American Struggle

by Veda Boyd Jones

  “I’ll try harder to pay attention in class,” Andrew said grudgingly.

  “I can help him,” Daria offered.

  Mama’s face relaxed just a little. “Thank you, Daria. Will you work with your sister, Andrew?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Andrew muttered, but Daria knew his words were a halfhearted promise. Her brother just couldn’t grasp things the way she did. Her heart ached for her twin, but she didn’t know what else she could do to help him.

  “I trust that you will keep your word,” Mama said. “It’s what your papa would want.”

  Thanksgiving was spent at the Burtons’ fine home, located a little farther up in Walnut Hills. Uncle Jon was too old to fight in the war, and Daria was almost jealous that her cousins still had their father at home. She couldn’t help but think that if Uncle Jon hadn’t been on a first-name basis with General Rosecrans, perhaps Papa would never have been called up. And though she knew it was wrong and wasn’t what Papa would want, bitterness was growing inside Daria.

  By the time December rolled around, money was scarce for the Fisk family, and Daria made a decision. She would quit school and begin working as a seamstress. The women in her sewing circle were always telling her how fine her sewing was. Even in a time of war, there was always sewing work to be found. Daria knew that money was tight for the family. If Daria took a job, she could help Mama and the family with the finances. Mama was always telling her she had to grow up. Well, if she had to grow up, Daria decided, then she should take on some of the responsibility for helping out the family.

  Mama had already dismissed Shuble, the gardener. With the strained family budget, there was nothing extra to pay the man’s salary. Daria knew it broke Mama’s heart to let him go just when the gardens and yards were looking so fine. They all knew that Mirza might have to go, as well. But if Daria had a job, then perhaps they could keep her.

  The family continued to gather in the parlor every evening for prayers and scripture reading, though often Daria’s heart was not in it. In the evenings, more than any other time of day, she missed Papa the most. She’d rather go on up to bed than sit with the family and bear the ache that wrenched at her insides.

  The week before Christmas, Daria’s plan was complete. She’d talked to Mrs. Wellington, a local dressmaker, who was interested in taking Daria on as a seamstress’s helper. It would be a start. Daria was sure that she would be a full-fledged seamstress in no time. Daria decided to tell Mama what she was going to do that night during prayers.

  Before Mama opened the Bible that evening, she said to her children, “I have something I want to discuss with you.” Her voice was clear and steady. “As you know, our budget is strained almost to the breaking point. Even our savings is being quickly depleted. I have no way of knowing at what point your papa will be able to send money to us. But it’s my belief that God gives us ways and means by which we can remedy adverse circumstances.”

  Daria felt almost smug. After all, she had the solution to the family’s problem. Mama was leading right to the subject of which she wanted to speak. Then her mama shocked her clear down to her toes.

  “We have a great number of rooms in this rambling old house. And so,” Mama said, smiling at each of them, “I’ve decided to turn our home into a boardinghouse.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The Fisk Boardinghouse

  No one spoke. The silence was deafening. Daria looked at Andrew. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “I know it may take a little getting used to,” Mama said into the silence, “but I’ve thought about it. I believe this is the best solution to our financial situation.”

  Jenny cleared her throat. Jenny, who usually sided with Mama, was now hesitating. “A boardinghouse? That seems like rather drastic measures.”

  “My dear Jenny, we live in a time that calls for drastic measures.”

  “But, Mama,” Daria protested, “strangers in our house? What would Papa say?”

  “Why, Daria Ann,” Mama said, “our home has always been open to guests—only now they’ll be paying to stay. I’ve been making a few notes that I’d like to share with you.”

  She rose, stepped over to her secretary, and pulled out sheets of paper filled with notes and figures and lists. It was obvious she’d been doing a good deal of planning.

  “I’ll need help from each of you in order to care for our guests properly,” Mama continued as she came back. Carefully arranging her hoops, she sat down in Papa’s chair next to the roaring fire. “With this plan I hope to be able to keep Mirza working for us.”

