Spring, 1863
“Lanie Caldwell did it, Mr. Johnson! I saw her!”
I looked up quickly from the dusty floor I was sweeping at the sound of my name. Two faces met my gaze—the stern face of Mr. Johnson, the owner of the mill in which I worked, and the sneering one of Sandy Garrett, a fellow laborer who hated me from my first day alongside her.
Confusion crept into my heart; what had I done wrong?
Mr. Johnson stepped closer and stood over me, his long nose nearly touching my forehead.
“Is this true, girl?”
“S-sir, I don’t understand—“
“Speak up, stutterin’ fool! Did ya, or did ya not break into my office and swipe my pocket watch?”
I looked from Mr. Johnson to Sandy and back to Mr. Johnson, clueless.
“N-no, sir! I’ve been sweepin’ since I got here, and even if I hadn’t, I would never take your Pop’s watch!”
Sandy spoke up. “Ha! You’ve been eyein’ that thing with the lust’a David since the day you first got here. Hadn’t she, Clyde?”
Sandy’s younger brother looked our way as he scrubbed a grimy window, nodding fiercely. “Uh-huh, uh-huh!”
“Is that right, Miss Cawld-well?” Mr. Johnson drew out my name with his thick mountain drawl.
“Well, yes sir, but only because it reminded me of my grandpa—“
“See!” Sandy interjected. “See, I told ya, Mr. Johnson. Who else could it’a been?”
A flicker of motion appeared in the corner of my eye. I glanced behind Sandy and my boss to see little Kayla Shelley peeking out from the darkness behind the big grain-grinders. Fear and guilt emanated from her eyes, and her small lip trembled as she watched me. A glimmer of gold flashed off of something hanging from her pocket.
I looked back at Mr. Johnson, jaw set. “I’m very s-sorry, Mr. Johnson; I’ll go get your watch and bring it back to you right now.”
“So you did lie to me! That’s it! Get that watch and then high-tail it outta here! And you better not show yer face in my mill again! I give you two minutes to get me my watch.”
I lowered my head in submission and headed for the back room, into which Kayla had retreated by now.
Shutting the door behind me, I approached the little girl cowering in the corner.
“Kayla,” I said gently, “I’m not going to turn you in, but I have to take the w-watch back.”
She frantically shook her head. “My mama needs the money!”
I realized her desperation and was saddened by the tears now streaming down Kayla’s face. “What’s she need the money for?”
“We ain’t got nothing to eat since Pa died; I ain’t got no brothers to run the farm, so alls the crops has died and the only means’a money we got's Mama’s quilts. And they’re only worth ten cents. Please, Lanie!”
I knelt beside her and gathered her up in my arms. “Tell you what—my mama and I will s-start makin’ some extra baked goods, and I’ll take ‘em up to Smith County and sell ‘em to get some money for y-your family. How does that sound?”
Kayla’s voice was small. “But you work here, Lanie—you won’t have time to go to Smith County every day.”
“I will, sweetheart; you’uns gonna be just fine, all righty?”
The little one nodded and looked up at me with three teeth missing. “Okay!”
“Now h-hand the watch here.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the elegant timekeeper. I could hear its quiet ticking as I took it from her hand.
“You stay here for a little while until I g-give this to Mr. Johnson and leave, so he won’t s‘spect ya.”
“Yer leavin’?”
“Yep, I gotta. But I’ll be seeing you soon, and, by the grace of God, with some money for your family.”
I held the end of the watch’s chain in one hand and the watch itself in the other, careful with Mr. Johnson’s delicate heirloom. Sandy snickered as she watched me emerge from the back room, and, seeing her, Clyde chimed in.
I approached Mr. Johnson, never taking my eyes from his. Extending the watch toward him, I waited for him to take it.
He watched me intently, then glanced down at the watch. When he took it, he nodded once, then gestured toward the door, bidding me leave. I obeyed him and left the mill, never looking back.
I exhaled the stress of the day as I stepped beyond the tree line into the thick woods, the shortcut I always took toward home. The smells of the Tennessee fir trees and wildflowers intoxicated me, especially after a tiring day working in the mill. Any odors in that place were not pleasant ones, only the scents of sweat and stale grain. Now, in the open air, I felt I could breathe again.
Step by step, I stole deeper into the forest, heading toward my house. I had taken this otherwise untraveled path home every day, but in gazing down at my feet and mulling over the events of the day, I somehow strayed away from it. As I passed tree after familiar tree without making any headway toward home, a slow fear began to pass through my stomach and tease my heart. I prayed with each step, asking God as calmly as I could, with as much trust as I could, for guidance out of this ever-darkening wood.
