The Soldier's Wife

“Yes. All the orphans were there—what’s left of us.”

She was looking at him so intently, as if she expected him to make some comment about her having witnessed the Grand Review. He had no idea what she expected him to say—that he’d looked for her among the throng of spectators? He hadn’t. The truth was that it never occurred to him that she might be there.

“Why are you here, Jack?” she asked abruptly.

He looked at her in surprise. “Why? Well, I thought we’d start with an explanation—yours. I think I deserve that much—and then we could conclude with an apology—also yours.”

“Apology? My goodness.” Clearly such a thing had never occurred to her.

“You said you’d marry me, Elrissa.”

“Yes, well, that was never really...official, now, was it?”

“It was official to me. Why did you do that? Say you’d marry me if you had no intention of doing so?”

She waved one hand in the air. “I was very young, Jack. To tell you the truth, I just didn’t think. You were leaving. The train was coming—I had no time to think. Later I realized my father would never have agreed. You’re not...”

“Not what?” he asked when she didn’t continue.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she said airily, moving to the sofa—carved rosewood likely from Massachusetts, he noted, because he’d been a very able clerk in a dry goods store that could special-order coffins or fine furniture, and it had been his business to know such things—before it was his business to kill men wearing the wrong uniform.

She sat down carefully so as not to rumple the dark green silk of her dress. It was a becoming color for her, he decided. He had never seen her wear anything like it before, and he supposed that such colors must be a privilege that came with marriage.

“You’re looking very well, Elrissa,” he said after a moment, and she gave him a brief but stricken look.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, moving closer to get a better look at her face.

“You look very well, too, Jack,” she said instead of answering. She kept picking at a fold in her skirt. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“You decided not to marry me because I’m not good enough for you. No connections. No money to speak of.” He didn’t point out that his management had likely kept Barden’s Dry Goods from going bankrupt.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t believe you needed to. Your recent behavior has been eloquent enough. It would have been a kindness to have received a letter telling me of your new plans, Elrissa—instead of hearing about them after the fact and secondhand.”

“It didn’t seem important,” she said, and she actually smiled.

“No. I don’t suppose it was. To you.”

“Oh, Jack, I haven’t broken your heart, have I?”

“My heart, no. My pride has taken quite a beating, I will admit. I suppose your father never knew about the marriage proposal. Mine, that is.”

“No,” she said, but Of course not was what he heard.

“I am sorry, Jeremiah. Truly.”

“About what exactly?”

“Well, that you...misunderstood.”

“I certainly did do that—misunderstand. I’m not sure why. I know that yes and no can mean anything other than what they’re designed to mean. Orphans find that out very early. But in this instance, my...admiration and respect for you led me to forget my early lessons. I suppose I should thank you. I won’t ever make the mistake of trusting someone so far above my station again, especially that she actually means what she says.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jack. There’s really no need—”

“I don’t think I’m the cruel one here. I’m only stating the truth. According to Father Bartholomew and the Sisters, I’m supposed to learn at least a little something from every situation, good or bad. And truly, I have.”

“He came to see me, you know,” Elrissa said, glancing at him and then away. “Your Father Bartholomew. When the engagement—Farrell’s and mine—was announced in the newspapers. He was really quite cross with me. I couldn’t imagine what you must have told him.”

“I told him if I was killed, I wanted him to give you what money I had put by. It wouldn’t have been a lot by your standards—especially now. But it was all I had in this world, and I thought you might buy yourself a little something with it—a keepsake. Or you might have wanted to give it to charity as a memorial gift. Knowing Father Bartholomew, it’s likely he would have suggested it go to the orphanage.”

“Well, luckily, you can use the money for yourself.”

“Yes. Luckily.”

“What are your plans now that the war is over, Jack?” she asked, actually looking at him directly now and not at other, more interesting aspects of the room.

“Well, coming back to work for your father isn’t very likely. Do you think Farrell has any job vacancies?”

“No, seriously,” she said, smiling slightly when she realized the grim humor in his comment. He had always been able to do that at least—make her smile.

