Minnesota Bride Page 8

  “I agree and I am memorizing,” she replied, handing him another stack of books. “At least we can tell Varina we finished these two trunks.”

  It struck her as an odd thing to care or think about the treasonous wife of a traitor, but she had grown to like Varina a little bit in the past few days, in spite of it all. Sadly, Varina and Jefferson Davis were decent folk caught up in a web of dangerous politics with seriously mislaid loyalties, fighting to uphold an evil cause. Varina especially seemed ensnared. She didn’t even fully support the idea of slavery.

  It was equally sad when Melody thought of her husband’s parents and all the slaves the Trumbull and Davis families combined must own. It bothered her that several hundred people under the command of the two households were living a life at someone else’s beck and call for their every whim, denied an education, denied basic human rights, and denied freedom.

  Her husband’s voice, warm smile, and touch pulled her back into the moment. “The only thing I’m going to miss is your southern drawl. It’s grown on me,” he remarked with a playful grin, causing her to laugh as he drew her into his arms for a kiss.

  Chapter 9

  And if we know that He hears us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of Him. 1 John 5:15

  * * *

  “I won’t go, Captain Trumbull! I won’t!” Melody stomped her foot and crossed her arms, a determined glare spreading across her face. Her blue eyes were fiercely stoic and her jaw set. “You could die leading those men up that mountain. I will not leave when there may be a need for me. I can’t bare it until I know you are safe.”

  Charles stepped closer and rested his hands gently on her shoulders, brushing a tendril of her golden locks from her eyes. “But you’d be safer at home with your family. I can tell by the letters from your parents, they are concerned, and I...”

  Had he grown desperate to join the effort then? Would she have finally found love to lose him to war, before he’d even said those words she still longed to hear?

  She bit her bottom lip thinking it all over. “You plan to take those soldiers up that mountain then, don’t you?”

  He nodded, remaining silent as she considered the situation. They’d returned to Rich Mountain in relative peace, sending a letter off to Lincoln within a day of their return. The President had responded within a fortnight, thanking them for their bravery and the useful information. Melody was somewhat satisfied about their expedition, but it was the letter from Honest Abe that solidified their spying adventure as a success in her mind and heart. Lincoln wrote back saying he was particularly glad to know the name of the spy working in the White House as a housekeeper named Fern Bridger. She’d been terminated at once. Melody memorized one line from the President which made her smile and laugh each time she remembered it—:

  “Is this the daughter of Ramsey, the little lady with the golden hair and angelic face writing to me, overflowing with such an act of courageous patriotism?”

  She was glad they’d jointly decided against sending the information by telegram. Though it would’ve perhaps been faster, her husband had suspicions about Beverly’s operator. He later learned from Carlton that the telegraph operator was a Confederate sympathizer, along with most of their other neighbors in the lowlands of Virginia. It was the Appalachian mountain farmers like her husband and cousins who were on the side of the Union.

  They’d spoken over and over again of taking a train toward Minnesota for the reception her mother desired to give them, but the B & O line had been under attack, as had the bridges for the Wheeling area. The risk seemed too great in their minds, preventing them from travel; although they heard the railroads were usually restored within a day or two by divisions of the Union Army.

  Taking a stage didn’t seem a safe alternative under the circumstances. In addition, a growing force of soldiers around their land made Charles too nervous to consider leaving his property unattended when Confederates and Union soldiers had poured into the area. Half of Melody desired to flee for her home state, and half of her wanted to stay to defend her new Appalachian home if necessary. They’d even named her husband’s previously unnamed farm, Sunshine Brook. However, part of her was homesick and anxious to bring some of her possessions from her hope chest to transform the Trumbull farmhouse into the home of her dreams.

  Mother had written her another letter, begging her to come home with her new husband. She made mention of a possible teaching job and her connections with the school board superintendent, trying to entice Melody in time for the coming fall term. It would have worked, except for the fact things were already heating up where they were. It was too complicated to leave everything, not to mention dangerous to travel. She wrote to her mother, telling her they’d come home as soon as it appeared safer to do so.

  By the middle of July, they were entirely surrounded by Union and Confederate forces. Carlton was sustaining himself at Blue Meadow, but his farm had been overrun by Union soldiers and field commanders, including General-in-Chief himself, McClellan. Both Blue Meadow and Sunshine Brook were narrowly close to being caught in the crosshairs. The cover of trees around the meadows of Blue Meadow and the fact the main house was on a hill made Carlton’s farmstead a perfect hideout for troops. It had become a sort of paradise away from home for McClellan, assigned by Lincoln himself to lead the entire Union.

  The General, upon hearing of Carlton Jenkins’ confidence in Captain Trumbull, subsequently sent a runner carrying a message. Melody was shocked at how young the errand boy was, yet found he was fully dressed in a uniform. “Are you quite sure you’re old enough to be enlisted, young man?” she’d asked, looking him over. Was he perhaps nine or ten years of age?

