Corn Silk Days: Iowa, 1862

by Linda Pendleton

  Story County, Iowa, was filled with women who had been left to manage their families and farms while their husbands went off to fight for the Union. So Elizabeth Jane knew she was not alone in this, but she also knew she hated it.

  She had struggled to hide her anger at Silas when he made the decision to leave his family and fight the Union cause. But Silas was a determined young man and he would not listen to any of her arguments against his going off to war.

  Now, as she turned from the window, she chastised herself for the thousandth time for not letting him know how deeply she had been against his leaving and for not boldly expressing her fear that he might never return to her. She wondered if she could even forgive him for leaving her if he did some day walk through their door.

  More than once she had cursed Ben Johnson, the recruiter from Des Moines. He was the one that had fired up the passion in Silas and in less than two hours Silas was packed and kissing her and Denny goodbye and on his way to Camp Burnside.

  She and Silas had often had a difference of political view. She could care less about the plight of the Negro or even that some states chose to withdraw from the Union. “Let them kill each other,” she had told Silas, “but you do not need to go to war, you need to stay here with your family!”

  Her words had fallen on deaf ears. Silas believed the Rebels had to be stopped and he vowed to be a part of that whether she agreed or not. He had said that he would defend the United States to his death, and sadly, she knew he meant it. She had often wondered why he couldn’t be satisfied with a farmer’s life but soon after they were married she discovered it was not enough for him. He loved his farming but he also seemed to thrive on the politics of the country and of Story County, and he would often rise an hour early to complete his chores so as to be free to attend a political gathering of neighborhood men in late afternoon.

  She had grown to hate those gatherings and was sure the men did nothing but use it as an excuse to drink whiskey, play cards and gamble. Many evenings she would sit by the fire and wait to hear the wagon or his horse approach and knew that when Silas came in the house she would smell the disgusting odor of whiskey permeating his body. Worse yet, he would often be amorous on those nights.

  She gently rocked the cane chair back and forth and stared at the flames of the fire, all the while fighting her sadness and holding back tears. She was as stubborn as Silas, she knew that, and was as determined as an old sow rutting at the mud to find a crumb of spoiled food that had been buried by the flood of rain. She would not give into her pain and sadness. It hurt her deeply that her husband apparently loved his country more than he loved her and Denny and their baby that was now growing in her abdomen.

  She sighed and softly rubbed her abdomen as the baby moved about, kicking gently. Nearly six months of pregnancy had swollen her and before long she knew it would be difficult to take care of the farm. Maybe Silas would be home by then. Maybe this war would be over. Maybe he would be here when she gave birth to their second child. She wondered if it would be a girl, or another boy. Her mama told her it was going to be a girl. Elizabeth Jane knew that her mother could not know that, but she did want a girl this time.

  She recalled her mother’s words of several weeks ago: “Janie dear, this baby will be a girl. I know.” The two of them were busily preparing supper at Catherine’s farmhouse. Elizabeth Jane was peeling potatoes and looked up from her task and asked, “How can you know, Mama?”

  Catherine giggled. “Trust me, nine kids and you know just by looking.”

  Elizabeth Jane smiled, thinking how pretty her mother was. With auburn hair, now tinged some with gray, and bluish-green eyes to offset her high cheek bones, she was lovely, even after having all those children. She was tall, nearly two inches taller than Elizabeth Jane, and carried herself with grace and pride. Elizabeth Jane very much admired her. She also hoped she had many of her mother’s traits along with the good looks she had inherited from herand she wondered if she could expect to look as good when she was her mother’s age.

  Catherine had given birth to six boys and three girls. Elizabeth Jane was her mother’s ninth child. Not all the children made it to adulthood. Three had died as infants, a fear that lingered in the back of Elizabeth Jane’s mind, and she supposed in the minds of every young woman awaiting the birth of a child.

  Catherine added, “You’d better pick out a girl’s name, my dear.”

  Elizabeth Jane studied her mother a moment then said, “I have a name, Mama.”

  “What is it?”

  “If it is a girl, her name will be Katrina Elizabeth Storm,” she said with a delightful smile. “She will have her daddy’s deep blue eyes, her mommy’s beautiful nut-brown hair, her Grandma Catherine’s intuition, and her Great-grandpa Alexander’s wisdom! She will be learned and full of joy. She will dance around the boys and the one who has the honor of her hand will be wise and intelligent.”

  Catherine laughed and then commented, “Whatever she is, I know you and Silas will be proud.”

  Those words immediately changed Elizabeth Jane’s glee to a chilly silence and she turned away from her mother as apprehension went through her.

  Catherine, apparently aware of the abrupt change in her daughter, set aside her chopping knife, wiped her hands on her apron and gently touched Elizabeth Jane’s shoulder and asked, “What is it, Janie?”

  Elizabeth Jane turned to face her mother with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Mama, what if Silas does not return home? What will I do?”

  “Have faith, Janie, Catherine replied confidently. Simply have faith.”

