American Rebirth Read online

  “If it warn’t for ye hurt fut, I’d never let you get away with such a thing,” Berdeen said.

  “It’s not my foot, it’s my ankle,” Peter corrected her. “I’m pretending I got hurt in the war.”

  “Peter,” Elise scolded, “that’s a terrible thing to play.” Turning to Verly, she said, “How I wish the war were over and done with.”

  “Dearie me, I do, as well,” Berdeen said, transferring the tray from the cart to the small table. “Sure and it’s been a dreadful long and drawn-out affair.”

  “If there’d been no war, I’d still be living in our own house with my own room and back at my old school,” Verly said softly. “And Papa would still be alive.”

  “Do forgive me, wee lassie,” Berdeen said, all flustered. “I dinna intend to make you think of sad things.”

  “Please, don’t apologize,” Verly insisted. “I think of it all the time anyway.”

  “I would, too, if I were you,” Elise agreed gently. “I know I would.”

  “Where is your dear brother, lassie?” Berdeen asked.

  “The letter we received just before Christmas was from Chattanooga, Tennessee, where he serves with General Rosecrans. It was written back in September.”

  Berdeen’s face grew pale. They’d all heard of the terrible fighting in and around Chattanooga all during the autumn.

  “I have an idea,” Elise said, wanting to break the spell of gloom that had come into the room. “After teatime, let’s write letters. You write to Alexander, and I’ll write to Uncle George.”

  Verly’s face brightened. “That’s a fine plan.”

  “I’ll run down and ask Mama for stationery and envelopes,” Elise offered.

  “No need for you to bother when I’ll be tripping down myself,” Berdeen said. “I’ll fetch the writing things to you when I come back for the tea cart.”

  “Thank you, Berdeen,” Elise said.

  The girls had a grand time pretending they were grown ladies, serving tea and cakes to one another and the dolls. Peter, of course, pretended he was doling out army rations to his soldiers. Looking up from his games, Peter said, “In Uncle George’s letters, he says the army food is awful.”

  “Alexander tells us the same thing,” Verly agreed as she sipped tea from a dainty cup.

  “That’s why Mama helps Aunt Ella and Cousin Melissa at the Soldiers’ Aid Society,” Elise said. “They pack crates of good things to eat and send them by train to the battlegrounds. Mama told us they sometimes pack jars of fruit and jams in cornmeal. The cornmeal keeps the jars from breaking, and then the soldiers can cook gruel or pone with the cornmeal. Isn’t that a clever idea?”

  “My mama would help at the society, too, but she has to work to pay our rent.” Verly’s voice was sad again. “Some nights she sits up sewing long after I’m asleep. I wish she didn’t have to work so hard.”

  “I wish so, too,” Elise agreed. “Have another cake?”

  Taking the little cake, Verly said, “I’m going to study very hard, and when I’m old enough, I’ll hire out as a schoolteacher and help Mama with the money I earn.”

  Elise had never thought about having to earn money. What a terrible thing to have to be concerned with when Verly wasn’t even eleven.

  Just then, Berdeen returned to take the tea tray. In her hand were the sheets of stationery and envelopes. Once the tea things were cleared away, the girls spread their work out on the table.

  The room was quiet except for the scratching of their pens as they wrote letters to the men who were so far away fighting a terrible war. Elise glanced over at Peter. He’d fallen asleep on the floor with his head resting on his arm. She smiled and went back to her letter.

  After a few moments, Verly looked over at Elise’s letter. “Whatever are you doing?” she said. “You’re messing up your pretty letter with those silly drawings.”

  “I like to draw silly things in my letters to Uncle George. I do the same thing for my cousin Jeremiah.”

  “Why?”

  Elise looked at her friend. “Because I think they need something to laugh about.”

  “But war is a serious thing. The men are doing a great service for their country.”

  “All the more reason for them to laugh. I don’t just draw silly pictures. I put in a few riddles, as well.”

  “You put riddles in your letters?” The serious Verly was incredulous.

  “Sure. I ask the riddle, and when Uncle George writes back, he lets me know if he can figure out the answer. Sometimes he asks the other soldiers if they know the answers.”