  The boy said he had been enlisted by writing eighteen on the bottom of his shoes and then telling the recruiter, “I am over eighteen.” Melody had half-laughed to hear it, but she knew it was no laughing matter. He couldn’t have been more than ten, but he wore a determined look on his face and took his duties seriously. The boy belonged in school, and he was sacrificing his education. She worried his life would be snuffed out too early by a stray bullet. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, and the message he brought contained a request which could dramatically impact and involve them.

  The message he delivered, written in the General’s own handwriting, said he wanted to know if Trumbull would lead two brigades up a little known route to the top of Rich Mountain. It was a route her husband knew well since he occasionally planted crops at the top of it, usually sweet potatoes or extra wheat. Sometimes he planted hay or alfalfa for his livestock. In any case, McClellan planned to lead an attack against Confederate forces by flanking them from both the bottom of the mountain and above.

  It was a route only Trumbull knew well enough to lead, and Melody knew in her heart, he couldn’t refuse McClellan when so much was at stake.

  “You don’t know what you’re walking into when you reach the top, Charles,” she pointed out, her hands returning to her hips.

  “Aye, but I know of places to hide at the top, and they don’t have a way of sorting that out quickly while under fire if needed,” he explained. “Lives will be at stake. Besides, this is your chance to teach if you will take it.”

  “Teach?” she repeated. “How? They won’t let a married woman teach unless I open my own school. I see more need for it here in Appalachia than Minnesota.”

  “They’ll let a married woman teach who is waiting on her husband to return from the war.” He had a point there.

  A tear slid down her cheek. “So you do plan to go off to war, just like that. When were you going to tell me?”

  “I haven’t known for more than a few hours and hadn’t decided until I spoke to the General himself, earlier today,” he admitted, wiping away her tear with his thumb as more tears began to follow.

  “No,” she whispered as he pulled her into his arms and held her close. Then she stiffened and pulled away. “There are things I can do. I can tend the
wounded. I can make the soldiers more comfortable. I can keep watch over our little farm until you come back to me, to us, to our life together.”

  Charles raked a hand through his hair, obviously deeply frustrated with her suggestions. He paced a few steps, then went to the writing desk in the front sitting room by the windows and pulled something out. Then he pulled a musket down from above the fireplace.

  He returned to her side with the musket, and a letter in his hands inside a little book resembling a diary, much like the one she’d leafed through on the desk of Jefferson Davis. “All right, I will agree to let you guard our farm while I lead those two brigades up the mountain. You may help make the wounded comfortable as I believe they’ll be brought to Blue Meadow where I saw them creating a makeshift infirmary. After I return from this battle however, you are taking the first train or stage home to Minnesota until I can join you. Lincoln is asking for three months. You may find and accept a teaching position for three to six months until then, and I will write to you and let you know where you may send letters.”

  She opened her mouth to object until he placed the musket in her hands. He opened the book, withdrew the letter hanging out of it, and unfolded it. Then he drew her to the dining room table where she’d placed bowls of stew and a platter of biscuits next to a crock of butter for their supper. They sat down together, and he slid the letter and then the book across the table toward her.

  “Your adventure isn’t quite over, my love.” The fact he called her his love made her ears leap with joy, though it wasn’t quite the same as those three little words she wanted to hear him say. Just once, she wished he’d say those precious words. Especially now, when she feared she might never see him again. In any case, the words he did speak silenced her objections. There wasn’t much time to argue with him anyhow. McLellan wanted him to lead those two brigades tomorrow morning up a difficult path into an unknown situation. They were hoping to beat the enemy up that mountain, but what if the Confederates were there first, waiting for them?

  “What is this?” she asked, looking over the contents of the letter and the book through her watery eyes, wondering what a piece of paper could have to do with what they were facing.

  “This is the name and address of an abolitionist friend of mine. A few more of his letters are folded inside the book. On some of the pages are the names of every slave I’ve hidden here at Sunshine Brook as they passed through on their way to freedom.” He reached across the table and showed her a list of about one-hundred names, turning the pages slowly, one at a time so she could read them for herself.

  “Captain Trumbull, you never cease to amaze me.” She wiped away the few remaining tears on her cheeks.

  The look on his face remained somber. “Now your adventure continues. Your tasks will be incredibly important. Lives will be dependent on how well you can do the job in relative secrecy. I won’t sugarcoat it. This is very dangerous work. If slave catchers come through, and I expect they will until we win the war and Lincoln changes things, you could be taken to jail and fined. Are you up to the task? You’ll have to set aside the funds to be bailed out and pay your fines with someone you trust in the event something happens; although I’d think many judges in the north will be lenient with a governor’s daughter.”

  “Uncle Justus or my parents will bail me out, if it comes to that, and only if you aren’t at my side by then,” she replied hastily. This was exactly the kind of thing she’d be happy to do. She’d read in the newspapers of people helping slaves to escape, but they were usually the ones who were caught and ended up in prison or heavily fined.

  Nonetheless, she believed she could do it. It’d be better than doing nothing while he went off to fight for Lincoln as he led her beloved nation. She adored the President, and if anyone could hold the country together, it was him. They might have to lay down the lives of their sons, brothers, and husbands, but it was the lot of the nation if they were to see the slaves set free, she decided.

