Battle of Lookout Mountain (15 page)

General Bragg’s army had indeed been routed, though the Confederates managed to withdraw aboard trains and on foot. Rebel casualties for the three days totaled 6,700 soldiers killed or wounded or captured, higher than the losses of the Union— 5,800 men.

The South would never recover from the fighting around Chattanooga. The gateway to the heart of the Confederacy had been flung open, and General Sherman was already planning a Federal advance on the city of Atlanta.

“Looks like we’ll all be generals if this keeps up. Look at them stripes!” Rosie was admiring the new stripes that had been given not to Drake Bedford but to Royal Carter.

Royal had expressed shock when Lieutenant Smith informed him that he would be promoted to
take Ira Pickens’s place. “But I’m not the soldier Ira is!” he protested.

Lieutenant Smith said, “You’ll do until he gets back. You got a good squad here, Sergeant Carter. Now let’s see you pull ’em together until we get the Rebels penned up in Atlanta.”

Royal’s squad gathered around him, teasing him about his promotion.

“Well, Professor, I guess we’ll have to call you Sergeant now.” Walter Beddows punched him on the arm. “Hard to have respect for a fellow you grew up with, but like the lieutenant says, you’ll do until the real sergeant gets back.”

Drake Bedford grinned. There was a confidence and a jaunty air about him. He was his old self again. Drake had learned something since coming into the army. He had been humbled, and he now felt that he had been really accepted by his company.

“Now that you’re the sergeant,” Rosie was saying, “I been meaning to tell you—I think I better not be assigned any hard work for a few days. Not until I get my arthritis settled back some.”

A laugh went up, and the teasing turned in Rosie’s direction.

Drake thought about his own possible promotion. He had no desire to ever be a sergeant. “It’s one thing,” he explained to Rosie, “to do something that takes just a few minutes—like when we were under fire. But being a sergeant, you got to be regular and steady every day.”

Later on in the week, General Thomas came by and reviewed the troops. Thomas was a huge, powerful man with a thick beard and penetrating eyes.
He stopped his horse in front of the Washington Blues and congratulated the major.

“Your men did a fine job, Major,” he said. “I never saw soldiers behave any better under fire. I’ll keep you in mind when we have hard jobs in the future.”

“Oh, me!” Rosie mumbled. “There you are. Once you do a good thing, these generals expect you to keep it up.”

Lieutenant Smith dismissed the company, then said to Royal, “Sergeant, I order you and Bedford to go with me into town and bring supplies out.” Then a grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “And on the way back I think you’ll have time to stop and see some old friends.”

The old friends proved to be Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. They pulled the two young soldiers inside, and Mr. Jenkins pounded their shoulders until they were ready to drop.

“You fellers are heroes!” he said. “If I was a drinking man, I’d pour out a toast, but I guess it’ll have to be buttermilk.”

“That suits me,” Royal said. “I’d rather have buttermilk than wine anytime.”

For a victory celebration, Mrs. Jenkins served hot biscuits and buttermilk with some fresh-ground sausage and newly laid eggs.

Lori sat between the boys at the table, listening as they told about the battle.

Royal said right away, “I’ll tell all the stories.” He stressed how Drake had saved his squad from being destroyed. “They didn’t give him a medal either, but they should have,” he concluded. He smirked at
Drake. “Now, don’t say I haven’t done my best to embellish your reputation, Private.”

“Oh, I think that’s wonderful!” Lori said, her eyes bright as she fixed them on Drake.

“He makes it sound like a lot more than it was,” Drake protested.

“No, I don’t,” Royal disagreed. “You earned your keep up on that mountain. Everybody in the company admires you for it. And Major Bates came by and told Drake what a good soldier he was.”

Drake felt very uncomfortable under all the praise. He was glad when the meal was over and they moved away from the table.

“You young folks go on outside. Show them that new calf we got, Lori,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Ma and I’ll do the dishes.”

The three walked outdoors. Cold air blew over the mountains. The trees were orange and brown or were already stripped.

After they had admired the calf, Lori said, “Let’s go down to the pond. I’ll show you where I caught a big catfish last summer.”