  “Tell me one of the riddles,” Verly said, her chin in her hand.

  “All right. Can you tell me what belongs to yourself and yet is used by everybody else more than yourself?”

  “Something that belongs to me but everybody else uses? I haven’t any idea. What is it?”

  Elise giggled. “It’s your name.”

  Verly gave a little chuckle. “That’s good. Of course. My name. I like your riddle.”

  Elise told a couple more riddles, which also made Verly laugh. “See what I mean?” Elise said. “They make you want to laugh. And the Bible says that “a merry heart doeth good like a medicine.” Don’t you think Alexander would like some of that good medicine?”

  “Do you mind if I borrow one of your riddles in my letter?”

  “Not at all,” Elise told her. As she watched Verly add the riddle to the letter, Elise thought that perhaps Verly needed cheering almost as much as her older brother who was out on the battlefield.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Traitor!

  The streets of downtown Cincinnati were floating in dirty slush. Elise hated that the lovely, pristine snow turned into such a dreadfully sloppy mess. She could feel water soaking the hem of her long skirts as she hurried to keep up with Berdeen. Even Peter on his bad ankle could move through the slush faster than Elise in her hoop skirts.

  In the month since Peter’s accident, his ankle had healed slowly. When school resumed after the holidays, he was still on a crutch, which made the other boys want to play with the crutch, as well. Now at the close of February, he still had a bit of a limp.

  Berdeen was doing the Saturday marketing and needed their help to carry purchases as she bustled about from store to store. Her exasperation knew no end as she discovered one item after another was unavailable because of the war.

  “No coffee, no sugar, precious little tea,” she muttered to herself as they plunged through another puddle to cross busy Fourth Street. “I can find nary a bolt of good-quality cotton fabric in the entire city. A disgrace, that’s what it is. An everlasting disgrace.”

  Peter looked over at Elise and grinned. Berdeen went through this speech every time they went marketing. Elise couldn’t help but feel sorry for Berdeen. She tried her best to keep house and cook for an active family of five, and it wasn’t easy with so many shortages. Only that morning Mama had said, “What I wouldn’t give for a good cup of strong coffee.” But there was none to be had.

  Elise’s warm woolen cloak was wrapped snugly about her, and her hood covered her head, but still she felt the icy wind piercing the cloth. She’d be quite relieved to get home and get out of her wet things. Her arms ached from carrying the purchases. Then she remembered what she’d heard about ladies in the South, some of whom were selling their lovely, expensive frocks to buy food. Here in Cincinnati, they still had money and still had their clothes. She knew she should be grateful.

  “This here’ll be our last place,” Berdeen announced over her shoulder. She turned into Walker’s Grocery at the far end of Fourth Street. After the shopping was finished, they would go to Papa’s office, and Samuel would drive them home in the carriage.

  The aromas of pickled herring, soda crackers, apples, and pickles met her as Elise walked past the open barrels in front of the counter. Mr. Walker turned from where he was stocking shelves to hail them with a hearty greeting. “Good day to you, Miss O’Banion. And to you, too, Elis
e and Peter. Looks like the snow is finally beginning to melt. Won’t be long till spring now.”

  “Not long a’tall,” Berdeen agreed. “If ‘n a body doesn’t drown in the street first, I’ll be glad to see the springtime come.”

  Elise and Peter gave polite greetings, as well. Then Berdeen walked back to the butcher counter and ordered a slab of bacon to be sliced. The friendly butcher, Mr. Stefano, laughed and joked with Berdeen as he pulled the slab from the case and threw it on the chopping board to make slices with his large knife.

  Elise, not too terribly interested in bacon, joined Peter at the candy counter. As she did, she noticed a man walk into the grocer’s. There was something about his expression that held Elise’s attention and touched her heart deeply. Sadness etched his face. In this awful time of war, many people had faced terrible losses. It must be so with this man.

