by Jane Peart
Then, as if with an effort, Mrs. Cameron changed the subject. "Well, how are things at Montclair?" she asked brightly.
Garnet made a wry face. "I guess they could be worse, but I don't see how. I would have welcomed some help and support from any number of women, but Harmony is such a ninny! No help at all!" Garnet complained.
Kate gave her daughter a look of silent reproach and said quietly, "Harmony is bearing up as well as she can under the strain. After all, she is without husband, home, and all she's been used to. We cannot expect others always to be as brave or strong as we ourselves try to be."
Garnet accepted her mother's gentle rebuke without further comment.
"And have you heard from Malcolm?" Kate asked with concern. "I think so often of that dear little orphan boy."
"Jonathan is not an orphan, Mama. Malcolm's not dead!"
"I should have said motherless. Such a tragedy!" Kate shook her head. "And Bryce? What news is there from Bryce, dear?"
"Not much. Bryce never was much of a letter writer. But I expect he'll get home when he can. It's Leighton we're wondering about."
Kate's face brightened. "Why, yes, I almost forgot. We got a letter from Dove and she plans to come and bring the baby soon. Here, let me read you part of her letter. . ." and Kate drew an envelope from her pocket.
"Dear Cousin Kate," she began and although Garnet listened with half an ear to the rambling description of Dove's baby girl's growth and progress, her mind wandered back to the wedding day of Dove and Leighton at Montclair in the first month of the war they all thought would be short and victorious for the South. Young men like Lee and Bryce had gone off as if on a kind of gallant adventure surrounded by an aura of romance. And no more were all those elements present than at the magical wedding at Montclair.
Garnet recalled the romantic atmosphere that day: how she had been caught up in its magic, secretly envying the mutual love she saw in Dove's radiant face uplifted to Lee's rapt adoration. For a moment she was stabbed with the stunning truth that she had never experienced that kind of love.
"So, they should be here within the month," Kate concluded, and Garnet returned to the present, knowing that she had missed most of the content of Dove's letter. "I think she should probably stay at Montclair, don't you, Garnet? I'm not sure it would be good for your father to have an infant here. Everything. . . even small things.. . seem to upset him now."
The shadows on the lawn were lengthening and Garnet stood reluctantly to leave. So much awaited her at Montclair—so much to be done. "I really must go now, Mama. But I'd like to see Papa first."
Standing at the doorway of the downstairs parlor that had been converted into a bedroom, Garnet felt the familiar constriction in her chest. How drastically changed her father appeared. The shrunken figure in the bed bore scant resemblance to the man who had once stood proudly erect, overseeing the affairs of his world with authority and vigor.
Seeing Garnet, Mawdee left her post at his bedside and lumbered over to hug her "Little Missy." Garnet leaned against the comforting bosom, wishing she could turn back time and become a child again—smothered by the love and pampering that had always been her lot until now.
When she hugged her mother good-bye, Garnet blinked back tears and left quickly, running down the veranda steps to where she had tied Trojan Lady. She swung gracefully into the saddle and turned the horse's head in the direction of Montclair, to where her new life, her new responsibilities lay. She turned several times as she moved slowly down the drive to wave back at the slim figure of Kate standing on the shadowed porch.
With a shake of her head, as if to clear it of its shroud of memories, Garnet snapped the reins. Her carefree childhood was in the past. She must face with courage whatever lay ahead.
chapter
26
AFTERWARD, when Garnet thought of the year 1 8 6 3 , all the memories blurred mercifully into a parade of passing impressions. The winter was bitterly cold, but what was suffered at Montclair seemed insignificant when they heard of the cruel conditions under which most of the Confederate soldiers were fighting. With all their men in daily danger, the women could scarcely complain. They knew it was the same all over the South and so learned to cope with their reduced circumstances.
