Fire by Night (3 page)

“General McDowell ought to be fired for being so ill-prepared. We made a terrible spectacle of ourselves yesterday. I expect Jeff Davis is having a good laugh at us right about now, and—Julia! My dear! Come in, come in. I didn’t expect to see you today. Are you all right? Have you recovered?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” she said, sweeping into the room. “When I heard that Reverend Greene had returned, I simply had to see him and assure myself that he was all in one piece.” She turned to him, looking him over with what she hoped was an affectionate gaze. “Are you all right, Reverend? I’ve been praying for your safety all night.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Thank heaven. I want to apologize for my appalling behavior yesterday. I’ve never had such a terrible shock before, and I simply wasn’t myself. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Of course,” he said after a moment. But Nathaniel’s cold, sullen expression didn’t change. She waited for her apology to soften his features into his boyish smile, but it didn’t. An ugly silence fell, made worse by the room’s gloomy atmosphere. The study was filled with dark heavy furniture and papered with drab wallpaper. The livercolored drapes on the windows had been pulled half closed, adding to the melancholy. Julia wanted to say something to dispel the dismal silence, but she didn’t know what.

“Were you able to help those poor, suffering men, Reverend?” she finally asked.

“Some of them.”

“Goodness, you must be exhausted. I know all of us were by the time we returned home, weren’t we, Congressman?”

He nodded vacantly. Julia remembered the quantities of champagne he’d drunk and how he’d managed to fall asleep on the bonerattling ride back to Washington. She wondered just how much he remembered from yesterday.

“Our government was disgracefully unprepared for so many casualties,” Nathaniel said, ignoring Julia. “You must publish a report on it, Congressman. The wounded had no transportation, too few physicians, inadequate field hospitals. … Our fighting men deserve better.”

“Yes, I expect Congress will be busy for some time debating this appalling disaster.” As Rhodes began fussing with his cigar, trying to relight it, Nathaniel turned to stare out the window. Julia followed his gaze and saw the unfinished dome of the Capitol building in the distance, covered with scaffolding. She had offered her apologies. Neither man seemed to want her here. The polite thing to do would be to leave.

“Well, then…” She smiled uncertainly at the minister’s rudely turned back. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your discussion. I thank God you’re all right, Nathaniel.” Julia never used his first name and didn’t know what had prompted her to use it now. His coldness made her feel like a scolded child, but she held her head high as she left the room in a swirl of hoops and petticoats. She got as far as the first stair landing before remembering that she was going home tomorrow. She’d forgotten to ask Nathaniel if he planned to go home, too.

She hurried back to the study and saw that Congressman Rhodes had moved to stand beside Nathaniel at the window. They couldn’t see Julia in the doorway, but their voices carried out to her quite clearly.

“She’s sweet on you, Reverend,” the congressman said.

“Miss Hoffman, you mean?”

“Yes. I may be old and gray, but I can still recognize the signs. She’s a lovely young woman from a very fine family. Quite pretty, too. You’re a lucky man to have caught her eye.”

Julia smiled at the compliment and moved away slightly so she could listen without being seen.

“I do believe you’re blushing, young man,” the congressman said, chuckling. “Have I touched a nerve?”

“Truth be told, I find Miss Hoffman’s attentions toward me embarrassing. But I’m afraid I haven’t found the necessary …words …to discourage her.”

“Why on earth would you wish to discourage her? Don’t you find her pretty?”

“I really couldn’t say if she’s pretty or not. As the Scriptures say, I made a covenant with my eyes not to look upon a girl in that way.”

“You’re much too serious, Reverend. You needn’t call it a sin to say a girl is pretty. How old are you …twenty-four, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-nine, sir.”

“You look much younger. Listen, how do you expect to find a wife if you never look at a woman? Don’t you plan to marry someday?”

“I wish very much to marry, God willing.”

“Then, as I say, you would do well not to ignore Julia Hoffman’s attention. In fact, I’d advise you to encourage it. Aside from her physical loveliness, she is purehearted, comes from a sterling family— and she tells me she’s involved in your abolitionist causes, too.”

“Well, yes …I suppose she is. … ”

“Then what’s the problem, my good fellow? I understand from her uncle that she can have her pick of eligible suitors back home and that her father is quite eager to see her well married and settled down, especially with the Union in an uproar.”

