The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (39 page)

“Well, that and my apple pie.”

Perry frowned.  “I came through the field and saw all the pumpkins are gone.  I’m afraid they took the apples, too.”

Louisa smiled.  “I had to do
something
while I waited for the soldiers to get here.  Did you really think I would let you go all winter without pie?  Everything was ripe enough to pick, though I admit, holding the pumpkins on top of my belly was quite a balancing act.  I didn’t get everything, but you’ll have your pies this winter.”

Perry merely stared down at her, tears gleaming in her eyes.  “You are a remarkable woman,” he finally murmured, turning to lead her into the house.

Louisa smiled up at him brilliantly and let him take her home.

Chapter Twenty-One

Carrie opened her eyes slowly and gazed over at Georgia’s empty bed.  She’d heard nothing since Georgia had rejoined Lee’s troops protecting Petersburg, but she’d also not found Georgia’s name on any of the killed or wounded lists, so she remained hopeful.

The heaviness in her heart this morning was nothing but loneliness.  Even after Janie had married and moved into the other wing of the house with Clifford, Carrie had shared her room with Georgia.  Having someone there protected her from the dark dreams about Robert and his safety. 

Carrie’s constant dreams of Robert wounded or dying since she had been sleeping in her room alone kept her drained and tired.  In the bright light of day, she was capable of choosing joy, but she had yet to figure out how to handle the dark terrors of night. 

Carrie frowned as she stuck her head above the covers and felt the frigid cold in the room.  December’s winter freeze had blown in, and now the parlor was the only room they had enough wood to heat.

“Do you think maybe I could wipe that frown off your face, Mrs. Borden?”

Carrie jerked upward and searched the early morning darkness of the room. “Robert?” she whispered, stunned to see him sitting in the corner.  “Robert, is it really you, or am I still dreaming?” she asked, praying he was real as she reached out a hand, tears springing to her eyes.

Robert moved to her side and reached down to enfold her in his arms.  “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said tenderly.  “I enjoyed watching you sleep.”

“How long have you been here?” she asked, reaching up to stroke his face.

“Not long,” he assured her.  “May let me in.  Your father left early for the Capitol.” 

“You’re here,” she murmured, holding his face tightly.  “You’re really here.”  Suddenly she tensed.  “For how long?” she asked, praying this time it could be more than a few hours.

“Lee has given me five days,” he replied, his eyes devouring her.  “I report back the morning after Christmas.”

Carrie laughed joyfully and threw back the quilts.  “Are you really going to stay out there in this cold room?  It’s much better under here, sir.”

Robert took only moments to undress and slip in beside her.

Wanting to imprint him into her mind and heart, Carrie burrowed into his arms and took deep breaths.  She kissed him eagerly when his lips reached down to claim her mouth.  “I love you,” she whispered.  “Oh, how I love you.”

Robert kissed her until she was breathless, and then he lifted himself to gaze into her eyes.  “And how I love you,” he said gruffly.

Those were the last words spoken until sunlight streamed into the room.

Trying to ignore the pitching seas and white-capped waves, Matthew scrambled up the ladder to the USS Pawnee.  A winter storm off the coast of Georgia had made even reaching the sloop of war a challenge, but his editor was determined he be there to cover the capture of Savannah.

“About time you got here for the party!” a familiar voice shouted from above. 

Matthew looked up and laughed at Peter, grinning and peering over the side of the boat.  He hadn’t seen his friend since they had parted in the Shenandoah.  “Guess they’ll let anybody come to one of these shindigs,” Matthew yelled back. 

With hope that a giant wave wouldn’t sweep him right over the side, he grabbed Peter’s hand gratefully and crawled over the side of the ship.

“The ocean doesn’t seem real happy to see you,” Peter said cheerfully, laughing harder when he looked at Matthew’s green face.  “I take it your stomach is not thrilled with this assignment.”

