House Divided (31 page)

But Brett had matters of business which would keep him a while at his desk; so Cinda called Vesta into her room and they talked of Burr and Barbara, and of how well his uniform became Burr; and Cinda said:

“But if you think Burr's handsome you should see Julian!”

“Julian! Mama, you don't mean to say——”

“Oh, yes, he's volunteered with the other cadets.”

“But, Mama, that infant! You shouldn't have let him!”

“Nonsense! It's what he wanted to do, and it's what we want him to do.” These words must serve through the months ahead as her passport to a peaceful mind.

“But he's so young!” Vesta's eyes were full of tears. “Mama, couldn't you stop him?”

“Of course, if we had wanted to. He had to have our permission, telegraphed us.”

“What did you say?”

“Why, gave it, with our blessing!”

“Mama!” Then, in sure understanding: “Didn't it almost kill you?”

Cinda nodded grimly. “Yes, it did! If your father had tried to persuade me to consent, I'd have fought him to the last gasp. But he left the decision to me. So what could I do?” Vesta came quickly to her, hugged her hard; for a moment they stayed in close embrace. Then Cinda said briskly: “And I'm all right now! Vesta, Jenny's going to have a baby this summer. August, she thinks. Isn't that fine?”

“Oh, wonderful! How is she?”

“Perfect! She'll bring the children here, as soon as Clayton goes. It will be nice having them in Richmond, won't it? It will keep us all
busy. Kyle's a terror, and Janet's so active she'd wear out a monkey!”

She answered Vesta's questions till Vesta had no more to ask. “Now it's your turn, Honey,” she said then. “What's been happening here while we were gone?” Vesta must have seen Tommy Cloyd; it was of him Cinda expected her to speak. But Vesta did not do so.

“Oh Heavens, everything,” she declared. “Just crazy excitement all the time. When the secession vote was passed, the streets around the Mechanics' Institute were simply jammed, waiting to hear the news; and when people heard, there was a rush to haul down the Union flag on top of the Capitol. A boy climbed up the lightning rod, and it pulled loose and there he was swinging around in the air and everyone was just simply screaming! A man went to help him and slid down to the gutter; and when the rod bent clear over the boy let go, and the man caught him at the very edge of the roof, and they climbed back up to the skylight, and everybody cheered as if we'd beaten the Yankees already.

“It's been like that right along, Mama. People are just simply crazy.” She laughed in sudden recollection. “And doing the silliest things! One Sunday the bells rang, and warnings were put up everywhere that a Northern warship was coming up the river with ten thousand soldiers to capture Richmond, and all our soldiers marched down to Rockett's—–”

Cinda exploded. “Soldiers! I'm sick to death of them! I've seen nothing but soldiers since we started north; and a tobacco-chewing, whiskey-drinking lot they were!”

“Well, anyway,” Vesta insisted, “everybody who had even a piston loaded it; and you never heard so much brag and blow in your life. Of course it all turned out to be just talk. Burr said the Yankees didn't have ten thousand soldiers anyway, and they couldn't put more than two or three hundred of them on one little boat if they had them.”

Cinda turned casually toward her dressing table, and began to loose her hair. “Speaking of soldiers, have you seen Tommy? He's in the De Kalb Rifles, came north a week or two ago with Maxcy Gregg's regiment. He came to say good-by to us.”

“Oh yes, I've seen him,” Vesta assented, but at first she said no more; so Cinda let her take her own time, asked in a lower tone:

“What regiment is Burr in?”

“The cavalry, the First Virginia.” For a few moments neither of them spoke, till Vesta said sharply, as though rousing from deep thought: “Mama!”

Cinda, who had been facing her mirror, whirled around. “Eh? God bless us, child, you scared me! You don't need to shout! I'm right here in the same room. Go on, what are you trying to say?”

Vesta hesitated. “Mama, how do you tell a man to please hurry up and marry you?”

Cinda gave no sign of surprise. She answered calmly: “Oh, in any way you choose. With looks, with tears, with sighs, any way at all.” She smiled. “Only, don't ever put it into words. If you do, the man will forever tease you about it. Why?” Her tone was matter-of-fact, robbing the question of all embarrassment. “Want to marry Tommy, do you?”

The girl nodded. “Yes. If he's going to be a soldier.” Vesta hesitated. “He wrote me ahead of time that he was coming. I've just—pestered him to death ever since he got here. Oh, Mama, he's so sweet, and so sort of dumb and helpless. He needs someone to tell him he's wonderful, and to—well, love him! I wish he'd marry me and let me do it!”