“I thought maybe I’d...go out West,” he said, as if the notion to migrate beyond the Mississippi River weren’t something he’d just made up on the spot. Still, it seemed as good a plan as any.

“Go back into the army, you mean?”

He gave a short laugh. “No. I’ve had enough of armies.”

She started to say something, then didn’t, lapsing into a quiet sigh instead. “Don’t stare at me so, Jack,” she said after a moment.

“I don’t mean to. It’s just that I’d...forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?”

“How very pretty you are. I used to think about that—on the march or when our situation was...bad.”

“You mustn’t say things like that. My husband won’t like it.”

“Won’t he?”

“Farrell is very...protective of me. He will be home soon,” she said, glancing at the quietly ticking clock on the mantel. “You must leave before then. Now, actually.”

He made no move toward the door.

“Please,” she said. “I want you to leave now—and go out the back way. Mary will show you. You should never have come to the front door.”

“My mistake,” he said. “It won’t happen again. Goodbye, Elrissa. I hope you’ll be happy.”

“Jack,” she said, as he was about to open the door.

He looked back at her.

“When will you go? Out West, I mean.”

“I...haven’t decided.”

She got up from the rosewood sofa and came toward him, guiding her dress around a table in the effort to get to him.

“Jack, you were right. Something is wrong—terribly wrong. It’s been so— He—Farrell—he isn’t at all obliging like Papa. Truly he isn’t. I— It’s so difficult. I don’t know that I can abide it much longer, this...penchant he has to tame me. No, I’m certain I can’t abide it. I want you to take me with you when you go.”

“What?” Jack said, despite the fact that he’d heard her clearly. She was very close now and once again he was struck by her prettiness. He was also struck by her familiar expression, one he’d seen many times when he worked in her father’s dry goods store, one that meant she wanted something unsuitable and she intended to have it—or else.

“I’ll meet you someplace. We can leave here together—whenever you say—the sooner the better.”

“No, we cannot,” he said, trying to remove her hand from his arm.

But she kept reaching for him, trying to hang on to him. “Yes! Yes! You and I—we can go where nobody knows us. We’d be happy, Jack. Truly, we would—”

“Elrissa, stop this!” he said sharply, and she suddenly put her face in her hands.

“You’re upset. Let me find Mary,” he said, because it was the only thing he could think of.

“No! I don’t need Mary! I need you to say you’ll help me!”

“I can’t help you.”

“But you have to. Who else can I turn to?” she said.

“Your father. He won’t see you unhappy.”

“You don’t understand!” she cried, but Jack was very much afraid that he did. Marriage proposals weren’t the only things Elrissa Barden refused to take seriously. She clearly thought she could ignore her marriage vows, as well.

“I’m going now,” he said firmly, still holding her at bay. “Everything will be all right—”

Someone knocked urgently on the door behind him.

“Jack!” Mary said on the other side. “Come on, come on—you have to get out of here!”

Elrissa finally let go of him and stepped away. He gave her a moment to compose herself, then opened the door.

“Goodbye,” she said, her voice cold and controlled now, as if they hadn’t just been in an inexplicable tussle by the door. He started to say something more to her, then didn’t. He turned and followed Mary down the wide hallway toward the back of the house.

“He’s coming up the walk,” Mary said over her shoulder. “Hurry!”

“I’m not afraid of him, Mary.”

“Well, I’m afraid enough for the both of us. I can’t lose this job, Jack. He’ll put something about so nobody else will hire me. Hurry!”

He let Mary lead him through a breakfast room and out a side door, checking first to make sure no one would see him when he stepped into the manicured garden.

“The gate is over there—down that path,” she said, pointing the way.

“Next time maybe I’ll listen to you,” he said, making her give a small laugh despite her worry.

“You’re well rid of that one. You know that, don’t you?” She suddenly reached up and touched his cheek. “What happened to you? Your face is the same, but you’ve got the eyes of an old man, Jack.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Go!” she said, giving him a push. “And take care of yourself. And don’t you be coming back here!”

For the second time that day she closed the door firmly and left him standing.

* * *

“Jack! What are you doing here!” Little Ike cried as Jack came through the back hedge at the orphanage.

