American Struggle Read online

  “He done better than the Neptune and the Ohio Belle,” a man beside Daria remarked. “At least he come home with his boat. Them others warn’t so lucky.”

  The man was right. The two boats he named had been taken over by Rebel soldiers. Passengers had been forced to get off and find their way home the best way they could.

  Daria stared at the holes in the beautiful steamer. Anger rose up inside her. How dare they? How dare those Rebels shoot at innocent people? It made her want to go get a gun and fight those crazy Rebs. Clenching her fists, she followed Andrew home. She knew her twin was as angry and upset as she was.

  When the twins reached their house, a buggy Daria didn’t recognize was parked in front of the house. “We’d better go in the side door to the kitchen just in case it’s dressed-up company,” Andrew said.

  In the kitchen, they found Jenny helping Mirza arrange refreshments on a tray.

  “Who’s here?” Andrew asked. He helped himself to a small sandwich off the tray in Mirza’s hand.

  Jenny slapped his hand. “Take one from over there.” She pointed to the counter. “These are all arranged just so. And besides, your hands are dirty.”

  “Who’s here?” he asked again, taking a sandwich—a bigger one—from the counter. Daria grabbed a sandwich, too. She thought Jenny looked white and tense. But then, she nearly always looked that way lately.

  “Mrs. McClellan and Cousin Martha,” Jenny answered.

  “A social call?” Daria took a big bite of the sandwich. It seemed that ever since General McClellan had received his appointment to be commander general over the entire Union army, Mary Ellen McClellan had spent quite a bit of time at the Fisk home.

  “Sort of. Mary Ellen—Mama says I may call her by her given name—seems to need someone to talk to. Some people in town aren’t even speaking to her because they don’t like the way her husband’s handling the war.”

  “How silly.” Andrew finished off his sandwich in two bites.

  “Also, Martha and Mary Ellen are forming their own soldiers’ aid society.” Jenny turned to Daria. “You’re invited to take part, too.”

  Daria nearly choked on her last bite of sandwich. “Me? In a soldiers’ aid society?”

  “Oh, Daria,” Jenny said, her voice going all soft. “I never knew what all a soldier needed just to fight a war. They need warm mittens and flannel drawers for winter, and mosquito netting and socks and all sorts of things. But the hospital—the hospital has even more needs, and the government isn’t allowing any money for the military hospital. Can you imagine that? They need sheets and pillow sacks and bandages. All sorts of things.”

  Just then Mama peeked through the kitchen door. “Jenny, what’s keeping you? Oh, hello, Andrew and Daria. Did you ambush the sandwiches?”

  “Coming, Mama,” Jenny answered. Turning back to Daria, she said, “We need you.”

  Daria felt funny inside. She wished she hadn’t gulped down the sandwich quite so fast. She turned and met her twin’s eyes, but for once she couldn’t see what Andrew was thinking. Did the soldiers really need her?

  Early in the evening of July 22, church bells and fire bells sounded. News flew through the city of a mammoth battle fought at a place called Bull Run the day before. The first dispatches led everyone to believe that the Union, led by General Irwin McDowell, had made a swift victory.

  But the celebration was premature. When the real facts followed, people discovered just the opposite had happened. The Confederates had soundly defeated the Union forces, sending them into a frantic retreat. The newspapers from back East called it the “Great Skedaddle!”

  “How could that have happened?” Roy asked in disbelief as he, Andrew, and Daria stood in the crowd outside the Gazette office.

  Andrew shrugged. “Beats me. I thought everyone said we’d polish ‘em off at the first swipe.” Andrew craned to see the latest dispatches in the window.

  “Almost five hundred dead,” Roy said through his teeth. “Those Johnny Rebs’ll be sorry for this. We’ll show ‘em. Next time we’ll whup ‘em all the way down to the Gulf.”

  “I wonder if the list of casualties is in yet.” Daria couldn’t keep her mind off Edward. Christian had been back in the city for a week or two and had had supper with the family one evening. But he could never stay long. The work of transporting troops and supplies was never ending. At least they knew that he was away from Bull Run. But the last Jenny had heard from Edward, he had written that he was leaving Washington, DC, to join McDowell’s men.

