Jewel of Promise

by Marian Wells

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “It’s pretty lonesome around here with the fellows gone. This July there hasn’t been one hayride, and when the young people get together, their conversation sounds just like the old folks—war.”

  “Beth, could I give you a little brotherly advice? Don’t go to Pittsburgh to the factories. It’s not safe for a pretty young girl.”

  “Brotherly? Mike, some might think different if they see us—” He moved restlessly on the buggy seat and waited.

  Finally she resumed the conversation, “I wonder how it is back home? Do you suppose the young people there feel the same about the war?”

  “No.” He was aware of her turning to him. “Beth, I’ve been hearing enough to draw a few conclusions. Southerners, young and old, aren’t the least unhappy over the war. One of the reasons I got out of there in a hurry was the high feelings against the North.” He fell silent, then added, “Seemed to be a mood of celebration. Here it’s like a constant wake. We’re not partying over this conflict.”

  “Might be the area. Quakers don’t seem prone to party over anything,” she commented dryly.

  They crested the hill just outside of town. Below them, the road made a wide, gentle swing down toward the river. Mike pulled on the reins, and they stopped on the crest of the hill. In the silence the river’s splashing seemed amplified. They heard the gurgle of water over rocks, the splash of fish, the sound of an oar.

  A skiff came into sight. They watched the couple move through the path of moonlight. While the fellow pulled at the oars, the young girl trailed her hand in the water. As the boat passed into the shadows, Mike said, “Not too neighborly, are they?” He saw her puzzled glance and hastily added, “I prefer talking to rowing.”

  The silence was finally broken by Beth. Her voice was heavy as she said, “So what do you want to talk about—me? Mike, nearly every time I look at you there are questions in your eyes. What is it you want to know?”

  “Beth—” He spoke reluctantly. “I do have questions, but you’ve never given me any right to ask them, so—” Quickly she slid across the seat and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Does that give you the right?”

  “You want me to ask? I’d gotten the feeling you think I’m just a clod.”

  “Well, from the very beginning I felt you were like a brother, burdened with the responsibility of a pesky sister.”

  “I suppose I still feel that way.”

  “It isn’t very flattering.”

  “I was the skipper when you came looking for a ride. You were a bedraggled young’un looking nearly as bewildered as the load of slaves I was carrying. If I’d leered at you, you’d have taken off.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Beth, stop me if I’m wrong, but I have the feeling you’ve left unfinished business behind. I’ve no right to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

  In silence they waited as the freshening wind moved across the fields, sweeping through the corn, snatching at the branches of trees. The breeze brought the scent of mud and water, the echo of faraway voices.

  Below, the skiff moved out of the shadows and drifted downstream. Now the girl leaned against the fellow’s shoulder, while with one trailing oar he held the boat steady. The two heads merged for a moment and the boat drifted toward the bank.

  “I guess I’m like that,” Beth murmured. “Afraid I’ll get out of control.” She glanced at Mike and hastily added, “I mean the boat, not the girl. I run when I can’t see the next step clearly.”

  “That’s what happened at home?”

  “I suppose mostly it was Father considering marriage with a woman I didn’t like. More than all my old feelings about Mother, I felt buried. Like when you’re stacking hay—you put it where you want it, but all of a sudden it comes sliding down around you.”

  “Are there other things too?” Mike asked. “It takes more than a handful of hay to make a stack.”

  “Yes, other things.” She turned on the buggy seat. “Mike, I don’t understand all this Quaker belief about God. You people make me very uneasy. I’m starting to get this desire to run out on it all.”

  “There’s nothing about God that should send you running. Beth, it’s the opposite. God untangles the problems we have, if we let Him.”

  “I’ve gone to church all my life, but He hasn’t untangled anything for me.”

  “Have you asked Him?” Mike turned to face Beth. “There’s just so much God can do for us until we start asking for help.”

  “Help? Mike is there anything you’ve ever wanted desperately?”

  “Not desperately,” he said slowly. “At least so far I haven’t felt that way.”

