Authors: Jennifer A. Davids
Mr. Carr looked uneasy. “Been hard,” he finally muttered. “When she took ill, she insisted on stayin’ here. I’ve been goin’ back and forth to take care of my lands, too.”
“So you were at your farm all morning?”
Carr looked at Mary rigidly. “Had business up in Delaware this morning that wouldn’t wait.” His excuse that he’d had to drive nearly nine miles to the county seat clearly did not convince Mary. “She made me go,” he said defensively. “Said she’d be just fine.”
Mary’s shoulders fell wearily. She seemed either out of arguments or too tired to continue sparring with him. She turned and sat down next to her sister’s still form. “I guess I should thank you for being so neighborly after Toby left. Thank you.”
Mr. Carr approached her, giving Katherine a hard look as he brushed by her.
“I’m sorry Dolly’s gone. Let me take you back to my house. You could stay there a spell. …”
“No thank you. We have the farm to look after.”
The man gritted his teeth in silent frustration.
“But if you would be so kind,” Mary continued, “as to take Ruth Decker’s horse and buggy back into Ostrander, I would appreciate it. And please call on Reverend Warren on your way by Mill Creek Church. I need to lay my sister to rest.”
Mr. Carr nodded and, without so much as a glance at Katherine, left the room. Presently they heard the distinct sound of a wagon pulling away from the house.
“Father, forgive me for disliking that man,” Mary murmured.
Katherine looked at her questioningly, but her friend said nothing more.
Instead, she leaned forward and folded Dolly’s arms across her waist. She then grasped the patchwork quilt and gently pulled it over her sister’s body. “We’ll talk later, Katherine. For now, we need to get ready for Reverend Warren.”
K
atherine tossed in her bed for what seemed like the hundredth time. In spite of all she had done and been through today, sleep refused to call on her. Too many thoughts ran through her mind.
To begin with, Mary had insisted on her using one of the unused rooms upstairs. One of her nephew’s rooms. It hadn’t seemed proper, but where else would she sleep? The barn? She supposed it simply felt odd to be sleeping in a man’s bed. Mary had thought she would be most comfortable in Daniel’s room and insisted he wouldn’t mind. She would have felt much more comfortable in Dolly’s room, but that would need airing out.
And besides
, she thought,
Mary should have her sister’s room.
Mr. Carr had spoken to Reverend Warren as Mary had asked, for the reverend and his wife, Minnie, soon arrived to help her with all the arrangements. They had been kind and sympathetic toward Mary, but the couple seemed to keep Katherine at a polite distance. At least they were a tad warmer than Ruth Decker.
She played with a thread in the quilt that covered her. She had kept herself busy in the kitchen while Reverend Warren spoke to Mary, and she had rounded up the loose chickens while Mary and the reverend’s wife laid Dorothy out in the parlor. Making herself as scarce as possible was all she could think of to avoid the discreet coldness of the couple. In light of their behavior, alongside Ruth Decker’s, she could only imagine how people would treat her at the funeral on Saturday.
She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. When she had insisted on coming north with Mary, she had not really thought about how people would treat her. In retrospect, she realized she had latched on to the silly notion that the North was a sort of wonderland where everyone was warm and friendly and welcomed strangers with open arms. How could she help it? Mary had been the standard she had used to measure all Northerners.
The anger and suspicion Katherine aroused had come as shocking as a slap on the face. The instant any Northerner heard her voice, it was assumed she was either a secessionist or, worse, a Southern spy.
I was a fool to think people would assume otherwise. Mary warned me it might be this way, but I was so happy to be coming to the North. … Why shouldn’t people be suspicious? The war certainly isn’t over yet. Oh why didn’t I just stay put?
She put a hand to her eyes and sighed deeply. She couldn’t stay and live a life she didn’t want with a family who had never wanted her.
Andrew Wallace, Katherine’s father, had never forgiven her for not possessing her mother’s beauty and vivaciousness. His only daughter’s shy and studious spirit only irritated him. As far as he was concerned, her only value to him lay in whom she married. Her brother, Charles, had always blamed her for their mother’s death. Annabelle Wallace had died giving birth to her. And her father’s sister, Aunt Ada, had always contended that it was downright shocking that the Wallace family could have conceived a drab little nothing like Katherine.
