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  He took the leads for Nightfall and Sancho Panza that George handed him, smiled at his family, and nudged the mare’s sides with his heels.

  They started down the road, and Tom waited until he was at the end of the street before he turned in the saddle and waved one last time, his eyes blinded by his tears.

  Chapter 24

  The war, which wasn’t supposed to last more than three months, lingered on, and the months dragged past.

  They wrote to Papa every day and shared the letters he sent them. The letters usually made them laugh, but George had seen Mama’s expression afterward, and he had the feeling Papa was keeping the worst of the war from them. And he had the feeling Mama was aware of that.

  “There was a Brooklyn regiment camped nearby last night. They had a drummer boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve—”

  “Mama?” George had turned fourteen in January.

  “No, you’re not volunteering, George.”

  He sighed. He wanted to be with Papa, but he understood. Mama and his sisters needed him.

  “It was shortly after sundown. We’d seen to our horses and the camp and were getting ready to bed down. Suddenly, the strumming of a banjo drifted though the quiet. And then the banjo was joined by the sweetest-sounding harmonica I’ve ever heard. The harmony…Olivia, it was beautiful. They began with ‘Green Grow the Lilacs,’ and I couldn’t help starting to sing. Before long, we were all of us singing.”

  “Papa always liked that song. So do I,” George said. They’d often sung it at night when they’d been traveling east.

  Mama ruffled his hair. “Your papa has a very nice singing voice.” She turned back to the letter. “The next song he played was ‘The Water is Wide,’ and that was when the strangest thing happened. Those Johnny Rebs began to sing along. They played other songs. Some the Rebs would sing along with, some they wouldn’t. The last song they played before ‘Taps’ was ‘Home Sweet Home,’ and I swear those two had the whole camp of grown men weeping. I wanted to meet them the next day, but their regiment had pulled out, so I never got to say thanks.” Mama glanced at the next lines, then smiled. “And the rest is to me.” She folded the letter and put it away. “Now, let’s write to Papa.”

  * * * *

  Mr. Abbott, their landlord, sold the cottage, and the man who bought it not only raised their rent but insisted it be paid quarterly.

  “We could move into the building where Bart and his family live.”

  “In a tenement?” Mama shuddered. “No. We’ll stay here. We’ll manage, you’ll see.” She went to the little box in her bedroom that contained the jewelry she’d brought with her, and handed him a gold bracelet with green stones. “Go to Mr. Feinstein on Broome Street.”

  He stared at her. Broome Street was on the Lower East Side.

  “He’s a pawnbroker.”

  George continued to stare at her, and she sighed.

  “I want him to buy this. It’s worth a good deal, and I know he won’t try to take advantage of you.”

  “How do you know this, Mama?”

  She touched the bracelet and sighed again. “My mother…” Her eyes welled with tears, and George could feel her sorrow almost like a living thing trying to reach into her chest and coil around her heart.

  “All right.” He looked at the bracelet. Hopefully, it would help carry them until this damned war ended.

  “Please don’t tell Papa in your letters,” she instructed.

  He touched her shoulder. “I won’t.”

  * * * *

  George finished his schooling at the academy after he’d turned fourteen in 1862, and they couldn’t afford for him to go on with further studies. Frank was continuing his education, but George didn’t begrudge his friend the knowledge he craved.

  “I’m so sorry, George,” Mama said, wringing her hands, and he went to her and hugged her. The rent on the cottage had gone up again, and he’d taken another of her pieces of jewelry to Mr. Feinstein.

  “It’s okay.” He’d always been more interested in the horses. “I’ll get a job and help out.”

  He went to Mr. Hudson and got that job. Mr. Hudson knew in spite of his age, George had a way with the horses. At first he groomed them, harnessed them to the cabs they pulled, and mucked out their stalls, but eventually Mr. Hudson had him driving them as well.

  And that was something else he didn’t include in his letters to Papa, although there were times he wanted to tell him about some of his passengers. Instead, he told Bart. And Frank.

