I am not well. It has been several days that I have been sickened by the thought of food. Evan is concerned that I may have contracted some illness from the servants.
1 October 1860
I have confided in Mama. She sat as was her practice, at the window in the rocking chair she brought to Fredericksburg from Boston. I told her my trouble. She turned to look at me. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward and looked closely at my face.
"Yes, I see,” she said sitting back with a smile.
"See what,” I asked in response?
"My child, you are to have a child of your own."
"How do you know?” I was bewildered.
"I know. It's in your eyes. You are not feeling well. And you have missed at least one ‘curse'. The illness will pass. Yes, you are with child.” She looked up at me with saddened eyes. “You are but a child yourself."
Kone, I wish I could talk to you, to tell you of my joy, my distress and of my fears. I remember Evangeline, my poor little sister. At least she was born out of love. I know now that Evangeline was not of my father, but another. And I know that she was not stillborn, as Mama and Papa would have everyone believe. This child is a product of lust and drunkenness. I love Mama no matter what she has done. And this poor child has done nothing to deserve my contempt, nor will it receive anything by love from me. But what of it's father? How will Evan receive this news?
A tear rolled down Connie's cheek, Victoria was growing into a woman. She had learned about life. The lessons were hard, but they should make her strong.
I hope she's strong enough. Connie was glad she wasn't with Victoria right now. Was this how, Evan becomes a widower? How would she tell Victoria? The times were not good for bearing children or for the mothers. But if this were the case, why wasn't Victoria buried next to her mother? And how could she have been at the Blackstone Pub during the Civil War? And in the cemetery in eighteen seventy-two? She lived to be an old woman. Was she banished from Fredericksburg? Why? Victoria didn't do anything wrong ... Did she? Connie had too many questions and no answers. She put her thoughts aside and turned her attention back to the journal.
3 October 1860
Evan knows about the baby. Yesterday, after my talk with Mama, I sent a message to the farm where he is drilling the Home Guard. He spends most of his waking hours there or at his law practice. He is a successful barrister and respected citizen as well as an elder of the church. I feel my respect for Evan growing. He is a good provider. Our house is never in want. But I can not rekindle the feelings of love I once had for him.
"Husband,” I wrote, “We must speak. Will you be able to take the evening meal with me? I will wait if you are to be late. Your Wife."
James, a gift from Evan's father, returned with the reply.
"My Dear Victoria, Your request has caused me to have misgivings. Of course, I will dine with you this day. You ask so little, how can I refuse? I will be home early. Your Devoted Husband."
My heart was heavy. He is the father of my child, but he is my husband in name only. I hoped he would love the baby, and had no fear that he would care for it. With this child the bond between us will be drawn tighter?
Evan was indeed home early.
I put my mending aside and went to him.
He lifted my face with his fingers under my chin. “Well, I'm glad to see it isn't bad news, or is it?” He has learned to read my moods very well. I allowed him to kiss my cheek and helped remove his field jacket. Under the heavy coat his blouse was soaked with sweat and grimy with dust.
I called, “James,” but he had heard the door and was ready. “Heat water for the Captain's bath and see to his uniform and boots."
While Evan removed the grime from his body, I brought him fresh clothing. James sat at the necessary's door polishing the high army boots. The uniform hung on the porch ready to be beaten. I helped Sadie, the house slave, set the table and finish the meal preparations. I hate owning slaves, but I must abide by my husband's wishes.
"Where's the Captain?” I asked. The necessary's door was ajar. I could see the end of the metal tub still filled with brown water.
"He's in the den, Miss.” James and Sadie knew my secret and had so far kept their promise of silence. I feared Sadie would burst with excitement if the truth were not told soon.
I was anxious, yet excited. Afraid he may not be as happy as I about the child, and unhappy to carry the news to him that his drunken night of lust would bring him an heir.
Until this day, I had never entered the den. It was Evan's. An armchair sat in front of the fireplace, a smoking stand next to it. The books on the shelves, the desk and pen and ink set on it were Evan's. The room even smelled of Evan. The scents I found so charming as a child, the tobacco and bourbon, were now just Evan.
I rapped on the jam, the door being open.
"Come in, my dear, no need to stand on ceremony.” He came to me. Taking my hand, he led me to the warmth of the fireplace, pulling out the wood desk chair for himself. I sat on the edge of the armchair.
"Now tell me what it is you need?"
For a moment I looked into his tired eyes. “You work too hard."
His frown was from puzzlement. “It is a time when we must all work hard. We could be in the middle of a war by this time next year. You know that. Is that why you asked that I join you for supper?"
I could see his irritation grow. I had taken him from his home guard, and he thought it was for a meal with a wife who thought so little of him.
"Why do you choose this time, with the country going crazy, to take me from my work?” His voice was quite sharp. The redness of his eyes and crease in his brow showed his fatigue.
Unbidden tears wet my cheeks. My hands trembled in my lap.
"Woman,” he whispered with a tremor, “What is it? What have I done to cause this reaction?"
I sat still as I tried to gather my words. He reached to wipe my tears away with his fingers. “Tell me."
"We are to have a child.” I said the words without feeling.
His face was blank, his voice mute.
