by Ward, Marsha
Ben wrote to me? She felt her legs begin to tremble, then stilled them with an effort. He finally wrote? It had been several months since she first assayed to forge a tie with him, but when he hadn’t responded to any of her missives, her hopes of hearing from him had diminished almost to despair.
“Poppa, I cannot say,” she replied, trying to be arch, and finding herself failing miserably. Her stomach clenched.
“I fail to see why he would think you desired a correspondence with him.” He stared back at Ella Ruth, pursing his lips and gripping the letter in two hands at the level of his watch chain.
After a long moment, she put out her hand and said in a meek voice, “May I have it?”
Poppa seemed startled by her request. “What? You may not.” He held it out of her reach.
Ella Ruth raised her chin. “Perhaps he has sent me news of the progress of the war. Or a warning about the advance of the enemy. I must have it.”
He considered. “I hardly dare think a lowly private soldier would be in possession of such information.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you write to him?”
She raised her chin even higher. “What if I did? It cannot matter to you. We are at war, and it behooves the women of this county to support our brave soldiers.”
“Ella Ruth, you are not to encourage this young scoundrel. I forbid further contact with him.”
She rose and attempted to snatch the letter from his hands, but he held it above her head. She cried out, “Poppa, you cannot deter me from having affection for Benjamin. If you had only bent your will the tiniest little bit, I would have been a bride and out of your hair long ago.”
He snorted. “You were ill suited to be the bride of a farmer. You still are, even in these hard times.”
She smiled, feeling her lips quivering the slightest amount. I will not cry, she decided. “You think poorly of me, Poppa, but you shall not forbid me to love this man.”
“Love. What do you know of love, daughter? You imagine the emotion makes the world revolve. I know it helps, but does not do the job alone.”
“Such a cynical Poppa.”
He looked down at her, his heightened color fading. “I’m a realist. Our world is undergoing a tumult that may crush us, and you only think of that Owen boy.”
“Man, Poppa. He’s a soldier.”
“Not even of the age of majority.” He turned and strode around the room.
“I don’t care. He’s done the work of a man for years.”
He stopped before Ella Ruth, waved the envelope in her face and said, “And he’s tried to seduce my daughter into dalliance on more than one occasion.”
“Poppa!” She felt her face grow warm. “What a thing to say to me.” Her stomach twisted in dismay at the insult.
“Don’t deny it. I have eyes.” His voice began an upward march into renewed anger. “I’ve seen you come back from meeting him, your face flushed and your eyes filled with stars. He’s not the right sort of man for my daughter.”
“Oh Poppa. If you only knew him as I do.” More than her lips trembled now. Her entire body vibrated with emotion. “He wanted only to marry me.” She inhaled.
“I won’t have it,” he said, his voice hard and brittle. He tore the letter to bits, dropped them into a tin wastebasket beside a table, and left the room.
Ella Ruth let her breath go in a rush as she dropped to her knees beside the basket, feeling a sob clog her throat. Poppa, what have you done?
~~~
Julia — March 11, 1862
Julia waited on the porch of the Hilbrands’ home while James knocked on the door a second time. He stepped back, frowning. She placed a hand on his arm to forestall any complaint. She had no idea why it was taking so long for the family to respond, but surely someone would answer sooner or later.
At last, Julia heard footfalls approaching, and the door opened as though it were jerked backward. Ida stood in the opening, hair disheveled and apron rumpled. She held a squalling child on her shoulder.
“Go away,” Ida said. “I’m too busy to entertain.” She patted the baby and moved side to side in a futile attempt to sooth the child.
Julia couldn’t determine if the babe was Amanda’s girl or her grandchild, Roddy. She put out her hands to give aid, but Ida wasn’t ready to accept help, for she turned away, kicking the door shut behind her.
Feeling anger rising up in her, Julia was on the point of snatching the door latch and pushing the door open again, but James grabbed her by the upper arms.
