American Rebirth Read online

  She stared at one of the opened windows as silvery snowflakes came blowing inside. She knew her uncle George was on the battleground in the cold somewhere in Tennessee. And Melissa’s husband, Jeremiah, was out in the winter cold somewhere in Virginia. Verly, who was standing close beside her, was quiet. She was no doubt thinking of her slain father and her absent brother.

  Papa came to the center of the room and asked that everyone be quiet for a moment. Pastor Terrence Thomas and his wife, Hope, were among the guests, and Papa asked the pastor to pray. As the guests bowed their heads, Pastor Thomas prayed for an end to the war and violence, for the Union to be preserved, and for family members to be kept safe.

  Elise allowed herself a peek at her handsome father as he bowed in prayer. She was terribly proud of him. He was a good and fair attorney and had helped many people by giving his services away. Elise had asked Papa many times why God would allow such a terrible war. He spoke often of the unimaginable atrocities of slavery. “Perhaps,” he told her once, “we are suffering God’s wrath and judgment for those despicable sins.”

  Before the war, Elise’s papa and another Cincinnati lawyer, Salmon Chase, defended runaway slaves who had no money to defend themselves. Papa still kept in close touch with Mr. Chase, who was now the secretary of the treasury in Washington, D.C. Papa knew many people in high places of government. Even though Elise was proud of her father, she couldn’t help wishing he had a little more time for her. He was a terribly busy man.

  As the prayer continued, Elise heard a little sniff beside her and realized Verly was fighting back her tears. She reached out and took her friend’s hand. Verly looked over at Elise and managed a weak smile.

  Elise was glad she could be Verly’s friend. The Boyds had lost so much since the war began. In spite of Mrs. Boyd’s talents as an excellent seamstress, it was a struggle for the two of them. Due to the war, there was so little cloth to be had and so few people were purchasing new clothes. Much of her work was patching, hemming, and altering.

  As soon as Pastor Thomas said “amen,” someone muttered,

  “Close those windows; I’m freezing.” A ripple of laughter moved through the room, dispelling the solemn mood.

  Elise guided Verly closer to the heating stove. “Can you come over tomorrow to play?”

  “Mama needs my help in the morning. I may be able to come later.”

  Elise couldn’t imagine having to work during Christmas vacation from school. She was relieved there were no studies to tend to. “When you come, we’ll have Berdeen serve us tea up in the playroom. I’ll have the dolls ready for a tea party.”

  Verly’s face lit up. “That sounds like such fun. I hope I can come.”

  The menfolk were pulling on their cloaks and going outside to bring their carriages up to the front portico. There the ladies were able to embark without getting in too much of the deep snow. In spite of having boots, no one liked to get their long skirts wet.

  Presently Cousin Alan drove up in the Harvey buggy, and Verly boarded it along with her mother and the Harvey family. Elise waved as her friend departed. Elise hoped the bright evening had helped Verly during this trying time.

  Snow continued to fall during the night, and by morning the view outside Elise’s upstairs window was of a vast white blanket as far as the eye could see. Down the tree-studded hillside, every bare limb appeared to be coated in creamy white icing, and every house was topped with a dollop of whipped cream. In spite of the chill in the air, she slipped out from beneath the heavy feather comforter, grabbed her wrapper, and stole across the cold floor to the window for a better view.

  Just then, Peter came running into her room without even knocking. He was at her side in a flash, fairly exploding with excitement. “Look how deep, Elise. Just look how deep it is. This is the most snow we’ve had all winter. And on a day with no school!” “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Do you suppose Samuel would go sledding?” “I suppose you might ask,” Elise said. “You go ask with me.”

  “You saw last night how well Samuel listens to me,” she said, still thinking about how her older brother had changed the closing recitation. “But let’s get dressed and eat breakfast. Then we’ll see what the day holds.”

  Elise wanted to remind Peter that she could easily go sledding with him, but she knew he put great stock in being included in Samuel’s comings and goings. Samuel spent much time talking with Papa about legal matters, war matters, and whatever other matters he felt Papa might want to talk about. Often he worked at the law office doing odd jobs as a clerk and messenger. It was a rare day when Peter could actually play with his older brother.

