Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

  “He ain’t coming back,” Ceci stared down into her lap, hands clenched together. “There ain’t going to be a wedding.”

  Her father rose from behind his desk, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Take it easy, Cecile,” he advised. “Flying into a panic won’t help anything.” He reached for the decanter at the corner of his desk, and poured a large glass of amber liquid, which he passed to Hecubah.

  “Drink this, honey,” she offered the glass to Ceci.

  “What is it?” Ceci pulled her head away.

  “It’s brandy,” Hecubah told her. “It’ll settle your nerves.”

  “I don’t want it,” Ceci leaned further back.

  “Drink it,” Hecubah insisted forcefully, pulling her head round and pressing the glass to her lips.

  Ceci opened her mouth to raise a further objection, only to have it filled with brandy. Instinctively, she swallowed. It burned her throat. The fumes went up her nose, making her eyes water. “You trying to drown me?” she spluttered.

  “Colonel Sinclaire goes on to say,” her father consulted the letter again. “That, despite what has happened, he still welcomes you as a member of his family, and that Trent will honour his pledge to marry you, subject to the cessation of hostilities.”

  “What does that mean?” Ceci was distraught, confused and just a little tipsy.

  “After the war, honey,” Hecubah clarified. “There’s still gonna be a wedding. It’s just postponed.”

  “Trent put a note in with Colonel Sinclaire’s letter,” her father went on, offering a folded page across the desk. “He didn’t want you to read it before I’d had a chance to prepare you.”

  Hecubah took it from him and passed it into Ceci’s trembling hands. Hardly daring to breath, she opened and began to read.

  “My own sweet Ceci,” it began. “I cannot express to you what is in my heart, because it is broken, as I know yours has just been. I would give anything to be there with you now, but fate has decreed otherwise and we must wait again. Remember, we are still young and time is on our side. Believe me when I tell you that the moon has not fallen from the sky, and we will be together again someday. I pray to God that it is soon.”

  Tears dripped from Ceci’s eyes, splashing the page, smudging the ink, sending it into little black rivulets.

  “I think of you constantly,” the letter continued. “I will write as often as I can, although the war may stop the mail. If you don’t hear from me, don’t worry. I have no concerns for my own safety. My only fears are for you. I beg you to stay safe at home with your father and Hecubah until I can return to you. I live for that day, as I know you do. Forever, Trent.”

  As she finished reading, Ceci felt her whole world crumble. All her hopes and dreams faded away, to be replaced by her worst imaginings. The letter slipped from her fingers. She put her face in her hands and wept.

  “I’m so sorry,” her father came over and put his arm around her. “I wish it could have been different.”

  “We were so close,” Ceci sniffed. “Just another few weeks.”

  “I know,” he kissed her forehead. “Just remember, it isn’t over, only postponed. Try and hang onto that.”

  Ceci felt limp and drained. All she could do was nod.

  “Let me take you back to your room,” Hecubah offered, putting a hand under her arm. “You need to lay down.”

  Ceci collapsed onto the bed, oceans of tears pouring down her cheeks. “I don’t want to live anymore,” she cried, pressing her face into Hecubah’s breast.

  “I know, honey,” Hecubah did her best to console her. “But you will. Not just for yourself, but for Trent as well.”

  “He didn’t say much,” Ceci recalled tearfully. “It might be his last letter to me and that’s all he said.”

  “I believe he said as much as he could manage,” Hecubah told her. “Just imagine how he feels.”

  “You’re right,” Ceci pressed a hand to her eyes. “I’m being selfish. He has to be as devastated as I am.”

  “I don’t doubt it, honey,” Hecubah agreed. “You gotta be strong for both of you now. Write to him. Tell him you understand and you’ll wait for him. That’ll give him courage.”

  “If the war stops the mail, he won’t get my letter,” Ceci fretted.

  “You just keep writing,” Hecubah advised calmly. “One of them will get through.”

  Ceci rallied a little, managing a weak smile. “Still got the wedding dress,” she remembered.

  “And a groom,” Hecubah added. “Even if he has been delayed. All the invitations have been sent out. All we gotta do now, is tell the guests to wait, just like we is doing. Let’s hope it ain’t for too long.”

  Ceci managed another brave smile, but the seeds of doubt had already been planted in her. Seeds that found themselves in fertile ground.

  ***

  The attack on Fort Sumter signalled an escalation of intent, which could not go unanswered. Virginia seceded to the Confederacy, followed by Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina, until eleven southern states stood in defiance of the Union. One side fought for its independence, the other for the preservation of the Union. They agreed on only one thing. The outcome was in God’s hands.

  ***

  All but oblivious to what was going on around her, Ceci tried to make the best of things since the postponement of her wedding. It was, after all, she realised, merely an event, which could be rescheduled. It was the thought of losing Trent. The possibility of his being killed in the war. The thought that she might never see him again, that constantly tormented her mind. She couldn’t live with it. She couldn’t rid herself of it. Finally, she isolated it in her heart, like a pearl in an oyster, and carried on despite it.

  She resigned herself to waiting. For months, for years, if need be. She made a truce between her mind and her heart, after that, she knew a kind of peace, but, occasionally, the truce was broken.