“Whoa, Ma. Ida is a mite overwrought. She won’t welcome your help.” He cocked his head. “She’s ornery enough to see it as interferin’.”
Julia sighed. He was correct. Even so, she took the slight to heart, feeling as though she had been stung by a passel of wasps.
She looked up. James gazed at her, his dark eyes reflecting his concern. She patted his arms as the anger drained away. “You’re so right, son. She’s prickly as a bundle of nettles. We’ll go.”
She wanted to see Mary. She wanted to hold Roddy. Now was not the right moment. “We’ll go,” she repeated, and stepped off the stoop.
Chapter 19
Rulon — March 13, 1862
March 13, 1862
In Camp, Warrenton Junc. Via.
My Dearest Wife,
My joy upon hearing our blessed news new no bounds when I recved your letter the past week. I wood have ritten you at the time to thank you for producing a fine heir, but events with the Enemy prevented me taking pen in hand.
The Yankees have come up in such numbers that our general Johnston decided to remove the army from the thret. As a consequence, many suplys had to be destroyed, along with a mountain of private soldiers baggage. Oh Sugar, the smell of bacon burning about drove us mad. Also grain was set afire to keep it from the Yankees hands. Flour broken from barr’ls and heeped on the ground resembl’d a strange snowfall. I warrant we will rue the day we had to waste these provisions, but we had no way to carry them off from Manassas Junc.
My little Wife, I miss you with all my heart. Conserve your health in all ways. Kiss my Dear Son upon his brow and tell him of my boundless affection for him.
I remain, yor husband,
Rulon Owen
~~~
Ella Ruth — March 15, 1862
For several days, Ella Ruth barely left her room, trying to find a way to read Ben’s destroyed letter. Putting the pieces together was like trying to assemble a picture puzzle. At first, she thought she would make up a paste of flour and water and affix the mangled bits onto another piece of paper. After only a moment, she knew that wouldn’t work. Ben had written on both sides of the paper. She wanted to read all that he had written, especially when it became evident from the first few words that he had forgiven her, and wanted her friendship.
She tried laying the pieces out and simply turning them over, but they were so small and lightweight that the slightest breath sent them fluttering to the floor, and all her labor was for naught.
Despairing, she stared out the window, seeking solace in the sunlight bathing the tops of the trees. She stared so long that her eyes became dry, and she blinked to moisten them.
Dear Ben. His letter deserved to be read so that she might answer.
She sniffed. She reached around to pick up her handkerchief to wipe her nose, and her elbow bumped the window pane.
The window pane. Glass. If I place the pieces on a sheet of glass, I can cover them— She stopped. How was she to get two sheets of glass? Poppa would scarcely buy them for her, if indeed, any were to be had. Where was she going to obtain glass?
It was not long before Ella Ruth decided that she would remove two of her window panes and use them to encase the pieces of paper. No matter if a little cold seeped into the room. She could sacrifice a bit of comfort for a desirable outcome to her letter dilemma.
After the midday meal, she hid a table knife in the folds of her skirt, told her mother she was going to take a nap, and mounted the stairs as qui
ckly as she dared. She locked her bedroom door and surveyed the windows of the chamber. It wouldn’t do for her maid to discover that she had cannibalized her window panes, so she chose the casement that had the least use, and regularly remained covered by the thick draperies that had hung in place for ages.
She laid an old pillowcase on the floor beneath the window, and began to attack the putty that held one pane of glass in the frame with her purloined knife. Was Mama likely to discover a knife was missing? She decided not to let that fret her. Who counts silver anymore? There are larger issues at hand.
Soon she had chiseled a quantity of putty from the bottom of the frame. Her hands quivered from the effects of the unaccustomed labor, and one was red and abraded. She determined to find another solution than hitting the base of the knife with the heel of her hand to dig out the stubborn putty.
After looking around in her room, she found a wooden figurine that would serve to hammer on the knife handle, and then the work went more rapidly and with far less pain.
