by Ginny Dye
“I said, could you kill a friend?” Carrie repeated. Her father’s face asked for more. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. So many of the men who are fighting were once part of the United States Army. Now some fight for the North - others fight for the South. Men who once fought side by side are now going to fight against each other. How can men plan to kill and destroy other men they have depended on for their own life?” Carrie’s voice broke as she struggled to explain the feelings that had kept her awake for endless nights. “General Lee has a nephew who is fighting for the Union. Will he one day look down the barrel of a gun and have to kill him?” She rushed on. “Matthew is most likely fighting for the North. What if he and Robert meet tomorrow? Will they…?” She couldn’t finish. The idea of Robert having to shoot at tall, red-headed Matthew, his closest friend from college, was more than she could bear.
She choked back tears and looked at her father. She didn’t really think he would have an answer. It was more that, on the eve of this battle, she needed to express her feelings. She was half afraid her father would be angry - think she was disloyal to the cause. Instead, he was looking at her with understanding sympathy.
“In spite of the pressures of being in the government,” he said quietly, “I have been very thankful I am not on the front having to make those decisions. There are many men my age in the army, and I think the number will grow daily if this war drags on. I am sure I have many friends and business associates who would be across the lines from me. That question has haunted me as well.”
“Do you think there is an answer?” Carrie asked quietly, somehow reassured by the mute pain on his face.
Thomas winced. “I think that may be one of the questions of life for which there is no answer,” he said. “At least not one that can be answered by someone not in that situation. But I do have a theory,” he continued. “I think it possible that in the midst of a battle, men cease to see other men as men. They simply become part of the tactical strategy of war. They are an obstacle that must be overcome.” He paused for a long moment and then continued slowly. “Maybe that is what enables men to fight - the ignoring of individual humanity behind each gun...”
The shrill whistle of a train pulling out of the station on Broad Street seemed to pull Thomas from his reflective mood. His eyes lost their faraway look and his face hardened. “That, and the knowledge that the cause they fight for is just and right!” his voice rang out clearly.
Carrie merely looked at him. The idea that Robert was fighting for a cause he perceived as just and right did nothing to abate her own deep worries and concern for him.
Just then Micah appeared at the door to the parlor. “I’ve had the cook keep dinner hot, Marse Cromwell. Wills you be wantin’ to eat?”
Thomas looked up as the clock struck eight o’clock. “I suppose I should,” he sighed. “Carrie, have you eaten?”
“I was waiting for you. You need to eat, Father. May’s chicken is wonderful tonight.”
They were halfway through dinner when Thomas looked up with a smile. “I heard about a very unusual woman today.”
“Oh?” Carrie pulled her thoughts back to the dining room with difficulty. She supposed she should be interested in anything that could put a smile on her father’s face. “Who is she?”
“I think you would like her,” he said wryly as he settled back in his chair and lit his pipe. When the smoke was curling toward the ceiling, he continued. “She is the wife of Major Bradley T. Johnston, a Confederate officer from Maryland. She decided she didn’t want to be left behind while her husband was on the battlefield, so she joined him in Harpers Ferry.”
“They let her?” Carrie asked in amazement.
“I think she didn’t really give them the option,” Thomas chuckled. “Anyway, the first thing she saw when she got there was that his regiment had no arms. Now, this was back in May,” he hastened to add. “Anyway, she left right away, bound for North Carolina and some influential friends who she believed could raise the money they needed for the guns. She didn’t have to, however. She presented her case to the governor, who then presented her with 500 rifles, 10,000 rounds of ammunition, and 3,500 musket caps. Once she had those, she came here to Richmond. Governor Letcher provided her with blankets, tents and other camp equipment. It took her less than a week and a half to accomplish her goal.”
Carrie listened, smiling reluctantly. “She sounds like a remarkable woman.”
“Remarkable, indeed,” her father replied. “One of the men she met in North Carolina paid her quite a tribute. He told her that if great events produce great men, then what she had done was proof that great events also produce great women.”
As Carrie listened, she was filled with a sudden desire that the same would be said of her one day. It was a feeling she had felt before but never with quite this same intensity and determination. She fought to control the sigh of frustration that wanted to escape through her lips. She didn’t know how anything like that was going to happen while she was here in Richmond, forced to wait for the outcome of a battle in a war she didn’t believe in.
The last week and a half in Richmond had been very difficult for her. She had watched as the city had grown more and more crowded. Most of the military had moved out to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas. The steady stream of humanity pouring into the city had not ceased, however. More troops were coming in for training and assignment. As the new government became firmly established, there was a continual flow of politicians and civil servants. And then there were what her father called the hangers-on - people who had come to Richmond looking for opportunity in the burgeoning city.
The people of Richmond were adjusting now that the initial shock had worn off. Officials were searching for ways to deal with the rising crime rate, the horrendous overcrowding and the struggle to provide for so many people. Food, which had always been such a plenteous commodity, was now causing hardship for many people.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Carrie looked up at her father and tried to smile. “I want to go home.”
