American Struggle Page 41

  The hand was strong and the grasp firm. The brown eyes were lively, and the mouth seemed accustomed to a smile. Some of the wounded that Daria had seen come back to town had empty, sad eyes. But not this man.

  “Please do come in.” Mama held the door to let him go in, but he stepped back.

  “After you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” Mama answered. Daria could tell she was pleased at his manners.

  “Daria, you take the corporal into the parlor. I’ll have Mirza fix tea.” Turning to the corporal, she added, “You’ll have to excuse our appearance. We’ve been cleaning.”

  “No apologies necessary, ma’am,” he told her.

  “My other daughter and my son are upstairs working. I’ll call them down, as well.”

  Daria had never seen Mama so flustered.

  “That would be nice,” the corporal said, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled.

  As Mama left, Daria directed the visitor into the parlor. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said.

  Corporal Harnden entered the room. He paused, leaned on his cane, and looked around. “Hmm. Nice.” He pointed to Papa’s chair nearest the fireplace. “I’m sure that’s Captain Fisk’s chair.”

  “Yes, it is. We’d be honored to have you sit there,” Daria told him. She surprised herself by saying it. The chair was so special now. Only Mama sat there when they had their prayers each evening.

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” the corporal said. He limped over to the settee and lowered himself onto it gingerly.

  “Is Papa all right?” Daria asked. “When did you see him last? Were you at Fort Donelson?”

  Philip Harnden laughed. “Hey there. Not so fast. No sense in repeating myself. Your mama, sister, and brother will have the same questions.”

  Just then, Andrew came flying in through the door. His face was smudged with dirt from cleaning the stoves upstairs, and his hair stuck out every which way. Jenny was right on his heels, looking not much better.

  The corporal struggled to get up, but Andrew came nearer and said, “Please don’t get up.” He looked at the cane. “I’m Andrew, Daria’s twin. And this is my older sister, Mrs. Edward Stephens. Her husband is with McClellan back in Virginia.”

  Corporal Harnden politely shook hands with both of them while remaining seated. Waving toward the leg, he said, “This is so new, I’ve not quite grown accustomed yet to being crippled.” Jenny put her hand to her mouth. “Is it bad?” “I’m alive,” said the corporal, “and I still have the leg. That’s all that matters just now.”

  Mama and Mirza came in carrying trays with things for tea. Jenny rose quickly to lend a hand. “Please sit down, Mama. Let me do this.”

  Daria eyed the little iced cakes. They must have been intended for supper. Mirza could still create miracles in the kitchen in spite of the sugar shortage.

  Mama did as Jenny asked, sitting down in Papa’s chair. After tea had been served, Mama said, “Please, Corporal, tell us about Dr. Fisk. Is he well? Did he ask you to come see us? Did you bring a letter?”

  “Your questions are as numerous as your young daughter’s,” the corporal said with a smile. “No, he did not send me. In fact, he probably doesn’t even remember me. There were so many wounded at Donelson.”

  “You were in the fighting at Fort Donelson?” Andrew asked. Daria knew how bloody that place had been. It had been so cold that many of the wounded simply lay on the ground and froze to death.

  “I was. And your father and the other doctors—there were so few—treated the wounded with extreme compassion. I was just one of many whom he treated. I also observed him interacting with the men in camp. He’s a fine man. You can be proud of him.”

  “How did you happen to come by?” Jenny wanted to know. “I mean, if Papa didn’t send you.”

  The corporal accepted another cake from Daria before answering. “It was a bit of a coincidence. I’m passing through on my way back to my home in Chicago—that is, I think I’m going there. When I arrived in town, I remembered that Captain Fisk said he was from this city, so I just asked around to find where he lived. It wasn’t difficult to find the home of a beloved doctor.”

  “Why did you say you think you’re going back to Chicago?” Mama asked. “Aren’t you sure?”

