It rained the day Bertha Duncan died. It was a cold December drizzle that reduced everyone to shivering misery. In the hours preceding her death, Olivia huddled in the library, close to the smoky fire, thinking of the family upstairs: Alex, his father, and that brittle sister of his.
Near dusk, Alex came into the room. His face was drawn and his lips taut and white. “You needn’t have left the room,” he said sitting down beside her.
“I thought it was time for you, Father, and your sister to be together with her.”
“She’s gone now. It was the last time we were a complete family,” Alex mused. He looked at Olivia. “To her, you were a very dear part of the family.”
“Alex, I’m glad it’s over. These past weeks have been difficult for all of you. She was terribly weak and tired of life. I’m glad she was ready to meet God.”
“Yet it’s difficult to surrender her.” He turned to face her. “Olivia, last night you heard Mother beg us to leave as soon as the funeral is over, and you know why. She had anticipated problems with Father over the property she sold to Mallory; naturally the whole situation will come out when her will is read.” For a time he stared into the fire. “This weather seems dismal enough; now I must tell Father we’ll leave soon. Will you come with me?”
She got up and went to his side. For a moment before he stood, she pressed his head against her bosom and the brooch tangled in his hair. “You need a haircut,” she murmured, pulling his curls away from the gold blossoms.
Catching his face in her hands, she lifted it, kissed him, and then whispered, “I remember one day at Sadie’s when we were at complete odds with each other. While I poured your coffee, I saw your hair curling against your neck in this way. I wanted so badly to touch you. But then I had no right.”
“Olivia, my dear,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck. “You are my comfort, my anchor, and my love. How I thank God for you.”
“And I for you,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his hair. “Oh, Alex, last night, watching your father’s face, I was so miserable. It seems life can be utterly perfect, and then this. I wish I dared to beg you to never leave me alone, but—”
He pressed his fingers against her lips and pulled her onto his lap. His voice thick with emotion, he whispered, “Please, dear, say no more. We both know how uncertain life is now. Let’s just try to hang on to the precious moments.”
He reached for her lips and Olivia snuggled against him. The smoldering fire burst into flame, and the smoke disappeared. To Olivia it became a cheery crackling shield between them and all that lay beyond.
Finally Olivia sat up with a sigh. “I’ve also been thinking of how painful life has been for you these past months. Wanting to be with your mother when instead you were tramping around Charleston and every little village a day’s ride from here. Alex I know how disappointing it’s been for you to go seeking people to listen, and how doubly painful it was to have them sneer at your burdens and ideas.” She cupped his face in her hands and forced his eyes to meet hers.
“You’ve said little to me, and I can guess why. I’ve felt so powerless to force myself past that wall of hurt. I’ve wanted to carry the burdens you are desperately hiding. The cause has torn at me, too.” She paused. “I’ll be glad to head north.”
“Olivia, you’ve opened the door for me to disappoint you,” he murmured. “There’s been just enough good talk with people to encourage me to keep trying. I’ve been praying the Lord will direct me to those who must be warned, admonished, encouraged. Can you possibly put up with some more of this?”
She stroked his beard and touched the gold ring in his ear. “Alex, certainly—just as long as you keep me with you.”
****
A week later, Olivia and Alex stood with Clayton Duncan at the railway station in Charleston. It was still raining.
Olivia huddled in her cloak while Alex and his father engaged in low-pitched, polite conversation. Olivia listened idly, but her heart was responding to the pain on those two faces.
They all turned when they heard the train whistle. Olivia went to slip her hand through Clayton’s arm. Carefully she suppressed the words she wanted to say and formed a smile. “Dear Father Duncan,” she murmured, “it’s difficult to leave you here in this miserable rain. After being away from the South for so long, I do believe Pennsylvania’s snow makes a more pleasant winter. I’d love to see you enjoy it.” It was the wrong thing to say, and she felt him stiffen.
Quickly she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Don’t come out to the train. Soot and rain will make a terrible mess of your coat. Are you planning to go to your club? You should, since you’ve promised us you’ll see your doctor tomorrow. Have a nice dinner, and get a good rest.”
The two silent men shook hands and Olivia continued to chatter over their silence as they walked to the door of the station.
The train had left Charleston behind before Olivia dared face her husband.
“I was just wondering—” Alex began.
“If we’ll ever see him again,” Olivia finished. “I was thinking the same.” She huddled in a miserable lump against the slippery horsehair upholstery and braced her cold feet against the foot support in front of her.
“Father gave me a stack of newspapers and a small hamper of sandwiches. Would you like this robe over your feet?”
Olivia nodded and sighed deeply. “I was wondering if the worst part is behind us. Alex, do you suppose he guessed our secret when he discovered the tickets were for Richmond?”
“It’s too bad we couldn’t discuss the problem,” Alex muttered. “But no. He mentioned the Inn we had planned to visit last summer and said that we shouldn’t try to go home through Washington. His expression was strange. I wonder if there’s something being planned?”
