He reached out, caught her arm and stopped her. Reluctantly, she looked at him again. He smiled warmly and, holding up his bandaged arm said, “Thank you.” She nodded and fled back into the safety of the fitting room.
In the afternoon, as she was leaving the house to walk back to Breckenridge Street, Jack was in the yard waiting for her. He fell in alongside her as she started down the walk.
“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly ill at ease.
“Oh, I thought I’d walk you home,” he said.
“I can walk myself home, thank you.”
“Oh, no. There’s lots of bad people out there waiting for young girls who walk home alone. I’m going to protect you.”
“It’s broad daylight. I don’t need protecting.”
“Good, then you can protect me. Remember? I’m injured.”
She looked at him, smiling in spite of herself. “I think that chisel really hit you in the head.”
He immediately started to totter as though overcome by dizziness. “Oh, I think you’re right. Maybe we should go back so you could bandage my head, too.”
She kept walking and in a moment he caught up with her again. “If there’s a war I’m going to sign up,” he said abruptly.
“What?” she asked, not understanding his meaning.
“The army. I’m going to enlist if we have a war.”
She stopped short, facing him in surprise. “You are! Why?”
“If there’s a fight,” he said, more subdued, “I want to be in on it.”
Shaking her head in disbelief she asked, “Why would you want to fight? Why would anyone want to fight?” Pointing to his bandaged arm she added, “You could get hurt a lot worse than that.”
“These southern hotheads are getting too big for their britches. I never did believe that slavery is right, but now they want to bust up the country so they can do whatever they please.”
Ginnie shook her head. “It seems so silly to me. Who cares what they do down south?”
He looked at her intently. “Do you think we ought to let people break up the country any time they want to?” Without giving her time to answer he said, “They’re only doing it because there’s so much opposition to slavery in the North. England freed the slaves twenty-five years ago. We have to do it sooner or later, too, and we’ll have to fight the slave owners before it happens. I’d rather it happens now, while I’m young, instead of later.”
His intensity surprised her; it was the first time she could remember hearing him talk seriously about anything. Then his smile was back and he said, “If the fight takes too long to start, I won’t be able to get in on the fun.”
“Fun!” she said sarcastically, starting to walk away. “Shooting people is not my idea of fun.”
“Depends on who you’re shooting at,” he said with a grin, amused at how easily he could upset her.
They walked in silence for a while, each of them trying to guess what was going on in the mind of the other. After a minute or so Jack said, “I got a letter from my brother, Ed, the other day.” Ginnie mumbled an acknowledgment, curious about why he had mentioned this fact. Jack went on, “He sees a lot of Wes, since they both work for Hoffman.” She glanced at him in spite of herself, wishing that he would stop mentioning Wes’ name. “Seems Wes has joined an army militia group down there.”
“I know. He told me all about it,” she said, sounding defensive.
Jack gave his head a skeptical shake. “Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”
“Why?”
“He’s a northerner. Or at least he’s supposed to be. What’s he doing with those southern radicals, running around playing soldier?”
Ginnie felt herself getting tense. “He said it’s a social club, not really like the army.”
“The hell it is,” Jack said in disgust. Ginnie recoiled slightly at his profanity. “How many social clubs do you know that march around with guns and shoot at things? It’s the closest thing they have to an army down there, and if war comes it’s going to put him on the wrong side.”
“Please stop talking about Wes,” she said in a voice full of emotion. “There’s nothing wrong with what he’s doing.” Jack was about to retort when she had a sudden inspiration. “And anyway, Wes told me that your brother joined the group, too.”
Jack suddenly stopped and grabbed her arm. His voice lost its angry tone and became urgent. “That’s just it, Ginnie. Ed fooled around with the group when he first went down there, just to find out what it was all about. But he quit years ago. He quit because they hate the North and they hate northerners. Everybody from Gettysburg got out…everybody except Wes.”
Ginnie tried to pull away from him but he would not let her go. In a softer tone he said, almost beseeching her, “Don’t you see? That’s what I meant when I asked you earlier if you think Wes’ll come back if there’s a war.” She looked away, offended, intensely aware of what he was implying. “How could he stay in the group,” he asked, “if they hate northerners?” He paused a moment, then spelled it out. “He could only do it if he’s one of them, if they convinced him to move over to the southern side.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ginnie almost shouted as she turned away, wanting to be home, to be away from Jack. He caught up to her and kept pace as she hurried south. When they arrived at the corner of Breckenridge Street, she turned right toward her house, without a word, hoping that he would leave.
“Ginnie,” he called in a quiet but firm voice. She stopped and waited while he took the few steps to her side. When she refused to look at him, he gently turned her so he could look into her face. “Ginnie, I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t know if you knew what people were saying about Wes, and about you for being his…friend. I don’t want you to be hurt by what he does.” Ginnie tried to turn away, but he kept his hold on her arm. As softly as he could he said, “I respect your feelings for him. I would never interfere with that. But I want you to remember that, if he doesn’t come home, I’m here.”
She wrenched her arm loose and, in a flurry of conflicting emotions, ran down the walk toward her house.
