American Struggle Page 34

  CONTENTS

  1. Ball Games and War Games

  2. War News

  3. The Wedding

  4. Edward Leaves

  5. Bull Run

  6. Papa’s Decision

  7. Papa Goes to War

  8. The Fisk Boardinghouse

  9. Boarders

  10. Corporal Philip Harnden

  11. A Friend Named Philip

  12. Baseball Returns

  13. Daria’s Suspicions

  14. The War Approaches

  15. Martial Law

  16. The Spy Ring

  17. Roy Returns

  CHAPTER 18

  The Prize

  The large meeting hall at the institute was crowded with students, teachers, and parents. Meg sat beside Susannah in the third row. She smoothed the skirt of her silk dress and fought the butterflies in her stomach.

  Susannah reached over and squeezed Meg’s hand, then whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Your prayers have helped me so much,” Meg whispered back.

  President Foote was on the podium, calling the audience to order. He was ready to unveil the winning entries. Meg had learned a few days ago that her landscape of the hills around Yellow Springs had won first place in her division.

  It was then that she learned the best news of all. Not only would her work hang in the gallery, but she would also receive free art lessons through the summer—lessons taught in part by Robert Scott Duncanson. After that news, Papa could hardly say no to her taking lessons, but Meg was still glad she’d spoken to him before she knew. Perhaps her days of being controlled by fear were behind her.

  Nervously, she went over her acceptance speech in her mind. At last the moment came. As her landscape was unveiled, there were oohs from the audience and warm applause. “Yellow Springs, by Margaret Buehler,” announced President Foote.

  That was Meg’s cue to come to the podium. As she did, Damon, who sat on the podium right beside Mr. Duncanson, gave her a bright smile. She smiled back. Without his teaching, she might never have received this high honor.

  At the lectern, she gazed out over the audience. Mrs. Gravitt looked as proud as if she’d done the painting herself. There were all the Hendrickses, each of whom had been such a support to her. Beside them were Oma and Opa, sitting as close as two lovebirds. Meg felt she knew them now as real people.

  Mama had tears in her eyes, and Papa was patting her hand. Julia gave a small wave and big smile.

  Then Meg looked at Fred. Her brother had been busy the past few weeks drawing plans for stationary steam engines. Never had she seen him so excited. He smiled up at her and gave her a big wink. Spreading out her notes, Meg began her speech.

  CHAPTER 1

  Ball Games and War Games

  May 1861

  Daria Fisk spit into the palms of her hands, which were already sticky with sweat, and worked the warm leather of her baseball. “Here it comes!” she called to Roy. “Keep your eye on the ball, and keep the bat level.”

  Rearing back for a strong pitch, Daria let the ball fly. It was a little high, which made Roy swing upward to try to connect. He missed by a mile. Behind him, Daria’s twin, Andrew, gave a little leap to catch the ball. “I got it,” he called out.

  Daria heaved a sigh. “Keep it level, Roy,” she repeated. “Keep the bat level. Let the ball come to you.”

  The tall, muscular boy tossed the bat aside in exasperation. “Aw, it’s no use. I ain’t much good at this.”

  Daria and Andrew watched as Roy Gartner stomped off their makeshift baseball diamond, walked over to the shade of a big oak, and flopped down on the grass. Though Andrew Fisk was tall for his eleven years, Roy—only a year older—was even taller and more muscular. When Daria and Andrew first met Roy, she thought he’d make a terrific ballplayer. Perhaps she’d been wrong.

  Andrew glared at his sister. Picking up the bat, he strode toward Daria. “You can’t tell him every move to make,” he said under his breath, “or he’ll never get the hang of it.”

  “I wish he could play like the Bradfords,” Daria said. “I didn’t like their attitudes toward the North, but T. J. and B. J. played a great game of baseball.”

  The Bradford brothers had been gone for well over a month now. As soon as news reached their family that fighting had begun at Fort Sumter, the Bradfords had packed up and gone back to their former home in South Carolina.

