the first shipment?”
“Yes.”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Glassman said, eyebrows raised. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what, exactly?”
“The detail detachment was transferred to guard Mr. Johnson’s shipment of lumber and dry goods.” The lieutenant then added, “It was, of course, larger than yours.”
Peter could feel his anger brewing. “And that made mine less important?”
“No, not at all,” Glassman insisted, “but we are limited in numbers. We must prioritize. Mr. Johnson has important government contracts—ones which will grow the economy.”
And I am trying to feed homeless war veterans and their families. Confederate veterans. Is that the issue here? “And are his supplies for sale?” Peter asked. Although he already knew the answer.
“I’m afraid not. They have been promised to others. But if you need more supplies, you might try the stores here in Larkinsville in a day or two.”
So I may pay even higher prices for less, Peter thought, his anger rising. He cast Johnson a furtive glance, knowing he had read him right. The carpetbagger aimed to be rich, if he isn’t already.
“I do apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you,” Johnson said.
“It isn’t my inconvenience,” Peter said, “but it is a great inconvenience to the people of Forest Glade.” He turned his eyes back to the young officer. “They are under your authority, lieutenant, and they are hungry.”
“As is most of our defeated foe,” Glassman conceded. “However, it is government policy, in the spirit of late President Lincoln’s wishes, that the rebels be welcomed back into the fold. As you say, they are my responsibility. Let me know when your next shipment is due to arrive. I’ll make certain the escorts are in place.”
For now, it was all Peter could do. He’d made his point, but he wasn’t certain how helpful it would be. Glassman could promise all the assistance he wanted but he saw where the man’s heart lay—with his pocketbook. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if Johnson and the lieutenant already had some sort of deal going, but what exactly and why? Was Johnson simply paying for assured protection of his own supplies or was he actively trying to sabotage any form of competition so he may hold the monopoly and charge higher prices?
Either way people will starve. Peter however kept his disgust hidden. There was no point in playing his hand now, even if all he got out of his silence was an eventual story on government corruption.
So he thanked the lieutenant for his time, offered a conciliatory nod to Johnson. He filed his formal complaint with the sergeant, then mounted his horse and rode back to Forest Glade.
* * *
Once the dampness from the previous day’s rain had evaporated, the weather grew quite warm. Trudy didn’t think anywhere could be warmer than Baltimore City during the summertime, but evidently July in rural Virginia could be just as fierce. Even with the church windows thrown open wide, the sanctuary had been stifling. Still, she and everyone else soldiered on.
Today Trudy had collected names for Mr. Carpenter’s list in addition to washing cups, fetching clean, cool water and washing and bandaging blistered feet. Now that the evening sun was sinking toward its mountainous horizon, she paused to glance out the window. She was feeling worried in spite of herself. Mr. Carpenter had left early this morning and there was still no sign of him.
She told herself she simply wanted to share with him the information she had gathered today, that her eagerness was a desire to help the freedman who had found his way here this morning.
Robert Smith had walked into the church anxious to find his wife. She had been separated from him almost twenty years ago.
“The war is over and slavery’s done away with now,” he’d said hopefully. “I thought...well, I hoped...”
Reason told Trudy that the odds of locating his beloved Hannah after so much time were slim to none, but hope in God and a determined belief that true love conquered all compelled her to take down his information.
“Mr. Carpenter said you could use workers,” Robert had also said. “I can do almost anything with my hands.”
“I’m sure you can,” Trudy said. “Let me fetch you something to eat first, and afterward you can speak with Reverend Webb.”
The big man eagerly accepted the small allotment of cornbread and tea even though it would hardly be enough to assuage the hunger he must surely be feeling. “I’m sorry I haven’t more to give you,” she said. “We haven’t the supplies we had hoped.”
“That’s alright, miss. I’m much obliged.” He didn’t seem that eager to be left on his own, so Trudy continued to engage him in conversation.
“Have you walked a long way?” she asked.
“From South Carolina, Miss.”
So far... “And you are headed for...?”
“Not really sure yet, ma’am. Figured I stay here a while, see if I git word. If’n that’s alright.”
“Of course it is,” she said.
Sadly there were a few disapproving looks from some of the townsfolk, but no one dared to argue why a man of color was getting food. Apparently deep down they either sympathized with him or they knew it would do no good to argue supremacy to Reverend Webb. The preacher had welcomed the freedman heartily.
The two of them were now repairing the church roof. Despite the valley’s scorching by General Sheridan’s men, red cedar trees still abounded and apparently the ex-slave was an expert in crafting singles. Trudy could hear him singing while he worked.
“I looked over Jordan and what did I see... A band of angels comin’ after me, comin’ for to carry me home...”
Trudy listened to the unfamiliar but stirring words while she continued to stare toward Larkinsville, eyes straining for the first glimpse of an approaching rider. Realizing, though, she shouldn’t be lingering at the window, Trudy whispered a quick prayer for Mr. Carpenter’s safety, then turned from the glass. As she did, she nearly tripped over little Charlie.
He, his mother and his baby sister had remained here at the church because Dr. Mackay wanted to keep watch on Opal’s cough.
“See my shoes?” Charlie said, proudly showing off a pair of ankle boots, slightly scuffed but of proper size. “Mrs. Webb found ’um for me.”
“Very nice,” Trudy said, kneeling down to his level. “I suspect your toes are much more comfortable now.”
He grinned. His poor teeth were crooked and misshapen, but the smile was heartfelt and happy. “Yes, ma’am. I can wiggle ’um now.”
“Very good,” Trudy said. “Then they’ll have lots of room to grow.”
Charlie’s cheerful expression shifted to a somewhat uncertain one. “Were you lookin’ for that man?”
She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “Which man?” Trudy asked, hoping he wasn’t wise to her actions. After all, men had been coming and going for the last two days, gathering supplies and seeking treatment for their families.
“The one who makes the newspapers,” Charlie clarified.
Oh dear. When am I going to realize that—
“Will he be back?” he asked.
That question eased her guilt a little, knowing she wasn’t the only one anxiously awaiting Mr. Carpenter’s return. Obviously the newspaper publisher had made an impression on Charlie. No doubt giving up his soup and frock coat are part of it.