DISSOLUTION
Shepherdstown, Virginia
April 11, 1861
Wes watched from the doorway of Bridger’s Tavern as the burning effigy of President Lincoln was dragged down the street. In the darkness, flames trailed behind it, emitting a wake of burning sparks like the tail of a comet. The scene had an infernal appearance to it, a tumbling mass of moving fire wreathed in smoke and punctuated by the laughter of spectral figures silhouetted by the flickering light.
The inauguration of President Abraham Lincoln the previous month had been the signal for extremist groups in the state to demand that Virginia separate itself from the Union. Events like the effigy burning were commonplace as many Virginians felt the need to voice their opposition to the result of the election. Following South Carolina’s secession on December 20, 1860, six other states had also left in as many weeks. Jefferson Davis had been inaugurated almost two months ago on February 18, at Montgomery, Alabama as the first president of the Confederate States of America. Since there was no chance that Virginia would remain as part of the North when the rest of the southern states were withdrawing, many wondered why its officials were hesitating; if the thing were to be done, let it be done now.
On the porch of the tavern several members of the Guards had gathered to watch the spectacle, gulping their ale and shouting obscene encouragement to the hangmen. Wes, however, did not feel like laughing. He glanced at the others, examining their faces in the amber light that spilled from the tavern. There was only one topic of conversation: secession. For half a year, the tension had been escalating rapidly; what had formerly been only a theoretical discussion was now a passionate cause.
There was an enormous rift in the town, and each person was labeled by whether he stood on the north or the south rim of the political chasm. Geographically, Shepherdstown was south of the invisible line that separated North from South, but barely so. Because of this, there were many in town whose sympathies lay with the Union against secession. The Guards, on the other hand, were firmly for disunion.
Wes was not sure which label fit him, since he had no firm conviction about either one thing or the other. He had come south for personal, not political, reasons. Will, concerned about both the mounting hostility generated by Lincoln’s election and the expected birth of their second child, had sent Salome home with Bertie two months ago. Their baby girl was already two weeks old.
Then, when it became clear that the problems would not be resolved peacefully, Will and several of the others from Gettysburg decided that the time had come to return home. They were packing, planning to leave on the morning train. Wes didn’t really blame them. There was a silent accusation in the eyes of many of those in town, as if having grown up in the North automatically made a man the enemy.
Ben came out of the smoky tavern to lean against one of the columns near Wes. He watched the dying flames in the distance and, speaking to no one in particular said, “I don’t envy that man his job.”
“Who?” Wes asked, keeping his eyes on the flames.
“Lincoln. Poor man has barely had his job for a whole month and he’s sitting on a powder keg with a lit fuse.”
Wes nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “Do you think we’re going to war?”
Ben turned to look at him, taking a long pull on the cheap cigar he was smoking. The ash glowed, then darkened. “I think it’ll be sad for the country if somebody doesn’t stop what’s going on in Washington.”
Wes nodded and turned his attention back to his own thoughts. The blaze in the distance divided itself into several smaller fires as the effigy broke apart.
Ben shuffled hesitantly, then asked, “Are you leaving with Will and the others.”
Wes looked up, trying to read Ben’s face. The words seemed passively curious, but somewhere hidden in the question was a challenge. Wes figured that most of his friends expected him to run back north with the others. It would be the natural thing to do, and perhaps it was the smart thing as well. But Wes knew that leaving now would mean giving up his dreams with Ginnie, returning to a place he despised and to people who despised him. Going back would be admitting failure, and Ginnie would see that at once.
“I was thinking of going up just long enough to bring Ginnie back down here with me.” There was a long silence from Ben, with only a nod to show that he had heard. “I just wonder what she’ll say,” Wes whispered to himself. The fires died and blackness enveloped the town once again.