  “It’s almost noon,” Hecubah addressed the heap of blankets in the middle of Ceci’s bed. “Ain’t you ever gonna get up?”

  “No.” A shapeless form twitched slightly, pulling the blankets closer around it.

  “Why not?” Hecubah asked, with the utmost restraint.

  “You know what day it is today?” a disembodied voice asked.

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah knew. “It’s the day you would have been married.”

  “I don’t want to see it.” The blankets pulled in closer.

  “That’s plain foolish,” Hecubah argued. “Get outa bed, or I’m gonna get a bucket of ice water and throw it over you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Hecubah’s patience was wearing thin. “Child, if you make me do that, I’m gonna take a switch to you at the same time.”

  “I still don’t care.”

  Hecubah exhaled sharply. “This country ain’t the only body with a war on its hands,” she muttered to herself. “All right then,” she conceded, “you stay there. I guess I’ll just have to take this letter from Trent and throw it away.”

  The pile of blankets instantly erupted, as Ceci rose, phoenix-like, from the middle of her bed, to snatch the letter from Hecubah’s hand.

  “It’s been opened.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Hecubah remarked. “You know as well as I do they got censorship now. That letter come from the North to the South. Naturally, they is gonna check it for information. I bet they got more than they bargained for,” she added ruefully.

  “It ain’t that kind of letter.” Ceci quickly scanned the pages, carrying out her own version of censorship, before settling down to read it properly. “This was written two weeks ago,” she pointed at the date.

  “Just be grateful it got here at all,” Hecubah advised.

  “He got one of my letters,” Ceci sighed with relief. “You know
,” she confided, “I’ve been putting colour on my lips and pressing them to the bottom of the page. Trent says, he kissed that spot.”

  “You mean, he walks around the camp, with colour on his lips? That should make him popular with the rest of the men.”

  “No, silly. It’s dry by then. I do it as a token of my love for him.”

  “I hate to think of what he’s doing, as a token of his love for you.”

  “Hecubah, please.” Ceci showed her the bottom of the last page. “All these little crosses are his kisses to me.”

  “What’s that sign mean?” Hecubah interrupted.

  Ceci faltered. “That’s private,” she dismissed the question.

  Hecubah pursed her lips and let out a low whistle. “If those northern boys knew what these letters contained, they’d be changing hands for cash money.”

  “Stop it,” Ceci scolded, folding the pages and returning them to the envelope. “Whatever it means, it ain’t going to happen any time soon.”

  “At least you know he’s alive and well, and that he’s thinking of you,” Hecubah pointed out.

  Ceci nodded. “I’m going to start writing twice a day,” she decided. “I’m going to cover the North with my letters.”

  “Sure, honey,” Hecubah approved. “You do that, but don’t you think you ought to put some clothes on first?”

  ***

  “I’ll drown myself in the bayou, if you don’t.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I’ll throw myself out of a window then.”

  “No. You won’t.”

  “All right,” Ceci went to even greater extremes. “I’ll go down to the slave quarters and get myself pregnant by a field hand.”

  Now she had Hecubah’s attention. “You want me to go and tell your daddy what you just said?” she threatened.

  Ceci dropped to her knees, hands clasped together. “Oh, please,” she begged, “let me look at a newspaper. The war’s almost a year old. I just have to know what’s going on.”

  “Trust me, honey,” Hecubah remarked solemnly. “You don’t wanna know.”

  “That makes it worse,” Ceci complained. “Not knowing, just makes it worse.”

  Hecubah studied her for a moment. “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. Not because Ceci had made a good point, but only because she knew, if she didn’t give her what she wanted, she’d never have a moment’s peace again. “It’ll serve you right, if you have nightmares.”

  Once she’d got her hands on a newspaper, one thing soon became abundantly clear to her. She wasn’t alone in the misery of separation. There were thousands of other women, all over the country, who were experiencing the same thing. Many of them now knew that they would never see their loved ones again. It was a chilling prospect. One which, Ceci realised, she had escaped so far, only by the grace of God.

  The war was being waged across the states, from Bull Run Virginia, to Lexington Missouri. The death toll was staggering. She’d never imagined that so many people could be killed at one time.

  These days, Trent’s letters were few and far between, but, at least, some still got through. If it hadn’t been for that, Ceci was certain she’d have gone mad with worry by now. Trent wasn’t the only one in danger. All that stood between the plantation and the Union army was Confederate troops. They weren’t invincible. Sometimes they won a battle, sometimes they didn’t. The threat of invasion terrified her. It haunted her every waking thought.

  ***

  “After the attack on Fort Sumter. Thousands of coloured men tried to enlist in the Union army. They were refused, this time. Lincoln’s no fool. Eventually, he’ll emancipate the slaves and raise a coloured army, putting thousands of fresh troops into the field. We’ll find ourselves outnumbered and outgunned.”

  Ceci paused by the hall table, the fruits of her morning’s letter writing still clutched in her hand. She hadn’t heard anyone arrive, but clearly there was another meeting in her father’s day room. She put the letters on the table and tip-toed up to the door. Eavesdropping was an old habit she’d never reformed.

