The Amethyst Heart Read online

  Pearl reached out a hand toward him. “Of course. Come in. This is Silas Noble, the doctor; I’m his wife, Pearl.”

  “Mighty glad to meet—” the soldier began, but his eyes glazed, and as he collapsed, Silas caught him.

  “Let’s get him inside.”

  Pearl ran ahead and dumped the breakfast dishes in the sink. Silas dragged the man in and laid him on the long oak dining table.

  “How bad is he?” Pearl asked.

  Silas unwrapped the rags that bound the man’s right leg and winced. “Pretty bad. Direct hit to the kneecap. It’s already gone into gangrene.” He looked up at her and shook his head. “The leg will have to be amputated.”

  A booming voice sounded behind him. “You the doctor?”

  Silas looked over his shoulder to see a strapping, broad-shouldered man in a blue uniform much cleaner than Trevor Howard’s. “I am. And you are—?”

  “Captain Thaddeus Malone.”

  “Is this one of your men?”

  The officer nodded. “We’re passing through on our way to Memphis. Howard got shot by some Rebs hiding out in the woods. You going to help him?”

  “His leg will have to come off,” Silas answered bluntly. “You might as well move on; he won’t be any use to you from now on.”

  “He’s one of my men,” the captain countered. His eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who doctors the slaves, aren’t you?”

  Silas nodded. “I doctor anyone who needs my help. Black, white, slave, free.”

  “Union or Confederate?”

  “Anyone,” Silas repeated, “who requires my services.”

  An expression of relief broke over the officer’s face. “Good. I’ve got a bunch of men who need treatment.”

  “More wounded?”

  Malone shook his head. “Dysentery, mostly. Typhoid. Malaria. Don’t know what all. But one thing’s for sure—we’re not moving on until we get some of these men on their feet. They can’t march, can’t fight. Some of them can barely stand up.”

  Silas looked at Pearl, and she nodded. “Where are they now?”

  “We’ve taken over the plantation house. The owner has apparently gone off to fight. The wife and some of the house slaves vacated when they saw us coming, and that coward of an overseer took a horse and hightailed it out of here like the devil was on his heels. The house is empty.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fortunately for us, the smokehouse is full.”

  Silas winced inwardly. He had heard how the Union soldiers moved through the South like locusts, raiding plantations and stealing food, then burning anything that was left. It was the reality of war, he supposed, but it didn’t seem very humane. Even the slaves they claimed to be freeing were left without food and shelter. “I’ll help you, but you have to promise you won’t take it all. We still have people to feed.”

  “Not for long,” the captain said. “Emancipation’s on its way—it’ll be official, come January. The slaves will be free, and this plantation will be a ghost town.”

  Silas turned on him. “Oh, really? And where do you expect the slaves to go, once they’re freed? I believe in emancipation—I’ve been waiting and praying for it for years. But it’s a lot more complicated than just saying, ’All right, you’re free now, go on.’ Most of the black folks here were born on this land—it’s the only home they’ve ever known. They’re not educated, don’t have skills beyond plowing and planting and hoeing. The Slave Codes have seen to that.”

  Pearl shot him a glance, and he realized he was ranting. “Sorry. I know it’s not your fault,” he added. “You’re just doing your job, and you don’t have any control over what happens after the war is over. But you’ve got to guarantee that you’ll leave us some provisions at least.”

  “You have my word that we’ll take what we need and leave the rest.”

  “Fair enough.” Silas turned to Pearl. “Did you know Robert Warren had signed up?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I wish I had. We might have been some help to Olivia.”

  “Maybe. If she had allowed us to help. But that’s water over the dam now.” Silas turned back to Malone. “Captain, can you assist me here?”

  Malone nodded.

  “Leave my surgical tools, bandages, and a couple of packets of mor­phine,” Silas instructed Pearl. “And take my bag up to the big house. There’s quinine, and some laudanum, cinchona for the malaria, and more morphine. Do what you can. I’ll be up as soon as I finish here, and—”

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” Malone interrupted.

