Over the next few days, Emily fed broth, wiped brows, and
changed bedding, in her attempt to reconcile her new perception. It seemed like the heat from a wash fire was
constant, as Louise and Irene and Jaimie did their best to keep up with the few
blankets and the constant soiling. Thankfully, the soldiers who were able
helped around the farm, harvesting the corn, and earning their keep.
The extra hands were welcome to Emily and her
mother, although the younger girls were wary of all the strange men
around. They had been very small when
their father and brother left, so they weren’t used to having men around,
especially not so many. Jaimie, though,
was loving the adventure. Having men
around made the little boy puff up and preen under their attentions, whether
Emily liked it or not.
The Sargent Major seemed to take a particular interest in
little Jaimie, and it kept Emily on guard.
He was constantly picking Jaimie out to give him special attention,
which to Emily at least, was unwarranted.
“Hey little soldier, you want to shine my boots?” Breck would call out to Jaimie, who beamed at
the older man with the shiny buckle.
Snapping a salute to the man, Jaimie yelled, “Yes, Sir!” and
would excitedly get to work, shining boots Sargent Major Breck should have been
taking care of himself. Emily bristled
at the fact Breck never seemed to do
anything. The soldiers were staying on a
corn farm, with chores to help with, fences that constantly needed mending, and
a never-ending harvest. He didn’t help
with anything, and in Emily’s eyes, he was taking advantage of the hospitality,
eating their food, and using their barn.
But it seemed to please Jaimie, and Mama didn’t seem to think anything
of it, so Emily tamped down her irritation at the man and went about her
business, constantly grinding her jaw together to keep from being rude.
About the most the Sargent Major ever did was take Jaimie
fishing at the creek, even though it was almost more trouble than it was
worth. Jaimie was so excited to have
something to do, he usually snuck off without finishing his chores, which put
more work on everybody else. Emily
resented it. Not because Jaimie was
getting out of work, she couldn’t fault her brother for wanting something to
smile about. But the creek was her spot
in the early mornings. She usually
bathed there when the weather was warm, and now she had to go another time of
day because she didn’t want anything to do with Breck. There was just something distasteful about
him, the way his eyes twinkled when there wasn’t anything funny, especially,
like he was having private thoughts at others’ expense.
But there were good aspects to the soldiers being
there. Emily learned about farms in
other parts of the country, as there was a man there from Pennsylvania and
another with a farm in New York, both of whom raised corn, and were very
helpful. They had ideas about crop
rotation that Emily had never heard before, and she made a mental note to talk
to her mama about it when she got the chance.
One night, after the children were asleep, Rachel sat Emily
down with cups of warm buttermilk.
“We’ve got to keep the farm until William gets back. I know he’s coming home, I can feel it.” The earnestness in her mama’s eyes told Emily
not to argue, although it didn’t escape her attention that Mama didn’t say
anything about John or Jakob. Did she
feel something about them? She didn’t
ask, only nodded at her mother’s declaration as she sipped on her warm
buttermilk, their nightly ritual.
She watched her mama hold her cup with leathery fingers,
Emily’s gaze suddenly focused on her mama’s hands. They looked so old. She could remember when her mama had looked
youthful, back when Papa was still around, and they smiled at each other over
supper, or even the water pump. But now,
her mama just looked older. The war had
aged her, even though the fighting was far away.
“That banker can talk down to me all he wants
to about growing interest and such, but this is our farm, and he’s not coming
in here to take it. You saw what
happened when he came by yesterday, when he saw the Union army camping
here. So we’re going to take care of
those boys, and get them on our side of this.
They’re not going to let Mr. Stein and his stuffy cohort take this
farm.” She lowered her voice, her blue
eyes staring deep into Emily’s brown ones.
Mama’s wrinkles were deeper around her eyes, from squinting into the sun
when she worked the plow behind Patches, and rubbed dirt out of them on
particularly windy days. But her
vehemence belied her looks, as the determined turn to her mouth smoothed out
some of the lines on her face. “Because
he’ll be back. I know it.”
“But how are we going to manage that?” Emily couldn’t imagine how a bunch of Yankees
were going to help them keep their farm after they’d gotten what they needed. While they were here, sure, they were very
helpful. Emily might actually find a
time soon to write more in her journal, or help Mama sew some new dresses for
the girls, or even do some decorative needlepoint. Maybe they could even make it to town for
church on Sundays, again. She couldn’t
remember when they’d had a day of rest.
Neither of them had had time for any of that in so long. But why would the soldiers stay once they
were better?
Thinking of them being better gave her pause. Some were getting worse, and others, like
Isaack, were getting better, but so slowly.
As always, thoughts of Isaack made her think of Jakob and the familiar
pang of guilt hit her. Where was
he? Was he even okay anymore? Or alive?
Rachel patted her hand, a secretive smile on her tired face
at Emily’s unasked question. “They’re
just men, dear. We feed them, we dress
their wounds, we heal them the best we can, and they’ll help us out of this
situation. You watch.”
Emily couldn’t help but think there was more to it than
that, but she trusted her mama. Rachel
had been through a lot, growing up in an affluent family in Boston and living a
life filled with coming out parties and entertaining visitors, moving out west
with her new husband in a covered wagon over miles of uncharted territory. Rachel and William settling here, in Texas,
to build a house, plow fields, plant cotton and start a farm and raise a
family. They’d worked the little plot of
land hard, then having her men leave her to the farm alone with a passel of
children to help run it. The women had
managed to make it through the cotton fiasco, switching the crops over to corn
when the Union armies had blockaded the rivers.
They would make it through this.
Even though it seemed Mr. Stein was trying to capitalize on the
uncertainties blanketing the southern states after the war had ended.
But when Papa came home, would he understand what they’d had
to go through? Feeding the enemy? Healing the enemy? All to keep the farm?
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