But God opened a wide window for her when the O’Neals became the Wallaces’ neighbors the year Katherine turned thirteen. John O’Neal had inherited a prosperous plantation and was connected to a very old South Carolinian family. Therefore, they immediately had standing in the community despite the fact they were Yankees.
She and Mary had become fast friends at the picnic held to welcome them, and when Katherine was sent off to school in Columbia, she corresponded regularly with Mary. The older woman became the mother Katherine had always longed for. It was Mary whom she confided in, Mary who led her to a deeper relationship with Christ, Mary who had shown her the ills of slavery.
Katherine smiled sleepily.
Thank You for my dear friend, Father. Thank You for bringing us here safely. …
She yawned as weariness crept over her. Folks here would surely come around once they got to know her. Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep.
The crack of a whip shot though the air, and Katherine started at the sound of it. Dropping her book, she ran through the house and into the kitchen.
The cook grabbed her as she tried to race out the back door. “Don’t be goin’ out there, Miss Katherine!”
“Who is it, Clarissa? Who’s being whipped?”
Before the woman could answer, the crack of the whip and a scream rent the air.
Katherine pried loose and tore out of the house. She half ran, half stumbled down the slope toward the whipping post her father kept in full sight of the sad shacks that housed the Wallace slaves.
Another scream tore through her heart, and Katherine suddenly realized who it was.
“Chloe,” she whimpered as the post came into view. Without thought for herself or the state of mind her father was surely in, she ran to her friend and stood between the poor young slave woman and the long black whip. Her eyes rose to the man holding it, and she gasped to see it was her father and not the overseer as she had expected.
Her father swore and yanked her out of the way. Katherine fought, but he was too strong. He shoved her into the hands of the overseer, who stood nearby, and Andrew Wallace continued his vicious attack.
Katherine wailed, and when her father finally stopped his brutality, he turned and backhanded her. Searing pain shot through her jaw, and she soon felt blood trickling down her neck and onto the fine French lace of her morning gown. With a shaking hand, she reached up and touched the gash his signet ring had made.
“Next time,” he roared as she sobbed, “it will be someone else tied to that post. You hear me?”
“Katherine, do you hear me?”
Katherine awoke to find Mary sitting at the edge of her bed, gently shaking her awake. She reached for her jaw. It was wet. She pulled her hand away and saw not blood but tears, which fell free and fast down her face. She looked up at her friend. Moonlight reflected in Mary’s motherly eyes and brought the young woman out of her nightmare.
“Chloe?” Mary asked gently.
Katherine nodded, and the older woman handed her a handkerchief.
“I’m so sorry I woke you,” she said as she propped herself on one elbow to dry her face.
“Don’t worry yourself over that.”
Mary smoothed Katherine’s hair, tucking in loose strands that had come loose from her long braid. “Seems like you had that dream a number of times on our journey back.”
Katherine lowered her eyes.
Mary put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face until their eyes met. “God knows you had no intention of doing what you did. His Son’s blood covers all sin.”
“But what about Chloe? I never got to tell her how sorry …” Fresh tears filled Katherine’s eyes.
“I’m sure wherever she is, she has forgiven you.”
Katherine nodded, but even though she knew Mary was right, she still felt guilty. She had only wanted the best for Chloe, the young slave woman who had been her only friend through her lonely childhood. Teaching Chloe how to read had been Katherine’s way of setting her free. Katherine, then sixteen, hadn’t really cared that it was against Southern law. Her father may have controlled the young woman’s body, but Katherine knew if she was educated, at least her mind could go wherever she wished.
How could she have been so foolish as to have let her emotions get the better of her? But the things her father had said that evening at dinner … Even now his horrid, ugly words rolled back and forth in her mind, causing her to shake with anger. If only she had kept her tongue, Chloe would never have been beaten senseless and Katherine would have no scar to mar her face.
