Alex and Olivia reached the hospital to find Alex’s father holding court from his bed. A cluster of dark suited figures surrounded him.
The group stepped back as they approached. “Father, has something happened?” Alex asked.
“No,” he said impatiently. “I was just taking a nap when these gentlemen stopped by to tell me the latest piece of news. I suppose you’ve heard Anderson moved his troops to Fort Sumter during the night.”
He waved his hand abruptly. “I haven’t had time to get up and dress. However, I must finish my meeting. Gentlemen, I would like to present my son and his wife, Olivia. Now let’s get along with the meeting.”
The men moved uneasily. One detached himself from the circle and approached Alex and Olivia. “I’m Thorton Hudson.” Gravely he said, “This is a very uncomfortable situation. I say this to you because I know you’ve been living in the North and possibly have some Northern sympathy.
“Unfortunately, the situation has deteriorated drastically. Major Anderson chose to move his men.”
Olivia glanced at Alex, saw the white line of his lips as his father said, “Jefferson Davis has headed for the White House to see President Buchanan and make known our displeasure with the situation.”
Thoughtfully, Mr. Hudson added, “Moultrie was clearly non-threatening, but Sumter is another matter. In addition to blocking the harbor, they’re completely fortified.”
“We saw the incident,” Alex said, “including the boat moving in on the fort just as Old Glory was raised and the cannon discharged.” Seeing the discomfort on the circle of faces, Olivia carefully nudged Alex with her toe. Alex turned toward the bed. “Father, shall we come back later?”
“No,” he sighed regretfully. “I’ll dress and join you quickly. It is starting to look as if there’s nothing more to be accomplished.” He turned, “Gentlemen, will you do me the favor of keeping me informed of all that transpires, and dispatching the information to me, including the enemy’s newspapers?”
****
As the carriage left Charleston, Olivia felt her tension begin to ease. She relaxed against the cushions and watched the winter landscape.
Alex and his father were deep in conversation when the carriage turned down the avenue shaded by spreading live oaks. Grateful for their quiet conversation, Olivia leaned against the doorpost and eagerly studied the plantation Alex had described to her.
As they reached the house at the end of the lane, she saw it was comfortable rather than pretentious. There were mellow gray shingles, deep windows, wide stone chimneys, and shady verandas with sturdy balconies supporting fragrant bittersweet. The scene spread feelings of home around her.
When the carriage stopped, Olivia found it easy to smile as she stepped down to greet the little round woman who stood on the veranda. Olivia had one glimpse of a snowy pile of curls topping a serene face before Bertha Duncan hugged her. “Oh my dear, what a lovely wife my Alex has!”
Olivia watched Alex sweep the woman up in his arms before he turned to her. “Olivia, come get acquainted; I can guarantee you’ll love each other.”
After his father had been settled in bed, Alex took Olivia down to the library. Looking around the familiar room, he said, “Father hasn’t changed a thing since I’ve left. His complete set of Shakespeare is still in the same place. And so is Aristotle, still looking as if the pages have never been touched.”
He grinned at Olivia. “If we were to stay in the South, I might have time to do more reading.”
“Oh, Alex! It is a lovely home, of course, but—”
“I was teasing. But since we’re going to be here for the winter, you might as well get acquainted with the rest of the place. Father has some wonderful horses.” He smiled down at her as he took her hand. “While we have all this free time, let’s enjoy his stables.”
****
In the isolation of the inland plantation, January quickly slipped past. Except for the newspapers, Olivia could have forgotten the troubles pushing at their door. With dismay they read of the escalating secession. One after another the cotton states were marching out of the Union to join South Carolina in the newly formed Confederacy.
Late in the month, on a cold, rainy day, Alex returned from Charleston with more newspapers and a portfolio of papers for his father. Olivia was in the library gleaning bits of information from the discarded pile of papers on the table.
She looked up as he came into the room. “Father is in his bedroom. Alex, I have the impression he isn’t as well as he would like to believe.” She kissed him, warming his ears with her hands.
Alex nodded. “I agree. I’ll take these things up to him and talk to you later.”
When he returned to the room he said, “Today looks like a good day to start on Aristotle.”