Nathaniel heaved a sigh that Julia could hear even outside the door. This conversation was making her more and more uneasy, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear Nathaniel’s answer.

“To be perfectly honest,” he finally replied, “Miss Hoffman is not at all what I’m looking for in a wife. I find her shallow, spoiled, and unbearably self-absorbed.”

Julia slumped against the wall as if he’d struck her. Shock left her momentarily numb; then the pain of his cruel words slowly grabbed hold of her.

Apparently he’d stunned the congressman, as well. “My dear fellow!” he said.

“Forgive me for being so blunt, but I find it to be a true assessment of most of the young ladies in Miss Hoffman’s social position. They can’t—or won’t—do a thing for themselves, whether it’s combing their own hair or fixing a cup of tea. And their works of charity are always about themselves, done for selfish motives, not from true Christian love and compassion. Outward beauty rarely lasts a lifetime, Congressman, and then what would I be left with once it fades? A whining, nagging wife wrapped up in her own needs, whose only passions are spending money and spreading gossip? I need a devout wife, one who spends her time in the Scriptures and in prayer, one who is devoted to meeting the needs of others, whose lifelong passion, like mine, is to spread the Gospel.”

Julia hated him. She longed to stalk into the room and strike back at him for insulting her. But to be caught eavesdropping would further disgrace her in his sight—and in her host’s. Every part of her seemed to ache as she slowly backed away from the door. She didn’t want to hear another painful word, but she couldn’t stop herself from listening.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on young Julia?” Rhodes asked.

“Frankly, no. I don’t. You saw her lack of compassion for those wounded men yesterday.”

“I saw a frightened young lady who has never been exposed to such gruesome sights before. Neither have I, as a matter of fact. The battlefield is no place for a woman.”

“I disagree. I’ve been reading the accounts of Florence Nightingale and the work she and her band of nurses did during the war in Crimea. The ‘Nightingales’ displayed remarkable courage and saved many lives on the battlefield.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve read about them, too. Extraordinary. We could use a few Nightingales in our own war.”

“Even when Miss Hoffman has attended abolition meetings with me, she seemed more interested in flirting and being noticed by everyone than in what the guest speakers had to say. I realized that she had aimed her sights on me some time ago. But the more I’ve tried to discourage her, the more she has leeched onto me. I seem to be a prize she has set for herself, and the more coldly I treat her, the more determined she has become to win me over. Forgive me for sounding harsh, Congressman, but I’m very frustrated. I don’t quite know how to get rid of her.”

“Would you like me to have a word with her uncle or her father?”

Julia knew she would curl up and die if Congressman Rhodes ever repeated Nathaniel’s words to her father. The mere thought of it made her shrivel inside herself in shame. She considered storming into the room and telling Nathaniel that he needn’t think she would ever bother him again, when she heard his answer.

“No. … Thank you for offering, but I think I’d better learn to handle her advances myself.”

“All right. But be careful, Reverend. Judge Hoffman wields a great deal of power in Philadelphia, and he’s a generous contributor to your church. If you insult him or his daughter, I guarantee you’ll be looking for a new position.”

Julia finally turned away and hurried up the stairs as her tears began to fall. That’s what she would do—have Nathaniel fired as soon as she returned to Philadelphia. She knew her father had the power to do it and that he would gladly do it after she told him how Nathaniel had insulted all the women who did charity work for the church. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry. How dare he speak of her that way? She’d had dozens of worthy suitors, but she had loved only him, pursuing him alone for more than three years. Well, no more! She felt nothing but loathing for Reverend Nathaniel Greene.

Julia cried for a good long while, comforting herself with images of Nathaniel being drummed out of the church, out of Philadelphia, out of the ministry. Then a better idea came to her. Rather than having him leave with such a low opinion of her, she would first prove to him that she wasn’t shallow and self-absorbed. Once he was sorry for everything he’d said,
then
she’d have her father get rid of him.

She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes to stop her tears and sat down in front of the looking glass to repair her face. Julia knew she was pretty, even with red, swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks. Other men considered her a prize; why didn’t Nathaniel Greene?

But the more she thought about his words and how she had reacted yesterday to those pleading, wounded men, the more clearly Julia began to see herself—clearer than any mirror might have shown. She saw her reflection, not in glass but in the words of the man she loved, a man who didn’t return her love, a man who didn’t look at her face but at her soul. There were things she could do to dress up the outside of herself. But all the lace and silk and rouge in the world couldn’t camouflage her heart. Nathaniel had called her “shallow” and “spoiled” and “unbearably self-absorbed.”

