House Divided

by Ben Ames Williams

  So while that last week of peace sped away, she watched as eagerly as anyone for word from Charleston. When the newspapers by bulletins and by extras announced that the bombardment had begun, it was Dolly who brought home the news.

  “I was at Aunt Cinda’s,” she explained, her eyes shining. “Burr came home and told us. He was real white and stern, and Vesta cried; but I think it’s awfully exciting!” She twirled in a gay pirouette, arms outstretched, skirts flying. “Oh, Mama, what fun! What fun!”

  “Why, Dolly,” Tilda protested, “that’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “Oh, but Mama, imagine! All the men in lovely uniforms, so beautiful and brave.”

  “But, dear, so many of them will be hurt and killed! You musn’t. talk so! When your own brother and your cousins and Uncle Faunt and Uncle Trav and Papa will all be getting shot!”

  Dolly laughed at her. “Why, Mama, you old hypocrite! Papa and Darrell won’t be soldiers any more than Uncle Tony will! You know that! And as for anything happening to anybody—you know perfectly well you always kind of enjoy it when people have troubles!”

  “Dolly Streean!”

  “Well, you do! So do I! Oh, of course I’ll weep and sympathize just the way you will; but it’s going to be fun, just the same!”

  “Dolly, you hush!” Yet she wished to see Burr and Vesta, to spy out the secret terror in their eyes. “Let’s walk over to Aunt Cinda’s. I want to ask the children to Sunday dinner.”

  They found Vesta alone. “Burr just came home long enough to tell us the news,” she explained. “Then he rushed off again.” She said wistfully: “I wish Mama was here.”

  “There, dear, we’ll take care of you,” Tilda promised.

  “Oh I’m all right,” Vesta assured her. “But I know how wretched Mama will be. She’s been dreading it so. Clayton and Burr and Papa will all be in the army; and maybe even Julian. He’s sixteen. But I hope not. If Mama can just keep him at home—–”

  “Now, now, you don’t need to worry, Vesta. Everyone says the North won’t fight, and if they do we’ll beat them easily. Why, by summer it will all be settled. I’m sure of that.”

  Dolly cried: “And it’s going to be such fun, Vesta, with all the men in uniform, and parties and things all the time. I think it’s terribly exciting!”

  Vesta smiled ruefully. “I guess I don’t want to be excited!’

  “Oh, I do! I love it when everyone’s so biggitty and dressed up and brave! Remember two years ago, when they unveiled Washington’s statue and the cadets came from Lexington and drilled and paraded and everything. Honestly, I was so excited I nearly died! And then when they brought President Monroe’s body home, and there were just thousands of soldiers everywhere. I just love soldiers! It’s going to be wonderful—’specially for young ladies!”

  “Well, I wish I were an old married woman, that’s what I wish!” Vesta’s face for a moment set in firm lines.

  “But, darling!” Dolly protested. “You’d miss all the excitement! You know as well as I do, once you’re married nobody ever looks at you!”

  “I wouldn’t mind a bit—if I were married,” Vesta declared; and Tilda said in an approving tone:

  “You’re quite right, darling! I know I’ll never be happy till Dolly marries and settles down! But she has so many beaux, I doubt if she’ll ever really decide on one.”

  Vesta smiled. “Well, of course they don’t besiege me the way they do Dolly. I’ll probably end up an old maid!” And she added: “I think Burr’s gone right now to ask Barbara Pierce. He’s asked her often enough already; but this time I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she took him.”

  “If she has a grain of sense she will,” Tilda agreed. “Burr’s a wonderful young man.”

  “If she has a grain of sense she’ll stay the way she is,” Dolly insisted.

  Vesta did not argue the point. Tilda said they must go; and when they left, Dolly insisted that they walk as far as the Capitol, and they did so. Dolly as always attracted every young man’s eye, but though they bowed, or exchanged with her and with Tilda a courteous word, they quickly turned back to masculine company again. Dolly, finding herself for once almost ignored, turned pink with indignation, and it was she who suggested going home.