“Give me a little time,” Matthew muttered, forcing himself to take deep breaths as he gazed around and focused on the ship to keep his mind off the pitching seas.

“Quite a boat, isn’t it?” Peter asked as he settled down next to Matthew.

Matthew shook his head in amazement.  “I sometimes can’t believe how far the Union navy has come in four years of war.  We couldn’t have even dreamed of boats like this one before then.”

“Nor that a navy with forty-three vessels would expand to over six hundred fifty-five,” Peter commented.  “I believe this is a perfect example of the old adage
necessity is the mother of invention.
”

Matthew continued to look around as he prayed for his stomach to settle.  “Are those the Dahlgren rifles I’ve heard so much about?”

Peter chuckled and nodded.  “If you can call a fifty-pound gun that shoots cannon balls with incredible accuracy a rifle, I reckon it is.”

Matthew focused his attention on the gun to keep his mind off the heaving ship.  It had taken him two days to get here on a smaller vessel.  It wasn’t until today, when the storm churned up the waves, that he’d had trouble.  He forced himself to concentrate on details.

“Admiral Dahlgren, the commander of the Pawnee, headed the Navy’s ordnance department.”

“With good reason,” Peter agreed.  “The man is a genius.  The guns and cannons he has designed are a big reason we’re winning this war.  Besides creating the designs, he also directed the navy in establishing its own foundry to manufacture new equipment.”

“Impressive.”

“Definitely.  About a year and a half ago, he was promoted to rear admiral and took command of the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron.  He’s not one to mess around.”  Peter paused and then added, “He’s also  representative of what makes this whole war so crazy.”

Matthew cocked an eyebrow, still too ill to really care what Peter alluded to.

Peter grinned.  “Need more time to recover?”

Matthew nodded, his attempt at a smile failing.

“When the war started,” Peter continued, “his superior in the Navy yard resigned to join the Confederate navy, so Dahlgren was promoted to captain and took over.  It was his son…”

Suddenly Matthew remembered, and his eyes widened.  “His son was the colonel who led the cavalry raid into Richmond.  Dahlgren’s son was to assassinate Jefferson Davis and get us out of Libby Prison.”  Matthew frowned.  “But Colonel Dahlgren was killed.” 

“Yes.  The papers found on Dahlgren’s body indicated plans for the assassination and were widely circulated throughout Europe as an example of Union barbarism.  Assassination plans created quite the uproar in the South, as well as in Europe.”

“Must have been tough on Admiral Dahlgren,” Matthew said sympathetically.

“Yeah.  Then there’s his other son,” Peter continued cryptically.

“I didn’t realize he had another son,” Matthew replied.  “Does he serve?”

“Oh, yes,” Peter said quietly, “but not on the same side.”

“He’s a Confederate?” Matthew asked with surprise.

“A Confederate brigadier general and a strong proponent of slave ownership.  He’s the commander of the 3
^rd
Brigade, Army of Mississippi.  He happened to fund it himself.”

Matthew looked out over the pitching waves, his stomach forgotten for the moment.  “I can’t imagine what it will be like for Dahlgren’s family when this war is over,” he murmured.  “How do you overcome such disparate beliefs and actions?”

“It’ll happen in far too many families,” Peter agreed, and then he narrowed his eyes as he examined Matthew.  “You look like you’re feeling better.  Are you ready for the real news?”

Matthew was surprised to find he was indeed feeling better.  A glance over the side of the boat revealed the waves had diminished, and the talking had taken his mind off his stomach, giving it time to settle.  “Let’s have it,” he answered, managing to give what passed as a real smile.  “My editor seems quite sure Savannah is about to fall.”

“There’s no way around it,” Peter replied.  “But first, I expected you to be assigned to Sherman’s march across Georgia. What happened?”

Matthew shrugged.  “I was assigned.  I refused.”

“Refused?”