  “Actually, ma’am, I’m not sure at all. When I was first hurt, I felt that was the only alternative. But I have no family there. My parents and sister died of cholera a few years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mama said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “But aside from having no family there, it seems far from the war and what’s happening. You see, each day my leg’s improving. Now I’m wondering if I might remain close to the war and rejoin my unit when I’m able.”

  “You’d go back and fight again?” Daria asked.

  “That I would,” he said.

  Daria admired this man’s courage. What a dynamic soldier he must be. If he hadn’t been wounded, the man would have gone right up in rank. She turned to look at her twin, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

  “What about our extra room?” Andrew asked.

  Mama looked at him. He’s probably spoken out of turn, Daria thought, holding her breath for their mama’s reply.

  “Extra room?” the corporal asked. “I saw your sign, but in this busy city, I assumed all your rooms would be taken.”

  “Oddly enough, the one room has gone begging for a number of weeks,” Mama told him. “Would you care to take a look?”

  The corporal smiled. “Even as I was riding the omnibus out here from town, I kept asking over and over what I should do with myself during this time. Now it seems God has answered my prayers.”

  A soldier right in their house! Daria could hardly believe their good fortune. She would feel even more as though she was actually helping the war effort. She’d also feel closer to Papa by having this man in their midst.

  Daria jumped up. “May I show him upstairs, Mama? May I, please?”

  “We just finished cleaning in there,” Jenny said. “The rugs aren’t back down yet, but it’s presentable.”

  “But the corporal’s not even finished with his tea,” Mama said. “Don’t rush him.”

  “Yes, I am.” He upended the dainty cup, downing the last of the tea, and set it back on the saucer. “And it was delicious. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I enjoyed such a pleasant teatime.” Scooting forward on the settee, he firmed the cane to support his weight before carefully standing to his feet.

  Suddenly, Daria realized they were all staring at him as he struggled to get to his feet. She gave her brother a nudge, and he rushed forward. “May I give you a hand?” he offered awkwardly.

  “You’re very kind, but I’ve been trying my best to learn to do everything on my own.”

  Daria understood. She was sure she’d be the same way. She wouldn’t want to be treated like a cripple. Then she wondered about the stairs. How would the corporal manage? Should she say something?

  But when the corporal reached the stairway that led up from the front hall, he looked at them and said, “What excellent exercise this will be for a game leg.”

  Daria was amazed at his attitude. “Right this way,” she said, leading the way up the steps.

  Daria could tell that the corporal liked the room. He limped about the room touching things, sat on the bed, and then bounced a couple times. “Was this your room?”

  Daria shook her head. “Jenny’s. My room is where Mrs. Ryan is staying. Her husband is at the military hospital. She’s from Cleveland.”

  “An officer?”

  “A lieutenant.”

  “Any other boarders?”

  Daria screwed up her face. “An old man—a teacher named William Martin.”

  “You don’t care for this Mr. Martin, I take it.”

  “He’s mean as an old polecat with a thorn in his paw.”

  The corporal smiled. “Sometimes older folk are in a good deal of
pain. Instead of telling you about the pain, they complain about everything else. Helps them let off a little steam, so to speak.”

  Daria had never thought about that. Mr. Martin did move about with a great deal of difficulty. “Will your pain make you irritable, as well?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. It’s too new to tell. I’m hoping the pain will be gone before I have a chance to fall into that trap.”

  “I spoke sharply to Mr. Martin one morning when he made Mirza cry, but it didn’t do any good.”

  “Too set in his ways to change, probably.”

  The corporal looked up and smiled as Andrew came into the room. “Tell me, Andrew,” he said, “since you gave up your room, where did your mother put you? In the attic?”

  “I sleep in Papa’s office—in the waiting room. We borrowed a cot.”

  “That’s a big sacrifice for a young man to make—to give up his room. And I’d be willing to guess you also help with all the work around here, cleaning and so on. That, too, is a big sacrifice for children your age.”

  The corporal was looking out the windows at the carriage house in the back. “And you have horses?” Bordeaux’s proud head could be seen through the open stable window.

