrying, Joe. You and I'll make it just fine. We will. Your pa has to do this, for our country. And for himself.”

“I understand that's what he says; I just don't know why it has to be him. Why it can't be someone without a wife, or a son. Without responsibilities.”

Ma shook her head. “There's few without such. In war, all must sacrifice. Our sacrifice is your father.” She turned, and I could see her tears starting. “Now, you go on. Go to the newspaper office, and print up the words for the other towns, so folks there will know what we in Wiscasset found out yesterday. They need to know, too. That's your job. Be off with you.”

The last of the pie stuck in my throat, but I headed out, holding my jacket tight around me and trying not to step in the deepest puddles.

My first stop was the Bascombs' house, to get Owen. I'd need all the help I could get today.

“Good morning, Joe,” Mr. Bascomb said, as he answered my knock. “I assume you're looking for Owen this dreadful morning?”

“I could use his help over at the
Herald
office, sir. We're setting type for the state's Act to Raise Volunteers.”

Owen slid in front of his father. “I can be ready in a minute, Joe. I can go, can't I, Father?”

“Get your jacket on first.” His father looked down. “And your shoes. And get some bread and meat from your mother. You haven't had breakfast yet.”

Owen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

“Owen does love being with you and Charlie. It's good of you to find work that a boy his age can do without his making a nuisance of himself.”

“He's no nuisance, Mr. Bascomb. Owen's a big help. He's learned a lot about setting type and printing. When I've got a big job, like today, I really need his help.”

“That's good then; I'm glad. Sometimes I worry he's in the way down there. He can be clumsy and awkward. Did you see the bloody nose he got running into a tree the other day?”

Owen must not have told his father about that gang of boys. I wouldn't have told my pa either. Luckily I didn't have to say anything because Owen appeared, shoes and jacket on, his brightly colored parrot on his head. “Can I bring Gilthead with me today?”

“Not today, Owen,” I said. “He'll want to fly about, and you know he makes messes. We're going to have papers all over the room. We have too much to do to clean up after him today.”

Owen looked down. “He wouldn't be a bother. I'd clean up after him.”

“Joe said no, boy,” said his father. “Now go and put Gilthead back in his cage. That bird has too much freedom as it is.” He shook his head. “Ever since Owen's uncle brought that parrot back from Cuba, the bird's been nothing but trouble. The boy does love him, though.”

Mr. Bascomb turned back to me. “So, you're printing up the Act to Raise Volunteers, eh? What do you think: Will Wiscasset be able to get one hundred men to volunteer?”

“I don't know.” I hesitated. “But my pa's going to sign up.”

“Then I'll be seeing him at Edwin Smith's home. I'm volunteering, too,” said Mr. Bascomb. “It's a man's duty to defend his country and keep it free for his children and grandchildren. I want Owen to grow up in a country where he can travel to any state and live and do business without fear. That's why I'll be fighting. I'm guessing your pa will be fighting for the same reasons. This country is called the
United
States for a reason. We need to stick together—not be torn apart.”

Owen was back, this time with a hunk of bread and some meat in his hand and no Gilthead. “I'm ready to go. I can eat this on the way.”

“Good luck, Mr. Bascomb,” I said. “We'll be working until a little past twelve, and then takin' a break. Owen will be able to come home for nooning. Then we'll go back and work through the afternoon.”

Owen and I had the press ready to print the identification cards and the font trays lined up to begin setting the Act by the time Charlie burst through the door.

“News!” Charlie said, tossing his sodden jacket and hat on the floor, as usual. “Virginia has seceded!”

“Succeeded in doing what?” asked Owen, who was carefully inking the press under my supervision.

“Not succeeded, you goose!
Seceded!
They've decided they're not staying with the Union—the Northern states. They're going with the states in the South,” said Charlie. “It just came in on the wires. They're the eighth state to leave the Union. And Virginia is right next to Washington, where President Lincoln lives.”

“How many states are on our side?” asked Owen.