At last the moment came when one window pane was free, and she carefully pried it loose from the last remnants of the putty keeping it in the frame. Ha! she thought. I will not be defeated, Poppa.
She took the glass to her dressing table and wrapped it in a towel, then went back to work on a second panel.
The putty in this frame had hardened unevenly, and at one point, she held her breath as the knife blade skittered across the glass, fearing that the pane would shatter. It chipped a bit on the edge, but that probably was acceptable, as long as she watched where she held the glass later.
At last she had two sheets of glass free and out of the window frame. Now, what was she to do with the putty? If she put it in the wastebasket, Lula would find it as she cleaned the room. No, Ella Ruth must dispose of it herself.
She gathered up the pillowcase and hid it in the back of her armoire, behind a pair of shoes. Lula would not be cleaning in there. Later, she would think about how to get the putty safely out of the house.
But first, she must clean the glass.
She poured a small amount of water into her wash basin and wet a face scrubbing rag. Then she rubbed the surface of the glass with it. My goodness, how dirty the glass is! Lula must not have washed the lesser-used windows much. She would speak to her about—
No, I won’t. I can’t let her know I’ve taken the glass.
When the panes were clean and she was at the point of laying the paper puzzle of Ben’s letter down on the first sheet of glass, someone knocked on the door.
She squeaked involuntarily and almost dropped the glass.
Remembering that she was supposed to be napping, Ella Ruth let the knocking continue for a moment while she hid the glass, then answered in what she hoped was a sleepy voice.
“What is it?”
Lula said, “Miss Ella Ruth, you have a caller.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s the preacher man, Mr. Moore.”
Ella Ruth groaned. The man probably wanted her to sing in the choir. “Send him away. I’m tired.”
“No, miss. I ain’t gonna send away no preacher man. That’d be scandalous.”
This time, Ella Ruth sighed. “He won’t bite you.”
“He’s the preacher!”
She supposed she would have to appease the man, and her maid, for sure. “All right. Let him know I will be down shortly.”
“Yes, Miss Ella Ruth. I surely will.”
Mr. Moore did not want her to join the choir. He wanted to counsel her about her soul.
After the formalities had been seen to, he said, “Your father is concerned for your welfare. He says you have fallen under the influence of a, ah, I believe he said ‘a reprobate,’ Miss Allen.”
Ella Ruth felt her eyes widen. Poppa can only mean Ben, but surely he isn’t a reprobate. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Moore.” She refused to call him sir after such a beginning.
The minister tugged on his coat by the lapels, clearly nervous. “He, ah, claims you received a letter from an undesirable person.”
Ella Ruth fixed her gaze upon him. “Do any of your parishioners fall into those categories? Reprobate? Undesirable?”
“I don’t believe so, Miss Allen.”
“This person my father brands with those pejoratives comes from one of our oldest county families. My father is mistaken.” She got to her feet. “There you have it, Mr. Moore. You cannot think the son of Roderick Owen is some wanton beast.”
He hastily rose. “No, Miss. A fine family, indeed.”
She wanted to know if Poppa had mentioned that he had destroyed the letter before she had a chance to be “influenced” by it, but decided not to prolong the interview.
“Good day, sir. I’m sure you have other calls more pressing than this little misunderstanding.” She hurried the minister to the door, shut it almost before he was clear, and hurried up the stairs. A puzzle awaited her.
~~~
Determining which of the pieces of paper constituted the first page of the letter was more difficult than Ella Ruth supposed it would be. After an hour’s work, however, she finally had assembled the page on one sheet of glass, placed the second sheet atop the first, and was ready to begin reading.
She had scarcely begun when the supper bell rang.
She made an unladylike sound, and then got to her feet and looked around for a place to hide the letter in its glass encasement. She finally decided it could be hidden under the bed if she arranged a few carelessly-dropped items of clothing in front of it. She added one slipper behind the clothing, just in case, and firmly shut the door behind her as she left the room.