“Delivering fish,” he said, holding up the large string of catfish he intended for the orphanage kitchen. “See? Good fishing down at the creek today. I thought the sun was too high, but the catfish didn’t. What are you doing here?” he countered because he’d always enjoyed teasing Ike when he was overly excited about something and because Ike actually had a distant cousin who was letting him stay in a converted storage room at her house—now that he was grown and useful—the same cousin who had given him such a detailed account of Elrissa’s wedding.

“You’ve been fishing?” Ike said incredulously, his voice giving a little squeak they way it always did whenever he was really excited.

“You can see I have, Ike.”

“Father Bartholomew said you didn’t stay here last night.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, where were you!” Ike cried, and Jack gave him a look to let him know he was dangerously close to crossing the line.

“You shouldn’t be here, Jack. You should be long gone—”

“Why?”

“Why? The watchmen! They’re looking for you!”

Jack was still not alarmed. “I’ve got to deliver these fish,” he said, trying to get past him so he could take his catch to the kitchen door.

“Forget the fish! They’re going to arrest you, Jack. Elrissa told her husband you were at the house. Her husband wants you arrested and charged.”

“What are you talking about? Charged for what?”

“She says...you put your hands on her. You tried to hurt her.”

“That’s crazy. Mary was there. I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“You’ve got a lot to worry about! They’ve already been here once looking for you. Father Bartholomew sent me to see if I could find you—we didn’t think you’d be coming back here. Farrell Vance aims to have your head, and he’ll get it, too. You’ve got to get away!”

“I’m not running when I didn’t do anything—”

“And how are you going to prove that? If Elrissa says you did—that’s all it’ll take. You don’t have any money. You don’t have any connections. There’s nobody to vouch for what really happened.”

“I told you Mary was there.”

“Who’s going to believe her, even if you could get her to tell the truth—which I doubt would happen if they came after her. She’s going to be too scared to go against whatever Elrissa claims you did. And even if she does, Jack, Vance’s lawyers will say us orphans always stick together—”

“Well, we do.”

“Jack! Listen to me. I think if Vance gets half a chance, he’ll kill you. It’ll be like when General Sickles killed his wife’s lover. He’ll get off, just like Dan Sickles did, and you’ll be in a pine box. Ain’t that many of us left, Jack! You got to go! You got to live for the ones we had to bury down South. You got to live for all of us! You hear me!”

“Jeremiah,” a quiet voice said behind them.

“Father Bartholomew,” Jack said. “It’s not—”

“Come inside,” the priest said. “Ike, you take those fish to the kitchen. Don’t say anything about Jeremiah being here.”

“Yes, Father,” Ike said, taking the string of fish out of Jack’s hand.

Jack followed Father Bartholomew inside the building through a side door and down the quiet hallway to his office. They had to pass several classrooms along the way, and he thought idly that he could have identified where he was blindfolded because of the smell of chalk and India ink. One of the classes was singing today—“The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Another group struggled with multiplication table rotes.

“Nine-times-one-is-nine!”

“Nine-times-two-is-eight-teen!”

Father Bartholomew looked inside the office before he allowed Jack to enter.

“Close the door, Jeremiah,” he said when they were inside. He indicated that he wanted Jack to sit in the one chair—the “scamp seat,” as Jack and the rest of the boys at the orphanage had called it—the one directly in front of the desk, where it was impossible to escape Father Bartholomew’s all-seeing gaze. Father Bartholomew took his usual place on the other side. It was a scene reminiscent of many Jack had experienced in this room, times when the young Jeremiah Murphy had let his foolhardy nature get the better of him and he’d had to be taken to task for it. The desk had seemed much bigger then, and so had Father Bartholomew.

Jack waited for the priest to say something—because that was the way it had always been done. Father Bartholomew sat quietly for a moment, tapping his fingertips together, perhaps praying. Jack couldn’t tell for sure. Motes of dust floated in the shaft of sunlight that came in through the high windows. He could hear the distant sounds of orphan life going on around them, and he felt such a sudden pang of homesickness and longing that it made him catch his breath.