With shortages of all kinds Garnet and her little family became ingenious at finding substitutes for ordinary staples. Candles were in short supply, so they burned wood knots, split into manageable lengths and stored in baskets by the hearth. The fire kindled by the knots gave too flickering a light for reading or sewing, but cast a cheerful glow throughout the high-ceilinged rooms.
In matters of cooking, they were hard-pressed to discover adequate substitutes. Soda for use in baking bread was made from corncobs, burned in a clean-swept place, and the ash gathered into jugs, then doled out a teaspoonful at a time. Tea was made from dried berries of all kinds; okra seeds, roasted and brewed, were the best and came nearer the flavor of coffee than anything else. Berries and weeds were used for dyeing cloth.
Garnet found it was easy enough to be cheerful about shortages and substitutes. Those things seemed simple in comparison to her other heavy obligations. Never patient, Garnet chafed in the role of head of the household. A household of women, unaccustomed to hardship. A household of small children as well as childlike servants who never did anything unless specifically told to do so—and who often had to be shown how!
Sara was left to the tender ministrations of Dove, who was sweetness itself. Dove read to her by the hour or played cribbage with her to divert the older woman from her constant worrying.
Garnet had come to rely on Dove and to see in her cousin some of the same strengths and sweetness of character Rose had possessed. Loving Rose had come late, but now Garnet cherished and valued her memory.
Harmony was a different matter—Harmony, of the mournful sighs and dire predictions. Harmony just missed being beautiful, and one never knew exactly why. She had ivory skin, light blue eyes, hair like golden wheat. Perhaps it was the vacuity of her smile, the emptiness in her eyes, which sparkled only when they rested on Alair, her fairylike daughter.
But even Harmony could have been endured if Garnet had not begun to feel a horrible depression. She covered it well. No one would have guessed that as the days wore on, she felt helpless and fearful much of the time. Yet something within her stubbornly refused to submit to defeat, and she continued as the leader on whom they all depended.
Garnet, who rarely in her healthy, young life had suffered from insomnia, now knew sleepless nights. One night after lying awake for hours, counting the strokes of the grandfather clock downstairs, she got up. Shivering with cold, she wrapped herself in a shawl and huddled near the fireplace, stirring the embers of the dying fire.
She knew why she couldn't sleep tonight. Thoughts of the Montrose men, all in the front lines of duty, marched through her head—Bryce, attached to General Stonewall Jackson's cavalry; Malcolm, still with Lee; Leighton, with Johnson. What if they were all killed? What if none of them came home to Montclair? What then?
She shuddered and could not stop shaking. The dark room filled her with terror. Shortage or no, she would light candles, chase away the frightening darkness.
Rising, she groped along the shelf beside the fireplace for the box of candles she had kept there to use sparingly. As she did, she knocked something to the floor, and stooped to pick it up. It was a book of some kind. Her hand felt the roughness of the leather. When Garnet returned to the light of the fire, she could see that its cover was blistered and charred.
Rose's Bible! Tilda had rescued it on the night of the fire, and later given it to Garnet. It was from this very Bible that Garnet had read to Rose the last day of her life.
Garnet lit a candle with shaky hands, then slowly examined the book. Almost reluctantly Garnet opened the pages, leaning closer to the firelight to better see the words. Unconsciously Garnet's eyes roamed the passages as if searching for something. Ah, there it was—the Twenty-third P
salm. Even she recognized that one. She had heard it often enough at church services in Richmond. The minister had read it at Rose's funeral, as well: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me—"
I wish I believed that, Garnet anguished. I wish I were not afraid. But there is so much to be afraid of, so much to fear, so much evil. The safe, secure world Garnet had always known had become a frightening place.
So many people were depending on her to be strong—and she knew she wasn't! She continued to read, stopping here and there to examine passages that Rose had underlined. One passage caught her attention—"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
Her lips moved, forming the words, murmuring them out loud, the sound of her own voice comforting. Maybe she had stumbled on Rose's secret, her inner strength. Through Christ—not on her own, but through Christ, I can do all things.