  “She’s had medical training, and she’s as capable as most doctors,” Silas snapped. “Do you want our help or not?”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” The captain tugged on his hat and lowered his eyes. “Didn’t mean to offend.”

  “It’s all right.” Pearl laid out Silas’s instruments, took the bag, and headed for the door. “I’ll send Booker back for you as soon as I can.”

  Fortunately for him, Trevor Howard did not regain consciousness during the surgery. Captain Malone held the young soldier down as Silas removed the gangrene-infected leg just above the knee. When the procedure was over and the stub bandaged, Malone lifted his eyes to Silas with a look of admiration.

  “I’ve seen plenty of amputations in the field,” he said in a low voice. “Most times, the doctor simply lops off the limb and tosses it into a hole in the ground. It’s horrible. You did this so. . .well, so neat. Looks like that stump will heal over just fine.”

  “He’ll live,” Silas responded. “Help me get him upstairs and into bed. I’ve given him enough morphine to make him sleep until tomorrow. Then we’ll go up to the big house and see how Pearl is doing with the others.”

  In early November, Captain Malone and his men left Rivermont Plantation. Most of the soldiers, now healed from various diseases, were able to march out on their own two feet. Trevor Howard rode out in the bed of a wagon, waving to Silas and Pearl and thanking them for saving him.

  “He’s so young,” Pearl sighed as they drove off. “A pity he had to lose his leg.”

  “If he hadn’t lost his leg, he would have lost his life,” Silas answered.

  Pearl linked her arm through his. “I guess we finally know why you stayed here.”

  “I guess we do.” Silas smiled down at her. “Do we get a little rest now?”

  “Maybe for five minutes or so.” Pearl pointed. A middle-aged Negro was coming down the road toward the oak grove, supporting a filthy, bedraggled white man in a gray uniform.

  “Massah Doctor!” he yelled. “We needs help!”

  Silas hesitated and looked into his wife’s eyes. Long ago he had made his decision, coming down on the side of the enslaved. He believed in emancipation, in freedom for all men and women, no matter what their race or social status. But he also believed in his oath as a physician. Suddenly the two principles conflicted. Could he treat this Confederate soldier, knowing that by doing so he was helping to prolong the abomination of slavery?

  “Go inside and lock the door,” he said to Pearl.

  She didn’t move. “No.”

  “Do it! I’m not going to help this man. It goes against everything I stand for.”

  Pearl took his hand, and he could feel her fingers caressing his. “If thine enemy hungers, feed him,” she whispered. “If he thirsts, give him drink. . . .”

  Silas sighed. “It’s too much to ask.”

  “It’s not only your job,” she responded, “it’s your calling.”

  Reluctantly, Silas motioned for the black man and his charge to approach. “Body slaves,” he muttered. “A rich Southerner goes to war and takes his servant with him.” He let out a snort of disgust. “But I don’t suppose you can expect the Massah to polish his own boots.”

  The black man came closer, practically dragging the white officer. Silas shielded his eyes from the sun and peered at him. “Cato?” he asked. “It can’t be.”

  The slave stopped in front of him. “Yessuh, Massah Doctor.” He nearl
y collapsed under the weight of the gray-clad soldier. The Confederate’s midsection was covered with blood, and Silas’s eyes focused on the gaping belly wound. “Please, suh. Help us.”

  Silas put an arm around the wounded man and held him up. “Let’s get him into the house.”

  With Pearl’s help, they lifted the man and carried him inside. He wasn’t a large fellow—thin, and rather wiry, but in his present condition he was dead weight and not easily handled.

  “Let’s put him on the table where I can take a look at him. Pearl, get my bag, will you?”

  Carefully Silas ripped open the officer’s uniform and saw what he dreaded: a Minié ball shot, directly into the man’s gut. His intestines were torn to shreds.

  “Dear Lord,” Pearl murmured. “What happened?”

  “A Minié ball,” Silas explained. “It has a hollow base, and explodes on impact. Causes much more damage than a conventional lead bullet. Captain Malone told me about them.”

  “Can you help him, Massah Doctor?”

  “I’m going to try, Cato. But what were you doing out there?”

