Soldier Boy's Discovery, page 5
Jeff listened intently to the sermon. He had never felt he was an “on fire” Christian like Dan and Silas Carter. He’d come to admire Stonewall Jackson, who made no secret at all of his belief in Jesus Christ. The general spoke publicly in meetings and privately to many individuals. Jeff remembered vividly how the great Stonewall had spoken to him and Charlie Bowers, his fellow drummer, when they first joined the brigade. The general had been pleased to talk about his faith with them and had insisted on their coming to the revival going on near their camp. He sure was brave about his faith.
Now as Preacher Jones continued to preach, Jeff thought, It takes a lot of nerve to come right out and tell people you’re a Christian. Why, I think I’d rather charge a bunch of Yankees with those newfangled breechloaders!
The last fiery echoes of the sermon rang more than an hour after Preacher Jones had begun so softly. His voice reverberated from the corners of the church. “The time is now! Those of you who don’t know Jesus, I invite you to come—to believe in your heart that He is the Savior, to confess that fact with your lips. Come while we sing!”
As the congregation joined in singing “As We Gather at the River,” Jeff watched at least a half dozen people move down the aisle toward the front.
“Look at that, Jeff!” Silas whispered loudly. “Good to see all those sinners finding Jesus!”
Preacher Jones talked to each one of the penitent folks briefly and prayed with them, while other members came to speak with them as well. Finally he said, “These have come, taking Jesus as their Savior. We’ll be counseling with them.” He hesitated, shaking his head. “This is one battle, folks, you’ll be glad to lose. I encourage you, do not sleep tonight without giving your life to Jesus. In these uncertain days, none of us knows how soon we’ll be meeting Him. Please, please, be ready!”
After a short, deliberate pause, Preacher Jones motioned to Silas. “We will now have the benediction. I ask Mr. Silas Carter to pronounce it.”
Jeff was a little startled. He knew that Silas Carter was a fine Christian, but he had no idea that he was so well thought of.
Silas prayed in his usual, firm voice, asking the blessings of God on those who had just entered the kingdom. Before he closed, he prayed for the soldiers on the field of battle about to face death.
“Both North and South,” he said firmly, and Jeff felt a rustle over the congregation. “These are all the concern of Jesus Christ—Southern and Northern boys—and we pray for all of them.”
There were a few “Amens” after Silas ended his prayer, and the congregation began leaving the pews.
Jeff went at once to where Lucy stood with her family. He knew he would never be able to apologize in public, although he intended to try.
Mrs. Driscoll said, “Why, it’s our young friend from the Stonewall Brigade. Jeffrey, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jeff Majors.”
“Well, it’s good to see you, my boy.” Mr. Driscoll leaned forward and shook Jeff’s hand firmly. “I understand you’ve been to Kentucky for supplies. We thought at first maybe you had gone with the army.”
“I expect I’ll leave right away to catch up with them, Mr. Driscoll. I just got back.”
“Well, I insist on you and Mr. Carter having dinner with us,” Mr. Driscoll said. He looked over at Silas and smiled. “We can continue the discussion we had the last time we spoke about our Lord’s coming.”
Silas smiled slightly. “Yes, I thought you might appreciate a little more enlightenment on that, Brother Driscoll. We’ll be glad to go, won’t we, Jeff?”
“Yes, sir, that would be nice.”
“Well, you just follow us,” Mr. Driscoll said, then turned to leave the church with his wife and Lucy.
Jeff and Silas in their buggy followed the Driscolls’ carriage to their home, a large mansion two miles down the road. As they dismounted and joined the Driscolls, slaves came to take the teams away.
“Come on inside,” Mr. Driscoll said jovially. “We don’t cook on Sunday, but we have a mountain of food cooked up on Saturday. I hope you like cold fried chicken and potato salad, because that’s what dinner is.”
“Nothing better than that,” Silas agreed heartily. “Isn’t that right, Jeff?”
“Yes, sir!” Jeff replied with enthusiasm.
He was somewhat nervous about Lucy. She had not spoken to him at all, and he was having second thoughts about the speech he’d planned to make.
