Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

This is a work of fiction. The main characters and the incidents in their lives are fictional. The setting, historical personages, and events in the Civil War are real.

Chapter 18 << – Index – >> Epilogue

Chapter Nineteen

April 1865

A soldier fell wounded on the last day of fighting—just before the cease-fire was called. Shrapnel shattered his leg.
“Am I dead?” the soldier asked.
“Be still, son,” the gray-haired doctor said. “I won’t let you die.”
“I’m dying I tell you. My leg!” he screamed. “Where’s my leg?”
“I had to amputate it to save your life.”
“Just let me go on,” the soldier cried. “The woman I love—I won’t be fit for her now.”
* * *
“The war is over! The war is over!” Crocker shouted, riding in on his old mule and wagon. When he saw the women coming out the front door, he urged on the mule, ran right onto the front terrace, dirty hooves, muddy wheels, and all.

“Crocker,” Amanda yelled, “you’re making a mess!”

“I don’t care,” he said.

Everyone was elated, jumping around and hugging each other, but Amanda couldn’t find the joy in it. The war had already taken everything it could take from her. Then she chastised herself. At least Ben was still alive, or so she hoped. She hadn’t received any news from him in months. He hadn’t answered her last letter, and she had no idea where he was.

From the description that was given in the newspaper of General Robert E. Lee, when he told his soldiers that he had just surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant, Amanda could almost see his dear gray head bowed low, as if the burden of every Confederate dead weighed upon his shoulders. Though she hated the war he had participated in, General Lee had always seemed to her a man with great character and integrity, a man of honor.

A few nights later, the women of the commune held a dance in the forest, by firelight. Some dressed as men, and danced with the other women. Amanda wore Jonathan’s uniform, the one she received the day the died.

They laughed, cried, and celebrated the end of a war some of them thought would never come. Late in the evening, Amanda stood on a tree stump and addressed the women.

“We have survived. We have learned to live with no one’s help but our own. We are sisters. Never forget that!” she shouted, holding her fist in the air. Cheers went up all around.

“I’m almost sorry the men are soon to return,” Sally said. “I’ve enjoyed the women being in charge.”

“Don’t speak too quickly,” Amanda said. “We don’t know yet how many will be
returning.” Several women didn’t know if their husbands were alive or dead, Sally among them.

“I don’t know if I can go back to the old ways,” Emily said.

“I’m sure it won’t be easy,” Amanda said, “but you want to return to your homes and take up your lives as they were before, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I want it to be like it was,” Rachel sighed.

A pall fell over the crowd.
* * *
The following week, Barbé and a few other Negroes who had returned to East Tennessee held a huge celebration at the church, like the socials of old. They cooked all of the food, and invited everyone in the neighborhood to attend. Amanda was leaving Bluesmoke when she met Emily in the center hall.

“Emily, aren’t you going?” Amanda asked. “The others have gone ahead to help.”

“I thought it was a party for the blacks.” Emily wasn’t the only one still learning how to deal with the newly free slaves.

“They’re our friends, and members of our church.”

“You certainly have changed,” Emily said.

“How do you figure that?” Amanda said. “In some ways I’m as lost and scared as ever.”

“Then you hide it well,” Emily said. “You’ve taken on so much responsibility. I feel I hardly know you now. Where do you find the strength?”

“It’s hard to explain. I value myself more,” Amanda said. “Does that make any sense?”

Emily nodded, but her face was vacant.

“When you don’t get that approval you strive for every day, you have to find it for yourself. You have to create it in here,” Amanda said, touching her chest.

“Oh, God,” Emily groaned and turned away. “How horrible must I have made you feel when you found me and Jonathan together—I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Amanda said.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Yes, you do,” Amanda said, putting a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “You made a mistake, but I don’t think you’ll ever do it again.”

“No. Never,” Emily said as she turned to face Amanda. “If I have to live the rest of my days alone, I will never do that again. To hurt another woman—“

“I understand your need to reach out for comfort because of Franklin’s mistreatment of you, but Jonathan was so busy trying to hold himself together, he had nothing to give to anyone. We allowed our husbands take away our love for ourselves. It was our fault as much as theirs—we let them do it.”

“But Jonathan seemed so—“

“Strong? I know, but he was flawed—heavens, we’re all flawed.” Amanda laughed. “But I didn’t know the depths of his self-doubt until the day he was killed.”