Cinda tried to speak as casually as though this conversation were in no way remarkable. “Well, you'll have to be careful, I'm sure of that.”

“I know. That's what I'm afraid of. But—I want to do something.” And she said, half to herself: “I keep feeling I must hurry, hurry, hurry while there's time.”

“Is he here in Richmond?”

“He's at Camp Pickens, yes.”

“Well, if you see a lot of him, perhaps something will happen. I'll try to think what's best to do. If you can wait a little while.”

“Oh, Mama—you're awfully wonderful. Of course I can wait—if it isn't too long. Please don't think I'm just silly, will you?”

“Silly? Heavens and earth, darling, I think you're the most sensible person I know! Next to myself, of course! And if you and I between us can't bring Tommy to time, I'll be much surprised.”

Vesta laughed, in a sudden burst of uncontrollable amusement. “It is funny, though; you know it is! Us planning so cold-bloodedly.”

Cinda tossed her head. “If more marriages were planned cold-bloodedly there wouldn't be half so much hot blood afterward!” She heard Brett moving in his study belowstairs. “There, Papa's shutting his desk, getting ready to come up. Good night, darling. Maybe he can think of something. I've never yet found a problem he couldn't solve.”

Vesta rose to go, but then she stopped in sudden recollection. “Oh, Mama, I forgot the worst news. Little Hetty died while you were away.”

“Hetty?” Cinda's heart was a gush of sorrow. “Oh, poor Trav! When? What happened?”

“Why, it was her eye, the one that got hurt. They brought her up to see Dr. Little, but he couldn't do anything. Aunt Tilda said poor Aunt Enid was simply frantic! Uncle Faunt went back to Great Oak with them.”

“Faunt? Is he still down there?”

“No, he came back two or three days afterward. He's enlisted, Mama, in the Blues, Captain Wise's company.”

Cinda pressed her hands to her temples. Faunt too? Then in relief she thought that if he had turned soldier, at least he was not at Great Oak with Enid. And of course they would all serve, all these loved men. “Then he's here?”

“No, the Blues have gone to Fredericksburg. Everyone says we're getting ready to capture Washington. Do you think we will, Mama?”

“I don't think anything about it. Let the soldiers do the fighting. Has Darrell enlisted?”

“No, he's in the Quartermaster's department! Mr. Streean too!”

Cinda smiled at Vesta's scornful tone. “Well, there really is something in family, heredity, isn't there? Of course, Darrell's half Currain; but he's half Streean too.” Then Brett was at the door. “Now darling, run along. Come and have breakfast with me in the morning.”

 

Vesta left them, and Cinda told Brett about Hetty's death. “I'd better go down to Great Oak to see how Mama is,” she decided, and he agreed.

But she did not go at once. She waited, without admitting to herself what it was she waited for. In this brief interval she had time to
see that already the Richmond she had known was changed. Even last winter it had been a serene, small world of its own. If you promenaded, everyone you met was at least an acquaintance, and usually a friend. Of course there were men and women, probably thousands of them, whom you never saw, or saw only as you saw cows grazing in a field, without noticing them; but now even Franklin Street and Grace Street were crowded with strangers, men with sharp greedy eyes, women dressed with an eloquent flamboyance, rough fellows in uniform and as often as not unsteady with drink. Instead of gentle voices and the musical laughter of pretty girls you heard hoarse mirth and hot argument. In spite of the fact that on the way north she had seen the cars full of unspeakable ruffians, she had thought of the soldiers who would defend the South as nice boys like Burr, and Julian, and Tommy Cloyd, and Rollin; as charming young gentlemen who would go to war gracefully, carrying even into battle the gallant graces of their kind. True, there were such men, whole companies of them, gentlemen, each with his body servant to attend him. Julian, when they saw him at Charlotte, had said he was writing Clayton to send him Elegant, and Burr would of course take January, old Joshua's grandson. Burr and Julian and Clayton too, no doubt, would go off to battle like knights with their attendant squires. But these crowded Richmond streets, full of lean and sallow and hard and vicious faces, were proof enough that the army was largely made up of poverty-ridden farmers and plain white trash! What hope of victory lay in such men? They would scatter and run at the first alarm, and you could expect nothing better. It was only gentlemen who offered their lives in selfless tribute to a cause; gentlemen like Julian and Burr and Clayton, yes and Faunt and Tony and—Brett.