  When Noelle became old enough to learn her letters, George helped her and included her little notes with his. Mama included the pictures Charlotte drew, stick figures of their little family.

  And every night they prayed for Papa’s safety, the safety of the soldiers he fought beside, and that God would keep and guide President Lincoln.

  * * * *

  The months grew to years. Chancellorsville in May of 1863. Gettysburg two months later. Spotsylvania Court House in 1864.

  And God alone knew how many skirmishes and battles that had no name.

  Because of Papa’s previous war experience, he’d been given a commission as lieutenant, which turned out to be a good thing: regular soldiers weren’t mentioned by name in the casualty reports. They were merely listed as twenty-four killed, or ten, or thirty-nine. After each battle, they scoured the newspaper for the names of the dead and wounded, praying Papa would be on neither list but willing to accept it if he’d been wounded.

  Papa had made it safely through them all, thank God, although he’d lost Sancho Panza at Gettysburg when the ambulance the aging mule had been drawing had taken a direct hit by a cannonball. And Papa had had to put down Nightfall when the gelding broke a leg at Opequon.

  He’d got a promotion after that. Now he was Captain Thomas Pettigrew. George and Mama were so proud, but mostly they just wanted him home.

  * * * *

  Even though Papa sent most of his pay from the army home to them, it wasn’t enough, especially when sometimes he didn’t get paid for six months or more.

  Mama had refused to let George pawn the ruby brooch Papa had given him to remember his first mama.

  “You may need it in the future, George.”

  So he held onto it and the locket that contained the miniature portraits, but the jewels in Mama’s trinket box grew fewer and fewer.

  Mrs. Hall came to the cottage to cook and clean for only a few hours around midday—they couldn’t afford more. Fortunately, Bart was making enough that she no longer had to work long hours for anyone other than her own family.

  George had learned how to make his own lunch. He didn’t want to spend money they needed on a meal in a saloon—the meal might be free, but the drinks weren’t. And if Mama ever learned he drank, well, as small as she was, she would have tanned his hide.

  So he would meet Bart for lunch at one of the squares that dotted the area.

  This particular day was unusually mild for November, so for a change he didn’t need to drape a blanket over Outlaw to keep him from catching a chill. George found a quiet spot under the bare branches of what would be a spreading chestnut tree come summer. It wasn’t too far from Bart’s job, and there was a park bench where they’d be able to have their lunch. George hitched the gelding’s lead to a post and put on his feedbag.

  “You shouldn’t be doing this, George,” Bart said as he dropped down on the bench beside him.

  “Doing what? Having lunch with you?”

  “Ass.” Bart bumped his shoulder against George’s. “You shouldn’t have to be working.”

  George shrugged. “Neither should you. We do what we have to.”

  “Still, I wish you didn’t have to.”

  “Maybe one day…”

  “One day what?” Bart took a bite of the tongue sandwich his mama had made for him.

  “Maybe one day when this is all over, we could go to that valley in the Dakota Territory?” He held his breath waiting to hear Bart’s response.
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  “I’d…I’d like that. Nate will be old enough to take over my responsibilities in a few years.” Bart sounded wistful. That would make him twenty-two. George knew he’d been working since he was ten, and he’d never had much opportunity to be a child.

  There was an older sister, two sisters between Bart and Nate, and three girls even younger. Because of the age difference, Bart and his brother weren’t particularly close. George thought that was sad, but sometimes people who weren’t blood were closer than people who were.

  He thought of Bart and Frank. They were as much his family as Papa, Mama, and his sisters.

  “George!” Mr. Hudson came riding up on one of the horses he kept for the patrons who preferred to ride instead of being driven.

  George jumped to his feet. “Mr. Hudson. Is something wrong?” He had an hour for lunch, although he rarely took the entire hour. The more passengers he picked up, the more tips he earned.