  “What about the British?” a voice suggested. “The mills of England rely on our exports. Cotton’s a powerful persuader.”

  “Hell,” another man swore, “we’ll appeal to the world against northern oppression.”

  “The British government,” she heard her father tell them. “Like every other government in the world, will not ally itself with any faction that supports the institution of slavery. They don’t even see us as a country, just a group of belligerent states. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, we’re on our own.”

  Ceci had heard enough. She crept back along the hall, through the parlour and out onto the veranda. She breathed deeply, trying to clear her mind of all its troubled thoughts. She looked out across the garden. It comforted her. Everything there was safe and familiar. She began to wonder how much longer it would remain that way. She had hoped, with all her heart, for a brief war, a swift reunion with Trent, and marriage. Now only two things seemed certain to her. This war would not end quickly, and no one was safe.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Still nothing from Trent?” Hecubah asked, as Ceci entered the morning room.

  “Just my own letters returned,” Ceci held up a pack of envelopes. “Most of them anyway. No telling if any of the others reached Trent.” Ceci flopped onto the couch beside her. “I ain’t giving up though,” she remarked with determination. “Why, I’ve a mind to address my next letter to Abraham Lincoln and ask him to pass it on.”

  “I doubt it’d get any further than Richmond,” Hecubah told her. “And you’d probably be arrested for fraternizing with the enemy. Don’t you think it’s time you found something else to occupy your mind?”

  “You mean knitting socks for soldiers?” Ceci sneered disdainfully. “Or sewing battle flags, like Armenia and her daughters are doing. I can’t think of anything I want to do less.”

  “You can’t spend all your time fretting after Trent,” Hecubah warned. “It ain’t healthy.”

  “It’s been so long since I seen or heard from him,” Ceci sighed heavily. “Is this war never going to end? It’s already in its second year. It ruined Christmas. No one wanted to travel because of the fighting. Stores in town are running out of provisions.”

  “Only some things,” Hecubah corrected her. “We grow most of what we need, right here on the plantation.”

  “Yes, but for how much longer?” Ceci shuddered. “All the fighting’s in the South. Hancock, Maryland. Middle Creek, Kentucky,” she counted off the battles on her fingers, “Fort Henry, Tennessee and Rowen Oak in North Carolina. Why, I read they even had a battle in the New Mexico territory. That’s behind us. We’re surrounded.”

  “I told you, time and again,” Hecubah repeated her warning. “No good comes of reading the newspapers.”

  Ceci wouldn’t be stopped. “I read reports of towns and plantations being looted and burned, women raped, civilians murdered.”

  “That’s enough,” Hecubah snapped. “Sometimes the papers exaggerate, just to make our boys fight harder.”

  “Can’t all be lies,” Ceci remained sceptical. “How long will it be, before the Union army gets here? You’d have your freedom, I’m glad for that, but what would happen to me?”

  “God almighty,” Hecubah exhaled. “You is just a girl. These men ain’t fighting so they can beat up on girls.”

  “If they don’t burn the plantation, they’ll surely free the slaves. I’m glad for that to, but how would my daddy run it after that?”

  “Most of them would stay, if he paid them,” Hecubah pointed out. “Most of them would stay in any case. This is the only home they know.”

  “Sometimes, I wonder what Trent’s doing out there,” Ceci confided. “What’s he being ordered to do t
o southern folks, like me?”

  “Honey, you really do need something else to occupy your mind,” Hecubah decided. “I bin telling you about men since you was a little girl. You know as well as I do by now, most of them are good people, but there’s always a few you can never trust. You know exactly what kind of man Trent is. All these crazy thoughts come from reading the newspapers, and sitting around all day with nothing to do. Well, not anymore.” Hecubah stood up, grabbing Ceci by the hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Into the parlour. There’s a whole stack of yarn in there, and needles.”

  Ceci pulled back. “I already told you. I don’t want to knit socks.”

  “Honey, you is gonna knit socks,” Hecubah informed her assertively. “Until your eyes ache, your fingers are raw and your mind is empty. Then maybe you’ll stop worrying about this war and doubting Trent’s character.”

  Ceci stiffened. “I won’t do it,” she remarked obstinately. “And you can’t make me.”

  ***

  “If I see another pair of socks,” Ceci sighed, “I’m going to kill myself.”

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah inspected her latest effort. “I reckon that’s what our boys are gonna be doing when they get these socks.” She held up the shapeless woollen bag. “You make this for a man with no heels?”

  “You made me knit socks,” Ceci glowered. “You didn’t ask if I was good at it.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “Anyway, that’s five pairs,” Ceci pointed out. “It took me all week to do that. You promised I could write a letter to Trent for every five pairs. Now give me back my stationery.”

  “All right,” Hecubah was willing to honour the condition. “But after that, it’s back to socks.”

  “Oh, no, please,” Ceci begged, “no more socks. I haven’t been outside in a month. I can’t bare the sight of another sock.”

  “If I let it go,” Hecubah replied firmly. “I don’t want to hear any more crazy talk about plantations burning, rape and murder. You start that again and you’ll be knitting socks until the war ends or you dies of old age, whichever comes first.”