Songs of the Shenandoah (44 page)

“So . . . through the newspaper, we had a contact who we had befriended. General Blaine. He is at the highest levels of leadership, coordinates efforts with the Pinkerton Agency, and even reports directly to President Lincoln. We sought his counsel regarding Muriel and he agreed to investigate for us.”

“What did he have to say?” Davin tightened his shoulders.

How much should she share? “We were told quite plainly that our own Muriel has caused devastating and irreparable damage to the Union. Not to mention the harm caused to the Underground Railroad. Imagine that! Attending meetings alongside Caitlin and poor dear Cassie . . . and all along acquiring information to pass on. Not only this, but she was communicating to the Confederates through the classified section of the
Daily
.”

Even as she spoke these words, Clare found it difficult to think poorly of Muriel. She seemed genuinely kind natured and certainly was talented. The children still asked about her often. “I just wanted you to know. You did the right thing in reporting her. It was a very brave act, and a most difficult one as well.”

He narrowed his eyes. “But why? Why would she do this? I thought she cared for us.”

“Oh, Davin. Why do we do anything? The South believes in their cause as much as we do ours. And even here, our own people acting with such cruelty and barbarism. It's so difficult to know what to believe in these days.” She sighed. “I think she did care for us. And I like to believe we made her job all the more difficult. And you did say she helped you rescue Seamus. Oh, dear Davin, I am afraid I haven't made any of this easier for you. I've made a right mess of it, in fact.”

“No. It's good to know I wasn't the only one who was confused.” He put his hat back on.

“You know,” Clare said. “I believe confused is a good place for us to be with all of this. Anyone who has clarity during times such as these is someone we should fear.”

“I suppose you're right. Well. I must be going. I have a train I need to catch, and I have a ways to travel just to get to the station.”

Clare hugged him, gripping him tightly. “How terrible it is that you must leave already. And for me to spend all our time in such difficult conversation. What wicked days we live in!”

He nodded, having to gently pry himself away from her embrace.

“Davin. Please do be careful.”

“I will. I promise.”

“And write as soon as you learn about Seamus. Don't forget that this war will be over soon enough, yet we will still be family.”

He moved sullenly toward the door, seeming to be distracted by his own thoughts. She watched him leave down the front walkway, turn, and then disappear from her sight.

Clare shuddered. Should she have told Davin the rest of the news about Muriel shared confidentially by General Blaine?

Or was it better that Davin never knew?

Chapter 53

The Soldier

Winchester, Virginia

September 1864

The streets of this charming village at the tip of the Shenandoah Valley swarmed with blue uniforms, military wagons, and cavalry horses, which surely wouldn't be a welcome sight for the exhausted local residents. Already they had seen their small town change hands between the South and North dozens of times.

Now once again, Winchester was under the authority of the Union army.

Davin wished his fellow soldiers would handle their victories with more humility, but no ranking officer would be able to squelch the unbridled giddiness of the conquerors. Especially now that under General Philip Sheridan's leadership, the North had wrestled control of most of the strategically significant Shenandoah.

For his part, Davin had no desire to celebrate as this part of the country brought back poignant memories of his voyage to return Seamus back home. Especially now upon learning of a rumor that was causing him great distress. Could it possibly be true? Has the war come to this? And at what price victory?

He veered off Main Street and hurried up the wooden stairs to an office building with the words “Gordon Chafee, Attorney-at-Law” painted in gold on the glass window. He went to the bright red door guarded by a private.

“Lieutenant Hanley, sir.” The man saluted.

“I am here to see the colonel.”

“Yes, of course. Let me see if he is available.” The private opened the door and Davin entered without awaiting a welcome.

“Colonel Jenkins.” Davin stepped in to see the gray-haired officer attending to paperwork at the desk of a finely appointed office.

The colonel looked up and must have noticed the distress in the private's face. “It's all right, son. You can leave us alone. Come in, Lieutenant Hanley.”

The private left and closed the door behind him. The colonel waved Davin to a chair across from him at the desk.

Having sat in the creaking leather chair, Davin realized how sweaty he was in his warm uniform. His anxiousness to see the colonel had caused him to ride his horse hard in order to get answers from his superior officer.

Colonel Jenkins opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a bottle of gin, and set two glasses on the desk, but Davin waved him off. “Are you sure? The barrister was kind enough to have left me a bottle. True Southern hospitality I would call it.”

“No thank you on the drink, sir.”

“Well, Lieutenant, you seem preoccupied.” The colonel poured himself a glass of the clear liquid. “Speak plainly.”

“Colonel, sir, I heard something that . . . I found troubling.”

The colonel's hair, although gray, was full and well brushed, and this combined with his thick, black eyebrows and cleft on his chin gave him a distinctive appearance. “You've heard of ‘The Burning,' I suppose?”

“Yes, sir, I did. So it's true?”

“It seems philistine, doesn't it? Here in the peak of harvest, to have orders to burn every field in the valley, and to slaughter every cow, pig, and sheep?”