  “Your mama sent a boy to the stable. She needs you home right away. Take the cab. You can return it to the stable later.”

  “Okay, thank you.” That was odd, but…George shook his head, wrapped up what was left of his lunch, and tucked it into his pocket.

  “Let me know if everything’s all right,” Bart said, looking a little pale.

  George paused to squeeze his shoulder, then took the feedbag off Outlaw’s head, climbed onto the cab, and shook out the reins.

  Mr. Hudson wouldn’t lie to me, George thought as he guided Outlaw through the crowded streets. If something was wrong, he’d have told George.

  Still, he was shaking with nerves when they arrived at the cottage some twenty minutes later.

  From the street, he could hear Charlie—little Charlotte—crying. Oh God, something was wrong.

  He hopped down from the cab and raced to the front door, for the first time not seeing to his horse. He took the steps in a single bound, tore open the door, and skidded to an abrupt stop.

  Noelle clung to Mama’s skirts, and Charlie sat on the floor, sobbing as if her heart would break while she held her arms up and squeezed her little fists open and closed, something she did whenever she wanted Mama or George to pick her up.

  Mama was in the arms of a man in uniform, kissing him. George couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to. He recognized the shape of the man’s head, the broad shoulders bearing a captain’s insignia, the long fingers so like his own that stroked Mama’s hair and cradled her cheeks. George didn’t have to wait for the man to look up before he burst into tears himself. “Papa!”

  Papa held onto Mama with one arm and extended his other out to George. George threw himself into Papa’s embrace. Papa said something and dropped a kiss onto his hair.

  “Papa,” he murmured brokenly into his neck. “You’re home.”

  “I’m home, son.”

  “How long?”

  “I have a ten day furlough.”

  George stepped back, ran the heels of his hands over his cheeks, and gave a watery smile. He stooped to gather up Charlie. “Hush, pequeña. This is our papa.”

  “Papa?”

  He kissed her cheek. “Yes.”

  “Papa!” She held out her arms to him, and Papa took her.

  Noelle tugged on George’s trouser leg. “Papa’s home, Georgie.”

  “He is, Christmas angel.” He’d been using the nickname Papa had given her so she would remember the man who loved them all so much. George swung her up into his arms. “You know what? It’s been a long time since Mama and Papa were together. They have some catching up to do.” George swallowed a smile when he saw the tide of red sweep up over Mama’s face. He’d caught on that when they said that, they’d be going into their bedroom to do that “catching up.” “Would you two like to ride in the cab? I have to bring it back to the stable.”

  “Cab?” Papa asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Uh…”

  “I’ll tell you later, Thomas,” Mama said.

  “Thank you, George.” Papa gripped the back of his neck and gave a light squeeze and a shake.

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned into Papa’s eyes as he propped Noelle on his hip and took Charlie into his other arm.

  “Where’s Mrs. Hall?” Papa asked.

  “She’s at home.” George could feel a blush of his own creeping up to the hair that fell over his forehead. It wasn’t really a lie.

  “That’s just as well. I thought we would all go out to dinner.”

  And dinner wouldn’t be for another four or five hours.

  “All right, Papa. We’ll…take our time. Come along, muchachas.”

  “Thank you, George,” Mama said softly.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. She’d caught Papa’s hand and twined her fingers in his, and for a brief moment George thought about holding Bart’s hand.

  George knew his friend’s palm was rough—there had been times, climbing trees or scrambling into the hay loft when a grip was necessary. He also knew Bart probably wouldn’t object if George took his hand. Bart was his friend, after all, and he had gotten into a fistfight with one of the younger journeymen who’d mocked George as being too pretty—as if a man could be pretty. He’d insinuated something was going on between them, because Bart always had lunch with George. Bart wound up with a black eye and a bloody nose, but he’d knocked the journeyman on his ass.

  The last thing George wanted was to cause trouble for Bart, so he put holding his friend’s callused hand out of his mind.