Chapter 7
DISSOLUTION
Shepherdstown, Virginia
April 11, 1861
Wes watched from the doorway of Bridger’s Tavern as the burning effigy of President Lincoln was dragged down the street. In the darkness, flames trailed behind it, emitting a wake of burning sparks like the tail of a comet. The scene had an infernal appearance to it, a tumbling mass of moving fire wreathed in smoke and punctuated by the laughter of spectral figures silhouetted by the flickering light.
The inauguration of President Abraham Lincoln the previous month had been the signal for extremist groups in the state to demand that Virginia separate itself from the Union. Events like the effigy burning were commonplace as many Virginians felt the need to voice their opposition to the result of the election. Following South Carolina’s secession on December 20, 1860, six other states had also left in as many weeks. Jefferson Davis had been inaugurated almost two months ago on February 18, at Montgomery, Alabama as the first president of the Confederate States of America. Since there was no chance that Virginia would remain as part of the North when the rest of the southern states were withdrawing, many wondered why its officials were hesitating; if the thing were to be done, let it be done now.
On the porch of the tavern several members of the Guards had gathered to watch the spectacle, gulping their ale and shouting obscene encouragement to the hangmen. Wes, however, did not feel like laughing. He glanced at the others, examining their faces in the amber light that spilled from the tavern. There was only one topic of conversation: secession. For half a year, the tension had been escalating rapidly; what had formerly been only a theoretical discussion was now a passionate cause.
There was an enormous rift in the town, and each person was labeled by whether he stood on the north or the south rim of the political chasm. Geographically, Shepherdstown was south of the invisibl
e line that separated North from South, but barely so. Because of this, there were many in town whose sympathies lay with the Union against secession. The Guards, on the other hand, were firmly for disunion.
Wes was not sure which label fit him, since he had no firm conviction about either one thing or the other. He had come south for personal, not political, reasons. Will, concerned about both the mounting hostility generated by Lincoln’s election and the expected birth of their second child, had sent Salome home with Bertie two months ago. Their baby girl was already two weeks old.
Then, when it became clear that the problems would not be resolved peacefully, Will and several of the others from Gettysburg decided that the time had come to return home. They were packing, planning to leave on the morning train. Wes didn’t really blame them. There was a silent accusation in the eyes of many of those in town, as if having grown up in the North automatically made a man the enemy.
Ben came out of the smoky tavern to lean against one of the columns near Wes. He watched the dying flames in the distance and, speaking to no one in particular said, “I don’t envy that man his job.”
“Who?” Wes asked, keeping his eyes on the flames.
“Lincoln. Poor man has barely had his job for a whole month and he’s sitting on a powder keg with a lit fuse.”
Wes nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “Do you think we’re going to war?”
Ben turned to look at him, taking a long pull on the cheap cigar he was smoking. The ash glowed, then darkened. “I think it’ll be sad for the country if somebody doesn’t stop what’s going on in Washington.”
Wes nodded and turned his attention back to his own thoughts. The blaze in the distance divided itself into several smaller fires as the effigy broke apart.
Ben shuffled hesitantly, then asked, “Are you leaving with Will and the others.”
Wes looked up, trying to read Ben’s face. The words seemed passively curious, but somewhere hidden in the question was a challenge. Wes figured that most of his friends expected him to run back north with the others. It would be the natural thing to do, and perhaps it was the smart thing as well. But Wes knew that leaving now would mean giving up his dreams with Ginnie, returning to a place he despised and to people who despised him. Going back would be admitting failure, and Ginnie would see that at once.
“I was thinking of going up just long enough to bring Ginnie back down here with me.” There was a long silence from Ben, with only a nod to show that he had heard. “I just wonder what she’ll say,” Wes whispered to himself. The fires died and blackness enveloped the town once again.
At noon the next day, Wes arrived at the railroad station a few minutes before the train was due and bought his ticket. On the platform, Will looked up from the crowd and saw him. “Well,” he called with a tinge of sarcasm, “I’m glad you decided to join us. I thought maybe you were going to stay!” Wes clenched his jaw and nodded, not ready to start an argument by revealing his plans.
The train ride was a quiet affair. Northerners filled the car, rushing home to avoid the coming unpleasantness. To a person, Wes noticed, they each had a pensive look about them that masked a common fear. They wondered what lay in their future, in the country’s future. There was laughter and conversation from time to time, but it repeatedly fell off into a silence broken only by the clack of the train wheels.
As they neared the station in Gettysburg, Wes looked out on well-known scenes and even saw familiar faces in the street. The town seemed so small and constraining to him, as if the place had the power to recapture him and tear him from his new life. The paint on the buildings along the Diamond seemed to have gone drab, and the center of town had a used look that depressed him. He tried to pinpoint why everything had changed so drastically in such a short time and decided that it was not the town that had changed; it was he who was different. After months of inner doubt, it took only one look at the place for Wes to be absolutely sure: Gettysburg was no longer home.