Father Bartholomew looked up at him. “I believe Ike is correct in his assessment of this situation,” he said.

“Father, I—”

The priest held up his hand. “You have been in difficult circumstances before, ones which must have led you to rely on the Scriptures you were taught—”

“No, Father, I didn’t rely on them,” Jack said. He expected the priest to react, but Father Bartholomew merely let him twist in the wind after his remark and waited for him to continue.

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” Jack said finally. “I would think about...being on the upstairs porch after the Saturday chores were done. I would think about it so hard, I could hear your voice reading the poem. It...helped.”

“A story of sin and redemption. God’s messages appear in many places. And I know for certain that when we need Him, He often chooses to speak to us in a way that we will accept and understand, and we have only to pay attention.

“I have known you since you were a small boy starving on the streets of Lexington, Jeremiah. Since then, you and I have had to address a number of sins and punishments—but I do not believe you are guilty of this accusation. I want you to stay in here out of sight until dark. I don’t believe the watchmen will be back looking for you until then. In the meantime, I have some arrangements to make. Will you do that? Stay here until I get back?”

“I’d rather talk to the police.”

“No,” Father Bartholomew said firmly. “I’m told that the watchmen looking for you are also in Farrell Vance’s employ, and they will prevent you from doing that.”

“Prevent—why?”

“Farrell Vance is a vain and arrogant man. He also has considerable authority regarding the enforcement of the law in this city. I believe he takes unnatural pleasure in perceiving insult where there is none so that he can inflict his own retribution. Your seeking out his wife without his knowledge is no small matter in his eyes. I don’t believe he will allow you to challenge the veracity of her accusations in court or anywhere else—whether he believes them or not. In his mind, you have crossed a line, and the man now wants you dead. You’ve come through a hard time, Jeremiah. You’ve lost many of your orphanage family and you’ve survived the horrors of war by the grace of God and...by your own ingenuity.” He paused, perhaps giving Jack the time to understand that he was referring to his unorthodox use for a poem about an ancient mariner.

“But all that hasn’t made you immune to the harm this man intends to do you. This is not a situation you can handle alone. You must trust in God and in the people who care about you. You must wait here.”

But Jack was unwilling to do that. He abruptly stood.

“This isn’t right, Father.”

“No, Jeremiah, it isn’t. But it’s not you or I who are the wrongdoers.”

“I don’t want to hide here, and I don’t want to run away.”

“You haven’t been home in a long time. The war has changed things here and not for the better. Farrell Vance was—is—a profiteer. You don’t understand how far this man’s influence can reach. It is absolutely necessary for you to leave Lexington. I don’t think you can stay alive otherwise. It’s either be murdered by his henchmen or be hanged for defending yourself,” the priest said, slowly getting to his feet, as well.

They stared at each other, and Father Bartholomew gave a quiet sigh. “I don’t want to lose another one of my boys, Jeremiah.”

“I’m not a boy, Father.”

“No. But you still need to trust my judgment. I will return as soon as I can. Don’t let any of the others see you. We want them to be telling the truth if they have to say they haven’t seen you and don’t know where you are.” He walked to the door and opened it, and Jack realized that the old man was trying not to limp. The past four years hadn’t been kind to him.

“There are apples in the cupboard there,” Father Bartholomew said. “Eat one if you’re hungry. Put the rest in your pockets. And move over there—into that corner. If anyone opens the door looking for me, I don’t want them to see you.”

“Father, I don’t understand why you’re doing this—”

“I told you. I don’t want to lose another one of my boys, especially if there is something I can do to prevent it. You are innocent and you belong to all of us here,” he said. “That is enough for me.”

“Are you that sure I’m not guilty of what Elrissa accuses me of?”

The old priest gave a slight smile. “Guilty men don’t risk being caught in order to bring a fine catch of catfish to an orphanage kitchen, Jeremiah. At least not in my experience. Rest now while you can. I fear you will need it.”

