by Ward, Marsha
Mary continued pacing. What could be causing her mother’s opposition? Rulon and his family were upright people, God-fearing people. Perhaps a bit, oh, irregular in their thinking about slavery being unjust, but she knew a few other folks in the county had similar feelings. That was such a small thing. There could be no logical impediment to a match between their families.
Growing weary of her mindless tours about the room, Mary sat, hands in her lap, shoulders bowed. Impending war and Rulon’s proposal had certainly turned her world on its ear. She had known for months that she wanted to marry this particular man, but had thought the event was a few years in her future. Now he was set on going to fight, and the time to wed was here and now. In three short weeks, in fact.
Joy flashed through her, causing her heart to beat at a furious pace. As quickly as it had come, the elation was replaced by anxiety brought on by the thought of her mother’s unanticipated resistance. How am I to prepare for my wedding alone? She clasped her hands, twisting them against each other. Mama, Mama. I need you.
~~~
Rulon — April 21, 1861
Ma met Rulon at the door of the kitchen. She didn’t say anything, just waited for him to speak first, her face aglow, yet strangely reserved.
“I done it, Ma. Mary accepted my proposal to wed.” Tiny moths skittered around inside his belly.
Ma beamed. “I knew she would, son. She bears you a great affection.”
“Don’t she, though. It half puts a man on his guard, thinkin’ about the future.”
Ma patted his arm. “You have a grand future, son. At least, we all have the hope of that.” As she spoke the last few words, her voice dropped almost to a whisper, her fear plainly exposed.
“Ma, everything is goin’ to be just fine. We’ll whip those Yankees in a fortnight and be home before planting time is done.” He jerked his chin for emphasis.
“That is my prayer, Rulon. Come. Sit. Tell me your plans. When will the happy day occur?”
Rulon took his accustomed place at the table, then picked up and fidgeted with the salt cellar. “Mr. Moore’s first open date to hold a wedding service for us is May 11th.” He looked up at his mother. “That’s three weeks off.”
“Only three weeks!”
“Mary said that too, ‘only three weeks.’ What does it mean?”
“There’s so much work to do, son. Mary needs to come up with a pleasing and serviceable dress. Then she has to plan and do the decorating, make a party and write notes to invite folks. Bake a cake and whatever other refreshments she wants. Weddings don’t come off without a passel of work.”
Rulon took the salt spoon out of the cellar and examined it. He put it back into the salt. “That didn’t enter my mind, I reckon. I only been worrying over two things. The first is earning the two dollars I need to pay Mr. Moore, and the second . . .” He paused and leaned his chair back on two legs. “I’ve been mulling over what to write in a letter to Captain Yancey up in Rockingham County. I figure I’ve got only one chance to convince him to take me into the Harrisonburg Troop before it leaves.”
A deep furrow appeared between Ma’s brows. “The fighting. Is that all you men think about?”
“No. No.” Rulon let the chair return to the floor. “But Ma, I don’t want this little squabble to be over before I can take part.”
“I reckon there’s time enough for you to join some other company, if it really is to be war. Armies don’t form up overnight, son.”
Rulon put the salt cellar back on the table and nudged it into place. “Didn’t we beat the Mexicans in short order?”
“It took a while, a long while. Those were hard times.”
He shrugged. “I own I don’t recall a great lot.”
“I don’t wonder, you bein’ nothing but a little sprout at the time.”
“Pa don’t talk about it much.”
“No, he don’t, and thankful I am of that.” Ma wiped her hands on her apron. “What will we need to do for the pair of you and the celebration? Will the girl marry from her father’s house or the church? Will there be a shiveree or a proper party? No question that I’ll fix a place ready for her when you bring her home to us.”
Rulon shifted in the chair, uneasy that he’d not thought of any such details, nor even where Mary would live when he left for war.
“Ah, we didn’t get to that stage of talkin’, Ma. It’s early times yet to worry on that.”