At noon the next day, Wes arrived at the railroad station a few minutes before the train was due and bought his ticket. On the platform, Will looked up from the crowd and saw him. “Well,” he called with a tinge of sarcasm, “I’m glad you decided to join us. I thought maybe you were going to stay!” Wes clenched his jaw and nodded, not ready to start an argument by revealing his plans.
The train ride was a quiet affair. Northerners filled the car, rushing home to avoid the coming unpleasantness. To a person, Wes noticed, they each had a pensive look about them that masked a common fear. They wondered what lay in their future, in the country’s future. There was laughter and conversation from time to time, but it repeatedly fell off into a silence broken only by the clack of the train wheels.
As they neared the station in Gettysburg, Wes looked out on well-known scenes and even saw familiar faces in the street. The town seemed so small and constraining to him, as if the place had the power to recapture him and tear him from his new life. The paint on the buildings along the Diamond seemed to have gone drab, and the center of town had a used look that depressed him. He tried to pinpoint why everything had changed so drastically in such a short time and decided that it was not the town that had changed; it was he who was different. After months of inner doubt, it took only one look at the place for Wes to be absolutely sure: Gettysburg was no longer home.
They disembarked late in the afternoon and Will paid a wagon driver twenty cents to haul them and their cases to their father’s house. As they settled uncomfortably in the back, Will raised his hand in farewell to Ed Skelly and Billy Holtzworth. Wes saw him sigh with resignation as he glanced around at the familiar Gettysburg landmarks to which they had been forced to return. Will caught his brother looking at him, smiled and said, “I’m glad you decided to come back with us. I wasn’t so sure there for a while.”
“I’m not staying.” Wes held his brother’s gaze for a second to underscore his determination. Will’s face lost its smile as he tried to understand what Wes was saying.
“Then why’d you come?”
Wes looked down Baltimore Street as it dipped into the valley before rising up sharply again into Cemetery Hill. He thought for a moment before answering. “Ginnie. I want her to come back with me.”
For some reason, he had assumed that Will would not care what he did, and was surprised by the black look that suddenly burned in his brother’s eyes. “How could you?” Will growled.
Wes shrugged innocently. “How could I what?”
This served only to further anger Will. “Are you blind? There’s going to be a war, Wes. It’s only a matter of time before Virginia joins the rebellion. If you go back, you’ll be fighting against us, against your own family.”
Wes sighed as he looked at Will, realizing how much he resembled their father when he was angry. He took a breath to respond, then realized that it was useless to try to explain himself to either one of them. After a moment’s silence, Wes jumped from the wagon onto Baltimore Street just before the driver turned east. Telling his brother, “I’ll be back later. I’m going to see Ginnie,” he turned and began walking south, trying to ignore the angry glare burning into his back.
Ginnie’s house on Breckenridge Street was quiet. Wes stood for a moment looking at it, waiting for the memories to come. But the house failed to inspire him; it was just a dull boxy two-story building. He was fearful for a moment that the sight of Ginnie would also fail to excite him, that the reality might not live up to the idealized image in his mind. Swallowing his anxiety, he knocked on the door. Ginnie’s brother, Jack, answered and told Wes that she was working at the Skelly shop. Wes thanked him and set off back toward Baltimore Street.
As he rounded the corner, he saw her immediately, walking slowly home. She did not notice him at first, since her attention was focused on the young man walking with her. They were talking about something and her smile revealed her pleasure with his company. For a moment, Wes thought he was mistaken about her identity, but Ginnie had changed little since his last visit, looking perhaps a bit more adult and self-possessed. She wore a dark blue dress and had her braided hair pulled up attractively on her head. Wes shifted his eyes to the man with her. He was tall and rugged, his sandy hair carefully combed. His work clothes were neat and pressed as if he had taken pains to prepare himself for this meeting. Then it struck him – it was Jack Skelly.
For a moment, he was back at the swimming hole with Skelly standing over him, that infuriating smirk on his face. Anger was pulsing through his body when Ginnie happened to look up. She saw him standing motionless in the middle of the street. Her face first registered shock, then joy as she broke into an enormous smile of recognition.