  “I want you to understand the risk you’d be taking.” Charles studied her face.

  She nodded. “I understand.” Part of her was still amazed at how many slaves her husband had helped smuggle to freedom. No wonder he hadn’t married anyone before her. He’d been far too busy for a courtship.

  “I want you to read the other letters I’ve placed in the book. They will explain how we do things. When you are settled into your teaching position, you’ll have the perfect cover and opportunity to hide slaves. You need to write to Samuel when you are organized with food, blankets, and supplies for such a situation. Let him know you want to become a stop on the underground.”

  “I will,” she replied, tucking the letter back into the book. “Are you ready to eat? You need your strength and a good night’s sleep before you take those men up that mountain. Besides, we’re going to need extra prayer time before bed, and your stew is surely cooled down enough by now.”

  “Aye.” He picked up a spoon and then set it down again. “I’m famished, but you’re right about the extra prayers. We’d better pray for this meal first, too.”

  They clasped hands and he led them in a thankful prayer before they ate the meal. She wondered the whole time if it would be their last one together, but kept her mouth silent. She had to trust and pray like never before.

  Chapter 10

  He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. Psalm 91:1

  * * *

  September 1st, 1861

  Dear Cousin Brent,

  I rejoice to have heard from you and pray you are well. Not a day goes by when I do not mention you and Frank, and now my husband, Captain Trumbull, in my prayers. We all wait, anxious for news of your safe return.

  I was so stunned when I read your letter and the details about how you managed to escape after wandering off alone accidentally into an enemy camp. How glad I am to hear of the cabin you hastily entered and the woman who gave you her quilt. Wrapping yourself in the quilt to disguise your uniform was a brilliant idea. I can just picture you running through the camp, yelling at anyone who got in your way to move aside before you might vomit on them. I laughed when I read about your clever escape from Confederate forces.

  We had no idea they’d sent you to Philippi for that battle. We read about it later in the papers. We read that Colonel Porterfield’s forces were badly defeated at Philippi and his rebel army refused to stay and fight the battle. We also heard Brigadier General Kelley recovered from being shot after he led his infantry troops forward into the battle, having ridden down a steep mountain to rally the troops. Such bravery is to be commended and remembered.

  Yes, while my husband is away fighting for the Union, defiant of the Confederates with whom he was surrounded in both neighbors and family, I have accepted a teaching position. My position is here in St. Paul, Minnesota for a small, one-room, country school on the edge of the community. I have students from all grades. I am so happy to be home once again and that in a few days, I’ll be teaching. You never saw two parents happier than mine when I stepped off the train at the depot in St. Paul after such a journey as I have been on. We are all anxious for my husband to join us here.

  Carlton was doing well at Blue Meadow when I last saw him at the Battle of Rich Mountain. Yes, I was there, tending the wounded. I’m sure he has written to you about it. McClellan set up camp at the farm for Union forces. In fact, Carlton and Charles both came to know the General rather well. He was happy to be able to temporarily prepare for the battle from inside the farmhouse. He enjoyed sitting outside on the front porch having tea and coffee with his commanders a few times. He slept in the very same bedroom Uncle Edward and Aunt Ruby use when they are in residence, the right front one. To think a Union General slept at Blue Meadow in the farmhouse is remarkable!

  In any case, McClellan hired my husband to take two brigades and lead them up the mountain on an obscure path, but we woke to heavy rain that day. It took much longer than expected. Most of the men
were new recruits with little military experience.

  Confederate forces under Pegram were in a well-fortified position in another location around the mountain at the base. Union Brigadier General Rosecrans, under McClellan’s direction, went with my husband to take control of the top of the mountain, much to my dismay. I feared that Pegram might send forces to the top to catch them off guard, which he did. McClellan had hopes of cutting off the enemy from the bottom so they could not rejoin their main camp.

  Rosecrans managed to start the battle with a booming cannon, but he didn’t fire until around two-thirty in the afternoon, and perhaps it was in response to being fired upon at the top. We all heard it echo across the top of the mountains like deep, loud thunder. McClellan had expected him to reach the top of the mountain with my husband leading the two brigades there, and then to fire at the enemy below by ten o’clock in the morning.

  This was another problem. Rosecrans was firing on someone when the cannons went off, but McClellan didn’t know he was firing on the enemy at the top of the mountain.

  Later, I was deeply disturbed when a cheer in the rebel lines went up. We are sure McClellan was disturbed, too. As I waited at Blue Meadow with Carlton, we wondered if the rebels had defeated Rosecrans? I didn’t think I’d ever see my Captain again. I wish that McClellan had gone after those Confederates sooner, but he seemed preoccupied. Someone told us he was concerned that he did not have enough of an advantage over the rebels. He overestimated their forces to be around three-thousand and five-hundred men. In fact, we had seven-thousand men to their one-thousand and three-hundred men, we eventually learned. Some of this, I read in the newspapers, and some from a letter from Carlton after I arrived home in Minnesota, and some I pieced together while I was at the camp on Blue Meadow near the battle.