The next day, instead of dropping, the temperature rose. An unseasonable warmth melted the light layer of snow that had fallen before Christmas, so there was no skating party on Bedlow Pond. However, the Spencer twins and their guest arrived at the Cadys’ house to call upon JoBeth the following afternoon. Warmly received by Aunt Josie, they stayed, enjoying Uncle Madison’s special holiday punch and the congenial company. The Spencers, always known for their exuberant personalities, were true to form and in high spirits. The visit ended after a round of singing, with Curtis again doing the honors at the piano.
When it was at last time to go, Curtis lingered a little behind as the others stood at the door, thanking the Cadys for their hospitality. He asked JoBeth, “May I call again tomorrow? On my own?”
“Tomorrow is the bazaar, a fund-raiser the Ladies Auxiliary is holding, and I’ve promised to help my aunt at her booth.”
Disappointment clouded Curtis’s handsome face momentarily, then quickly disappeared as he asked, “An event, I presume, that is open to the public?”
“Of course! Provided you bring lots of money to spend,” she teased.
“Done.” He saluted her. “And if I empty my pockets, may I have the honor of escorting you to the ball tomorrow evening?”
She laughed. “That sounds very mercenary.”
“Anything for our cause, right?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled.
When Curtis departed with the others, JoBeth realized, with a guilty start, that she had not thought about Wes all afternoon.
The bazaar to raise money to send needed supplies for “our boys in gray” had been planned for a long time. All the proceeds would go to various relief services. Hospitals, soldiers’ widows and orphans, people who had left their homes in fear of Yankee invaders, and other charitable groups were listed as recipients of the money to be earned. For the past several months, all the Hillsboro ladies had been busy making handiwork of all sorts to sell. JoBeth’s mother, aunt, and other relatives in the family had been involved from the beginning. Aunt Josie, known for her organizational ability, headed up the committee, assigning the different booths, each with specialized items for sale. Homemade delicacies, preserves, jams, jellies, baked goods. Embroidered pillowcases, tea towels, spectacle cases, slippers, floral potpourri and sachets, scented bath salts. Several booths were planned that would offer practical knitted garments, such as mittens, scarves, gloves, wrist warmers, socks, have locks for foraging caps. There would also be booths tapping the varied creative talents of Hillsboro “artistes,” exhibiting and selling such works as hand-painted china, watercolor greeting cards, and sentimental quotations in small frames. There would be a booth devoted to displaying dainty baby accessories, which were much in demand and would prove to be a popular item. (As would infant apparel—at one of the first organizing meetings, Patsy Faye Wrightman had commented, “With all the many military marriages that have taken place since Fort Sumter, there should soon be a market for baby booties, bonnets, buntings, blankets, and the like.”)
The Logan ladies, as JoBeth’s great-aunties were sometimes called by those who knew them before they were married, combined their quilting skills to contribute a beautiful quilt for which raffle tickets would be sold. In order to finish it in time for the bazaar’s grand opening party, they increased their “quilting bee” from one to five days a week. The pattern they had chosen to make was Star of Bethlehem in bright yellow, blue, and red, with pointed patches making the star, and the quilt bound all around with a band of orange.
Johanna made several crib-sized quilts. JoBeth put aside her own work on her pledge quilt to help her mother. On these days when mother and daughter spent time together on the project, a new closeness seemed to grow between them. There was something about the quiet task that initiated confidences and sharing. Often the sound of November wind or rain beating upon window or roof created an intimacy, shutting them off from the outside world. Sometimes JoBeth would ask her mother about the years in the mountains when she had first married Ross Davison.
“Oh, it was a wonderful time, such happy years.” Johanna’s voice grew soft. “Hard work, which you know I wasn’t used to at first. But so rewarding, so worthwhile. Your father was so kind, so loving—such a fine man, beloved by all the people in Millscreek.”