The visitors were ushered in, and soon they all sat down at a large, oval mahogany table covered with a sparkling white tablecloth. The crystal glasses caught the sunlight filtering down from the high windows. A house servant, wearing a spotless white dress, set down a huge silver tray. Removing the cover, she said, “There it is. I hopes you likes fried chicken.”
The table soon was loaded down with vegetables, potato salad, pickles, three kinds of bread, and large pitchers of milk.
After Mr. Driscoll asked the blessing, he said, “Now, you two start in. I know what it’s like to be starving to death after a long sermon.”
Jeff put a chicken leg on his plate, and Mr. Driscoll laughed, “That’s hardly enough to whet your appetite, young man. You need more than that to keep yourself growing strong!” He piled Jeff’s plate high and then added, “You lay your ears back and fly right at it, Jeff.”
He laughed again, turning to Silas. “Help yourself while I try to help Mr. Carter here see the light on this business he thinks he knows so much about in the book of Revelation.”
Mr. Driscoll and Mr. Carter engaged in a rather lighthearted discussion of the second coming of Jesus. Actually their ideas were not greatly different, but they enjoyed arguing doctrine. Mrs. Driscoll talked incessantly to Jeff, barely giving him time to answer her questions and put away a healthy portion of all the good food.
After the meal, Mrs. Driscoll gave the two young people the chance Jeff had been waiting for.
“Lucy, why don’t you go show Jeff the new fish pond you designed? I know you’re proud of it, and Jeff might be interested.”
“Yes, Mother.” Lucy rose from her chair.
Jeff couldn’t tell from her tone of voice, or her almost expressionless face, what she thought of a chance to talk to him alone. Feeling foolish and uncomfortable, he followed her from the room.
They proceeded down a long hall with a polished oak floor, out the sunroom door, and along the expansive veranda to the side lawn.
Jeff tried to start the conversation on safe ground. “That was a good meal. I don’t get cooking like that very often.”
“Rosalee’s a very good cook,” Lucy answered briefly.
She led him around a pathway to the side of the house, and there under a huge oak they came to stand beside a pond that had been built of cement and stone. It was at least ten feet across, and lily pads covered some of the surface.
“Daddy had it built because he likes to watch the fish,” Lucy said. “He let me design it.” She was not smiling and seemed to be depressed.
Jeff looked down and caught the flash of a reddish fish. “I see one!” he cried. “Look! Right there!” He leaned over and looked down into the depths, where he saw the fish as they came toward the surface, eager for the dried food they had come to expect every time people approached.
“They sure are pretty. I’ve never seen pet fish before. Your father called them ‘goldfish’—they look more red to me. Are they good to eat?”
“No,” Lucy murmured. “They’re just to look at. One of my father’s fancy habits.”
Jeff tried to carry on a conversation about the fish. Finally he gave up the pretense, took a deep breath, turned to Lucy, and blurted out, “Lucy, I was mean to you yesterday. I should have accepted your apology. I hope you’ll accept mine. I’m sorry.”
At once, Lucy, who had been staring into the water, turned to face him. Shock mingled with surprise and happiness were in her expression. “You were mean,” she said. “But I guess I deserved it.”
“Well, like Silas Carter says, I guess we all deserve a whipping sometimes—and I’ve done worse than what you did. So I really came to church to meet you. I really wanted to tell you I was sorry. And I am.”
The sober look that had been on the girl’s face had vanished. She smiled, and her eyes grew bright. “Oh, Jeff, I am sorry! I don’t know what made me do such a terrible thing! I don’t know what Leah must think of me.”
“Well, she was put out with you, Lucy, just like I was. But like I said, we all do foolish things from time to time.”
He suddenly laughed. “You know, I stayed awake last night till after midnight practicing that speech, just saying, ‘Lucy, I’m sorry.’ I don’t know why it’s so hard for us to confess we’re wrong—at least it is for me.”
“It is for me too,” Lucy said quickly.
