May 1865
JoBeth flitted from armoire to trunk, from bureau to port-manteau, back and forth, happy and rather distracted at the thought that she was at last going home—well, to Hills-boro. In this last week of May, Washington was already sweltering. She looked forward to being once more in the cool foothills town, surrounded by the mountains, sheltered by the tall pines.
It would be such a relief also to be away from the ferment of the capital city. Ever since the president’s assassination, the air literally breathed of fiery speeches, of excoriating vengeance, of speeches swearing retribution for the murder. Wes seemed to grow more weary and worn each day from handling the bulk of correspondence flowing into the major’s office.
Wes had insisted JoBeth go to Hillsboro as soon as travel became possible, promising he would follow as soon as he received his discharge.
At first she had refused to leave him. But as both the weather heated and his persuasion increased, she gave in. She was anxious to see her mother and Shelby. It had been over two years. In the last, desperate months of the war, Shelby had left his classes at the seminary and joined a local unit to make the final, hopeless stands against Sherman’s irrevocable advance through the South. He had, however, contracted typhoid and become dangerously ill—he’d been sent home to die, in fact. Thankfully, with good nursing and heartfelt prayer he had slowly recovered and was planning to go back to resume his studies in the fall.
However, the deciding factor in JoBeth’s decision to go was her happy suspicion. One about which she was not yet sure enough to tell Wes. By the time he could join her in Hillsboro, she hoped to be able to share the exciting news that they were to become parents.
JoBeth hummed happily as she packed. Then, hearing a familiar footstep on the stairway, she halted for a minute, her face turned to the door to welcome her husband home. She was eager to share with him the letter she had received from her mother that morning saying that everyone was happily looking forward to her “homecoming.”
All her own doubts about not being welcome faded with this reassurance. But one look at Wes’s expression gave her pause. She knew that since the murder of the president, Wes had been depressed. He had idealized and admired Lincoln for his noble purpose. She had thought recently that he was coming out of his deep melancholy, but today he looked solemn, almost sad.
After greeting her, he slumped into one of the armchairs and surveyed the packed boxes, the valises, and the open trunk thoughtfully. In an attempt to cheer him, JoBeth declared gaily, “I’m afraid we are going to have to make you some new clothes, Wes. You must have grown an inch in height and several wide in the shoulders and chest since you were a civilian!”
He made no comment, nor did his tired face lift in a smile as it usually did to her lighthearted teasing. Immediately she sensed something was wrong.
“Do you have a headache, Wes?” she asked worriedly. “Could I fix you some tea or a tisane?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you, but I do need to talk to you, JoBeth.”
“You sound serious. What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
She put aside the garment she was folding and went over and knelt down beside the chair in which he was sitting. She took his hands, which hung limply, and looked anxiously up into his eyes. They were haunted, miserable.
“I can’t go to Hillsboro,” he said heavily.
“I knew that, Wes. Not right away, of course, but you’ll come later. Mama says—,” she began, but he cut her off.
“No, I don’t mean just now. I mean ever.” A muscle in his cheek worked, as if he were trying to control his emotion. “What I mean is, we can’t live there. I know that’s what we’ve talked about, what we’ve planned, but—” He took an envelope from the inside pocket of his tunic. “I’ve done some testing of the waters, so to speak. I wrote to Cousin Will, asked him to tell me frankly what the climate would be in Hillsboro should we return to make our home there once more.”
“And?”
“This is his answer.” He tapped the envelope on the palm of his other hand. “He says resentment runs very high. North Carolina feels especially bitter, not being a large cotton-growing state nor a large slave-holding one and yet having lost more men per capita in the war than many of the states in the Deep South whose property they were defending. They’ve suffered a great deal. They’re very much afraid of the new reconstructionist policies now being discussed in Congress. This is what he wrote: They’re not satisfied in bringing us to our knees—they want to place their foot on our neck, grind our faces into the dirt.'” Wes looked up and into JoBeth’s eyes. “So you see how impossible it would be for us to go back—to try to live among people who would despise us?”
JoBeth drew her breath in a little gasp.
“I know Will wouldn’t lie. He’s telling me the truth. Because he cares about us”—Wes’s smile was ironic—“loves us even.” He sighed deeply, his jaw set, and he told her, “If we go back to Hillsboro, hate will surround us like a thick, smothering cloak. We won’t be able to breathe. We’ll suffocate. We cannot—I will not stay in such killing atmosphere, in an environment where love cannot overcome, survive.”
“Then what, Wes? What do we do?”
“I don’t know. At least, I’m not sure. I don’t think we have many alternatives. But I do have an idea I want you to think about—”
“Tell me.”
“I say we go west—a new life, a clean slate.”
“Where out west?” She tried to keep her voice from shaking.
“California, that’s where.”
“California?” she gasped, then asked, “Not the gold fields, Wes. You don’t plan to mine—”
“No, no, darling. There are all sorts of opportunities. And land and all kinds of things we can do once we’re there.”
“Oh, darling, but it’s such a risk!”
“Life is a risk, JoBeth. The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, change and grow, and live. He has forfeited his freedom. Only the person who risks is really free.”
“It seems like you’ve already thought about this a great deal.”
“I have. I didn’t want to say anything until I’d investigated it more on my own.” He took both her hands in his, raised them to his mouth, and kissed her fingers, saying tenderly, “I know how hard it would be for you to leave your family—”
JoBeth’s heart recoiled from another parting with her dear ones. It had been hard enough the first time. But her own experience confirmed the resentment Will described. Even the warmth and closeness and love of her family hadn’t been able to protect her before. How much worse it would be now if Wes, a veteran of the hated conqueror’s army, returned and tried to make a home, earn a living.
She had always hoped that when the war was over, she and Wes could settle down happily in the town they both loved, where they had grown up among their family and friends. But everything had changed now. Nothing would ever be the same for them. Old friends had become cold, doors once opened to them were now closed, warm greetings had become outright rejections. The homes where they had always been welcomed would not receive them. Hillsboro was no longer a place where they would feel comfortable, happy, or wanted. Peace may have come to the country, but the South only knew unforgiveness and vengeance.
The truth was bitter and hard to accept. But she couldn’t deny it. Wes was right.
JoBeth remembered her mother’s saying, “When we love, we place our happiness in the happiness of another.” If this was what Wes wanted—needed—to do, if this was what he felt was the best thing for them and for their future life together, then there was no question she would agree and go. His happiness meant everything to her.
“Oh, Wes, it will be hard. But don’t you know that we promised each other never to be separated again? Wherever you are, that’s where my home is, my heart.” She thought of the long separation, how she had yearned for him. No matter what happened, they belonged together. Wherever he went, she would gladly follow.
“California.” She said the word tentatively, as if trying it out. “California!” she repeated. She felt a prickle of excitement. Looking up, she met his steady gaze and smiled.