Thomas frowned. “I thought we had talked about that. I thought you understood my feelings.”
Carrie nodded quickly. “I do, Father. I know you would be worried sick if I was on the plantation right now. I will stay until the threat of over.” Please let it be over soon... “But then I am going back home.” Her father’s face took on a mutinous look. “I have to be able to make a difference,” she pleaded. “I am going crazy here. I know the sewing the city women are doing is much needed. But it’s just not me. If I have to wrap one more bandage or put stitches in one more shirt, I will scream.”
Her desperate tone forced a smile to her father’s face. “Sewing was never one of your strong suits,” he admitted. Then he looked at her more closely. “What will you do back on the plantation, Carrie?”
It was a fair question. One she had an answer for. She had thought about it long and hard. “I will plant food,” she said firmly. “Governor Letcher has let it be known how scarce food is becoming - that fresh produce has become a luxury in our city. It never used to be that way, Father! I want to do what I can to help.”
“But our garden is not that large,” Thomas protested. “It will help, but it will just be a drop in the bucket.”
Carrie chose her words carefully. “Isn’t it true that the value of tobacco has dropped drastically because of the river port blockade? Didn’t you tell me that huge stacks of tobacco are in danger of rotting because they cannot be moved?”
Thomas frowned and nodded. “I did.” Understanding dawned on his face and he began to shake his head as he opened his mouth.
Carrie hurried on before he had time to launch his protest. “I can plow up some of the tobacco fields. Just a couple would mean space for an incredible number of produce crops.” She hurried on. “Just think what it would mean for Richmond. Think what it would mean for the cause!” She paused, almost ready to laugh as her father’s protest died before her eyes
. How could he fight her on this? “I need to make a difference. This is one way I can help. I can feed people. When the war is over, you can plant the land in tobacco again.”
“It’s late in the year to plant produce,” Thomas observed thoughtfully.
Carrie controlled her triumphant smile. “I know,” she agreed. “I’ve thought about that. The Almanac is promising a mild fall. I’ll only plant crops that have a short maturation: potatoes, squash, carrots, beans, lettuce. The fields at Cromwell can help make a huge difference.”
Thomas nodded slowly. “I will send a letter back to Adams telling him I agree with your plan.”
Carrie said nothing. How long would she be able to pull off this deception?
The mention of Adams’ name sent Thomas off onto another tangent. “I don’t know how long Adams will be able to stay on the plantation. And there may be times when he will have to be away.”
“Why?”
“Right now overseers are exempt from having to serve in the army. There is too much concern over what would happen if they weren’t there to control the slaves. But there is a continuing need for men to serve in the Virginia militia. They are needed to protect our own state, but they are also needed to keep a handle on the slaves and round up runaways.”
“I see,” Carrie murmured.
“I’m not sure you do,” her father said sharply.
Carrie looked at him quickly. They had not spoken of slavery again since her first night there. He had seemed to accept what she felt even though he didn’t agree with it...
“I’m sorry,” Thomas said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to sound that way. In addition to getting the news about the battle tomorrow, we also received a report today that the number of runaway slaves is escalating. They seem to think that war with the North means their freedom is eminent.”
Carrie listened quietly, hearing both anger and a twinge of fear in her father’s voice.
“Carrie, we could have chaos if the slave situation gets out of hand. Governor Letcher is assigning more men to keep a handle on things. Adams will not be taken from the plantation yet, but there may be times he will be pulled away to help in a crisis situation. Do you think you will be able to take care of things?”
At least this was something she could answer honestly. “Father, you don’t have a thing to worry about. I will keep everything under control. Why,” she continued with a confident smile, “if Adams was pulled away right now, I believe the plantation would run as smoothly as it has been.”
Thomas studied her. “I believe you mean that, daughter.” He shook his head and laughed. “I hope you don’t have to find out. Or me, either,” he added. “It does my heart good to get reports as fine as the one you brought me from Adams when you first got here. It gives me a great deal of peace to know that all I’ve worked for is continuing in my absence.”
Carrie just nodded, wondering what in the world her father’s reaction was going to be when he discovered the truth. Maybe she should have just been honest with him from the beginning. The longer she played this game, the tighter the web she was weaving for herself. But when she tried to envision the plantation with another overseer, she just couldn’t do it. Her father had said himself that things were running wonderfully well. She would just continue on until necessity changed the path she was walking.
Unbidden, Aunt Abby’s face floated into her mind. What she wouldn’t give to sit down for a good talk with her friend. She had a way of helping her see things clearly. She had received no mail from her since April. There was no way of knowing when she would.
Thomas pushed away from the table. “I have some paperwork I need to take care of before I call it a night. Will you please excuse me?”
“Of course,” Carrie said instantly, rising also. She watched her father as he disappeared into his office and then turned toward the front porch. She needed some time alone, outside. She longed to be on the plantation right now. How she needed a good ride on Granite. A long ride would surely help clear the cobwebs from her head.
