by Marian Wells
Walking back and forth, Olivia paused to breathe deeply of the perfumed air. She closed her eyes, shutting out all except the scent of spring, and felt the tension in her body momentarily ease.
The door opened and Alex came in. “The newspaper. Does it have a good story about Lincoln’s inauguration?”
“No. Total silence,” she answered. “How sad to see President Lincoln being treated this way. I would have loved being there. I closed my eyes and put myself there in front of the Capitol, listening to his speech.”
Alex nodded. “The South’s attitude toward the inauguration is sending out frightening signals. I’ve been talking to Mother,” he continued. “She’s trying to coax Father into seeing a doctor.”
Slowly shaking her head, Olivia said, “I can’t understand him.”
“I think I do. First, he doesn’t want to face the facts. He’s having heart problems, and he is convinced that if he ignores the symptoms, they’ll disappear. It hasn’t helped to have us talk about returning to Pennsylvania this month. I feel he’s determined to keep us here.”
“Perhaps it would be best to delay our going,” Olivia said slowly. “I’ve noticed, after his initial curiosity about your earring, he’s shown only scorn when you mention God. I would feel terribly disappointed if we were to leave and something were to happen to him. Alex, you two have done little except argue the right and wrong of the situation at Fort Sumter.”
“I know,” Alex said. “I should be able to find a better way to communicate with him.”
“Alex, we need to pray for patience, and we need to ask God for the opportunity to talk about why we are living as we do.”
“I’ve tried to bring up the subject, but there are other things on his mind. Olivia, I’m his only son. You know what that means?”
With a smile and a sigh of exasperation she nodded, “You are his heir. I’ve heard him. He wants to see you remain here, take over the plantation, and carry on the tradition, just as he did for his father. Oh, Alex, it’s as if we are going around in circles with him! I didn’t dream things would turn out this way.”
With a rueful grin, Alex dropped into the chair. “I was afraid it would be this way, but I expected him to at least hear me out. I still haven’t told him how we’ve spent the past two years. I think he has some vague idea that we’ve been enjoying life on his money, and now it’s time to get to work.”
She paused and glanced down at the brooch. “When you gave me this,” she said, fingering the gold filigree, “you showed me that verse in Isaiah, ‘The Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.’ It’s humbling. The Lord causes the changes; there’s nothing I—we can do. It’s His place to act, not ours.”
Alex wrapped his arms around her. “Yes, he’s in control of all this. We know so little of His plan.”
“Nearly every Sunday since we’ve been here, we’ve heard the rightness of the Southern cause preached from the pulpit. Perhaps in God’s eyes we are all wrong, all arrogant, and all in need of repentance.”
“But when will repentance come? Will it be too late?”
“To save the Union? Can we expect God to rescue us from our folly when folly is hatched from our stubborn right to choose our own way?”
Slowly Olivia sat down and examined her hands. “I don’t understand, Alex. We know slavery is wrong; why can we see this so clearly, and at the same time they see their situation with the same clear vision? We are at an impasse. Is God obligated to solve the problems we have created? Will he keep us from—”
“From killing each other before there’s repentance and humility?”
“Repentance? How can you repent of something that is right?”
Slowly Alex shook his head. “The only real right I know in this whole situation is that these people deserve freedom and a chance to live just as we live.”
“Your father has over a hundred slaves,” Olivia said slowly. “It will ruin him if he must free them.”
“Olivia, remember that God loves us all very much, and He loves the South just as much as He loves the North. Psalms says, ‘The earth is full of his unfailing love.’” Alex walked to the door and turned. “We must remember that God loves the Negro slave. Somehow, I have the feeling this love for the slave will have a great influence on who wins the war!”
“I hope you are successful in convincing your father of this.”
“Right now I have another problem to fight,” he said, his voice muffled. “How does a Christian point a gun at a man and pull the trigger? How does he deliberately kill another human over a situation which should be handled with words, not war?”
