The struggle between God given Liberty and fallen man's tyranny comes in many forms, most hard to identify. In this chapter, my main female character returns to face the bondage of self-righteousness and the brutality it unleashes under the guise of social purity, like we saw on display by the sanctimonious, elitist, Dianne Feinstein. She does not deserve the title of US Senator. In Chapter 3, the characters discuss the oath. Apparently, she took an oath to destroy the US Constitution. For new readers of this story, I linked Chapter 1.
Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation
Charles J. Patricoff
Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.
Chapter 5
Kicked
Like so many northern cities and towns, Chicago, Illinois, celebrated the capture of Confederate President Jefferson Davis. To be sure, rogue bands of Confederate soldiers, some the size of a complete division, or five thousand effectives with artillery and cavalry support, remained active. Many had the capability to keep Yankee units at bay. Realistic-thinking citizens understood the war would go on until all Rebels laid down their arms. However, hope springs eternal, and most hoped for the best.
“It simply can’t go on much longer,” said Eleanor Ellis as she sat staring out the front window of her best friend’s home.
“With the capture of Davis, the war must be over, now. Don’t you think, Ellie?”
“I sure hope so, Em.” Eleanor tried to hide her doubts. “But, we both have personal experiences dealing with Confederate soldiers. Some of those men are committed to fighting for their rights until they either gain their freedom and independence from our government or die. They refuse to submit, as if surrender is some form of treason against liberty. They see the war as an attempt by our government to steal private property. I remember Nathaniel claimed if the government can take one kind of property, eventually they can take others—like land, animals, or homes—without due process.” Eleanor crinkled her nose. “But I don’t think anything like that would ever occur in America.”
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| Lincoln's Funeral Train - Chicago |
“No, not yet.” Eleanor sighed. She stroked her six-month condition in wistful anticipation. Then, she winced.
“What?”
“The baby kicked. Sometimes I’d swear he’s wrestling with himself. I hope he’s not a hot head like…you know.”
Mrs. Emma Moody smiled and nodded as she held her sleeping six-month old daughter in her arms. Born October 24, 1864, little Emma had the misfortune of looking too much like her father. “Hey, I have an idea. It would be good for all of us to take a walk and get some sun.”
“Bailey would love it. A good walk would do us all some good.” Eleanor glanced out the parlor window. “It does look like it will be another nice day.” Painfully reaching down to offer some attention to her dutiful Labrador Retriever, Eleanor stroked Bailey’s left ear. “Maybe it won’t be as windy as yesterday, right Bailey?”
Chicago weather had earned the reputation for being anything but predictable, so both women chose to bundle under a few layers. Mrs. Emma Moody wrapped little Emma in a protective blanket and tucked her into the bed of the new baby carriage a dear friend, Union Major Daniel Webster Whittle had given to the Moody clan after little Emma arrived. Mrs. Emma Moody noted, “You’ll need one of these. It’ll save your back.”
Miss Eleanor Ellis placed both hands in the small of her back and stretched. “It already aches, a little more each day…. but guess what? I did receive a letter from Paul, and John threw in a few comments.”
As Mrs. Moody tied her bonnet snug, she asked, “What did they say?”
“They described the surrender of arms at Appomattox Court House, Virginia. It was the most descriptive letter they have ever written.”
“You’ll have to share it with me.”
“I’ll let you read it tonight.”
Several minutes later, they were on their way to the shore of Lake Michigan. Bailey took the lead and sniffed the air, ground, and every tree in between. Little Emma kicked herself free from her blanket and Eleanor unbuttoned her coat. They followed the Chicago River front walkway and after an hour, reached the pier where Lincoln’s funeral train had sat, allowing mourners to pay their respects to their fallen leader.
That was a cool day, both in temperature and temperament. The long Lonesome Train, as it had become known, traversed the nation at a snail’s pace, never dipping below the Mason-Dixon Line. Each car was draped with black trimmings. The Moody family, their friend Miss Eleanor Ellis, and many members of the Chicago community had caught a glimpse of the car that held the president’s body. Adults and children wept unashamed. A few days later, the train reached Springfield and the following day the people of Springfield laid his body to rest. How many observers of his internment recalled his last speech in the state’s capital city as he left for Washington, DC? That fateful, winter day in 1861, Lincoln stood on the train’s platform and in a most somber tone said:
“My friends, no one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended to him, I cannot succeed. With that assistance, I cannot fail. Trusting in Him, who can go with me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I beg you an affectionate farewell.”