JoBeth had her own memories of the tall, rugged man who was her father. She remembered his coming home and swinging her up into his arms, times he had held her on his knee, read to her. She could still recall how his beard felt against her forehead when she leaned back on his shoulder, the smell of him, the scent of leather, balsam pine, the slightly medicinal aroma that clung to his clothes. She remembered the gentleness of his hands, and the sound of his deep voice.
Thinking back on those long-ago childhood days, JoBeth felt the sharp twinge of loss. Only when she closed her eyes and really concentrated could she bring back the smell of the pine woods that had puckered her nostrils, the feel of the brown-needled carpet on her bare feet when she would run down the path between their home on the hill and Granny Eliza’s.
“Do you remember the gritted cornbread Granny used to make?” Johanna’s question broke in on JoBeth’s thoughts.
“Oh, my, yes!” JoBeth looked at her mother, eyes shining. “That was the sweetest, tastiest cornbread I ever had! Was it a secret recipe or something?”
“I’m sure not. She told me how to make it and I tried, but mine never turned out as delicious as hers.” Johanna laughed and shook her head.
“As soon as the weather gets better, I must go visit Granny,” JoBeth murmured. “Maybe when Shelby comes home in the spring, when the snow melts, we can ride up there together.” She thought of the weathered cabin nestled under the cedars with a tender longing. It was a part of her life, a part of herself that somehow had got lost in the years since she was a little girl. She felt an urgency to recapture it, treasure it somehow. Everything about the past had taken on a special significance, because everything else was changing so fast. Holding on to happy memories was important.
The morning of the bazaar, soon after breakfast, Aunt Josie supervised packing Johanna’s crib quilts into large boxes, then directed Jonas to carry them out to the carriage. Then she said, “JoBeth, you come along with me now. I need you to help arrange the booth, help me to decide which ones to display first.” Buttoning her fur tippet, she nodded approvingly to JoBeth’s mother, declaring, “Your quilts are just the sweetest, Johanna. Doting grandmothers will certainly snap them up in a hurry. I’m sure they will all go like hotcakes.”
JoBeth glanced at her mother, who seemed a trifle wistful at seeing some of her favorite baby quilts disappear. It was as though she hated to part with them. JoBeth knew that each one her mother made was special to her. She gave her a sympathetic smile as she kissed her cheek, saying, “You’ll come over later, won’t you, Mama?”
“Yes, indeed. Aunt Honey’s picking me up in her carriage. We don’t want to miss the raffling off of the aunties’ quilt.”
“Good! You’ve worked so hard, you certainly deserve a bit of pleasure,” Aunt Josie said decisively, putting on her bonnet.
JoBeth was amused that sometimes Aunt Josie spoke to her mother as if Johanna were still a young girl. Maybe that was the price her mother paid for coming back to live in Hillsboro with a member of her family.
Not for the first time, JoBeth wondered what would have happened to them all if instead, Johanna had decided to stay in Millscreek Gap among her husband’s people. What would their lives have been like, hers and Shelby’s? Shelby might have become a farmer like Uncle Merriman, their father’s younger brother. She certainly would never have met Wesley! But she could hardly imagine that.
“Come along, JoBeth. Don’t stand there dawdling and daydreaming. We must be on our way. So much to do—,” Aunt Josie said over her shoulder as she swept out the front door.
JoBeth glanced at her mother, who rolled her eyes in affectionate understanding, then JoBeth followed her aunt out to the waiting carriage.
When they reached the town hall, where the bazaar was being held, the place was abuzz with women’s voices and the swish of their skirts as they bustled about. A cacophony of sound echoed in the vast building. People were issuing directions for the setting up of booths, the draping of bunting all around. Hammers banged as signs went up, and a large muslin banner hung from the rafters, declaring in gilt-edged lettering such heart-quickening words as “For Our Glorious Cause” and “For Our Gallant Men in Gray.”