  “Bet I can beat you down to breakfast,” Peter said.

  “Of course you can, silly.” Elise lifted a lock of her long black hair. “You don’t have all this to brush and braid.”

  “Well, I bet I can beat you in a snowball fight.”

  “That wager I’ll accept.”

  Satisfied, her little brother went bouncing back out of her room. As she turned back to the window, she saw Chancy Wilmot ride up to the Brannon stable on his spotted pony.

  At age sixteen, Chancy was old enough to be off fighting, but because he’d had a lame ankle since birth, he was rejected. Papa then hired him to help with the horses. Chancy was quiet and kept to himself, and Papa was pleased at how well he could handle the foals—he was an excellent trainer. Even though they had fewer horses than Elise could ever remember, still there was too much for Papa to do, even with Samuel’s help.

  Elise hurried to pull on her day dress and to plait her hair in two long braids. When she arrived in the dining room, Berdeen was already bringing platters of ham and eggs out from the kitchen. Peter was at the table and made a funny face at her. Papa and Samuel were discussing war matters, and Mama listened quietly as she always did.

  Midway through breakfast, Elise turned to Peter and said, “Are we still going to go sledding together after we eat?” She gave a secret wink as she said it.

  Peter caught on quickly. “We’re going sledding, all right. Down the east ridge, and we’ll have a swell time.”

  Samuel spoke up then. “Hey, isn’t anyone inviting me to go along?”

  Elise smiled at Peter. Her little ploy had worked. To Samuel, she said, “I didn’t think you needed an invitation. We assumed you’d want to come, too.”

  Peter jumped up from his place. “I’ll go on out and get the sled down and wax the runners.”

  “Not so fast,” Mama protested. “You’ve not eaten much breakfast.”

  But Papa said, “Oh, Louisa, can’t you see how excited he is? Let him go. He’ll be starved by ten o’clock.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” And Peter was gone.

  When Elise finished eating, she pulled on her rubber boots over her leather button-up ankle boots and took her fitted coat from the front hall tree. A flowing cloak would never do for sled riding. When she was bundled up, Samuel was still talking to Papa. She’d heard Samuel say many times that he would someday be a great politician like Lincoln. “Great politicians have the power to change the world,” he would tell her.

  Elise, however, didn’t feel her older brother was cut out to be a politician. But she held her peace. After all, what did girls know about such things? And that’s just what Samuel would tell her if she broached the subject.

  On her way out, she stopped in the kitchen to ask Berdeen for a carrot to feed her horse.

  “I declare, Elise, you be spoiling that horse of yours more with each passing day.”

  “He’s worth a lot more than a carrot or two,” Elise replied. She loved her horse with a passion. When the war started and Papa learned of the desperate need for good breeding stock, he sold off much of his fine herd in order to help the cause. Elise had been only seven at the time. She recalled crying herself to sleep, thinking Papa might sell her horse while she slept. She told the agonizing fear to no one.

  Of course Papa never sold Dusty Smoke, but it made her mo
re protective of the horse. Although Chancy did a fine job, she still checked on Dusty every day. Sometimes twice a day. With the carrot Berdeen gave her and an apple to boot, she headed out the back door.

  The brilliant sunshine on the white snow was almost blinding as she walked across the porch and down the steps into the deep snow. Immediately, there was the feeling of cold on her ankles in spite of her long wool stockings. She carefully tried to step in the tracks that Peter had made. It made the going somewhat easier.

  The stable was cozy warm with the wonderful sounds and smells of horses—one of Elise’s favorite places in the whole world.

  “Morning, Chancy.”

  The shy boy mumbled a reply but didn’t stop his work of mucking out the stalls. Peter was sitting on the floor, waxing the runners of their big sled with a piece of beeswax.

  “We’re gonna fly down that hill,” he said as Elise approached. The excitement fairly bubbled in his voice. “Do you think Samuel will take me down once?”