Eleanor allowed her thoughts to dwell on those possible-prophetic words as they walked to the lake’s shoreline. Try as she might, she failed to keep Bailey out of the water.
Other good citizens took advantage of the gorgeous day. Little Emma slept undisturbed as a pair of local ladies bent over the baby carriage to get a better look at the recent arrival. The rather plump, Mrs. Marianne Osborn straightened her back and adjusted her broad rimmed hat. “What an adorable little girl.” She swiveled in Eleanor’s direction and began to speak while keeping her eyes on the baby, “And when are you due, Mrs.…”
Should I say Graham, or tell the truth?Eleanor said, “Late July or early August.”
Marianne’s sister, Mrs. Georgiana Davidson said, “Oh summer deliveries are always so much harder. You just can’t get comfortable in the heat.”
Eleanor nodded with as much politeness as she could muster.
Interrupting, Mrs. Davidson said, “Hey, wait a minute.” Her eyes darted from Eleanor, to her sister, to Emma, and back to Eleanor. “I know who you are.”
Eleanor stepped back.
“You’re that woman engaged to a Rebel officer in some prison around here.”
Eleanor’s face flushed.
Mrs. Davidson threw her gloved hand to her face, covering her gaping mouth.
Her sister, Mrs. Osborn, folded her arms and let out an apparent indignant, “Harrumph.”
Mrs. Emma Moody came to her friend’s defense. “Ladies, please, you know me. Eleanor here is my best friend. You should know that if there was anything questionable about her character, or improper about her relationship with her fiancé, I would know it. And I can assure you their relationship is wholesome and above reproach.”
“Above reproach? Wholesome?” Mrs. Osborn cackled like a mythical wicked witch. “She’s what?” She leaned back with a scowl. Her head lowered as if she examined Eleanor. “Six-months pregnant and not married? She’s carrying some Rebel’s bastard child, and you call her wholesome?”
With a defiant tone, Eleanor answered, “The child is not his.”
“What?” Mrs. Osborn almost shouted.
Emma had warned Eleanor that Mrs. Osborn took great pleasure in belittling others. Eleanor figured this situation had made this busybody’s day. It could not be better for the self-righteous, Mrs. Osborn and her gossip-craving sister.
Mrs. Osborn said, “You expect me to believe that? Are you trying to protect your Rebel lover? For all we know, he’s one of the co-conspirators who helped that maniac, Booth, kill our wonderful president.”
Eleanor’s eyes teared.
Emma said, “Mrs. Osborn, you assume too many falsehoods. You have no idea what this dear soul has endured.”
“Does it matter? Do you think I care? The people you and your fool husband pick up off the streets are not fit to be part of a civilized society.” Mrs. Osborn stuck her nose in the air and swiveled. “Come on Georgiana, these people make me ill. They are not worth our time.”
As the two pillars of Chicago headed back to town, Mrs. Osborn shouted over her shoulder, “For our sake, I hope she miscarries.”
Soaking wet, Bailey pranced from the water’s edge, stopped, and shook, spraying little drops of Lake Michigan on everyone.
Eleanor held her tummy secure with her left hand and wiped her face with her right. “Thanks, Bailey.”
Eleanor, Mrs. Moody, and little Emma reached the Moody home. Eleanor dropped like a discarded rag doll into one of the Moody’s parlor chairs. Will this be my future lot in life? How will I find peace married to a former officer in the Confederate Army? Will we become the brunt of ridicule? Where could we live? People up north would never forgive Nathaniel for Lincoln’s assassination, regardless of the fact he had nothing to do with it.