“Humph. You want to wed in a hurry so you can go to war, but don’t take the time to converse with your gal about your plans? Spoken like a man who don’t have to do the work.”
“Ma.” He made more than one syllable of the word. “We was... we was busy.”
“Less spoonin’ and more talkin’ would suit.” She arose and squinted at him. “I reckon it never occurred to your mind to think beyond the needs of your body. A man needs to use his brain as well as his other parts when he’s fixin’ to wed.”
“Ma!” he said again, this time to her back as she turned it to leave the room. “You speak the most outrageous— We wasn’t spoonin’.” The rush of warmth to his face was echoed in his “other parts” as he thought of Mary. And spooning. And earning two dollars. His ardor deflated. This business of getting married had more complexity than he’d suspected.
Then there was that other business. He had to write that letter. Sighing, he got up and fetched the ink bottle, steel-nibbed pen, and a few sheets of paper. Then he set about the task, thinking about each word before he wrote it down, hoping his plea would convince the captain to accept him into the troop, worrying if his spelling was acceptable.
Chapter 3
Rulon — April 22, 1861
As soon as he awoke the next day, Rulon rushed to waylay Ben before he rode into town to his job.
“Have you heard of any work at the mill?” he asked as they washed.
Ben glanced up, startled. “You can’t have my job.”
“I don’t want it. I need day work. I have to earn two dollars to pay the minister.”
“That’s the cost of takin’ a bride? I will keep that in mind.” Ben ran a hand over the fine-haired stubble on his chin. “I don’t believe I’ll shave today.” He looked at Rulon, who had already lathered his face. “How about down to the Columbia furnace?”
“I was hoping for work closer by.”
“I know they was hiring Negroes for day labor from Mr. Meem. When Virginia goes to war, that furnace will be hopping to get enough pig iron smelted for the Tredegar Works in Richmond.” Ben wiped his face dry, then chuckled. “You didn’t know I knew that. I keep my ears open at the mill.”
“Good for you, brother,” Rulon mumbled, paying close attention to shaving under his nose. “I reckon I will look into it.”
“You’ll have to stay at the iron plantation. It’s too far away from the place to ride out there every day.”
“I’ll take a bedroll. Do we still have any of that jerked venison?”
“How am I supposed to know that? Ask Marie. She knows what’s in the larder.”
“I will do that.” Rulon took a towel from around his neck and used it to wipe away the last bits of stray lather. “Thank you for the information.” He grinned. “A few days of work, and I’ll have the money to put into Mr. Moore’s palm.”
“Generosity becomes you, brother.” Ben buttoned his shirt.
“Ha! Any amount will be worth havin’ the girl as my wife.”
“Ease up, Rule. Think on somethin’ else, for a change.”
Rulon snorted. “Like breakfast? The smell of that bacon does make a man’s mouth water.”
Ben laughed as they finished up and followed their noses.
~~~
“Marie, do we have any jerked venison?” Rulon asked his sister after breakfast.
“I do believe there is a bit down in the cellar,” she answered. “Why do you need it?”
“I’m off to look for a job at the Columbia furnace. I reckon I’ll stay over and work it, if I get on.”<
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“That sounds reasonable, but don’t Pa need you today?”
“The seed is all in the ground, and he’s finished shoeing the horses, so I figure I’m free for a spell.”
“You haven’t asked him?” she asked as she opened the trapdoor to the cellar.
He fidgeted with his hat. “No. Do I have to account to him for all my comin’s and goin’s?”
“You do if you’re fixin’ to go off that-a-way,” she said, her voice getting muffled as she descended the ladder.
“Little sis, you’re too nosy.”
Marie’s head reappeared after a moment. “Do you want this, or shall I feed it to the hogs?” She held up a tied bag, but out of his easy grasp.
“I want it.”
“Then keep a civil tongue in your head. Apologize.”
“I’m sorry. You’re growin’ taller every day.”
“Rulon! I mean say you’re sorry for callin’ me nosy. That’s Julianna’s domain.”
