House Divided

by Ben Ames Williams

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Brett commented in a flat tone, “that the states feel the Quartermaster General doesn’t do a good job.”

  “Oh, we hear that all the time, but our agents have to compete with the states for everything they buy or impress.” Streean met Brett’s eye, said in a resigned tone: “The quartermasters can’t win the war, you know, Brett. Our only chance to win is European recognition, and the only way to get that is to free our slaves and convince England and France that we’re fighting only for independence. But you slave holders will never agree to that; so we’ll lose.”

  For a moment there was a tight silence, and Tilda tried desperately to think of something to say. This time Cinda came to her rescue. “How’s Travis, Enid?”

  “Oh, full of complaints!” Enid added lightly: “But then he always is! He thinks General Longstreet is perfect, so to hear him talk everyone else is plotting against his wonderful General, and the Quartermaster General ought to be shot, and General McLaws and everybody.”

  Tilda wished Enid would not talk so about Trav. It only made Cinda angry. Lucy protested: “Oh, Mama, Papa didn’t mean that. He was just joking, the way he always does with me, making fun of the way grown men argue about things.”

  Streean asked, with a glance at Enid: “His letter was to you then, Lucy?”

  Enid herself answered him. “Heavens, yes! Trav never bothers to write to me.”

  Lucy said defensively: “Well, you don’t ever write to him!”

  “Oh, I never write letters.”

  Streean watched Enid with a faint smile, and after a moment Brett spoke again. “Mister Streean, I judge you’ve no confidence in Southern success.”

  Tilda always felt a dull hurt when the others addressed Redford thus formally, but Streean moved his hand in a casual gesture. “Every Congressman I know has sold his Confederate bonds, and is advising his friends to do the same.” He looked at Brett with a lifted eyebrow. “Might not be a bad idea for you to sell those Confederates you bought with the Currain funds last summer, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

  Brett shook his head. “We didn’t buy them to sell. Tilda’s share is set aside, as you desired. But these Congressmen—” He hesitated. “I believe they’ll pass the new conscription bill.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose they will,” Streean agreed. “Of course, the newspapers are against it, because it will force a lot of their men to fight. And it abolishes substitutions, so the seventy or eighty thousand men who have hired substitutes are shouting that it annuls their contracts with the Government, and that they’ll sue! And everyone liable to service who can afford to do so is turning his property into cash and buying a passport to leave the country. Yes, I think it will pass.”

  “I see a lot of talk in the papers about rich men trying to get posts in the Navy Department, or looking for safe details for themselves and their sons.”

  “Yes, and they’ll get them,” Streean said confidently. He chuckled. “Secretary Seddon exempted one fellow to write a history of the war. It’s safe to say the Secretary will have only the kindest mentions in that history. And Mr. Memminger has found places for all his relatives. But people without influence will just have to skedaddle. The children of Israel are going by the hundreds, turning back to the fleshpots of Egypt, running away from the fiery serpent of the conscription officers.” He laughed. “I heard an amusing tale yesterday; an embalmer named McClure has given up his regular business and is smuggling Jews through the lines in coffins.”

  “Is there as much of a flight as the papers say?”

  “Oh yes. That’s why you see so many auctions. Jews who’ve hired substitutes and stayed here and made fortunes are selling their household goods and paying any price for passports to Europe. But most of them will go North.”

  “It’s not only the Jews who’ve made money during these years,” Brett suggested, and Tilda wished they would keep away from such ugly topics. “But it’s the fashion to speak of Jews and speculators as though the words were synonyms.”

  “It’s the fashion among those who have not made money to throw hard names at those who have,” Streean assented, not at all offended, and he smiled. “But it’s not too high a price to pay.”

  “Speaking of prices and speculators, I wonder how much the Government collects out of the tax on profits,” Brett remarked. Mr. Hartshorn tells me he paid thirty-five hundred dollars, and his whole income was only ten thousand, including a hundred-percent dividend on some stock he owns in the Citizens’ Savings Bank in Lynchburg.”