She made a pretty sight as she stood before him. She was wearing a bright yellow dress trimmed with light green ribbons and a matching ribbon in her hair that brought out the green highlights in her blue eyes. Her hair was the color of spun honey.
She moved close to Jeff, extended her hand until her fingertips were barely touching his chest, and pled, “Let’s not ever fuss again, all right, Jeff?”
“That’s fine with me, Lucy, but I just don’t know if I can promise it. Folks do tell me I tend to have a quick temper,” he answered with a grin. He bit his lip. “I’m such a stubborn cuss—always getting my foot in my mouth. I’d like to promise, but all I can say is I’ll do my best.”
Lucy laughed. “That might be a description of me,” she answered. “I’m always getting in trouble. Daddy spoils me frightfully and doesn’t even seem to know it.” She smiled, her cheeks dimpling slightly. “Of course, I let him do it.”
“I don’t blame you a bit,” Jeff said cheerfully. “I wish somebody’d spoil me! I’d take all that I could get.”
Lucy moved closer. “I’m so glad you came! Now we can be friends, can’t we?”
Jeff stared at her with surprise. “Sure we can. Of course, I’m hardly ever around here. I’ll be leaving to catch up with the Stonewall Brigade—probably right away.”
“I know, but you’ll be coming back. And when you do, I’ll be waiting. I’ll have another party, and you can come and bring anybody you want to. If Leah comes back, she can come too, and I’ll be very nice to her, to make up for last time.”
“That’d be real good, Lucy.”
Jeff was amazed to discover how pleased it made him feel to forgive Lucy—it had taken away all his ill will toward this girl. Although he knew it was he himself who had changed, it was like she was a different girl too.
When he and Silas got in the buggy and started for home, he commented to the older man, “You know, she’s not a bad girl at all, Lucy Driscoll. She just made a mistake.”
Silas looked at him. “I guess we all do that, as I’ve said so often. She’s a fine young lady. Spoiled a little bit, but no wonder, as pretty as she is and coming from a fine home like that. It’d be a wonder if she wasn’t.”
They talked as the horses trotted down the road, the dust rising behind them in a lazy spiral. Jeff thought about the day, took a deep breath, and said, “I wish I could get out of every jam I get in as easy as I did this one, Mr. Carter.” He looked at Uncle Silas. “You sure gave me some good advice. I made an important discovery today.”
Silas grinned at the young man. “If you’d listen to me more, you’d know more, Jeff,” he teased. “But you’re doing fine for a young fellow.”
There was a comfortable silence between them for a few minutes until Silas asked suddenly, “You going back to the brigade tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got to get back. I’ve been gone too long.”
“Well, I’ll be praying for you and your father and brother. It may be a hard fight.”
“I appreciate that. We need all the prayer we can get.” When they got to the house, he got down and added, “I’ll be praying for you too. My prayers don’t amount to much, I guess. They’re not very flowery like that preacher’s this morning.”
Silas stopped suddenly, turned, and fixed his eyes on the boy. “God’s not looking for flowery prayer,” he said evenly. “He’s looking for hearts that are right and opened to His will. Remember that, Jeff.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“Don’t know why we try to be so fancy with the Lord,” Silas pondered. “He must get tired of our foolishness sometimes.”
“I guess so, Mr. Carter.”
“Well, you and Tom will have to come and see me when you get back to Richmond.”
“We sure will—but I don’t know when that will be.”
Jeff turned down Silas’s invitation to stay the night and instead reported to the officer in charge for his company. He said, “I’d like to catch up with my brigade as soon as possible.”
The lieutenant replied, “That won’t be hard. We’re sending some reinforcements. You can go with them tomorrow morning. Your pa will be glad to see you.” He hesitated, “Or maybe he won’t. Be hard on a father seeing his son go beside him into the bloody fight we’re likely to have.”
Jeff spoke up at once. “I want to be with my father and brother—and with the Stonewall Brigade.”
The lieutenant grinned. “I wish we had another twenty thousand like you,” he said. “We need them against that passel of Yankees that’s coming!”