The door closed behind Alex. Olivia bent double in her chair and hugged her trembling legs against her chest. “Dear God, the Union is torn apart right down the middle. It seems every day one more state moves into their camp, and the possibility of war is beginning to seem horribly real. And my husband—will this tear him apart, physically and emotionally?” She paused. In the silence there was only the painful beating of her heart.
That evening at dinner, Alex said, “Father, Mother, we need to be returning to Pennsylvania.”
Olivia watched disappointment crumple the face of the white-haired woman as she looked at Alex. “Olivia, please talk sense into your husband,” she said. “At least he will listen to you. We need you both desperately. You can see Father isn’t well.”
Olivia put her fork on the plate and leaned forward. Softly she said, “We know. But Father needs to see a doctor more than he needs Alex here. You know we have the boat and pilot waiting in Vicksburg.”
“We’ll plan to leave the fifteenth of this month. April is a good time to travel across Georgia and Alabama,” Alex continued. Turning to his mother he added, “Pennsylvania is a lovely place; you’d like it. I wish you two would sell the plantation and find a home away from the fever belt.”
“Sell?” Mr. Duncan straightened in his chair. “I’d rather turn the place over to your sister’s lazy husband than to sell.”
Bertha Duncan’s voice was drawn with tension as she said, “You know that Mr. Mallory has been at you to sell out to him, why—”
“The scoundrel is offering just half what it’s worth,” he snarled. “Now that the South has made the move she should have made thirty years ago, he thinks to get rich at my expense!”
“Father, I must say this—” Alex paused to push away from the table. “You are gambling that the North will continue to allow secession. I say it won’t.”
“I suppose you are going to quote Lincoln again,” his father’s voice was heavy.
“No, Father, this time it’s Douglas. Just before the election he went South to the people. He warned them against entertaining any thought of secession. Over and over he said the whole of the North will rise up to prevent the Union being torn apart.
“Father, we haven’t heard the last of this. I’m becoming more afraid for this nation. Yesterday I spent the day reading the Constitutional documents. I agree with every voice coming out of the North. The Constitution doesn’t support the action the South has taken. It is treason. Also, if Washington doesn’t take action soon, the North will cry out against the new administration.”
Mr. Duncan leaned his hands against the table. “For most of my adult life, the South has been pushing her cause against the North. Just you watch; they’ll give us everything we ask for. I predict that before the year is out, we will be in control of Washington, either by default or by design!”
“And if you are wrong,” Alex added, “you will be ruined.” He got to his feet. “Father, I don’t like opposing you. I wish you would take your pattern for living from the Lord Jesus Christ rather than the men around you.”
For a moment Mr. Duncan looked astonished, and then he laughed. “It is hilarious to think of the impact I would have! Don’t you see, Son? We are moving forward with confidence and trust in God…in the rightness of our cause, simply because we’ve long understood what is right.�
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“Father, today’s newspaper says Lincoln has informed South Carolina of his intentions to resupply Fort Sumter with provisions. Another article from Alabama called for action from South Carolina. It sounds as if Alabama agrees war is necessary.”
Mr. Duncan laughed. “War? I’ll agree that the hot-heads have been saying this, but it won’t happen.”
****
The following morning, a sealed dispatch lay on top of the newspaper beside Mr. Duncan’s plate. Olivia watched her father-in-law slit the envelope, blanch, and slowly sit down.
Alex came into the room. “Father, is it bad news?”
“No, but it is surprising news. I never expected this.” He touched the envelope and looked up at Alex. “Jefferson Davis has ordered Beauregard to take Fort Sumter before the relief fleet arrives. Lincoln threw down the gauntlet—war or peace. President Jefferson Davis has decreed war.”
Alex’s mother had been standing in the doorway. Now she dropped her hand from her throat and came into the room. Stretching her hands toward Alex and Olivia, she said, “My dears, now you must stay. Only here will you be safe.”
