Songs of the Shenandoah (34 page)

“Mr. Miller. But before I offered, I didn't know it was Johnny Reb.”

“Do you have a fireplace, Mr. Miller?” Muriel didn't seem to be interested in the side banter.

“Why, yes.”

“Can we take him to your house?”

“You don't want to take him to the hospital tents?” Davin whispered.

“They have no heat, and they are overrun, and if they learn that your brother is . . . Well, he'll die before they get to him.” Muriel turned her attention to the old-timer. “Mr. Miller?”

“He isn't gonna, you know, pass on in my house, is he?”

Davin stood and started to move toward the man when Barry stepped between them.

“Mr. Miller,” Barry said with a sweet intonation, “how often in our lifetime does one get a chance to save a man of God?”

“Well . . . I suppose.”

“And to save such a man whose brother happens to be a famous gold miner?” Barry pointed at Davin.

“Is that so? Well . . . that's interesting enough. You know what I say. Anything I can do for you boys. We all have to do our part, right?”

Chapter 39

The Carriage

“So what's it like, son?” Mr. Miller handed Davin a bowl of pea soup.

“Pardon? Oh, thank you.” Despite the crackling wood fire in the hearth, Davin's hands were still cold, and it felt good to wrap his hands around the clay bowl. While he dipped the spoon into the green liquid, he kept his gaze on the rising and falling of Seamus's chest, fearing at any moment it would cease moving. “What was that?”

“To find gold? I've always wanted to do that. Even thought about making a trip out to California myself.”

Davin took a deep sip of the soup, which was salty and flavorful, and it felt warm and soothing as it went down his throat. What was with this man? He was sitting next to a preacher lying on a mattress in front of his fire and he was asking about gold. “It's exciting, I suppose.”

“How come you don't do it anymore?” He pulled up a chair and started eating a bowl of his own soup, making loud slurping noises. “You know, the gold mining.”

Davin wished he could be alone. It had been several hours since Muriel finished cleaning and stitching up Seamus. Muriel stayed longer than she should have, but Davin hated to see her go. Not only because of her medical expertise, but he didn't want to be without her companionship during this time.

Barry as well had again demonstrated his friendship by making a trip back to camp in the rain to retrieve all of Davin's belongings. But when he left an hour ago, Davin just wanted time alone with his brother. Yet the old man certainly deserved companionship in exchange for his hospitality, which was much more generous than they initially thought it would be.

“I spent a lot of time trying to dig riches from places that were probably better left alone.” Davin looked up at the ceiling. “It's odd to think how much that all meant to me at one time.”

“Yes,” Mr. Miller said. “This war has a way of shifting perspectives.”

Davin glanced around the interior of the house, which was simple but tidy. “Did you stay here?”

“What? During the battle?” He took another sip, and part of it dripped on his beard. “No. I'm not that big of a fool. I own a carriage shop in town. I stayed there until the artillery stopped railing. Why I hadn't been back here long at all before your friend . . . what's his name? Barry? Yes before Barry came by. Really startled me some.”

Davin pointed to his face.

“What? Oh . . . thank you.” Mr. Miller lifted a napkin and dabbed it on his beard.

There was a melancholy about the man that Davin could relate to. “You have a wife?”

“Me. No. Well, I used to.” He winced. “She died a few years back.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh, don't be. We had many good years.” He stared into the fire. “Many good years.” Mr. Miller waved his spoon at Davin. “You like that girl. That nurse. Don't you?”

It made no sense to lie to this man. “Yes. I like her quite well.”

“She fancies you as well.” He started to scrape the spoon along the inside of the bowl.

“I know she does.”

“What about your brother?” He nodded toward Seamus, who continued to sleep. “Is he going to . . . make it through?”

“No.” Davin had a hard time uttering these words. “Muriel says that she's done all she can, but he'll die in a few days.” He looked at his brother, who was wearing his chaplain's uniform again, which they had cleaned and dried by the fire. “Might have been better if he had died right away . . . as opposed to lingering on.”

“No sense speaking for God. He makes up His own mind when people come and go.”

“You believe all of that?” Davin scraped the last of his soup into a full spoonful.

“About God? Yes.” Mr. Miller reached out for Davin's bowl. “More?”

“If it's not an inconvenience.”

“Not at all.” He got up, left the room, and came back carrying a full bowl while watching it carefully in his hands. “Got a bit ambitious.”

“Not a drop will be wasted.” Davin cheerfully accepted it.

“Now, my wife.” Mr. Miller sat back in the chair, this time with a groan.

“She was a good cook?”

“No. I mean, yes she was a good cook. But you were asking me about my belief in God. Now, my wife.” He stepped around Seamus and reached up to the mantelpiece and pulled down a frame. Then he wiped the dust off with his sleeve and handed it to Davin.

It was an old daguerreotype and it appeared to about fifteen years old. “She's a lovely woman.” He handed it back.

Mr. Miller looked at the face smiling back at him. “Mildred was a very faithful woman.” He looked up. “You'd have to be to put up with a man like myself. When she died, I am afraid she took some of my faith with her.”

The picture reminded Davin of something. He set his bowl down on the table beside him and reached down into Seamus's front shirt pocket, and sure enough, there was the faded photo of Ashlyn. Or what was left of it.

“What's that?” Mr. Miller went to the fire and added a couple of logs.

