Battle of Lookout Mountain (3 page)

Royal made his way toward the couple and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Well—”

Royal did not wait for him to finish but took the girl’s hand and swung her away, leaving her partner looking rather disconsolate and half angry.

“My name is Royal Carter,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, I’m Lorraine Jenkins.”

“Happy to know you, Miss Jenkins. You’re new in town here, are you?”

“Yes, my home is in Chattanooga. I’m here on a visit to my uncle and aunt.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins—they’re fine people. Are you enjoying your visit?”

From across the platform Leah watched as the pair danced. She was suddenly interrupted by a voice that said, “Well, now, it’s Miss Leah, ain’t it?”

She looked around to see a tall, gangly young man standing behind her. She knew him at once, for he was almost unforgettable. He had tow-colored hair, parted in the center, light blue eyes, and
craggy features. He looked a little like a very young Abraham Lincoln with his homely expression.

“Yes, it’s Mr. Rose, isn’t it?”

“Well—” the young man grinned “—that’s what the preacher calls me. A. B. Rose is my name, but folks just call me Rosie. I think I might be able to make it through at least one dance if you’d like, Miss Leah.”

“Why, of course, Rosie.”

He had huge feet, but he didn’t tread on her toes. As they stepped onto the platform, he cleared his throat. “Don’t reckon I’m long for this world, Miss Leah.”

Looking up, Leah was amazed. “Why, what’s the matter, Rosie?”

“I’m not a well man,” he said solemnly. There was a gloomy look on his face. “I’m lucky that I’ve lived to be as old as I have, but it can’t go on forever.”

Actually he seemed to be a rather strong young man, she thought, despite his gangly frame. His hands were corded with muscles, and there was a healthy glow to his face.

Still, he began to catalog his physical ailments. “My rheumatism is doing better, but that’s because I got that medicine out of Memphis for it. But I got these terrible shooting pains in my legs. They can’t be growing pains—at least, I hope they ain’t. Probably some dreadful disease that ain’t been discovered yet.”

Soon Leah began to suspect that Rosie’s ailments were all imaginary. He led her over to the refreshment center and ate three pieces of pie so quickly that it was almost magical. Leah’s eyes
twinkled. “Do you suppose pie is good for your ailments, Rosie?”

“There’s no telling,” he said, his voice almost funereal. He reached for another piece. “Man that’s born of this world is of few days—that’s what the Scripture says.”

Leah looked across the platform. “You and Drake are great friends, aren’t you?”

“Oh, that we are, Miss Leah. He’s been mighty good to me and my misfortune.”

Leah then remembered hearing that this very young man, who claimed to be an invalid, had been jailed along with Drake Bedford for fighting. The two of them had taken on five toughs from over in North Pine Community and had thrashed them soundly. Now she was sure that Rosie was indeed self-diseased.

The music struck up again, and Rosie sighed heavily. “Well—” he shoved a bite of pie into his mouth “—I guess we better see if I can hold up one more time around that floor.”

As Rosie led her to the platform again, Leah said, “Look, my brother’s with that new girl in town.”

“Oh, that Miss Lori Jenkins?”

“That’s her. See—that’s my brother, Royal. Remember him?”

“Sure do, but I wish he wouldn’t force himself on Miss Lori.”

“Why, I don’t think he’d do that!” Leah was puzzled. “Why do you say that, Rosie?”

“Well, Drake—he fancies himself first where the ladies are concerned. And he’s got his head set on impressing her. I never saw him so set on courting a gal.”

Royal had been enjoying his dance with Lorraine Jenkins. He had gotten things to the point where she had asked him to call her Lori, and he was working up to requesting permission to call on her. At that moment a hand clapped him on the shoulder harder than was necessary. He turned to see Drake Bedford grinning at him.

“Hello, Royal. I’m taking your girl away!”

“Why, sure, Drake.” Royal stepped back as was the custom. “I’ll see you later, Miss Lori.”

“Not if I can help it!” Drake Bedford said.

Drake swept Lori away, and when they were out on the floor again he said, “Now, you don’t want to get too interested in that young man.”

Lori smiled at him. She had never seen a man with more self-confidence.
A little bit too much sometimes
, she thought. “He looks fine in his uniform, doesn’t he? My uncle says he’s been in some of the battles.”