  “I feel that way,” she whispered. “I call it my if only feeling. Right now I have the if only feeling. What is it that will make me happy?” She moved closer. With her hands on her knees she studied Mike’s face intently.

  Mike chewed his lip and tried to remember what it was that he had wanted to tell Beth. Her face came closer, “Mike?” Carefully he bent over and kissed her. Her soft lips moved under his, and he pulled her close.

  Finally he released her. With a shaky laugh, he said, “Beth, I was going to say something, but I’ve forgotten what it was.”

  Beth moved away, smoothed her hair, and whispered, “Mike, you weren’t acting like a brother.”

  “Shall I apologize?”

  She hesitated. “We must go. Tomorrow is a work day.”

  ****

  When Mike closed the door of his room and leaned against it, he was deeply conscious of Beth just down the hall. He looked at his hands. They seemed full of the memory of her softness.

  Clenching them, he groaned, “God, I made a big mess of this evening. I set out tonight to be the big brother she seems to need. Honestly, I am worried about her. She’s impetuous, like she’s never had a mother to tell her you don’t go around kissing just any fellow.”

  He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. After thinking of the way Beth’s eyes had looked by moonlight, he dropped to his knees beside the bed. “Lord, I’d be a real piker if I stole a soldier’s girl. I don’t think she understands about being a Christian. I got the feeling she thinks belonging to a church will do it.” He hesitated, then quickly added, “I feel this responsibility to talk to her about You, but when I’m close to her I seem to forget about everything else. Please help me to do it in the right way.” He gulped, “And help me to forget about kissing her. It isn’t right; just thinking about it makes me feel like a silly sixteen-year-old.”

  ****

  The following week, Roald Fairmont returned to Pennsylvania. When Beth returned from work, she brought him to the Coopers’ farm.

  Mike noticed the sling as soon as he opened the door. In the parlor, with Sadie and Amos speaking sympathetically, Beth explained, “He’s out of the war for now. But he’ll be able to train the other fellows, that’s why he’s back.”

  “I was at Bull Run,” Fairmont explained. “It’s a broken arm, a simple break, but I can’t handle my rifle.”

  Amos studied him with interest. “Sadie, can thou find another plate? This fellow’s been to war and I want to hear all about it.”

  Mike said, “Those Rebs gave you fellows a rough time.”

  Fairmont glanced at him. “When you get into the real stuff, it turns out fighting isn’t as easy as it looks. Classes didn’t prepare me.”

  “West Point?”

  Roald nodded. “We left Washington with thirty-five thousand troops. Seemed like enough to push the whole South into the Atlantic Ocean,” he said ruefully. He looked at Amos. “Matter of fact, sir, we were just a bunch of raw soldiers trying to hang together. The ninety-day recruits were even worse off than we were.”

  Amos said, “I’ve been following the talk and reading the newspapers. Now it seems to me like the troops were spread out all over the United States. Is that a good idea?”

  Mike looked at Amos. “Are you referring to
the fighting going on in the West?”

  Amos nodded, and Fairmont said, “The Arkansas-Missouri scrapping, as well as the affair between Tennessee and Kentucky? There are also troops down by the Gulf of Mexico, as well as several spots on the Atlantic.”

  “Kinda spread thin, weren’t thee?” Amos asked. “I suppose Lincoln and his men know what they’re doing. I just wish they’d get it over with in a hurry.”

  “Sir, after what we went through,” Fairmont said soberly, “most of us are convinced this war’s going to be around for a time.” He glanced around the room. “The papers were making out that we weren’t up to doing our job. Sir, we were all greenhorns, both North and South. But they were getting up reinforcements while we were being pushed back, and all the time tangling with Congressmen and their wives who had followed.” His voice was bitter as he added, “Thought they were going to a picnic, a real lark, this first big battle. What most of us want to know is: how come the Rebels knew just what our plans were?”

  Roald shivered, and with his voice low, admitted, “The worst part of it all was the Rebel yell.”