  Just then a clerk came to the door of the Gazette. “Names of casualties haven’t come through yet,” he told the crowd. “Possibly in tomorrow morning’s edition.”

  Daria looked at Roy and Andrew. “We might as well go home. We need to tell Papa the latest.”

  The devastating news was almost more than Daria could stand.

  She’d been sure after one fight that the Rebs would be put in their place for good. It hadn’t turned out that way at all.

  Daria, Andrew, and Roy hardly spoke as they walked slowly back toward Walnut Hills. When they came to the street where they parted ways, Roy paused at the corner. “Somebody needs to teach them Rebs a lesson.”

  Daria nodded. “You’re right. I thought sure our forces would do it. See you tomorrow, Roy.”

  “See you.” Roy turned and walked away.

  At the house, Daria and Andrew went right to Papa’s office with the news. Fortunately, there were no patients there. Papa took off his eyeglasses and pressed his fingers against his eyes. “What’s it all coming to?” he said softly. Slowly, he stood up and put his arm over his youngest children’s shoulders. “Let’s go tell your mama and sister.”

  When Jenny heard the news, she went flying to her room in tears.

  The rest of the evening was quiet. Daria went to the stable to comb and brush Bordeaux. Andrew joined her and oiled Papa’s harnesses. Bordeaux’s company seemed to soothe them both somehow. Andrew pulled a tack box over near the stall and sat on it as he worked oil into the harnesses to keep them soft and supple. Bordeaux stuck his head over the stall door and nickered and nodded, enjoying the children’s company. No one said a word, yet Daria could feel worry hanging in the air between them. Bordeaux nuzzled each of the children, as though he understood every word that was not said.

  Early the next morning, Daria went downstairs for breakfast before either Jenny or Andrew.

  “Good morning, Daria,” Papa said. “I’m pleased to see you’re up so early.” He was in the dining room drinking his coffee. Daria smelled frying ham and heard Mirza in the kitchen helping Mama with breakfast.

  “Good morning, Papa.” Daria’s stomach grumbled with hunger.

  “Andrew has to help me fix some things in the office today,” Papa told her. “So I want you to go to town and bring home as many different newspapers as you can find. Perhaps with several, we can find at least one with a complete list of the dead and wounded from Bull Run. The sooner we know, the sooner Jenny can regain her peace of mind.”

  Daria nodded, feeling warm and proud that for once Papa was sending her instead of Andrew. “Want me to go now?”

  “If you would, please.” Papa smiled. “I’m sure Mirza can give you a ham-and-biscuit sandwich to take along.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Daria hurried into the kitchen. After greeting her mama with a kiss on her cheek, she said, “I’m going into town early. Papa asked me to.”

  Mama nodded, her face solemn.

  “Guess you want a bite to take along?” Mirza asked, taking a light, fluffy biscuit off the tray at the sideboard. Steam rolled out of it as she cut it in half and piled on several slices of frizzled ham. Handing Daria the fat sandwich, she said, “Bless you, child.”

  “Thank you, Mirza.” She stuffed a bite in her mouth and ran out the door.

  She was sure Roy would be up, so she hurried to the Gartners’ house first. Roy would be good company on the walk. She’d just finished off the last bite of the s
andwich when she got there. Wiping her hands on her handkerchief, she walked up the porch steps and rapped on the door.

  Mrs. Gartner opened the door, still dressed in her wrapper. Her eyes were red, and she was wiping her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Oh, Daria, there you are!”

  “What’s the matter, Mrs. Gartner? Is someone sick? Or hurt? Does someone need Papa?”

  “It’s Roy, Daria.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. “He ran off in the night to join the army. He’s gone, Daria. My boy is gone!” She broke down in heavy sobs.

  CHAPTER 6

  Papa’s Decision

  Daria studied the note Mrs. Gartner had handed to her. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. “He’s…,” Daria started. “He’s too young. They’ll send him back.” Mrs. Gartner pressed the hankie to her mouth and shook her head. “They’re taking drummers at most any age. I know. I read about it. And Roy taught himself all the military calls. He can play them all tolerably well.”

  That was true. Roy had practiced constantly on his crate drum. He was very good. The forces needed good drummers.

