The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (30 page)

Matthew was happy to see Peter settled in a chair by a blazing fire.  October in the Shenandoah Mountains brought frigid nights.  “Hello, old man,” he called, moving up to rub his hands over the flames.  Matthew had arrived at the camp just an hour ago, reported in, and then went looking for his friend.

“Who you calling an old man?” Peter scoffed.  “You’ve been hanging out in the plush splendor of Philadelphia while the rest of us have been out here working!”

Matthew laughed and grabbed his hand.  “It’s good to see you.”  He couldn’t see Peter without vivid memories of their months at Libby Prison.  Memories, too, of their escape that gave them back their freedom.

Matthew took some time to look around the camp.  “This isn’t too shabby for army life,” he commented.  Row after row of white tents gleamed in the waning sun.  Aromas of frying bacon and simmering coffee scented the air.  Chairs and tables were scattered around; troops played cards and relaxed while they laughed and talked. 

Peter shrugged.  “They earned it.”

“So Early is completely defeated?”

“The Rebels were beaten so badly at Fisher’s Hill two weeks ago that  they ran and just kept on running.  They’re hiding out somewhere down in the shadows of the mountains.  There is no way they could pull together enough to mount another offensive. They’re beaten,” he said decisively.

Matthew listened and believed, but he couldn’t ignore his sense of unease.  “This is General Early you’re talking about,” he observed.  “You believe a man who had enough guts to attack Washington, DC is really done?”

“He’s done,” Peter insisted, laying a pan of bacon on the stones next to the fire.  “Want some cornbread with dinner?  We even have butter,” he said with a grin.  “Courtesy of the fine farmers of the Shenandoah Valley.”

“Is it as bad as I’ve heard?” Matthew asked as he thought of Aunt Abby’s family farm somewhere in the Shenandoah.  He suddenly remembered Robert’s plantation was somewhere in this vicinity, as well.

“Bad, sir?” asked a soldier crouched nearby.  “What we’re doing is saving the Union!”

“By burning all the farms and crops?” Matthew asked, deliberately keeping his tone casual.

“You bet!” he said proudly.  “We’re making sure Lee and the rest of them Rebels won’t keep getting food from this valley.  We’re burning every barn and crop we can find,” he boasted and then sauntered off.

“So it’s true?” he asked Peter.

“It’s true,” Peter confirmed.  “It’s a good thing, Matthew.”
              “Is it?”

“This war will never end if we don’t break the South’s spirit.  Lee will continue to hold Richmond as long as he can get food from the Shenandoah,” Peter protested.  “Surely you don’t want the war to continue dragging on.”

“No,” Matthew agreed, deeply troubled.  “I just can’t help thinking about what will come afterwards.  Sheridan is sowing seeds of hatred in the valley that will continue long after the war.  What then?”

Peter shrugged.  “The South should have thought of that before they started this war.”

Matthew gazed at him thoughtfully.  “You didn’t used to be so hard.”

Peter met his gaze levelly.  “My editor asked me to cover wounded soldiers for the next editions.  I’ve seen far too many men who will live without arms and legs.  Those are the lucky ones.  The unlucky ones are buried in a mass grave in the middle of nowhere with no place for their loved ones to visit.  I’m sick of it!”

“The Rebels are facing the same things,” Matthew said quietly.

“They are the ones who started it,” Peter said bitterly.  “This war must end.”  He stared off at plumes of smoke in the distance.  “If it takes burning this entire valley, then that’s what it takes.”

“Robert Borden’s plantation is around here,” Matthew said quietly, wondering whether Peter would agree that burning the plantation of the man who had helped them escape from Richmond after their break from Libby Prison was just part of war.

Peter’s lips tightened as regret shot through his eyes.  “I’m sorry for that,” he said, “but…”

“You would condone burning the plantation and home of the man who saved your life?”

Peter stared at him, closed his eyes, and shook his head.  “I hate this whole war,” he said quietly.  “I’ve seen so much horror I hardly know
what
I think anymore.  Sometimes I don’t even know if I
am
thinking – I’m just reacting to what I see at the moment.”

Matthew nodded with understanding.  “I know.  It’s as if the human spirit can only take so much suffering.  At some point our minds shut down.  We stop registering the reality of what we’re experiencing, and we just look for a way to make it stop.”

“Yes,” Peter said heavily.  “I want it to stop.”  He pulled the bacon from the fire, but just stared at it.  “I want to go home to my wife and kids.  I haven’t seen them in three years.  I want to stop having nightmares.  I want to sleep through a night without gunfire - without wondering whether a mortar will blow me up.”  His voice was broken when he finished, his eyes gleaming with tears. 

Matthew put a hand on his shoulder but said nothing.  There was nothing to say, after all.  All anyone could do was try to survive. 

A long silence wrapped around them, the sinking sun bouncing off the famous blue mist that gave the Blue Ridge Mountains their name. 

This lush, productive region along Virginia’s western border was one of the Confederacy’s cornucopias.  Unlike the scarred terrain of eastern Virginia, the Shenandoah Valley had not been much trampled by armies until now.  The battles fought in the beautiful valley had been few and relatively small.

The Shenandoah had remained in Confederate hands for the course of the war.  It continued to produce food supplies that sustained the Rebel army.  For the South to lose its bounty now would be a disaster.  Losing the Valley would also mean cutting vital lines of communication with Richmond.  But perhaps the worst result would be opening a door for the Federal forces to strike a blow against Lee’s left flank when he was woefully unprepared to face it.

