Hillsboro, North Carolina
Spring 1861
Johanna Elizabeth Davison sat at the small maple desk in her bedroom, writing a letter to Wes, when she heard her aunt’s voice calling, “JoBeth, come down here at once! Harvel’s brigade is marching by. Do hurry!”
She tucked a stray dark curl behind her ear, then put her pen back in the inkwell. Before getting up, she slid the half-written to Wes letter under the blotter. Hurrying into the hallway, she met her mother, Johanna, just coming from her sewing room. They exchanged glances. Although full of understanding, her mother’s eyes held a message that JoBeth dared not ignore. JoBeth nodded and together they went down the winding stairway to the hall, where Aunt Jo Cady stood at the open front door.
“Come along, you two!” she called over her shoulder as she went out onto the porch, down the steps, and along the flagstone walk to stand at the gate. JoBeth and her mother followed.
The May morning was warm, bright with sunshine. Residents from the houses on the street were rushing out to the strip of grass on either side of the road. In the distance, they could hear the drums beating, the brisk sound of marching feet, the clatter of horses’ hooves. Then the line of gray-clad soldiers rounded the bend and came into sight. People began to shout hurrahs and wave small Confederate flags.
Where had they got them so soon? JoBeth wondered. North Carolina had only seceded a few days before. Although, of course, secession had been discussed for months, ever since South Carolina’s secession and Fort Sumter. When President Lincoln called for troops from North Carolina to subdue the sister state’s rebels, Governor Ellis’s response had been immediate. “I can be no party to this violation of the laws of this country and to this war upon the liberties of a free people. You can get no troops from North Carolina.” The state had enthusiastically rallied to the Confederate cause.
After that things had happened with lightning speed. JoBeth’s uncle Harvel Cady had immediately formed a brigade, and there had been no lack of men ready to join up.
As the soldiers marched by, everyone began to clap. The officers were mounted on splendid horses and crisply uniformed with shiny braid and buttons, sash fringes streaming in the wind, sabers glinting. Harvel, leading astride his gleaming, roan-colored mount, did not look at his relatives nor show any sign of recognition. It would have been unsoldierly to do so. But as he went by his mother, he seemed to sit a little straighter, jutting out his chin with its bristle of mustache and well-trimmed beard.
Among the rows of erect soldiers were many JoBeth knew—boys she had played with, had gone to school with as children, later had danced with, flirted with, teased. Now they were almost unrecognizable with their military bearings and their new, serious expressions, eyes straight ahead, not looking to right or left.
As she looked at the passing parade of familiar faces, JoBeth felt an enormous sadness. Only one person was missing. For her, the most important one: Wesley Rutherford, who was at college in Philadelphia. And even if he were here, he would not have been in the group. Wes had already expressed his deep doubts about the division among the states, saying, “Both North and South fought to create the United States; we shouldn’t break apart now.”
Next month, when he graduated, Wes would come back to Hillsboro, where he had made his home with his relatives, the Spencers. JoBeth worried about what would happen then. Will and Blakely, twin cousins his own age, had already gone to Raleigh to enlist.
In spite of the warmth of the day, JoBeth shivered. She had a feeling of impending trouble, a kind of premonition. The bright day seemed to darken. Suddenly, even though surrounded by family, friends of a lifetime, she felt cut off from everyone else. All at once JoBeth realized that she was the only one in the crowd not happily cheering.