I am glad you are having some time to rest. I am sure it is difficult moving so much. The weather here has been reasonable and I hope it is the same for you.
Shannon does appear to be in foal. I have faith we will have a foal that is as beautiful as his father and mother and very sweet, like my Shannon, and not so full of beans, like your Jack.
Reverend Williams and I discussed the christening of Charlie Junior and we decided it would be all right to wait for the birth of the next baby and your return home. Also, more of my fight to drive Mrs. Williams insane, I asked Reverend Williams if we could take the Gaines name off our pew and replace it with Redmond and he said he certainly did not see a problem with it. I thought for sure she would pass out. Unfortunately, she did not.
I am sorry to report that the next time I write, there will probably be both good and bad news. I’m sure I will be telling you of our next child, and of Constance’s passing. I have arranged for her to have a plot in the church cemetery.
Be well and be safe my love. Wishing you home.
Eternally yours,
Rebecca
Charlie read Rebecca’s eagerly, until he got to the bittersweet news of Constance’s condition. He folded his letters and went in search of Elizabeth.
He tapped on her tent flap and waited.
"Come in."
"Good evening, Elizabeth. Do you have a few minutes?"
"Of course, Charlie. I am just making some tea from my hidden supply. Would you join me?"
Charlie nodded as he settled himself on a heavy case in the corner of her tent. The silence continued as Elizabeth prepared the tea and handed him a mug of steaming fluid.
"So, what has you so moody? Orders you are not happy with?"
He shook his head. "Rebecca wrote about Constance." He sat there slumped over his tea. Elizabeth waited for him to continue. Finally, he spoke. "Why does she have to die, Elizabeth?"
"Because she became pregnant at a time when her body was not healthy enough to sustain both her and the baby."
"Yes, but why? Why did Montgomery go all vicious; why did we do this to ourselves? Why are we doing everything we can to keep food from men who are probably starving?"
"Because," she took a seat next to him and took his hand, " that is the nature of war, Charlie. You know that. Good men lose their minds and soldiers do what they must to end the conflict."
Charlie shook his head. "It is just so senseless. That a lovely and loving woman like Constance should give her life because of the stupidity of men who would not or could not find a rational, civilized solution. So we have brother fighting brother, women and children dying, men left with nothing but rags and rage. I cannot do it any more, Elizabeth. I just cannot." Charlie buried his head in his hands. In a small, choked voice he cried in the night, "I just want to go home."
She sat there for a moment, then leaned over and put her arms around him. "You will very soon, Charlie. Very soon. Now tell me. Do you have another son or daughter?"
"I may by now. Rebecca’s last letter came tonight. She says it will be soon."
"Then, when you go back to your tent, do not mourn for Constance who is going to her Lord quite willingly. Be happy for your wife and the three little ones who wait for their Papa’s return."
Friday, March 17, 1865
Two days after his conversation with Elizabeth, a letter came by special courier from Rebecca. Without opening it, Charlie knew what it said.
Thursday, March 16, 1865
Dearest Charlie,
Constance has passed. The birth was difficult, but she survived long enough to see her son. A fine baby boy, a bit small, but healthy.
I have named him Andrew Richard, after my brother and your best friend.
We laid Constance to rest with a small sermon. Mrs. Williams was nearly beside herself when I told Beulah it was all right for her to attend. She and Constance had become very close and I was not going to refuse her the right to say a proper goodbye.
So now, my darling, we have three beautiful children, a daughter who loves her Papa and misses him terribly, and two fine sons who are keeping the entire house very busy. It is still early to know, but I do believe that Andrew is going to have blond hair.
Tarent is thinking of attending an auction in a few weeks to pick up some new horses. He says he knows this particular fellow, and trusts him to sell us good stock. Would it be all right for me to release him some funds for traveling and purchase?
Emily wants me to tell you that she sends you hugs and kisses and you should do the same, with a toy as well. I tried to tell her you probably were not somewhere that you could get a toy, but if any of the boys have time and are interested in doing a little carving, she would be delighted.
Hugs to Richard and Elizabeth.
Waiting as patiently as I am able for your return.
Eternally yours.
Rebecca
Chapter 32
Friday, March 17, 1865
Charlie walked to the officers’ mess that night with very mixed emotions; saddened by the loss of a woman who in her quiet way had become a dear friend, and joyous at the birth of his second son. In addition, he had received orders to march. The James River Locks had to be taken and dismantled before the end of the month.
The officers received the news of Constance’s death with quiet sympathy. Most had only met her briefly, or not at all, but all of them had come to know the energetic toddler who called their commander Papa. Another son was cause for a round of toasts, this time sponsored by Richard, who could not resist the impulse to tease Charlie a bit about his rapidly growing family, particularly since the latest one was his namesake.
But of greatest concern that night, was the need to mobilize rapidly. The James River was a vital link for Lee’s forces. While there were no large deployments of Southern troops, they knew they faced days of extreme vigilance and probable skirmishing with small bands of raiders along the way. It would be a hard march.
Charlie’s letter to Rebecca that night was short.
Friday, March 17, 1865
Darling Wife,
I am grieved past words that we have lost our dear friend Constance. I am glad that Beulah attended the service with you and the devil take Mrs. Williams and her bigoted sensibilities. How is our little girl doing? More to the point, how are you doing, darling? A newborn, a six week old sprat and a grieving toddler is more than any one person should have to handle. I wish I were there with you, beloved. I miss you more than I can tell you.
When it comes to horseflesh, I trust Tarent more than any other man. Give him whatever he needs; he will serve us well.
We mobilize tomorrow, so I must make this short. I adore you, my beloved and miss you with every fiber of my being.
All my love, my heart and soul to you.
Your Charlie
--*--
Saturday, March 18, 1865
The ride to the James River Locks was hard, not because of the terrain, which was rolling hills, fields, and old woodlands, but because the cavalry troopers were assigned to ride constant patrol and surveillance. They covered the same territory over and over, watching for attackers and potential saboteurs attempting to infiltrate the lines. It was grueling work, tedious, and, to be perfectly honest, dangerous. In the four days it took to reach the river, every company under Charlie’s command had encountered rebel forces, with running skirmishes being the order of the day. While no one was killed, there were a number of injuries, most minor, a few serious.
Elizabeth had her hands full. She could not afford to stop and set up a field hospital, so men were treated in wagons as they moved forward. The weather had cleared; it was warm and with the sun beating down on the canvas used to shield the injured, the interior of the wagons was stifling.