Her dismayed face appeared over the top of the newspaper. “Alex, when the world is falling apart, how can you think of Aristotle?”
“Actually, I wanted to know whether or not you had gone to sleep behind that newspaper.”
“They’re very informative,” she murmured. “I wanted to read them quickly before your Father discovers their content and burns them.”
“He hasn’t seen them?” He sat down beside her and peered over her shoulder.
“For some reason, they didn’t make it upstairs. I found them in the trash basket.”
“Tim must have thought he’d read them. Maybe it’s just as well. Father isn’t lacking for reading material.”
“Alex,” Olivia said slowly, “this paper from Washington says Scott sent two hundred soldiers and supplies to Anderson on a private vessel called Star of the West. Word of his action leaked, and the ship was fired upon by South Carolina artillery. This happened January 9th.” She dropped the paper. “Fired upon! Alex, how terrible.”
“Father knows about that. We’ve had quite a discussion. But there’s something else to consider, Olivia. If Star of the West had been armed, they also could have fired. That’s how close we came to starting a war.”
“Events are happening at an alarming rate. Alex, what shall we do?”
Alex shook his head and sighed. “We came to mend fences with Father, but it isn’t happening. He’s more stubborn, more insistent on the states’ rights issue than he’s ever been. Olivia, I can’t convince my parents to feel the way we do.”
“What about slavery? Alex, if your Father would only seek the Lord Jesus Christ with all his heart, then I’d feel we had accomplished all that’s necessary. Surely the Lord would change his mind.”
“Olivia, my parents consider themselves to be true followers of Christ; they also claim to care deeply about their slaves and to be concerned about their welfare. What if Father never changes his opinion about slavery? Can we say they aren’t Christian? I’ve heard Lincoln quoted as saying he recognizes the fact that Southerners read the same Bible, serve the same Lord. He added we will all be judged by the same God, both the Southerners and the Northerners. Lincoln says the will of God prevails, even while each side claims to know the will of God. I agree with him, even in the unstated idea behind it: we are responsible for our own beliefs and actions.” Alex stared at the floor.
Olivia touched the brooch at her neckline as she heard him say, “Life calls for decisions. Sometimes we make them without giving a moment’s thought. There are decisions we can’t back out of. Sometimes we’d like to forget them. But the more deeply involved we are, the more impossible it is to retreat. I guess a good decision carries moral responsibility.”
She saw the shadow in his eyes and thought, We helped the slaves. Now there will be a war, and Alex knows he must fight.
****
South Carolina was beginning to come alive. Soft green surrounded the burst of blossoms. The newly budded trees were visible from the balcony door opening off Olivia’s bedroom, and the breeze coming through the door bore a gentle, rain-cleansed air filled with the scent of spring.
Walking back and forth, Olivia paused to breathe deeply of the perfumed air. She closed her eyes, shutting out all except the scent of spring, and felt the tension in her body momentarily ease.
The door opened and Alex came in. “The newspaper. Does it have a good story about Lincoln’s inauguration?”
“No. Total silence,” she answered. “How sad to see President Lincoln being treated this way. I would have loved being there. I closed my eyes and put myself there in front of the Capitol, listening to his speech.”
Alex nodded. “The South’s attitude toward the inauguration is sending out frightening signals. I’ve been talking to Mother,” he continued. “She’s trying to coax Father into seeing a doctor.”
Slowly shaking her head, Olivia said, “I can’t understand him.”
“I think I do. First, he doesn’t want to face the facts. He’s having heart problems, and he is convinced that if he ignores the symptoms, they’ll disappear. It hasn’t helped to have us talk about returning to Pennsylvania this month. I feel he’s determined to keep us here.”
“Perhaps it would be best to delay our going,” Olivia said slowly. “I’ve noticed, after his initial curiosity about your earring, he’s shown only scorn when you mention God. I would feel terribly disappointed if we were to leave and something were to happen to him. Alex, you two have done little except argue the right and wrong of the situation at Fort Sumter.”
“I know,” Alex said. “I should be able to find a better way to communicate with him.”
“Alex, we need to pray for patience, and we need to ask God for the opportunity to talk about why we are living as we do.”