The steam rose from the silver coffee urn, and sunlight flicked prisms of lavender and pink from the crystal. Olivia watched a slender black hand reach out with its offering of hot muffins. Alex spoke. “We will stay, but you must know the reason. Newspaper articles from North and South have left one remarkable fact stamped on my mind. Union feeling is strong in the South. I am Southern. It is in my blood, and strangely it stirs my loyalties, no matter how much I abhor slavery. I’ll stay as long as I can find a listening ear.”
“What do you intend to do, Son?”
“Take my plea to every head of state I can find. Before there is war between the states, there must be war in the states. We must shake down every wrong idea and decide whether or not we want to accept the consequences of war. I’m convinced this is one question the South hasn’t considered.”
“Son, knowing the Southerners as you do, are you expecting success?”
Slowly Alex said, “You are reminding me that they’d rather fight than compromise? That war is inevitable? That the North will be intimidated by the strong military background of the South, and yield without bloodshed? Father, there is Union feeling in the South, but in the North the Union principle is stronger than life. Remember the stories of the Revolutionary War? That same feeling is still alive.”
“But it is also here! We’ll die before we capitulate.” Abruptly he sank back in his chair. “You know you’ll be fighting against everything I believe in. Do you expect me to harbor an enemy in my home?”
“Father, I’m not fighting just for the Union; I’m also trying to gain another opportunity for you and your neighbors to win this conflict in the only honorable, and profitable way. True, it will cost you.”
“And what is the cost?” the senior Duncan asked heavily.
“The handwriting on the wall says that before this is over, all of you will be required to free your slaves, unless you do it now. I believe war can still be averted. It frightens me to think of the alternative.”
“Free my slaves? That is financial suicide. You’re asking me to gamble on the North winning! Never would I be so foolish.”
The sun shifted from the table to the carpet before Mr. Duncan spoke again. “I will risk the loss of all before I’ll bow to your suggestion.”
Chapter 9
At noon Mike came into the kitchen. Sadie glanced up, saw his grin, and commented, “Thee hast been up to something.”
“I have a job. Henry Peterson needs a pilot for a tug. We’ll be floating barges down the Ohio. Barrels of oil, steel, and some coal.”
“Seems a comedown after helping people to freedom.”
“I know. But I can’t sit around all spring waiting for Alex and Olivia to return.” Just as Beth came into the kitchen he added, “I’ll clear out my room. No sense cluttering up the place with my junk when I’ll be gone most of the time.”
Beth walked around the table to face him. “Where are you going?”
Mike shoved his hands into his pockets, teetering on his heels. Looking down at Beth, he said, “I’ll be escorting barges down the Ohio to Cairo.”
She went to take the plates from Sadie. “We’ll miss you; it could get lonesome around here. Too bad they don’t hire women.” She slanted a glance at him and brushed past with the dishes. “With the fussing in the South,” Beth continued, “it’s hard to decide what to do. Maybe I’ll consider going into Philadelphia to look for a position.”
“Hadn’t ought to do that,” he said slowly. “With the unrest and the state militia forming, doesn’t seem right for a single lady to be there without a—brother or some such to look out for her.”
Beth’s eyes flared. “I can take care of myself.”
“Missus Thatcher told me they’re looking for a girl to work in the hardware store in the village,” Sadie interjected. “Won’t pay as much as the city, but thee won’t have the expense of renting a room. Terribly lonesome it would be if all of thee be gone.”
Mike’s grin widened. “Sadie can shoo off all the fellas she doesn’t approve of.” He continued to smile down at Beth. When Sadie saw the blush starting on Beth’s cheeks, she pursed her mouth and bustled to the stove.
“Mike, thee could tell Amos dinner is ready. Beth, will thee carry the cornbread to the table?” Sadie added, “Beth, child, thou art more than welcome here. I hope it will not be too lonely with Mike gone.”
