The Railroad War (42 page)

The preacher’s name was Eastwood. He was dressed in clerical blacks now, but it turned out that he, too, was one of Early’s
officers. He had the rank of captain.

Both men held their hats uncomfortably over their midsections.

Ariel waited. Finally Colonel Hightower brought himself to speak the words she knew were coming, the words her dread had predicted
he would say to her.

“Mrs. Edge, it’s my sad duty to inform you that your husband, Colonel Benjamin Edge, died two nights ago. He was a fine officer
and a fine man, and we will all miss him, ma’am.”

“Colonel Edge?” she asked—choked by her confusion and rising grief. “He was a colonel?” Ben had been promoted only a week
earlier, but Ariel had not heard about it.

“How did he die, Colonel?”

“There was a typhoid outbreak, Mrs. Edge,” he said sadly. “Our regiment lost more to the disease this September than we have
to enemy action.”

“Typhoid?” she choked. He got sick and died? she thought bitterly. Just like anybody else? Couldn’t God have spared a bullet
for him? He had plenty of bullets to go around. At least He could have let him die bravely.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Typhoid!” she looked at him. “Couldn’t someone have told me? I would have gone to him.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. That was impossible.” He spread his arms wide, helplessly.

“I can’t…” she said, sobbing, “I can’t…” She swayed dizzily, and Reverend Eastwood put a hand out to offer support, but she
shook him off.

“Perhaps you’d like to sit down?” he said. “Or go inside?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll stay here, and I’ll stand.”

James Edge appeared at the doorway. He was in shirtsleeves, and his braces hung down around his knees. “What’s happening,
Ariel?” he asked.

“It’s Ben, Pa.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Colonel Hightower said, quickly echoed by Reverend Eastwood.

James Edge stepped out onto the porch and looked far up the street, as though he expected that his son would somehow appear
there, a speck in the distance that would grow into a real person. Then he slipped his arms through his braces and swept his
hair, which was still uncombed after his sleep, back across the top of his head.

“Won’t you come inside, gentlemen?” he said.

“I’m afraid we can’t, Mr. Edge.”

“You have other visits to make, I imagine,” James Edge said with a trace of resentment in his voice.

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“Well, then, thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hightower said.

Ariel didn’t say anything. Her face was stony and helpless, impervious to the others around her.

“We would like to offer a prayer for the soul of Ben Edge,” Reverend Eastwood said.

“Well, all right,” he allowed. Prayer was the last thing he wanted right now.

Ariel didn’t wait, though. She swept off at high speed into the house.

“Where are you off to?” James Edge asked. She paused momentarily in her flight.

“I’m going to tell Robbie.”

“Let him sleep, Ariel. That can wait.”

“No, it can’t. I’ve got to tell him.”

“At least see these gentlemen off, please, dear.”

“You can do that, Pa. Robbie has a right to know. The house he’s going to wake up into is going to be a madhouse with crying
and grief. And he has a right to be warned.”

“All right, then, get on with it.”

She turned briefly to Hightower and Eastwood. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

“We’re both sorry we had to do it.” She inclined her head slightly to them, then went upstairs to Robbie—and the hardest thing
she had ever done.

My Very Dearest Sister,

My heart
flew
out to you, my dearest darling, the instant I read your telegram yesterday. I was absolutely shattered at your tragedy. Ben
was
so
fine, and
so
good, and
so
loving. We
all
loved him. And we will all miss him so very much! It was never as though we had lost you when you became an Edge. He became
one of us, too. A Kemble. And so losing him is like losing one of us—like losing Lam—or even you, my darling.

I want you to be sure, in your time of tragedy, that you know my love is with you. And my grief is with you. And my mourning
is with you. And my prayers.

You’re never, never far from my thoughts. But now I think of no one else.

You’ll be reading this, my dearest, after Ben’s funeral, so I would like to venture a suggestion to you. Would you consider
coming down to Raven’s Wing, you and Robbie, to spend some time with me? I would love to have you. And more important—more
on this in a moment—I’m not alone here now. I’m sure that James and Mary Edge need you, and I wouldn’t dare to take you away
from them in their time of need. But still, if they can find a way to do without you and Rob, then I will adore welcoming
you both here with all my love and warmth.