  “Well, the new tax bill adds ten percent to the fifteen percent already levied,” Streean told him, “if anyone chooses to report his profits and pay it. But a sensible man can make it up easily enough, with this new currency bill. Putting a thirty-three-percent tax on everything bigger than a five-dollar note unless it’s invested in four percents is just plain repudiation, so prices will go sky-high.” He added calmly: “But of course, if he doesn’t report his profits, who’s to know that he made any? I don’t know anyone innocent enough to report to the collector.” Brett made a sudden movement, and Streean said dryly: “Mr. Green is the collector in your district, if you’re interested, Brett; and William Johnson’s the assessor. Every registered business is supposed to report profits at three-month intervals, and farmers have to report what crops they make, and the value of their cattle as of November first. And anyone who made a profit last year by investing money or goods or even his abilities was supposed to report on the first of January.” He lighted a cigar, repeated: “If you’re interested.”

  His tone was a challenge, and Tilda saw Brett was blackly angry; so she rose, giving the signal to leave the table. Why need Redford go out of his way to be offensive to Brett and to them all? There had been a time when she exulted in his success; and she still tried to tell herself that people who did not like him were really just jealous of his shrewdness. But those very people, by the ready willingness with which they yielded to her direction, and the friendly gratitude they gave her because she told them how they could be most useful, made her feel for them a wistful liking. There were actually moments when she regretted Redford’s fine achievements. That night, abed, thinking of Darrell and Dolly gone heedlessly off to Nassau, thinking of Redford noisily asleep beside her, Tilda found herself crying in the silent dark, gulping down her sobs, letting her eyes drain tears into her pillow. Oh, why could she not have had fine children like Cinda’s? She wept not with envy, nor in self-pity, but in longing so hopeless it was like despair.

  She had not told Redford of Dolly’s escapade; but as January ended she began to regret her silence. The Dragonfly must soon return to Wilmington, and Captain Pew would surely come here, and then Redford would hear the truth. When on the second day of February he remarked that Captain Pew was in town, she was full of questions she dared not ask. “Is he going to stay with us?”

  “No, he’s only in Richmond for a day or two.” Streean added in an amused tone: “We’re going into the passenger business this trip. Mr. Hyman, the jeweler, has auctioned off everything he owns so he can get out of the country before the conscript officers grab him. He’s bought a passport, and wants passage to Nassau for himself and his whole family, his wife and his mother and three or four others. He’ll pay through the nose before we’re done with him. He’s made two or three hundred thousand dollars since the war started, and we’ll make him give up most of it. And Colonel Northrop wants us to make a voyage for the Government, and he’ll guarantee us a three-hundred-percent profit on any provisions and meat we’ll bring in. Captain Pew says he can buy New York beef and Nassau bacon at a bargain, and get a bill at double the actual price to show Northrop. So he’ll hurry off and sail as soon as his cotton’s loaded.”

  Tilda was not interested in these transactions, but she wished to see Captain Pew. “You must bring him to supper, at least. Tell him he mustn’t neglect us just because Dolly’s not here.” If Dolly had returned on the Dragonfly and gone directly on to th
e Plains as she had said she would, Captain Pew must have told Redford; and she watched his expression for any change.

  But clearly he knew nothing of Dolly. “I doubt if he’ll come. He likes a session at Mr. Merrihay’s gaming tables.” His eyes shadowed thoughtfully. “Gambling will be the ruin of the good Captain some day.”

  One question at least she could ask. “Did Darrell stay on in Nassau?”

  “Oh Darrell didn’t go to Nassau,” Streean said casually. “I suppose he’s still at Chimneys. Captain Pew hasn’t seen him.”

  That word was like a blow, stopping Tilda’s breath; for if Darrell had not gone to Nassau on the Dragonfly with Dolly, then Dolly had lied to Jenny. But why had Dolly lied? Where was she now? Questions like missiles pelted Tilda hard.

  She slipped away upstairs to be alone, to try to guess the truth, to think what she must do. But what could she do, without risking harm to Dolly? It must be that Dolly had not gone to Nassau; for if she had, Captain Pew would have told Redford. Perhaps Dolly had met Darrell, and had been enticed by him into some adventure that she wished to conceal.