  Meanwhile, Mama raised her skirts so they wouldn’t drag over the floor and tugged Papa along after her into the bedroom.

  “Mama!” Charlie leaned toward the closed door, almost causing George to lose his hold on her. Her face screwed up, and he knew she was going to start crying again.

  “We’re going for a drive, pequeña,” he said to distract her. “Would you like to sit in the cab with Noelle, or up on the box with me?”

  “Box, box!”

  “Me too, Georgie!”

  George swallowed a grin. “Okay. Into the box with the three of us.”

  * * * *

  That evening, they had dinner at the hotel where they’d stayed the night before Papa and Mama had gotten married six years before.

  “You didn’t need us to be here tonight, Papa.”

  “I haven’t seen my children in a long time.” Three years.

  “What I meant was you and Mama could have had a romantic meal together.”

  “Speaking of that…” Papa fiddled with his wine glass. “Mama and I never had a honeymoon. I thought I’d take her away for a few days.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh…yeah. Would you mind keeping an eye on your sisters?”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  “The thing is, Mr. Hudson has me driving a cab.”

  Papa nodded. “Mama told me about you stepping up and becoming the man of the family. You were always a good boy, but I have to say I’m not happy this war interrupted your education. When it’s over and I come home, I’ll see you’re able to return to school.”

  George gave a faint smile which Papa took for an agreement. The thing was, in spite of having to scramble some months to come up with enough money to pay the rent, he enjoyed working for Mr. Hudson.

  “So tell me,” Papa said. “How are Bella and Salida doing?”

  Before the conversation could settle on the horses, Mama said, “I think we’d better return home. Someone’s getting sleepy.”

  Charlie had behaved well for a little girl who had just turned three, and Noelle was like the Christmas angel they called her, but both girls were getting heavy-eyed.

  Papa settled the bill. He took Noelle while George carried Charlie.

  “The girls can sleep up in the loft with me,” he said. “That will give you and Mama more privacy.” He turned his head so Papa wouldn’t see his grin.

  Papa had turned bright red.

  * * * *

  Before Papa an
d Mama left for their honeymoon the next morning, Papa sent a note to the tenement where the Halls lived and asked Mrs. Hall if she would come by.

  Mama must have told him everything about the way things were going.

  “Mrs. Hall, would you mind watching the girls while Georgie is at work?” Papa asked. “I’ll pay for that in addition to the housekeeping and cooking.”

  “Mr. P.…”

  “It would just be until we come back—in about five days.”

  “Of course. I was going to say the extra pay isn’t necessary. I know how things are going, and Bart is making more now that he’s a journeyman.”

  “But he could use some of his own money to take his best gal out on the town, couldn’t he?”

  George scowled. Bart hadn’t mentioned seeing a girl, and George was afraid to ask in case he said that yes, he was keeping company with one of the girls who lived above their apartment in the tenement on East 21st Street.

  Mrs. Hall sighed. “Bart has said he’ll wait until Nate can help out before he starts courting.”

  Which was a relief, but Bart had said in three years he’d go West with George…

  “I’ll wait by the cab, Papa.” He didn’t want to hear more.

  “Thank you, George. We’ll be right along.”

  George took the valise Papa had set by the front door. He’d be driving them to the Bonheur Hotel on Park Avenue.

  Papa joined him sooner than he expected. “Are you all right, son?”

  “I’m fine, Papa.” He placed the valise in the cab.

  “You seemed upset by the thought of Bart having a lady friend.”

  George shook his head. How could he tell Papa he wanted to be…not Bart’s lady friend, but perhaps his gentleman friend?

  Papa rested a hand on his shoulder. “There’s time enough for you to have someone of your own. This damned war will end, I’ll come home, and I’ll buy Outlaw and start my own hack service, and you can return to your schooling.”

  “What about our valley in the Dakota Territory?”

  “Is that what you’d want to do? Start a ranch?”

  “People have to eat, Papa. Beef cattle will always be necessary.”