They disembarked late in the afternoon and Will paid a wagon driver twenty cents to haul them and their cases to their father’s house. As they settled uncomfortably in the back, Will raised his hand in farewell to Ed Skelly and Billy Holtzworth. Wes saw him sigh with resignation as he glanced around at the familiar Gettysburg landmarks to which they had been forced to return. Will caught his brother looking at him, smiled and said, “I’m glad you decided to come back with us. I wasn’t so sure there for a while.”
“I’m not staying.” Wes held his brother’s gaze for a second to underscore his determination. Will’s face lost its smile as he tried to understand what Wes was saying.
“Then why’d you come?”
Wes looked down Baltimore Street as it dipped into the valley before rising up sharply again into Cemetery Hill. He thought for a moment before answering. “Ginnie. I want her to come back with me.”
For some reason, he had assumed that Will would not care what he did, and was surprised by the black look that suddenly burned in his brother’s eyes. “How could you?” Will growled.
Wes shrugged innocently. “How could I what?”
This served only to further anger Will. “Are you blind? There’s going to be a war, Wes. It’s only a matter of time before Virginia joins the rebellion. If you go back, you’ll be fighting against us, against your own family.”
Wes sighed as he looked at Will, realizing how much he resembled their father when he was angry. He took a breath to respond, then realized that it was useless to try to explain himself to either one of them. After a moment’s silence, Wes jumped from the wagon onto Baltimore Street just before the driver turned east. Telling his brother, “I’ll be back later. I’m going to see Ginnie,” he turned and began walking south, trying to ignore the angry glare burning into his back.
Ginnie’s house on Breckenridge Street was quiet. Wes stood for a moment looking at it, waiting for the memories to come. But the house failed to inspire him; it was just a dull boxy two-story building. He was fearful for a moment that the sight of Ginnie would also fail to excite him, that the reality might not live up to the idealized image in his mind. Swallowing his anxiety, he knocked on the door. Ginnie’s brother, Jack, answered and told Wes that she was working at the Skelly shop. Wes thanked him and set off back toward Baltimore Street.
As he rounded the corner, he saw her immediately, walking slowly home. She did not notice him at first, since her attention was focused on the young man walking with her. They were talking about something and her smile revealed her pleasure with his company. For a moment, Wes thought he was mistaken about her identity, but Ginnie had changed little since his last visit, looking perhaps a bit more adult and self-possessed. She wore a dark blue dress and had her braided hair pulled up attractively on her head. Wes shifted his eyes to the man with her. He was tall and rugged, his sandy hair carefully combed. His work clothes were neat and pressed as if he had taken pains to prepare himself for this meeting. Then it struck him – it was Jack Skelly.
For a moment, he was back at the swimming hole with Skelly standing over him, that infuriating smirk on his face. Anger was pulsing through his body when Ginnie happened to look up. She saw him standing motionless in the middle of the street. Her face first registered shock, then joy as she broke into an enormous smile of recognition.
Leaving Skelly alone, she ran the last few steps to him. “Where did you come from?” she cried in amazement, grasping both his hands.
Wes’ rage subsided somewhat in the face of her excited welcome, but he glanced sullenly at Skelly who was sidling up to them. Wes demanded in a low growl, “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s just walking with me.” She said it casually and Wes noticed that she did not turn to look at Skelly but continued to gaze intently into his eyes.
Skelly said with forced joviality, “Wes! Welcome home.” Wes nodded without a smile. An awkward silence hung around them for a moment until Skelly cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way. Ginnie, I’ll s
ee you later.” He locked eyes with Wes again and, for a moment, Wes thought he caught the beginning of a smirk. Then he was gone and they were alone.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you were coming home?” Ginnie said, feigning irritation.
“I meant to surprise you,” he responded, casting a meaningful glance down the road toward Skelly’s retreating back.
Sensing his jealousy, she touched his arm lightly and smiled up into his face. With that one intimate move, Wes felt his anger begin to drain away.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she whispered.
It was not his home, but he decided not to make an issue of it. Then he realized that she, like everyone else, expected him to stay in Gettysburg. Before he could explain, however, she began chatting happily about everything that had happened to her since they last talked. They walked west, arm in arm, finally settling on a rail fence near the Seminary. Ginnie grew quiet and Wes began to sense a question working its way up from somewhere inside her.
“Wes? I need to know something.”
He braced himself, his jaw clenching visibly. “What is it?” he asked.
She debated with herself for some time before curiosity won the battle. “Why did you join that militia group? I mean, don’t they hate all northerners?”
After preparing himself for something troublesome, Wes couldn’t help being amused by the absurdity of the question. “Who have you been talking to?” he asked as innocently as possible.
“No one. I’ve just heard other people talking.” She looked guilty and his mind raced to connect the pieces.
“What people? Who would be talking about the Guards up here?” Then the answer snapped into place. He looked at her. “Ed wrote to Jack, didn’t he? And Jack told you.” Her silence confirmed the truth.
Julia had been right, people had been talking about him. But he hadn’t believed that Ginnie would be a party to it. He had been nervous about asking her to come south with him, for fear of her mother’s reaction. But it had never occurred to him that she herself might argue with him about it. Skelly was poisoning her mind before his plans could be fully worked out.
The Calm and the Strife Page 8