What I have delayed telling you until now—though you may already know;
they
are writing to you at the same time I am—is that I have surprise visitors at Raven’s Wing. From London! MOTHER! and UNCLE
ASH! Imagine!? Out of the blue! They just appeared. (I won’t tell you
how
they looked; their condition was simply
ghastly!
I won’t even begin now to tell the story of their voyage; it would take a two-volume novel to do that.) But they do both
want to see you and Robbie, and love you. They love you every bit as much as I do, my darling. It’s terrible that they had
to arrive at such a tragic time for you. But it’s also wonderful that they
could
be here for you. It’s better to have all your loved ones present in your time of grief. Absence makes the pain all the greater.

I have one last piece of news that I will only briefly advert to. But I must tell you the essence of it before you reach Raven’s
Wing lest it come to you as a total surprise. I’M IN
LOVE!
I’VE FOUND THE MAN I’LL MARRY!

He’s wonderful! And you know him! But that’s all I can tell you right now.

I’ll stop here, my darling. Do come to us at the very soonest you possibly can, my darling dearest one! We miss you and need
to be with you!

Your Loving and Grief-Stricken Sister, Miranda

* * *

During the greater part of the summer of 1863, Union General William Rosecrans and Confederate General Braxton Bragg maneuvered
against one another with nearly equal forces across southeastern Tennessee and northwestern Georgia. By the first weeks of
September, these maneuvers showed signs of turning into a major battle. On the eighth of September, because it was tactically
indefensible, Bragg evacuated the town of Chattanooga, a vital east—west and north—south rail junction. On the ninth, Federal
forces entered Chattanooga, while Bragg consolidated his own forces south of the town along the Western and Atlantic Railroad,
which connected Atlanta with Chattanooga. The battle, when it happened, would take place near Chickamauga Creek in Georgia.

While the final maneuvers for this battle were taking place. Sam Hawken and Jane Featherstone were crossing Alabama. They
reached Jackson on September 13.

During the course of their journey toward Mississippi, Sam had kept close watch on Jane. She was not, to put it mildly, well
disposed toward him. As they traveled west by train and by stage, her loathing seemed to increase. In her current mood she
was dangerous. He knew that the best solution to the problems she posed was to bring her safely to General Sherman’s headquarters.
From there, he hoped, she could be sent someplace far from the battle lines.

One consolation to Sam was that he was well aware that Jane Featherstone was not suicidal. She wouldn’t risk her own life
for the sake of some mad act like informing on Sam to the Confederate authorities.

The railroad station in Jackson was crowded when they arrived there. The depot itself, of course, was destroyed, and no effort
had been expended yet to rebuild it. But the rail yards and tracks around where the depot had once stood were a huge bustle
of activity.

The bustle suited Jane perfectly.

Soon after they had disembarked from the Meridian train, she turned to Sam, removed her glove, and held out her hand. “This
is the end of the line, Sam. This is where I leave you,” she said.

He took the hand and held it in a firm grip. “Leave?” he asked, suddenly open-mouthed. She’d surprised him. The last thing
he expected from her was to give up her chance to leave the Confederacy. In his mind, Jane was no more welcome there than
he was. “Where did you get that idea, Jane?”

“I’m not going to stay with you any longer, Sam. I’ve got other things to do. Other people to see.”

“What do you mean? Who?” His voice was calm, but he was anything but calm. She could make terrible trouble for him here in
Jackson if she was willing to put herself at terrible risk. Perhaps she was furious enough to do that.…

“That’s my business, don’t you think, Sam? Actually, I’m going to see about the rest of my life.”

“I can’t let you go, Jane. You know that.”

“I know you’d like to keep me with you. I know you’ve had your eyes on me all the way back from Georgia. But now that I’ve
decided it’s time to leave you, I’m going.”

His grip on her hand strengthened, but it was not yet painful. “Come on with me, Jane. We’ll talk about this when we’ve reached
our own lines.”