  Long after she was abed, Tilda could still hear as a distant hoarse murmur the voice of the excited city. She woke to the hush of early morning and lay wondering what the day would bring; but she did not venture out till afternoon, when the thunder of cannon fire announced Sumter’s fall. Then Dolly’s eagerness swept aside her reluctance, and they hurried to join the excited throng on Franklin Street and Main and around the Capitol. The deafening cannon, the clanging of the bells, the shouts of joy and the bursts of song infected them all. Tilda shared the general madness, forgetting time and place, feeling herself no longer alone but one with all these others, intoxicated by this unaccustomed sense of oneness with the world in which all her life she had been an outsider. When a pack of small boys swept by, their shrill voices raising huzzas for Beauregard, hoorays for the Confederacy, damnation on old Abe Lincoln, she shouted as loud as any of them; till in the pack and press of the crowd she became confused and half frightened, and—for once overruling Dolly—she insisted that they all go home.

  But the bells still rang in every steeple; and even indoors they could feel the pounding pulse of triumph which beat out the song of victory. Tilda’s head began to ache; she went to bed, leaving Dolly watching from the windows the brightness against the night sky and listening to the steady and persistent peal of bells.

  Still wide awake, Tilda turned and twisted helplessly. To be alone was frightening; she wished Redford were here, or Darrell. But Darrell was at Chimneys with Tony, and Redford had not come home last night or the night before. She had taught herself long ago to ignore his frequent absences.

  She could not sleep, and after wakeful hours she rose and took a candle and went to Dolly’s room. To find the bed empty and Dolly gone was terrifying; but while first panic still beset her she heard the street door open, heard Dolly’s cautious: “Good night, sir, and thank you!” Candle in hand Tilda hurried to the stair head, called down into the darkness below:

  “Dolly Streean, where have you been?” Then as Dolly, ascending, came into candlelight: “Oh, Dolly, how could you?”

  For Dolly wore a discarded suit of Darrell’s, a suit in the fashion that had appeared two or three years before. The double-breasted jacket reached just below her waist, the wide-topped trousers narrowed to the ankles. Her heavy hair was tucked into a Scotch cap; and even in this first moment of horrified disapproval Tilda thought how beautiful she was! The girl tugged off the cap, and her hair cascaded down around her shoulders, rippling richly in the candlelight. She threw it back from her face with a shake of her head and laughed at her mother’s tone.

  “Oh, I couldn’t stay indoors with so much happening, Mama! And I couldn’t go out in hoops, now could I? So I just did the sensible thing!” She brushed past her mother into her own room, and Tilda followed her, crying reproachfully:

  “But, Dolly, if anyone saw you—–”

  “Heavens, thousands of people saw me!”

  “Did they know you, Dolly? The disgrace—–”

  “Now, Mama, don’t worry! No one paid me the slightest attention. I kept the cap pulled down; and the coat was too big for me even across the front, and the trousers are almost as wide as hoops anyway! Oh, it was a lark, Mama! I even marched in the procession, helped carry a banner! But of course I was careful to keep away from the torches! There, darling, don’t be cross! No one knew who I was!”

  Tilda tried to hold a reprobating tone; but—Dolly was so beautiful, and so audacious! She herself would never thus have dared; yet she could wish she dared. Dolly’s recklessness was like an emancipation for her too.

  “Banners? Torches?” she echoed.

  “Oh, it was wonderful, Mama! We marched and marched and sang Dixie Land and The Bonnie Blue Flag and cheered ourselves ho
arse —only I didn’t sing or cheer for fear someone would notice my voice. We stopped in front of the Enquirer office and Captain Wise made a speech for us. I think he’s marvelous! He’s so handsome, and so brave! He said Virginia would never allow that old Lincoln to crush her beloved sister states and that if the Convention didn’t do something quickly the people would take action. He said we’d bring Governor Letcher and the other Unionists to their senses, and we all just cheered and cheered, and then we marched some more.” She laughed softly. “But then the procession began to break up, and some men were passing a bottle around, and they offered it to me, and when I refused, my voice gave me away; so one of them escorted me home—–”

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know, but he was a gentleman, nice as he could be.” And she cried: “Oh, it was such fun, Mama! I’ll bet you wish you’d been there!”

  “Nonsense! It was a perfectly scandalous thing to do! Goodness knows I’ve tried to bring you up properly——”

  “Oh, Mama, you can’t fool me! You’re always meek as a mouse, but that’s just because Papa scares you! You’d like to do all sorts of things, if you only dared!”

  “Don’t be absurd!”