  War. The awful word rolled over and over in Daria’s mind. She still couldn’t believe that the country was calling men to arms to fight against their own people. And a sort of war fever had gripped every person in Cincinnati.

  “Well, Roy doesn’t play as well as the Bradfords,” Andrew reminded his sister, “so we’ll just have to make the best of things.” He tossed the ball to her, and she reached out and caught it.

  Hardly anybody at school wanted to play ball now that the war had started, and it didn’t appear this new boy had the ability or the desire to learn.

  “All I did was try to tell him to hold the bat level,” Daria said, trying to defend herself.

  “No one wants to play when they’re being bossed around,” Andrew said. “You should know that. They especially don’t like it when it’s a girl doing the bossing.”

  But Daria had stopped listening to Andrew. She walked over to the grass and sat down beside Roy.

  Roy’s father, a gunsmith, had moved the family from their home near Columbus. He knew that because of the war, business would be better in Cincinnati, a center for troop movements. The Gartners had arrived in the Walnut Hills area shortly after the war started, moving into a house vacated by yet another family of Rebel sympathizers.

  Daria pulled up a blade of grass and chewed on the end. “You’ll do better with practice,” she said, making a stab at encouraging Roy.

  “Maybe,” Roy answered.

  Andrew flopped down on the grass beside them. “I’m the one who taught him how to play. Maybe I’m just a poor instructor.”

  Daria picked up her shoes and stockings from where she’d dropped them when the game began. “I’ll say.”

  “Aw, don’t be tearing into your brother, Daria,” Roy told her. “It’s a fairly interesting game. It’s just that there are more exciting things to do just now.”

  “Like what?” Daria stopped pulling on her long stockings and leaned forward, eager to hear news.

  The word exciting always made her eyes light up. She knew she was a constant worry to Mama, playing baseball and wandering all over town with Andrew. With the exception of getting Daria involved in work for the city’s orphans, Mama’s attempts to turn Daria into a lady thus far had failed miserably. But Daria didn’t care. All her brother’s pals liked Daria—and she liked them better than she liked most girls her age.

  “Like spying on the troops and pretending like they’re Rebs and we’re Union,” Roy said. “That’d be way more fun than baseball.”

  Daria knew that all the boys at school wanted to pretend to be soldiers. Even during recess they made pretend guns of sticks, formed into lines, and marched about the playground. Andrew hated the war games, but Daria was grateful to be included in the fun.

  “What troops will we spy on?” Daria asked. “It’s too far to go to Camp Harrison, and we haven’t time to go all the way into town.”

  Roy jumped to his feet. “I happen to know the Walnut Hills Home Guard is mustering in the park today. That group drills every Saturday afternoon.”

  Andrew looked at Daria. They knew that, of course. Most of the ragtag group were their neighbors. They hardly considered them to be troops. Andrew stood up as well. “I guess we could go take a look,” he said, although he didn’t sound excited about the idea.

  “Sure we can,” Daria echoed. She jumped up and ran ahead.

  “Slow down, Daria!” Andrew hollered. “We have to take the baseball gear home first.”

  “You do that, and Roy and I’ll wait here for you.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. We stick
together,” Andrew replied.

  “But if Mama sees me, she may think of something in the house for me to do.”

  Daria watched her brother sigh. She read the impatience in his face, and she quickly added, “Go with me partway and wait at the corner. I’ll put the things in the carriage house and won’t even go in the house. That way Mama won’t see me.”

  Andrew agreed, and they quickly carried out their plan. After stopping by the Fisk home, they hurried toward the park. They could hear the shouts of the recruits from several blocks away. Ever since April, every group of men in Cincinnati that could be called a group had organized into some sort of regiment. Daria marveled that so many volunteers could have been mustered so quickly. Most of the real troops—as Andrew liked to call them—gathered at the fairgrounds seven miles north of the city. The place had been named Camp Harrison.

  “I’ll be the lieutenant,” Roy told them. “Andrew, you be the sergeant, and Daria, you be the corporal.”