  “What is that?” Mike asked, looking at the young man huddled in the rocking chair.

  Roald lifted his head. “An ungodly scream. Most of us thought a bunch of demons were after us. It’s more like an unearthly wailing. Pretty near paralyzed the bunch of us, we just stood there and shivered, didn’t know what to do next. You know the rest, how we turned tail and ran.” His voice was bitter.

  Mike leaned forward in his chair. “Roald, I suppose you fellows have been beating yourselves over the head with the defeat every day since the battle. Have you seen any of the newspaper stories?”

  “I think every Southern newspaper was dropped on our steps,” he admitted. “They all carried the same theme: The North is inferior to the South. A Mobile, Alabama, paper made the prediction we’d never move beyond cannon shot of Washington. Right now, I guess I have to agree with them.”

  Mike stated, “The story that impresses me most came from the fellow writing for the London Times. He called the battle a prick in the North’s balloon, but he said that’s good. He predicted it would bring the people to an understanding of the nature of the conflict. I’m still chewing over that statement.” Mike added, “But I agree with the mood of the country. This conflict isn’t going to be settled easily.”

  “Might be,” Amos rumbled slowly. “A genuine purging goes clear down to the roots. A wildfire in the forest takes off the tops of trees, but in a year or so, things are right back where they were.”

  “And the problems aren’t solved.”

  As Beth came out of the kitchen, Sadie put down her knitting and said, “Might be for the salvation of this country. Most certainly it needs something that goes down to the roots.” She patted Roald’s hand. “Now you come have supper with us. I think Beth has it on the table.” She paused and added, “We’ll celebrate your return and wish farewell to Mike again. He’s leaving tomorrow.”

  As they left the parlor, Fairmont asked, “Where are you going, Mike? Intending to join the army?”

  “No, I’m skipper of a tug taking barges down the Ohio to Illinois.”

  Fairmont scrutinized him for a moment. “Can’t you let some old man do that? The army needs young men.”

  Mike hesitated, unwilling to bring out his questions before the piercing eyes of the man. He glanced at Fairmont’s bandaged arm and muttered, “Maybe later. Right now they’re short of pilots.”

  ****

  Six weeks passed before Mike brought the tug back up the Ohio and was free to return to the Willows, the Coopers’ home. The late summer sun was setting when he walked in the Coopers’ back door. For a moment he thought the house was deserted, then he heard the rustle of a newspaper and a sniff. It was Beth.

  He crossed the room to the rocking chair pulled close to the cold, dark fireplace. The look on her face suppressed the cheerful welcome he had prepared.

  “Problems?” he questioned, sitting on the stool beside her chair. “Want a big brother to listen?”

  She sighed, rubbed a hand across her eyes and muttered, “This newspaper. Nothing but bad news. Roald has left. His arm is healed, and he’s gone to Washington. I suppose I’ll hear he’s been killed next.” Her hands trembled, and she pressed them against her eyes.

  “Aw, Beth—” He swallowed, feeling hollow as he admitted the obvious reason for her tears. “You’re worrying for nothing. You—”

  Abruptly she pushed the newspaper away and straightened in her chair. “It’s all Lincoln’s fault! Now, Mike, don’t go defending him! If he’d just not called for troops back in April, all this could have been settled without people getting killed.”

  “No, Beth, that isn’t so.”

  “Most certainly it is. When he did that, all the other Southern states started seceding. Right and left they were pulling out of the Union,” she cried, jumping to her feet. The tears were rolling down her cheeks and he tried to ignore them as she continued, “Now this paper says Missouri’s fixing to go out of the Union too. One after another, and I suppose that’s the smartest thing to do.”

  “Beth, I was in the South in April. I have newspapers I bought at the time. As soon as Ft. Sumter was attacked, and with its surrender, the crowds in the South started celebrating.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I’ll let you read the newspapers. Richmond, Raleigh, and Nashville took to the streets to celebrate their victory over the Yankees. They were waving Confederate flags and cheering on the cause of Southern independence. Furthermore, they insisted that other states join in the cause. Independence for the South means freedom from all that the Union stands for.”