He laughed. “You have the right of that. I am sorry I called you nosy. I’ll speak to Pa. Now, can I have the jerky?”
She grabbed the ladder with the hand holding the bag and held out her other hand for a boost up the last rungs. Rulon gave her the assist. She pushed the trapdoor into place and turned to face him. “Here it is. You’d best start mindin’ your tongue real close if you think to take a wife. You can’t call her names.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t intend to, unless you mean ‘Darling’ and ‘Dear’ and ‘Sugar’ and the like. I plan to use them real often.”
“You are incorrigible!”
“Am not. Where’s the respect due me, sis?”
“For what?” she scoffed. “Bein’ born first? That’s purely happenstance. I’ve got more sense’n you. I most likely was busy tendin’ to the Angel Gabriel’s fire, or I would have come first of all.”
“You don’t say.” Rulon shoved the bag into his pocket and grinned at his sister. “You’ve got a lively imagination, I’ll give you that.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Off with you. Talk to Pa. I don’t want him stomping through the kitchen with muddy boots because he’s cross with you.”
He grinned again and took himself out of the house to speak with his father.
~~~
Rulon topped the hill and pulled up his horse so they both could rest for a few minutes before making the descent. The trip up the hills from Edinburg had been grueling for the animal, and he dismounted and pulled a bottle of water from his saddlebag. He took a long drag, then used his hat to water the horse.
The village around the Columbia Furnace spread before him on the floor of the valley. Beside Stony Creek, the limestone and frame buildings lay, and back farther, against the hill, he saw the furnace itself. He wondered where he would locate the foreman, at the headquarters, or at the works.
He decided whoever did the hiring would more likely be in an office. He stowed his damp hat under a strap on his saddle to let it dry, climbed aboard the horse, and tongue-clicked it into movement.
At the office, he was directed to speak to a Mr. Harvey about employment.
“Yes, I reckon we’ll be needing more workers with this war talk,” the man said. “I can hire you today to fell trees for charcoal, or next week to drive a team to Edinburg. The teamster pay is higher, but you say you want day work?”
“Yes, sir. That suits my circumstances better.”
The man looked Rulon over. “Well, it appears to me you have the shoulders and arms to handle the saw and axe work. The pay’s fifty cents a day, and I’ll put you on a gang tomorrow. Did you say you’re from Mount Jackson?”
“Thereabouts, yes sir.”
“I reckon that’s too far to ride out every mornin’. If you brought a bedroll, I can let you make a camp over yonder.” He gestured to a copse of trees.
“That will suit me fine, sir. I come prepared.”
“Good, then. Take care of your animal, and I’ll have a piece of paper for your X when you return.”
“I can sign my name, sir.”
“Interested in office work? No? All right. Come back around the front when you’re ready and you can meet the gang boss.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m obliged.”
~~~
Rulon — April 27, 1861
On Saturday, Rulon rode back home with two dollars in his pocket and sore arms, shoulders, and back. He could scarcely wait to see Mary and tell her about his week, but first, he needed to clean up to make himself decent for the visit.
When he’d washed up and put on clean clothing, he picked out another horse and saddled it.
Peter approached with a frown on his face. “Take me with you.”
“What task would take you to town, boy? I already asked Ma if she had needs. She said ‘no’.”
Peter ducked his head and mumbled something so low Rulon couldn’t make it out.
“Speak up, boy. I haven’t got all day to set here waitin’ for you to talk at me.”
“You know what I want,” Peter replied, all but shouting.
“You reckon you’re a man and should do the duty of a man to defend his home?” Rulon swung aboard his horse. “Nah. Ma won’t have it.”
“I am a man, Rule!” Peter swiped a hand across his dark-stubbled chin. “Anyone can see it.”
Rulon’s horse turned, and he brought it around before he spoke again. “Needin’ to strop a razor each day don’t make you a man. You barely celebrated seventeen years.”
“I reckon the ability to raise a beard will help when it comes time to sign the paper.”
The horse started to rear, and Rulon got it under control, then dismounted to check the gear.
