“I’d like to propose a toast” said the Lieutenant across the table. “To Samuel Talbot, to his beautiful and devoted wife Lucy, and to the future of their home and all Virginia…” raising his glass the young man in uniform stood looking at the couple who sat at the head of the table.
“Hear, hear,” went up agreements by the crowd, then with raised glasses and sips of the wine, the meal began.
“One moment” said a guest at the other end of the table. An older gentleman slid back his chair and pushed up his bent frame with the help of the table.
“A toast, “he continued. “To the hope that our own faithful Virginian, Robert E. Lee, sought after by the Union’s President, be moved to Richmond to repel the bastards who sit outside our capital.”
“Hear, hear,” we repeated.
Meanwhile I was thinking to myself, ‘It’s interesting how relative the terms ‘bastard’ and ‘hero’ are in this war. What would Lucy think of me if she knew? Which one would I be to her and to Samuel?’ Indeed, I thought I knew the answer.
The toast completed, and a ritual sip consumed, house slaves brought in the first course of the evening to the guests just as a belated Captain Dodd arrived. Warren Dodd sat down to my left just before the delicate broth of clams, rice and onions was served. He looked polished and handsome, hair combed, his uniform was clean and his boots were polished. It was clear that he had rushed over and I saw him briefly apologize for his tardiness with a slight bow and mouthed an ‘excuse me’ towards Lucy as he sat down. She didn’t seem to take notice of his timing, being engrossed as she was in every word that Samuel uttered to those sitting near him.
‘And rightly so’, I thought. Spoon poised in mid-air, I caught myself staring at Samuel’s wooden crutches against the wall, still taking in his amputation.
“How are you this evening, Miss Cunningham?” the Captain asked, leaning closer than he needed to.
I slowly turned to my new dinner companion, “Very well, thank you. And you Captain Dodd?”
“Fine, thank you. I was delayed by a dispatch problem, but it’s taken care of now and I can relax. Ah, and this meal. It cannot compare with our usual fare of beef tea and battalion baked beans.”
“That’s fine alliteration, Captain. “Is it your normal fare?”
“Call me Warren, please. And yes, our cooks use only the very best of dried everything, from beef to beans. May I call you Annie or do you prefer Anne?”
“I’ve always gone by Annie. It was given to me by my father,” I replied.
I could see by his humor and comfort with our conversation that Captain Dodd was pleased with himself and also pleased with the evening. Perhaps he liked my company. I found him charming, but annoyed that he seemed so unexplainably appealing.
“Please forgive my boldness, Annie, but it is my hope that you will give me the honor of a dance after this fine meal,” he said looking down and then up and directly into my eyes as he had done before.
Returning his gaze with my own, I felt the same connected feeling that I’d experienced when I saw him over my drink at Kate’s tavern. My inner voice told me to pull back, to disengage from him. I had to remain alert at all times. I couldn’t let myself get caught up in the bouquet of the evening even though it was very, very tempting. After all, I was somewhat vulnerable: my days had been far too serious and my nights, too lonely.
Refocusing, I thought to myself about the main reason I was even attending the party… to gather whatever information I could. Yet like navigating through thick fog, Warren’s request hung in my mind like a reverberating horn at sea. I just wanted to relax, to enjoy the party and the company of a handsome man and I wanted to feel beautiful in my own right. But I knew that I couldn’t relax. I had to stick with my plan: to find out about troop movements and details of the Rebel army, and never, ever do anything stupid that could put me or my associates in jeopardy. I sipped my soup and thought about how to answer the captain.
“It has been quite a while since I enjoyed a dance, Captain. Indeed, I accept your request,” I replied, sipping my soup and glancing back towards him with a wry smile.
As soon as the plates were cleared for one course, another specialty appeared set before us, and wine, from the Talbot’s cellar, filled the goblets of each guest. I sipped my wine slowly and tried to keep my head clear. In between conversations with the gentleman to my right, Lucy’s father -in-law, March Talbot, I noticed that Warren too, was enjoying both the food and the conversation with those around him.