Aunt Josie was greeted by everyone. Mrs. Herndon, a portly lady in pink and mauve taffeta, the grand chairwoman of the event, rustled up importantly to lead her through the of maze of cardboard boxes, unfurled crepe-paper streamers, stepladders, and clusters of women busily erecting and decorating their individual booths. JoBeth tagged behind.
“We always look forward to you Logan girls outdoing the rest of us!” Mrs. Herndon simpered. JoBeth stifled a giggle at the referral to her elderly great-aunts by their maiden name and as “girls.”
“As my own dear mama used to say, the Logan sisters do the finest needlework in town!” Mrs. Herndon said effusively. Then, gesturing with a flourish to a flimsy wood frame, she said, “Now here we are, Josie. I hope this position suits you? It is just to the right of the entrance door and will be the first thing anyone sees! I’m sure you will be sold out long before any of the other booths.” She smiled at Aunt Josie, but her smile did not include JoBeth. Startled by this obvious snub, JoBeth wondered why not. Mrs. Herndon had known her most of her life. JoBeth had gone to school with the Herndon children, Billy and Maryclare. Slowly she understood. Mrs. Herndon was a neighbor of the Spencers. So of course she knew about Wes! Her son had joined Lee’s army of northern Virginia. By ignoring her, Mrs. Herndon was expressing her disapproval of JoBeth’s allegiance to Wes.
Realizing that this might be the general feeling of many of the ladies working at the bazaar, JoBeth, her face flaming, immediately went behind the booth. There she busied herself unpacking one of the boxes. Maybe she should have been prepared for that kind of treatment. JoBeth bit her lower lip as she bent over the boxes, wishing she could develop a hard shell. As it was, she couldn’t help feeling hurt. More for Wes than herself. She laid some quilts neatly on one of the shelves, thinking, I hope some Yankee women are doing for their soldiers what we’re doing for—She’d started to say ours to herself, then stopped. A bleak, hopeless feeling washed over her. She remembered what she and Shelby had talked about. A divided heart! That’s what I have! No wonder it hurts so much.
JoBeth was sure that her aunt had been too preoccupied to notice Mrs. Herndon’s deliberate coldness to her. Determined not to let her wounded feelings show, she began winding crepe-paper streamers around the spindly poles of the booth. Soon their booth was transformed into a bower of ribbons and clusters of flowers.
“Oh, that looks lovely, JoBeth!” Aunt Josie praised her, adding, “You certainly have your mother’s artistic touch!”
For the next hour, they worked steadily, arranging, rearranging, setting out the lovely handmade items. Several of the other women working in various booths came by to admire and compliment them. Having been alerted by Mrs. Herndon’s behavior toward her, JoBeth tried to act busy so as not to embarrass her aunt if any of the ladies refused to acknowledge her. She kept reminding herself that most of them were probably mothers who had sons off fighting and were sick with worry about their safety, so she tried to understand and forgive their resentment.
By the time they had placed the last patchwork pillow and agreed on the best angle to show off their favorite quilt, the bazaar had opened and people started streaming through the hall. From the size of the crowd, it appeared sales would be brisk. Most people seemed to first make the rounds—circling through the giant hall, admiring all the booths, browsing, getting an idea of all that was available—and then turn around and proceed to buy.
After two busy hours, Aunt Josie collapsed on one of the stools provided for the sales force. “Mercy me, JoBeth! I’m about done in! Do me a favor, darlin’. Like a good child, run along over to the food booth and get us each a bit of lunch. I heard tell they’ve got all manner of good things to eat, and I’m simply famished. I think we could both use a restoring cup of tea and a sandwich or two.”
“Of course, Auntie,” JoBeth agreed. “You just sit and rest. Now, don’t do another thing till I get back, hear?”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to!” her aunt laughed as she waved a pleated newspaper as an improvised fan.
