Songs of the Shenandoah (43 page)

“Oh. I am sorry to hear this. Such strange times.” Pastor Asa looked around the room. “And where is my dear Grace? No doubt she's heard the news?”

“She is riding her new horse.” Ashlyn rolled her eyes. “Her father here has decided to spoil her, even if it means we'll be eating hay as well.” She paused from her craft. “It is getting dark. I do hope she'll be home soon.”

“And yes,” Seamus said. “Grace, of course, was thrilled upon hearing her young Anders had survived Gettysburg and that the North had agreed to send him home as part of a prisoner exchange.”

“So sad.” Ashlyn tilted her chin down. “It's a hard life for a farmer to only have one arm. I must say, Coralee has been taking all of this well.”

“Well?” Asa chuckled and this brought on a hoarse cough. “She is planning the grandest celebration Taylorsville has ever seen.” He turned to Seamus. “And they are mighty grateful to you, I must say. Never seen Fletch cry before, even when they tried to hang him years ago. But he read me Anders's letter and couldn't make it through when it got to your part.”

“Me?” Seamus lifted his cane from the side of his chair. “What did I have to do with any of it?”

Asa gave him an inquiring glance. “Is that you being modest? Or are you milking out the story from me?”

“What? What is it?” Ashlyn set her knitting aside.

“He never told you?” Asa rubbed a gray eyebrow. “Your husband put his life at stake in trying to rescue Anders. Apparently the boy saw everything, including when Seamus was shot.”

“He did?” Seamus was surprised to hear this himself. He looked over to Ashlyn, who he thought until now was the only other person who knew about what Percy had done. They had decided that without witnesses, there would be no proof to convict him, and the story would only bring shame on Grace.

“Well, it should take care of itself,” Asa said. “Apparently the colonel hasn't been seen since . . . his encounter with you, and we shouldn't expect to be bothered by him in Taylorsville ever again.”

They sat uncomfortably for a few moments until Asa coughed a couple more times.

Muriel walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “That doesn't sound good. Can I get you a glass of water?” She left the room without allowing him a response.

Asa shifted in his seat and spoke with what seemed an effort to imbue some cheer back into the room. “Which brings us to the real reason for my visit.”

“Oh?” Seamus planted his cane on the floor. “That wasn't enough news?”

Muriel returned with a glass and he took a long sip. “No need for concern. It is merely the hacking of an old preacher. A very old, tired preacher I am afraid. Thank you, my dear.” He drank again and then placed the glass on the table beside him. “I have something for you to pray about, Seamus.”

“Yes?” Seamus replied cautiously, knowing when it came to Pastor Asa, that statement was usually followed by a request that was expected to be accepted.

“I would like for you to consider pastoring the church. When you're ready, of course.”

Seamus laughed. “Oh, is that all? Well, yes. We spoke about this before and I have prayed about it. In a few years when you—”

“No, Seamus. Not in a few years. I am ready now. In fact, I have never been more ready. This . . . this war has taken about everything out of me.”

There was an odd silence. Seamus clasped his chin. “Now?”

“And I suppose I have no voice on any of this?” Ashlyn said.

Seamus reached for her hand. “Of course. You have as much say in this as anyone.” He was relieved she would rescue him. It was difficult for him to say no to the kindly minister.

Ashlyn's beaming smile widened, and he knew he was in trouble. “Well . . . I am quite in favor of it. And Grace will be so proud of her da.”

“Then it's settled.” Pastor Asa stood up.

What had just happened? Was he ready? Was this God's timing? “It's settled,” Seamus said, “that I will pray about it.”

“Yes, of course, son. Pray all about it.” Pastor Asa looked up to the ceiling. “But I should let you know I've already cleared it with the highest of authority.”

He laughed and Seamus wanted to rise as well, but it was still too much of a strain for him to get up too abruptly. “Before you leave. I never did thank you properly.”

Asa put his hat on his head. “For?”

“That time you brought me up to the mountain.”

“Oh, that.”

“No. I want you to know that ever since that moment, when you had me listen to the songs of the Shenandoah—that changed everything for me. I've been listening to them ever since.”

The old preacher smiled, adding wrinkles to his weary face. “Then I suppose my forty years of ministry hasn't been squandered after all. You know. I've always wished I could bring the whole congregation up there. Complaining. Bickering. Grumbling. All the way to that mountain.” He appeared to be envisioning this for a moment, but they turned to them abruptly. “Well, I must be on my way.”

The door flung open and Grace bounced in, and she gave Asa a hug before he left. When the door closed she turned and her eyes lit up with joy. She came over to Seamus and kissed him on his forehead. “Oh, Da, I love, love, love Sierra.”

Seamus gave Ashlyn a shrug. “The child loves her horse. And her da. Did you hear that, Mother?”

“I did.” Ashlyn gave him an exaggerated grin.

A firm knock rapped on the door, loud enough to startle them.

“Pastor Asa must have forgotten something.” Grace went over and opened the door, then took a quick step back.

Seamus planted his cane on the floor and pressed himself up, but the pain kept him from rising. How would he pastor a church if he couldn't stand?

“Please.” A man's voice bellowed from outside. “My friend's foot got rolled over. He's in a bad fit with it. We were told there is a doctor in your home.”

Muriel made her way tentatively to the door, now opened wide by a man in a long black jacket wearing a tall otter-skin hat. “Where is he?”

She had barely made it to the entrance when she was grabbed violently. And suddenly two other men stepped in with guns pointed while Muriel screamed.

Seamus wrestled himself to his feet, and planting the cane on the ground, he moved toward the door but then stumbled, and Ashlyn caught him before he fell.