The abundance of food surprised everyone around the table. The Talbot’s friends, both men and women remarked on the elegance and preparation of the meal. Duck in a thick peach sauce was followed by a meal of baked chicken with cornbread stuffing, ham, baked sweet potatoes and spring greens. The table conversations outlived the enormous feast, which in its finality was accented with fresh fruit pies, nut cakes, and coffee. Few residents had seen a meal like that one in well over a year. Food in great supply had been shipped to the front lines farther south or to the west to feed the regiments. More shipments were needed to replace food when it was lost to cut rail lines or to the Union blockades. My mind wandered to the slaves. What did Lucy feed the men and women who served us?
Though I never heard about troop movements that night, I overheard the conversations of Samuel and his father. Apparently, Samuel had been shot at Shiloh near the Mississippi border. The Confederate army under General Albert Johnston had surprised 40,000 Union troops and met with appalling losses for both sides. Fortunately, Samuel had escaped with his life unlike the General. Johnston was another victim of the rifled musket.
“That sucker has a spin on it that can shatter bone at better than four hundred yards,” Samuel told his father much to the chagrin of Lucy who left the table until she could regain her composure. The party had indeed lifted Samuel’s spirits as did the wine.
“Sometimes I can feel an itch in that damned leg,” he said as he adjusted himself in his chair. With a wince, Sam settled into a new position, looking up to see of Lucy’s whereabouts.
“My God,” March replied, “This war won’t see a bayonet charge until all the bullets are gone. Grant thought he’d whup us good, but we showed him, it’s not goin’ to be that easy. At least not in the west. If McClellan can get Richmond, and he’s only twenty miles from doing it, then he’s got balls that we’ve never seen before. I heard that since Jeff Davis heard about the size of McClellan’s army, he’s been preparing for Richmond to fall. But God knows, I wish Davis were here tonight. Then, I’d say to him ‘Let’s take ‘em on like we did in Tennessee.’”
Lucy, having returned, looked at her husband, then back at her father-in-law and shook her head as she looked down at her plate. “All those boys,” she said. “All those boys.”
Turning in our direction, March leaned forward looking across me to Warren and asked, “Whata ya’ think, Captain Dodd?”
March having had more to drink than his companions at his end of the table added, “And a man like you should be a line officer. What’s wrong with them? When are they going to bump you up to Major or hell, to Lt. Colonel?”
Lucy, looking pained once again, must have thought about interjecting a comment to diffuse her inebriated father-in-law, but decided against it
“I’m looking forward to a promotion, Sir. You know, I left the army for several years to assist my father in his business as a merchant, and then returned when big changes began to occur, when it was evident that war was inevitable. As far as the supplies Sir, it’s the rules. They think a man like me would have trouble taking a shot in a hurry.”
March, looking towards the officer as he was speaking noticed that the captain’s left hand, holding up his goblet, was missing digits down to the knuckle. He swallowed and grew quiet.
I nearly chocked on the sip of wine I was enjoying when Warren lifted his glass. It was the first that I noticed he had lost the top digits of two fingers. These two small digits were the reason that Warren wasn’t leading men in
to battle, but serving their needs in supplies. Quietly, I found it a blessing that he was not in the heat of war all the time.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Warren said in March’s direction. “To the people of Richmond,” he went on, a toast. The others recovering from the captain’s surprise revelation seemed relieved to raise their glasses as well, along with the captain.
“To the people of Richmond, to their endurance and courage as they face what is coming,” Warren said.
“Hear, hear,” chimed in March along with the rest of the table.
Once the dessert was consumed and the last of the coffee sipped and gone, the men pushed back their chairs and assisted their partners up as well. Servants busied about, then waited in the shadows for the guests to amble out to the covered porch.
Warren stood up in back of my chair. “Miss Cunningham, that dance?” he asked.
