Wes was gone. And there was a void in JoBeth’s life that she could not freely share with anyone. Any voicing of how much she missed Wes would bring cold stares, even some remark—perhaps unintentional but pointed—expressing the speaker’s personal viewpoint. That would cut her to the quick. Was there no one in all of Hillsboro who shared Wes’s abhorrence at the thought of war, of the dissolution of the Union?
Neither of them could possibly have imagined that a shot fired at Fort Sumter would resound throughout the land and like a cannonball shatter all their lovely plans.
Less than a week after Wes declared himself and left town, Alzada Spencer came to pay a call. Her intention for doing so was soon made clear, as was her opinion about her nephew.
She was seated in the parlor with Aunt Josie and Johanna. When JoBeth joined them, bringing in the tea tray and setting it down for her aunt to pour, she realized that Wes was the subject of the conversation. She quietly sat down and listened intently.
Mrs. Spencer gave a dramatic sigh and declared, “None of us can understand it, I declare—we simply cannot. It’s all because of Grandmother Blakely, who, bless her soul, cannot help that she was raised by the Philadelphia branch of Lewis’s family and adopted the Quaker religion. Wesley has absorbed it all, ever since his own folks died and he was sent up there to live. Then, of course, he went to that Quaker college—and the damage was done. It’s hard to blame him, but he is a grown man and also a North Carolinian by birth. Wayne has tried to explain it to me”—she shook her head until all her clustered blond curls danced—“and I do try to take a Christian attitude about it, but my dears, if he goes into the Union Army, he will be, the Lord forbid, perhaps someday aiming his gun … at one of his cousins….” She took a dainty handkerchief out of her velvet purse and brushed the tip of her small nose and sighed again.
“But Mrs. Spencer, I don’t think Wes intends to fight, to carry a gun. That in itself is against Quaker beliefs….,” Johanna tried to gently suggest.
JoBeth, her hands locked in her lap, said nothing.
But she didn’t escape Mrs. Spencer’s lugubrious glance and direct comment, “I do feel sorry for you, darlin’. You know, Wes confided in me last Christmastime his hopes about you.” She whisked the handkerchief again, sighing. “It’s such a shame. I know what you and Wes were plannin’, and we couldn’t have been more pleased, and I’m sure you, Josie and Johanna, felt the same.” She paused with a sniff and shook her head again. “But of course, now it is all just ruined—”
JoBeth sat up straight and her mouth opened to protest, but just then she caught her mother’s warning glance and stopped. It would have been unthinkable to contradict Wes’s aunt, rude to argue with a guest. JoBeth pressed her lips tightly and clenched her hands but thought, Oh, no! No! Everything’s not ruined. We’re not giving each other up, no matter what. I love Wes and he loves me, and it will, please God, work out.
“I can only be thankful that my own boys knew their duty and did it without question,” Alzada continued.
Of course! Her sons, Blakely and Will Spencer, were reckless and wild, JoBeth thought indignantly. They’d do anything to avoid books, classes, or lessons. They had been among the first to join up. A few days after the April attack on Fort Sumter, they and some of their classmates from the university had gone up to Raleigh to enlist. They had come home saying they couldn’t see sitting in classrooms while the threat of invasion from the “Northern aggressors” was a possibility. Only days later they had come over to the Cadys’ house to show off their officers’ uniforms. JoBeth had to admit they looked dashing, all spit and polish, complete with sashes and high boots.
JoBeth had to bite her tongue as she listened to Alzada’s bragging about them. As far as JoBeth could remember, neither them had ever had a serious thought in their lives! Much less had they developed a philosophy or conviction about anything. Having known them since they were boys, JoBeth knew they weren’t fighting for some cause they believed in. For them, riding off to war was an adventure, like so many of their other escapades.
Politeness kept JoBeth quiet, but she was relieved when Aunt Josie asked her to freshen the teapot and she was able to leave the parlor. In the kitchen, while waiting for the kettle to boil, she had a chance to get control of her feelings.