“Oh, sure, that’s the way these soldiers are. Throw on a uniform and hear a gun go off—then to hear them tell it, they won the whole war. I see them all the time like that.”

Something about this response displeased Lori. “I don’t think Royal is like that. He seems a rather modest young man.”

Drake looked down at her. He seemed very tall and strong, and his grasp on her hand tightened. “You can’t use but one fellow courting at a time, and I reckon that I’m that fellow.”

Royal was enjoying the evening thoroughly. It had been a long time since he’d been home, and he
was glad to see his old friends again. He received numerous offers to come and take supper—mostly from mothers with marriageable daughters. But he managed to fend most of them off.

Then it was the last dance, and he managed to get close to Lori again. She turned to him with a smile.

“I don’t have much time, Miss Lori,” he said. “Ordinarily I’d wait two or three weeks to come calling, but I’m asking now.”

Lori hesitated. “Well, of course!” she said. “Why don’t you come to supper tomorrow night? At half past five?”

“Will that be all right with your uncle and aunt?”

“Oh, yes, they’ll be glad to have you. They are always very supportive of young men in the army.”

Then they heard a muffled shout, and people began leaving the platform.

“What’s going on?” Royal asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s go see.”

They followed the crowd, and Royal soon saw that a fight was in progress. “Why, that’s Drake!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, it is.”

There was such an odd quality in Lori’s voice that Royal gave her a questioning look.

“That’s Darrell Hopkins he’s fighting with,” she said.

All at once Royal understood. “I see. Over you, I suppose?”

“Oh, it’s so silly. Darrell is just a good friend, but Drake’s decided that he’s my keeper.” A sudden thought seemed to come to her, and she asked, “Are you good friends with Drake?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then I’m afraid he’ll make trouble for you if you come calling.”

Royal smiled down at her. She looked very fetching in her light blue party dress. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were large and beautifully shaped. They were shaded by the heaviest lashes he had ever seen, and she had skin like cream.

“Well, Drake will just have to do what he has to do—but I’ll be there for supper tomorrow night, Miss Lori.”

“Good!” she said. “I’ll try to talk to Drake so that he doesn’t start any foolishness.”

“I sure have enjoyed dancing with you, Miss Leah,” Rosie said. “Surprised I made it, but you must be good medicine for a sick man.”

“It looks like that fellow Drake was fighting was hurt pretty bad,” Leah said, a worried expression on her face.

“Oh, he probably got a few bones broke and maybe his nose smooshed, but that’s how Drake is. I don’t guess Darrell will be courting anybody for a while.” Rosie hesitated, then said, “You might tip your brother off. I see he’s been with Miss Lori a lot. Tell him it might be better for his health if he didn’t do that.”

“He can see anyone he wants to!”

“Well, of course he can. It’s a free country.” Rosie shrugged and then apparently put the matter from his mind. “Look. I got these pills out of Cincinnati last week. They’re supposed to be good for indigestion. Do they look all right to you?”

S
arah said very little the day following the dance; otherwise she went about her work as usual. Late that afternoon, while she and her mother were making a quilt, the subject of Tom Majors came up.

“Sarah,” her mother said quietly, “you’re troubled about Tom.”

“Yes, I am. Aren’t you?”

Mrs. Carter’s fingers flew, putting tiny stitches in the bed cover. The colorful top displayed little Dutch boys and girls with odd hats, made from scraps from other sewing projects. “Yes, of course I am!” she said.

Sarah looked up, her dark blue eyes distressed. “I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t think he does either. It’s just like all the strength has been drained out of him. All the purpose. He was always so excited about everything, Tom was. Now it’s almost like he’s—like he’s dead inside.”

Mrs. Carter took another stitch. “You wouldn’t agree to marry Tom before because he was going to be in the Confederate army …”

“I know!” Sarah thought for a moment and then said, “But now he won’t be in the army.”

“Maybe not, but he’s still sympathetic to the South. I’m not sure such a marriage would work.”

This was exactly what Sarah had feared. She clamped her lips together, and for some time the two women said nothing. The loudest sound in the
room was the buzzing of a fly that zigzagged around Sarah’s head. It lit on her cheek, and she brushed it away angrily. “I don’t see why life has to be like this!” she said rebelliously.

