by Ann Rinaldi
"She's taking a nap with Mr. Waters," I said. "I'm not to disturb them. And I haven't. I've been good, Teddy."
He looked at me and felt my face with his hand. "You're burning up," he said. He looked around and asked me which room. I pointed toward it. "Stay here," he said. "Don't move, no matter what. I'm coming right back to take you home."
Then he crashed right through the door of the room I'd pointed to and it made a powerful bad noise and my head hurt. I heard yelling and screaming from inside and knew Mother was giving him what-for because he'd woken them up.
Next thing I knew they were out in the hall, he and Mother, and she was in her wrapper. They were saying terrible things to each other.
"How dare you come here?" Mother was saying.
"How dare I not? You bring Leigh Ann? And leave her sitting there with a fever? What are you teaching the child?"
"She's my child!" Mother told him. "I'll do what I want with her."
"Not while I live and breathe," Teddy snapped back. "If it's not this Waters popinjay, it's somebody else. Any judge or lawyer would take her away from you."
"Oh, and who would tell them?" Mother challenged.
"Me," Teddy told her. "I would."
"And who would be responsible for her then? Your father? He's never around. He practically lives at the mill. Sometimes he doesn't even come home at night."
"I'll be responsible for her," Teddy vowed. "For her and Viola, too. 'S'matter of fact, I heard Pa say if you did this sort of thing again, he didn't want you home anymore, that you could just pack your things and get out."
"And how will he know?" Mother pushed.
"Because I'm going to tell him," Teddy said.
"You wouldn't," she challenged. "You haven't the mettle. And again I ask who would be responsible for her? And Viola? You?" And she laughed in his face.
Teddy was not laughing. "You've been neglecting both of them since Leigh Ann was born. If it weren't for Can-nice, God knows what would have happened to them.
"Last week when Cannice was down with a stomach ailment and Viola was at a party, Louis found Leigh Ann by the stream, muddy as hell. Never mind that she could have drowned! He brought her home, and because all the servants were busy he had to bathe and change her. You didn't know that, did you? Well, I'm telling you now. I'm telling Pa tonight what's going on here. And as sure as God made eight-foot alligators, Pa's going to put you out. If he doesn't end up shooting Waters and you first."
With that, Teddy came over, picked me up, and took me outside, where he sat me in front of him on his horse to take me home.
I don't remember the rest of it, but after that Mother did move out. Actually she'd been moving out little by little all along, coming home less and less, only for the sake of appearances. Like the time she came home for two days when Louis got drunk and she whipped him.
There were rules in the house, set down by Pa. When she came home, for one or two days, we did not have to obey her but we had to respect her.
But from that afternoon on there was a line drawn. Teddy was in charge. So was Louis. Pa said so. Viola and I had to listen to them.
***
"Which puts her at about three or four," the mayor had said.
Four, mayor. I distinctly remember it.
Teddy doesn't know I remember it. He doesn't know that I know he has dark moments when he blames himself for the breakup in our parents' marriage. When he wonders if he is being punished for it when he and Carol do not get on.
Times there are when I want to say something to him, when I want to tell him he did the right thing, not to blame himself. And the right thing is not always the easy thing.
How many times have you told me that, Teddy?
But I dare not say anything at all.
CHAPTER NINE
Things went on sadly at home after the boys left to go fighting. Everyone tried to fall into a routine to keep from thinking of them. I saw them at every turn in the house. Viola kept me busy, playing. She took me riding and swimming. We baked cookies for the boys and Johnnie. She took me to sewing bees and bandage-rolling get-togethers. Carol went home to stay with her parents. Every day Viola and I went into town for whatever newspapers we could get.
Our president, Jeff Davis, and Abraham Lincoln were both being pressured by public opinion, she told me. Which meant that the public wanted the armies to fight.
The Roswell Guards were camped in Centerville, Virginia, and we had not heard from Louis or Teddy because all letters were being intercepted.
And we soon learned that the Baltimore American was a Yankee paper and we couldn't believe a word it said.
I started having nightmares. I saw terrible scenes of men firing their guns, of bullets hitting soldiers between the eyes and blood spurting out, of heads being blown off, of horses rearing and screaming, fire exploding out of their mouths, of cannon roaring, of men flying through the air.
I screamed out. Viola came running. "Leigh Ann, Leigh Ann, you've got to stop this."
"Teddy's been hurt. Teddy's dead."
"He's not dead. We would have heard."
"Louis, then."
"Oh, sweetie." She used the endearment the boys called me. She held me until I stopped trembling. She stayed until I fell asleep. When I woke in the morning, I found her nestled beside me in the bed.
***
After a lot of fussing on the part of both armies, they finally clashed in Manassas on the twenty-first of July, a Sunday. Probably because it was the first battle of the war and they wanted to be reverent about the killing.
The North wanted to be festive, we found out later. Women came in droves, in carriages trimmed with ribbons, bearing picnic baskets, to watch. These were the Yankees my mother wanted me to be like?
On the Thursday morning before that Sunday, Pa, Viola, and I were at breakfast when we heard Cannice arguing with someone at the back door. Viola and I got up to see what was going on.
A negro woman of about sixty, wearing a faded dress, a neckerchief, and a bandanna around her head, was standing in the doorway. She was carrying a basket full of fresh vegetables. We watched, open-mouthed, as she slithered into the kitchen. Not even Cicero's barking discouraged her.
"What is this?" Viola demanded.
"She just worked her way in, Miss Viola," Cannice said.
"What do you want?" Viola asked.
"Ise gots some fine vegetables heah," the woman said, "the best in the county."
"We don't need any," Viola told her.
Jon, who had been in and out of the dining room, attending Pa, came in. "Do you need any help, Miss Viola?"
"No," she said sharply. She was getting impatient with Jon. It seemed he was always around, in her way, never giving her any peace. "I can handle this myself. Go back and see to Pa."
Jon bowed and left. I still didn't like him.
The woman held up some carrots. "You wanna jus' try these?"
Viola frowned. She was growing suspicious. "I said no!"
Then the woman did a funny thing. She winked at Viola and gestured with her head that they should go upstairs. Upstairs? I saw the question on Viola's face.
The woman nodded yes, then did another funny thing. She mimicked, with her moving lips, the reading of something. It was just our good fortune that Cannice had turned back to her work.
"Why, yes," Viola said, "perhaps it would be a good idea to let Pa take a look at the vegetables." And without further ado she led the woman into the hall and up the stairs and into her bedroom.
I followed. By now, of course, I expected that the whole world had gone mad. And I accepted anything.
In her bedroom Viola closed the door and said firmly, "This had better be for a good reason, or I'll have you thrown out of the house lickety-split."
Without a word the woman set her basket down, removed her neckerchief, and reached inside the top of her stays. She drew out a letter and handed it to Viola, who grabbed it and gave a low cry and clutched it to her bosom.
"Oh, thank you, thank you! But who are you? Is this what you do?"
The woman wagged her finger and shook her head no. No questions. "We gots a way," she said. "Negro womens in South to negro womens in North. If'n you gots a need to send a letter, put a quilt over the fence in front. You gots a quilt?"
The woman left, refusing one of the gold doubleeagle pieces of coin from Viola, mumbling, "Cain't have no Yankee money on me." So Viola gave her Confederate script.
The letter was from Teddy and Louis.
Dear Viola and Leigh Ann:
I'm afraid we've come here with romantic ideas of patriotism and war. The enemy, from what we can see of them, looks formidable in force. Up to now we have spent hours waiting around in boredom. It is difficult adjusting to the food and, of course, at night, with some men playing harmonicas and singing, thoughts of home grab at the heartstrings through the firelight. What have we gotten ourselves into? What is it all for? In spite of such considerations, we have met some fine fellows from other regiments. We are forming lasting friendships with men from the 8th Georgia Infantry, the 7th Georgia, and the 17th Virginia. Louis has even met an old college buddy. They say we will soon go to battle. Pray for us, and if anything befalls us, remember that we love you all beyond words to tell.
We trust everything is fine, that you girls are helping to hold home and hearth together, and abiding by everything we taught you. Viola, we realize we have left a lot on your shoulders, but know you are equal to the task. Leigh Ann, we also trust, sweetie, that you are doing your best. Don't disappoint us. Give our best to Pa, and, Viola, Johnnie is fine and sends his utmost sentiments. He will be writing to you soon. Don't write until this battle is over and we know where we will be. We send our love and prayers, Teddy, Louis, and Johnnie.
***
On Friday morning Pa received a note from a man named Olney Eldredge. Jon gave it to Viola. It said that Mr. Eldredge would consider it a pleasure to see Pa this day.
"Your pa's not himself," Jon said. "He wants you to take care of it."
Viola was almost paralyzed with dread. "Olney Eldredge is the new superintendent of the mill that Teddy hired before he left," she told me. "Oh, I don't know tiddlywinks about mill business, but we must invite him to dinner just to be courteous."
He came to dinner that very night, a middle-aged man with downward-slanted eyes, large lips and jowls, and a worried look on his face.
"I am a native of Massachusetts," he told Viola as she offered him a glass of sherry in the front parlor. He wanted her to know it upon meeting him. In case she felt it necessary to throw him out of the house, I guessed.
"But I've heard you've been here awhile now." Viola had done her homework. She had searched Teddy's desk for the folder on Eldredge and read his background.
"You've been in Georgia since 1846," she told him.
Oh, Viola was smart! I was so proud of her. She knew his wife had died and that he had three children, and at the dinner table she asked about them with real interest.
"Because the mill lost clients in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Newark early this year, it had to lay off thirty people," Eldredge told Viola. "Now we have lost at least ten male workers to the army. And we are getting large military contracts from the Confederacy. I would have liked your father's permission to hire more hands."
"He isn't well," Viola said. She did not elaborate.
"I would write to your brother Theodore, then. Is it possible to get mail through?"
Viola and I looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing. The lady with the basket full of vegetables.
"First, Mr. Eldredge," Viola told him kindly, "I am sure that when my brother hired you he gave you full authority to hire people when they are needed. That is why he made you superintendent, is it not?"
He swallowed deeply and took a sip of wine. "Yes, I suppose you are right, Miss Viola. I am, you see, not as confident as I used to be. Not since my wife died."
Viola nodded. "So why don't you just go ahead and hire them?" she suggested. "And then write to Teddy and tell him about it? If you leave the letter with me, yes, I have ways of getting the mail through. But not until the battle they're about to fight is over. Not until then, Mr. Eldredge..."
Her voice trailed off. We all fell silent. The grandfather clock in the hall struck seven.
CHAPTER TEN
Within a week or two of Manassas, which was what we called that first battle, we got the telegraph in Roswell. But even without it, we knew the next day from couriers arriving on horseback from Marietta that the South had won.
To say there was rejoicing in Roswell makes words cheap. The dram shops were overflowing. The women opened their houses and had high teas. The band played in the town square all day. People had picnics on their front lawns. They put up colorful ribbons on their front porches. The churches held special services for the wounded.
That afternoon more couriers arrived with handbills saying that the Confederate Congress in Richmond called for a day of thanksgiving. They also said that our army had 387 killed, 1,587 wounded, and 13 missing. The Federals had 460 killed, 1,124 wounded, and 1,312 missing.
We sobered when we heard that. Viola hosted a high tea and invited Camille Smith, her sister, Emily, her younger brother, David, her parents, Archibald and Anne Smith, as well as the Reverend and Mrs. Pratt. Now she looked first at me, then at Camille, who had another brother off fighting.
"How will we know who was killed or wounded?" Viola asked.
"We'll hear soon," Reverend Pratt promised. "Another courier will come."
The tea soon ended. Camille and her parents hugged us as they left. Viola and I sat by candlelight at dusk, staring at the remains of the rum nut pudding cake, petits fours, the pudding pecan pie, the sparkling punch bowl, and the brandied cherry ring.
From the distance we heard faint shouts of celebration and band music. Viola had a glass of sherry in her hand. When did she start drinking sherry?
I said nothing. Jon stood in the doorway. "Is there anything I can do, Miss Viola?"
She did not even turn to look at him. "No."
"I know you are worried. I never told you all, but I feel guilty because I can't go and fight. I should have been at Manassas. Your pa's asleep. Now why don't you let me take you for a little walk outside in the garden. It will do you good."
Now she did look at him. "Because it isn't your job to take me for a little walk in the garden, that's why."
"You are a beautiful young woman, Miss Viola. And your sister soon will be. But I have no untoward motives. I feel protective toward you and your little sister is all."
"My brother Teddy told you we were not your concern. And my brother does not take easily anyone who goes against his wishes."
"No man can tell another what his concerns should be, Miss Viola."
My sister had confided to me that she thought Jon wanted to "take liberties" with her, and told me never to be alone with him. "And if he starts anything with you, scream, kick him, bite him." And she told me a few other secrets girls have to protect themselves.
Now her suspicions about Jon were confirmed. "You will please leave us now, Jon," she said sternly.
He hesitated for a moment. "I wonder if your brother would take easily the information that in his absence you are drinking sherry."
Viola slammed her fist down on the table. "Get out!"
He left.
We sat until the grandfather clock chimed ten, while Careen and Cannice cleared the table, and Cannice finally came over and pulled out my chair and said, "Time for my lamb to go to bed."
Viola had forgotten it was past my bedtime. She jumped up. "I'll do it," she told Cannice. "I just wanted her company. After all, it is a special day."
And then, just as she was about to lead me up the stairs, Cannice came to us. "Miss Viola, that vegetable lady, she be here again."
Viola fled through the kitchen to the back door. "Come along, chile," Cannice said to me. "I put you to bed."
Cannice was right behind me. Viola did not order her away. The vegetable lady stood in silence until Viola told her it was all right, that Cannice could be trusted, and then she took off her neckerchief and drew out the letter.
Viola snatched it, tore it open, and read it in silence. Her hand flew to her mouth. "What?" I demanded. "Tell us!"
"Louis has been shot. In the ankle." She spoke in a low, shaky voice. "Teddy pulled him off the field and while doing so was shot in the arm. They were both sent to a hospital in Richmond for medical care."
I burst into tears. "No," she said, "no. It's all right. They will both be all right. They will soon be home to recuperate." She held me.
"And Johnnie?" I asked.
"Teddy wrote that Johnnie was unhurt. He remains with the Roswell Guards. And he will go on with them to wherever they go to fight next. He will write to me soon."
"Soon's here." The vegetable lady drew another letter out of her bosom and gave it to Viola, who grabbed it and kissed it.
Coffee was heated up for the vegetable lady. And she was given some pudding pecan pie. "I knows," she told us, "that you all's got the telegraph. I done saw the poles on my way here. But I knows, too, that both armies ain't gonna let those lines be gettin' messages through wiffout bein' cut. Those lines jus' beggin' to be cut. So I still be sellin' my vegetables, thank you all."
Viola nodded and said, "Oh, Cannice, please put your lamb to bed."
She was clutching the letter from Johnnie to her breast as she said it.
***
The boys came home two weeks later.
Carol came back to us a good week before and insisted on being the only one to ready things for Teddy. This was the first time I saw the other side of Carol, the side that truly loved him. Now Viola and I stepped aside and let her have her own way in preparing for his homecoming.