“This,” Davin glanced at the fading image, “is the photo that drove my brother to travel more than a thousand miles in search of a woman.”

Mr. Miller stepped up and clapped his hands together. “Ashlyn?”

“Yes . . . how did you know?”

“That's the name I keep hearing him mutter.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Was he always a man of faith? Your brother?”

“No. That came later. I suppose right around the time he found Ashlyn.”

“Women have a way of doing that for us, don't they?”

This struck Davin. Was his pursuit of Muriel causing him to rekindle his faith? The old man was right. He realized why it was referred to as falling in love. It was like falling off a cliff and hoping there was water below. This type of risk took more than a man could do on his own.

“Hey,” Davin said. “Would you want to see some?”

“See what?”

Davin reached down into his pack and poked around a bit and then pulled out a small glass with a cork sealing the top. He held it to his eye, pleased to see the two large gold nuggets were still in there. He handed it to Mr. Miller.

“Is it real?” They were now in the hands of a wide-eyed child.

“They better be. It's all I have left of my possessions.”

There was a knock on the door, and then it cracked open. “May I come in?” Muriel didn't wait for an answer. She was carrying her medical case, and she went over to Seamus and examined him. “How has he been doing?”

“He's woken a few times,” Davin said. “What are you doing here?” He couldn't imagine how exhausted she must be having worked in the medical tents for a day and a half without rest.

“What?” She turned to Davin and seemed agitated. “Well I've been worried about him.”

“Keeps asking for his Ashlyn,” Mr. Miller said. “Poor soul.” He stood. “What manners. May I get you a bowl of soup?”

“That would be delightful,” Muriel said without turning from her patient.

Davin was thinking of something Mr. Miller had just said. “Muriel?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure there is . . . no hope for him?”

She broke from her work, turned toward Davin, and her face softened. “There is always hope. But,” her eyebrows lowered, “the cut is deep. I have sewed it up as best I can. And I have given him morphine to help with the pain. You need to prepare yourself. There is nothing we can amputate here. I've seen these wounds so many times before. He has two, three, maybe four days left.”

Davin touched her arm. “I don't want to just stand around and watch him die.”

Muriel shook her head as if she didn't understand. “Are you just going to leave him?”

“No. I want to take him home.”

“Home?”

“Where is home, young man?” Mr. Miller returned with another bowl of soup. He directed Muriel to the chair, and she sat and began to eat the soup.

“A town called Taylorsville. It's in the Shenandoah Valley.”

“Well, that's a fair distance.” Mr. Miller walked over to the other side of the room and fumbled with papers on his desk.

“I know it is madness,” Davin said, as Muriel sipped her soup. “But if he has a chance to see his wife again, and if I have any way of granting him that last wish, then it would at least be something I can do for him. And myself.”

“The travel would hasten his death,” Muriel said, in between quick ladles of her soup. “He needs constant care.”

“I know it's not safe for him, Muriel. But if he is going to die anyway, then there isn't much to risk.”

“No. You don't understand. Your brother needs continued care, and he'll get that.”

Davin shook his head. “I don't know what you're saying.”

She put the empty bowl on the table and stood, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. “He will get constant care because I am accompanying you.”

Her words lifted his spirits. She would come with him? It provided a sudden confirmation to his plan. But then his enthusiasm melted as quickly as it had arrived. “No. You can't leave here. The commission needs you. This is what you've always done. This . . . this is your cause.”

Muriel took both of his hands. “Causes change.”

Davin tried to comprehend the depth of her sacrifice. He was grateful to have her expertise, her fellowship. But something was disturbing him about all of this. Was there something more to her explanation? There had to be. It was so unlike her to leave her station.

“Here. I found it. Come here.” Mr. Miller flung open the map by the hearth so they could see it in the light. “This may be a little old, but most of the roads should hold true. You may want some civilian clothes so as not to stick out so much. We're not exactly the same size young man, but I can see what I have.”

Davin glanced over at his brother and realized there was a major flaw with this plan. They had no way of moving his brother. “Will he be able to ride a horse?”

“That won't be a problem. You are going to take my wagon.”

This was all surreal to Davin. How could this all be coming together? There was something wrong. Or odd. Or supernatural. Davin leaned back against the hearth. “This is all rubbish. I couldn't ask you to let us use your wagon. And even if we did, there's no hope of us getting past roadblocks without getting stopped. None of this will work.”

Mr. Miller took over the proponent's role. “You can't give up on your brother. It would be a great gesture. A wonderful story. Some joy in this miserable war. Besides, I would not be giving you the wagon. I would be selling it to you.”

Davin raised his hands. “I used to have money.”

“You've got something better.” Mr. Miller pulled out the vial of the two gold nuggets. He uncorked it and pulled out one. He resealed it and handed it back to Davin. He held the nugget up to the light of the fire. Then he held out his hand to Davin. “Fair price?”

In his head, Davin tried to calculate the value of the nugget and it didn't take long to figure it wasn't near worth the value of a horse, let alone the wagon. But the fact he had something to exchange gave him some peace about the transaction. He shook hands with Mr. Miller, whose smile glowed through his beard.

Still, there were too many impossibilities left for them to solve. “Now, how are we going to make it past the sentries without getting stopped?”

Muriel was already packing her medical bag. “I've got a plan for that. But it begins with us leaving now. In the cover of dark.”

Chapter 40

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