Sadie paused. “The tide of feeling is rising. There is talk of war growing stronger each day. I do not know how Lincoln will respond, but my heart aches for the young. They will be the ones to suffer.”
Beth’s eyes were troubled. “But will I be welcome here in the North? Everyone knows I’m from the South.”
“Thy mouth will make or break thy welcome.” Beth looked puzzled, and Sadie explained. “If thee takes sides and speaks badly against all the North holds dear, thou wilt gain enemies.”
Amos and Mike came into the kitchen. Amos looked from Beth to Sadie. “Had to carry some wood into the village. There’s news. Jefferson Davis has made his decision. He ordered General Beauregard to fire upon Fort Sumter. ’Twas over thirty hours of shelling, with the fort nearly destroyed before Major Anderson surrendered. Sadie, my dear, I fear war has begun.”
“Did Lincoln say this?”
“No, but I did.”
“And everyone else in the North is saying it, too,” Mike added as he pulled out the chair for Beth.
They bowed their heads to pray for the meal. For once, Sadie noticed Beth was quiet and thoughtful when Amos said, “Amen.”
“That newspaper said President Lincoln has called for seventy-five thousand militiamen,” Sadie said. “But he wants them for only ninety days. Does he expect the war to be over then?”
Mike looked up. “It sounds like it.”
“According to the newspapers,” Sadie said slowly, “feeling in the South has been harsh. I cannot believe even Lincoln will make the people change their mind in just three months. Too bad, he said such nice things about not being enemies with the South when he was inaugurated.”
“I don’t think changing their mind has much to do with it,” Mike said thoughtfully. “Most people hang on to their feelings longer than that.” He looked at Beth. “If he doesn’t convince the South that war is a bad idea, then he’ll need to convince the whole world that the North is stronger than the South.”
“Do you believe that is so?” Amos asked.
“No!” Mike and Beth spoke together.
Beth said, “Southerners are proud people. They will fight rather than yield.”
Mike nodded. “I’ve spent enough time in the South to know that Southerners are fighting men. They settle their quarrels with fists and pistols.”
“Many of our young men attend military academies,” Beth said, “even when they’ve no intention of having a career in the military.”
****
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The following week Mike left on his first trip as the pilot of a smart little tug escorting a line of barges down the Ohio.
Beth took the job at the hardware store. Each evening she returned home full of the sights and sounds of the village.
Mike had been gone for nearly a month when Sadie started to see a change in Beth, an independent spirit growing in her. Amos noticed too; he said, “Beth, you are better than a newspaper. So the young ones are beginning to seriously consider the war talk?”
Beth nodded as she carried the bowl of green beans to the table. “At first,” she said, “they were treating the whole thing like a lark. But lately there’s more serious talk.
“Pennsylvania’s filled their quota for militia,” she reported, “such is the enthusiasm for war. The Quakers are against war—” She threw a glance at Sadie. “So are some of the coal miners. Young men from the whole county have taken up soldiering in Mr. Cassaway’s meadow.”
Sadie listened to her chatter and noted the excitement in her eyes. “Where do all these young men stay?”
“Those who live close by return home at night, but those from the far end of the state have set up a regular city of tents around the meadow. They cook their dinners there and string their washing all over the meadow.”
Amos lifted his face from reading the newspaper. “No doubt they’ll be put to the test. Says here that Missouri, Tennessee, and Kentucky won’t send their men to fight for the Union. Sounds like they’ll be seceding. This article also lists more states seceding—Virginia, North Carolina, and Arkansas.”
“A fellow from Virginia claims the dividing line between Union and Confederacy must be slavery, not North and South,” Sadie commented. “I thought all in the South were for slavery; now I understand there’s some talk of even Delaware being soft on slavery.”
Beth shook her head. “Some people in the South own slaves and live in big houses, but not very many. It is only—” she slanted a look at Sadie, hesitated, and slowly said, “the people who are refined.”
“Refined?” Sadie said blankly.