It was for his decision she delayed her visit to Great Oak. She had not long to wait. Brett enlisted in the Richmond Howitzers. “I saw George Randolph,” he explained. “He organized the Battery at the time of the John Brown business, and he's an enthusiast. So—it's settled.”

Cinda nodded, not trusting her voice. Whatever the end was to be, the future was no longer in their hands.

April–June, 1861

 

 

T
RAV was the last of them to put on a uniform. He had always been a deliberate man, and he was reluctant to depart from the solid certainties—the seasons, the land, the planting, the harvest—upon which his life was founded. Yet he could if he must leave Great Oak with few pangs. He loved Enid now less by heart than by habit. For a while after their marriage her pretty ardors enchanted and bewitched him, till the discomforts of her first pregnancy made her querulous and fretful. When soon after Lucy was born she again became pregnant, her rebellious complaints eventually turned his concern for her into weary resentment; and with no sense of unfairness he began to think less of Enid and more of his miraculously charming baby daughter. Peter and eventually Hetty came to multiply rather than to divide his fatherly affection; and at the same time he arrived at a settled certainty that Enid was unfair and unreasonable. In the intervals between her pregnancies it was she, not he, who refused to exercise restraint, and she was sometimes furious with him for his discretion; but whenever she found she was to have another baby it was not herself but him she blamed. Because he loved the children and she was their mother, she had from him now after a dozen years of marriage a loyalty which she herself could never have commanded; but it was only as their mother that she stood securely in his heart.

He had so long been accustomed to her reproaches that for her to blame him for Hetty's death was no surprise. In the carriage on the daylong journey from Richmond to Great Oak she sat between him and Faunt, but when she spoke it was to Faunt, and when the carriage lurched and bounced it was to Faunt she clung. At Great Oak Mrs.
Currain, tender and full of sympathy, led Enid away upstairs to see her safe abed. She herself presently joined them for supper. “The poor child's just heartbroken,” she reported. “Trav, you'd better go say good night to her.”

Trav obediently went to their room; but when he bent to kiss Enid's cheek, she thrust him away. “Don't! Don't touch me! I can't bear to have you touch me!”

“Want me to come to bed now, so you can go to sleep?”

“No! Heavens, no! I don't want you to come to bed at all! I don't want you in bed with me.”

“Why, Enid, Mama wouldn't know what to think. We don't want to make her unhappy.”

“Oh, all right!” She tossed and turned. “I'm so miserable! I wish I was dead!”

He asked awkwardly: “Want me to bring you a glass of water?”

“Don't treat me like a child!”

“I just want to make you comfortable. You must get some sleep. You'll wear yourself out.”

She spoke in a low tone. “Where's Faunt?”

“Downstairs.”

“I wish he'd come and say good night to me. He's so—so gentle. He understands how I feel.”

Trav hesitated, but perhaps Faunt could comfort her. “Why, all right, I'll get him.” He found Faunt with Mrs. Currain, gave him Enid's message, saw his mother's quick surprise, said defensively: “She's tired, wants to be made over. I'm no good at that, I guess.”

Mrs. Currain spoke almost sharply. “Nonsense! We mustn't baby her. After all, she's a grown woman. I'll put a stop to this nonsense.”

She went briskly up the stairs, and Faunt said reassuringly: “Enid will be all right presently, Trav. Give her a little time.”

“Oh, she'll be fine by and by. But it was pretty hard for her, of course.”

“It was hard for both of you.”

Trav thought there was a criticism of Enid in Faunt's tone. “Well, of course I can stand things better than she can,” he said defensively; and they spoke of other matters till Mrs. Currain presently joined them.

Trav slept little that night. Even though she kept as far from him as the great bed permitted, he felt Enid's cold, persisting anger. In the morning when he rose she seemed to be asleep, and he was careful not to wake her. She kept her bed that day; but after dinner, while Mrs. Currain was resting and could not interfere, she sent old April to summon Faunt.

Trav saw Faunt's reluctance. “Don't let her bother you,” he said.