Where was Wes? Back at his grandmother’s home? She hadn’t heard from him. He had promised to write as soon as he knew his plans. Already the days he had been here were beginning to grow vague, faded. The conversations they’d had were becoming mixed up. What had they talked about and when? Had he actually asked her to marry him? Or was it she who had spoken first of love and commitment? Oh, she had been shamelessly bold, she knew. JoBeth felt her cheeks warm at the things she had said, the kisses exchanged. It had seemed so real then. Why was she losing hold of it? Please, Wes, write.
She measured the tea, poured the boiling water into the teapot, and carried it back into the parlor. However, Alzada was putting her bonnet back on, saying she had to be going. As she moved to the front door, she patted JoBeth’s cheek, saying, “Now, don’t you worry, darlin’. There are plenty of fine young men ready to serve North Carolina who will find you a mighty sweet girl to court. I know it’s a great disappointment, and my heart is truly heavy, but we must all go on—somehow.”
JoBeth knew that Alzada meant well and that she was doing the best she could to bolster her own sadness over Wes. However, her words fell on deaf ears. At this moment, JoBeth could not imagine being interested in any other young man—especially not one in the gray uniform of the Confederacy, who might consider Wes the enemy.
Her mother gave her a sympathetic glance, and Aunt Josie raised her eyebrows, but neither added anything else to Mrs. Spencer’s words. While the two of them saw their guest out, JoBeth carried the tea things back to the kitchen. She left them there on the table for Annie to deal with and went out the back door, through the garden, and out the back gate.
She needed to be alone, to think her own thoughts and avoid any discussion with her aunt or mother about Wes.
There are few secrets in any small town. Hillsboro was no exception. The Spencers’ dismay at Wes’s defection to the North was common knowledge.
In the weeks that followed, for the first time JoBeth felt the full brunt of being associated with Wes. She had not realized how her name had been linked to the name Wesley Rutherford, which was now anathema to many. After he left, JoBeth began to feel that people were watching her, looking at her with curiosity. In the social circle to which they belonged, everyone had assumed that once Wes graduated from college and returned to Hillsboro, their wedding would soon follow.
She was the target of curious glances. At first, comments were made behind her back. Then, as time went on, they were said to her face as well. JoBeth knew that people expected her to denounce Wes’s decision openly. She refused to do that. Not even to make things easier for her relatives. She was sure that both the Cadys had received their share of questions and criticism. Was their niece actually engaged to that Yankee sympathizer? Gossip fed by rumor was confirmed by fact. Alzada made no secret of her own distress over Wes’s reason for leaving.
Even at home, JoBeth felt constricted. She went silently about her household tasks, avoiding any confrontation. Discussions about the war took place unabated at the Cady dinner table, where Harvel and Munroe were frequent guests. At family gatherings at Holly Grove, events of that summer were usually the topic of general conversation.
The war permeated the town in every way. Local men in small militia units drilled daily in the town park. War fever was everywhere. No one could avoid it! It was epidemic, infectious, and contagious.
The women had their own kinds of activities. There were fund-raisers of all sorts, bazaars, fetes, with booths selling palmetto pins in support of South Carolina’s “gallant defense” of states’ rights, and other Confederate symbols. Sales of the new red-white-and-blue Stars and Bars flag to display on porches or in yards were high. News of more states’ seceding every day bolstered the patriotic fervor. Most of the girls JoBeth had grown up with boasted of sweethearts rallying to the call for volunteers to the cause.
JoBeth avoided her friends as much as possible. Why should she try to explain Wes to anyone? Let people think what they would. JoBeth kept a proud silence and walked with her head high in spite of it all.
