Wes had been right when he said that things were complicated, JoBeth thought on her way to meet him the next afternoon. Everyone had his own opinion about the war. First the argument had been whether or not North Carolina should have seceded, then they debated what kind of president of the Confederacy Jefferson Davis would make, now it was a disagreement about what the generals were doing. Even within JoBeth’s family, there were sharp differences.
In the mountain community, there were few hotheads for war, she found when she visited. Granny Eliza Davison had spoken for many when she said, “Tain’t our fight. Why should I send my grandsons to die for someone I don’t even know to keep their slaves?”
Shelby, now in his first year of seminary, seemed to be having some private inner struggle. He had been unusually quiet since coming home this summer.
JoBeth saw Wes waiting for her and quickened her step. The very sight of him made her heart turn over. Everything she had imagined feeling about him as she wrote to him and received his letters was real. It set her pulse pounding and made her lightheaded. This was the love she had always dreamed of knowing.
The sad part of it was that the kind of idyllic, romantic time she had imagined for them when Wesley came home had not come true. When she reached Wes, it was evident from the look on his face that things were not any better at the Spencers’. In fact, Wes’s expression, the sadness in his eyes, told the story, without JoBeth’s asking for details.
“If it hadn’t been for Aunt Alzada, I think my uncle would have ordered me out of the house right then and there,” Wes said dejectedly. “There’s no going back. All affectionate exchange between us is gone. He said he was bitterly disappointed in me. Ashamed, actually, that I was willing to go against my own people, my state.” He shuddered. “He doesn’t realize just how painful it is for me. Everything would be fine if I’d recant”—he snapped his fingers—“if I’d say I was wrong, he was right. But I don’t believe that.”
“What is he most angry about? Is it your view of slavery?” JoBeth frowned. “The Spencers only have house servants, just as my aunt and uncle do—”
“It’s not just over slavery, whether a man has a right to own slaves or not. More importantly, it’s whether a state can leave the Union at will. It’s about how important the union of all the states is.”
She had heard this argued among her relatives for months. So much so that she had begun to deliberately stop listening and instead to think about other things while the discussions went on. She had not really believed it would affect her life. Now she realized she had been mistaken. Still, she wanted—needed—to be convinced.
She gestured impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know all that. But what does this really have to do with us?”
“Everything. People are taking sides. No one can remain on the fence, JoBeth. We’re all going to have to stand up for what we believe or what we’re against. It’s going to get people angry and bitter, and it’s going to go on for a long time.”
JoBeth felt as if a cold wind had blown over her, chilling her to the bone.
“There’s no point now in asking permission to marry you. Now that your uncle knows where I stand, he as much as told me it was impossible.”
“Oh, Wesley, did you have to be so honest?” she demanded with mock despair.
“Would you love me if I weren’t?”
She threw out her hands helplessly. “I suppose not.”
“Then you do? You do love me?”
“Yes, of course!”
He frowned deeply. “You have to be prepared. Now that they do know, they may forbid us to ever see each other again—”
“Oh, Wes, don’t say that. Don’t even think that.”
“You still don’t truly understand, do you? How deeply emotions about this war run? I wish to God you didn’t have to, JoBeth.” There was a desperate edge to Wes’s tone.
“I’m trying to understand,” she hastened to assure him. “I guess I just didn’t want to understand. It hurts too much. To think your aunt and uncle would let something come between their love for you and what you believe. I mean, you’ve been like another son to them both.”
Wes looked so sad. She knew how much Wes loved the Spencers, respected them, had always wanted to please them. She understood how much their approval meant to him. Impulsively JoBeth reached up on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck, kissed him on the lips. He drew her close, and the kiss deepened into a long, tender one, full of sweetness, tenderness, and tentative hope.
“I love you, Wes. Nothing else should matter.”
“I love you, too, JoBeth. But I’m afraid other things do matter. At least at this time, in this place.” He kissed her again, then gently released her, saying, “I’m also aware that what I’m going to have to ask you to do will take more than love. It will take everything either of us has within us. And we can’t do it by ourselves. We’re going to need God’s help, JoBeth. It won’t be easy. In fact, it might be the hardest thing we’ve ever been called on to do.”