5
The Army Pulls Out
Jeff quickly discovered that this departure of reservists to replenish the brigade was little like the scenes he remembered from when he and his father had pulled out with the main brigade the previous year. As he joined the men gathered to form this replacement unit at dawn, he saw no bands and no crowds.
He thought back to when the Stonewall Brigade had marched out before the Battle of Bull Run. The air then had been filled with the sound of gunfire, bugles, and stirring songs. The streets were lined with cheering throngs, relatives and friends of the brave soldiers who looked so sharp in their soft gray uniforms and shining black leather boots. The excitement had stirred his own blood as he marched with his brigade.
By contrast, today’s makeshift company looked more like a ragtag collection of ruffians bent on mischief. There were hardly any hardy young men in the group. Instead, most were either older, gray-haired patriots or boys scarcely older than Jeff. No one had a complete uniform, and fewer than half were armed. Old muzzle-loading muskets were standard; no one had a sleek breech loading rifle.
The sergeant in charge was distinguished by voice rather than uniform. His bellows bullied and pushed the raw recruits into line. “Fall in! Line up! How do you pansies think you can fight the Yankees if you can’t even line up to march?”
As far as Jeff could see, his bullying didn’t help a great deal. Smiling at the sergeant’s growing frustration, Jeff took his place in line and wished he had his drum so that he could add a little order to the sorry-looking group. But, he reflected, they wouldn’t know how to respond to the drum signals anyway.
The men grew restless at the continuing delay as the sergeant rushed around making sure all their supplies were loaded and all the wagon drivers took their proper order. Jeff shifted from one foot to the other, wishing they were already finished with the long march.
Daydreaming about settling back into the routine of brigade life, he didn’t hear at first as his name was shouted. Finally he realized the angry sergeant was yelling his name, and he turned quickly to respond.
To his surprise, he saw the Driscoll carriage pull up twenty yards short of the troop. Lucy disembarked like a princess, leaning on Old Sam’s arm as she carefully stepped to the dusty ground and lifted her skirts just high enough to keep them clean but not high enough to provoke catcalls from the assembled men. The brilliant blue of her day dress was in stark contrast to the drab surroundings.
Lucy’s gaze almost instantly rested on Jeff, and as it did she raised a dainty gloved hand to wave, and a clear, broad smile broke across her face.
She called, “Jeff! Jeff!” and he ducked his head in embarrassment.
The grizzled sergeant threw up his hands in mock disgust, grinning at this new, but not unwelcome, interruption to his attempts to call his men to order.
His wide grin revealed the dark gaps of missing teeth, and his shout carried across the assembly area. “Which one of you fellers is Jeff?” he demanded.
Seeing no hope of escaping the ridicule of his jealous companions, Jeff promptly stepped out and lifted his arm in a half salute. “That’s me, Sergeant.”
The sergeant grinned more broadly. “Looks like you got somebody wants to see you off real proper, soldier. Go get your kiss and fall back in, quick like.”
Jeff moved briskly toward Lucy and away from the hoots and hollers of the troop, whose comments followed him the whole way. “Give ’er a kiss for me, Jeff boy … If’n you don’t want ’er, I’ll take ’er…. Whoo! Whoo! Ain’t she a purty one!”
Jeff’s face was flaming by the time he reached Lucy’s side. He grabbed her arm and muttered, “Let’s get out of sight, Lucy. You shouldn’t be hearing such things!”
Lucy giggled and clasped her hand over his as it still gripped her other arm. “I brought you some food for your long march, Jeff. You said how much you liked our Rosalee’s fried chicken, and I couldn’t stand to think of you on the road with nothing but hardtack. I’ve got a bundle all made up special for you in the carriage.”
Jeff pulled her quickly around to the other side of the carriage, away from the eyes of the troops, and turned to her, his expression betraying his confused feelings of embarrassment, irritation, and pleasure. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You should know, Jeff. I had to come and say good-bye to you!” She smiled shyly.
“Do your folks know you’re here?”
Lucy shook her head. The golden curls swung around her shoulders, and she said lightly, “Oh, I’ll tell them when I get back.”