  “I went with him, suh. Where he go, I go.”

  A sick feeling rose up in Silas’s stomach, and he ripped the officer’s hat off and peered into his grime-covered face. “Lord, help us,” he muttered. “It’s Robert Warren.”

  Warren’s eyes fluttered open, and he squinted, trying to focus. “Noble?” he slurred. “Silas Noble?”

  “It’s me, Colonel Warren. You’re in my house. Cato brought you here so I could help you.”

  Warren’s head lurched back and forth drunkenly. “No. Not you. Get another . . . doctor. I won’t have you . . . touch me.”

  “Massah Robert, please!” Cato begged. “If Massah Doctor don’t help you, you’s gonna die!”

  “Then let me . . . die.” His eyes rolled back and his head slumped to one side.

  “He dead?” Cato asked frantically. “Massah, no!”

  “He’s not dead; he’s passed out.” Silas motioned to Pearl. “Hand me the small forceps. I’m going to try to get the remains of this ball out of him.”

  Pearl handed over the forceps and looked at him intensely. “He said he didn’t want your help,” she whispered.

  “I can’t let him die,” Silas shot back. “I won’t.”

  He removed the fragments of lead ball piece by piece, trying to stem the bleeding. “Cato,” he ordered over his shoulder, “go find Booker. Tell him what’s happened, and send him to the surrounding plantations to look for the missus.”

  “Ain’t she at the big house?”

  Silas shook his head impatiently. “The big house was taken over by Union soldiers a month ago. Mrs. Warren and some of the slaves left, and I expect they’re hiding out with relatives. Now go! Bring her back here as fast as you can.”

  “Yessuh!” Cato sprinted out the door and slammed it behind him.

  “He’s not going to make it, is he?” Pearl asked.

  “I doubt it. Still, I have to try. I just hope Olivia gets here in time.”

  “Robert?” Olivia Warren gripped her husband’s fingers, and her tears fell onto his hand. “Robert, it’s me, Olivia.”

  Pearl watched as the man’s eyes opened slightly. His gaze cleared for a moment, and he focused on his wife. “Olivia?” he moaned.

  “I’m here, darling. Don’t try to talk.”

  “What happened?”

  “Doctor Noble took the bullet out of you. You’re going to be just fine.”

  Pearl turned her eyes away. Robert Warren wasn’t going to be fine, and Olivia knew it.

  “Noble? Noble worked on me? I told him—”

  “Fortunately,” Olivia interrupted, “he hasn’t learned, even in all this time, to obey your orders.”

  Warren managed a weak smile. “I guess I should thank him.”

  “You certainly should.” Olivia squeezed his hand.

  Warren’s eyes wandered around the room until they locked on Silas. “Thank you,” he said, “for keeping me alive long enough to say good­bye.”

  “Robert, don’t talk that way!” Olivia cried. “You’re not going to die.”

  “Yes, I am,” he sighed. “And we all know it.”

  Olivia began to weep, and with great effort Warren lifted his free hand to stroke her hair. “Noble told me the house was taken over by Yanks,” he gasped. “You’re all right?”

  “I’ve been staying with Sophie. Her husband’s gone off to fight, too.”

  “Stay there,” he whispered. “Don’t come back.”

  “Of course I’m going to come back,” she protested. “It’s my house, after all. And once you’re well—”

  “Stay there,” he repeated. “There’ll be nothing here to come back to.”

  He reached out and grabbed Silas’s arm. “Is Cato here?”

  “He’s right outside.”

  “Send him in, please.”

  Pearl caught Silas’s nod and went to the front door. Cato was holding vigil, along with Booker, Celie, and several other slaves, in the rocking chairs on the porch. “The master wants to see you,” she said.

  Cato rose and followed Pearl into the house. Robert Warren motioned him over to the bed. “You took good care of me, boy,” he murmured. “Now, I’ve got one final job for you to do.” Warren crooked his finger at the slave, indicating that he should draw closer, and whispered something into his ear.

  “Massah! You can’t mean it!”

  “I do mean it. It’s my last order. Do it, and then—” he gasped for air. “Once it’s done, you’re free.”