Leaving Skelly alone, she ran the last few steps to him. “Where did you come from?” she cried in amazement, grasping both his hands.
Wes’ rage subsided somewhat in the face of her excited welcome, but he glanced sullenly at Skelly who was sidling up to them. Wes demanded in a low growl, “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s just walking with me.” She said it casually and Wes noticed that she did not turn to look at Skelly but continued to gaze intently into his eyes.
Skelly said with forced joviality, “Wes! Welcome home.” Wes nodded without a smile. An awkward silence hung around them for a moment until Skelly cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way. Ginnie, I’ll see you later.” He locked eyes with Wes again and, for a moment, Wes thought he caught the beginning of a smirk. Then he was gone and they were alone.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you were coming home?” Ginnie said, feigning irritation.
“I meant to surprise you,” he responded, casting a meaningful glance down the road toward Skelly’s retreating back.
Sensing his jealousy, she touched his arm lightly and smiled up into his face. With that one intimate move, Wes felt his anger begin to drain away.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she whispered.
It was not his home, but he decided not to make an issue of it. Then he realized that she, like everyone else, expected him to stay in Gettysburg. Before he could explain, however, she began chatting happily about everything that had happened to her since they last talked. They walked west, arm in arm, finally settling on a rail fence near the Seminary. Ginnie grew quiet and Wes began to sense a question working its way up from somewhere inside her.
“Wes? I need to know something.”
He braced himself, his jaw clenching visibly. “What is it?” he asked.
She debated with herself for some time before curiosity won the battle. “Why did you join that militia group? I mean, don’t they hate all northerners?”
After preparing himself for something troublesome, Wes couldn’t help being amused by the absurdity of the question. “Who have you been talking to?” he asked as innocently as possible.
“No one. I’ve just heard other people talking.” She looked guilty and his mind raced to connect the pieces.
“What people? Who would be talking about the Guards up here?” Then the answer snapped into place. He looked at her. “Ed wrote to Jack, didn’t he? And Jack told you.” Her silence confirmed the truth.
Julia had been right, people had been talking about him. But he hadn’t believed that Ginnie would be a party to it. He had been nervous about asking her to come south with him, for fear of her mother’s reaction. But it had never occurred to him that she herself might argue with him about it. Skelly was poisoning her mind before his plans could be fully worked out.
She continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer. “The Guards are my friends,” he said. “The first true friends I’ve ever had. They don’t hate northerners. How could I be one of them if they did?”
Ginnie looked at him in genuine confusion, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Well, you’re back now for good. That’s all in the past. It doesn’t matter any longer.”
“I’m not back for good, Ginnie,” he said firmly. “I still want to make our dream come true.”
She looked at him in shock. “What? Wes, our dream was the dream of children. Everything is…different now.”
His anger finally spilled over. “No!” he shouted, the word striking Ginnie with almost physical force. “No. It’s not different just because Jack Skelly says it is. It’s still our dream. What’s happening now won’t last.”
“But what if it does last?” Then, somewhat less forcefully, “What if there is a war?”
Wes smiled, trying to reason with her, to get back to a point on which they could agree. “There isn’t going to be a war, Ginnie. My brother and the others are just a bunch of worried old women. There wasn’t any reason to leave the South. They just got scared.”
“Does that mean you’re going back?” she asked in disbelief, shaking her head as though trying to influence his answer.
He grimaced in frustration. “You don’t understand, Ginnie. That’s my home now. That’s where all my friends are.”
“And if you go back, will you stay in the militia down there?” she asked in a voice tinged with accusation. He knew where she was leading him, but he was powerless to avoid the truth.
“Yes.”
With growing bitterness she asked, “And if there’s a war, will the militia be part of it?”