“Oh,” Emily said, nodding.

But Amanda knew she didn’t truly understand. And that was fine. What was important was that Amanda understood, and that she had let go of all that.

“Now let’s go to the party,” Amanda said. She put her arm around Emily’s waist, and they skipped out the door and down the steps, laughing all the way. And it felt so good.
* * *
A few weeks later, Amanda finally received a letter from Ben:
“Dear Amanda:
The war is over. The Confederacy has been lost, and I can’t make myself feel sorry for that. If that makes me a traitor, then so be it. I learned today that my lieutenant shot himself out of despair over the outcome of the war. He left a note stating that he couldn’t go on, knowing how many lives he had sacrificed for the Confederacy, only to have it come to this. I am greatly saddened by his passing.
Please continue to be careful in your daily activities. There are still stragglers and refugees everywhere, who are desperate for food and shelter. I don’t know where I may be going once I am released, or what I might do. I have not yet decided. You will find at the end of this letter the address of my parent’s home in Georgia. If you should like to keep in touch, I am sure they will be glad to forward your letters to me.
With greatest affection,
Captain Benjamin Braddock”

After waiting all this time for news of Ben, Amanda now almost wished she hadn’t received this puzzling letter.

“When is Captain Ben coming?” Josie asked.

“I don’t know if he will.”
* * *
“There’s a man at the door asking for you,” Widow told Amanda one afternoon.

“Jed Palmer!” Amanda called out. “How wonderful it is to see you.”

“And I, you,” he said. “Looks like you’ve come through the war just fine.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but I’ve been lucky.”

She invited him into the sitting room.

“I’ve often wondered how differently our lives might have been if I’d had the courage to tell you how I felt about you years ago,” Jed said shyly.

“I knew, Jed.”

“Well, if that isn’t the worst thing you’d ever want to hear,” he said softly, his cheeks turning red.

“I was always in love with Jonathan. Even when I denied it to myself.”

“Then, what about now?” he said. “It doesn’t seem to me that you and Jonathan have much of a marriage left.”

For a split second, the thought of sleeping safely inside the warm, strong arms of a man caused her heart to flutter.

“I’m waiting for someone else,” she finally said.

“Oh,” he said, obviously disappointed. “Then I guess I should be going.”

“Don’t rush off. I hope we can remain friends.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much. There is something I wanted to ask you about.”

“What’s that?”

“What you said the day we left about Jonathan doing something to Luke. While we were riding up to Kentucky, I asked him about it. He pulled his horse up close to mine and knocked me out of the saddle and onto the ground, and then he rode away and left me there. I didn’t see him again until I got to camp, and he never spoke to me again.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What did he do to Luke?”

“Apparently you haven’t heard, Jed. Jonathan was killed in a cavalry fight at the Crossroads last winter.”

“No,” he whispered. His face went white as cotton. Tears sprang to his eyes. “We’ve been friends as long as I can remember.”

“I know, Jed. I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his.

“I know he must have been a difficult man to live with, but he’s the only true friend I ever had,” he said, wiping his eyes.

“Do you know what strikes me most about you?” Jed asked.

“What’s that?”

“How calm you are.”

But she wasn’t feeling at all calm. She thought more and more of Ben. The war was over. Why hadn’t he contacted her? She had to fight every day to keep thoughts of his death from her mind. When the weight of her burden became too great, she mounted Molly and rode for the mountains. There she prayed and beseeched God to bring him back to her.

She knew she must prepare for long endless day after long endless day, until a day like no other forced her to accept that he had died and that she would never know how or where. No one would notify her. Who was she to his family in Georgia? They didn’t know she existed.

For one day, she could live with the knowledge that Ben was gone from her forever, but within twenty-four hours, she crashed to even lower depths. During the early hours of morning she sat, sleepless, on the balcony outside the second-floor hall, praying that she might live to see the sun rise again without going completely mad. And when noon arrived, she began to pray that she might live to see the darkness, when she could hide away from everyone, and allow the pain to show on her face.

Thus, her days were survived in increments. She didn’t like feeling helpless again, and cursed Ben for it. If he had changed his mind about returning to Bluesmoke after the war, why would he not tell her?
* * *
At the supper table one evening, Sally told the group that Franklin Cuthbertson had returned and was living in his old house at the crossroads.