  He snorted, “It wasn’t Lincoln’s call for men that started the war. The Southern states had already decided that independence was worth fighting for.”

  She pondered his statement in silence. Looking up with a shrug she added, “You say that as if you hate me and the whole South.”

  “Beth, I don’t hate you. I hate the cowardly way the Unionists allowed the Confederate sympathizers to control the politics in their states.” He paused, staring at her with unseeing eyes as he added, “I guess I’m being too hard on the Unionists; I might have been right there with the others when the Virginia crowd threatened violence against them at the time of the convention for secession. Guess they did right to close their mouths and take themselves out of the vicinity.”

  Beth walked restlessly around the kitchen. She sat down and twisted her handkerchief into knots. Finally the words burst out. “I suppose I’m not being honest. Guess I should go home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This battle at Bull Run—at first I thought the North was at least worthy of respect. Now, after the battle, and hearing how the South is saying the Yankees are afraid to fight, that they are like schoolboys with their toy guns, well, I guess I don’t have much respect for the North. Mike, they’re going to lose. I can’t believe they’ll win this war, and I hate to be on the losing side. I’m ashamed of it, but I might as well be honest.”

  Sadie’s mantel clock chimed out the hour, and when it finished, Mike got to his feet. “Guess I’d better go help Amos with the milking.” He paused, looked down at her and said, “Yes, Beth, I suppose you’d be happier if you’d go home.”

  Chapter 12

  Alex was in the library when the carriage stopped at the door. From his position at the desk, he glanced out the window, saw his father step out and reach to help his mother. Alex watched Clayton Duncan escort his wife to the front door and return to the carriage. Surprised by his father’s unusual action, he left the library.

  Bertha Duncan turned as he came into the hall. “Here you are!” she remarked as she walked toward him, pulling off her gloves. “I just asked Tanner to find you. Let’s go into the library for a moment.”

  Alex held the door for her. “I saw Father getting into the carriage, is he leaving?”

  “Yes. Right now he�
��s at the stables. He’ll be returning for his bag. He’s going to Charleston and will be there several days. It’s a matter of raising financial help for the army. He didn’t say much to me. Mentioned something about arrangements to send delegates to Europe. It seems these men will be seeking recognition of the Confederate States as a separate nation.” She slanted a glance at him, sat down, and reached for her fan.

  “Please order something cool for us to drink,” she murmured. “I find myself unusually tired this afternoon.”

  “Katie just brought some iced fruit juice,” he said, going to the tray on the table. “So what is the idea behind a new delegation to Europe?”

  “We need help, and the situation will be desperate soon. The ports are blocked, and we can’t move cotton to Europe, neither can we get the imports we need to continue to support this war.”

  “And you want me to say again that I believe Europe will refuse? Mother, it isn’t prejudice; I simply believe the leaders in Europe are too cautious to allow themselves to be pulled into a conflict between the states. I honestly believe they expect the situation to be rectified very soon.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder. The North is too stubborn. There’s strong sentiment in the South for maintaining the Union, but I also believe South Carolina’s past threats have run their course of effectiveness.” He paused and smiled. “Right now I’m hoping both sides will come to their senses and make some compromises.”

  “Son, do you really feel that way, deep down?”

  Alex took a deep breath. “I want to, but Mother, I’m fearful. Need I commit myself to saying more?”

  “No. And that’s the reason I must talk to you. First, I’m certain your father will not go to Virginia to the lodge. We’ll simply need to cancel the plans.”

  Alex sighed with frustration, “Oh, Mother, you both need it! Can’t you influence him to take better care of you both?”

  “Alex, I must say this quickly before—” The door opened and Alex’s father looked into the room.

  “Bertha, have you told Alex I must go? Oh, there you are, Son.” He came into the room. Alex watched his father’s studied smile and quick gait as he crossed the room.