It was only to her brother, Shelby, that JoBeth confided her own feelings. “Oh, Shelby, it’s so hard. I am trying to understand why Wes did what he did. Why he felt he had to. But people are so cruel. They say such horrible things about him. And how can they? They’ve known him all his life. They know how honorable he is, how much things matter to him. He’s following his conscience….” Eyes bright with tears, JoBeth flung out her hands in a helpless gesture. “Uncle Madison makes it sound like—I don’t know. He calls him an idealist, as if it were something contemptible.”
Shelby was serious beyond his sixteen years. His deep-set eyes regarded his sister with sympathy. “I’ve always liked Wes. He’s an idealist, sure, but he has convictions. People should admire him for that.”
“But they don’t! All people around here want is for everyone to feel and think and be the same way they are.”
Shelby’s expression showed his concern. His light-brown eyebrows drew together over gray eyes filled with compassion. “It’s the same way at school,” he said. “Everyone there thinks we had the right to secede. Freedom of dissent, they call it.”
“Isn’t that exactly what Wes is doing?” she asked in despair.
“I’m sorry, Sis. I really am.”
“I know you are, Shelby. You’re the only one I can talk to about this. Mama feels so obligated to Aunt Josie and Uncle Madison—well, you know how it goes.” She sighed. “Oh, I wish this horrible war was over and everything was back to the way it used to be.”
“I don’t think it ever will be,” Shelby said sadly. “Oh, eventually the war will be over—I didn’t mean that. But I don’t think things will ever be the same again.”
JoBeth looked sorrowfully at her brother. How tall he’d grown since Christmas, how lanky. His face had lost its round boyishness and was becoming that of a young man. Would he too, before long, have to go into the army? Boys as young as sixteen and seventeen were joining up. Her heart lurched in loving fear. Ever since he’d been born, JoBeth had adored her little brother.
They had always been close. Especially since they came to live in town. They shared the same childhood and recalled a world no one else in Hillsboro knew, a world of tall pines, shadowy glens, mountain streams.
JoBeth longed to hear from Wes. To learn what he had done. Had he joined one of the Pennsylvania regiments that were forming as fast as the ones in the South, in defense of the flag, the country, the Union? It seemed so long since he had left, and she’d had no word. JoBeth wondered if her letters from him might be being withheld. She quickly dismissed that as a possibility. This family prided itself on its honor and would never stoop to anything like that, no matter how they felt. Wes must just be busy with all his plans and with all the decisions that he faced.
She tried to be the first to get the mail, and at last one day she was rewarded. Her first letter from Wes arrived one morning early in July. She ran upstairs with it to her bedroom and there eagerly tore it open.
My Dearest JoBeth,
I apologize for not writing sooner. It is not because you haven’t been in my thoughts constantly since I took sad leave of Hillsboro and all that was dear and familiar to me. But ever since my return here to my grandmother’s home, my time has been occupied with making my plans. I have found that here reactions to the declaration of war differ greatly from those in Hillsboro. Here there seems to be a profound sadness at the thought of the dissolution of the Union. There are no firebrands, no fiery statements. At least none I’ve heard. My grandmother wept when I told her why I had returned and about Blakely and Will already joining up. She said, “Oh, my poor Southern kin! God forbid that it should have come to this, brother against brother. It will bring so much suffering to all of us. That I should have lived so long as to see this happen.”
There is here, however, a determination to prevent a long war, and after much consideration and prayer, I have decided to join a local unit headed up by a longtime friend of our family. He is as fine a character as one would want for a leader and will make a good captain of our mostly unmilitary group—most of the men have never handled a rifle or firearm of any kind. My summers in the South—riding, hunting with my cousins—have made me at least able to do this. We will be deployed to muster into Federal service in a matter of weeks. Just now we are drilling daily. When we wear our uniforms and march, people come out to cheer us as we pass. Sentiment here seems to be supporting our intention. Rumor has it we will be heading south into the Shenandoah Valley.
I know you are anxious about the future. I cannot promise anything, as we both knew before I left. However, remember I love you and hold you in my heart, whatever happens. I will write as often as I can.
Ever your devoted,
Wes
He enclosed a poem by one of his favorites, Robert Burns, the Scottish poet.