“I’ve tried to bring up the subject, but there are other things on his mind. Olivia, I’m his only son. You know what that means?”
With a smile and a sigh of exasperation she nodded, “You are his heir. I’ve heard him. He wants to see you remain here, take over the plantation, and carry on the tradition, just as he did for his father. Oh, Alex, it’s as if we are going around in circles with him! I didn’t dream things would turn out this way.”
With a rueful grin, Alex dropped into the chair. “I was afraid it would be this way, but I expected him to at least hear me out. I still haven’t told him how we’ve spent the past two years. I think he has some vague idea that we’ve been enjoying life on his money, and now it’s time to get to work.”
She paused and glanced down at the brooch. “When you gave me this,” she said, fingering the gold filigree, “you showed me that verse in Isaiah, ‘The Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.’ It’s humbling. The Lord causes the changes; there’s nothing I—we can do. It’s His place to act, not ours.”
Alex wrapped his arms around her. “Yes, he’s in control of all this. We know so little of His plan.”
“Nearly every Sunday since we’ve been here, we’ve heard the rightness of the Southern cause preached from the pulpit. Perhaps in God’s eyes we are all wrong, all arrogant, and all in need of repentance.”
“But when will repentance come? Will it be too late?”
“To save the Union? Can we expect God to rescue us from our folly when folly is hatched from our stubborn right to choose our own way?”
Slowly Olivia sat down and examined her hands. “I don’t understand, Alex. We know slavery is wrong; why can we see this so clearly, and at the same time they see their situation with the same clear vision? We are at an impasse. Is God obligated to solve the problems we have created? Will he keep us from—”
“From killing each other before there’s repentance and humility?”
“Repentance? How can you repent of something that is right?”
Slowly Alex shook his head. “The only real right I know in this whole situation is that these people deserve freedom and a chance to live just as we live.”
“Your father has over a hundred slaves,” Olivia said slowly. “It will ruin him if he must free them.”
“Olivia, remember that God loves us all very much, and He loves the South just as much as He loves the North. Psalms says, ‘The earth is full of his unfailing love.’” Alex walked to the door and turned. “We must remember that God loves the Negro slave. Somehow, I have the feeling this love for the slave will have a great influence on who wins the war!”
“I hope you are successful in convincing your father of this.”
“Right now I have another problem to fight,” he said, his voice muffled. “How does a Christian point a gun at a man and pull the trigger? How does he deliberately kill another human over a situation which should be handled with words, not war?”
The door closed behind Alex. Olivia bent double in her chair and hugged her trembling legs against her chest. “Dear God, the Union is torn apart right down the middle. It seems every day one more state moves into their camp, and the possibility of war is beginning to seem horribly real. And my husband—will this tear him apart, physically and emotionally?” She paused. In the silence there was only the painful beating of her heart.
That evening at dinner, Alex said, “Father, Mother, we need to be returning to Pennsylvania.”
Olivia watched disappointment crumple the face of the white-haired woman as she looked at Alex. “Olivia, please talk sense into your husband,” she said. “At least he will listen to you. We need you both desperately. You can see Father isn’t well.”
Olivia put her fork on the plate and leaned forward. Softly she said, “We know. But Father needs to see a doctor more than he needs Alex here. You know we have the boat and pilot waiting in Vicksburg.”
“We’ll plan to leave the fifteenth of this month. April is a good time to travel across Georgia and Alabama,” Alex continued. Turning to his mother he added, “Pennsylvania is a lovely place; you’d like it. I wish you two would sell the plantation and find a home away from the fever belt.”
“Sell?” Mr. Duncan straightened in his chair. “I’d rather turn the place over to your sister’s lazy husband than to sell.”
Bertha Duncan’s voice was drawn with tension as she said, “You know that Mr. Mallory has been at you to sell out to him, why—”
“The scoundrel is offering just half what it’s worth,” he snarled. “Now that the South has made the move she should have made thirty years ago, he thinks to get rich at my expense!”
“Father, I must say this—” Alex paused to push away from the table. “You are gambling that the North will continue to allow secession. I say it won’t.”