  “Horse,” Daria answered. “Only one. Bordeaux is Papa’s horse to pull his buggy. But Andrew and I are taking care of him in Papa’s absence.”

  “A French name for a horse?”

  “My aunt is of French descent, so she likes to give their horses French names. Bordeaux came from their stables.” “And who might your aunt be?” “Eleanor Burton—”

  “Wife of Jonathan Burton, the attorney?”

  Daria perked up. “You’ve heard of my uncle?”

  “Hasn’t everyone? A close associate of our secretary of treasury, Salmon Chase, and also well known for his work in defending runaway slaves before the war.”

  Daria was impressed. She hadn’t really thought of people knowing her uncle’s name. He was just Uncle Jon to Daria.

  “Uncle Jon is Mama’s brother,” Andrew explained, “and he comes over to check on us regularly since Papa’s been away. Perhaps you’ll meet him while you’re staying with us. That is, if you decide to take the room.”

  “I’d like to meet your uncle,” the corporal replied. “And I do believe I’ve decided to take the room.”

  Daria felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t been this excited since the war started last April. “Good. That’s good, Corporal. Will you be staying right this minute? I mean, you can. The room’s all clean.”

  The corporal’s eyes crinkled again. “First of all, since I’m not now in active service, let’s dispense with the corporal business. I’m just plain old Philip to you. Agreed?”

  “All right, Philip.” It seemed strange to Daria since the man was in uniform.

  “And next, my things are downtown at the hotel. I still have a little business to take care of in town, so I’ll come out tomorrow afternoon after church.”

  “Come in time for Sunday dinner. You can’t imagine what a good cook Mirza is,” Andrew insisted. “In fact, I’ll have the buggy all hitched up to take Mama and my sisters to church. I can come to get you myself after I bring them home.”

  But Philip raised his hand to protest. “I wouldn’t dream of putting you out. I’ll take the omnibus. I have only a couple of small satchels—no need for curb service with the family buggy.”

  Andrew blushed. Daria knew he was afraid he’d been too forward. “Well, then,” he said awkwardly, “I guess we can go down and tell Mama the room is now taken.”

  CHAPTER 11

  A Friend Named Philip

  Philip Harnden’s arrival at the Fisk home seemed to change everything. The man was friendly and cheerful, with a good disposition. He could talk about almost anything, yet he never did so in an arrogant manner. He had a way of sharing things that made them interesting.

  Like Mrs. Ryan, he wanted to lend a hand every chance he got. The first Sunday night he was there, he surprised them all by helping Mirza bring things to the table at supper. He grabbed a platter of roast beef, and leaning on his cane with one hand, he maneuvered through the swinging door from the kitchen into the dining room. “Now there, Corporal,” Mirza said, “you needn’t do that.” “She’s right,” Mama said. “Please don’t bother. You’re the paying customer in this place.”

  “But I enjoy helping,” he told her. “The more I can do and the more confident I become, the sooner I’ll be fully well.”

  Daria had never heard of a man who wanted to do women’s work. After dinner, Philip helped to gather up the dirty plates and carry them to the kitchen.

  With a smile on her face, Mirza said to Mama, “I believe we ought to pay him to stay with us.” They all chuckled. Daria had to admit that it felt good to have something to laugh about.

  With Philip around, it never mattered to anyone what Mr. Martin said about the food being bad, or the bed being too lumpy, or the room being too cold. Philip was appreciative and grateful for each and every little thing.

  “Once you’ve slept on the frozen ground or marched for miles in dust or mud on an empty stomach, you learn to be thankful,” he told them.

  But then when he saw Jenny’s face go pale, he apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant subjects,” he told her. “Or for you, either, ma’am,” he added, turning to Mama.

  “You can’t help but talk of what you’ve experienced,” Mama told him. “We don’t fault you for that. You’ve already brought us pleasure by speaking kindly of Dr. Fisk. We’re certainly aware that war is an unpleasant experience.”

  The first few days, Philip spent most of his time resting in his room. He’d located a bookstore and the library, and he made periodic trips to both places, keeping himself stocked with a good supply of books. Daria learned almost immediately that Philip Harnden loved to read.