  “Faith! Oh sure, Mama. Look how many men have already been killed. Look at Mrs. Banner, and Mrs. Snider and—”

  Catherine drew her daughter into her arms. “Janie, all you can do is pray that he will be safe. It does you no good to worry. So you wipe those tears away and you think about your baby girl and how beautiful she will be, and you think about your little boy and how he is becoming a rightly handsome youth.” She moved to arms length and withdrew a handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed at her daughter’s reddened eyes. She said with certainty, “Now you listen, young lady. Silas will always be with you, no matter what happens. Do you hear that? He will always be there.”

  “How can you say that, Mama? If he is killed ....”

  “I know what I say, Janie,” she replied softly. “Richard has never left me. Even when I married your father two years after Richard died, Richard was still with me. Even all these years later, he is often by my side.”

  Elizabeth Jane inquisitively eyed her mother. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  Catherine nodded. “Yes, I mean that.”

  “Do you ... do you see him?”

  “Sometimes. More often I am just aware of his presence. There have been times when I can smell his pipe tobacco, or hear his voice faintly calling my name, and I feel calm and at peace.”

  Elizabeth Jane, surprised by her mother’s revelation, asked, “What does Daddy think of that?”

  “I’ve never told him.”

  “Ma...ma.”

  “Janie, some things are better left unsaid. Your father might think that it is just my mind playing tricks on me, or that maybe I don’t really love him and still love only Richard. You have to understand that men—husbands—want to know that they are the only man in your life. Especially, they do not want to know that the ghost of your former husband still hangs around you. And knowing your father, if he knew, he would do everything to get rid of Richard, and maybe even burn the house down to do it!”

  She giggled and said, “Oh, Mama, I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t know your father like I do, Janie. Believe me. He would burn down the house and the barn if he thought Richard was around.”

  “Daddy doesn’t even believe in things like ghosts,” she said. She wondered if she did. She did not remember ever seeing one. And she was not even sure if she wanted to. Just hearing her mother’s words of seeing her dead husband
made her skin raise up in goose bumps.

  “Doesn’t matter. If he thought I did, and if I said Richard was there, your Daddy would get rid of him any way he could. Catherine smiled and was barely able to keep the laughter from her voice as she added, “He might even take his rifle and go on a hunting trip right there in the house.”

  Her mother’s humor made her smile. She commented, “They knew each other, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, and they didn’t like each other. Oh, they were cordial, but that’s all. After Richard died, I must say I was surprised when your Daddy wanted to court me. I was leaving church one day, two young boys in tow, when your Daddy asked if he could escort me to the barn dance the following Saturday night. I must say I almost fell off the church steps. Of all the bachelor men in town, I would never have guessed it would have been Daniel McCord who wanted the pleasure of my company.”

  Catherine was revealing herself in a way that her daughter had never experienced before, and Elizabeth Jane was enjoying the sharing of secrets and fears. Of course, she thought, all the fear belonged to her, not her mother. She had often wondered how her mother could be so strong and fearless. Her life had not been easy. She was a young wife and mother when Richard was killed in a farm accident. He had been breaking a new horse when he was kicked and knocked to the ground. His head and chest took the impact of two more kicks. The damage had been beyond repair.

  Richard had died within minutes. Catherine had been so angry at the horse that she returned to the house and retrieved Richard’s rifle. Returning to the corral, she entered against the protests of friends and family who had gathered. They watched with disbelief as she approached the wild horse and felled him with one accurate blast. She reloaded and fired into him again, taking any life that was left in his body. The story that Aunt Mildred had told was that Catherine’s act of revenge had given Catherine some small bit of comfort and lessened her grief.

  And then the babies that had died. How did she survive that, Elizabeth Jane wondered. How does any parent survive that? She felt like a weakling compared to her mother. She may have inherited her mother’s fine beauty, and her grace of movement, as many said, but she was sure the one trait she did not inherit was her mother’s self confidence. That, she knew.

  Comfortable though that she could safely express her fears to her mother without a serious rebuff, Elizabeth Jane said, “Mama, I’m scared. I have to keep the farm running, have to make some money to feed us. The money that the army gives Silas is not enough for us to survive on. When the baby comes how will I keep the farm going? Silas wants Denny to go to school and get an education. I know he’s too young to be much help around the farm but he is some help to me. It will be spring planting before long. What if Silas is not home?” She spoke in a suffocated whisper, “What if he never comes home?”

  Catherine, apparently aware of her daughter’s pain replied quietly, “The war won’t last forever.”

  “It could last for years.”

  Catherine generously gave her daughter more reassurance. “Janie, you come from strong stock. Whatever happens, you will get through it. Sometimes God gives us challenges, but we find an inner strength to do what we have to do. It is said that God never gives us more than we can handle. If Silas isn’t back when the baby comes in spring, you might hire a Negro girl to help out.”

  “Oh, Mama, I will not have a Negro of any kind on the farm. You know that!”

  Catherine ignored her daughter’s protest. “Mrs. Gardner is very happy with the young Negro girl she found in Des Moines. She says she is a fine worker.”

  “Well, you just let Mrs. Gardner have her Negro girl. I will not!”

  “I’ve heard from Mrs. Gardner that there are a lot of young Negroes in Des Moines that have come there to escape the war and need jobs and places to live.”

