Shannon Farrington - Handpicked Family

He thought then of the freedman who had approached him earlier. Am I only fooling him as well? Can I really hope to find anyone?

Peter urged the mare to hurry along, although she continued to step gingerly. Where the ground wasn’t rocky it was spongy from yesterday’s rain. It seemed a metaphor for his state of mind. Hard facts and muddy uncertainty. Such is life.

After two hours navigating roots and ruts, he saw the town of Larkinsville ahead. This tiny hamlet had fared better than the others in the surrounding area. The buildings were still standing. The telegraph office was operational. Any damage the town had suffered during the war was being quickly repaired. The smell of fresh lumber was everywhere.

I suppose the presence of a Federal garrison has something to do with that , Peter thought.

He went straight to the telegraph office to dispatch his article to Baltimore. Then he wired David Wainwright personally concerning the lost supplies. “Don’t wire yet with delivery plans,” Peter telegraphed. “More information to follow.” He knew the charitable citizens of Baltimore would act quickly to fill the present need, but it would take them several days at least to collect another shipment of supplies. In the meantime, Peter hoped to discover what had gone wrong with the first.

Having finished with the telegraph office, Peter then rode to the garrison. A scar-faced sentry forced him to dismount at the gate. After securing the mare, another Bluecoat directed him to the officer in charge, Lieutenant Glassman. The lieutenant was a fresh-faced lad who more than likely had ridden out the war in the comfort of a senior officer’s shadow, perhaps a father or uncle. He probably sheltered in a command post while other men of his age were dying in ditches.

Still, Peter did his best to cultivate a respectful relationship with the young lieutenant. Not everyone had been able to do his proper duty. He knew that better than anyone. And Glassman is, after all, the local man in charge. Animosity won’t serve me or Reverend Webb’s community well.

“Ah, Carpenter,” Glassman said as he laid aside the cigar he’d been puffing and leaned back in his desk chair. “I see you are back. Trouble?”

It was only then that Peter noticed the well-dressed man in the corner of the room. The stranger was wearing a silk vest and a brushed cutaway coat. His cravat was adorned with a jeweled pin. Peter sized up the man at once. The clothes and that superior lift of the chin told him he was either a politician or a carpetbagger. No doubt I’ll determine which in a matter of minutes.

“I hope not,” Peter said, in reference to Glassman’s remark concerning trouble.

The officer smiled, then cordially gestured toward the guest in the corner. “This is Mr. Johnson.”

Peter offered him a nod. Glassman then asked, “So what brings you to see me?”

“Questions,” Peter said.

Glassman chuckled softly. “I’d expect nothing less from a newspaperman.” He then gave Johnson a toothy grin. “Mr. Carpenter runs a nice little press up in Baltimore.”

The word “little” irked Peter, as did the shared laugh between Johnson and the lieutenant. His business here was no laughing matter, and as for his paper, he had churned out more news than many of the big Eastern papers combined. At least, real news...not war propaganda or plays on public fears.

“My question...” he said slowly, doing his best to constrain his irritation as he drew the men’s attention back to real discussion.

“Yes, yes,” Glassman said.

“I’ve come to find out what happened to the escorts that were supposed to meet the food shipment in Mount Jackson.”

Glassman blinked. “Escorts?”

“Yes. I arranged for them here in this office just last week. They did not arrive at the station, and as a result my party had to travel unaccompanied.” He then added for emphasis, “There were ladies in the party.”

“Egad!” Glassman exclaimed, looking positively chagrined. “Did they arrive safely?”

At least his concern for the ladies does him credit , Peter thought. “They did, but not without several tense moments along the road.” He explained what had happened, but he did not give any of the men’s names. The lieutenant might decide to arrest the men for unlawful assembly or worse, trying to incite a riot. Peter did not want that. Zimmer and the men of the valley had suffered enough already. What Peter did want was to know what had happened to the escorts and, more importantly, the missing supplies.

“Rebel thieves,” Johnson said sneeringly when Peter told Glassman about the lost crates.

The lieutenant held his judgment in reserve for now. “I am sorry to hear of your loss,” he said. “If you’ll see the sergeant out front, he will help you file the proper paperwork for registering complaints.”

Peter would do that, of course, if for nothing more than for the sake of proving to Glassman that he operated within the law, but he placed no faith in the army finding the missing supplies. He was certain they had already been eaten or sold. “Thank you, lieutenant, but at this point the escorts are more my priority. If,” he said, choosing purposefully to be vague, “I wire for another shipment of supplies, I must be assured of your men’s protection.”

“Of course. Of course,” Glassman said. He shuffled the stack of papers in front of him. “Date of delivery?”

“For the first shipment?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Glassman said, eyebrows raised. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what, exactly?”

“The detail detachment was transferred to guard Mr. Johnson’s shipment of lumber and dry goods.” The lieutenant then added, “It was, of course, larger than yours.”

Peter could feel his anger brewing. “And that made mine less important?”

“No, not at all,” Glassman insisted, “but we are limited in numbers. We must prioritize. Mr. Johnson has important government contracts—ones which will grow the economy.”

And I am trying to feed homeless war veterans and their families. Confederate veterans. Is that the issue here? “And are his supplies for sale?” Peter asked. Although he already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid not. They have been promised to others. But if you need more supplies, you might try the stores here in Larkinsville in a day or two.”

So I may pay even higher prices for less , Peter thought, his anger rising. He cast Johnson a furtive glance, knowing he had read him right. The carpetbagger aimed to be rich, if he isn’t already .

“I do apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you,” Johnson said.

“It isn’t my inconvenience,” Peter said, “but it is a great inconvenience to the people of Forest Glade.” He turned his eyes back to the young officer. “They are under your authority, lieutenant, and they are hungry.”

“As is most of our defeated foe,” Glassman conceded. “However, it is government policy, in the spirit of late President Lincoln’s wishes, that the rebels be welcomed back into the fold. As you say, they are my responsibility. Let me know when your next shipment is due to arrive. I’ll make certain the escorts are in place.”

For now, it was all Peter could do. He’d made his point, but he wasn’t certain how helpful it would be. Glassman could promise all the assistance he wanted but he saw where the man’s heart lay—with his pocketbook. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if Johnson and the lieutenant already had some sort of deal going, but what exactly and why? Was Johnson simply paying for assured protection of his own supplies or was he actively trying to sabotage any form of competition so he may hold the monopoly and charge higher prices?