  “What about my work with the sewing circle and the soldiers’ aid society?” Daria asked.

  “You may have to rearrange your schedule somewhat,” Mama said gently. “But I’m sure after your chores are done here, you’ll still be able to help the war cause by knitting and sewing with the others.”

  Daria didn’t look entirely convinced.

  “Now,” Mama said, smoothing out the sheets of paper on her lap, “Jenny, we’ll move you in with Daria. That will free up your bedroom.”

  Andrew looked upset. “Mama, you’re not planning to rent out Papa’s office, are you?” Daria knew that Andrew often went into the office to sit still and soak up Papa’s presence. He didn’t want anyone touching anything in that office.

  “No, of course not, Andrew. What I planned was for you to turn the waiting area into your own room. We can put a cot in there for you, and we’ll use your room as another rental room.”

  Andrew released a silent sigh of relief. Daria felt a little jealous. Sleeping in Papa’s office might be kind of fun for a change—but she would have to share a room with Jenny.

  “This will be our first step. Your two rooms along with the guest room will give us space for three boarders. If we find we’re able to handle yet another guest, I’ll move downstairs to the smaller parlor and rent out the master bedroom. From my figures, I believe renting three rooms will provide sufficient income for the time being. Now, let’s see …” Mama shuffled the papers for a moment until she found what she was looking for. “Ah, yes. Here’s the list of chores each of us will have to do to make our guests comfortable and to keep our home in good order.”

  “Can’t Mirza do all that?” Andrew wanted to know.

  Daria was wondering the same thing.

  “Oh, my, no,” Mama said. “Stop and think—Mirza will now be cooking for three more people. Meals will have to be served on a schedule.”

  Daria couldn’t imagine such a change. Because Papa was often called away from the house to treat a patient, lunch and dinner had often been served at odd hours. Sometimes they would wait on Papa; other times they wouldn’t—there was never a set time for any meal. This habit had continued after he left for the war.

  Mama handed each of them a separate sheet listing which days they were expected to do which chores. Jenny didn’t say a word. Andrew let out a loud groan. Daria felt like melting into the floor. According to her list, she was supposed to help serve supper, sweep out rooms, make the beds, shake rugs, and empty chamber pots. How was she supposed to go to sewing circle? She had come up with a plan to help with the family’s money problems, and now she was supposed to be a maid! What a crazy turn of events!

  “When do you plan to open your new business?” Jenny asked, studying the list Mama had handed her.

  “I thought just after New Year’s Day would be nice,” Mama replied. “I plan to place an advertisement in the classified section of the Gazette. We can also put a sign out front.”

  Nice? Daria wondered how Mama could use such a word to describe this terrible situation.

  “Now, if there are no more questions,” Mama said, setting the papers aside and opening the Bible, “I believe we should pray.”

  Early the next morning, Daria went to Jenny’s room and knocked softly. At Jenny’s bidding, she opened the door and slipped inside, hoping Mama wouldn’t be coming down the upstairs hallway. Jenny was still in her wrapper. “Good morning, Daria,” she said.


  “To what do I owe this visit at the crack of dawn?” “I have a question to ask.”

  Jenny sat down on the edge of her featherbed and patted a place beside her. “Come and sit down.” When Daria was settled beside her, Jenny said, “Ask away.”

  “What do you think of Mama’s boardinghouse scheme?”

  Jenny studied Daria a moment, making Daria feel uncomfortable. “What do you think of her ‘scheme,’ as you call it?”

  “I don’t much like the idea of having strangers in our house. And I sure don’t think much of having to do all this extra work.” She didn’t bother to hide her disgust at the thought.

  “Tell me, Daria, what would you have us do while Papa is away?”

  Daria took a deep breath. “I was …” She hadn’t planned to tell anyone her own idea, but Jenny had asked. “I sorta thought about quitting school and going to work.”