Supper went on forever. She sustained herself through the hour by repeating to herself time and again the salutation with which Ben had begun: My darling Ella Ruth.
That was not the greeting of a polite correspondent replying to an acquaintance. It most certainly was the heartfelt greeting of a friend. She remembered the tingle of pleasure that swept through her upon setting her eyes on the words. She was understating the case. Ben wrote not as a friend, but as a lover.
Momma asked her something. Ella Ruth had to beg her pardon and ask her to repeat the question. It was a matter of passing around the biscuits, and Ella Ruth felt her face warm. Poppa was looking her way with a wary expression. She would have to lend more attention to the business of supper if she were to get through it with good grace and no suspicion.
Afterward, Momma wanted a family hour of music, and Ella Ruth had to endure hearing Merlin sing “Lorena” as though he were on the battlefront, pining after a girl. She wondered if he were going to join the army, or if Poppa had pressured him to complete his university education first. What a shame it must be to her brother to remain home when all his friends had enlisted straight away. Ben had been eager to serve.
Ben. Ella Ruth repeated to herself his greeting. My darling Ella Ruth. She was his darling. No matter what he thought, Poppa could never take that from her.
Suddenly the music ended, and Momma went about kissing everyone goodnight. At last! Ella Ruth fled to her room, shut the door, and leaned against it. Had Lula turned down her bed and removed her discarded clothing from the floor?
Yes. She had. However, the slipper still masked the letter sufficiently that she thought it safe to assume that her secret had not been discovered. She would have to find a better hiding place tonight. That could come after she read Ben’s words.
Setting the glass sheets on her dressing table, she remembered to return to the door and lock it, slipping the key into the pocket of her dressing gown. She placed the lamp where it would shine upon the paper puzzle, and bent to her task.
Ben most certainly had feelings for her. His words warmed her, body and spirit, and when she had perused the first side of the first sheet, Ella Ruth very carefully rotated the sheets of glass to read the back side.
Although he told her a great deal about the grueling campaign he had survived in western Virginia, he spen
t time reminiscing about moments he and she had spent together.
He had not yet written a word of love for her, but the undercurrent ran deep, and she pressed forward, reading Ben’s account of one time when he took her inside the mill after everyone had left. She recalled the air being hazy with dust from the day’s wheat grinding. She had sneezed again and again, and he lent her his handkerchief, tying it around her head to filter what she breathed.
Was that the action of a reprobate? No. He cared for her then, and she imagined he cared for her now.
She sat back with a sigh when she came to the end of the first sheet of the letter. She wondered how long it would take to piece together the second half.
Before she disassembled the puzzle, a thought came to her. She might wish to read Ben’s words again. Perhaps she should take the time to write out a copy of his missive.
This prompting sent her on a mental search for suitable paper on which to transcribe the precious words. I can’t use writing paper. I dare not use up what I have on hand. Would parcel paper serve? The kitchen storeroom had a supply. Though it was coarse paper, it surely would take the impression of a lead pencil.
By now, the house had fallen into rest. She rose from the dressing table and carefully opened her door. She would have to be quiet as she descended the stair and went into the kitchen.
Careful! That is the squeaky tread. To bypass it, she supported her weight on the railing with one hand so she could take a large step while holding her candle with the other hand.
What was that moaning noise? She froze, listening. It could only be the wind. Funny, she had never noticed wind howling around the eaves before. But then, she was accustomed to being asleep at this hour.
Ella Ruth finally got safely to the bottom of the stair and listened before she ventured toward the back of the house. No sounds. Lula slept in an upper room, and the other house workers did, as well, so she needn’t worry about disturbing anyone on the ground floor.
Unless Poppa was up doing some kind of business accounts.
She looked toward his study. Good. There’s no light showing. She took a great breath and stepped around the newel post. Something ran over her foot, and she scarcely kept from screaming.