by Ginny Dye
Matthew leaned against the counter and listened grimly as Aunt Abby filled him in on what had been happening. “What are you going to do?” he finally asked.
“Nothing,” Aunt Abby said firmly.
“Don’t you think she should do something?” Rose asked anxiously. “I’m scared for her to be here alone.”
Matthew frowned. “That’s right. You’re leaving soon.”
“I’m leaving in the morning.” Rose paused. “At least I was.”
Aunt Abby whirled to glare at her. “I will not listen to such nonsense. I will be fine. I’ve had this game played with me before. Whoever left this chicken is just trying to scare me. You most certainly are going to get on that boat and leave here tomorrow. I will not hear of your staying because of me.”
“And I could not live with myself if something were to happen to you,” Rose protested. “What if Matthew hadn’t been around the time those thugs came after you?”
“And what if your boat had turned over when you and Moses were forced to cross the Potomac on your own?” Aunt Abby retorted. Her voice softened as she walked over to put her hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Rose, if we allow what ifs of our life to control us, we would never do a thing. The not knowing would paralyze us. You and Moses got in that boat because it was the only way you could reach your goal. You made the decision to take the risk and trust God with the outcome. I have to do the same thing. Most of my adult life has been spent fighting for basic human rights - for women and for blacks. I counted the cost a long time ago.”
“But...” Rose protested, visions of harm coming to Aunt Abby clutching at her heart.
“But - nothing,” Aunt Abby said firmly. “I know you love me and are concerned about me. I give you my word I will not go out looking for trouble - but neither am I going to run from it. I have to trust God with my life, just like I have to trust him to take care of you while you’re down in the contraband camps. We cannot let our fears for other people keep them from doing what they are meant to do. It would be selfish and unloving.”
Rose bit her lip and stared at the woman she loved like a mother. She knew Aunt Abby was speaking the truth, but it didn’t make leaving her any easier.
“I’ll keep an eye on her as much as I can, Rose,” Matthew promised. “God sent me to her when she needed me before. If that time comes again, God can send someone else to help her if I’m not around.”
Rose shook her head resignedly. “I’m not sure I’ll ever become very good at this trusting thing,” she sighed.
Aunt Abby laughed heartily. “It takes years, my young friend. I’ve been at it much longer than you, and sometimes I feel I’ve gotten nowhere. I can trust God so easily with one thing, but five minutes later something else has me anxious and worried. I’ve learned I have to ask myself in every situation if I believe God loves me. If the answer is yes, then I have to choose to trust him. It’s a daily decision.”
Rose listened intently. She had a feeling she was going to have to hang on to these words with all her might in the months ahead.
Aunt Abby turned to Matthew. “Enough about me. Spit and dead chickens are certainly unpleasant, but they are trivial compared with what you have been experiencing,” she stated. “Please do fill us in on what is happening in the war.”
Matthew nodded. “I’ll be happy to do that, but do you think we can catch up over that scrumptious roast I smell cooking in the oven? I’m starved,” he said with a smile.
Not until the hot meal had disappeared, did Matthew turn to the topic of the war. “I’m sure you know Richmond is still secure as the capital of the Confederacy.”
“I know McClellan retreated many miles from Richmond. I usually stay up-to-date, but I have been dreadfully busy the last two weeks. I heard enough to know Carrie and her family were probably still safe,” Aunt Abby replied. “That was enough at the time.”
“And I got a letter from Moses,” Rose added. “He hears a lot of things. He told me a lot of the military leadership feels the loss of Richmond is McClellan’s fault.”
Matthew shrugged. “Trying to get the real story is very difficult. McClellan is very gifted at manipulating the news he allows to leak through to the war correspondents. Many of my fellow reporters have lambasted the President because they feel McClellan has not been given enough support. It took a lot of sneaking around while I was down there, but the picture I received was a very different one.”
“I would love to hear a little truth!” Aunt Abby exclaimed. “Please don’t take this personally, but sometimes the press makes me so mad I could scream. It’s impossible to really understand what is going on when the news you receive is so biased. One paper says one thing. Another says something else. Whatever happened to good old honesty?”
“I don’t take it personally,” Matthew assured her with a smile. “I realize the press has a lot of power to dictate and sway popular opinion and actions. As in any profession, you have individuals who are committed to the truth. And you have those who will write whatever they are told, whatever sells the most papers, or whatever promotes their own personal agendas. I happen to believe this war could have been avoided if the press had not been busy inflaming public opinion on a daily basis.” He paused. “All I can do is try to be one who tells the truth. Or at least the truth as I can best determine it from what I have to work with.”
“The press also does a lot of good things,” Rose interjected. “I know there is still a long way to go before my people are free, but the Northern press has done much to bring the true conditions of slavery to light.”
Aunt Abby smiled ruefully. “Once again you bring me back to a position of balance, Rose.” She paused. “Not that I don’t have some arguments with the way the paper has handled the issue of abolitionism. The way they idolized John Brown made me feel ill...” She shook her head firmly. “Enough of this kind of talk. I want to know what happened outside of Richmond.”