Jack stood for a long moment after Father Bartholomew had gone. Then, despite the fact that he was no longer one of the elderly priest’s charges, he did as he was told. He ate an apple. He filled his pockets with some of the ones left in the basket. He sat on the floor behind the door so that no one who opened it would see him. He was so tired suddenly, and there was nothing to do but wait. He kept trying to sort out what must have happened after he left Elrissa, and he couldn’t. Despite her earlier comments and his struggle to keep her at bay, Elrissa didn’t in any way seem distraught when Mary saw her—and couldn’t Mary say that?

No. Ike was right. No one would take Mary’s word, not when she would be contradicting the wife of Farrell Vance. Whether he’d been here these past four years or not, he knew enough about the power of wealth to know that. He’d seen it every day in the dry goods store.

It was nearly dark when Father Bartholomew returned. He came in carrying a large basket, and he had Ike in tow. He immediately sent Ike to keep watch along the hallway and outside the building while he apprised Jack of the escape plan.

“The money you left in my keeping,” Father Bartholomew said, giving him a leather pouch. “I wouldn’t carry all of it in that, though. Times are hard and I imagine the roads are full of desperate and misguided souls who will try to take it from you.”

The priest had brought the haversack Jack had carried for the duration of the war, and he handed it to him. Jack had left it and the rest of what remained of his army equipment in the storage room in the visitors’ quarters at the back of the orphanage until he had need of it again. He hadn’t expected to require it quite so soon.

“The knapsack will be too conspicuous,” Father Bartholomew said as he took boiled eggs from the basket and handed them to him. And there was hardtack and beef jerky among the numerous small wrapped packets. The boiled eggs must have come from the orphanage kitchen, but Jack had no idea how the priest would have come by the army rations.

“One last thing,” Father Bartholomew said. “I seem to remember you had a great fondness for these.” Incredibly, he handed Jack several sticks of peppermint candy. “You do still like them?” he asked with the barest of smiles.

“I...don’t know,” Jack said truthfully. “It’s been a long time.”

“All the more enjoyable, then,” the priest said.

Jack shook his head. He was just short of being amused that Father Bartholomew would think peppermint sticks could make him feel better. Even so, he put the candy into his pocket.

“I don’t think you should head west,” Father Bartholomew said. “I believe Vance’s assassins will be expecting you to try for Louisville. Going south into Tennessee will be a better choice. Get to Knoxville and then head east into the mountains. It will be easier for you to get lost there and it is not a likely route since you’ve so soon come from the war. Farrell Vance is not going to think you would want to go back into that troubled land. Then, later, after he tires of looking for you, you might head farther south and by some circuitous route eventually make your way to St. Louis.”

“Father—”

“It would be better if we didn’t argue about this, Jeremiah. You haven’t the time.”

“I was only wondering,” Jack said. “You seem well versed in how to make a man disappear.”

“You aren’t my first fugitive, Jeremiah, and I sincerely doubt you’ll be my last. Now. I want to give you this, but don’t open it,” he said, handing Jack an envelope. “I’ve written down some things I want you to know, but this...wisdom, if you will, won’t be helpful to you now. You are still too raw. From the war. From your association with Elrissa Vance. I want you to wait before you read it. Wait until you are...content.”

“Content?” Jack said, thinking he hadn’t heard right.

“Contentment is one of life’s finer accomplishments, Jeremiah. You won’t understand what I’ve said unless you have it. Now. Ike is going to go with you to the edge of town. He’s hidden a horse for you in the cemetery. If you’re stopped, Ike will seem very drunk, and you will react to his inebriation accordingly.”

“Little Ike has never had a drop of liquor in his life,” Jack said.

“But he’s wearing a good dose of it on his clothing and he’s very good at mimicking its effects. I’m sorry to say it was something he saw in his own home far too often when he was a small boy. Once you’re out of the town, travel mostly at night and stay to yourself. And don’t look like you’re on the run. People are going to remember a horseman riding fast no matter what time of day it is. Now, you must hurry. I expect the watchmen to come and search the premises again tonight and I expect they will prevail upon the smaller children to tell what they know. I need to be on hand to calm them.”

Jack looked at him. Elrissa’s lie was more far-reaching than he had realized. “I’m sorry for all this, Father.”