He sighed deeply. “Ginnie, all of this is just a temporary interruption. If we give up now, we’ll never make our dream come true. I don’t know what the Guards are going to do. All I know is, they’re my friends.”
“Then why did you come back?”
He looked into her eyes and spoke with great intensity. “I came back to get you, Ginnie.” He watched carefully as his words registered.
Her eyes widened. “You want to take me down there, now? You want to take me down where they hate northerners?” There was astonishment in her voice. She slid off the fence rail and stood uncertainly in front of him, not quite able to face him. In a quiet, controlled voice she said, “Well, your friends may be in Virginia, but mine are here in Gettysburg.” She turned to him slowly and said, as though she were having trouble believing her own words, “Jack thinks you’ve become one of them, that you want to be a rebel.” She spoke quickly, as if her courage might fail her. “I didn’t believe him. But now you say that you’re going back to the Guards, even though there may be a war, even though that means you’d end up fighting against your own people.” She almost shouted the last words, then wavered for a moment as if she were faint.
Wes was stunned. He looked at her for a long moment without emotion, watching the tears flow down her face. Shaking his head in bewilderment he asked, “Jack thinks? Ginnie, how could you listen to him?”
She turned toward him, her frustration boiling over, her arms held stiffly at her side, fists clenched. “Don’t you understand, Wes? Everything has changed. There’s going to be a war. I can’t go with you!” A moment later, bursting into tears, she turned and ran for home.
Wes, too shaken to follow, could only stare at her retreating form. He sat frozen on the fence, feeling shock settle over him like a suffocating blanket. He had waited so long for this moment when they would finally be together for always. But now everything was crumbling. He waited for her to turn back, but she finally slipped out of sight around a distant corner.
The sun had set behind him before he moved. The numbness had dissipated and only his rage remained. His feet knew where he had to go and carried him there mechanically as his mind focused on the damage Jack Skelly had done. No one seemed able to understand his faith in the future because they were all blinded by uncertainty about the present. He was looking beyond the trouble to what was certain to happen when everything returned to normal. Will, Ed, Jack and all the rest could only see the threat, could see him as nothing more than a traitor to their beliefs. But their beliefs never had been his. And Ginnie had always shared his hopes. Until now. She had been unfairly influenced, turned against him by his worst enemy. The rage built into a roar that drove him toward town.
Jack and his friends were on the porch of a ramshackle tavern behind the train station. Wes had known he would be there, with Ed and Billy and the rest of the demons from his past. But there was no longer any fear in him. In the darkness he could hear their self-satisfied laughter, knowing that in all likelihood they were laughing about him. He marched up to the porch where a half-dozen men sat surrounding Jack, drinking, illuminated by the eerie light of a couple of swinging lanterns. Wes faced him, ignoring the others.
“Well, if it isn’t the runt,” Jack sneered. The group laughed.
Wes paused, realizing that the taunt, far from infuriating him, gave him energy. Breathing deeply to keep from stuttering, he spoke firmly, never taking his eyes off Jack. “After all these years, is that the best insult you can think of? I may be short in height, Skelly, but you’re short of brains.”
There was a sudden silence, and then someone hooted sarcastically at the insult. Jack stood and swaggered to the edge of the porch. The others clustered behind him, ready to watch the two square off. But Ed came and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, trying to make him reconsider.
Wes shifted his glare to Ed. “I thought we were friends, Ed.”
Ed turned to Wes. “What?”
“You’ve been writing to your brother, feeding him lies so he can steal my girl.”
Ed stared at Wes for a second, then glanced at Jack with a shrug. He took his hand from his brother’s shoulder and stepped away.
Wes looked back to Jack. “So? Are you trying to steal my girl?”
“I don’t steal nothin’, Culp. Nobody thought you were coming back. Ginnie and I are friends. If she doesn’t want you anymore, it’s not my fault. Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you turned into a southern boy.”
“A southern boy?” Wes smirked.