“I told my editor I had watched plenty of burning in the Shenandoah Valley and that I would not spend weeks watching more of the same.”  Matthew’s eyes darkened with the memories of what he had seen during those weeks.

“His reaction?”

Matthew shrugged.  “He wasn’t pleased.  I told him he could have my resignation or send me somewhere else.  He’d never had me refuse anything before, so he sent me down to Washington to cover Lincoln’s election.  I’ve been hanging around in D.C. and Philadelphia for the past six weeks.”  He looked at Peter.  “What about you?”

“I was with Sherman,” Peter said quietly.

“You were?”  Matthew gazed around him.  “How did you end up on this boat then?”

“I was with the troops that took Fort McAllister on the thirteenth.  It opened up the supply link between the Union navy and Sherman’s troops.  My editor assigned me to the Pawnee in case there is a bombardment of Savannah.”

Matthew gazed at him and recognized the look in his friend’s eyes.  “What was it like?” he asked quietly.  “Being with Sherman’s army?”

Peter sighed.  “It was bad,” he said.  “I truly believe General Sherman is confident he took the course necessary to end the war, but the hatred and seeds of bitterness his actions took will be felt for a very long time.”

Matthew understood the shadow that fell over his friend’s eyes and the tightness that turned his face to stone.

“The army pretty much destroyed every part of Georgia they touched. They burned farms and plantations, took crops and livestock, killed people who resisted…”  Peter’s voice thickened.  “Sherman’s men destroyed every manufacturing facility they found and totally demolished hundreds of miles of railroad tracks.”

“His goal was to inflict maximum psychological, economic, and tactical damage to the Confederacy,” Matthew observed, understanding the agony Peter had endured for the last weeks.

“Sherman accomplished it,” Peter said shortly, then gazed out over the water, his eyes betraying his confusion.  “It’s so hard to know what is right.”

“You can’t possibly think all that destruction was right!” Matthew protested.

“No, but what is…?”  Peter’s face twisted.  “That’s the question that keeps me awake at night.  I don’t agree with what happened, but I don’t know what could have been done differently that would have had the same impact.”

“Do you think it was worth it?”

Peter stared out at the waves for long moments, and then he finally shook his head.  “I can’t possibly answer that question.  I don’t think anyone can right now because we don’t know the ramifications of Sherman’s actions.  The immediate results may indicate it was worth it, but what about when the war is over?  What about fifty years from now when bitterness still mandates how people think?”  His voice trailed off.  “I just don’t know.”

“So, what now?  I understood Savannah was well protected behind solid entrenchments.”

“It is,” Peter replied.  “When Sherman got here on the 10
^th
, he discovered Hardee with ten thousand men in good positions.  In addition, Hardee had flooded all the surrounding rice fields, leaving only narrow causeways available to approach the city.  Sherman was blocked from hooking up with the Union navy, and he was running out of supplies.”

“Until he attacked Fort McAllister.”

“Right.  The battle only lasted fifteen minutes, but it opened up the supply lines.”

Matthew stared toward the spires of Savannah he could see in the distance.  He’d spent time there before the war and loved the elegant city with its carefully laid out city blocks.  “What now?”

Peter shrugged.  “It’s up to them.”  He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket.  “Sherman sent a letter to Hardee three days ago.” 

I have already received guns that can cast heavy and destructive shot as far as the heart of your city; also I have for some days held and controlled every avenue by which the people and garrison of Savannah can be supplied, and I am therefore justified in demanding the surrender of the city of Savannah, and its dependent forts, and shall wait a reasonable time for your answer, before opening with heavy ordnance.  Should you entertain the proposition, I am prepared to grant liberal terms to the inhabitants and garrison; but should I be forced to resort to assault, or the slower and surer process of starvation, I shall then feel justified in resorting to the harshest measures, and shall make little effort to restrain my army – burning to avenge the national wrong which they attach to Savannah and other large cities which have been so prominent in dragging our country into civil war.