“Oh that's all right, Trav,” Faunt assured him. “I'll go talk to her.” But when he came down again he seemed troubled, and after some casual words, he said: “Trav, I'm afraid I'd better go to Richmond tomorrow. Jennings Wise suggested I join the Blues; but if I put it off too long—–”

“I'd hoped you'd stay a few days,” Trav admitted. “But I can understand that you're anxious to be doing something. I want to—–”

Faunt shook his head: “You stay here, Trav. Mama and—your family need you, and the place needs you.” He smiled without offense. “And I don't think you'd make a good soldier. You have too much—well, intelligence. You like to think things over. I believe I can take orders without stopping to ask myself whether they're wise; but you'd always need to wait, to consider.”

“I've been thinking the same thing,” Trav said. “But I've been figuring.” Faunt smiled, and Trav grinned apologetically. “It's natural for me to go at things that way, to put them in figures. Faunt, companies and regiments can't just march off to battle. They have to have uniforms, and muskets, and powder and shot, and blankets, and tents, and food. I figure that a man will eat five pounds of food a day. For a regiment, say a thousand men, that's two tons and a half every day, seventeen tons a week, say seventy tons a month—–”

Faunt nodded. “You're right, of course. And it will take a lot of plantations like Great Oak, growing corn and raising hogs, to supply an army. If every man rushed off to war, we'd all starve.”

“So some of us will have to farm,” Trav agreed. “What about Belle Vue? You could raise food there.”

Faunt hesitated, his eyes for a moment hard with anger at his own thoughts. “It's for Belle Vue I'm fighting, Trav. I wouldn't fight for slavery. Slavery means nothing to me, nor politics, nor the cotton millionaires along the Gulf and their puppets who made this war; but
I'll fight for Belle Vue.” He smiled in a dark fashion. “Oh I know it will do no good. Belle Vue itself may be a battle ground. I can't save it.” His tone deepened. “But every time I kill a Yankee soldier it will be because he's been sent by that gangling ape in Washington to ravish Belle Vue.”

Trav nodded, completely understanding. Every acre of Belle Vue was dear to Faunt. There, once, for a little time, he and Betty had been happy together. If Belle Vue lay in hostile hands, Faunt's heart would be drained of all those memories. “It may not happen,” he said, in empty comforting.

“It will happen,” Faunt insisted. “But if I can, I'll kill the ravishers. I hope Lincoln will show himself to me, on some battlefield. I'd like to send a bullet smashing into his black heart.” He shook his head, his tone changed. “I didn't mean to—let go like this. But I'll do your share of the fighting, Trav. You stay here and take care of Mama and keep us fed.”

Before Faunt left next morning Trav suggested that Enid be roused. “She'll want to say good-by to you.” But Faunt smiled and dissented.

“No. You say good-by for me.” His face became for a moment still and stern. “You must not let her weep too long.”

 

After Faunt was gone, Trav had lonely days. His mother would listen to no word about the great events preparing. The fact that the college in Williamsburg had closed, every student and every teacher turning from class room to drill ground, she dismissed as of no consequence. When Trav reported that a battery of heavy guns was being placed near the ruins of the old church on Jamestown Island, she snorted disdainfully. When he told her that Lincoln was calling for more volunteers, “What of it?” she retorted. “Pay no attention to the ruffian!” If Trav said there were Northern war vessels in Hampton Roads, that the James River was blockaded, she laughed. “What possible difference can that make to us? I haven't been to Norfolk for twenty years.”

Cinda and Brett came down from Richmond, Brett to return at once, Cinda staying a few days; but Cinda was quick to understand Mrs. Currain. “Let her alone, Travis,” she advised. “If she can be happy in her way, so much the better. I'm glad Brett wasn't in uniform
today. It might have upset her.” After a first attempt to describe to her mother the confusion in Richmond, she did not try again; but she told Trav: “It's like a city full of crazy people, with strangers everywhere. Heaven knows where they come from. Everybody is wearing secession badges and sewing like mad. Do you know old Mrs. Brownlaw? She's in her element, running things! Outside of town there are camps and tents as far as you can see in all directions, and everyone goes out to the Fair Grounds every day to watch the drills.” Clayton would reach Richmond next week, she said, bringing Jenny and the children. “He'll join his regiment there. Burr's in the cavalry. He's going to be married to Barbara Pierce in June. I haven't told Mama, and I won't till the day is set. I don't want to give her time to think up reasons why she can't come, because of course she must. Oh, and Trav, Tony organized a company at Chimneys, and he's the captain. He's a different man! And Julian and the other cadets from the Institute are training the new companies. We saw Julian drilling Tony and his men.”

“How's Tilda taking it?” he asked.