The head in front of Alex swiveled around. “No doubt it’s troop movements. Seems they’re constantly shuffling them from east to west and west to east. But there’s nothing going on now. I’m Harold Thorpe. I was in Washington last month and they’re still reeling from the whipping we gave them at Manassas last July. Don’t think they’ll do much for a time. This weather puts fighting out of the question. Would you care for some newspapers?”
“No thank you, sir.” Alex hesitated and asked, “What is your destination?”
“Washington.”
“I understand there’s a need for passes if one moves between the North and South.”
“That’s correct. It isn’t difficult if you know the proper person to ask. An army officer will usually hand them over promptly enough.”
“Do you mind if I ask your business in Washington?”
The man looked at Alex with a sparkle in his eyes. “Do I look like the world’s most unlikely spy?”
“I beg your pardon; I shouldn’t pry.”
“I don’t consider it out of line from a brother Southerner.” Mr. Thorpe picked up his newspaper and turned to read.
It was ten days before they reached Richmond, Virginia. As the train protested its way to a creaking halt, Olivia took Alex’s hand and carefully stepped down from the quivering machine. Turning to look at it distastefully, Olivia said, “I can’t believe this trip has taken so long. Alex, this frightful monster is the laziest train in existence.”
“Now, Olivia—” He grinned down at her. “You’re being unfair. We’ve changed trains at least every day, we’ve spent hours on spurs waiting for the track to be cleared, and in addition, we’ve driven miles to reach trains.”
“It will be a happy day when they decide to make all the trains the same gauge and to have them meet at one central station.”
“Don’t blame it all on the iron monster. And now, my dear, with your sooty nose and frock, I think you rate a long rest before we go farther.”
Mr. Thorpe stopped beside them. “So, we meet again! I didn’t know we were on the same train. Will you join me later for dinner?”
For a moment Alex’s eyes brightened, then he glanced at Olivia. “It would be delightful, sir, but I’m afraid my wife needs a very steady, flat bed under her right now. Perhaps some other time.”
The man touched his hat. “Unfortunately I’ll be leaving for Washington in the morning. Here’s my card. When you are in Washington, look me up. By then perhaps we’ll all be celebrating in the streets and it will be good to renew our friendship.”
They were settled in their hotel room before Olivia asked her question. “Alex, what did Mr. Thorpe mean when he referred to celebrating in the streets of Washington?”
“The South’s plan to take over Washington, of course,” he murmured as he studied the street below their window. “Last summer’s battle was the Union’s attempt to foil the Confederate plans on that score.”
“And they are still planning on taking Washington?”
“I expect to see the battle resumed right where it left off; perhaps very soon.”
“I’m surprised. That angry article in the Charleston paper last month berated Beauregard for not pushing into Washington. It seemed unfair to the man.” She sighed. “But then, I can’t quite reconcile the enthusiasm of men for fighting.”
“What do you mean?”
“The troops on this last train. They were as excited as boys over a ball game.”
“Part of that is the Southern male,” he murmured. “At times I think we’ve lost sight of what it means to be a gentleman. I’ve become very much aware of this since we’ve returned to the South.”
He gave her a rueful grin. “You are right about being an asset to me. This winter, while you stayed at home with Mother, I’ve had countless occasions when I barely escaped with my skin intact. Right now it’s dangerous to hold an opinion differing from the flow of popular thought—namely, the right to be free from all restraints of the Federal government, and the right to have slaves.”
Olivia finished hanging her dresses and turned to study Alex. “But there’s the other side. Can you honestly hold to the opinion of President Lincoln?”
“Do you mean the opinion that the seceding states are in a state of rebellion, that they have no Constitutional right to take this action, and secession is therefore treason? Olivia, I’ve read everything I can get my hands on about the Constitution. I’ve spent hours pondering the problem—perhaps even trying to justify the situation the South is in. But I can’t quarrel with Lincoln’s opinion.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that; it makes me feel better. There’s been so much argument, I was beginning to think the whole world was right and we are wrong.”
“I suppose that’s bound to happen. But, Olivia,” he said, his voice brooding, “we must carefully study out a problem and then make up our minds that no matter what, we will uphold the right and reject the wrong.”
“Alex,” she whispered, “sometimes it is so lonely—like last Sunday in church. That parson was completely confident that the Southern cause is God’s.”
“Even in things of the church,” Alex murmured, touching her cheek, “we must live close enough to God to understand and take our direction from Him.”
“And that’s what you’re doing,” she whispered. “Oh, Alex, I wish I had all the answers, and that I were as sure as you.”
A faraway expression filled his eyes. “Olivia, I’m not sure. I still agonize over this situation. There’s not a day but what I find myself struggling over the right and wrong of this war.”
****
On Sunday, Olivia woke to the pealing of church bells. With her eyes closed she tried to think her way back to Pennsylvania, listening to the chorus of bells ringing out across the hills. Only the Quaker meeting house, stoic and sparse, didn’t rend the air with the music of bells.
She felt Alex stir and opened her eyes. “I’m thinking of Pennsylvania and the church bells,” she said as he slid his arm under her head.
