An Acquaintance with Darkness - Ann Rinaldi [66]
I felt bad. He was thin and sunburnt and somewhat the worse for wear. He wore a loose shirt and held a soft hat. His boots were dusty and his mustache drooped. So did his eyes. "There are places that feed soldiers on their way home," I said. "I can direct you to one."
"Ain't hungry, miss. Or on my way home. Yet. Come for the review."
"Review?" I asked.
He must have thought me a noodleheaded flighty girl. "Hunnerts of soldiers in town. Ain't you seen 'em?"
I had. I nodded. There had seemed like an unusual amount of soldiers walking the streets these last couple of days.
"Gonna be a lotta soldiers in Washington the next week or so. 'Bout a hunnert and fifty thousand of 'em."
"A hundred and fifty thousand soldiers?"
"Yes, miss. For the review of the Grand Armies of the Republic. On the twenty-third. They say it'll take us two whole days to parade. I was with Sherman."
"Sherman? Did you know a Captain Alex Bailey?"
"No, miss, sorry."
"Well, in any case, doesn't your regiment have a place to stay?"
"We're bivouacked near the unfinished monument to George Washington. But I had hopes of a clean room and a tub of water. Been a long time since I was in a house."
I directed him down the block to where Mrs. Waring, whose husband had been killed in the war, was talking about starting a boardinghouse.
"Much obliged," he said.
"Would you like something cold to drink?" It was the least I could do.
"That sounds good, miss."
I fetched him a glass of lemonade. He drank it quickly.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Indiana, miss." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and handed the glass back to me, then put his hat back on his head. "Much obliged," he said again.
"Can I ask you something before you leave?"
He nodded briskly.
"Did you burn people out down South, like they say Sherman's soldiers did? Women and children?"
He hesitated. "You're Secesh," he said.
"No. I'm from Maryland, but we're Union. My daddy died fighting for it."
"I ain't never burned no women or children, miss," he said.
"What did you do, then?"
"I foraged. For food."
I smiled to show I believed him. But I didn't. Likely the food he'd foraged had been plundered from the larder of some Southern woman who had children to feed and no man left on the plantation. Mrs. McQuade said what Sherman's men couldn't take with them they'd slaughtered on the spot—chickens, hogs, cattle. Just to leave destruction in their wake. Was it wrong? They'd brought the war to a quicker end. Did that make it right? We'd had a whole Wednesday Morning Discussion on it.
The soldier smiled back at me. "Come see the review," he invited, as if he were in charge of the whole thing. "Gonna be cavalry and mules and wagons, infantry, Zouaves in their flashy uniforms, everything."
I told him I would, watched him walk away, and went back inside. I had some reading to do for class. It was the end of the term and Mrs. McQuade was giving tests. No sooner had I sat down than there was another knock. Another soldier? Again I went to open the front door.
It was Robert. He had a cat under his arm. A red cat.
"Was that soldier looking for a room?" he asked. I found my tongue. "Yes."
"They're all over town. It's swarming with them."
"There's going to be a review."
"I heard. It'll bring disease, drunkenness, and fights."
"My, you're in a cheerful mood. I suppose things went well in Memphis."
"They did."
"Why did you knock? You never do."
"I have a friend who needs a room. I thought I'd ask politelike."
"Why don't you take your friend to the Young Men's Christian Association, where you live?"
"Because they don't take cats," he said. And he held out the fluffy red cat. "He needs a home. His name is Sultana. Will you give him one?"
We were uncomfortable in each other's presence. It was different now. I hadn't been wrong about that morning in the hallway. Something had happened between us and whatever it was, he'd felt it, too.
We sat in the parlor. I gave him some lemonade. He put the cat in my arms, and I carried on about it like I'd never seen a fool cat before. "Sultana?"