Ae fond kiss, “One fond kiss” and then we sever,
A farewell and then forever.
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Banish Fate’s power to grieve thee
Hold high the star of hope shining
While cheerful and ever glowing light
No dark despair can him benight.
Hungrily JoBeth read and reread the letter. There was no one with whom she could share her feelings, a mixture of relief, pride, love, and anxiety.
JoBeth had to keep the letter, its contents, and her feelings to herself. However, it was with a sense of doom that she learned that Harvel and Munroe’s regiments were heading out to go north. There they would join a regiment under General Thomas J. Jackson, who was massing reinforcements for a threatened Union invasion into Virginia.
Upon hearing this news, JoBeth felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her hands turned clammy with dread. Was it only a premonition, or was it possible that in Virginia her uncles and their men would meet and engage in terrible conflict the Union troop of which Wes was a member?
Sick with secret dread, JoBeth stood nearby the day her uncles came to bid their parents good-bye. Uncle Madison struggled valiantly to control his emotions as he embraced his oldest son and said with a choked voice, “I only wish I were young and able enough to go with you, Son.” He clasped Harvel’s hand tightly, then turned to Munroe. “You two are brave, and we are more than proud of you both.”
JoBeth felt like an intruder at this farewell scene. Her own heart felt as if it were split in two, divided in love and loyalty. She watched in a kind of frozen agony as Johanna embraced both cousins and gave them each the gift she had made for them. How much Harvel and Munroe knew of her own relationship to Wesley, JoBeth was not sure. However, both were too gentlemanly to betray anything, by word or gesture, that would indicate any resentment. They kissed her good-bye as tenderly as they had the others.
Then both men gave a last hug to their mother, saluted their father, and left the house. Everyone followed them out to the porch. In front of the house, their horses, held by their aides, waited. Before mounting, Harvel turned for one last look, brandishing his wide-brimmed hat in a kind of flourish. As they moved forward down the road and out of sight, Aunt Josie broke into sobs, and Uncle Madison put his arm around her, saying, “Now there, my dear.” Together they returned into the house, heads bowed in mutual sadness.
Left together on the porch, JoBeth exchanged a glance with her mother, who was wiping away her own tears. Seeing that, JoBeth had another image, that of Wes’s grandmother weeping as she kissed him good-bye. All the women, North and South, were going through this same heart-wrenching experience. Sending their men off to fight in a war that would last who knew how long, not knowing if they would ever see their beloved ones again.
It was a silent meal that evening. Under the circumstances, it could have been expected. Everyone seated around the table had his or her own personal sadness, and yet there were no mutual words of comfort to exchange. The Cadys were openly grieving the absence of their two sons. Unable to share her own sorrow at Wes’s departure, JoBeth sat quietly, yet she understood more than anyone what pain they were experiencing. She had told her mother of Wes’s decision to join the Union Army, and she was conscious of Johanna’s frequent anxious looks during the meal. JoBeth understood her reluctance to express sympathy for her daughter, because she knew it would offend her aunt and uncle. But she was not surprised when later her mother came into her bedroom. JoBeth didn’t try to hide the tears she had been shedding. Johanna sat down beside her on the bed, cradling JoBeth’s head against her shoulder.
“It’s so hard, Mama,” JoBeth sobbed. “To love someone as I do Wes and to have nobody care. He’s in as much danger as Harvel and Munroe will be, and he believes in what he’s doing as much as they do.”
“I know, and I wish there were something I could say or do to make it easier for you, my darling.”
“You can give us your blessing!” challenged JoBeth.
“That I do. All is in God’s hands, anyway, JoBeth. Whether it happens or not, whatever the outcome of this war is, nothing comes to us but what is ordained. If you and Wesley are to be together, then it will come about.”
Johanna knew what it was like to love so completely and have others oppose that love. She understood the ache of loneliness, the pain of being separated—perhaps forever.