Jack’s anger was beginning to surface. “That’s right. Marching around with your little boy soldiers.”
“Those boy soldiers are better men than you or anyone else in this town.”
There was fire in Jack’s eyes and Wes waited for him to throw the first punch. But instead he said, “Culp, you’re a traitor and a coward.”
Wes swung quickly, catching Jack flatfooted, striking him hard on the cheekbone. Jack almost fell backward, the look on his face more shock than pain. Then he charged, tackling Wes before he could dodge him. The two fell to the ground wrestling, churning over and over on the road. Wes clawed and punched, his toes desperately digging the ground for support. For a moment he gained the upper hand, but Jack was too strong and flipped him on his back, pinning him. With one hand holding Wes’ hands, Jack punched him in the face, then grabbed his hair to knock his head against the ground. The burst of pain ignited a wild surge of energy in Wes and he broke free long enough to slam his head viciously into Jack’s face, hearing him grunt in pain. The two stood, hunched and bloody, facing each other. Dust-covered, their hair disheveled, Wes thought that Jack had the look of a wild animal.
Jack wiped the blood from this mouth, spit some onto the ground and leered at Wes. “Your brother tells me that you’re going back south. Good riddance is what I say. I always knew you were a rotten rebel, a traitor. I can hardly wait ‘til the war starts. I’m going to join up just so I can have the pleasure of killing you. But I wonder who’s going to look after Ginnie while you’re gone.” He smiled, his white teeth reddened with his own gore.
This time Wes charged, trying to tackle Jack, to bring the bigger man down hard. But Jack sidestepped, tripping him. Wes fell heavily, rolling over painfully in an attempt to regain his feet. Before he could do so, Jack kicked him squarely in the ribs and Wes felt a savage pain as the air rushed from his lungs. Jack kicked him again and again before a host of hands pulled him back. Wes lay curled in the dust, his arms covering his head. He heard voices above him, whispering, like bees buzzing.
One voice, closer than the rest, said, “Wes! Wes, are you all right.” Then it seemed to fade away. “We’ve got to get him home.” Several hands lifted him, and he groaned as a searing pain cut into his chest like a knife.
When he woke, he was lying on the porch of his father’s house. He looked around in the dark, listening, but heard only silence. A while later he woke again when someone shook him. “Wes. Oh, my God! Wes!”
He opened his eyes and was surprised to see the darkness disappearing with the coming of dawn. His eyes took a moment to focus before he saw that it was Julia leaning over him. He managed a smile. “Jules. How are you?” His throat was dry and his voice crackled.
“What happened?”
He stood with great effort, Julia assisting him, and leaned heavily on the porch column. As his dizziness gradually cleared, he realized that his chest ached badly, as did his right eye; he probed it with a finger. When he was able, he sat on a bench near the door, looking up at Julia through a half-closed eye.
“What happened, Wes? Who did this to you?”
“Just the Gettysburg welcoming committee,” he tried to joke, but Julia didn’t smile. He did not want to argue anymore. All he wanted was to get as far away as possible. He stood again, ignoring the pain that raced through his body. Walking into the house, he went to the kitchen and allowed Julia to clean up his face as well as she could. Then, without a word, he found his bag in the front hall, picked it up and headed outside. As Julia followed him, he turned for a moment to touch her face gently.
“Goodbye, Jules.” Then he set off, trying to ignore her voice as she ran inside yelling for Will and their father. He turned for a moment as he rounded the corner onto Baltimore Street and caught a glimpse of his family watching him. They were all there, Will and his father, Julia and Annie. Will held Julia as she struggled to give chase. He waved as he passed from their sight, grateful that no one was pursuing him.
At the station he bought a ticket, boarding the morning train when it finally chugged in. He had little trouble finding a window seat on the vacant train. No one was going south these days. Looking through a streaked window at the empty platform, he hoped that Ginnie would somehow miraculously appear. But she did not, and the train pulled out a few minutes later.