by Jane Peart
When she had gone, Sara was quite agitated and irritable. No arrangement of pillows or choice of shawl suited. Finally Sara snapped, "That wretched Lizzie. Ungrateful girl! After all I've done for her, to run off to the Yankees that way! And worse are the blackguards who help these poor ignorant people to leave the good life they have here for who knows what up North. I hear the Yankees don't want them, and they end up living in horrible conditions. I hope she's good-and-sorry!"
Rose said nothing. Her own duplicity kept her silent. There was nothing she could say that would lessen Sara's feeling of betrayal and animosity toward those she believed responsible for Lizzie's running away.
"When I think of it—" Sara began with irritation. "Rose, fix me my medicine."
Reluctantly Rose took the bottle of laudanum Sara always kept on her bedside table and, using a dropper, put five drops into a glass of water.
"Ten, at least, Rose," Mrs. Montrose corrected. "My nerves are frazzled. I need to rest." She passed a fragile hand across her eyes in a weary gesture.
Rose hesitated, then added another five drops. She was concerned about the older woman's use of the opiate, far more than her condition required.
But if Rose mildly demurred when Sara asked for a dose, she became very annoyed. Certainly Lizzie had never countered the least of Sara's requests, so Rose finally gave up. All she could do was comply and try to keep Sara as calm and comfortable as possible, considering the trying circumstances under which they were all living.
Then, unexpectedly, Malcolm appeared. He looked lean, but tanned and fit, splendid in his uniform with two lateral bars on his collar and a loop of braid on his sleeve, indicating his new rank of lieutenant. Leighton, who had come with him, caught the wildly ecstatic Dove in a swinging embrace, then bragged on Malcolm's popularity. When their original leader was promoted to General Longstreet's staff, he explained, the men of their regiment unanimously elected Malcolm.
Rose had been in the nursery with Jonathan when she heard the shouts, the sound of running feet as the house servants gathered, the noise of general confusion downstairs. She hurried out into the hall and leaned over the balcony to see what was happening.
When she saw who was there, her heart began to race and she started slowly down the stairs. Mr. Montrose, alerted to the excitement, came out of the library to greet his sons at that moment, and over his father's head, Malcolm looked up and saw Rose.
When she reached the bottom of the steps, Malcolm started toward her. Within an arm's reach he stopped suddenly, not touching her. Was he waiting for her to move toward him? Rose searched his face for some sign of acceptance. Both seemed frozen to the spot, unable to make that first gesture of reconciliation.
Something curious flickered in Malcolm's eyes, then his expression grew inscrutable.
"Where is Jonathan, Rose?" he asked. "We can only stay a few hours. We have orders to report back tonight. We came to get fresh horses."
At the news that Malcolm would leave again right away, something melted inside Rose. What did anything matter but that they forgive each other all those cruel words, forget their terrible parting, and at least find what joy and happiness they could in this short time that had unexpectedly been granted them?
But before Rose could move or speak, she heard the light patter of slippers on the steps behind her and a rustle of crinoline as Garnet rushed past her, crying, "Malcolm!" and flung herself into his arms.
Rose grew rigid. A cold resentment washed over her that Garnet could so freely show her gladness at seeing him while Rose was locked in all the misunderstanding and misery of their last encounter.
Throughout Malcolm's short, unsatisfactory visit, Rose had to keep her emotions closely in check. Only after he and Lee were gone could Rose pour out all her anguish once again in the pages of her secret diary.
July 1861
Malcolm has come and gone, and we had not a minute alone at all. I cannot believe that two people, whose only joy was to be together with the rest of the world forgotten, have come to this. When I remember how it used to be with Malcolm and me, my heart is broken.
Little did we realize when Malcolm and Lee departed that they would be going into immediate battle. Now comes news of a great Confederate victory at Manassas. It is said that the Union forces panicked, broke their lines, and all fled in wild disarray. Everyone here is claiming the war will soon be over. If it is true, many lives, both North and South, will be spared. I pray God for the safety of my beloved husband, his brother, and my own dear brother John as well.
August 1861
Jonathan's third birthday. What a happy day that was, perhaps the happiest day of my life, when our son was born. If only Malcolm were here to celebrate it with us.
Instead, we go to Cameron Hall for a great victory party. The tactful Camerons invited us for their thirtieth anniversary celebration; however, it is understood that we celebrate the undisputed victory. My own heart will be heavy until I know that all my dear ones are safe. I do not know if John was involved in this battle, since mail from the North is slow, and, some say it is opened and censored because anything coming across the lines is suspect.
September 1861
At last a letter from John, part of which I quote herein, then will destroy. He writes:
"A week after Manassas, or what we call the Battle of Bull Run, they [meaning the Confederates] could have walked into Washington, so great was the confusion, consternation, and feelings of defeat." And he finished by using the words of Shakespeare in Julius Caesar: "'There is a tide in the affairs of men/Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;/Omitted, all the voyage of their life/Is bound and in shallows and in miseries . . .' If anything, this defeat has brought us to the realization that this may be a long and bitter conflict and that we must be better prepared for a foe that was underestimated."