Overhearing this, Lucy looked up at Warren’s face then down at me, and grinned in approval. Turning to Samuel, she said “My darling, let’s go to the porch and listen to the music with our guests.”
Rising from my chair and taking Warren’s arm, I followed him across the wide hallway and onto an enormous porch off the back of the Talbot’s stately home. In the moonlight the porch had become an elegant evening ballroom. Lanterns and candles cast a soft light across the floor and around the perimeter, while in the gardens, torches lit up pathways that led maze-like through the early flower beds. I heard a distant fountain though it lay hidden in darkness. An occasional toad croaked somewhere in the evening, and moths glided over the cool grass. We moved towards the middle of the floor joining other couples in time with the music. A series of waltzes echoed the lively mood of the evening and entertained the guests while the Talbots sat at one end of the porch trying to relax and enjoy the evening together.
Warren and I moved to the middle of the dance floor surrounded by other couples, slowing to the more relaxed rhythm of the band. One hand on his shoulder, his at my waist, I felt excited, our other hands met and fingers folded into one another’s, I wanted to be closer to the man and found a reason to move in a few inches towards his chest.
“It’s so sad what happened to Samuel,” I whispered into Warren’s ear. It was the first time I identified his scent; clean and cedar-like. My chin, just below his shoulder, I had to look up to be heard. “What a shock poor Lucy endured when he arrived home like that.”
“What? Lucy didn’t know Sam had lost a leg?” Warren pulled away and looked down at me. “He hadn’t written her to let her know?”
Gently, I moved closer to him.
“No, when I arrived Lucy had been crying. Her eyes were swollen. Then she pulled me aside, away from the others to tell me what had happened upon Samuel’s homecoming. I guess he’s lucky to be alive. Most men who lose a limb die in the hospital, don’t they Captain?”
Warren appeared wistful at the news. “Yeah, my God,” he replied, “but I had no idea that Lucy would have just found out about the news today.”
Finally the music ended which allowed the guests to mingle with one another for light conversation. The familiarity with which we spoke during the dance caught me off guard. I spoke to Warren as if speaking to a friend. He took my hand and led me down the porch stairs, away from the others. As we walked through the scented garden, I felt like an adolescent; I wanted to touch his hand, his wrist, to explore the lines on his palm and then tell his future. ‘If not for the damned war,’ I thought, ‘Perhaps we could plan a future together, but being on opposite sides, that simply wasn’t possible. Politics get in the way.’ But I did like his attentiveness or, was he just charming me? I thought about my options to myself, ‘Did I need to catch his attention with a bit of charm of my own, or should I present myself without facade, charming or not? Perhaps he would think me dull.’
Those thoughts passed quickly and I found myself sitting on a low wall, palms down on either side of myself, looking up to the night sky. With the captain seated beside me, breathing in deeply, I was calmed by the slow pace and warmth of the spring evening. Next to me, Warren let out a long, relaxed sigh.
“At least he left Shiloh with only a leg gone. Many, many others weren’t so lucky,” Warren said aloud. I heard that Shiloh alone took more men than the Revolution, 1812, and the damned Mexican War put together.”
“My God,” I responded. “I didn’t know.”
Our conversation came easily and gently, soothing our war-tired spirits. I felt a familiarity, a kind of trust with this man, this Confederate captain whom I should be questioning, not trusting on any level.
Warren, looking towards the party said, “Miss Cunningham, please forgive my lack of formality. I didn’t mean to insult you by speaking so casually. I…”
But before he could finish I looked over at him and leaned into his arm and side. I replied, “Please don’t apologize, I find comfort in talking with you, and these days with everything being so unsure, when daylight to dusk is unpredictable, I welcome this relaxed conversation. Let’s face it, these are strange times in history, and one thing we’ve got to do in is to hold onto our humanity.” Maybe I’d said too much. Maybe it sounded too academic, but, Warren didn’t seem disturbed by me in the least.