  “I’m sure he will,” Elise assured him. She hurried past him to go to Dusty’s stall. “Dusty,” she called out. “Good morning, Dusty. I’ve brought you something.”

  Dusty swung her head about at the sound of Elise’s voice. The silvery-gray mare wasn’t a large horse. Papa’s love for the Arabians showed in all the Brannon line. The breed was distinguished by the long, finely arched neck and high-set tail, which went like a flag at the least move—and Dusty had the best of those attributes.

  Elise reached out and offered Dusty the carrot, feeling her horse’s soft breath caress her hand. The carrot was gone in a moment, and Dusty lifted her head over the stall, snuffling about for more. Elise laughed. “What makes you think there’s more?” she teased.

  Just then Samuel was beside her. “You have that horse as pampered as a house pet.”

  Elise extended the apple on the flat of her hand. “I could only wish she were a house pet. Think she’d do well in the playroom?”

  Samuel grinned. “Only if it didn’t give Berdeen a case of dyspepsia.” He stepped over to the next stall, where his horse, Vardan, was stabled. The roan gelding stood taller than Dusty and was more boisterous. Mama always said his heart was full of run.

  “Come on, you two,” Peter called anxiously. “Let’s get to the hill before the whole neighborhood arrives.”

  “He’s right,” Samuel said. He reached out to grab Elise’s arm and pulled her along. “Come on, sis. Let’s go!”

  Elise could only giggle as she ran to keep up. “Bye, Dusty,” she called out. “I’ll be back after a while!”

  They put Peter on the sled, and Elise and Samuel pulled the sled up the road to where the ridge offered a clear slope with few trees and no houses. It was the favorite sledding area in the neighborhood, and already there were a few sledders shouting as they zoomed down the hill.

  The first few times, all three Brannon children loaded on their sled, with the two boys sandwiching Elise between them. She wasn’t sure if they wanted to protect her or whether Peter purposely enjoyed falling off the back into the deep powdery snow. Samuel held the rope and worked the steering mechanisms. She held on to Samuel’s sides, clutching handfuls of his thick coat, and buried her face into his back. They sailed down so fast that it sucked her breath out of her lungs. She tried not to squeal, but she couldn’t help it.

  They laughed and giggled as they pulled the sled back up the hill. Peter begged to go alone, but Samuel kept saying he’d better not. “You’re not old enough to handle such a big sled all by yourself,” Samuel said.

  As a consolation, Samuel set Peter in front of him, and the two went down with Peter steering. But that only made him more determined to go alone. “I can do it,” he insisted. “I bet you were going down alone when you were eight. You didn’t have any older brother to help.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Samuel agreed, “but Cousin Alan kept a close watch over me.”

  But in the end, Peter’s begging won over Samuel’s soft heart. Samuel looked at Elise and raised his brows. Elise shrugged in response. She figured Samuel had gone down the hill alone when he was much younger than eight, but she kept quiet, feeling it should be his decision.

  “Oh, all right. One time,” Samuel said. “But be very careful, and remember to steer clear of those trees at the bottom.”

  But Peter wasn’t listening. “Hurrah,” he shouted. “I’ll fly faster all by myself!” He turned the sled to aim it down the hill just right. Then he settled himself on it, bracing his feet on the steering bars. “Give me a push, Samuel. A big old push.”

  Samuel did as Peter asked, giving a shove that sent his younger brother careening down the hillside. Peter was doing fine, squealing with delight as he went. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, another sled carrying three bigger boys came flying down beside him. Elise’s breath caught as she saw them. They should have waited.

  “Look out, Peter!” Samuel called out. But it was too late. The presence of the other sled frightened and confused Peter, causing him to veer sharply away. With a great crash, he hit a small tree and tumbled into the snow.

  Elise and Samuel went running down the hill, calling their brother’s name as they ran.

  CHAPTER 3

  Letters to Soldiers

  Samuel reached him first. “Peter, are you all right?” Peter tried to sit up and gave a groan. “It’s my ankle.” “Don’t move,” Samuel instructed. “Lie still so I can look.” Elise saw Peter’s face wince with pain. “Those big kids should know better,” she scolded.