  “Free, Massah?” Cato’s eyes grew wide.

  “In front of all these witnesses, I give you your freedom. Now go, and be quick about it.”

  Cato left the room at a run, and Robert Warren took his wife’s hand again. “Forgive me, dearest. It’s the only way.” He grabbed at his belly and writhed in pain.

  “Robert!”

  “It’s over,” he groaned. “It’s all over. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

  Pearl watched through her tears as Olivia Warren leaned down to kiss her husband for the last time. She had witnessed death, but never until this moment had she thought about how she would respond if Silas died. A tremor ran through her—not fear, for she knew she could manage without him, just as she had managed before she met him. It was, instead, a vicious stab of loss and loneliness. Silas stood here beside her, alive and well, and yet she could feel in her deepest soul what it would be like to say good-bye to him.

  Perhaps he was feeling it, too. At any rate, his arms went around her, and she leaned against his solid warmth.

  “Good-bye, Olivia. I love you. I always have.”

  Through her sobs, Olivia managed, “I love you, too.”

  Warren looked up at Silas and Pearl. “I was wrong,” he said. “I’m—”

  Before he could finish his thought, his breath caught in his throat, and his wiry frame went rigid. The last sound they heard from Robert Warren was the hissing, rattling noise of his final breath leaving his body.

  “Fire! Fire!”

  Silas raced to the window in the upstairs bedroom, where he had been preparing Warren’s body for burial. It was nearly dark, and from this vantage point upstairs, he could see an odd crimson glow beyond the trees in the direction of Rivermont Plantation.

  He took the stairs two at a time, with Pearl and Olivia Warren on his heels, and flung open the front door to see Booker reining the horses to a stop in front of the house.

  “Massah Doctor! The big house is on fire!”

  Silas helped Pearl and Olivia into the buckboard and climbed up beside Booker. “Let’s go!”

  When the wagon careened around a bend in the road and headed up the drive toward Rivermont, Silas could see that the whole place was engulfed in flames. The nauseating odor of kerosene permeated the air.

  A bucket brigade was forming from the well to the front porch. Silas and Booker stepped to the front of the line and began receiving
buckets. But before they could throw the first drop of water onto the conflagration, Cato ran forward and stood in their way. The wavering light from the fire cast an eerie, dancing illumination over his features.

  “No!” he shouted. “We’s gotta let it burn!”

  Silas ran to him and shook him by the shoulders. “What are you talking about? Step aside, man, and let us do something!” Even as he spoke the words, he knew it was hopeless. Already the flames were licking through the roof. With a resounding crash and a shower of sparks three stories high, the second floor fell in.

  Olivia and Pearl ran up beside them. “I’s sorry, Missus,” Cato went on. “But it was Massah’s last order. Burn the place to the ground, he say. He weren’t gonna have no more Yankee soldiers plunderin’ Rivermont.”

  “That’s what he meant when he asked me to forgive him,” Olivia sobbed.

  “Yes’m. He axed me to say he was sorry, but he couldn’t fight no more, and it were the only thing he could do now to stop the Union army.”

  “It’s all right, Cato,” Olivia said quietly. “With Robert gone, there was nothing left for me here, anyway.”

  She turned and began to walk away, then came back and looked into the slave’s eyes. “Master Robert promised you your liberty,” she whispered. “Come see me tomorrow, at Miss Sophie’s place, and I’ll write up your papers. You’re free to go.”

  “Go where?” Cato lifted both hands helplessly. “I got nowhere else to go.”

  “Go, stay,” Olivia responded without emotion. “It makes no difference to me.” With a dazed expression she wandered off into the crowd of slaves gathered around the house.

  Silas motioned to Booker. “Go get her. Take her back to Miss Sophie’s place.”

  “Yessuh.” Booker’s eyes fixed on the destruction of Rivermont. “It’s a crime, ain’t it?”

  Silas let out a heavy sigh. “Most everything that happens in this war is a crime, Booker.”

  Booker wagged his head. “Now ain’t that the gospel truth.”

  15

  Day of Jubilee

  January 3, 1863