Matthew finally heaved a sigh.  “I know there is no good answer to this.  No matter what is done, or how it is done, people will be hurt.”

Peter nodded soberly, the defiance gone from his eyes.  “And the results will echo down through generations.”

He and Matthew exchanged a long look, both realizing how much truth they had spoken.

“You reckon we’re finished, Captain?”

Robert looked up from a letter he was writing to Carrie and frowned.  “We haven’t run back to Richmond have we, Alex?”
              “No, sir,” Alex said quietly as he leaned against a towering oak tree, “but we ain’t doing nothing either.  It’s been more than two weeks since we got beat so bad at Fisher’s Hill.”  He gave a long look north.  “The boys are figuring maybe we’re done.”

Robert couldn’t blame them.  “Sit down, Alex.”  He stared into the flames for a long moment and then looked up.  “I can’t tell you anything,” he said finally, “except this…  We’re not done yet.”

Alex sucked in his breath and then released it with a grin.  “I told the boys Early wouldn’t give up.”

“Sheridan has gone too far,” Robert said grimly.

Alex nodded knowingly.  “All the smoke we been seeing.  He’s burning things.”

“Seems like he’s set to burn the entire valley,” Robert said bitterly.

“Some of the boys told me you have a plantation in these here parts,” Alex said.  “That right?”

Robert nodded heavily. 

“You reckon it’s burned?”

Robert ground his teeth as he shook his head.  “I don’t know.”  The not knowing was killing him.  Robert was only eight miles from Oak Meadows, but it might as well have been a thousand.  He couldn’t leave his unit.  He had asked for permission, but it had been denied because of the uncertainty of his battalion’s plans.

“You know this area pretty good?” Alex asked.

“Like the back of my hand,” he admitted.  “My brother and I have ridden just about every square inch of this county training our horses.”

“You don’t raise tobacco?”

“No.  We raised horses.”  Robert decided not to mention that for many years they had also made money breeding slaves.  That was a life and an attitude he deeply regretted.  Sometimes he wondered how he could ever pay for the wrong he had done. 

“Bet you have a right nice place,” Alex said.

Robert was silent, envisioning the verdant green pastures of Oak Meadows.  For the last few days, he had been tortured by thoughts of early mornings on the plantation when the sun would shimmer off the mist:  horses running and playing, foals dancing beside their mothers.  He could smell the drying hay and see the mountains framing the fields with their embracing beauty.   He and his brother had spent the last ten years developing bloodlines that had made his horses some of the finest in Virginia.

“You got one of them fancy plantation homes?” Alex asked.

Robert shrugged.  “There are much nicer,” he replied, but his heart longed to see the sprawling white house with the long columned porch.  It was certainly not as opulent as Cromwell Plantation, but his mother had turned the house into a showplace just the same. 

Robert almost groaned out loud when he thought of his mother.  Was she still there?  Was she in danger of being harmed by the Federals?  What would she do if they came and burned her out?  He knew every soldier had someone they had to leave behind that they worried about.  He knew the war was changing every man; he suspected women, left to their own devices for survival, were also undergoing massive changes. 

He had felt okay about not being there when almost all the fighting was far from home, but now that the Valley was in flames… He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth.  He had thought many times of disobeying orders and riding out to discover the truth for himself; only his responsibility to his men kept him in place. 

“Captain Borden!”

Robert snapped to attention as a courier strode up.  “What can I do for you?”

The courier shrugged.  “General Early told me to give you this, sir.”  He handed over an envelope, saluted, and strode off.

Robert opened the envelope and then gasped.

“Bad news, sir?”

A smile spread across Robert’s face.  “Feel like going for a ride, Alex?”

“I reckon I wouldn’t mind,” Alex said easily, his eyes revealing how excited he was to be doing something other than sitting in camp.  “Where we going?”

Robert breathed deeply as he turned Granite down the long driveway that led to Oak Meadows.  Towering oaks lined the drive as it meandered its way through fence-lined meadows tall with gently swaying grass.  Before the war the fields had been dotted with beautiful horses; now the land was empty, but it didn’t mar their beauty.

“It’s beautiful, Captain,” Alex said, envy ripe in his voice.

Robert nodded, but remained silent - tense with the anticipation of what he might find when he rounded the last curve.  It had been over three years since he had gone home.  He knew it was foolish to hope Oak Meadows was still standing, but it was so far off the main roads that it just might have been missed. 

Singing birds and chirping crickets blended with the whispers of wind blowing through the trees.  It seemed wrong, somehow, that such beauty could still exist in the middle of such horror, but he could feel the old magic working its way into his heart.  He loved Oak Meadows and had such dreams of what it would one day be. 

Robert remained silent as creaking leather accompanied the thud of horse hooves on the dry road.  Granite swung his head proudly as if he knew they were on a very special mission. 

Robert heaved a sigh of relief as they rounded the last curve and the chimneys of his home appeared in the distance.  “It’s still standing,” he murmured and then threw his head back and laughed loudly.  “I’m home!”

He urged Granite into a gallop as he closed the last hundred yards and leapt off when they reached the house.  He had hoped the sound of his approach would pull his mother out onto the porch, but as soon as he stepped onto the white painted planks, he felt the house’s emptiness.  He stood still and turned toward the quarters.  The same empty feeling welled up in him.