October 1861
My faith sustains me through these long, lonely days. The fall weather is so beautiful it makes me think of other such days spent with Malcolm. Now we are separated in more ways than miles, war, and circumstances. In spite of that, I continue to "trust in the Lord," knowing He will "give me the desires of my heart," mostly that once more Malcolm and I will be together in loving harmony.
November 1861
Malcolm's letters are brief, mainly to be read to Jonathan about the horses, the marching, songs around the campfire, and what they will do together when Malcolm comes home.
I am worried about his mother. Mr. Montrose is away on business for President Davis, some kind of procurement, and I am alone here with Mama. She is so fretful at night and cannot sleep unless given large doses of laudanum. I have begun staying with her until she falls asleep, reading to her from the Bible. I believe there is healing in the Word, and that reading to her plants a seed of faith. "Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the Word of God."
December 1, 1861
Every evening, on the pretext of helping me get Jonathan ready for bed, Tilda, Linny, and most of the time, Carrie, too, slip in with their little Bibles for our lesson. It is then I realize even more that God's Word stands and truly is "a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path" (Ps. 119:105).
As I continue teaching these three, I see that it is not my efforts but the Word itself that sheds the true light. I can see it in their eyes as it comes alive for them, becomes real that God loves them. It is a comfort to me to know that in some small way I am bringing that assurance into these lives that before were so barren of the knowledge of a heavenly Father who cares for them individually. Last night I was reading from Matthew 10 and came to verse 29: "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not, therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows."
I looked up into three pairs of wide eyes staring back at me. Then Tilda breathed, "Fo' sho', Miss Rose?" she asked, touching her turbaned head.
They take everything literally, as acceptin
g as little children. Isn't that what He asked us to do? "Except ye. . . become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."
This was always a stumbling block for Malcolm when we discussed the Scriptures. His fine mind, his analytical, skeptical intellect was always questioning, examining. Even when he attended church with me, I used to glance over at him during the sermon and see that intelligent expression, those deep-set eyes, that attentive, yet reserved attitude.
As long as he had one doubt, he often told me, he would not be able to make a full surrender.
If only Malcolm could come to know the Lord as simply and with the childlike faith of these three!
chapter
21
THE FIRST DAYS of December, 1861, were like Indian summer. Warm, sunny afternoons lingered. Over everything shimmered a lovely golden haze.
Yet, along with this aura of peace, a kind of restless wind moved through the countryside, an unsettling sense of foreboding.
Stories of small bands of Yankee maurauders making foraging missions for horses, cattle, and other livestock, spread among the plantations. In fact, some had already been visited by these unexpected raiders. Groups of six to ten riders would suddenly swoop into a place, round up all the booty they could carry, then ride out again in a matter of minutes. There were more disturbing stories of Negroes, who looked upon the soldiers as liberators, going along with them or even helping them steal their masters' property.
Perhaps because Montclair was set so far back from the main road and partially hidden by the deep woods between the gates and the house, nothing of that kind had happened. Yet the threat was very real and added to the general anxiety that lay like a pall over the household.
Early in the second week of December, Bryce came home on a brief furlough to see his mother and bring Garnet from Richmond.
Rose, who had taken Jonathan out to the orchard to gather some late pears, was just coming back up to the house when they saw Simmy, the little black boy posted near the gates, come running toward them, waving both his skinny arms. "Yankees! Yankees comin' down de road!" he hollered, his eyes wide with fright.
Reacting instinctively, Rose gathered up her skirts, grabbed Jonathan's arm and began running toward the front porch. The little boy's chubby legs were pumping hard to keep up with her, and at the steps, Rose swung him up in her arms, basket and all, and rushed into the house.
Inside the front door she set him down and called for Linny. The other house servants who at the sound of her voice had left chores, came into the hall, Rose began issuing directions
"Joshua," she said, "send word to the stable that the grooms are to take the horses to the woods and wait there until we tell them it's safe to come back. Hurry! There are Yankee soldiers on their way here."
The startled servants stared at her dumbly. Rose spoke as calmly as she could manage, "Don't be afraid. Just do as I tell you and everything will be all right."
Standing in the middle of the front hall, she saw Garnet bending over the second-floor balcony, and Rose ran halfway up the stairway. "Garnet," she said in a low, steady voice, "get Bryce out of Mama's room, quickly! Yankee soldiers will be here any minute. We'll have to hide him or he'll be taken prisoner. Try not to upset Mama. Get him out some way or other first."
Garnet nodded, her face drained of color, her eyes wide and frightened.
Rose went rapidly up the remaining steps, thinking hard. She met Linny coming out of the nursery. "Quickly! Get Jonathan!" she ordered, pointing to the little boy who was still standing where Rose had left him, holding his basket of pears.
Linny scuttled past her and Rose reached the top of the steps just as Bryce came out of his mother's suite.
"What is it, Rose?"
"Yankees. They're coming here, Bryce. We've got to hide you. There's no time for you to make it to the woods."
"But where . . . how? They'll probably search the house."
"Come with me." She grabbed Bryce's arm and pulled him along the hall toward the nursery.
She went right to the secret panel, feeling along the wall for the ridge beneath. She pressed the spot, and the door to the storage room and tunnel swung open.