  Daria thought back to past conversations. “He said yesterday that somebody needed to teach the Rebels a lesson because of Bull Run.”

  Mrs. Gartner nodded. “He said the same words to us. But we never dreamed he’d up and leave. Mr. Gartner’s almost beside himself with grief.”

  Daria suddenly remembered that Papa and the rest of the family were expecting her back home with extra newspapers. “Excuse me, Mrs. Gartner, but I must be on my way. Jenny’s husband was at Bull Run, and we still have no word on whether …” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “I understand. You go on. Please, let me know if you hear from Roy or know of anyone who’s seen him.”

  “I promise I will. In fact, Andrew can ride to Camp Harrison and ask around for you.”

  Mrs. Gartner managed a smile through her tears. She reached out to touch her shoulder. “I’m obliged to you, Daria. Much obliged. I’ll keep your family in my prayers.”

  “And we will pray for your family, as well.”

  Daria’s head was reeling as she turned to walk back down the steps. How could Roy have done this to her? Leave without even confiding in her, without saying good-bye? And she’d thought they were friends. Daria just hoped that this didn’t give Andrew any ideas to do the same.

  Downtown, the newsboys were standing on the corners, waiting for their bundles of papers. Daria went to the Gazette office to see the newest dispatches. There were more devastating details about the retreat from Bull Run. She scanned the list of dead and wounded. The name Stephens wasn’t among them, but it wasn’t a complete list.

  As Papa instructed, Daria bought about half a dozen newspapers. With her hands full, she returned home.

  When she walked into the dining room, Jenny was there. She took one look at Daria’s distraught expression and said in a quivery voice, “Did you find Edward’s name?”

  “What is it, Daria?” Papa asked gently. “You look upset.”

  Daria unloaded the newspapers in front of Papa. “It’s Roy.”

  Andrew came into the room just then. “Roy? Is he sick?”

  “He ran away to join up.”

  Andrew seemed to waver where he stood, as though Daria’s news had hit him like a blow. Mama came over and put her arms about him. “I’m so sorry, Andrew. I know you two were becoming close friends.”

  Andrew nodded. Daria could see the tears in his eyes. “Maybe he’s out at Camp Harrison,” Papa suggested. “He’d be easy to locate.”

  Daria nodded. “I told Mrs. Gartner that Andrew could go look for him there.”

  “Good idea,” Papa answered.

  “But breakfast first.” Mama led the family to the table where she and Mirza had set breakfast.

  After looking through all the papers, Papa finally found as complete a list as could have come in so soon after the battle. No Stephens was listed, but several soldiers were still reported missing.

  Jenny was somewhat comforted, but she was still worried about Edward’s safety. “I won’t breathe easy until after a letter comes,” she said.

  Daria and Andrew ate halfheartedly. Their appetites had fled. Before going out to feed Bordeaux, Andrew turned to Daria. “Are you coming with me to help find Roy?”

  Usually Daria was jumping up to go before he even asked. This time, Daria glanced at Jenny. “I’d like to,” she said, “but they’re expecting me at the sewing circle.”

  Andrew nodded, jumped up from the table, and hurried out to the stable. A few minutes later, as he was brushing and grooming Bordeaux, Daria came into the stable.

  “I want to go with you,” she said softly. “Mama and Papa said I could. It’s just that …”

  Her voice trailed away. Andrew kept brushing Bordeaux’s coat, his eyes staring straight ahead. “Maybe you’re starting to like the idea of turning into a lady.” His voice sounded as though Daria had betrayed him.

  “No! It’s not that.” Daria searched for the words to express what she was feeling. “When I’m running stitches in one of those shirts or knitting woolen socks,” she continued slowly, “I can almost see a soldier wearing what I’ve made. Or when I’m hemming a pillow sack, I can almost see a soldier in the military hospital putting his tired head down on the sack that I made.”

  Andrew kept brushing, though he’d already done a thorough job. Daria wanted to add that it was sort of nice being with all the women. Some of them talked to her as though she were another grown-up lady, like she was one of them. But she couldn’t say that to Andrew. He would think it was a sign that she was giving in to their parents’ efforts to separate them by turning Daria into a lady.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get going. We have to find Roy.”

