Chapter 3
Galveston – September, 1864
The slam of the front door as it was thrown open brought Amelia to the upstairs landing.
“Miz Wilcox! Miz Wilcox! We need you. Mr. Wilcox is hurt bad!” The graveled voice sounded like Jeb Tully, one of Clayton’s employees.
She hurried down the staircase in her wrapper, carefully holding a candle to ward off the darkness.
Clayton was lying ashen faced on the settee. Blood covered his shirt in the shoulder area. Amelia barely glanced at the two men standing beside the settee.
“Oh my lord, what happened? Clayton, can you hear me? Clayton?” She put the candleholder on the nearby table and bent over her husband. When he did not answer, she opened his shirt, though her trembling fingers interfered. She found a hole in his upper chest near his shoulder. Fresh blood oozed from the wound.
“Mariah, come here, quickly,” she called. At last she looked at the men.
“Mr. Tully, can you tell me what happened?”
“It was them Yankees, Ma’am. They’ve been coming closer in to shore. Can’t even get a fishing boat past ‘em now.”
“Clayton was out fishing? I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
Tully looked uncomfortable. “He wasn’t exactly fishing, Ma’am. We went to meet the blockade runners, like we have the last couple of years. We ain’t had a problem before.”
Mariah ran into the room. “Yes, Miz Wilcox?”
“Get me some clean sheets and the shears. Then, put the big soup pot on to boil. We’ll need hot water.”
Nodding, Mariah hurried to do as her mistress requested.
Amelia peered anxiously at her husband’s wound.
“The ball’s not in there. It was a clean shot, through and through. That’ll make it easier for him.” Tully stood respectfully with his hat in his hands.
She put a pillow under her husband as Mariah returned with the sheets. “Give me two of the sheets,” commanded Amelia. “And cut up one into strips long enough to bind his wound.”
Amelia took the folded sheets. One she put under Clayton’s shoulder, while she pressed the other into his wound on his chest. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” She held the folded sheet hard to his chest.
Clayton, what have you done? Why did you put yourself in danger?
When the blood flow stopped, Amelia cleaned the wound. Then she wrapped his upper chest and shoulder tightly front and back in the strips of sheet.
“Would you like us to carry him upstairs, Ma’am?” Tully stood with his hat in is hand.
“No, thank you, Mr. Tully, I don’t think we should move him tonight. If you can stop by tomorrow, we will move him then.” She staggered to him and took his hand, as much to find strength as to express gratitude.
“Thank you for bringing my husband home tonight. I can have Mariah make some coffee, if you’d like.”
“Oh, no Ma’am, don’t go to any trouble. We’d just as soon go on home if you don’t need us now.” He pushed his silent companion toward the front door. “We’ll stop by tomorrow and see how Mr. Wilcox is.”
Amelia nodded and turned back to Clayton. He looked small, almost childlike, cramped on the short settee.
“What else can I do?” Mariah stood in the doorway.
“Do we have any chicken left?”
Mariah shook her head. “We’ve only got the fish Mr. Tully brought us earlier.”
Amelia sighed. “Then make some fish broth. We’ll need to get some nourishment into my husband when he’s awake.”
“Ma’am, I know it isn’t my place to say, but Mr. Wilcox has been buying the food from the runners coming down from New Orleans. There’s not much here on the island anymore.”
“Why didn’t I know about this before?”
“I expect he didn’t want you upset. You’re so busy with little Dougie.”
“Do you think we won’t be able to get enough food?” How could that be? We’ve always had whatever we wanted. Amelia felt the warmth drain out of her body. How would she provide for her family?
Mariah looked at her for a moment.
“Ma’am, there’s not much grown on the island. Everything comes up from the valley on the lower coast, or down from New Orleans.”
“We’ll just have to find a way, that’s all there is to it.” Clayton, how could you keep our situation from me? I’m not a child. I could have helped you.
It didn’t have to get this bad. Blast it, Clayton what have you gone and done? Fear warred with anger as she faced an uncertain future.