JoBeth made her way through the crowded building to the refreshment booth. A long line of people was stretched out in front. It looked like a long wait to be served. Resignedly she took a place at the end. Others joined the line behind her, among them four chattering young women. Seemingly oblivious to anyone else, they were making no effort to keep their voices down. It was impossible not to overhear their conversation, and suddenly JoBeth began to catch some of it.
“The nerve of her—”
“She must think nobody knows—”
“Most likely doesn’t care—”
“It’s absolutely brazen, I think.”
“With almost everyone here having somebody—brother, father, husband, sweetheart—serving!”
“It’s outrageous, if you want my opinion.”
“I should think Mrs. Herndon would have asked her to leave—”
“Or to not even come in the first place!”
“She could hardly do that! After all, the Cadys and the Breckenridges and Judge Hayes are all her relatives—”
“Even so—it’s the principle of the thing!”
JoBeth’s ears tingled, her cheeks burned. They were talking about her! She was the subject of this spiteful conversation. For the second time that day, the gossip about her and Wes that must be circulating hit her. Her heart hammered so loud, she wondered that people standing next to her didn’t hear it! It even alarmed her with its banging. What if she fainted?
Should she turn around and confront them? Or just never let on that she had overheard? Her impulse was to whirl around, face them. But what could she say? How could she honestly defend being here at a fund-raising for the Confederacy when the man she loved was considered the enemy? All this raced through her mind. Her fists clenched. Part of her wanted to escape, even if it meant going back to her starving aunt empty-handed. Undecided, she debated. Then JoBeth heard her name spoken by several male voices.
“Miss Davison!”
“JoBeth!”
Dazed, she turned to see Will, Blakely, Ted Hamlett, and Curtis Channing! Within a few seconds, she was surrounded by four attractive, gray-uniformed officers. As she looked on in amazement, Curtis made a sweeping bow to the nonplused girls, the very ones who had been talking about her, and said in his most ingratiating manner, “I am sure you lovely ladies will give way to us”—he gestured grandly to his companions—“being that we’re all heroic soldiers honorably defending your lives, homes, and country. Will you allow us to slip in line here? Yes, I was sure you would, seeing as we must soon be away again to the battlefields.”
JoBeth glanced at him in astonishment. There was laughter in his eyes, a bold sureness of his own powers to persuade. Like magic, the disconcerted quartet stepped back and made way for the four officers. There was an amused ripple of laughter from others in the line, and looks of approval at the men. Someone was heard to say, “That’s our rebels for you.”
Escorted by the four, JoBeth moved up the line. Beside her, each handling two plates apiece, they quickly had them piled with sandwiches, frosted cupcakes, slices of pie. Blakely wheedled a tray from one of the booth ladies and loaded it with steaming mugs of fragrant tea to take back to the quilt booth.
Out of the corner of her eye, JoBeth saw the four indignant deposed gossipers staring at her with open envy. However, knowing that her companions’ food purchases had totaled up a nice sum for the benefit’s coffers, she walked off with her head high. Certainly, she thought, by the end of the afternoon other booths would find their cash boxes filled with the young officers’ money as well.
Back at the booth, after consuming the delicious delicacies they’d brought back, the four men persuaded Aunt Josie to allow JoBeth to be their guide among the myriad booths. That way, they said, they could spend more money for “the glorious cause.”
If unfriendly eyes followed her progress as she guided the good-looking cavalry officers from booth to booth, JoBeth knew they could not argue with the fact that the four were clearing out great quantities of the merchandise displayed.
JoBeth was ironically amused by all this. Underneath, however, the overheard comments still stung. But she thought it a small sacrifice on her part—Wes had made the much harder one.
In spite of the constant chaperonage of his three fellow officers, Curtis had a chance to whisper in JoBeth’s ear, “Do I qualify for the honor of taking you to the ball tonight?”
Looking at his armload of pot holders, doilies, china bud vases, knitted scarves, and other miscellaneous purchases, JoBeth widened her eyes and exclaimed dramatically, “I should hope so.”