I had walked for miles, in circles it seemed, when a structure caught my eye. An old log cabin, appearing abandoned, stood in the distance, barely visible behind brush and thick branches. With caution I stepped toward it, alert for bears, boars, and other Tennessee terrors. The only sounds that accompanied me were those of the strong mountain wind and the mockingbirds flitting through the trees.
Coming closer to the structure, I observed it in greater detail. It was about the size of a large shed, and gray with age. Covering the wooden siding near the ground was a thin layer of green mold, indicating the old building had seen its share of sitting water. Broken windows, a fragile wooden door, a thinning roof--surely no one had lived here in decades.
I carefully peeked in through the front window, barely able to see anything because of the gathering darkness. A faint sense of despair arose in my heart; no one at the mill would come looking for me--they had no reason to anymore. Perhaps Mother would send my brother Chance to come after me in the morning, when she needed me for chores. The only fate I saw ahead of me was a night in this old, drafty cabin.
I felt so alone.
But then I raised my eyes--the good Lord did bless me with shelter, more than I could have asked for, especially in a situation resulting from my own stupidity. I breathed a thanks to God before pulling the cabin door open...and off.
The next morning, I began to come out of sleep feeling light seeping through my eyelids. I opened them to see a broken-glass window, and beyond it a sunlit pine tree. Strange--there were no pine trees outside my bedroom window...and who had broken the glass? Suddenly, everything hit me--the realization of where I was, the memories of the previous night, the uncertainties of being lost and unaccompanied. I lay there curled up in the corner of the cabin, on top of a fraying, age-old blanket that was my only separation from the cold ground, and I did not rise or look away until a resolve entered my heart that I was not going to despair or panic. I was a daughter of God, and He was my refuge. I remembered the Psalm Preacher Evans once talked about, the one that spoke of the Lord as a tower that His people could run into for safety. With that thought, I pushed myself up to standing and found myself staring into the eyes of a man, watching me from across the one-room cabin.
My eyes widened, and I began to scream. Dashing for the open doorway, I burst through it and ran full-fledged into the morning air. From behind me, I heard a faint call.
"Wait!"
But no amount of pleading could keep me near that cabin. I shrieked into the wind as I ran.
At that moment I felt a hand grab hold of my arm. I was spun around to face the same man I thought I'd just escaped. Screaming again, I struggled in vain to flee. The man took my shoulders and forced me to face him, all the while shushing me softly. Gradually, I ceased struggling, but was by no means calm.
However, looking into his gray eyes that were now exposed to the light, I discovered that they were kinder than they had originally seemed, and his expression of concern was undeniable. He could have been no more than twenty-five. The tattered jacket hanging on him was a deep blue, adorned with golden buttons. He spoke apologetically.
"Dear girl, I'm sorry if I frightened you. I know I'm probably an appalling sight, but I couldn't help wondering what a little one like you would be doing so deep in the woods with no one to protect her.” The man’s accent was thick with English sophistication.
“I—I got lost,” I stammered, at a loss for anything other to say.
“So you did.” He released my arms. “I apologize for the condition of my cabin. I only moved in two weeks ago.”
My brows furrowed. “Moved in?” I asked.
He sighed knowingly. “Yes, it’s not quite a home yet, but I’ll fix it up spit-spot. I have already cleared the stray sticks and brush out of the floor and shooed those dreadful raccoons away.” Seeing my bewildered expression, he sighed again, this time with a laugh. “Dear me, I’ve let myself ramble on without properly introducing myself. My name is Daniel Rey—” he paused here—“former lieutenant in the Union army. I suppose you could call me a deserter now, though I had no other choice.”
My heart beat faster at hearing Daniel’s confession. Union? My muscles tensed, and I felt myself stepping away from him involuntarily.
Daniel watched my face for a moment, then nodded in defeat, as if he knew he had said too much. “I understand.” He paused again, then pleaded, “May I at least help you back home? There are terrible animals in these woods, and deserters more sinister than I--but I'm sure you know that. Still, my soul could not bear the thought of having a little one’s blood on my hands because I did nothing.”
As if a veil was taken from my face, I began to recognize a true sincerity in the soldier’s eyes; at that moment, the only thing I could see coming from inside him was utter loneliness. He simply longed for a companion.
But I couldn’t be that for him.
I shook my head in response to his offer. In disappointment, his shoulders sagged a bit. He nodded once. “Good morning then, my dear. Be safe.”
Watching him as he turned to go, I was surprised to feel a pain in my heart. The years of being turned away myself had hardened my heart, but now I realized I felt empathy for one just like me. After a bout of tossing and turning with the idea of treason in my mind, I finally called out, “Hold on!”
Mr. Rey halted and turned his head to look at me with a hesitant expression.
“You can come with me,” I said, barely loud enough for him to hear.