Dry leaves crunched under their feet as they made their way through an oak glade. Squirrels were active in the trees. Overhead a big red squirrel with a bushy tail chattered at them angrily as if they were invading his territory.

“I wish I had my musket,” Drake remarked. “I’d have squirrel stew for supper.”

“No, that’s an old friend of mine,” Lori protested. “He never fusses like that when I come by myself.”

She led them down a twisting path under the huge oak branches. They came at last to a small
creek that had been dammed up, making a pond some twenty feet across.

She pointed. “Right there’s where I caught the biggest catfish you ever saw.”

“Wonder if there are any more in there,” Royal speculated. “If my sister Leah were here and that boyfriend of hers—Jeff Majors—they’d be fishing right now.” He noticed a fallen log. “Let’s sit on that log for a while. You can tell us more lies about how big that fish was, Lori.”

They sat and talked. Overhead a flight of ducks made a V that scored the gray sky. Looking up, Royal said, “Goin’ south.”

Drake looked up at the birds too. “Like us. We’ll be headed south pretty soon too.”

“When?” Lori asked quickly.

“Nobody knows for sure, but we’ll be going after the Rebels. And they’ll go to Atlanta.”

“And they’ll fight every step of the way,” Drake said. “I once thought they’d soon give up, but I don’t think now they ever will.”

A silence fell over the trio, then suddenly Drake turned to Royal. “I want to say something to you, Royal.”

“Why, sure, Drake. What is it?”

Drake shifted his weight and said, “Back there in Pineville, when I forced that fight on you—well, I was wrong to do that.”

“I’ve forgotten all about it.”

“Well, maybe you have, but I haven’t. Guess I’ll have to ask you to forgive me for that.”

Royal grinned broadly. “Why, sure, Drake. Don’t think about it anymore.”

Drake looked down at his boots, then up at Lori.
“And I guess,” he said slowly, “I never went courtin’ like this.”

Startled, Lori said, “Why, what do you mean, Drake?”

“Well … always before, I tried to cut the other fellow out, get the girl all by herself. And now here we are, Royal and me, both in love with you, and here you are, right between us.”

Lori’s cheeks turned rosy. For once she seemed unable to think of anything to say. She lowered her head and clasped her hands.

Royal laughed aloud. “It
is
a strange kind of courting. You’re not embarrassed, are you, Lori? Most girls would love to have two men chasing after them.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Lori said. “I mean,” she added quickly, exchanging a glance first with Royal, then with Drake. “I think so much of both of you!”

“Well, both of us think so much of you.” Drake saw that she was indeed deeply embarrassed. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault that you got two fellows going out of their heads about you.”

“It’s not like that at all,” she said. “You’re just lonesome and away from home. You’re not in love with me—neither one of you.”

“You’re wrong about that, Lori,” Royal said, “but it’s not fair to put you on the spot. Tell you what, Drake—I’ll show that I’m the better man.”

Royal reached over and took Lori’s hand, and she looked at him in surprise. Shaking it firmly, he said, “Good-bye, Lori. I’ll write to you from wherever we go. I hope you’ll write back, and sooner or later I’ll be seeing you.” He got up and walked away, his feet crunching the leaves noisily.

Drake stared after him. “Well, that son of a gun! He
is
a better man than I am!”

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know about calling my buddy
sweet,”
Drake said, “but not many fellows would do what he just did.”

He waited until Royal disappeared. Then he said, “Lori, I never told you about what happened on Lookout Mountain. When it all started and the going got pretty bad, all I could remember was that you said that God had told you that I’d be a better soldier. And you were right. It must’ve been God.”

“I’m so glad. You have so much to offer, Drake. You could do anything you wanted to.”

“I’m not sure about that.” He looked in the direction of the trees where Royal had disappeared. “But I’m gonna try and be as good a fellow as Royal Carter. I’m not going to romance you, much as I’d like to.” He stood and pulled Lori to her feet. “I’ll say the same thing that Royal said. I’m going to write you, and someday you’ll look up and you’ll see a fellow coming and you’ll say, ‘There’s Drake Bedford. He’s come a-courting.’”

“I wish you didn’t have to go, Drake.”

“But I do. Come—I want to catch up with Royal. We’ll walk back to camp together.”

They caught up with Royal before he reached the house.