That evening, JoBeth found out just how hard it was going to be, when she timidly approached her uncle. “Uncle Madison, I know Wesley has told you how he feels, and though I know you don’t agree with him, I hope—”
Before she could finish, he cast aside his newspaper and declared vehemently, “It’s not the government’s place to tell us what we can do with our own property—”
“Uncle Madison, can’t you try to see it from Wes’s viewpoint? He’s an idealist, and—”
“How many idealists do you find in history books? Not many, I’ll tell you. It’s the doers like Andrew Jackson we remember, the kind of men that stand up for what they believe.”
“But that’s exactly what Wesley is doing! Don’t you see that?”
“I see that you’re a foolish young woman who doesn’t know dreams from reality,” he said coldly. “Reality never measures up to anticipation, and expectation is usually the precursor of disillusionment. You’re heading for a cruel disappointment, my girl.”
JoBeth felt a rush of antagonism that he should dismiss Wes’s beliefs so harshly. But she would not allow anyone to snatch away her dreams so ruthlessly. Even though she had to remain under this roof and accept that she and her mother were living here mainly at the largesse of their relatives, she was determined not to be defeated by her uncle’s attitude nor to doubt Wes’s staunch convictions.
JoBeth glanced away as if examining the silver epergne in the center of the table. She knew it was useless to argue further, to plead Wes’s case. Uncle Madison’s mind was closed. In his way of thinking, Wes had become a traitor.
That night, JoBeth thought long and hard about everything that had transpired in these past three days.
From being a romantic figure of fantasy and imagination, Wesley had become the central person in her life. Someone on whom so much revolved. In the matter of a few hours, everything had changed. There would be no long summer in which their romance would progress at a leisurely pace. All the things she had dreamed of doing when Wes came home—strolls by the river, long talks, reading poetry together—had been eclipsed by the need to make life-changing decisions. Suddenly they were living out a real drama. One for which there had been no rehearsal, she herself in a role she had never sought to play.
Wes had said everyone had to take a stand. He was right. She was being forced to choose sides: Wes or her family.
For her mother’s sake, for the peace of the household, she had to keep her thoughts, her feelings, to herself—and yet she would not betray her loyalty and her love.
Because she knew now, without doubt, that she loved Wes. Something in him drew her irrevocably. A few days ago, even a few hours, she would never have had this certainty.
Remembering Wes’s words “We’re going to need God’s help,” she threw herself on her knees beside her bed. JoBeth prayed. But no peace came. Her soul was still in turmoil.
The serene, safe world she had known, the circle of love and acceptance, of affection and hospitality and shelter, had cracked. Hostility, resentment, anger, had been thrust into its quiet warmth. All the things she had taken for granted seemed to be slipping away.
Burying her face in her hands, she saw a mental picture of Wes standing alone outside the circle. In that moment, she knew she could not let him stand there alone or turn and walk away from her. I’m mad about him, she thought. I’m half sick with it. She was quivering. Life was so scary and unpredictable.
It’s not that simple, Wes’s words came back to her. No, it certainly wasn’t. It wasn’t like deciding to accept an invitation to a party, choosing a dress pattern, selecting the color of bonnet ribbons, the simple kind of choices she had made easily most of her life. This choice was different and not simple at all. One choice meant she might never see Wes again. If his conscience demanded he sacrifice everything, his hometown, cousins, family, friends, his love, then she had to decide if she would support that conviction. It was not, after all, debatable.
She knew she could not let Wes leave without telling him she was willing to stand by him. She got up from her knees, strengthened but trembling.
JoBeth did not realize she had entered a battle of her own making: the battle between loyalty and love. She had no intention, no matter what the opposition or provocation, of giving Wes up.
I never spoke that word “farewell” but with an utterance faint and broken;
A heart yearning for the time when it should never more be spoken.
Caroline Bowles