“It was really very simple,” Matthew stated. “McClellan was outmaneuvered by General Lee. I’m sure there are many times Lincoln has wished he could have convinced Robert E. Lee to stay with the North. If he had, I think this war would be over.”
“Because he’s such a wonderful general?” Rose asked.
“Because he’s not afraid to take the offensive and fight!” Matthew said. “I don’t think McClellan thought Lee would come after him. I believe he had convinced himself the Confederate troops would just hang around and wait for him to finish his ongoing preparations. He simply failed to respond well when he was put on the defensive.” Matthew shook his head in disgust. “Most of the time fighting was going on, McClellan was sitting in his headquarters tent miles from the action. He thought he could manage an army of over one hundred thousand man with a telegraph machine. Toward the end he just left the army to fight on its own.”
“Surely not!” Aunt Abby exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“I’m afraid so. I managed to slip down to the river and watch McClellan head up river with some of his staff to the Galena, a navy gunboat. The Union army basically fought without a commanding general the last two days. I have it on good authority that the general enjoyed a lavish spread with white linen tablecloths while thousands of his men died in the Confederates’ desperate attempt to take Malvern Hill.”
“Is it true the South suffered more casualties that day than the North?” Rose asked.
“It’s true,” Matthew affirmed. “While McClellan retreated down to the James River, a large portion of the army bunkered down on Malvern Hill. The position was virtually impregnable. I have talked to men who said that day was not a battle. It was a wholesale slaughter of Rebel soldiers. They admired the Rebels’ courage, but no matter how many times they charged they were relentlessly driven back.”
“So what happens now?” Aunt Abby asked quietly.
Matthew shrugged. “McClellan is already covering himself. He is laying the blame for the losses squarely on the shoulders of the government. He claims the Sec
retary of War wanted him to suffer a defeat from the very beginning.”
“What?” Rose asked incredulously. “Why would anyone want that?”
“McClellan claims they wanted him defeated and overthrown so that disunion would prevail and they might be free to rule unhampered in the North. He believes they saw him as their paramount enemy who must be destroyed.”
“Ridiculous!” Aunt Abby snorted. “Lincoln has met his demands time and time again.”
“I agree,” Matthew replied. “It’s a pity, really. From all I can tell, McClellan is a fine leader. His men love him, and he has an uncanny ability to rouse their enthusiasm and support. He is simply not a military leader. I have even heard the fine general now believes everything that happened to him on the peninsula was God’s will.”
“You told me earlier he believed it was God’s will for him to be victorious in taking Richmond,” Aunt Abby commented wryly.
“So I did,” Matthew laughed. “It’s amazing to me how people can change their perception of God’s will as the circumstances change. I guess it’s easier than admitting you were wrong, but it sure does make God look fickle.”
“Do you see any end in sight?”
“I’m afraid not, Aunt Abby. McClellan has failed. President Lincoln will keep looking till he finds someone who can do the job. He is determined our country will not be torn apart.”
“But is it not already torn apart? Even if the South is defeated, do you really think they will return to the fold humbly? What about all the bitterness and anger over the Union’s attempts to pull them back?”
Matthew shook his head. “As usual, Mrs. Livingston, you ask the difficult questions much brighter men than I are trying to answer.” He spread his hands. “I simply don’t know. But the mold seems to have been cast. When this war ends, the job of putting our country back together again will indeed be a difficult one.”
“Is there any good news in this country?” Rose asked plaintively. “One doesn’t need to search for horrible news. But is there anything good happening?” She knew she sounded almost desperate, but she needed a light in the midst of all the darkness.
Matthew turned to her with a smile. “There is always good news, Rose. There are always great acts of kindness, sacrifice, and courage in times like these.”
“Such as?” Rose needed something concrete.
“Such as a young lady I met just yesterday. She was barely seventeen years old, I would guess. She left home to serve the medical needs of wounded Union soldiers. The boat I arrived on was crowded with very sick men. I never once saw her lose her good cheer. Singing the whole time, she moved around the ship like a bright light. It was really rather amazing. I was doing my best to hold my stomach in place; she was doing her best to hold hope out to the men who needed it so much.”
“I bet Carrie is like that,” Rose said softly, her throat tightening with the familiar ache of missing her dearest friend. She seldom thought of the reality she was actually Carrie’s aunt since Carrie’s grandfather had been her own biological father. She was simply her closest friend. How glad she would be when the war was over and they could be together again.
“This war has also been the instigator of many firsts,” Matthew continued. “I just finished an article that will be coming out in the paper next week.”
“Firsts?” Aunt Abby questioned.
“Yes. It seems the war is bringing out the inventor in many people.” Then he frowned. “Too many of them are inventions I think our country would do well to have never heard of. Things like land mine fields, flame throwers, naval torpedoes, revolving gun turrets, and long range rifles.”