One of the men with a gun laughed at Seamus's efforts, and then with a smirk, he slammed the door shut behind him.

“No.” Ashlyn tried to restrain Seamus. “I'll go.”

But Seamus broke free and lurched for the door, which he swung open. In the lingering light he could see they already had loaded Muriel into a carriage, and the two horses darted down their pathway.

Helpless, he hobbled out on his cane. Where was Tatum? “Tate!”

After the carriage had traveled about thirty yards, the door of the carriage swung open and Muriel leapt out and ran toward the field, lifting her dress as she did.

Almost instantly a loud boom sounded accompanied by a flash of light, and Muriel crumpled to the ground. One of the men looked back to Seamus and pointed a gun in his direction while another dragged Muriel's rag-doll body by the ankles toward the carriage where she was thrown in roughly.

Then the horses reared their legs, and with Seamus hopelessly limping after them, they were gone.

Chapter 52

The Soldier

Manhattan, New York

July 1864

Clare ran her hand along the mantelpiece and looked at her fingertips, now blackened with dust.

She closed her eyes and laughed. There just never seemed to be enough time. Clare ran the cotton cloth along the wooden shelf and took some pleasure in seeing it remain white where she wiped.

More and more, it was these simple pleasures, these quiet moments she revered the most. Then she came upon the teak music box. What a precious gift from Cyrus! She flipped the cloth and dusted it tenderly.

Then she lifted the top, twisted the small crank, and swayed as the music played. When the song ended she played it again.

She heard a noise behind her. The children must have come home.

Clare turned and then gasped.

“Should I have knocked?”

“Davin!”

She started to tear up at the sight of her youngest brother, once a freckled child, now standing before her with a brown tight-cropped beard and dressed in his Union blues. Clare reached out to him and they embraced. She stepped back and clasped her hands. “Oh, my dear, sweet Davin.”

He removed his hat and his curly hair was wet with sweat. “I am sorry, Clare. I have such a short time to visit. Is this an inconvenience? I should have given you notice.”

“Well since you don't write, I wouldn't expect anything else but for you to just . . . drop in.” Clare straightened out his collar. “But you can drop in anytime. Oh, Davin. I used to worry and pray mostly about your brother.” She laughed when she thought of all the trouble Seamus had navigated through in his life. “But now? Almost all of my prayers go to you.”

He stared down at his hands. “I suppose those are well needed.”

“We are all in need of prayer. Believe me.” Clare had seen with her own eyes the horrors of war, and the thought of her little brother being subjected to them made her shudder. “I can only imagine what you've seen, what you've gone through.”

“Clare.” He shifted his feet. “You mentioned Seamus. That is why I'm here.”

“What? What is it? Is he all right?”

“Oh no. Well I am not certain. You know how difficult it is to get any news from the South. But it's not that. I've been reassigned to General Sheridan's regiment. I'm cavalry now.”

“You? On a horse?”

He wrinkled his brow. “I rode them all the time out West. I am considered to be quite skilled.” Davin's cheeks reddened.

“Of course. You are capable of great things. And now with General Sheridan?” The general had earned the attention of General Grant. He was rising through the ranks. She tried to remember what she had heard about Sheridan recently through her sources. “He's been ordered to . . .” Clare halted.

“Yes.” Davin met her gaze. “We're going to the Shenandoah.”

“You can't.” Clare spoke forcefully. “You simply mustn't.”

“Clare. There is nothing that is simple anymore.”

She drifted over to the front window and stared outside for a few moments. “Davin. I don't know why, but this makes me very uneasy. Was there no other assignment available?”

“I requested it.”

Clare spun. “You what?”

“Look.” Davin stepped toward her and put his hand on her arm. “I don't even know if . . . Seamus is alive. Without letters getting through, there is no way of knowing other than just showing up at his doorstep.”

“With a gun? A cannon?”

“I know it seems odd.” Davin's sad brown eyes glazed. “A strange way to arrange a visit.”

Clare didn't want their discussion to be tainted with gloom. It had been so long since she saw her little brother, so she managed a smile. “I understand. I suppose I would dress up in a uniform and go down there myself, if they would let me. Oh, what I would do for us to all be together again. Safe from all of this.” She paused, sensing something hiding in his thoughts. “But that's not all, is it?”

“What?”

“That's not the only reason you are going to the Shenandoah Valley.” Despite how impressive he was in his uniform, broad shoulders and beard, she spoke with the authority and concern of an older sister.

He laid his hand over his heart. “You always were impossible to fool.”

“Do you think she'll be there as well? With Seamus?”

“The traitor?” The word blurted from his lips.

There was so much she had to share, but should she? When she heard the news, she felt betrayed as well. “Andrew and I, we have already forgiven Muriel. You must try as well. Until you do, you will carry this wound with you, and it will be much deeper than any you could receive in battle.”

Davin's composure cracked and he spoke softly. “It's too late for all of that.”

“What do you mean it's too late?”

“Clare. I've done a terrible thing. One for which there is no forgiveness.”

“Tell me.” Clare saw before her the ten-year-old boy she had helped to raise.

“I reported Muriel to my command . . . as a spy. And I don't know what . . . they've done, but I fear something awful.”

Clare tried to meet his gaze with tenderness. “You really loved her. Didn't you?”

Davin nodded. “Very much.”

“Which is why I wasn't going to tell you this, but I think now I must.” Even as she was saying this, Clare questioned the wisdom. Would her words only prove more hurtful?

“What do you know?”

“After you had told me about Muriel in your letter, Andrew and I became quite concerned. As you can imagine, it was disconcerting to know we had been so foolish as to allow a Confederate spy into our home.” She waved her arms around the room. “To have her tending to Ella and Garret!