Daniel’s eyes lit up and he quickly retraced his steps. The smile on his face was like that of a valiant older brother; I could tell he felt honored to be someone’s protector.
"I'm Lanie, by the way," I offered.
"Lanie. It has a ring to it."
We walked slowly for a while, Daniel keeping us to the correct path. It turned out that I had completely lost my bearings and had been heading in the exact opposite direction of the mill. Along the way, my guide told me a bit more about himself.
“I’m sure you wonder why I, an Englishman, entered the Union army. My father was a tailor on the island, poor and hopeless for a more promising career because of his lack of education. After he met my mother and married her, he began to dream that one day, he would bring his family to the land where opportunity was ripe and wishes could be granted. He longed for better futures for his wife and coming son, my older brother James.” Daniel hesitated, and then continued. “However, Father spent twenty more years in England, and as David longed to build a temple to the Lord, but died giving the task into the hands of his son Solomon, so my father died on the boat to America, charging James and I to build a fruitful and beautiful life for ourselves and our mother in this great land.”
I hummed sympathetically. The young man continued.
“We arrived two years before the war began. James began his own tailoring business, and I, being unskilled with a needle of any kind, worked odd jobs for the farms neighboring our house in Pennsylvania. Then the government began calling for volunteers for the army, and I felt so indebted to the country that gave my father a hope and my family a future that I could not deny my longing to serve her and see her preserved and whole. Thus, I joined in ’62.”
With the simple curiosity of a young mind untainted with hatred against a fellow man, I spoke for the first time since we had begun our walk.
“But how’d you end up here, in enemy territory?”
Daniel took a deep breath and ran his hands through his caramel-colored hair.
“I—well, I suppose I’d better begin where everything started. When I joined up, I became a member of the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry Regiment, and we had been stationed at Murfreesboro.”
At this I gasped quietly, for I had heard of the bloodshed that had occurred in that fateful garrison. Daniel nodded solemnly, then proceeded.
“There were some within my unit that had a deep hatred for Englishmen; I could not fathom the cause, unless they still hung on to the tension between our two nations in the past.” He spoke of the War for Independence. He slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"Whatever the reason, these men falsely charged me with giving invaluable information about our position to Colonel Forrest of the Confederates. Commander Crittenden knew my integrity and did not believe the rumors...until the garrison fell."
At this statement, Daniel's eyes became hollow, as a man's does when he recalls such a horrific memory. As I looked into those eyes, I could nearly hear the shots ringing and the men screaming and growling with passion as they fought, or agony as they died. With the gaze of a lost boy in a man's body, he met my own gaze and spoke.
"Eight hundred and ninety of our men died that day. Eight hundred and ninety! And along with them, most of the army's supplies and railroads were laid waste. Commander Crittenden came out of the battle uninjured but furious, and demanded my arrest; someone had to have informed the Confederates of our station, or we would not have been attacked so suddenly, and rumors had already been spread that I was an informant. When I heard of it, I escaped into the woods for fear of being hanged for treason--and here I am.
The poor man's eyes darkened even more. I touched his arm to stop us from walking, and inquired, "There's more to the story, ain't there?"
He covered his face with his strong hands and rubbed up and down, as if trying to wipe away the horror he felt.
"Before fleeing, I learned that a friend of mine, a boy only eighteen years old, had done the deed. But I also knew the chap well; he was a patriot of this country, and had told me many times that he would die for her. He also had an ardent hatred of slavery, as I do, and passed tracts against it around our camps. Willie Chancellor was his name; fine young man, but naive to the ways of the world. A couple of the Confederates had deceived him and given him too much to drink. Willie had given up every detail, but nearly cried out in agony the next morning over what he realized he had done. He had just confessed to me his grave mistake when enemy fire was reported in Woodbury Pike."
Daniel looked off into the woods and said with a vacant stare, "They are going to find out, one day. He'll be hanged if I don't do something, but my fear for my own life feels greater than my fear for his. I don't know what to do." With these last words, tears began to slide down his dusty cheeks. He had been strong for so long, facing man and beast with valor, and yet now in the presence of a thirteen-year-old girl, his guards seemed to fall all at once.
I stood near, my heart broken for him but unsure of a way to comfort a man through a situation so weighty. Tentatively, I placed my hand on his trembling shoulder. Then, the Lord gave me an idea to take his mind off of his troubles.
I sat down cross-legged next to Daniel until his tears slowed. Once I felt he had ears to hear, I asked, "May I tell you a story?"
The soldier wiped his face with the piece of jacket on his shoulder and stood, offering me his hand. "That would be fine; I hope your stories bring more joy than my own. Let us walk toward your home meanwhile."