"Evan, did you hear me? I am with child."
He shook his head slowly. “I heard you,” he whispered. “When? How? Of course ... oh, my God in Heaven, no. Not from that treacherous union ... but what other. What have I done?"
My worst fear was unfolding before my eyes. My child would grow up in a house with only its mother to love it. I had done my duty as a wife. I stood. Tears of despair for my child's future filled me. “This child has no control over the manner of its conception. Surely, if I can put that terrible night aside, you can. If not for me, then for your offspring.” I was sobbing as I blindly made my way to the door.
"No. No. Wait. You don't understand.” He stood, “It is my guilt for the manner of ... I'm not angry. I will cherish this child and give it the love that I seemed to have taken from you."
Words! He was playing with words. I had heard him many times talking to friends about politicians and how they could make the words do what they choose. He too could twist their meaning. I struggled to find the doorknob.
"Victoria,” his hands on my shoulders held me in place. I remembered that time some months ago when his touch was not so gentle. A shiver of ice crept into my heart. But his voice was kind.
I stopped and waited to be told his wishes. He stepped in front of me. I could not look at his face. I stared at the floor, as I searched for a handkerchief in the sleeve of my blouse. His own linen cloth reached my eyes first.
I used it and waited, daring a glance at his face. My mood softened. Was that a smile on his lips, in his eyes? It was. But was it ridicule? Could I hope he had some feeling for this child?
"You are happy about the baby, are you not?” I asked.
"Oh, indeed I am, but I am worried too, about you. These are hard times. And I fear they will worsen. How will you carry this burden and care for this child if something happens to me?"
"Nothing is going to happen to you. I'm
sure supper is ready. Let's eat and make our plans."
Victoria was expecting a baby. Where would she go from here? Connie puzzled over the new development.
Putting a slip of paper in the book to mark her place, Connie laid it aside and stood, stretching her cramped body. Her eyes were on fire. She couldn't read anymore tonight, or this morning to be exact, she told herself as she looked at her watch, past two. How did it get so late?
Connie went to the washroom and prepared again to go to bed. This time she knew she would sleep, but she also knew she would dream.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Twenty-Six
Wednesday
"I'll be back in a couple of hours. Sure you don't want me to stay?” Brian opened the door of the Volvo with one hand, while the other held a battered floral printed umbrella aloft to shield Connie from the persistent spring shower.
"I'll be okay.” She got out of the car. Tipping the umbrella to one side, Connie looked up at the building. The gloomy day seemed to suit the grandeur of the dark gray stone.
Although she suspected it would be just as grand in the sunlight. Tall narrow windows lined the top two floors. The stonework was beautifully engraved. Stone pillars guarded the main entrance. As she went up the steps, Connie could feel the wear patterns made by thousands of foot steps. Her interest piqued, she went to the bronze plaque next to the wide doorway. “Robert E. Lee Memorial Library, Built in 1871, by MW Brentwell Co."
Connie read the plaque again. “MW Brentwell Co.” was that Max Jr.? If it was, now she knew what he did after the war.
She turned and smiled at Brian. “It was built after the Civil War. I don't know where Victoria was then, but if I do trip, I promise to stay on the premises, okay?"
Not waiting for an answer, she went to the door and opened it. Turning again she told Brian, “You know, you look like a doorman. If you ever want to start a new career ... well, keep it in mind.” She went inside.
A thin, gray-haired woman was waiting in the foyer. She held her hand out as Connie entered. “Hello and welcome to the Robert E. Lee Memorial Museum and Historical Society. I'm Mrs. Ebstein. You must be Connie Hart. I talked to you on the phone yesterday. I didn't think you'd come in the rain."
Connie took the extended hand, returning the warm smile. She liked Mrs. Ebstein immediately. “It's a beautiful day to do research and Betty Fraiser tells me that this is the best place to start.” She shifted her purse and carryall as she trailed behind her hostess.
"This was once a library,” Ruth Ebstein explained as they moved from the small alcove to a large central reception area. They walked on faded oriental rugs scattered over the bare hardwood floors and headed for the central staircase. “We pay a token rent of one silver dollar a year for its use. Repairs and maintenance are taken care of out of the funds donated by our supporters, the local business community and matching funds from the city."
Connie looked up at the ceiling crowned by a domed skylight and the open balconies of the upper floors.
"Do you have a pamphlet or brochure about the Society? I want to include information about them in my article and I'll need some background,” Connie said as she passed by groupings of furniture, cluttered cases and standing walls covered with pictures. So many things to see, she wished she had more time.
"Of course, I'll get some things together for you,” Mrs. Ebstein said.
They reached the base of a wide staircase. “Can you tell me anything about the MW Brentwell Company?” Connie asked.
"Not much. I know they built this building in eighteen seventy-one. Mr. Brentwell was a local resident. He was instrumental in repairing much of the damage from the war, even though he had lost a leg during some battle in the western campaign."
They stood at the top of the stairs. “This floor is the public access area, books, magazines, newspapers, et cetera on the left.” Connie looked where Mrs. Ebstein indicated. Rows of racks and shelving units jutted out from the wall, leaving only a narrow walkway along the banister. “On the right we display the many items that the citizens of Fredericksburg have loaned to us, family pictures, documents and items of interest. We're very proud of our collection."