"How did you know about this?" Bryce demanded, aghast.
"Never mind that now. Just get in there and stay until we come to get you," Rose said frantically as through the open window they could hear the pounding of horses' hooves on the crushed shell drive, and the distant shouts of the soldiers.
She gave the big man a gentle push. As he crouched forward and went in, she pressed the spring again and the panel began to slide shut. She turned to see Garnet standing at the doorway, mouth partly open, looking on in amazement.
"Garnet, gather up any clothing or belongings of Bryce's that may be lying around and get them out of sight. Those soldiers just might have heard that one of Jackson's men is here and, if they find any evidence, they'll not give up till they find him." She spoke sharply and for once Garnet did not pause to question, but whirled and ran down the hall.
In a moment she was back as Rose, poised at the top of the staircase, stood ready to descend.
"What now?" Garnet asked.
"Mama?"
"She's dozing, has taken her laudanum. I really don't think she is aware—" Garnet broke off. "Rose, that secret door—how did you know?"
Rose shook her head impatiently. "There isn't time to explain now." She took Garnet's hand, squeezed it tightly. "Stay up here until I need you. We must keep Mama calm," she whispered intently. "Let's say a prayer." She closed her eyes, felt Garnet's soft little hand clutching hers. "Dear Lord, give us courage!" was all Rose could pray. Then she hurried down the steps, her wide skirts sweeping behind her.
As she moved toward the front door she had a moment of utter panic. Carrie was standing to one side, and Rose motioned her to open it. The girl hesitated as if either she did not understand Rose's order or was afraid to obey, so Rose said quietly, but with definite authority, "Open it at once."
Carrie did so, and Rose walked steadily out onto the front porch just in time to see eight or nine blue uniformed cavalrymen rounding the bend of the driveway and galloping up to the house. The officer in front raised his arm to signal a halt as they reined their mounts behind him.
Rose's heart was beating so fast and hard she was afraid she might faint. She steadied herself, then locked her hands tightly in front of her and stood at the door, watching the officer dismount.
His face, shaded by his broad-brimmed hat, was bearded. He was tall with a soldierly bearing, and his dark blue tunic was double-breasted, its brass buttons blazing, the gold insignia on his sleeves indicating the rank of major.
As he started toward the porch, Rose stepped out of the shadows cast by the columns and walked steadily to the top of the steps.
When he saw her, the officer swept off his hat and bowed.
"Good day, madam, my men and I—" he began, then stopped short. "Is it possible?" he gasped, then, "Rose! Rose Meredith!"
Just as startled, Rose stared back, then slowly recognized the familiar face behind the beard. Unmistakably, it was Kendall Carpenter.
"Rose!" His voice faltered as he came nearer, then stood, one booted foot on the first step; he could barely speak. "Rose Meredith! Of all places—of all times, you . . . here!" He seemed to be struggling. "What in heaven's name are you doing here—" Again he seemed at a loss for words.
"It is Rose Montrose now, Kendall, and this is Montclair, my husband's family home," she replied quietly.
Kendall shook his head. "I can't believe that after all this time, we should meet here and now—"
"I hope you and your men have not come to do us any harm." Rose spoke with cool dignity.
Kendall gave her a long measured look, and said evenly, "Harm? Do you harm, Rose? When I have never felt any but the kindest, most affectionate feelings for you?"
"But you are in enemy territory now. You come as an enemy."
"You and I—enemies
? Never!"
His gaze lingered, taking in the still lovely young woman, the dark, glowing beauty, the pale oval face. Despite their deep serenity, he saw that her eyes held, too, a certain defiance, and smiling slightly, he drew an immaculate linen handkerchief from his pocket and waved it toward her.
"Truce, Rose? May I approach under a flag of truce?"
The terrible tension of the last few minutes eased as myriad thoughts flashed through Rose's mind. Then she allowed the corners of her mouth to relax and the enchanting dimple to show as she stepped back and made a welcoming gesture. "Perhaps you would like to come in and we could have a visit—for old time's sake?"
"With pleasure, Rose. With great pleasure." Kendall spoke with a note of excitement in his voice. "But may I ask a favor? Could my men refresh themselves at your well? We've ridden a long way in this heat."
Rose called to Josh, who had been standing right inside the entrance, concealed by the half-open front door. In a low voice she instructed him to show the soldiers around the side of the house, where they could draw water for themselves and their horses. Then she led the way into the house, with Kendall following.
To the dumbstruck Carrie, Rose said, "Bring a tray of refreshments into the parlor. Tea, some of the scuppernong wine, some cake."
In the parlor Kendall looked around him curiously, not missing a detail of the luxuriously appointed room, the crystal-prismed candle-sticks on the marble mantle, the fine furnishings, the velvet upholstery, the damask draperies.
Rose motioned him to one of the twin sofas, and took a seat on the one opposite him. Then a silence fell between them, each momentarily struck by the irony of the events that had led them to this strange meeting.
"Well, Rose," Kendall sighed after a long pause.
"Well, Kendall—" She smiled.
Carrie came in with the tray, set it down on the table by Rose, giving Kendall a sly, hurried glance. She left quickly.