Davin always respected the colonel, as he was a competent, well-liked military officer who didn't seem as infatuated with the trappings of war as were most of his colleagues. “That is what I heard. Is this solely on General Sheridan's orders?”

“All the way to General Grant on this one. I am afraid this isn't an order that will get countermanded by conscience. This is one of those we do and try our hardest to forget we did. That's the war, Lieutenant.”

“But, sir. How will these people feed themselves? They will starve.”

“The point is to starve out General Lee. The Shenandoah Valley has served as his personal kitchen for the Army of Northern Virginia. I suppose General Sheridan is only trying to smoke the bees out of the hive.”

Davin now questioned the wisdom of his visit. He should have known it would be futile to protest, and now it would be more difficult to operate surreptitiously. “Will there be any exemptions? To the burnings?”

Colonel Jenkins placed the cork on the bottle and set it back in the bottom drawer. “You mean for a certain pastor in the town of Taylorsville?”

“Yes.” Davin worried as to whether he should have confided in the colonel in regards to his brother. But how else would he find out about Muriel?

“It will be a clean strip. Not another loaf of bread or ear of corn will be served from this valley until hell comes to claim all of us. No exceptions.”

Davin felt the sudden urge to leave. “How soon will they be in Taylorsville?”

Colonel Jenkins gave him a worrisome look, like that of a father to a son. “They are moving up from Staunton and should make their way up within a couple of days. But, Lieutenant Hanley.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You're a fine officer. Many, including myself, have taken notice of you. It would be a shame to see you throw it all away in some hopeless effort to try to stop what is inevitable.”

Davin stiffened. “I understand your concern, sir, and it is noted.”

The colonel stared at him for a few moments and laughed. Then he emptied the contents of his shot glass. “I would expect as much from you.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now about that other matter.”

“You were able to follow up on that, sir?” With all of the attention given to the recent battle, Davin wasn't expecting any progress on his request.

“Yes. You wanted me to inquire about that woman . . . the Confederate spy.”

“Muriel McMahon.” His heart pounded.

“Well, it turns out her real name is Muriel Perkins, and I don't have many details to share.” He leaned over and lifted a folder on his desk and opened it up. “It does indicate here that you reported her as a Confederate spy. But according to this, Muriel Perkins had already turned herself in several weeks earlier with a letter of confession left at . . . let's see . . . the residence of Anika and Pieter Vandenbroek. Do you recognize those names?”

“Yes sir, I do.” Davin couldn't share this was the couple who gave them shelter on his unauthorized journey to bring his brother home. But a letter of confession? What could this mean? Why would she sign her own death certificate? “I appreciate you took time to look into it for me, sir. I am much obliged.”

All Davin wanted to do was to leave the office. His time was short if he was going to make it to his brother's farm in time. And now there was another possibility, one he had not given much hope for until this moment.

Perhaps Muriel had evaded capture. Maybe she was still at his brother's home and was merely in hiding. After all she had done for Seamus, his brother would do just about anything to protect her.

“Lieutenant Hanley?”

The mention of his name jarred him from his thoughts. “Yes, sir?”

“Be careful, son.”

Davin stiffened his legs, squared his shoulders, and gave the colonel a firm salute.

He turned and walked out the door, thanking the private on his way past. When he arrived at his chestnut mare, he gave a quick inventory of all he had. Yes, he had all he needed to travel for a few days.

He untied the horse and began to trot his way down the dirt road. Davin would have to restrain himself until he passed all of the main sentries. With his rank he would have few obstacles making it out of town. Once there, he would ride at full pace.

He glanced to the side for a moment and saw he was being saluted by a black soldier, who was tall, strong, and impressive looking in his uniform.

“Jacob?”

The man paused, then seemed to recognize him as well. “Sir?”

Davin stood before the very slave who had risked all to help him deliver Seamus to safety. “Jacob!” He leaned down and grasped the man's hand and shook it firmly. “What happened? How did you . . . ?”

“The man with dat crooked neck. He done freed me few days after I seen you gone. Drove me cross the border hisself.”

Davin tried to remember the man's name who had delivered both Jacob and him to the trader's camp but couldn't recall it. None of that mattered. Jacob was free and serving with the Union army.

“It's mighty well to see you, Jacob. You are a good man, and I'm sure you are a fine soldier as well.”

“I don't know nothin' about bein' no good man or good soldier, sir. But I knows God ain't finished with Jacob yet.”

“No. I suppose He is not.” Davin saluted the runaway slave and continued out of the beleaguered town of Winchester.

He was anxious to make haste and it took all of his discipline and patience to wait until he could open to a full gallop.

In the meantime he pondered Jacob's words. Davin knew God wasn't finished with himself either. But what about Muriel? Would he see her again? Was there any chance she remained at Whittington Farms? If so, she was in terrible risk of being captured and hung.

Up in the distance, it seemed the skies were already darkening with smoke. Or were those merely storm clouds?

Finally Davin passed the last outpost, and the hooves of his horse thundered against the fertile land as he was heading south now, deep into the Shenandoah Valley.

Chapter 54

The Message