  “I love to be absurd, and bold, and do things I shouldn’t!”

  “Dolly Streean!”

  “Well, I do! Didn’t you, when you were my age? Flirt and carry on and everything? I’ll bet you did! If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be so prim and proper now!”

  “I always behaved as a young lady should, I assure you.”

  Dolly said teasingly: “Really, Mama? Well, then you certainly missed a lot of fun!”

  There was so much truth in this that Tilda, for once exasperated beyond control, slapped the girl sharply on the cheek. “Be still! You’re a perfect little hussy! Go along to bed! I blush for you.”

  Dolly laughed, more amused than hurt. She drew Darrell’s jacket snug around her slim waist. “It’s becoming, isn’t it, Mama? What a pity it was too dark for anyone to see me! Good night!” She sped away up the stairs.

  “Good night!” Tilda’s tone was still angry as she went out and shut the door. But alone in her room again she half smiled, pressed her hands to her cheeks. Oh, Dolly would break many a heart before she was done!

  Vesta and Burr came to Sunday dinner; but soon afterward Burr excused himself, pleading an engagement. “I can guess who,” Dolly told him laughingly; and when his color rose she cried: “There, I told you!” And in pretty wistfulness: “If you weren’t my own cousin I’d never let her have you. I’ve always been desperately in love with you myself, you know!”

  Burr was glad to escape, and Tilda said: “There, Dolly, it’s too bad to tease him.” And to Vesta: “He’s really serious, isn’t he?”

  “Barbara’s said she’ll marry him,” Vesta assented. “He told me this morning.” She added: “That is, she says she will if he’s going to war, and of course he is, if Virginia does.”

  “I’m sure Miss Pierce is very sweet,” Tilda suggested. “But won’t Cinda wish Burr hadn’t committed himself without consulting her?”

  Vesta smiled. “Oh, Mama’d never interfere. Besides, she likes Barbara.”

  “I think Barbara’s an idiot, all the same,” Dolly declared. “I certainly don’t intend to go and get married for a long, long time.”

  Richmond was quiet all that Sunday. Next morning before Tilda was downstairs, Faunt came to seek her. She noticed, before he spoke, his sombre eyes.

  “Why, Faunt,” she cried, “I didn’t know you were in Richmond. When did you come?”

  “A day or two ago.” She thought he seemed uncertain, as though he had lost count of time. “Tilda,” he said, “Enid and Trav are at the Spottswood, and—Enid needs you. Hetty died this morning.”

  “Hetty? Oh how terrible! Whatever happened?”

  “Her eye, the one Vigil injured, became inflamed. They brought her up to see Dr. Little. I happened to meet Trav. I’ve been with them ever since.”

  “But why didn’t they come straight here? They should at least have sent for me!” Tilda felt herself wronged. Always, by these others, she was excluded.

  “I don’t think any of us thought of anything but the baby,” Faunt explained. “But now—Hetty died just before day—Enid’s grieving so terribly, and Trav can’t comfort her. I thought if you could come to her, another woman—–”

  “Of course I will! Poor dear, alone with no one but you men!”

  So she was with Enid all that day, and even Trav was excluded from their company. Tilda found in those long hours an exciting satisfaction, for Enid in her grief loosed her tongue from every bond. She blamed Trav completely for the baby’s death. “I’ll never forgive him, never!” she cried over and over. “I hate him, hate him, hate him!”

  “Now, now, dear,” Tilda dutifully urged. “You mustn’t talk so. You’re beside yourself.”

  “I’m not!” Enid insisted. “I mean it, every word!”

  “My dear, my dear!”

  “It’s true! It was Trav made me bring Vigil from Chimneys, and he always stood up for her. I daren’t think why! I can’t let myself think why!” Tilda almost laughed. What an idiot Enid was to suggest such a thing of Trav! “I didn’t ever want her in the house, but Trav was bound to have his way; and then when she jabbed poor Hetty’s eye out, he stuck up for her against me! Oh I hate him, Tilda! Even if he is your brother! I could just simply kill him! If Faunt hadn’t been here, I don’t know what I’d have done!”

  “Now Enid, you mustn’t talk so! Trav doesn’t mean any harm, darling!”

  “Well, why can’t he be like Faunt then?”

  “You like Faunt, don’t you?” Tilda’s greedy interest quickened.