  Andrew climbed up onto Bordeaux’s back, and Daria scrambled up behind him.

  Camp Harrison, unlike Camp Dennison, was made up mostly of tents. It had not been created for permanent use. Situated due north of the city, it was close to the Cincinnati, Hamilton, and Dayton Railroad line. Andrew and Daria followed the tree line near the tracks to stay out of the glaring July sun. They stopped periodically to rest a moment and drink from the canteen they’d brought along.

  When they reached the camp, they were stopped by a sentry. “Let me do the talking,” Andrew whispered to Daria.

  “We’re looking for our friend, Roy Gartner,” he explained to the sentry. “He ran away last night to join up, but he’s just turned thirteen.”

  The sentry leaned on his gun. “Lots of ‘em doing that.” He shook his head. “I got a young’un myself at home. Sure wouldn’t want him running off. Your friend want to be a drummer?”

  Andrew nodded. “He’s learned all the commands, and he’s good. Could you help us locate him?”

  “Wait here till my replacement comes,” he said, “and I’ll take you to headquarters.”

  The replacement arrived within the hour, and the sentry did as he promised. In the renovated grandstand were makeshift offices with men bent over desks littered with stacks of papers. Andrew inquired again about a new recruit, a young boy who would have arrived within the past twenty-four hours—but there were no new recruits of the age Andrew described.

  “Perhaps he went out to Camp Dennison,” the young man at the desk said. “They’re leaving out of that camp more quickly than they are here.”

  Andrew and Daria had planned to go there next. Andrew nodded his agreement.

  “Or,” said a soldier at the next desk, “the fastest way for him to slip away and be mustered in is to catch a ferry to Covington and join up there.”

  Kentucky. Of course. Daria hadn’t thought of that. The state of Kentucky just across the river still hadn’t decided whether to go Union or Confederate.

  “Thank you,” Andrew told the men, and he and Daria turned to leave. They were escorted to the perimeter by the same soldier who’d brought them in. “Sure hope you find your pal,” he told the children as the
y climbed up onto Bordeaux’s back.

  The next day, Daria and Andrew went down near the landing to the Little Miami Railroad Station, looking for Christian. Fortunately, their brother was loading large crates and barrels from the platform onto a boxcar. Daria explained about Roy leaving and her promise to Roy’s mother to help find him. Christian gave a nod.

  “This here’s a quick run out to the camp and back to deliver supplies,” he told Daria and Andrew, motioning toward the train. “I’ll talk to the engineer about letting you ride along.”

  It was a favor Daria hadn’t expected. If their mission weren’t so serious, riding in the engine with Christian, Andrew, and the engineer and fireman would have been a thrill. But now all she could think of was Roy.

  The word they received at the headquarters of Camp Dennison was the same as at Camp Harrison—no young boy had recently tried to join up as a drummer. Dejected, Daria went and got water for the railroad workers while Andrew lent a hand to help Christian and the other workers unload the heavy cases of supplies before the train made its return trip to town. It looked more certain than ever that Roy had gone to Kentucky on the ferry.

  Daria dreaded breaking the news to Mrs. Gartner. She had hoped they would find Roy and that he would change his mind and come back home. However, telling Roy’s mama wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Mrs. Gartner had come to terms with the fact that Roy wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

  “I’ve prayed for hours,” she told Daria and Andrew. The baby was on her hip, and a toddler tugged at her skirts as she talked. “At last, in the wee hours of the morning, I was able to let go and turn him over to God’s hands.” She gave a weak smile. “Which is what the Almighty has required of me anyhow. And now I have peace. Bless you both for trying.”

  As Daria and Andrew walked home, Daria thought about Mrs. Gartner’s words. “Andrew, it must be a very difficult thing to do.” “What is?” Andrew asked quietly.

  “Saying good-bye to someone you love so much. To let go of someone you care about. I wonder if Jenny could ever do that with Edward.” Daria doubted that Jenny could. And she wondered if she and Andrew could let go of Roy as Mrs. Gartner had. Daria wasn’t sure she was much good at trusting God. It was hard enough convincing herself that God would work out the war and her growing up—she found it even harder to believe that He would take care of Edward and Roy.