“Don’t walk so fast!” Drake said. “We’ve got to get all the way back to camp.”

Royal looked at his friend and said, “All right, Drake. Let’s walk together.”

“Now,” Lori said, “just a minute.” She pulled Drake’s head down and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned to Royal and did the same thing.
“That’s my good-bye for now. I’ll write the both of you.” Tears were in her eyes as she turned and walked quickly toward the house.

Drake looked at Royal. “One of us is goin’ to get an awful jolt one of these days.”

Royal nodded soberly, and then he smiled. “But one of us is going to get a mighty fine girl!”

S
arah was sitting in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. The curtains were drawn back, and the yellow beams of sunlight threw bars on the figured carpet. They also highlighted her dark hair and played over the rose-colored robe that she wore. As she drew the comb down through her lustrous raven locks, she leaned forward and examined her face.

On her right cheek was one small scar, so tiny as to be almost unnoticeable. This, along with two others on the left side of her forehead at the hairline, were all that remained of the dread smallpox.

Sarah took a deep breath and offered up a brief prayer of thanksgiving. “Thank You, Jesus, for healing me,” she said, her dark eyes looking back at her from the mirror. She realized how fortunate she had been. Some others who had been struck down had been scarred badly.

A knock came at her door, and she looked up eagerly. “Come in!”

A cheerful Leah entered, carrying a tray. “I brought up your lunch. And I see you’re primping and admiring yourself. You must be getting well.”

“Don’t be awful, Leah!” Sarah put down the brush and stood. For a moment the room seemed to sway, and she felt weak. The long-drawn-out illness had drained her strength.

“Be careful,” Leah cried. “You’re not strong yet. Here—sit down.”

“I’m able to go down to the table,” Sarah protested. Nevertheless, she took a seat and began to eat the food that Leah had put before her—a bowl of hot beef stew and fresh-made biscuits along with some canned tomatoes, which she loved.

Leah sat on the bed and watched her sister eat. There was a happy expression in her eyes. “You’re looking so much better, and you’re getting stronger every day.”

“I feel better.” Sarah took another spoonful of stew, then said, “Have you seen Tom this morning?”

“No, he and Ezra were around earlier, but I don’t know where they got off to.”

A frown marred the smoothness of Sarah’s forehead, “He’s been acting rather … well … strange lately, don’t you think?”

“Strange? How do you mean, strange?”

“I mean, when I was real sick, he came every day, and he would sit beside me for hours. But for the last week he just pops in, asks me how I am, stays a few minutes, then he’s gone. I wonder if he’s upset with me.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. He hasn’t said anything to me.”

Sarah was perplexed. Tom’s behavior was odd indeed. Since the time he had told her that he loved her and that he had a surprise for her, she had tried to pry out of him what the surprise was. Tom, however, had been adamant, offering nothing more than a grin and a promise—“Just wait and see. You’re going to like it. I can tell you that much.”

Sarah finished the stew and the tomatoes and began to sip her glass of tea. “What’s the war news? Have you heard anything about the fighting?”

“Well, yes. I forgot to tell you. The paper came. There’s been a great Union victory at Missionary Ridge, just outside Chattanooga.”

Sarah looked up quickly and set down the tea. “I wonder if Royal was in that?”

Leah grew sober. “I think he must’ve been. It was an awful battle. The Union won, but the paper said there were a lot of losses.” She hesitated. “The casualty list hasn’t come out yet.”

Sarah bit her lower lip, and her eyes were troubled. “I hate those casualty lists. Every time they read them down in the town square, you can hear a scream when some name is called. Some mother, or wife, or sister crying out. It’s just awful.”

“I know.” Leah nodded sympathetically. “I wish they wouldn’t do it like that. Now they’ve started to print the names in the newspaper.”

At first the casualty lists were sent to various towns to be read aloud. Lately, however, it had been deemed kinder simply to print the lists and to let people look over them in private. Then, if the name of a loved one was included, they wouldn’t make a public display of their grief.

“Have you heard from Jeff?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, yes.” Leah sniffed and said, “He went to a party again with that Lucy Driscoll.”

Sarah glanced at her sister. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Me? Jealous of that—that fluff!”

“Well, you told me she was very pretty.”