  Elise waited to hear Mr. Walker sing out his greeting. Instead, he glanced at the man and returned to stocking the shelves. She could hardly believe her eyes. Why would he do such a thing? The man was not old, but his wide shoulders beneath a worn cloak drooped with a weight too heavy to bear. He came a bit farther into the store, as though testing ice on the river. Except for Berdeen’s chattering in the back, all was quiet. Peter gazed at the candy, picking out his choices. Tin cans clinked as Mr. Walker fastened his attention on the shelves and kept his back to the customer.

  The man had removed his hat, and his eyes scanned the store. Before Elise could think to look away, their eyes met and locked. His hazel eyes were not angry or bitter; rather they were filled with profound sadness. He seemed to give a deep sigh. Then he replaced his hat and walked slowly out the door.

  It had all happened in a matter of a few moments, but it seemed like an eternity. She turned back to the candy case.

  “The selection is getting smaller all the time,” Peter muttered, not unlike Berdeen. “Before this old war is over, there might not be any candy at all.”

  The packages of bacon and salt pork were wrapped in brown butcher paper. Berdeen placed them on the front counter, and Mr. Walker wrote up the ticket and put it with the Brannon account.

  “Thank you kindly for your business, Miss O’Banion,” he said.

  “What about the candy, Berdeen?” Peter insisted. “We get candy, don’t we?”

  Berdeen gave a little snort. “Candy you be a-wantin’. Rotted teeth is what you’ll be a-gettin’.” “But Mama said—”

  “The missus spoils you terrible bad, but there’s nary a thing I can do about it.” She gave a wave of her hand. “Pick what poison you’ll have today.”

  Peter grinned at Elise. Berdeen always went on about not wanting to be responsible for their teeth falling out. But Elise knew they didn’t eat that much candy. To begin with, Mama wouldn’t allow it. Secondly, there just wasn’t that much extra money for luxuries these days.

  When they were out on the sidewalk once again, Elise asked, “Who was that man who came in to shop, Berdeen?”

  “What man?”

  “Didn’t you see him? He came inside and waited a moment, but Mr. Walker wouldn’t speak to him, so he left.”

  “Ah, you’ve heard of him, lassie. That would be Mr. Milton Finney. His son went off fighting for the South, and nary a soul in the city will have a thing to do with him.”

  “But that’s not right. He didn’t join the Rebels.”

  “I know how you must see it, darlin’, but feelings are hot and not given to reason in wartime. People look at him and wonder if his son has shot one of their sons. It’s wretched, but that’s how it is.”

  Elise slowed her pace as she thought about such a horrible thing. Then she had to hurry through the puddles to catch up again. “Where does he live?” Elise wanted to know.

  “Are you meanin’ to tell me you never laid eyes on the man riding by your own house?”

  Elise shook her head. Both her bedroom and the playroom were situated at the back of the house. She certainly didn’t see all the traffic that went by.

  “I never did. He lives by us? In Walnut Hills?”

  “Farther into the woods, in a small cabin. Moved up there a few months ago.” “By himself?”

  “Naturally, by himself. Now pray tell who would want to live with a traitor?”

  “But he’s not a traitor—his son is.”

  “Dinna matter. I tell ye again, lassie, there’s no reason in wartime.”

  “I think I’ve seen him.” Peter spoke up. “Does he ride a speckled gray horse, and he rides sort of bent over in the saddle?”

  “That’s him,” Berdeen said. “See there? Your brother’s seen the man.”

  “But I didn’t know he was a traitor.” “Peter!” Elise said. “He’s not a traitor.” “But Berdeen just said—”

  “She was just saying what people think of the man, not what he truly is.”

  “Aye, laddie. Elise is right. None of us may ever know what or who he truly is.”

  The sign on Papa’s office door read BRANNON LAW FIRM. Samuel had often said to Elise that he dreamed of the day when that sign would be changed to BRANNON & BRANNON LAW FIRM when he entered the profession, too. Papa’s friend Salmon Chase had often told Papa how relieved he would be when the war was over and his duties in serving on Lincoln’s cabinet in Washington, D.C., were finished so he could come home again.

  Samuel was out running an errand, so they had to wait a few minutes, but none of them minded. They warmed their feet by the stove in the reception area and relished a few moments of rest. Papa was in with a client, so he wasn’t even able to say a proper hello to them. Frank, Papa’s clerk, offered them cups of tangy hot cider, which helped to warm their insides.