  One evening toward the end of the first week, Philip asked if he might join Andrew and Daria in bedding down Bordeaux for the night. “I’ve seen that big fellow from a distance. I’d like to have a closer look.”

  “We’d be pleased to have your company,” Daria replied. “Be back inside in time for prayers, children,” Mama chided. “Yes, ma’am.” When they were outside, Daria told Philip, “Ever since Papa’s been gone, Mama’s real strict about prayers and stuff like that.”

  “And how fortunate for you that she is. She takes her responsibility for her family very seriously.”

  They’d gone out the front way and were walking slowly around the side of the house. While the late February evening was still quite chilly, there’d been no more snow for a time. Daria and Andrew consciously slowed their pace to match Philip’s limp.

  “Your mother’s very proud of both of you, you know,” Philip told them.

  Daria felt her face grow warm. Of course, she knew Mama loved her, but she’d not thought about Mama being proud of her. And Andrew knew how disappointed Mama was about his grades. Since the children didn’t know how to answer the corporal, neither of them said anything.

  Philip was immensely impressed with Bordeaux. “This is about the finest horse I’ve seen anywhere,” he told Daria and Andrew. “And I’ve seen a lot of horses in my day.”

  “Uncle Jon is almost as well known for his horses as he is for his work with Salmon Chase,” Daria said proudly, running her hand along Bordeaux’s strong back.

  Reaching up to stroke Bordeaux’s nose, Philip said, “If Bordeaux is typical of the breeding lines, I’m not surprised. What’s the wire for?” he asked, pointing to the stall door.

  Andrew smiled. Jabbing a thumb toward the door to Papa’s office, he said, “After I moved downstairs, I started opening the window to call good night to him. Since he knew where I was, he decided to come calling.”

  Philip laughed a nice deep laugh that came right up out of his big chest. “He learned how to slip the bolt back?”

  “He did. The first time it happened, Mr. Martin accused me of leaving the doors open
. But I know I closed them. So the next time, I put a stick in the latch, and he chewed the stick right off and opened it again. Now I have to wire it.” Andrew reached up to slap Bordeaux gently on his side. “I guess if I didn’t, he’d open the office door and come in and sleep with me.”

  Philip laughed again, which made Daria and Andrew laugh, as well.

  “Mrs. Ryan told us,” Daria went on, “that her husband says if you treat a horse right, he might well save your life sometime.”

  “It’s been known to happen, especially on the battlefield.”

  Daria opened the stall door, brought Bordeaux out, and fastened him with the cross ties. Andrew opened the tack box, grabbed a brush, and handed a currycomb to Philip. Bordeaux stood still as Philip and Andrew moved to either side of the big animal and began grooming. Daria stroked Bordeaux’s soft nose.

  “I’ve seen hardened soldiers weep over the death of a good horse,” Philip said. “They grieve over the loss of a horse almost as much as over the death of a comrade.”

  Daria could believe that. It would be a terrible thing if they ever lost Bordeaux. Andrew and Philip worked together in silence for a time, and then Philip said, “Where do you like to ride?”

  “Mostly we just go into town to the Gazette to bring back the war news for Mama.”

  “If you took a long ride, where would you go?”

  “Probably out to the fairgrounds—I mean, to Camp Harrison,” Andrew said. “It used to be the fairgrounds. It’s shady along the way and a pleasant ride. Sometimes we ride to the cabin where our older brother Christian lives. It’s near the Little Miami Railroad on the east side of town. You’ve not met Christian yet. He works for the railroad.”

  “How about if I rent a mount from the livery and the three of us take a ride together some Saturday? That is, if my game leg will allow me to do such things.”

  Daria looked around the back of Bordeaux to see the man’s face. Surely he was joshing. Why would this army corporal want to spend time with two twelve-year-olds? But Philip Harnden wasn’t joshing. “I’d like that, Philip,” Daria said. “I’d like that a lot.”