“He doesn’t look like the same man,” Sally said. “He’s thin and gaunt—doesn’t look good at all. He lost an arm and was shot up pretty bad, I hear.”

Amanda looked to Emily for some reaction to the news.

“I know,” was all she said.

Franklin came to Bluesmoke the next morning to speak to Emily.

“What should I do?” she asked Amanda.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Amanda asked her. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say,” Emily said. She asked Amanda to wait inside the front door. “Just in case I need you,” she said.

Emily spoke to Franklin on the front terrace.

“I’m sorry for the way I talked to you the other day when you came to the house,” he said, sobbing with every word. “I’m having a hard time. I can’t do anything like I used to, but I promise to be a good husband to you—if you’ll have me.”

“You won’t yell at me anymore?” Emily asked. “I can’t take the yelling, Franklin.”

“I swear,” he said. “I won’t.”

“Wait here,” she said. She left him standing on the front terrace.

“Well, I guess I’ll be moving home now,” Emily told Amanda.

“What will you do about Franklin?”

“Take care of him.”

“After the way he treated you before the war, I didn’t think you’d ever go back to him.”

“He needs me now.”

The men of Greene County began to straggle home. Of the fifteen men from Armstrong Crossroads, only four returned, and those were so demoralized by their experiences during the war as to be of little use to their families. The women of the commune moved back to their previous homes, after many tearful good-byes.

Rachel’s husband came home, as did Sarah’s. Becca Brown’s sister, who had been widowed, moved in with Becca. Becca’s two children, who had been living with relatives in Ohio, came home to their mother.

Amanda waited for Ben.

For many people, the great relief that the war had finally ended soon turned to despair and frustration. Family members who had taken opposite sides in the fight were still alienated from each other.

Amanda learned that Catherine Williams, in whose yard General Morgan and Luke were killed, was heartbroken about her sons. The son who fought for the Union came back to Greeneville to live with Catherine and his wife. The other son was so embittered because the Confederacy had been defeated that he vowed never to visit his mother as long as his brother lived there.

Though Tennessee was the first state to be readmitted into the Union, its civilians were still held under military control until Federal authorities were satisfied that there would be no further rebellion from the previously seceded states. Food and supplies were agonizingly slow in coming to remote regions, such as Armstrong Crossroads.

One sunny late afternoon, with humidity thick enough to cut with a knife, Amanda dragged a rocking chair to the front terrace, trying to rest while Josie napped on a pallet in the center hall. The front and rear doors were open to the June breezes, which gently moved the nappy curls on Josie’s head. Widow was working in the garden—insisting that Amanda rest. She hadn’t slept much the night before. She closed her eyes and settled into the chair.

“Mrs. Armstrong,” someone called.

She raised her eyes, shading them from the sun, and was astonished to see Lieutenant Quinn.

“What are you doing here?” she asked angrily.

He dismounted and tethered his horse at the gatepost. “Just passing through, ma’am, and thought I’d say good-bye. I’ve been called back to Richmond to help with the reconstruction there.”

He reached the terrace and passed to her a few overripe peaches and two little shortbreads that had obviously been hoarded in his haversack for days.

“In case you haven’t heard, Lieutenant,” she said, “the war is over.”

“How are you?” he asked meekly.

“We’re still here,” she said in a strong voice.

“It’s sad to see how devastated your Valley has become. I haven’t been over this way in a while. It’s worse than I remembered.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do than to pass pleasantries with me, Lieutenant.”

“I thought I might try to explain myself, if you’ll give me the chance,” he said.

“If you feel you must.”

“When I received my lieutenant’s commission and was put in charge of this area,” he said, “I thought I could finally do things my way. I let that go too far.”

“You certainly did!”

“I learned later that I was wrong about you.”

“I appreciate that. Most men have a hard time admitting it when they’re wrong.”

“I didn’t say I was liking it.”

They both laughed.

He scooped up a stone and pitched it into the overgrown meadow.

“I respected you for defending your home,” he said so softly she didn’t understand at first what he had said. “Your men folks home from the war?”

“I lost them all—father, brother, husband, and son.”

He took in a gulp of air so suddenly he choked on it. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, when he finally regained his voice.

“I’d offer you some refreshment, Lieutenant, but I have nothing but water. Not even sassafras for tea.”

“His face suddenly brightened. “How about some coffee?” he said.

“You have coffee?” She felt like a child at Christmas.