  “Oh, no,” Daria protested. “If Andrew’s a sergeant, so am I.”

  Roy pulled off his cap, revealing his unruly straw-colored hair, which never saw a comb. He studied Daria for a moment. Daria knew what Roy was thinking. Most boys never knew what to make of her.

  “Tell you what,” Andrew said. “I’ll be the first sergeant, and she can be the second sergeant.”

  Roy nodded. “I suppose that’ll work. Now we need our guns. Scatter out and look for long, straight sticks.”

  Once they were armed, they proceeded forward with caution. “If they see us,” Roy warned. “We’re goners. Stay low.”

  They crept in a row from tree trunk to tree trunk at the perimeter of the park. At one point Andrew stopped short, and Daria ran smack into his back.

  “Oof! Watch it.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you were going to stop.”

  “Shh,” Roy warned. “We’re getting close.” He pointed to a shed with a pitched roof in the backyard of a nearby house. “To that hill, troops,” he said. “We’ll spy from atop the ridge.”

  “Yes, sir,” Andrew answered.

  “Yes, sir,” Daria echoed.

  As they ran from the trees through the open space to the shed, Daria caught sight of the pitiful group trying to form some semblance of military order on the park green.

  One glimpse took all the fun out of the game. The men fell all over one another as they tried to follow the orders of their elected officer, who knew no more about military maneuvers than did the recruits. None had a uniform, though all had on matching red flannel shirts made by the women of Walnut Hills—the twins’ mama and older sister, Jenny, included. Only two of the volunteers carried guns; the rest carried broom handles.

  If Daria were a boy and old enough to join, she’d never put in with the likes of these misfits. Instead, she would join the elite Guthrie Grays, like Edward Stephens, Jenny’s beau, had done.

  Following Roy’s lead, Daria and Andrew scrambled up on the roof of the shed. Daria had tucked the hem of her skirt up to allow herself more freedom of movement.

  “Stay low,” Roy said. “The soldier who sticks his head up might get it blown off.”

  On their stomachs, they crawled over the splintery shingles of the roof until they could peer over the edge.

  “Bang!” Roy said. “I got one.”

  “Bang!” Andrew said. “My bullet went through two at once.”

  Daria aimed her stick gun over the edge of the roof. “Bang! I shot the officer, and the whole troop is retreating in mass fear and hysteria.”

  “That’s not playing fair,” Roy protested.

  “That’s my sis for you,” Andrew told him. “She has a powerful imagination.”

  “Hey there!” came a voice from behind them. “You ornery kids get off my shed!”

  Daria turned to see a man running across the yard, yelling at them. The stick in the man’s hand was larger than any they carried.

  “Bad enough I got noisy troops out here. I don’t need no mischievous young’uns hanging around here crawling all over my property, causing more disruptions.”

  In a panic, the three friends scrambled over the point of the roof and down the other side. As Andrew hit the ground, Daria saw him turn to help her, but she ignored his outstretched arms. She sucked in her breath, took a leap, and fell to the ground, her skirts in a wrinkled, mussed heap around her as she rolled on the hard dirt. In a second, she was on her feet.

  “Come on, troops. Let’s get out of here,” she called out to them.

  Before Roy knew what was happening, she sprinted right by him. The three raced pell-mell, laughing as they went. Daria put up a good contest, but both boys passed her. It was a dead heat between Roy and Andrew. When they reached the Fisk yard, they collapsed onto the grass, laughing hysterically.

  When they finally caught their breath, Roy said, “When school’s out next week, let’s go out to Camp Harrison and see the real troops.”

  “That’s a long walk,” Andrew said.

  “We can do it,” Daria put in, brushing the grass and dirt from her skirt.

  “My papa says there’re wagons going out all the time, taking supplies and such,” Roy explained. “If we got tired, we could always hitch a ride.” Then Roy added, “I heard a boy barely thirteen joined up as a drummer.”

  “Only thirteen?” Andrew asked.

  “I look thirteen,” Roy said, still in a serious tone. “I bet I could pass and get mustered in as a drummer.”