  “Oh yes, yes I do! He’s so gentle and kind! He’s like you, Tilda; always so friendly! Cinda’s hard and mean and cruel; but you and Faunt are so nice to me! I wish I’d never seen Trav! I certainly wish I’d never married him. I only flirted with him to spite Mama. She was after him herself and I thought it would be fun to take him away from her, but I wish I’d died first!”

  Tilda would never forget these revelations. “Your mother’s in Washington, isn’t she?” Provoking Enid to say more.

  “Yes, but she won’t stay there if we have a war. We will, won’t we, Tilda? I heard the guns and the bells. I hope Trav gets killed! But he won’t fight! He’d rather stay at Great Oak and be a farmer. That’s what he’ll do!”

  “Mr. Streean was acquainted with your mother when she lived here.” Enid’s tongue was loose today; Tilda wished to keep it rattling. “He thought her so attractive.”

  “Oh, all the men like Mama. Trav was crazy about her, and Tony—–”

  Enid caught herself, but Tilda understood. She knew well enough the truth about Mrs. Albion and Tony. Streean delighted in taunting her about her brothers, and Tony was an easy target. So Tilda knew the truth, and it had always amused her to think of Tony—so tall and lank—playing the amorous gallant to Mrs. Albion.

  But till Enid now caught herself in mid-sentence Tilda had not been sure that Enid too knew the truth about her mother. That was worth remembering; it put a weapon in her hand which she might some day wish to use.

  “I’m sure she’s charming,” she said innocently. “I’ve always wanted to meet her.” She spoke of Trav again, skillfully fanning Enid’s wrath; so that when Trav presently returned, Enid at sight of him cried out as though in pain and turned her face away. Tilda led him into the other room.

  “You must leave Enid alone, Trav,” she urged, watching the hurt in his eyes. “The poor little thing is beside herself. She blames you, I’m afraid; but of course, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’ll be all right again in time; just let her be alone.”

  He said he had made arrangements for their return to Great Oak. “Maybe you can come with us,” he suggested. “You’d be company for Enid, and it’s going to be hard for Mama too.”

  “Oh, I can’t, Trav.” Then on sudden secret tho
ught: “But Faunt could go. Where is he?”

  “He’s with the Governor and Governor Wise and President Tyler and some other gentlemen.” Trav added: “Lincoln has called on Virginia to furnish three regiments to help recapture Sumter.”

  The sudden hardness in his tone caught her ear and puzzled her. “You mean Faunt’s—helping them, or something?”

  “He was with Governor Wise when Governor Letcher sent for Wise to help write the answer, and Wise asked Faunt’s company.”

  “You act mad about something.”

  Trav’s color rose; he said slowly: “Well—I suppose I am. As mad as I ever get. That blackguard in Washington asking us to fight against our sister states! If they want to secede, he has no right to stop them. If he thinks Virginia will help him—–”

  “It’s funny to see you so upset. You’re always so calm.”

  “Well, I’ve tried to be. I was for Virginia staying in the Union, but not now. There isn’t a Union man left in Virginia now.”

  “Just because President Lincoln wants us to take sides?”

  “He might as well ask me to horsewhip Enid, or you, or Cinda!” He laughed angrily. “I don’t suppose that white trash even realizes he’s insulted us!”

  She felt a delicious excitement. “What will we do?”

  “Secede. Join the Confederacy.”

  “Fight? I can’t imagine you being a soldier.

  He grinned faintly. “Neither can I. But there’ll be lots to do besides fight. I can help.” He added, remembering: “But I’ll have to take Enid back to Great Oak first. Can you get her quieted down before we start?”

  She promised to try, bidding him leave her alone with Enid for an hour. When he returned, Faunt came with him; and as they entered, Faunt was speaking, finishing something he had been saying as they came along the hall.

  “—and even today at the very moment when the Governor was deciding we must fight the North, we were sitting in chairs made in the North, around a table made in the North, with our feet on a carpet made in the North. Governor Letcher wrote his answer to Lincoln with a Northern pen, in Northern ink, on Northern paper. The very paintings on the wall were done by Northern artists, and there was Northern coal in the grate and Northern fire irons on the hearth. Everything except our food comes from the North. What weapons we have were made in the North. Northern men run our railroads, work our telegraph, make our cannon. Trav, we start with empty hands.”