“Isn’t this the first time there have been organized medical and nursing corps?” Rose asked.
“Yes, along with hospital ships and army ambulance corps. Of course, we also have our very first bread lines down south.” He stopped and grinned. “It’s also the first time there has been a wide-ranging corps of press correspondents in battle areas. I guess I have the war to thank for my job.”
“Not that you wouldn’t gladly give it up in a heartbeat,” Aunt Abby wryly observed.
“Very true,” Matthew agreed. “I long for the days I could wander all over the country and report the news of a nation at peace. I never imagined when I first began studying journalism, that I would be covering the story of America at war.” His voice became pensive. “I also never thought I would be examining the faces of prisoners to find Robert or one of my other southern friends.” His voice became angry. “I hate this whole stupid war,” he growled.
Aunt Abby reached over without saying a word and laid her hand on his arm.
Rose watched sympathetically as Matthew struggled to regain composure. She understood so well how he felt. She longed for a time when she and Moses could build a life together in freedom. Her dreams for the future were the only thing keeping her sane in the midst of so much craziness and uncertainty. Matthew broke into her thoughts.
“Enough about the war,” he said briskly. “You are leaving tomorrow. Surely we can find a more pleasant topic to discuss.”
Rose searched her mind to find one. “I have two lovely ladies to travel with,” she finally said. “Miss Carter Lepley and Miss Teresa Farnsworth. Both are from Boston and seem to accept me completely.”
“They certainly should,” Matthew snorted. “You’ll probably teach circles around them!”
“Thank you,” Rose said with a laugh. “I don’t anticipate any trouble down in the camps.” She paused, not wanting to mention her feelings of trepidation. Talking about them would only add fuel to the fire. She just wanted to enjoy her last evening in Philadelphia. “Could I interest anyone in a game of croquet?”
Aunt Abby clapped her hands together. “That’s a wonderful idea, Rose! There is still plenty of light, but the day has cooled off nicely.” She stood and smoothed down her dress. “You two go set it up. I will bring out some cold lemonade and cookies.”
The next hour passed in laughter and good-natured teasing. Rose was the ultimate winner. “I’m going to take that as a good omen,” she declared. Suddenly she felt hot tears sting her eyes. She was going to miss everything so much - her beautiful home, the wonderful school, Aunt Abby, Matthew...
“Why don’t we do some singing?”
Rose smiled in spite of herself. Once again Aunt Abby was reading her mind. She was longing for anything to do that would keep her from climbing the stairs to her room for the last time. “That sounds wonderful!” she exclaimed.
“Let’s sing the song my friend Julie Howe wrote,” Aunt Abby suggested.
“The ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’?”
“That’s the one, Matthew. It has become a favorite of the country since she wrote it last year. And I must admit I like these words set to this tune much better than ‘Old John Brown’s Body’!” Aunt Abby’s fingers flew over the keys to her grand piano as their voices poured forth into the night.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
In the beauty of an Easter, Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his presence, that transfigures you and me,
As he died to make us holy, let us live to make all free;
While God is marching on.
God has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never sound retreat,
And is sifting out the hearts of all before the mercy seat;
O my soul give truthful answers and be jubilant my feet!
Our God is marching on.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Moses felt nothing but sorrow as he gazed around what had, at one time, been a beautiful planta
tion. He had come to Berkeley Plantation once when he was still at Cromwell Plantation. He remembered a stately, elegant mansion surrounded by huge trees and immaculate grounds. It had been the high point of social life in the area - drawing people all the way from Richmond for its elaborate parties and balls.
Berkeley Plantation, along with adjoining Harrison Landing, was now the camp for McClellan’s defeated army. Moses wandered through the camp, his nose wrinkling in distaste. There were now over one hundred thousand men in muddy blue uniforms inhabiting tents that stretched as far as the eye could see. Rain had been falling the day McClellan’s army had reached the plantation. The plains spreading out from the house had been reduced to paste by men’s boots, horses’ hooves, and wagon wheels. The wheat and corn fields, the vegetable gardens, and the flower garden all disappeared within hours. No matter where he looked, Moses could see nothing but desolate waste. He shivered at the thought of how Carrie’s heart would break if the same destruction was wrought on Cromwell Plantation.
Moses turned to look at the river. Or at least the little he could see glistening from between the hundreds of boats bobbing in the harbor. The plantation and the miles along the river front had once been graced by magnificent old trees - oaks, pines, maples. But that had been before Union soldiers set to work with their axes to produce fuel for cook fires. With the exception of one big poplar left to shade the cook’s stove outside the house, not one tree was left standing on the three-mile river front.
Moses had been inside the house only once in the last four weeks. He had gone to visit Captain Jones who was still too ill to have visitors. The elegant manor house, now serving as a hospital, had been completely denuded of fine furniture in the army’s effort to feed the fires. The rich, old carpets were covered with mud and soaked with human gore.
“It’s a shame to see the old place destroyed.”