Without fully understanding what she was doing, Garnet knelt beside the chair and began to pray haltingly to a God she had always feared. Unexpectedly a soothing warmth that had nothing to do with the sputtering fire spread through her, enclosing her in peace.
Every day after that, Garnet began to find comfort in repeating that simple phrase, especially in times of frustration or stress. And at night she began to read regularly from Rose's Bible until she fell asleep. At length she was able to sleep more soundly, wake more rested, feel better able to handle the crises that arose daily.
Athough Garnet was unaware of the change, the others noticed a new patience in her.
chapter
27
WAR OR NO WAR, spring came to Montclair in its usual blaze of beauty. The children became as frisky as the new lambs in the pasture and the small heifers leaping through the high meadow grass. Acres of yellow jonquils and purple iris spread a tapestry of color around the house.
After the fierce winter the balmy weather of 1863 was welcome. Even the adults spent more and more time outside after the long months of confinement. Spring slid into summer, almost unnoticed. If it had not been for letters from Cousin Nellie and the regular, if sometimes tardy, delivery of newspapers, those at Montclair might never have known a war was being waged.
Garnet would never forget the day they had all gone out to the peach orchard to pick fruit for canning. The July sun was hot, and the children were running barefoot under the trees while the others stood on ladders, plucking the fruit from the heavily laden branches.
Alair and Jonathan were playing hide-and-seek, with Druscilla toddling after the older children on her fat little legs, laughing her gurgly baby laugh as she tried in vain to catch up with them. The sight of them sitting in the grass, eating the ripe, juicy fruit, their chubby hands stained, their moist smiling mouths, the sunshine creating little auras of light around each small head, would often come to her afterward. Garnet would see it clearly, vividly, as a treasured picture of the last day they had all been so happy.
Later when they went into the house, Garnet found one of the Negro men from Cameron Hall with a message from her mother. Its contents sent a shiver of fear like an icy finger down her spine.
Kate had sent word of a huge battle raging near a small town in Pennsylvania called Gettysburg.
The Battle of Gettysburg was like a saber, slashing into the heart of the nation, North and South. Casualties on both sides had run into the thousands. Montclair was struck by a series of devastating blows as news trickled in. Malcolm had been captured, taken prisoner, as General Lee's forces were thrust back; Leighton was missing, believed killed; Bryce had escaped, but the Confederacy had sustained an agonizing loss in the death of General Stonewall Jackson. A horrifying rumor was later confirmed that he had been fired on by his own men.
Bryce, who had been in the honor guard for the general's funeral in Richmond, arrived at Montclair for a few days' leave. He was depressed, saddened by the fate of his two brothers, and by the loss of his commander. Although he tried nobly to present a great show of bravado and optimism for the others, when he and Garnet were alone in their wing of the house, he confided to her.
"I've applied to join Mosby's scouts."
"What is that?" Garnet asked.
"It's a special unit authorized by General Lee to combat some of the Yankee raiding parties. It's made up of men who know the countryside, the woods, and rivers. It will be undercover operations mostly, scouting out enemy positions, then making surprise attacks and routing them."
"Sounds dangerous," Garnet murmured.
"Hah!" Bryce made a derisive sound. "All war is dangerous. This kind I understand. Far better than lining men up and mowing them down, row after row—" His voice took on a bitter edge.
Garnet looked at the face on which the firelight shone, and realized how haggard it was. Bryce was far different now from the high-spirited, handsome young man who had ridden off to fight a knight's crusade nearly three years ago.
Garnet remembered having met Mostly in Richmond before he headed up his unit, and once Bryce had brought him home to Montclair on their way back from some adventure.
For a "legend" John Mosby's appearance was wholly undistinguished. He was thin and wiry, sharp-featured, with a kind of nervous energy that kept him from being still for ten minutes at a time. But it was his eyes that Garnet had noticed particularly, for they were keen, sparkling, alert as if they missed nothing.