They sat on the terrace in the warmth of the waning evening, sipping the coffee Widow made from the lieutenant’s stash. Fireflies began to appear. The sun settled behind the high ridges. He insisted that she keep his last little bag of ground coffee. She would honor him by keeping it, he said. It might be a while before coffee made it to the mountains.

“I have put off the main purpose of my visit as long as I can,” he said, sighing heavily.

“The reason I treated you so badly was that one of your neighbors told me that you were a Confederate spy,” he said, clearing his throat. “And I believed it. That’s what I meant when I told you I didn’t like your kind.”

“I’m no Rebel,” she said angrily. “And certainly not a spy!”

“I deliberately chose your house as my headquarters when I traveled over here, and I didn’t care how much my men destroyed it. I wanted to punish you.”

“Shame on you, Lieutenant!” Amanda shouted.

“An officer always wants to believe that people in his jurisdiction are on his side. It took me a long time to realize that not every person residing in northeastern Tennessee was a Unionist. One man in particular I trusted too much—“

“Crocker?” Amanda said.

“That’s the one,” he said, averting his eyes. “I told him too much, and he got me in a right smart of trouble for it, too.”

“Dear Lord,” she sighed. “That’s how he always knew so much! I’d like to go box his ears, Lieutenant, but I’m learning to forgive—with God’s help.”

“Oh, he made a big fool of me—and I helped him,” Lt. Quinn said. “He came to Greeneville whenever he could. I stopped at his cabin every time I was in this area, brought him newspapers, and talked to him about what was happening with the war. I finally learned that he did the same with the Rebels when they were in control here.”
“I wouldn’t feel too bad about that, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t worry about any more trouble from that one. I warned him that if he ever bothered you again, I’d come back and deal with him myself. I scared him so bad I think he piddled down his leg.” The lieutenant chuckled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see that,” she said, laughing.

“It was a good thing you did here for those women, Mrs. Armstrong. Some would have starved if not for you.”

“I’m no hero, Lieutenant.”

“And here you are,” he said, rising from his chair, “and I must say none the worse for wear. Thank you for your hospitality. I have another hour to ride before I reach my stopping place for the night.”

“Thank you for coming, Lieutenant.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Armstrong. Good luck to you.”

She watched as he quickly mounted his horse and rode out of sight. As she turned to go inside, he rode back just as quickly.

“Almost forgot,” he said. “There’s still a small detachment of soldiers in Greeneville—occupation troops until we can be sure there is no danger to those who favored the Union during the war. The commander—Sykes is his name—will be out to see you one of these days. He’ll give you no trouble. I told him about you and your little fellow there.” He nodded toward Josie, who still lay on the pallet in the hall.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she called as he rode off again.

“I guess there still are a few surprises in life,” she mumbled as she entered the hall. “And, might I say, quite happy ones,” she said as she picked Josie up and kissed his little brown face.

He was still half-asleep and cozy warm from the afternoon sun that had reached his pallet. “I love the sleepy Josie,” she whispered, and buried her face in his neck. He squirmed and giggled, but allowed her to hold him for a very long time.
* * *
One evening, Amanda left Josie catching fireflies on the front terrace, and went to Barbe’s cabin. Though Barbé slept in the house now, she still liked to spend a little time in the cabin that had been her home for many years.

“I can see you’re troubled again,” Barbé said, in her easy way.

“Still. Yet. Always. I love Ben,” she finally said, “like I’ve never loved any man.”

“I know that,” Barbé said softly, touching Amanda’s cheek.

“I know I haven’t been the best person, but I hope God won’t punish me anymore. I don’t know if I could face another loss.”

Just then, she heard Josie scream and immediately panicked. She rushed to the front terrace, Barbé on her heels.

“He’s coming,” Josie yelled, as he ran down the lane. “He’s coming!”

“Who?” Amanda asked. “You know you’re not supposed to leave this yard,” she said harshly.

“Captain Ben is coming,” Josie said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, he saw me. He called my name.”

Amanda ran past Josie and up the lane. It was Ben!

As she got closer, she noticed the crutches under his arms, one pant leg pinned up to his thigh. When she reached him, he fell into her arms. His face was pale.

“Horse fell a few miles back,” he said breathlessly, leaning heavily on Amanda’s arm.
Barbé ran to his side and looped his other arm across her strong shoulders. Josie carried his crutches.