  If her statement surprised Jenny, Daria couldn’t tell. Her older sister touched her arm. “That’s a noble and caring plan, Daria. It shows me your heart is in the right place. I know Mama would say the same thing. But what would Papa say? Had you thought of writing him and asking his opinion?”

  That thought had never occurred to Daria because she knew Papa would never want such a thing.

  “I know your answer from your silence,” Jenny continued. “Do you think Mama’s happy about this decision? This is more difficult for her than for any of us, Daria. Never forget that.”

  “But she seemed so pleased with the idea,” Daria protested.

  “She’s making the best of a very unpleasant situation, just as we all have to do.” Jenny paused a moment. “Daria, I have always dreamed of becoming a wife and having my own little place where I could cook for my husband and greet him at the close of each day. I never dreamed I would get married and then be alone in my parents’ home.” She sighed. “There’s nothing any of us can do about the circumstances we are in. But we can find ways to bring cheer to one another in spite of the circumstances. If we really try, we can see a little bit of good in most everything.”

  Jenny put her arm around Daria’s shoulder. Daria could smell the fragrance of her lilac water. “Mama is being strong and courageous. Can we do any less?”

  Daria could only shake her head.

  “It will take courage and determination for you to do the work Mama has asked you to do. Keep in mind as you’re shaking the rugs and sweeping floors that you are making Mama’s load a little lighter. And that’s what Papa would want of you.”

  Unable to speak, Daria stood and quickly left the room. Jenny was right. But how Daria hated this terrible war!

  Christmas had always been Daria’s favorite time of year. She couldn’t remember ever having a sad Christmas. Not even the year she and Andrew had the measles. Had it always been Papa who made everything so full of life and fun? Because with Papa away, the life seemed to have gone out of everything.

  Mama decided that they would not purchase or make Christmas gifts for one another. Instead, they would present gifts to the benevolence storeroom at church. Gifts given to that cause went to the needy families of the hundreds of volunteer recruits who had gone off to war.

  “There are so many people in the city worse off than we are,” Mama pointed out. “It’s important that we think of others at this special time.”

  On Christmas Eve, they gathered in the parlor and wrote special messages of love and encouragement to Papa and Edward. As the cold winter winds whipped around the house, Daria’s thoughts also went to Roy. She was certain that Andrew was thinking about Roy, too. There had been no more letters from their friend since the first one they had received. Was Roy sleeping out on the cold ground on Christmas Eve? Daria felt a pang of guilt for wallowing in self-pity. At least she had a warm home, a wonderful family, and good food to eat.

  As at Thanksgiving, they spent Christmas Day at the Burton home. Aunt Ellie had invited a vast number of guests, and their spacious home was filled with music, laughter, and scores of people. One could almost forget there was a war at all. In spite of the good food and company, though, Daria was relieved when the day was over.

  Early the next morning, Mama set all of them to work moving furniture and scrubbing every corner of the house. She had borrowed a cot from the Burtons, and they placed it in the reception room of Papa’s office. Andrew then brought most of his belongings downstairs from his room and turned the place into his new bedroom. From the reception room window, he could look out and see the stable door directly behind the house. Daria knew he was already imagining being able to sneak out in the night to spend time with Bordeaux.

  Even with Mirza’s help, it took the better part of the day to complete the work involved in getting their home ready for boarders. That evening Mirza made a delicious oyster stew from tinned oysters they had on hand. It was a special treat because items that used to come up the river from New Orleans, such as coffee, sugar, and seafood, were in short supply. Everyone was so weary from the day’s work that there was little conversation as they ate.

  “Tomorrow,” Mama said, “we’ll sort through the linens to be sure we have enough for each room. Some pieces may need to be laundered and ironed. Andrew and Daria, you may take my advertisement to the Gazette in the morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Since there was so little news these days, Andrew had stopped going to town every day. But Daria knew he was always glad for an excuse to saddle Bordeaux and go somewhere, and Daria would be relieved to escape the house for a little while, as well.