General Grant’s Headquarters
Northern Virginia – September 1864
“Congratulations on your promotion, Major Hawthorne.” General Grant observed him with sharp eyes. “Welcome to my staff.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The famed general sat behind his makeshift desk. “Your ability to plan strategically is exceptional. You will be of great value at this stage of the war. The Confederates are beaten, but the stubborn fools won’t quit.” He stopped to light a cigar.
“We are laying siege to Petersburg, in preparation for an attack on Richmond. General Sherman is marching into Georgia to take Atlanta. General Meade is marching to Mobile, to take that city and cut off the supply route for the south.”
Joshua nodded. “What are the plans for New Orleans, Sir?”
“New Orleans is effectively bottlenecked by the blockade. Nothing is getting in or out through the Gulf. There are still small boats and skiffs making it through the bayous to ports farther down the coast, but it’s insignificant at best.” He scrutinized Joshua. “Why are you so interested in New Orleans, Major?”
Joshua looked down for a moment before he answered. “A young lady of my acquaintance lives there, at least it’s the last address I had for her.”
Grant smiled. “Ah, now I understand. You are worried about her, of course. Well, Major, the best thing you can do is to help me end this war as soon as possible.”
He nodded in satisfaction. “Then you can look for your young lady. If it will ease your mind, there are no plans to bombard New Orleans or seize it. The blockade is enough.”
“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate the information.” I pray Amelia is safe and waiting for me.
“Now then, let’s look at the battle plans and see if you have any ideas to help spur our victory.”
Galveston
“Clayton, your wound is healing well. But I don’t like the sound of that cough.” She poured him a fresh cup of sassafras tea. There was no more coffee. “We have to careful. There are a growing number of yellow fever cases in the area.”
He smiled at her, his face pale and drawn. “Don’t worry so much. You’ve gotten me through the worst of it. I probably just caught a cold that night on the ocean.” He reached across the table and took her hand.
She squeezed his damp hand and returned his smile. “I must admit I was so afraid the night they brought you home. Why didn’t you tell me what you had been doing?”
“There was no need to make a fuss. You have enough to do.”
Amelia sighed. “I wish you had told me. I might have been able to help.” There, there, little darling. I can almost hear him say it. When is he going to realize I’m a grown woman and not a little doll?
He looked at her, his eyes anxious. “No, you couldn’t. I would never put you in such danger. Don’t even think of such a thing.”
She swallowed her anger. It would not help now. “All right, what are we going to do now? We don’t have much food left. The flour is almost gone. We don’t have sugar or eggs. There are no vegetables to be had. How will we live without new supplies?”
“If we must, we can live on the fish and crabs that Tully brings us. It will keep us alive until we can find new supplies.” He wearily wiped his hand across his forehead. “Start gathering our valuables and put them in a safe place.”
“What for?” she asked.
“If supplies do come in, they will cost much more than
before. We had best have a stockpile of items to sell or barter.”
Concerned about her husband’s fading energy, Amelia felt his forehead. “You’re feverish, Clayton. Why didn’t you say anything? We’d better get you to bed so you can rest.” She helped him to stand and put his arm over her shoulders.
“It’s nothing, just a cold. I’ll be fine after I get some sleep.” He tried to get up on his own but fell back to the chair, his face grey.
She struggled to get him up the stairs and into their bed. Amelia sat beside him as much as she could. She asked Mariah to tend to Dougie.
Sometime in the night, the fever was much worse. Clayton vomited an ugly black liquid. Amelia froze in horror. Oh dear God, it’s Yellow Jack!
In the candlelight, she recognized what it meant. Yellow fever had come to their home. She heard news of a recent outbreak of the disease in Galveston. It meant more people would die. How could it have come to their home? She had been so careful.
Amelia trembled as she fell to her knees beside the bed. She could not imagine a nightmare worse than this.
Our Heavenly Father, I know I have not loved my husband like I should. But I have been a good wife to him. Please don’t take my husband. Please, our son needs his father. Let him live and please protect my little boy.