The items on display were overwhelming. Connie wondered if she would have enough time to look at them. But first things first, she needed to look at the microfiche records of old newspapers.
"Where does that go?” she asked indicating the spiral stairs to their right. A blue velvet rope blocked the entrance.
"The third floor. We use it for storage and restoration. It's restricted to employees and members of the group, but I'll be glad to take you up there if you would like to look around."
"I'd love to see it, but I'm afraid I won't have time today. Maybe on my next visit.” Connie shifted her bags turning to look for the microfiche viewer.
As if she had heard the younger woman's thoughts, Ruth continued, “Here's the work area."
Hidden behind sets of standing walls on the left side of the balcony, was a modern array of PC's, microfiche viewers, CD file viewers, a printer and two copiers interspersed by long tables topped with high intensity lamps and desk organizers filled with implements to satisfy every possible need.
"We get a large number of students and Civil War buffs. The tourists usually just look around downstairs.
"The microfiche are in the cabinets against the back wall. If you need help, just ask. Nobody will be around to bother you for a while yet. The offices are all on the first floor, in the back. That's where I'll be. You're welcome to browse as much as you like. Lois, our greeter will be in at ten, when we open to the public."
"Mrs. Ebstein, I have a friend coming later,” Connie said. “He may not arrive until after ten, but if he does get here early, will he be able to get in?"
"Oh, yes. I'm working in front today, and the doors will be open.” She turned to go down the steps, but looked back. “I almost forgot, we have coffee and rolls downstairs. You're welcome to help yourself. The kitchen is in the far right corner, the bathrooms, too."
Connie nodded her thanks. “Maybe later, I'm anxious to get started.” She heard Mrs. Ebstein's steps on the bare wood as she went back to the lobby.
Situating her notebooks and references on one of the tables containing a microfiche viewer, Connie went to a PC and scanned the directory. She had to limit herself to the period of the War, but her fingers itched to start at the beginning and work her way to the present. It would be an impossible task, she decided, looking at the solid wall of cabinets, their drawers filled with history.
Some of the filmed documents went all the way back to the mid seventeen hundreds. The local newspaper was one of the most frequently preserved items, along with birth and death certificates, and land and property deeds. During the Civil War, lists were posted of the men going to war, and of those wounded, killed or missing during that action. Everything was filed by date.
Good, that would make the search easier.
She pulled out the drawer marked “1860-1870,” picking up one of the yellow cardboard place markers, she took the entire unit to the machine and prepared for a long morning.
* * * *
Mrs. Ebstein brought the coffee pot and a heavy ceramic cup to Connie's work area an hour later. “We don't encourage people to bring food and drink up here, but it is going to be a slow day, what with the rain and all. No one will be the wiser."
"No need to leave the pot. I'll come down for more later.” Connie smiled as she took a sip. “I'll need to stretch my legs later anyway. Thanks for being so thoughtful."
"Oh, it's no trouble. Are you finding what you need?"
"Yes, I am, thank you. Your files are very organized."
"Great, well, I'll let you get back to work. I'll be around and Lois came in about ten minutes ago."
Connie could hear the two women's voices echo throughout the empty building, as they went about their business. Brian would be arriving soon. She found that she was looking forward to seeing him.<
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* * * *
Connie closed the notebook, packed the pile of copies in her bag, and gathered her things. She found a lot of answers to what happened to the Brewsters and the Brentwells and many of their friends. She was able to confirm many of the events that Victoria mentioned in her journal. Would she be able to hide what she knew when she saw Victoria again? Suddenly she could feel the stone walls closing in.
She had to get out of there, into the open. There were too many ghosts, too much to take in, she needed room to breathe.
Brian was waiting in the lobby. “How long have you been here?” She hadn't heard him arrive.
"Not long, I stopped after taking Joe to meet Tracey and took a few pictures. The weather is perfect to shoot the Blackstone Pub, real gloomy. And I took some of the outside of this building.” He turned to the receptionist. “Lois and I have been having a very enlightening conversation on the building's history. It's been a delight.” He took the short, chunky, middle-aged woman's hand. “You have been very helpful and it was a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure's been mine, Mr. Eckart. Ms. Hart, Ruth ... Mrs. Ebstein left some information for you.” She handed Connie a large manila envelope.
Connie expressed her own thanks to the society by leaving a donation in the box provided after covering the charge for using the equipment. “Thank her for me. I'll use this in my article and I'll send a copy of the magazine when it's published."
* * * *
The rain had stopped and the sun was trying to push the remaining clouds aside. The air was cool and damp, not at all unpleasant.
"Did you know that this building was built in eighteen seventy-one by MW Brentwell Company? Any connection?” Brian asked as he opened the door for Connie.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'll fill you in over lunch."
With the pile of printouts between them, Connie and Brian ate hamburgers, fries and shakes at a local fast food.
"First, I did find out that the doctor went into the service to tend to the wounded with the Army of Northern Virginia near the beginning of the war. Max joined the regulars about the same time. That left Prudence alone.
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