  No, that guess was obviously wrong; for Dolly must have known her lie to Jenny would be discovered, so she must have expected to be by this time at the Plains. Perhaps in fact she was there now; but if she were, why had no word come? Tilda was frantic with terror deeper than anything she had ever known. Dolly had all her life gone her pretty, capricious way; no one had ever hurt or harmed her; she knew no more of danger than a child. Tilda’s thoughts conjured up a thousand dreadful specters.

  Thinking that Captain Pew might know more than he had told Redford, she tried next morning to see him, asking for him at the Spottswood and the Ballard; but she did not find him. She wrote Jenny to inquire whether Dolly had arrived at the Plains, and as an afterthought she wrote Tony at Chimneys for news of Darrell. Redford Streean told her that evening that Captain Pew had returned to Wilmington. She wished, too late, that she had gone with him to try to find Dolly.

  She had long waiting for any answer to either of her letters. February brought a new pressure of hunger everywhere. Tilda heard spiteful talk about Mrs. Davis’s luncheon for ladies when she served roast ducks, jellied chicken, oysters, a lavish meal; while at the same time the army was on such short rations that General Lee had to appeal to his soldiers for patience and endurance. On every street corner in Richmond there were muttering groups of poor women, each with a train of hungry children. Some thought that Lee might have to send a few regiments to keep down the unrest in the city.

  Redford Streean told her that General Lee had asked President Davis to prevent commissary agents buying government supplies for their families and their friends. “He claims that it takes food out of the mouths of the army,” he said resentfully. “If they want rations, why not capture them from the enemy? General Lee complains like an old woman. We have as much right to be fed as the soldiers, I suppose.”

  Tilda nodded indifferent agreement. He was right, of course. Everyone who could buy government beef and flour did so; and certainly there seemed to be plenty. Richmond had never been more gay than it was just now. Tilda had hoped she and Redford would be invited to Mrs. Ives’s for the performance of The Rivals, an event for which rehearsals had been weeks in progress. They were not invited, but when the time came she no longer cared. Nothing else mattered till she knew where Dolly was.

  The first answer to her letters came from Tony. “Darrell left here two or three days before Christmas,” he wrote. “He expected to go to Wilmington and on to Nassau.” His letter was short, but Tony never wrote at length. Tilda found in what he said some reassurance. If Darrell had set out for Wilmington before Christmas, he must surely have reached there before Dolly did; so perhaps Dolly had not lied after all. She must have met Darrell and planned to go with him on the Dragonfly, and then they changed their plans and Dolly did not trouble to write Jenny again. Probably, Tilda told herself, snatching at any straw of hope, they had met friends and gone to visit on some plantation near Wilmington; and surely Dolly had joined Jenny at the Plains by now.

  But the day after Tilda heard from Tony, Jenny wrote that Dolly was not at the Plains; so Tilda was distracted, nursing her terror in silence, confiding in no one, till on the eleventh of February Dolly’s breathless letter came.

  Dear mama—I declare you must be just wild not hearing from me but I’ve been just simply too happy to write any old letters to anybody because mama youll never believe it but Im married to the very darlingest boy his names Bruce Kenyon and hes a lieutenant in the garrison at Fort Fisher and the minute I laid eyes on him it was all over with me just like that and he was just going home on furlough and he lives in Charlotte and it was the same with both of us so we didn’t waste a minute can you imagine mama Id known him less than a whole day before we were married hes only nineteen but he’s the handsomest thing you ever saw and his papa and mama are darling and we have to go back to Wilmington next Monday because he only had two weeks at home and you must pack up all my prettiest clothes and send them on because Wilmingtons ever so gay and were going to live there and you must come and visit us as soon as ever you can probably you think Im just crazy and I am really but isnt it wonderful and please dont be mad at me for not waiting to tell you but Colonel Lamb and General Whiting say the Yankees are apt to attack Wilmington just any time and I couldnt bear to think of waiting even a minute when Bruce might be killed or something and arent you glad mama because I know you worried about me and said you never would feel safe till I was married and settled down so now you wont worry any more Bruce sends loads and loads of love to his new mama and hes crazy to have you come and visit us real soon he has to be at the fort but he can come home lots of times and Im just the happiest girl in the world.