“Strange, we humans,” he murmured. “Some of us think holiness is found in plainness and simplicity—”
“With whispers instead of joyful shouts, silence instead of music and bells. Presbyterian and Quakers,” Olivia added.
“But in conflict, we work together. The Presbyterians send their men to battle, and the Quakers feed, clothe, and nurse them. Perhaps it’s just as well. The touch of God on our lives resounds with diversity as attractive as the multitude of bells. Listen, my dear, and rejoice as you see fit.” He chuckled and kissed her.
****
Prim and proper, their Quaker hearts covered with Presbyterian clothing, Alex and Olivia joined the throng going into the building under the belfry.
Shielded behind their hymnal, Alex said, “Thy Quaker heart responds well to these Presbyterian hymns.”
“Thou art wrong, dear husband,” she whispered back. “This hymn was written by Charles Wesley.”
And after the sermon, they were greeted with a hearty, “Good morning; how happy I am to see newcomers! I’m Matilda Armstrong.” Olivia looked down at the white-gloved hand stretched toward her, and then upward to the round figure in black taffeta. She smiled at the halo of white curls and sparkling blue eyes.
Someone grabbed Olivia’s hand and eased her out of line. Matilda Armstrong tipped her head toward Alex. “Do you live in Richmond, or are you visitors? No matter,” she said hastily. “I’ve come to invite you to my home. Every Sunday after church I gather up all the interesting people I can find and stuff them with sandwiches and pastry so that they are obligated to entertain me with conversation. Do you have a carriage? I’ll direct you there.” They shook their heads, baffled.
“Oh, then join me in my carriage and we’ll all ride together. Come, we’ll have to lead the way.”
She skillfully maneuvered them around the crowd at the door and down the steps to the carriage.
Through the early hours of the afternoon, Olivia listened to the music of laughter accompanied by the ring of crystal, and decided Matilda Armstrong hadn’t a serious thought in her head. But by mid-afternoon, she began to think differently.
Matilda’s eyes gave her away. In an unguarded moment Olivia knew she had been measured and assessed.
As the last guest carriage pulled away from the front steps, Matilda led Alex and Olivia back to the parlor. “Now, my dears, let’s get acquainted. Would you care for more tea?” She began pouring.
Handing the cup to Alex, she said, “You impress me as a very shrewd businessman. Am I right?”
“Ma’am, why do you think so?”
She chuckled, “Because every stranger in town who doesn’t look frightened nearly to death is a shrewd businessman looking for a way to sell Jefferson Davis everything he doesn’t need to carry on a war.”
Alex laughed. “In reality I think we fit the first category. We are sojourners, looking to stir up trouble before we leave town.”
Her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward. “My, how interesting! What type of trouble are you looking to stir?”
Alex placed his elbows on his knees, dropped his voice, and said, “We’re Union sympathizers. I’m trying to talk sense into everyone I can. Mrs. Armstrong, why did you guide us around the parson and his greeting committee this morning?”
“Because I watched you during church and I thought to myself that you were both very disturbed by the sermon. So you two don’t believe that the Bible, God’s Word, supports slavery as something pleasing to God. I’m very anxious to hear your opinion. But just to set the record straight—” She paused, peered at Alex, and said, “I don’t tell all of my guests this, but my Negroes are freedmen. I pay them a good wage just to stay here and take care of me. Furthermore, your frown during the sermon made me very curious. What can I do for you?”
Alex looked startled. He paused before asking, “Shouldn’t I be saying this to you? I suppose I should be pointed in the right direction. You see, Union sympathizers need to be encouraged to stand up for their beliefs. After being in South Carolina, I came to the conclusion there’s more Union people in the South than we two have realized. We need to be heard. Mrs. Armstrong, I’ve the feeling you’ve never been in a position of allowing others to do your thinking for you. Unfortunately this isn’t so for many people, namely those either too timid to express themselves or those who find it easier to bend with the flow around them.”
“You are correct. But that’s human nature.”
“It hadn’t ought to be. Christianity makes me very aware of how important our opinions and values are to those around us.”
Matilda Armstrong reached for her calling cards and began to write notes on them. She looked at Alex. “Then you realize the seriousness of the situation we’re in?”
He studied her with narrowed eyes. “You can’t be speaking about the possibility of losing forever our Southern values of states’ rights and the right to own slaves?”
“Of course not. I’m talking about freedom. My dear Mr. Duncan, our Constitution supports freedom for all. If one segment of our society isn’t free, then not one of us is free.”
She got to her feet and handed Alex the cards. “I’ve written a name and address on each card, also your name. It would be wise to make certain these cards do not get into the wrong hands.”
Alex stood looking down at her, and Olivia said softly, “Mrs. Armstrong, your interest in us tells me that you must be in an uncomfortable position in the capital city of the Confederacy. Would you consider traveling North with us?”
Matilda turned to smile at Olivia. “Thank you, my dear, however strange my ideas are here, I enjoy the comfortable position of an old and perhaps slightly strange citizen. Also, I’ve work to do here. The Lord will keep me intact until He’s through with me on this earth. God bless you both now. I’ll have Roger take you back to your hotel.”