“Oh, she's practically Mrs. Brownlaw's right hand. Mr. Streean and Darrell are something or other in the Quartermaster's department, supplies and things.”

“That's the sort of work I could do.”

But Cinda cried protestingly: “No, no, Travis. Stay as you are! It's such a comfort to have you still the same when the rest of the world is upside down! Besides, you have to stay here for Mama's sake. She'll never leave Great Oak, and she couldn't stay without you!” And in a different tone she said: “Enid seems—fine. Tilda says she was frantic when Hetty died. I wish I'd been there.”

He felt, gratefully, the depth of her affection. “It was pretty hard at first.”

“Enid's nicer than ever.”

Trav looked at his hands. It was true that when he and Enid were with his mother, or with Cinda, Enid used toward him many little endearments; but when they were alone, her every word was edged with hatred. Yet this was something he must face alone. “Yes, she's fine,” he agreed.

“She seems so fond of you.”

He understood that Cinda was not deceived, but not even to Cinda could he speak critically of Enid. “She certainly is. I think we're closer together than we've ever been.” He felt this was not convincing, so he said stoutly: “She's wonderful, Cinda; a wonderful woman.”

Cinda touched his hand. “Of course she is, Travis. I understand.”

 

Before Cinda returned to Richmond they heard that transports were coming with troops to reinforce Fortress Monroe, no more than forty miles away. General Butler would command there, and Cinda remembered that Brett had met Butler a year ago in Charleston and had thought he would make a dangerous enemy. She told Trav this; and when she was gone, and rumors flew to and fro like doves coming to feed in a stubble field at dawn, Trav to quiet his secret anxieties drove himself to an increased activity. He had long since discharged the overseer who under Tony had proved himself not only a fool but a rascal; he had since then tried one and another without finding any satisfactory candidate. The latest was a man named Jeff Liner, a makeshift whom Trav hoped to replace. One day Jeff came to announce that he was leaving. Trav urged that he stay to see the spring work done, but the other grinned.

“Nawsuh! I don't aim to make a crop for the Yankees to eat.”

“No Yankees here yet.”

“They will be, soon enough. They been up York River as fur as Gloucester Point already, and they'll be a-coming, a-marching up the roads.” Jeff shook his head. “Huh-uh! Not me. I'm going to drag my foot out of here.”

“Are you going to fight?”

Jeff spat. “Why, I dunno as it's yours to ask me, Mr. Currain, but I'd as lief tell you straight. This heah's a rich man's war! You all made it. Who gets licked and who don't ain't going to make a mite of difference to folks like me. Reckon you all had better go ahead and fight your own war.”

Trav, remembering how often he had heard Ed Blandy and the other men he knew best at Chimneys say almost the same thing, wondered how many thousands all across the Confederacy would take this point of view. Hereabouts, and especially down towards Hampton and across the tip of the Peninsula, the general feeling was against the
Confederacy; but he thought this was not so much loyalty to the Union as an indolent willingness to accept the easy poverty and the drowsy passivity which, since tobacco devoured the fertility of the land, had become the state and the habit of the great majority.

Trav knew that the overseer was not alone in feeling as he did; and he felt in himself some of Jeff's resentment of the war. He wanted to be let alone to solve his problem here. Already he had made progress. Following the gospel according to Edmund Ruffin, using shell marl to make the soil more hospitable to fertilization, he was bringing the old fields back to bearing. To drill in the wheat in the fall and sow clover by hand in the spring, to harvest the wheat in season and let the clover grow without pasturing for a year; then to turn it under, put on marl and guano, raise a crop of corn; when the corn was cut and shocked, drill in the wheat again and begin the process all over: that was the program.

But it took time, years of time; and each year you must hold what you had won. Time, time, time was needed. Yet now, if Jeff were right, time was short. The Yankees would be here before the wheat was ripe for harvest.

Nevertheless Trav persisted. When Jeff Liner was gone, Trav took another lesson from Mr. Ruffin's teaching and decided to do without an overseer. Mr. Ruffin had found that one of his Negroes, Jem Sykes, could to this extent take a white man's place. Here at Great Oak, Big Mill, the giant who now served as driver, keeping the hands to their work, might assume an overseer's responsibilities. When Trav proposed this, Big Mill stood a little straighter; and Trav thought that given authority and responsibility a man sometimes developed character to meet it. Big Mill might be such a one; the experiment was worth trial.