  Your loving daughter,

  Dolly

  Tilda read the letter once and then twice, at first with surprise and with a great relief; but then questions came to trouble her. Dolly and her new husband, according to the letter, must have been married about the first of February. But Dolly had reached Wilmington on the sixth of January! Where had she been for those three weeks of which she now gave no accounting? If she had been with Darrell, why did she not speak of him? If she had gone to Nassau? Tilda shook her head. If Dolly had gone to Nassau, Captain Pew would have said so.

  She showed Redford the letter and he read it with an amused chuckle. “Well, it’s high time,” he commented. “But young Kenyon has my sympathy. She’ll lead him a dance.”

  Tilda tried to protest. “Why, Redford, Dolly’ll make a real sweet wife! You know she will.”

  Streean laughed. “I wouldn’t want to risk anything on it. She’s a spoiled hussy, Tilda. No one man will ever be enough for her. She’ll want a regiment.” He looked at the letter again. “See here, where did she meet him, if she was at the Plains? Fort Fisher’s in Wilmington.”

  “Maybe she met Darrell in Wilmington and stayed there a few days with him.”

  “I don’t think so. Captain Pew didn’t see Darrell, and he went to Wilmington on the same train with Dolly.” Tilda had no answer, and he said: “I’ll ask Pew about it, next time he comes to Richmond.” He grinned. “Tilda, I’ll bet that little lady never went to the Plains at all. She just made the trip an excuse to get out from under your wing. Well, at least she’s married. Let her husband worry about her from now on.”

  Tilda wrote to Dolly, but that letter was hard to phrase. Your children had you always at a disadvantage. You loved them so much more than they loved you. If you sought to guide or to control them, they thought you a tiresome nuisance, or a tyrant; and in the long run they would always go their own way. If you tried too stubbornly to hold them fast, you lost them. No mother could ever win a battle with her daughter; for victory was itself defeat. Children were so much a part of you that to hurt them was to hurt yourself—and to lose them.

  And Dolly was a grown woman. Scolding was emptiness. Whatever had been done was done, irrevocably. She must keep as much
of Dolly’s trust and of Dolly’s love as the girl would grant her.

  So she wrote carefully, trying not to sound querulous. “I was mighty glad to have your letter, darling, with your happy news. I’d been a little worried, of course, because Jenny wrote me that you’d met Darrell and gone off to Nassau on the Dragonfly. That sounded so dangerous. I know the Yankee cruisers shoot at the blockade-runners, and I couldn’t bear to think of cannon balls rattling around your head. Captain Pew was here two weeks ago and he didn’t mention your having gone, but I knew you were with Darrell, and so of course you were all right. I hadn’t told your father what Jenny wrote me.” That silence on her part might be a bond between her and Dolly. “Lieutenant Kenyon must be charming, if you love him so. Is he one of Darrell’s friends? I haven’t heard from Darrell for months. Tell him he ought to write me a nice letter some day. You and your Lieutenant must come for a visit when you can. I’ll send your things as soon as you tell me where to direct them.”

  She made more than one draft of this letter, writing and rewriting it, careful to exclude from it everything but tenderness and affection. One wrong word now might create a rift between her and Dolly that could never be mended. Having written the letter she wondered where to send it, and added a postscript. “You don’t give me your address so I’ll send this to your nice husband to give to you.” And she enclosed it in a note to Lieutenant Kenyon and addressed it to Fort Fisher

  At once, to protect Dolly, she went to tell Cinda of Dolly’s marriage. She tried to pretend a delight she did not feel, and Cinda joined in that pretense; but when Tilda said good-by, Cinda caught her and kissed her, and Tilda to her own dismay burst into tears.

  “Oh, Cinda,” she sobbed, “I’m so desperately unhappy. I hate this getting married in such a hurry. People’s tongues!”