Eleanor made a similar assumption regarding Southerners. Nathaniel’s friends and relatives from Tennessee would never accept me. Would our peers accept us? Should I call off the wedding?She felt her heart drop deep into the cellar beneath her feet. Worse, should I give the baby up for adoption? What if no one wants him and he ends up in an orphanage? No, I won’t let that happen.
No matter what, she could not deny her heart, and from deep within a strength and conviction helped bring everything, including the social-damning issue into perspective. No coven of gossips would dissuade her from raising the child the best she could or pursuing happiness with the man she had grown to love with all of her heart.
Mrs. Emma Moody consoled her fussy daughter as she sat in her rocking chair and explained the awful event to her husband.
Eleanor wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” Emma said. “This never would have happened if it weren’t for me.”
Sniffling, Eleanor asked, “Whatever do you mean?”
“After all, it was my idea to take a walk to the lake.”
“There is no need to apologize, Em. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” She shifted her attention to Reverend Moody. “You always preach that we are not to think it strange when these things happen and that some people will hate Christians without a cause.”
Reverend Moody nodded.
“So, I suppose I should be prepared for persecutions like the one that occurred this afternoon.”
“But you shouldn’t expect attacks like this from our friends, neighbors and fellow members of the Christian community,” Mrs. Moody said.
Rubbing the arms of his favorite chair, Reverend Moody cleared his throat. “Unfortunately my dear, anyone can claim to be a Christian. By the fruits of their life, their behavior, we can see indicators. Obviously, we don’t evaluate a person based on a single action. But if a trend arises, we must not ignore the facts. Jesus taught with great clarity that a day would come when even members of one’s own family might kill His followers, thinking they are doing God’s will.”
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| D. L. Moody |
Dwight Lyman Moody rose from the black leather chair. “The Lord is our refuge and strength.” He shuffled over to the front parlor window and clasped his hands behind his back. “In Him I will place my trust. However….” He came about. “I have some news, which I think will bring you great joy.”
Emma spoke for her friend. “What is it, Dwight?”
A sly grin surfaced under D. L. Moody’s full, dark-brown beard. “I have it on good authority that the Confederate prisoners held on Johnson’s Island must be allowed to send and receive mail again.”
Eleanor and Emma both gasped.
“Ellie, you must write Nathaniel right away.” Emma shifted in her chair toward her mischievous husband. “You’ll post Eleanor’s letter first thing in the morning, won’t you, dear?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Speaking of letters,” Eleanor said. “Reverend Moody, would you mind reading my brother Paul’s letter to us after supper?”
Reverend Moody smiled. “Again, I would be happy to be of any assistance, but why do you want me to read it?”
Mrs. Moody answered for Eleanor. “Because you’re a man, silly. At least you’ll sound like Paul. Isn’t that right, Ellie?”
Eleanor smiled. “Exactly.”
After supper, everyone returned to the parlor for the reading of Paul’s letter written to Eleanor. Mrs. Moody sat in a high-backed, wooden rocking chair and nursed little Emma. Eleanor sat in one of the two chairs near the upright piano sitting along the wall separating the parlor from the dining room, and Reverend Moody leaned against the mantel of their cold, stone fireplace, which probably would not see any use for another six months. He withdrew the letter from the envelope and stated, “It’s postmarked April 14, 1865.”
“Uh-huh,” Eleanor said.
“That was Good Friday. President Lincoln was shot that night.”
“Oh my.” Mrs. Moody seemed startled by this revelation.
“So, whatever is written here,” Reverend Moody held up the pages, “was done without knowledge of Lincoln’s assassination…. okay then, here goes”
“Dear Eleanor,
I determined to give you a detailed account of our final days in the field leading up to General Lee’s capitulation and formal surrender of the arms and colors of the Army of Northern Virginia.”
Mrs. Emma Moody interrupted, which Eleanor almost expected. “Oh my, this might be an exciting post.”
Eleanor smiled, “I’m confident both of you will find it informative and entertaining.”
“Then, I will continue,” Reverend Moody said.
“Please,” Eleanor said. “Thank you.” I wonder if Nathaniel knows about Lee’s surrender.
Thanks for reading. If you like the story, please leave me a comment.
1 comment:
Charlie, Still reading and enjoying.
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