She sighed and looked at Mary. Chloe hadn’t been the only one affected by her rash actions. “How did Thomas take it when I left?” she ventured. Her father had sent her off to Charleston for six months after the incident.
Mary hesitated. “It was hard for him.”
“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings … and Thomas’s. Father said you bewitched me.”
Mary said nothing, and Katherine knew she was trying not to say what she felt. She had hoped Katherine would one day truly become her daughter by marrying her son.
That had been Katherine’s hope as well, but any chance she may have had with Thomas was dashed when her father forced her to break off all communication with the O’Neals. And he made arrangements to make sure it would stay that way. For the past seven years, Katherine had no contact with them until the night she and her aunt were forced to find refuge with Mary after their house had been destroyed.
“That’s all water under the bridge now,” Mary said finally. “I just hope your father and your brother made their peace with God before the war took their lives.”
“I hope Aunt Ada does the same,” Katherine said thoughtfully. “I’m going to write to her and let her know I’m safe.”
“That would probably be best. Maybe you’ll be able to reconcile with her.”
“I’m afraid I’ve burned that bridge.” Her aunt had disowned her when Katherine insisted on going north with Mary rather than accompanying her to Charleston. “I’ve never seen her so angry, not even after … Chloe.”
Mary sighed. “Well, we should be getting back to sleep. Lots to do tomorrow.” Mary rose and pulled the quilt over Katherine. Her face fell a little. “I guess we’ll both be posting letters. I have to write to Daniel. He and Dolly were close.”
“I’ll keep him in my prayers.”
Her friend gently smiled her thanks and went back to her room.
Katherine rose and, in spite of the chill of the room, stood in front of the window. She looked up at the moon and watched its soft light gently play on the bare trees outside her window. Sending up a quick prayer, she asked God to comfort Daniel Kirby’s heart when he heard the news of his mother’s passing.
As she turned to go back to bed, she noticed piles of books on the floor with more stacked on a rough-hewn table. She longed to see what tomes Mary’s nephew possessed, but she knew if she started looking at them now she would never get back to sleep.
She climbed into bed.
Help me sleep well, Father, so I can be a help to Mary tomorrow.
But as she laid her head back, she found herself fingering her scar. She rolled over, trying not to drown in the guilt that washed over her.
C
onfederate general Robert E. Lee stepped out the door of the borrowed farmhouse belonging to Wilmer McLean. While his horse was being rebridled, he pulled on his riding gloves and, seemingly without thought, plowed his fist into his other hand several times. He didn’t seem to notice the numerous Union officers, who were waiting in the yard, rise respectfully at his approach. The arrival of Traveler seemed to wake him, and with great dignity, he mounted the gray horse.
At that moment, Union general Ulysses S. Grant, to whom Lee had just surrendered his forces, approached him and tipped his hat.
Major Daniel Kirby was among the officers waiting outside the house when Lee came out. He and the others around him followed Grant’s example.
Lee returned the act of respect and courtesy in kind and rode off with his aide, Colonel Charles Marshall.
Daniel looked after the valiant general with sympathy. He had fought hard and bravely for his cause, and while Daniel knew that cause had been terribly wrong, he still felt such valor should be respected and honored. Gunshots, a victory salute, suddenly rang out, and the twenty-five-year-old snapped his head around in consternation.
It’s over; they are our countrymen again. We shouldn’t humiliate them.
It was as if General Grant had read his thoughts, for he quickly ordered all celebration to cease. He, too, saw no need to crow over their prisoners. As he turned, Daniel caught the general’s eye and gave him a small nod of approval. Grant gave him a wink and the barest of smiles as he went back into the McLean house.
“Let us pray the peace in the next few months is as respectful.” Daniel turned to see General Joshua Chamberlain mounted on his horse, Charlemagne, standing next to the fence.
He walked over to the general, leading his own horse, Scioto, behind him. “I know that’s how the president wants it, sir.”
Chamberlain nodded. “Unfortunately, not everyone up North is very pleased with the prospect.” He pulled a letter from his wife out of his pocket. “Fanny writes that people are eager for reprisals, revenge.”