  Presently, Samuel came breezing in the door. “Hello, all,” he said, touching his hat. Under his arm were packets of documents, which he laid on Frank’s desk. He’d been to the courthouse delivering and fetching needed papers for Papa’s work.

  “Peter, come help me get Aveline hitched to the carriage, and I’ll get you home.” He surveyed the three of them for a moment. “You look a little peaked.”

  “It’s cold, the streets are full of slush, I can’t find proper supplies, and we’re footsore,” Berdeen said. “I wager that’d serve to make a body appear a bit peaked all right.”

  Samuel smiled. “Your coach’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  “I’d be most obliged,” she answered.

  On the way home, Elise couldn’t stop thinking about Milton Finney. If no one would wait on him, how could he ever purchase food? How could he live so closed off from the rest of the world? It must be terribly lonely, Elise thought.

  Peter fumbled about in Berdeen’s shopping bag and pulled out the bag of candy. Then he offered everyone a piece. Elise sucked on a peppermint stick and wondered where Mr. Finney’s cabin was located. Perhaps Samuel knew. But then she thought better of asking him. Or anyone else for that matter. Berdeen was right about there being no reason in this long war. People were full of hate and suspicion. She’d just take a ride after the spring thaw. Walnut Hills wasn’t that big. She’d find the cabin on her own.

  At the Brannon house, Samuel pulled the carriage close to the back kitchen entrance so they could all help Berdeen with the parcels and baskets. As they were putting things away, Mama came into the kitchen.

  “Ah, how good it is to see my children being such kind helpers to Berdeen.”

  “Aye, ma’am. They’re hearty troopers, the lot of them.” Mama’s hands were behind her back. “I have a little surprise for such good workers,” she said.

  Peter ran to her. “A surprise for all of us?” He tugged at her arm.

  “What is it?”

  “Guess which hand,” she said. Peter tapped one, but she shook her head. Then he tapped the other, and she pulled out a handful of tickets. “We’re going to the National Theater this evening.”

  “Hurrah!” Peter cried out. “A night at the theater!”

  Samuel wasn’t quite as excited, but Elise was th
rilled. How she loved the large, old theater that was the pride of Cincinnati. Papa, who’d seen the famous Drury in London, said the National far surpassed the Drury. Some old-timers fondly called Cincinnati’s theater “Old Drury.”

  Looking at Elise, Mama added, “I’ve a bit more to add to the surprise. There are two extra tickets. Do you think Mrs. Boyd and Verly would want to accompany us?”

  Elise felt like squealing. “Oh, Mama, they never get to go anywhere special. Not like the theater. It’ll be such a treat for them both. Thank you for thinking of them.”

  “I’ll be going back to town now,” Samuel said. “Should I stop by to let them know?”

  “Yes, Samuel,” Mama said, “please do. Tell them we’ll fetch them at half past eight.”

  Elise could hardly believe this delightful news. What a bright spot this would be for Verly and her mama. How she wished she could relay the message herself.

  Since Elise knew Verly would be self-conscious about her lack of fancy dresses, Elise opted not to wear her best pink silk. Instead she chose a church dress of navy poplin with white lace trim. Still a nice dress, it was not nearly as fancy as the silk.

  When she came down the stairs, Mama looked at her, studied the dress a moment, then smiled. She understood. Elise released a little sigh of relief.

  If Verly was worried about her clothes, it was a short-lived worry. The two girls sat together in Papa’s large carriage, laughing and talking as they drove from Walnut Hills into the city. When they stopped in front of the grand building on Sycamore Street, Verly’s eyes grew wide. “I’ve been by here many times, but I’ve never been inside.”

  “You’ve never been to a play?” Elise asked.

  Verly shook her head. “Only little skits and dramas at school.”

  Papa and Samuel assisted each of them as they stepped down from the carriage and went up the stairs and into the vast lobby. Verly gazed about at the marble floors, the gold-leaf ceilings, and heavy glistening chandeliers full of glowing candles.