Julia Hoffman looked beyond the mirror and knew his words were true.

Chapter Two

Western Virginia
September 1861

Phoebe Bigelow was as homely and horsefaced as a hound dog— and she knew it. She was nineteen years old, old enough to get married, but there probably wasn’t a man in Bone Hollow who’d be willing to marry her, except maybe Rufus Shook—and most folks agreed that he was a little “tetched” in the head. She was much too tall, for one thing—nearly six foot, just like her three older brothers. And she was built like them, too—big-boned, with square shoulders and a sturdy trunk, and wiry yellow hair. She flatly refused to shape her figure into womanly curves with a corset, so there wasn’t a single thing feminine about her except her name. And for reasons that Phoebe never quite understood, her brothers had even changed that to “Ike.”

As she’d watched the three of them—Junior, Willard, and Jack— getting ready to march off to war, she considered it the worst misfortune of her life that she had been born a girl. She was just as patriotic as they were, wasn’t she? She wanted to see the Rebels stopped from seceding just as badly as they did. Maybe she had been born and raised right here in western Virginia, but like all the rest of the folks in Bone Hollow, she wanted her state to stay in the United States, thank you very much, not join some crazy Confederacy. That’s why her brothers were fixing to go up to Cincinnati to sign on with the Yankees. Problem was, they were fixing to leave Phoebe behind.

“Come on, Ike. Will you hurry up in there?” Willard yelled from outside the cabin door. “Gonna be past noon before we get to town at the rate you’re moving.”

“The whole dumb war’s gonna be over at the rate she’s moving,” Jack added, making sure he spoke loud enough for her to hear. She surveyed her family’s cabin one last time, memorizing every inch of it—ash dust, cobwebs, and all—then stuck Pa’s old slouch hat on her head and hefted her burlap sack of belongings onto her shoulder. As she emerged through the door, dragging her heels, Junior took one look at her and leaped off the wagon.

“Hang it all, Phoebe. Didn’t I tell you to put on a skirt? You can’t be working in Miz Haggerty’s store and minding her young ones dressed like a man.”

“Told you. Don’t want to mind her store or her snotty-nosed brats. Why can’t I stay right here on our own land—where I belong?”

“We been over this a hundred times. The farm’s leased to Jeb White ’til we get back from the war. You gotta move to town where you’ll be taken care of.”

“Don’t need no one to take care of me. Ain’t I been taking care of myself just fine ’til now?”

“Jeb’s new wife don’t want you here. You’re gonna earn your room and board with the Haggertys.”

The thought of prune-faced Mrs. Haggerty bossing her around all day made Phoebe feel desperate. She grabbed Junior’s arm to plead with him one last time. “Let me go with you, Junior.
Please!
Ain’t nobody but you gonna know I ain’t your brother. And you know I can shoot twice as good as you can. That means I can kill twice as many Rebels as you.”

“You’re a
girl,
Ike.” He made it sound like a worse fate than being born a rattlesnake. “Girls don’t fight in wars, no matter how good they can shoot. Now put your blasted skirt on, or I’ll hog-tie you and put it on you myself.” Junior was bigger than she was, the biggest one of the lot. He’d sat on her plenty of times in the past when she’d gotten him riled, so she knew he could easily do it again. Jack and Willard would gladly join in, too.

She dragged herself back up the cabin steps She dragged herself back up the cabin steps and went inside to put on the hated skirt, mumbling under her breath about that nogood busybody, Mrs. Garlock. It was all her fault that Phoebe had a skirt to put on in the first place. She had always worn her brothers’ hand-me-down shirts and overalls until Widow Garlock told Pa it was a disgrace to her mother’s memory for Phoebe to show up for school in Bone Hollow dressed like a boy. The widow had given Phoebe a calico skirt, muslin bloomers and petticoat, and a threadbare shirtwaist that had belonged to Mrs. Garlock’s sister who’d died of pneumonia earlier that year. Phoebe’s own mama had died when she was barely out of diapers, which is why no one had ever taught her how to act like a girl. She wished Pa was still alive. If he hadn’t took sick and died a year ago, she never would have had to leave home and go work for Mrs. Haggerty.