Sarah was known as a calm, gentle girl, rarely showing anger, always ready to take the way of peace. But the war had ground on for more than two years. Many of the young men in this part of the country had died and were buried on battlefields with outlandish names. Her own brother lay heavily on her heart, and she dreaded for him to go back and face the fire of battle. Now she threw her needle down and got up, saying, “Sometimes I think it’s unfair!”

Her mother looked up at her. “You don’t think
God’s
unfair, do you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean that! It’s just that … well … I don’t know what I mean!” She knew she was close to tears, and she left the room hurriedly, leaving her mother looking disturbed.

Later that morning Tom brought Esther, wearing only a diaper, out into the yard. He wanted to keep her out of the sun, and they lolled under the spreading walnut tree. Looking at the baby, he remembered his mother, and it was with a pang that he saw how much Esther was like her. Memories flowed through Tom’s mind—he did not think of the future. In his mind, his life had ended when the shell shattered his leg at Gettysburg.

A cheery call came from the road, and Tom looked up to see Pete Mangus slide off the blue-nosed mule he called Clementine. Pete talked to her constantly as he rode the hills of Kentucky delivering the United States mail.

“Now, you wait here, Clementine. I’ll be right back.”

Pete was a small man with sandy hair and blue eyes. He did not have a tooth in his head and refused to get false teeth. He somehow managed without teeth—could even eat steak, “gumming,” he said. But being toothless made his speech a little difficult to understand. His cheeks were sunken in, and his chin almost met his nose where his face was collapsed.

But he was a cheerful fellow. “Hi, Tom. Letter for you.”

Tom tucked his maimed leg back under the other in an automatic gesture, as if to hide the injury. He took the letter and said, “Thanks, Pete. I think there’s some lemonade in the house. No ice, but it’s wet.”

“That sounds good!”

Pete watched Tom unfold the letter. He might not have teeth, but he had a tremendous curiosity, and now he waited to get a report on what was inside the letter. His bright blue eyes were sharp, and as Tom read he inquired, “Good news, I hope?”

The letter was neither good nor bad. Looking up at the mailman, Tom shrugged. “A letter from my father.”

“Oh, in Virginia! What’s he say the Confederate army is going to do? Is Bob Lee going to come out and fight again?”

Tom could not help smiling at the man’s curiosity. “Well, I don’t think General Lee gives my father all his plans, Pete.” He felt the eyes of the mailman on him as he finished reading and put the letter back in the envelope. “Not much news,” he reported,
managing a smile. “Sorry not to have more gossip for you.”

Pete drew his thin shoulders together. “Well, I don’t care!” he said and stomped off toward the house. He knocked on the door, and Leah met him.

“I bet you’ve come for some lemonade, Pete!”

“Well, now,” Pete mumbled, grinning toothlessly, “I reckon that would go down pretty easy.”

Pete Mangus sat on a stool watching Leah peel potatoes. He gossiped about the neighbors up the road and down the road. Knowing everyone in the county, he kept up with all the local news.

“And how’s that young fellow you’re so interested in—Jeff Majors?” he asked.

Leah was accustomed to Pete’s ways. “He’s fine, Pete. Back in Virginia now.”

“I’ll bet he’s right jealous of that young Ezra working around here. Which one of them do you like the best?”

“I like them both, Pete. Would you like some more lemonade?”

The mailman nodded and noisily guzzled down another glassful. Then he said, “What about Sarah? Is she fixing to marry young Tom out there? Even if he ain’t got no foot?”

Leah gently answered, “I suppose that’s their business. They don’t tell me everything. Well, I’ve got to go to work,” she said, hinting strongly that it was time for Pete to leave.

He finished his lemonade and walked out to the yard, where Tom was tossing a small ball toward a chortling Esther. “Got to go on my way, Tom. Be back to see you in three or four days.”

“So long, Pete.”

As Pete Mangus mounted Clementine and went plodding on, raising clouds of dust, Tom thought of the letter he had received. The lack of hope in the letter surprised him. His father had always been opposed to the war on general principles. But he believed that states had a right to choose their own government, even though he was not a slaveholder himself. Now, however, Tom could tell by the tone of the letter that Pa had pretty well resigned himself to the fact that the South could not win.