Mosby's Raiders, like their leader himself, John Singleton Mosby, were a unique breed—planters' sons, for the most part, of whom Bryce was a perfect example. Bryce had cared little for education, never worked with his hands, loved horses and rode them superbly well, was an excellent hunter and a crack shot. In addition, he possessed the gracious manners of a born gentleman who followed the rigid, unwritten code of the South's elite class. His daring made him a prime volunteer for the Raiders.
Each man kept a horse or two and all were daredevil, reckless riders with a deep-seated loyalty to the Confederate cause and a wild streak that made them indispensable in the risky assignment they had been given.
Thereafter, as a member of the roving band of Mosby's Raiders, Bryce often made unexpected, brief visits to Montclair. They never knew when he might suddenly appear—usually at nightfall with a few of his comrades.
The very qualities that made them superior soldiers also made them wonderful company and welcome guests, and their coming was heralded as occasion for a spontaneous celebration. It was always a boost to the flagging morale of the small band of women to have these high-spirited young men in the house, and Garnet was relieved to see that Bryce had gradually recovered his old spirit and flair.
It was Dove who announced that in spite of all that had happened, Christmas, 1864, must be observed. For the children's sake, at least, everyone pitched in to make it a happy occasion.
Bryce had sent word that he would be coming for Christmas and bringing some of his fellow scouts whose homes were too distant for them to spend the holiday with family. So the preparations were especially joyful.
With sugar so scarce, the baking of the cakes and other traditional holiday treats was a problem, but they used their few supplies with prodigal abandon. The children entered into the mixing and stirring with great enthusiasm. Afterward, they were allowed to lick the spoons and the bowl when the batter was poured into baking pans.
Garnet set Jonathan and Alair to the task of grinding the sugar cones into powder for the Christmas cake. The two worked with a will, using a little white stone mortar with a stone pestle until they were both flushed with the effort. Then, with Dove and Harmony each holding an end of a muslin cloth, Garnet poured the sugar through until it was pronounced fine and smooth enough for the recipe.
For the first time in a very long while. The kitchen hummed with the sound of happy voices and cheerful activity and was fragrant with warm, delicious aromas. The store of delicacies began to mount in the pie-safe. Montclair had no lack of fruits from the orchards, and, as
the women—black and white—and the children sat around the round oak table cracking nuts, seeding raisins, cutting orange peel it would have been hard to imagine that a savage war was being fought not too far distant.
When Bryce and his three companions arrived, they were greeted with happy excitement. The piano was opened and soon the beautiful old Christmas carols rang through the house, filling it with joyous melody. Suddenly Garnet was reminded of Christmases past when Montclair had been bursting with guests, song, laughter, and the sounds of dancing feet.
Even Sara responded to the gaiety and asked to be carried down on Christmas Eve to see the lighted Christmas cedar and to watch the children open their homemade gifts—cornhusk dolls for the girls, with pretty wardrobes made for them from Dove's and Harmony's scrap-boxes, and a wooden stick horse for Jonathan, carved for him by Joshua. There were pincushions, "housewife's sewing kits" for the men, scarves and socks, knitted from wool grown, carded, and spun from sheep raised at Montclair. Whatever the gift, large or small, the exchange was wonderfully merry.
As they gathered about the dinner table the next day it, too, was reminiscent of pre-war Montclair. Days before, the servants had dug up the silver buried the summer before in fear of a Yankee raid, and had washed and polished it to a glowing sheen. Lovely English bone china dinnerware graced the table, covered with a fine drawn-work linen cloth, and set with crystal goblets.
Bryce and his fellow scouts had brought their contributions to the festivities, also, and the feast boasted fresh-brewed coffee, a roasted turkey, a ham, cornbread, sweet potatoes, plum jelly, and a variety of desserts that were "fit for a king," as Bryce later declared.
When at last the children were settled for the night, Bryce confessed that he and his men must leave at daybreak. There was always the chance that a roving Yankee patrol would be ready to ambush, and they wanted to be away before first light.