As he calmed the horse, he threw a comment over his shoulder. “The matter has been decided. Ma don’t want you to go.” He lifted the saddle and found he’d been careless with the blanket. A fold in the material had caused the animal discomfort. He smoothed it out, restored the saddle to its place, and turned to his brother. “Despite the whiskers, you can’t pass muster with that baby face.” He buckled the cinch.
“Can too.”
“Can not.” Rulon ruffled his brother’s hair. “The company clerk will take one look at you and spy you out for a fraud.”
Peter jerked his head away. “Rule, you surely take the joy out of a man’s life.”
“A man?” Rulon snickered. “Don’t call yourself a man again in my hearing, baby boy.”
Peter planted his fist next to Rulon’s eye.
Rulon probed the spot as he held Peter off with his other hand. “That is going to raise color, boy.”
“No more than you deserve,” Peter blustered, trying to swing again. “Bear the mark as a sign of your unbridled tongue!”
“That I am obliged to do.” Rulon gave the young man a healthy shove away from him. “You still ain’t goin’ to town with me. I got business where you ain’t wanted.” He mounted and trotted off before Peter could recover and answer back.
~~~
Rulon — April 27, 1861
Mary reacted predictably, Rulon thought, recoiling at his swollen eye, then bringing him a cold compress to apply to it.
“Who did this to you? Was it that bunch of rowdies who hang out at Fletcher’s? You weren’t drinking? Oh, Rulon, how could you?”
He took her hand, mostly to keep it from fluttering around his face. “No Mary. Peter did it. He socked me when we was foolin’ around.”
“Why would he do that? Your brother is a beast.”
“No he ain’t. I called him a name, and he felt justified.”
“Why were you quarreling?”
“Mary, Mary.” She was becoming overwrought, and he sought to quiet her with a little kiss on her temple.
“Don’t you kiss me. Answer my question.”
“Humph. He wants to enlist. I said he would be caught out for lyin’ about his age.”
“You were doing a noble task, then, preventing him from—”
“He didn�
�t think so. When I called him a baby, he hit me.”
Mary sat back on the sofa. Her face became stone. “You were goading him?”
Rulon shrugged his shoulders. “That’s the way it is with brothers, Sugar.” Remembering she had none, he added, “Don’t sisters tease and josh each other?”
“Not to the point of violence, we don’t.”
“You never hit Ida?”
She looked horrified.
“Pushed her? No. Pinched her, then?”
“Well, maybe I’ve pinched her a time or two, but only when she well deserved it!”
“Boys ain’t so dainty. Our bodies are larger than girls’ are, for the most part, and we flail our arms around some. From time to time, somebody’s liable to get in the way of a knuckle.”
“You won’t be doin’ that with me?”
He drew her into an embrace. “No.” He kissed her. “No. I’m no woman beater.” Her lips tasted of honey.
Mary freed her lips long enough to ask, “You reckon I’m a woman?”
“No question,” he muttered on an exhaled breathe. “No question at all.”
“Um,” she murmured, permitting him a second kiss before she pushed him away.
“We have plans to make, Rulon. There’s so little time to get this weddin’ together. Papa gave me a bolt of fabric, and I had another piece that goes with it, so once I borrowed a pattern from Lucy Hayes I started cuttin’ out my dress. It’s goin’ to be so lovely, Rulon. You will just adore it.”
Rulon doubted he could ‘adore’ any dress, but kept his mouth shut on that head. He could certainly adore the figure within it.
Sister Ida says she’ll help me bake the cakes.” She took a deep breath. “Mama seems so listless. I cannot get her excited about helping with the preparations.” She counted on her fingers. “Rulon, May 11th is just two weeks away,” she said, a little wail in her voice.
He bent and kissed her cheek. “We’ll get it done, Sugar.”
She drew in a breath, then looked around. “Papa said we should have the ceremony right here in the parlor. It will take less time and effort to decorate it rather than the church, and besides, we won’t have to pay a rental fee.”