There was a light breeze blowing as she settled down onto the porch swing. She could hear the occasional murmur of a voice from surrounding porches, but other than that the night was silent. Even the crickets seemed to be quiet tonight. As she looked up at the brilliant full moon, she wondered if Robert was looking at the same sight.
A slight movement from the shadows caused her to jump and lean forward to peer into the darkness. “Who’s there?” she called sharply.
“It just be me, Miss Carrie,” came the quiet whisper from the shadows.
“Micah?” Why was her father’s butler skulking in the shadows?
His dark form materialized in front of her. “I’s got somethin’ for you, ma’am.”
Carrie reached for the letter he was holding out to her. There was no return address on the thick envelope. “Why didn’t you give this to me when the mail came, Micah?” Her voice was not angry, just puzzled.
“This here didn’t come through the mail, Miss Carrie.”
“But...” Carrie paused, looking at the handwriting in the dim light from the window. Could it really be? “How did it get here?” she asked breathlessly.
“Let’s just say a friend brought it here, Miss Carrie.” With those whispered words, Micah melted into the shadows and disappeared.
Carrie stared at the envelope for a long moment and then carefully stuffed it in her dress pocket, making sure no edge of it betrayed its presence. She didn’t want her father asking questions. Confident it was hidden, she turned and hurried into the house. She paused for a moment by the office door. “I’m going up to bed now, Father. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Thomas looked up absently and gave her an affectionate smile. “Good night, dear.”
Once in her room, Carrie turned up the lantern next to her bed and more closely examined the handwriting. It was from her! She tore into the envelope and pulled out the thick sheaf of pages.
Dearest Carrie,
Those first words from Aunt Abby were enough to cause the tears to begin coursing down her face. She had no idea how this letter had reached her hands. All she knew was that it was a gift from heaven. She read on eagerly.
What we have dreaded has really come to pass. Our beloved United States is at war - brother and friend fighting brother and friend! The ache in my heart has become a constant thing. I find myself thankful that my dear husband died before he could see such a thing come to pass.
I am sure you are wondering just how you are receiving this letter. My heart has been so troubled that our correspondence has been cut off. I find myself reading the same letters over...
Carrie laughed and brushed the tears away. She could almost see Aunt Abby’s eyes light with laughter as she made her admission. She was so glad to know her friend was doing the same thing she had been doing!
I have grand news for you, Carrie. Miles, Sadie, Jasmine, and the rest of the Cromwell slaves have safely reached Canada!
“Oh, God, thank you!” Carrie bowed her head for a long moment before she raised her shining eyes to continue reading.
All of them have found employment and are doing well. Miles was able to smuggle a letter to me via the Underground Railroad - that’s when I discovered their usefulness as a mail service. Miles and the rest asked me to send a letter on to Rose. When I realized the possibilities, I asked my contact if it would be possible to send a letter to you in the same way. I have no way of knowing how long this letter will take to get to you - but I have confidence it will indeed get there.”
Carrie stopped reading and looked at the date at the top of the letter. June 10, 1861. Aunt Abby’s letter had taken almost six weeks to make its way to her.
My dear, I think of you so often. How I wish we could sit down for a long talk. You’ve told me often that I help you think clearly. You do the same for me. How easy it would be to get caught up in the war fever that is sweeping the North, especially my beloved Philadelphia. Everywhere the cry is rising,
On to Richmond. How my heart fails me to think of harm coming to you or your loved ones.
My heart seems to stay in a quandary of confusion when I think of this war. I hold hopes that one of the end results will be the abolition of slavery. Yet my heart knows there was a better way to accomplish that goal than this horrible talk of fighting and war. All around me I see people gearing for war, and yet Lincoln makes no move toward announcing the abolition of slavery. He insists that if the South sees the errors of its ways, he will not tamper with their “property.” Yet the South insists they are fighting this war over the “rights” to their property.
Is this war not really being fought because men allowed their passions instead of their heads to rule them? Is it not really being fought because once more men are being guided by the narrowness of their humanity, instead of allowing God to guide them? I shudder to think of the death and pain that will result from this latest fall of mankind.
Carrie nodded as she read. As usual, she and Aunt Abby were on the same track. Oh, how good it was to communicate, even in this limited way, with someone who shared her heart.
I find myself constantly questioning the will of God in all this. Is it God’s will for the North to win this war? The South? I have finally decided I am not wise enough to know the mind of God in this. He has instead shown me that I will be best to simply ask what his will is for me. If I can determine the answer to that on a daily basis, then no matter what is going on around me, I can be at peace and know I am being all I can be.
There are so many times I feel intense anger in my heart towards the people who have caused this awful war we must now suffer through. But then I must ask myself -- ‘Where do I place the blame?’ I have come to believe that most people - seeing life from their own perspective think they are doing the very best thing they can. Others - including myself - may think they have the ability to see things more clearly - and maybe we can - but a person can only act from her own perceptions. I find myself more able to find understanding and acceptance of people when I remember that!