“Don’t try to hurt me, Sam,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to wrench her hand away. The movement excited some attention
from people standing around, and Sam realized then that she had him. If she started screaming the words he knew were all too
close to the surface of her mind, he would never leave Jackson himself. That meant she could walk away from here and he couldn’t
do anything about it.

She put words to what he was thinking. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Sam,” she said. “I’m going to leave—calmly, if
you’ll have it that way. And I suspect you will.” She looked at him with a tight but triumphant smile. “I promise you, if
you don’t make any fuss about me, I won’t make any fuss about you.”

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“I mean I won’t start screaming, and I won’t tell anybody who or what you are.”

Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly. Then he let go of her hand. “You win, Jane,” he said. “Get the hell out of
here.”

“One more thing, Sam.”

“All right.”

“You’re a pretty good spy. I’ll have to give you that much. But if I were you, I’d refrain from that kind of work from now
on.”

“What do you mean by that, Jane?” he said evenly.

“I mean that your days of spying in the South are over. I’m going to make sure of that.”

“Good-bye, Jane,” he said.

“Sam,” she said in acknowledgment.

She vanished into the crowd.

With luck, he thought, that will be the last time I see her.

Sam reached Major General William Tecumseh Sherman’s summer quarters on the evening of the fourteenth. He briefly greeted
the general then, and delivered his written report of his mission to Atlanta.

He was scheduled to deliver a more lengthy briefing for the general on the morning of the fifteenth.

When Sam entered Sherman’s command tent that morning, he found the general on his knees, doing something to one of his son
Willy’s toys. A wheel had fallen off, and the general was trying to reattach it. Willy was on his knees, too, next to the
general.

“Captain Hawken reporting as directed, sir,” Sam said with a snappy, parade-ground salute. He didn’t often have a major general
on his knees in front of him, and he wanted to rub it in as much as a lowly captain could, under the circumstances.

“At case, Sam,” Sherman said without looking up. “You don’t expect a salute from me, do you, Sam, when I’m down here in the
dirt?”

“I did sort of expect it, sir,” Sam said with a smile, “now that you mention it.”

“Well, don’t count on it,” Sherman said, rising stiffly to his feet. “Military decorum is all well and good in its place,
but this boy has a broken toy, and his father had to fix it.”

“It’s still broken, Pa,” Willy pointed out ungallantly.

“Never you mind, boy. My intentions were good.”

“But it’s still broken.”

“What you need, Sergeant, is a blacksmith. Go find yourself a blacksmith and tell him to fix that thing. Tell him I said to.”

“Yes, Pa,” Willy said, a little reluctant to go. He wanted to hang around Sam, whom he had missed.

“Go on, Sergeant, get out of here. I need to talk to Sam. Go on. Git.”

Willy backed away uncertainly through the open tent front, hoping for a reprieve. When none came, he turned and ran off.

“Do you hear the bugles sounding, Sam?” Sherman asked after both men were seated.

“The bugles, sir?” Sam asked.

“In the east, Sam. In Georgia and in Tennessee the bugles are blowing. There’s a battle working its way to a head.”

“There’s a lot of talk about it, General,” Sam said.

“There’ll be a lot more talk over the next few days. It’ll be a big one. We’ve got Chattanooga now. If Rosecrans wins, we’ll
have a clear path to Atlanta.”

“And if he loses?”

“The war will last another year, at least.”

“What does that mean, sir?”

“The Rebs are rushing reinforcements from Mississippi to Bragg. And from Virginia there, too.” He cast a long glance out the
tent opening, past Sam. “I should probably be packing myself and bringing this army east, but that’s not in the cards, alas.”
Sherman looked back at Sam. After a time, he said, “I read your report on your trip to Atlanta. It’s a fine report, Sam. Everything
we could have possibly wanted from it was there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m so pleased with you, Sam, that I’ve put you up for a promotion. When all the paperwork’s done, you’ll be a major, and
you’re going to get a battalion of your own. It seems to me that you will conduct yourself splendidly in that command, and
that, by the time this war is over, you’ll have your first star.”