“You poor soul,” Amanda said. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” She wanted to grab him, hug him, and never let go.

“Well, at least for the moment,” he mumbled. When she looked at him, he turned his eyes away.

“What do you mean?” she asked, as they helped him to a chair on the front terrace.

“I shouldn’t have come here, but I couldn’t stop myself. Please,” he said softly, “just tell me you don’t want me, and let me go on to Georgia.”

“No, I will not. I have waited these months for you. I plan to never let you out of my sight again. Not unless you want to be out of my sight.”

Even Ben had to laugh at that.

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen,” she cried, as they helped him through the front door.

“Then we must get you some eyeglasses,” he said, with tears in his eyes. He gently kissed her cheek.

“It’s your heart I love, not your leg,” she told Ben.

“Well, I’d become quite attached to it, myself,” Ben said sadly.

A chuckle escaped from her mouth before she could stop it. Ben smiled, acknowledging the humor in what he had said.

“Josie,” Ben said, “come sit in my—on my leg. There’s something I want to tell you.”

Josie ran to Ben. “What is it?”

“Thank you for taking such good care of your mother while I was gone,” he said.
The look Amanda saw in Ben’s eyes dispelled any lingering uncertainties she might have had about Ben’s feelings toward Josie.

One hot June evening, Amanda saddled Molly and rode to Calvary Baptist Church cemetery. The wrought iron gate’s hinges creaked when she opened it. The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. She was feeling bad, because she hadn’t moved Jonathan’s bones to Bluesmoke. She would kneel a while there, and maybe her mind would be eased.

A powerful feeling overtook her. From the corner of her eye, something caught her vision, something she had forgotten—a neat row of pine bark, six in number—the graves of the other soldiers who died that day. The major had buried them in the corner. The bark had survived the elements, but the information on them had not. An occasional letter, a dig here, a line there, but not one name could she discern. She berated herself for not coming sooner. Their identities were lost forever now, to all but God.

As she turned to walk away, her head bowed with sorrow, a name came into her mind: Donald Brooks. That was odd. She knew no one by that name. She turned back, and stood at the foot of the same grave. “Donald Brooks,” she heard again. She walked to the foot of the next grave, and heard, “Hezekiah Moffatt.” At the next, “James Elcott.” Then, “William Martin.”

Darkness would descend soon, but she couldn’t leave. She not only knew the names. She heard them in her head—each in a different voice. One voice came to her so clearly that she thought someone was standing behind her, but no one was there. Were the dead speaking to her? No. She was just so disappointed that the names had been destroyed that she imagined the names.

But she couldn’t forget. On subsequent nights, the voices inhabited her dreams. The fear eventually passed. Her curiosity took over. She returned to the cemetery, this time with pencil and paper. She stood at the foot of the first grave again. Donald Brooks was the name she heard. Just as before. She wrote down all the names and the towns where they had lived.

She asked Ben to make a list of the places where soldiers were buried during Longstreet’s trek through East Tennessee almost two years ago now.

“Why?” Ben asked.

“I’m hoping to find their graves and to provide that information to their families.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” she said, not wanting to tell him about the voices. She might never tell anyone.

“Will you be wanting the burial sites of the Rebels and the Yankees?” Ben asked.

“Anybody,” she said. “I don’t care who they fought for, do you?”

He paused for a moment. “No,” he said firmly, “it doesn’t matter. They gave their lives for their country. You can’t fault a man for that.”

She may not be able to visit all of the graves, but she would continue as long as her health permitted. Some days she wondered if this ability to hear the dead was a gift or a curse, but she persevered. It was emotionally draining, but she feared that, if she didn’t continue, their souls would never rest.
* * *
She stood alone on a lonely mountain road. Words flowed quickly through her mind. She reached into her pocket for her last scrap of paper and a pencil that was so short she could barely write with it—pencils and paper were still in short supply.

Markers were sometimes left where skirmishes occurred. Amanda could usually find graves nearby, a large mound of earth or a long narrow trench. A common grave sometimes contained the bones of dozens of men. How could she ever hope to identify the bones of each soldier? She couldn’t. She could only pass the information on to their families.

When she went looking for burial fields along the Holston River, she visited Silver’s grave, and found it to be undisturbed. Violets grew rampantly over her resting place, and there was not a weed in sight.

Chapter 18 << – Index – >> Epilogue