  “You may think you look thirteen,” Daria countered, “but you don’t really believe you can pass the eagle eyes of the recruiters, do you?”

  “A person can do most anything he sets his mind to. That’s what my pa always says.” Roy’s long frame was stretched out on the grass, and he was staring up into the trees. The look in his eyes almost made Daria believe the boy could do what he said.

  “You really want to join?” she asked.

  “I surely do. I want to show them Rebs a thing or two. They can’t just up and fight their own country. They need to be stopped, and I aim to help.”

  Daria put her chin on her knees and thought about Roy’s comments as she surveyed their rambling two-story house with its sweeping apron porch. Through the years, Papa had built onto the house as his family and medical practice had grown. At the end of the front walk was the sign, KEVIN FISK, MEDICAL DOCTOR. The entrance to Papa’s doctor’s office was at the rear of the house.

  “Look there,” Daria said, breaking into the solemn moment.

  “That’s Lieutenant Stephens’s horse out back.”

  The two boys craned their necks to see from Daria’s vantage point. Sure enough, the lieutenant’s fine roan was hitched out by the carriage house.

  “What’s he doing here at this time of day?” Andrew wondered out loud. Usually Edward Stephens came around in the evenings. Edward had been courting their older sister, Jenny, for several months, but ever since Edward joined the Guthrie Grays a few weeks ago, the roan hadn’t been hitched at the Fisk home as often.

  “We could go ask,” Daria answered.

  Just then Mama appeared on the front porch. “There you are. Andrew, your papa needs you to hitch Bordeaux to the buggy, and, Daria, I need your help with supper.”

  Daria groaned.

  “Guess I’ll be getting on.” Roy stood up and sauntered off.

  “Will you go to church with us tomorrow?” Daria asked.

  When they’d first met Roy, he told them his family didn’t go to church much. His papa had always told him church was for women and children. But Daria persisted in inviting him. She informed him that Dr. Fisk not only attended church, but he also prayed with their family every evening.

  Sometimes Roy would tag along; sometimes he wouldn’t. He gave a little nod. “I reckon I could come. Got nothing else to do. I’ll be by early.”

  Daria nodded at him and waved.

  “See you,” Andrew called after him. Pulling Daria to her feet, Andrew said, “Come on. At least we’ll
find out what the lieutenant’s doing here this time of day.”

  CHAPTER 2

  War News

  Daria saw the look of shock in Mama’s clear green eyes as she observed her daughter’s disheveled appearance. Mama was every inch a lady with her copper red hair pulled neatly back into a coil of braids at the nape of her neck and her hoop skirts covered with ruffled flounces.

  Mama and Jenny sewed dresses for Daria with full-cuff sleeves laden with lace and ruffles and with layers of cloth in the skirts over hoops and petticoats. But when Daria wore them, disaster always resulted. She had heard Mama say to Jenny that she felt fortunate if Daria could make it home from church without mussing her good clothes.

  When they came up on the porch, Mama put her hands on Daria’s shoulders and turned her slowly around, then shook her head and made tsking sounds. “Daria Ann, how can you get this much dirt on a clean dress in a single day?”

  Daria grinned at Andrew and gave a shrug. If Mama had seen Daria on the roof of that shed …

  “You said Papa needed Bordeaux hitched up?” Andrew asked.

  “Mrs. Menken’s feeling poorly. Always happens at suppertime,” she added, momentarily forgetting about scolding Daria.

  Daria started to go in the front door, but Mama said, “Don’t go through that way. Edward’s with him. Go around outside and knock at the office door like a lady.”

  “What’s Edward doing here now?” Daria asked.

  Pushing Daria toward the side door, Mama answered, “That’s none of our concern. Now go.”

  Daria and Andrew did as they were told. As they walked around the house, a fat robin hopped out of their way. Thrushes and mockingbirds were singing in the treetops. Daria squinted up through the thick green branches and stopped to listen to their cheery melodies. Evidently no one had told the birds there was a war going on.