  “Well, they can just stay there!”

  “Janie, you shouldn’t feel so against the Negro.”

  “I’m not against them. I just won’t have one on my farm.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Mrs. Gardner about that. Or even, Alexander.”

  “No, Mama. I’m not interested in having any Negroes around, and that is that. I’ll just manage. I can do it.”

  Catherine studied her daughter a moment but remained silent as she turned and moved to the stove. She browned some beef, put potatoes, onions, peas, and carrots into the kettle with the beef and covered it with a lid, while Elizabeth Jane put the finishing touches on a green salad. Catherine filled a strainer with tea, and poured a kettle of steaming water over the tea leaves. While she waited for the tea to steep, she put biscuits and berry jam on the table. When the tea was ready, she poured two cups. “Come have some tea, Janie. I have more secrets to tell you.”

  Secrets? That perked Elizabeth Jane’s curiosity. She lowered herself onto the chair opposite her mother at the table. “What secrets?”

  “One that I want you to keep to yourself for now,” Catherine replied.

  “Yes, I will, I promise. What is it?”

  “It’s about Richard.”

  “What about Richard?”

  “Richard had Negro blood.”

  “What!” Elizabeth Jane’s face instantly revealed her shock and aversion. “No, it can’t be. You mean my brothers are ...!”

  “Yes. It’s true,” Catherine confirmed. “One of Richard’s grandmothers was a Negro.”

  “But I don’t understand.” Her mind was whirling with confusion. “The boys don’t look ....”

  “No, the blood was thin enough that it did not show up in Richard or our two boys.”

  “I don’t believe this. How did that happen?”

  “How do you think? It happened just like the many stories we’ve heard. Richard’s grandfather was a wealthy plantation owner in Virginia many years ago. He owned a number of slaves. The story is that his wife had died and they had not had any children. Richard’s grandmother was his grandfather’s personal housemaid—a young Negro woman. He had two sons by her. One son was a darky and the grandfather would not publicly claim him as his own but the other son, Richard’s father, was light skinned and looked just like his father. The father raised him and few people knew the truth of his origin. And those who did ignored the fact because the man had great influence in Virginia. He was very wealthy and politically active and no one wanted to take issue. As the years went by the truth seemed to fade away and the only ones who knew were a few relatives. Richard was sixteen when he learned the truth of his heritage.”

  “When did he tell you this?”

  “He told me before we married.”

  “Oh, Mamaand you agreed to marry him?”

  “Of course. I loved him, and it did not matter to me.”

  “But your children?”

  “Janie, my children are my children. What happened many, many years ago matters not.”

  Elizabeth Jane leaned back into her chair and her face revealed deep concern. “What about Robert and James?”

  “What about them?”

  “Do they know?”

  “No, I have not found any reason to tell them. I’m only telling you because you seem to think less of the Negroes than others. I wanted you to have a different understanding of how things can be. If I ever saw that my two sons treated Negroes badly, I would have a long talk with them.”

  “But Mama, they should know.”

  “I will tell them some day when I feel it is time. If for some reason I do not live to do that, you promise me that you will tell them.”

  Elizabeth Jane felt that a heavy burden had just been placed on her shoulders and she did not like it one bit. She would have to step up her prayers to make sure her mother lived long enough to reveal this secret to her half-brothers because she knew she did not want to be the one to tell them.

  Elizabeth Jane rose from the rocking chair and added more logs to the fire. It was going to be a cold night now that the snow had ceased falling. She waited until the flames licked high on the logs again r
eturning warmth to the room. But something was missing, just like it had been every night since Silas had left. Even with the heat generated by the burning logs, the room would remain cold and empty. The evenings were always the most difficult time for her. She knew it was silly. The nights were no different from the days. She was surrounded by comforts of her home, her possessions, some that she cherished highly, and her little boy sleeping soundly in the upstairs bedroom. But somehow that wasn’t enough, not tonight or any night.

  She moved the oil lamp onto the table near her chair, and returned to the chair. Her Bible was lying next to the lamp and she picked it up and opened it. She read a few verses but found that her mind was wandering and she could not concentrate on the words before her. She said a silent prayer and closed the Bible and returned it to its place on the table.

  She reached into a basket of letters and pulled out an envelope and opened it. She read a few paragraphs of Silas’s words then folded the paper, returned it to the envelope and dropped it into the basket. She rose from the chair and took the lamp with her to a desk. She retrieved a sheet of paper and a fountain pen and ink from a drawer. She sat, inked the pen, and began to write: My dear Silas . . .

  She knew many of the words that she would write would be little white lies. All was not good and pleasant under the night sky in Iowa but she knew she would tell her husband that all was well.

  Chapter Two: James

  Catherine’s second-born son, James Campbell Garrison, was seventeen when he decided to become a teacher. Still a student himself at that time, he prided in his ability to learn quickly. He told everyone that arithmetic and geography were his favorite subjects. He had surpassed all the other students in all areas of study, including music. By the age of nineteen he had studied under several private teachers, the most noted, Professor Thomas A. Cramer, a Greek and Latin scholar.