“I suppose you are going to quote Lincoln again,” his father’s voice was heavy.
“No, Father, this time it’s Douglas. Just before the election he went South to the people. He warned them against entertaining any thought of secession. Over and over he said the whole of the North will rise up to prevent the Union being torn apart.
“Father, we haven’t heard the last of this. I’m becoming more afraid for this nation. Yesterday I spent the day reading the Constitutional documents. I agree with every voice coming out of the North. The Constitution doesn’t support the action the South has taken. It is treason. Also, if Washington doesn’t take action soon, the North will cry out against the new administration.”
Mr. Duncan leaned his hands against the table. “For most of my adult life, the South has been pushing her cause against the North. Just you watch; they’ll give us everything we ask for. I predict that before the year is out, we will be in control of Washington, either by default or by design!”
“And if you are wrong,” Alex added, “you will be ruined.” He got to his feet. “Father, I don’t like opposing you. I wish you would take your pattern for living from the Lord Jesus Christ rather than the men around you.”
For a moment Mr. Duncan looked astonished, and then he laughed. “It is hilarious to think of the impact I would have! Don’t you see, Son? We are moving forward with confidence and trust in God…in the rightness of our cause, simply because we’ve long understood what is right.”
“Father, today’s newspaper says Lincoln has informed South Carolina of his intentions to resupply Fort Sumter with provisions. Another article from Alabama called for action from South Carolina. It sounds as if Alabama agrees war is necessary.”
Mr. Duncan laughed. “War? I’ll agree that the hot-heads have been saying this, but it won’t happen.”
****
The following morning, a sealed dispatch lay on top of the newspaper beside Mr. Duncan’s plate. Olivia watched her father-in-law slit the envelope, blanch, and slowly sit down.
Alex came into the room. “Father, is it bad news?”
“No, but it is surprising news. I never expected this.” He touched the envelope and looked up at Alex. “Jefferson Davis has ordered Beauregard to take Fort Sumter before the relief fleet arrives. Lincoln threw down the gauntlet—war or peace. President Jefferson Davis has decreed war.”
Alex’s mother had been standing in the doorway. Now she dropped her hand from her throat and came into the room. Stretching her hands toward Alex and Olivia, she said, “My dears, now you must stay. Only here will you be safe.”
The steam rose from the silver coffee urn, and sunlight flicked prisms of lavender and pink from the crystal. Olivia watched a slender black hand reach out with its offering of hot muffins. Alex spoke. “We will stay, but you must know the reason. Newspaper articles from North and South have left one remarkable fact stamped on my mind. Union feeling is strong in the South. I am Southern. It is in my blood, and strangely it stirs my loyalties, no matter how much I abhor slavery. I’ll stay as long as I can find a listening ear.”
“What do you intend to do, Son?”
“Take my plea to every head of state I can find. Before there is war between the states, there must be war in the states. We must shake down every wrong idea and decide whether or not we want to accept the consequences of war. I’m convinced this is one question the South hasn’t considered.”
“Son, knowing the Southerners as you do, are you expecting success?”
Slowly Alex said, “You are reminding me that they’d rather fight than compromise? That war is inevitable? That the North will be intimidated by the strong military background of the South, and yield without bloodshed? Father, there is Union feeling in the South, but in the North the Union principle is stronger than life. Remember the stories of the Revolutionary War? That same feeling is still alive.”
“But it is also here! We’ll die before we capitulate.” Abruptly he sank back in his chair. “You know you’ll be fighting against everything I believe in. Do you expect me to harbor an enemy in my home?”
“Father, I’m not fighting just for the Union; I’m also trying to gain another opportunity for you and your neighbors to win this conflict in the only honorable, and profitable way. True, it will cost you.”
“And what is the cost?” the senior Duncan asked heavily.
“The handwriting on the wall says that before this is over, all of you will be required to free your slaves, unless you do it now. I believe war can still be averted. It frightens me to think of the alternative.”
“Free my slaves? That is financial suicide. You’re asking me to gamble on the North winning! Never would I be so foolish.”
The sun shifted from the table to the carpet before Mr. Duncan spoke again. “I will risk the loss of all before I’ll bow to your suggestion.”