“All right then,” Warren said rubbing his palms on his thighs, “May I walk you home this evening?”
“Why certainly, but didn’t you ride your horse here?”
“No, I loaned him to a friend for a few days. That’s what detained me earlier.”
After a few more dances, even a lively reel, we thanked our hosts and took leave of the other guests. Setting off down the hill we walked side by side taking in the beautiful night. From the hilltop, the forest blocked any view of the town, and with the sounds and smells of spring all around us, we followed the road as it wound us down and around, and approached Marsh Station. While discussing what we did with our days and I had to keep reminding myself not to let my guard down for a second, not to reveal any of my secrets. It would have been so easy to do.
“What are your duties with the cavalry, Captain?” I asked.
“For now, I live in a converted barn reserved for the officers and I oversee supply movements to the front lines – all kinds of supplies – from food to medical equipment. I have to move out from time to time and sometimes for weeks at a time, but I’ve been able to be stationed here in Marsh Station for awhile because the train comes through here and now with the hospital, I’m always trying to round things up here, supplies, boots, foodstuffs and medication even it takes a bit of hmmm…negotiation, I guess you might say. What about you, Miss Cunningham?”
I paused to gather my thoughts for a few seconds but I had my response down pat. “I love to garden and grow herbs and I hope to begin working at the hospital as well. I’m taking a rest after traveling with troupe.”
I couldn’t tell him that my real motive was to work with the prisoners housed next to the hospital, the Union prisoners.
We walked through the small town and passed the tavern with its new collection of drunken soldiers outside. As we talked, time itself seemed to take on a new dimension. I had no idea if our walk had taken thirty minutes or three hours. My attention had gone to my finger tips as they had become hooked in the crook of Warren’s elbow. I was focused on what it felt like to be close to him, to gently nudge his elbow into my body as if pulling on the rein of a horse. When he reached over and grasped my hand from time to time, he made me aware of senses far beyond my wrists.
From town the dirt paths quickly wound us back to my house even though he’d taken the long way around. Standing by the low fence looking at each other, I thanked him.
Turning to go, Warren hesitated and then turned back towards me. He reached out and slipped his arm around my waist. Drawing me to him slowly, I could feel his palm spread at the small of my back. “Annie, will you join me for dinner tomorrow night?”
I paused and deliberately took a deep breath. “Ah yes, but how about if join me here
at my home, Captain, at seve?.” Before he could answer I added, teasing, to lighten the tension of the moment, “I make a mean beef and bean dish I think you’ll love.” He laughed.
“Seven it will be,” Warren said grinning. “Good night.” He loosened his reach around my waist and I stepped back, still looking at his clear, smiling eyes. There, right there, his eyes caught me and refused to let me go.
Despite my firm convictions, my political persuasions, and my reasonable character, when my eyes looked directly at Warren’s once again, I was nearly his. I rationalized these conflicting thoughts by thinking he’d have been suspicious if I had denied his invitation. It was good for my work to get to know a Confederate Captain.
“Good night, then, and thank you for the lovely walk home.” I said as I turned to leave. My key in hand, I unlocked the door, and nodded to him once more before I entered.
Lighting the house had become a ritual with an edge. I couldn’t help but listen more acutely and check cautiously behind every door. That evening I wavered between deep contentment and confusion. My cat, or more precisely, the cat that came with the house, dashed in with me and she immediately claimed my reading chair as her own. I joined her and spoke quietly to my purring friend as I thought out loud.
“How could I be so stupid, my dear? He’s a Captain of the Confederacy for God’s sake. He’s an enemy after all,” I whispered. “How can I be clear-headed and get the information I need when he makes me feel like this?” The kitty looked up at me, completely disinterested in my words and closed her eyes while I rubbed her neck.
“We can’t meet alone tomorrow night. I’ll have to invite a few guests. That’s what I’ll do.” Picking up the cat to go to bed I blew out the oil lamp and headed down the hall.
CHAPTER EIGHT