  “They have as much right to the hill as we do,” Samuel told her. “Peter, old boy, you should have kept going straight. They weren’t going to hit you.”

  “It scared me when I saw them,” he said. “Ouch!” He reached down to hold his ankle. “It hurts bad.”

  Elise helped Samuel to set the sled aright, then they carefully lifted Peter up on it. Samuel pulled up Peter’s trouser leg and eased down the woolen stocking. “It’s swelling already,” he said. Samuel sat down in the snow and pulled off his own shoe and stocking. Then he filled his stocking with snow. He packed the icy woolen stocking about Peter’s ankle.

  Peter grimaced, but he didn’t complain.

  “There,” Samuel said, pulling his shoe back on over his bare foot. “That’ll help to keep the swelling down till we get you home.”

  “We can’t pull him up the hill,” Elise said. Just then the older boys came running back up the hill. “I told Jay not to take it down at that moment,” one of them said. “We’re sorry,” said another. “Is he hurt bad?” “His ankle,” Samuel answered.

  “We’ll help you get him back up,” said the one named Jay. Each of the four older boys took a corner of the long sled and lifted it like a stretcher. That put a smile on Peter’s face, in spite of his pain. Elise followed behind, pulling the other boys’ empty sled.

  The boys were impressed that Samuel knew to make a cold pack out of his sock, but it didn’t surprise Elise. She’d seen him work with horses in the same gentle manner that he was using with Peter. It seemed to be second nature to him. Other horse owners—friends of Papa’s—often called on Samuel when their horses were ailing or hurt. They nicknamed him the young horse doctor.

  The boys offered to help Samuel and Elise take Peter home, but Samuel said they could easily pull him on the roadway. He thanked the boys as though it hadn’t been their fault at all. “It was nice of them to come back and help,” he said as they pulled the sled homeward.

  Elise just wished they’d been more careful in the first place, but she said nothing. Peter insisted over and over that he would have done fine if the big boys hadn’t come by. Samuel kindly agreed with him.

  Peter’s sprain turned an ugly purple, but his older brother’s quick thinking prevented much swelling. By the time Verly came over that afternoon, Peter was hobbling about with the aid of a crutch that Mama had retrieved from the attic.

  He played soldiers in the corner of the playroom while Verly and Elise set up the ta
ble for tea.

  “You’re a good sport to go sledding with your brothers,” Verly said to Elise as they arranged the dolls on the extra chairs.

  “It’s great fun,” Elise replied. “It fairly takes your breath away.”

  “Doesn’t it frighten you—speeding so fast?”

  Elise set out the doll cups and saucers on the table. “Not frightening exactly. More like a delicious excitement.” But she could see her quiet friend wasn’t too convinced.

  “Alexander, being nine years older than me, treated me more like a little doll than a sister.” Verly picked up the china doll and smoothed its silken dress. “We didn’t play much together.”

  “Elise and I play together a lot,” Peter said from his side of the room, “and now I can beat her in checkers all the time.”

  Elise smiled. “He does, too.”

  “It must be fun to have someone to play with.” Verly glanced about the room. “And in such a nice playroom.”

  Elise felt bad that Verly and her mother had been forced to sell their home. The room they rented at Aunt Ella’s was smaller than the Brannon playroom.

  “But you have us,” Peter put in.

  Elise was pleased at Peter’s thoughtfulness, but she knew it wasn’t the same. To Verly, she added, “We do want you to come whenever you can. It’s fun to have another girl around. Peter doesn’t much like to play dolls.”

  The door opened then, and Berdeen came in with the tea cart. “Teatime it is, for a bonny lad and two bonny lassies,” she said in her lilting brogue. “Shall we set up on the doll table?”

  “Oh yes, let’s,” Verly answered. “That is, if it’s all right.”

  “Of course it’s all right,” Elise assured her.

  Peter had shot down all his soldiers and was setting them up again in neat rows. “I’m having mine right here on the floor. The general can’t leave his troops.”