  That night Daria lingered in Andrew’s new room, reluctant to settle down upstairs with Jenny. Andrew had his own little heating stove, which made the area quite cozy. There was a bowl of apples set on a small table by the door. Andrew grabbed an apple from the bowl and grinned at Daria. She knew what he was thinking, and together they slipped out in the cold to the stable.

  Andrew gave a low whistle, and Daria heard Bordeaux answer. “Hello, Bordeaux,” she said as they stepped into the darkened stable. She moved to the stall and reached up to pet the velvet nose. Bordeaux snuffled softly, nosing around Daria’s hand. “He wants his treat,” she said over her shoulder to Andrew.

  “Did you think we forgot, Bordeaux?” He brought out the apple and offered it on his palm. “Mama says we’re spoiling you. But I don’t care.”

  Bordeaux made noisy crunching sounds as he devoured the apple. Juice dripped from his mouth.

  “I’m your next-door neighbor now,” Andrew said to his horse. “All you have to do is look out your window there, and you’ll be able to see me. And I can open my window and call good night to you.”

  He reached up to rub Bordeaux’s ears and run his fingers through the silky mane. “When it gets warmer, I can leave the window open, and we can talk to one another across the way. Would you like that?”

  Bordeaux nodded just as though he understood every word, and Daria giggled. She was convinced the horse did understand.

  “Nice as that would be, I’m believing Papa will be home long before it gets warm again. Long before.” Andrew heaved a big sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.

  The twins stood together silently, shoulder to shoulder by the big horse. After a long moment, Daria sighed. “Good night, boy. We’ll be out to saddle you early in the morning. Mama wants us to take the advertisement to the Gazette. She doesn’t ask us to get the news anymore. There’s no news to get.”

  With that, Daria and Andrew slipped back across the yard to Andrew’s new sleeping quarters. Daria watched while Andrew crawled into the small cot. It was nothing like his big bed upstairs, but she knew her brother reveled in being surrounded by Papa’s things. It was almost as good as being with Papa. Almost.

  She waited a moment, hoping Andrew would feel like talking. But all he said was “Good night” and rolled over with his back to Daria. Sometimes she felt as though this horrible war was taking Andrew away from her, too.

  Two days before New Year’s, a sign painter arrived t
o create a new sign. The KEVIN FISK, MEDICAL DOCTOR sign was taken down. In its place hung a sign that said FISK BOARDINGHOUSE—REASONABLE RATES.

  Daria could hardly bear to see Papa’s sign taken down. She tried to remember that she must be strong and a help to Mama.

  The new year of 1862 arrived with little fanfare. Cannons were shot in Cincinnati, and other cannons echoed back from across the river at Newport Barracks and Covington. Articles in the newspapers speculated that perhaps this would be the year that ended the war.

  The day after New Year’s Day, a letter arrived from Papa. Mama took the letter first and closed herself in her room for a time. Daria told Andrew later that she believed that was when Mama allowed herself to cry. “I don’t think Mama wants us to know how much she misses Papa and worries about him. She doesn’t want us to worry.”

  The letter was shared as they came together in the parlor late in the evening. Mama read it aloud, so they could all hear Papa’s description of the camps in Tennessee. He told about the thousands of campfires that were lit each evening and the sad, melancholy singing that floated across the night air:

  Hundreds and hundreds of lonely, homesick men and boys all sleeping and eating out in the cold. The rows of tents stretch out as far as the eye can see. Christmas was especially difficult for everyone. To hear “Silent Night” being sung by hundreds of voices all in unison and perfect harmony is enough to break the heart of the most hardened men here.

  The men ask over and over, “Why is nothing being done? Why have we all been called out to sit here in the cold and wait?” Morale is low, discouragement high.

  Food is another problem. The men have a number of jokes about how terrible it is. “One bean to a gallon of water” is the recipe for the soup. The hardtack biscuits are known as “teeth crackers.”

  As Mama read that part, Daria thought of the good beef stew she’d just finished for supper, and the light-as-air corn bread that Mirza baked. It wasn’t fair that Papa should not be here to share it. The letter continued: