Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  “Yes. I did see it. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

  Thomas felt a surge of relief as the conversation began to flow in another direction. He had known Carrie’s pro-slavery feelings might become known in the city. He hoped it would not cause trouble for her, and he would do what he could to help, but she was a woman now. She would have to handle the consequences of her actions. That was one reason he loved her so much. She was willing to take responsibility for her own deeds. He turned to listen to his friend, Allen Bristow.

  “Evidently McClellan got the remarkable notion that President Davis and General Lee might be willing to participate in a truce. He thought the time might be right for settling the war by conference.”

  Thomas frowned. “Didn’t McClellan arrange the meeting just after General Stuart made him look like a fool by riding all the way around his army?”

  Bristow laughed. “Yes. I think it made him a little anxious. Anyway,” he continued, “he led us to believe we were discussing an exchange of prisoners. Davis sent out General Cobb. McClellan sent his aide-de-camp Colonel Key. They met on the bridge crossing the Chickahominy on Mechanicsville Turnpike. McClellan had his troops throw up a little hut for them to talk in.”

  “How hospitable,” someone laughed.

  When the laughter died down Bristow continued. “Key told Cobb he was pleased they could meet on a peaceful mission and then told him he desired nothing more than a permanent peace. Cobb’s response was that peace could be established at any time in half an hour if the North were to give the South our freedom. He made it very clear the Union invasion that has resulted in so much slaughter and waste has created such animosity and resistance that the end will only come when the North either gives us our freedom or destroys us.”

  Thomas listened carefully. He was aware of a growing uneasiness within his heart. He agreed there would be no backing down by the South. It was too late to undo all that had been done. However, his confidence was diminishing. Yes, Lee had pushed back McClellan - at the cost of twenty percent of his army. Bristow broke into his thoughts.

  “Key’s response was typical of the Northern sentiment. He hopes the Confederate leaders are realizing our struggle is hopeless because of the greater numbers, money, and resources of the North. He believes there is great Union sentiment throughout the South. He rattled on about the hopelessness of foreign intervention, the blockade, the losses we have suffered recently in the west, and the invincibility of McClellan’s mighty army.”

  “The same mighty army we just sent running with their tails tucked between their legs,” one of the group hooted. “I guess we showed them what their big numbers and money can do. Let them come down here. We’ve got enough spirit to fight off anything they can send our way.”

  Thomas merely listened as the ring of men murmured their angry agreement.

  “Cobb straightened him out,” Bristow said grimly. “Told him there was no Union sentiment left in the planting region.”

  Thomas hid his frown. Was that true? Surely they couldn’t have jailed everyone not in agreement with the war. He staunchly supported the Confederate cause, but realism said the strong pro-Union sentiment before the war started had not been washed away.

  Bristow continued. “He let that Yankee know our slaves have never been as retractable as now - that their labor is directed almost exclusively toward the production of food.” He barked a laugh. “Told him food and arms made sufficient material for war. He made it very clear our military strength is far from broken and that the only way McClellan was going to enter Richmond was if we decided to abandon it.” Another whoop of laughter met this last statement. Bristow raised one hand. “Cobb told him that even if they were to take Richmond and every other stronghold in the Confederacy, it would require military occupation to suppress the organized resistance.”

  “Not that we have to worry about that,” one said gleefully.

  Thomas remained silent, deep in thought. “What else was said?” he finally asked.

  Bristow shrugged. “Key went on for a while about many in the South not being in agreement with the war. He said that secession originated among the arrogant planters’ class who thought themselves socially superior and wanted to frame a government in which they could hold all the political power.” He paused for a moment. “One of the last things he said was that it seemed to be appearing more obvious that slavery would have to be abolished in order to reform the Union.”

  “That argument is hogwash,” one man sputtered angrily. “I’ve never owned a slave in my life. I’m fighting this war because I’m not going to have anyone come down here and steal my rights from me. States have their rights. That’s what our entire Constitution was built on. The North seems to have forgotten that.”

  Thomas was deep in thought as he listened to the explosion of sentiment around him. He hated to admit how close Key’s words had been to the truth. He himself had objected strongly to the fire-eating secessionist rhetoric. It was only when Lincoln had tried to send Virginia men into battle against their Southern brothers that he had cast aside his Union sentiments and given his heart to the Confederacy. He was as joyful as anyone that Richmond had been saved. Realism told him the loss of the city would have been a serious blow. Not only would they have lost their capital - they most likely would have seen their principal army either surrender, or be destroyed. Thomas had seen the generous terms Lincoln was offering any states that returned to the Union. Many of them would have been seriously tempted to accept those terms.

  “I, for one, will never degrade myself by crawling back to the Union,” Bristow declared angrily. “They started this war. I aim to do everything within my power to help end it. With a just Southern victory!”

  Thomas squelched his doubts and raised his voice to join the cheers of the other men. It was too late to turn back now. The die had been cast. There was nowhere to move but forward.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Drinking in the sights of the city that had been her first home of freedom, Rose ambled down the road. She did not deny the racism evident in Philadelphia, but at least she had not been accosted and sent back to slavery. Most people in the city had no quarrel with her being free as long as she remained in the subjugated position they believed proper. Her time in the city had taught her a valuable lesson. Gaining her freedom had been just the first step; now she had to fight for equality and dignity.

  It had been hard to say goodbye to the people at the Quaker School. She had made many close friends in the months she had been there. Leaving was difficult, but the adventure of working in the contraband camps lured her forward. The rumble of a train easing down the center of the road brought her back to the present, and to the reality of sweat streaming down her back. She was sure the thermometer had soared over ninety degrees today. The heat and humidity were stifling in the close city streets. Continual wiping of her face was doing little to stop the trickle of moisture into her eyes.

  “Might I interest you in a ride home?” a merry voice inquired.

  “Aunt Abby! What are you doing here?” Rose asked as she climbed into the carriage. “What a welcome sight!”

  “I went by the school, but I didn’t get there before you left. I’ve been searching the streets for you ever since.”

  Rose laughed. “It’s a good thing you know all my routes home.”

  “It’s a better thing that you have only three,” Aunt Abby retorted. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even tried, and you would now be close to being melted chocolate on the pavement.”

  Rose laughed even harder as Aunt Abby mimicked a lady they had overheard the other day saying blacks must become melted chocolate in such heat. “Heaven forbid that should happen!”

  “How was your last day?”

  Rose hesitated. “Bittersweet,” she finally said. “I’m excited about what lies ahead, but I hate to leave where I am now.”

  Aunt Abby nodded. “It’s always hard to leave the shelter of a secure harbor and head for the i
nsecurity of the open sea. You want to reach your destination - you just wish you could do it from the dock.”

  “Exactly,” Rose agreed. “I’ve been remembering so many things my mama told me.”

  “Such as?”

  “She used to always tell me, ‘It ain’t fear that stops you, it’s lettin’ the fear stop you that stops you. You gots to just press on through and do that thin’ that scares you so much. The doin’ will wring most of the fear right out of ya.’” Rose paused, remembering. “I feel so silly being afraid. Why, I used to hide in the woods and teach school when it was against the law, and I would have been beaten if I’d been discovered. Now, I’m being invited to come down and do the very thing I’ve always dreamed of: teach my people in a regular school. Why am I so afraid?” she asked in a disgusted voice.

  “I think your mama was right. I’ve heard you say before that your mama said there is nothing wrong with fear.”

  “Not as long as you don’t let it stop you,” Rose finished.

  “Exactly,” Aunt Abby responded firmly. “You’re not letting your fears stop you. Or have you decided not to leave tomorrow?”

  “Of course, I’m leaving tomorrow!” Rose exclaimed.

  “Then you have nothing to feel bad about. Any time you have to make a change there is some fear involved. Even if it’s a good change, the unknown can be a little scary.” She paused. “I think I’m the one who should be feeling bad about my feelings.”

  “Why ever for?”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Aunt Abby admitted with a small smile. “I know that is a terribly selfish thing, but it’s the truth. Oh, I’m glad you’re going to be teaching, and I’m happy for the people who will have you as their teacher, but...” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. Finally she looked up, dabbing at the tears in her eyes. “I’m going to miss you, Rose,” she said clearly.

  Rose reached forward and took her hand. “And I’m going to miss you more than words can ever say. You’ve become like another mother to me - a mother and a special friend. I wish I could stay right here in Philadelphia and teach refugee slaves. You gave me the first free home I’ve ever known, Aunt Abby. I’ll never be able to thank you.”

  “Thank me! I should be thanking you. You have made a miserable, lonely old lady very happy.”

  Rose laughed, glad to see the shine back in Aunt Abby’s eyes. “I could never think of you as a miserable, lonely old lady.” She meant it. Rose knew how respected Aunt Abby was in the business community, how many friends dropped by to see her.

  “I’m afraid I may be soon!” Aunt Abby said lightly – too lightly.

  Rose leaned forward. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

  Aunt Abby shrugged and laughed. “I seem to be making myself unpopular with my view on women’s rights.”

  Suddenly Rose remembered where Aunt Abby had been that day. “You went to the rally Susan B. Anthony held today! How did it go?”

  “It was wonderful” Aunt Abby said enthusiastically. “There were more women than I thought would come. I even knew a few of them. I heartily endorse what they were saying. If the country expects women to pay taxes, then we should have the vote! It’s high time people recognized the capability and equality of women,” she said firmly.

  Rose was confused. “Why did you say you’re…?”

  “Making myself unpopular?” Aunt Abby frowned. “There was a crowd outside the auditorium when we left. It was mostly men, but there were a few women. Can you imagine that!” she exclaimed in an indignant voice. “They let us know their views on women daring to want to vote.”

  “I thought you said it was going to be an abolitionist meeting.”

  “Well, yes, it was that too.” Aunt Abby paused, evidently trying to gather her thoughts. “Susan Anthony has been overruled in her desire to hold wartime women’s rights conventions. The abolitionists believe women should wait to press the issue of suffrage until after the war. They seem to believe women will be compensated for their wartime abolition work by congressional support for our rights when the war is over. So while it was overtly an abolitionist meeting, there was still talk of women’s rights.”

  “What did the crowd do?” Rose asked anxiously.

  “Oh, they yelled some rather nasty things about the proper place for women. Said we should go home and quit trying to be men.”

  Rose continued to stare at her. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Aunt Abby stared back and then laughed. “Sometimes your perceptiveness amazes me. Yes,” she admitted, “there was something else. Years ago when I was taking over my husband’s business and fighting the men so well established there, one man in particular was a thorn in my side. His name was John Standard. I have no way to prove it, but I’m sure he sent the thugs who tried to scare me to death in that dark alley one night.”

  “The night Matthew came to your rescue and you became such good friends?”

  “Yes,” Aunt Abby said with a fond smile. It quickly faded. “Standard was one of the men outside the meeting hall today. Again, I can’t prove it, but I’m sure it is his spit that has dried on my dress.”

  “He spit on you!” Rose was aghast. She could not imagine anyone spitting on such a dear, refined lady of high social standing.

  “I’m afraid so,” Aunt Abby sighed. “He yelled some threats, but I couldn’t really catch what he said.”

  “Are you sorry you attended?”

  “Sorry I attended?” Aunt Abby mused. “No,” she said firmly. “The time is here for women to have the vote. In the beginning the women’s movement showed little interest in obtaining the vote. They wanted control of property and earnings. They wanted the right to divorce as well as equal opportunity for education and employment. They were fed up with their lack of legal status, and they wanted to change the concept of female inferiority perpetuated by established religion.” She paused. “Many have finally come to realize we have no avenue to affect change until we have the vote. Mrs. Anthony has reluctantly agreed to let abolitionism hold the front seat during the war, but she is determined to keep the flame lit for equal rights.”

  “So we all have something in common,” Rose murmured. She was not glad to hear Aunt Abby had been spit on today, but somehow it renewed her courage to know there was another segment of the population, even the white one, that had to fight for what they wanted and deserved.

  “We are not so very different, Rose,” Aunt Abby agreed. “There are certain rights we should have as people. Rights granted by our Constitution. Rights I believe were planned for us by God. It is too bad we have to fight for them, but since reality deems we must fight - so be it - we will fight!”

  Rose laughed at the light of battle in her friend’s eyes. “I feel sorry for anyone who gets in your way.”

  “And I feel sorry for anyone who gets in your way.”

  Rose reached for the hand stretched across the carriage. It was not a hand held forth in comfort; it was a hand signifying unity in battle. Rose clasped it firmly. White or black, they were women. But so much more than just women. They were children of God fighting for all He had meant them to have in the first place. Battle might not be a pleasant thing, but it was so much better than sitting idly on the sidelines while injustices were perpetrated. There would always be plenty of spectators. Rose intended to be a leader.

  Dinner had just been set on the table when there was a firm knock at the door. Rose knew they were not expecting any callers, but it would be nothing new for someone to stop by. Humming lightly to herself, she walked to the door and opened it. Her scream brought Aunt Abby running.

  “Rose! What is it?” she asked sharply.

  Rose could do nothing but stand stock still with her hand over her mouth and stare.

  Aunt Abby pushed by her to look onto the porch. “Oh my Lord!” she exclaimed. “What coward would do such a thing?”

  Rose could still only stare at the spasmodically twitching body of the headless chicken. A pool of blood w
as forming under its body and soaking the welcome mat. “Who would do this?” she whispered. “Is it because of me?” Stories she had heard from other blacks in the city filled her mind. Had someone finally gotten tired of her living with a white woman and was giving a brutal warning?

  “I don’t think so, Rose,” Aunt Abby said grimly. “This type of thing happened before when certain men were trying to scare me away from my husband’s business. I suspect this is related to the meeting I went to today.”

  “What are you going to do?” Rose whispered.

  “I’m going to do absolutely nothing,” Aunt Abby said angrily. She leaned down, grabbed the chicken by its feet, and carried it into the house. “I can either let this chicken be a symbol of fear for me or I can turn it into something good. I think I will turn it into chicken soup.” Just before she closed the door, she leaned out and called loudly, “Thank you so much for providing tomorrow’s dinner. It was quite generous of you!” Then she slammed the door.

  Rose stared at her. “You’re going to eat it?” Her hands were still trembling.

  “Certainly.” The angry look faded as Aunt Abby moved forward to take hold of one of Rose’s hands. “People who want to control other people always try to do it by fear. The only way to beat them at their game is to make them think it’s not working. Remember what your mama said. It’s not wrong to feel fear, but we have to work hard not to let it control us.”

  Just then a knock sounded at the door again. Rose froze, unable to move. What if the person who had left the chicken was back?

  Aunt Abby moved forward at once, an angry light in her eyes. “Maybe we can catch the coward this time!” she said as she flung the door open, the chicken still tightly clutched in one hand. “Matthew!”

  Matthew stepped in, a look of deep concern on his face. “What in the world is going on here? Why is there a pool of blood on your porch? Why are you holding a dead chicken?”

  Aunt Abby laughed weakly. “All very good questions. Will you give me a moment to put this chicken in the kitchen?”