I nodded, and as we resumed our journey, I told him the events that had happened the day before, surrounding the mill and Mr. Johnson. Daniel laughed as I imitated Sandy's smug expressions and Mr. Johnson's stern sneer. He grew solemn when I told him of Kayla's confession. When I came to the part of Mr. Johnson firing me, I saw Daniel's jaw set firmly, as if he was making resolutions in his mind. By now we had come back to the tree-line, and the old, gray mill stood on a hill before us. Before I could thank Daniel, he looked at me intensely. "Where are the bobbies in this town?"
I was bewildered. "Um..."
"The police, dear, where are the local police?"
Staring at him suspiciously, I stammered, "About five miles down the road in front of the mill heading east...why?"
Evading my question, he asked one of his own. "Are you able to make it home from here?"
I nodded. He then cradled my face in both of his hands and said gently, "I will always be indebted to you, dear Lanie; keep telling your stories." And with that, he turned and headed east. And I made no attempt at stopping him, for I knew where he was going. I turned toward the west, toward home.
Suddenly my brother Chance burst over the hill, panting and sweating. Obviously relieved when he saw me, he closed the gap between us and came alongside me, saying nothing, characteristic of the quiet boy he was. He looked over his shoulder after Danniel, now only a speck in the distance, and asked, "Who was that?"
I smiled and answered, "A very brave man."
Chance knocked on my bedroom door one morning two weeks later, letting me know that Mr. Johnson was downstairs in the parlor. Fear gripped my throat as it had in the dark woods, but this time I repeated over and over, "Fear not, for I am with you, says the Lord."
I mumbled this under my breath all the way down the stairs and greeted Mr. Johnson with a humble, yet confident, heart.
"Good mornin', Mr. Johnson," I beamed.
He eyed me suspicoulsy before acknowledging me. "Lanie." He was quiet for a moment, and I cocked my head to the side, curious. "Can I help you?"
Clearing his throat, Mr. Johnson mumbled, "I knows it wa-n you."
"Sir?"
"I said I knows it wa-n you, okay? There. You can have your job back."
Elation came over me, and then a half-second later, dread.
"How did you find out?"
"Kayla 'fessed up to me; told me whatcha did. Why'd ya tell me it was you?"
I hesitated, then responded, "I never said that I did it, Mr. Johnson, only that I'd return the watch to ya. I didn't wanna see Kayla get in trouble for something she didn't mean no harm by."
Mr. Johnson just shook his head, sniffed with wonder, and walked past me toward our front door.
"Be there at seven o'clock in the mornin', sharp, you hear?"
Smiling, I nodded to the sound of the slamming door. But I couldn't even get a "Thank You, Lord" said before Mama strolled in, letting an envelope flop on the table.
"Fer you. Hope yer not in trouble or nothing; you know yer Pa'd have to get out the hickory switch." Mama snorted, then sobered again. "Now don't take too long readin'; I need ya in the kitchen."
"Yes, Mama," I replied absentmindedly, eyes on the dirt-stained letter. I hurriedly picked it up and turned it over to find its return address was from the U.S. Government. I gasped; what would the government want with me? Perhaps they needed me to collect scrap metal and things for the war effort. The envelope was slit open before I could think, and two folded papers fell out. I picked up one, and held it up to the light from the window to read it.
April 16th, 1863
Ms. Caldwell,
We regret to inform you that Lieutenant Daniel Rey was fatally wounded on the battlefield two days ago. He asked that you, along with his family, be informed, and enclosed is a letter written from him to you the day he died. We honor Lieutenant Rey's memory; he was a valiant man who died saving another's life. We are sorry for your loss.
I gasped again and let the letter drop to the floor, hand covering my mouth. Slowly I bent to pick up the other letter, unfolding it carefully, with trembling hands.
My dearest Lanie,
You will never know how much your friendship means to me. Those few hours in the woods were God's answer to my prayers. I wanted to let you know that I turned myself in to your police, who handed me over to Commander Crittenden for trial. I arrived at the Union camp, fully intending upon giving myself in Willie's place. I was escorted into the general's tent. There I saw Willie, brightest smile I have ever seen, and Commander Crittenden reaching out to shake my hand. He told me of the deception of the arrest of two young Union privates who had betrayed the army for money from the Confederacy. They were the ones who had gotten Willie drunk. Both Willie and I were required to spend a week with fewer rations because of my desertion and his violation of our regiment's prohibition of alcohol. But now, we are once again on the battlefield, where we belong, as you do at home. You and I are both in a war, fighting on different battlefields, pushing back evil with good. My dear, I will never forget you; as I said before, keep telling your stories. Trust God to lead you, and he will, when you do the right thing and love your fellow man. Remember, the name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run in and are safe.
All my love,
Daniel