19

“Elizabeth, I’m coming in.” Margaret called before she opened the door. Elizabeth sat at the old oak desk between their two beds. She had a pencil in her hand and was writing in her journal.

Margaret eased over to her bed and fluffed the pillows before sitting on the edge, facing her sister.

Elizabeth stopped writing and turned toward her. Margaret couldn’t believe what she was seeing…Elizabeth was smiling at her.

She instantly felt relief at the warm reception. “What are you writing?” Margaret asked, hoping in her heart that this was the beginning of a turning point for her sister.

“It’s a poem I wrote about the war. I wrote it for Mr. Langley. I thought it might make him feel better. He gets very sad, you know.”

Margaret couldn’t help but notice how Elizabeth’s voice didn’t even sound like her own. There was simply too much happiness for this to be her sister talking.

“That’s very sweet of you, Elizabeth.” Margaret put her fists on the bed, bracing herself. “I’m also very proud of how you’ve been going to help Mr. Langley with his son. I’m sure it’s not easy caring for him without anyone to help him. He’s very lucky to have you.”

Elizabeth didn’t acknowledge what she’d said. “Would you like to read my poem? I think it’s really good.” Elizabeth talked over Margaret.

“I’m sure it is, and I’d love to read it, but first I’d like to talk to you.”

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and went back to writing.

Margaret took a deep breath as she approached the touchy subject. “Elizabeth…even though I’m proud of how you’ve helped Mr. Langley, I’m also worried about the way you’ve been acting lately.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She didn’t look at Margaret when she answered and continued writing. “I don’t think I’ve been acting any differently than I always have. I’m fine…actually, I feel better than ever.”

At this moment Elizabeth did seem fine.

“Yes, you do seem fine…now, but lately you’ve been so sharp with everyone, even Mama and Papa, and you run off to the Langleys’ without telling anyone where you’re going. It’s just not proper behavior for a young woman. When you went missing during the raid, I thought, well, to tell the truth, I thought it would be the end of Mama.”

“Well, you can believe me when I say I was perfectly safe with Mr. Langley. But I know. I haven’t been treating Mama and Papa with the respect they deserve.”

Margaret was finally getting through to her, so she continued on. “And it makes me sad that you seem so upset about my relationship with Thomas. Why can’t you be happy for us…especially after all I’ve been through since Jeffrey was killed?”

Elizabeth stopped writing and instead drew images on the side of her paper. “Ever since we first came here, I’ve prayed every day for a boy to come into my life. Someone I could love and who would love me in return. When Mama and Papa brought Thomas here, I knew my prayers had been answered.” She took her eyes off her paper and cast a dark look toward Margaret. “You see, God already gave you a chance at love and you lost it. It should have been my turn.”

Elizabeth’s words pierced through Margaret’s heart. But she set her feelings aside to bring solace to her sister. It had been, after all, the first time anyone had gotten her to talk about anything in months.

“Elizabeth.” Margaret smiled and tried to make light of the situation. “You’re far too young to be thinking about men and marriage.” She drew in a deep breath when she thought of a brilliant idea. “Oh, I know what we can do. Just wait until we return to New Orleans. We’ll get ourselves a couple fine gowns and go to a ball. Now doesn’t that sound like a marvelous idea? You’ll be able to meet young men…but of course, you’ll have to wait until you’re of the right age.”

Margaret’s words didn’t provide the results she’d hoped for. Elizabeth’s lighthearted expression when she came into the room was turning into what looked like pure misery. Her shoulders fell with her countenance. She pressed so hard with her pencil that it carved a hole through the pages of her journal.

Margaret didn’t know what to do. On one hand, her heart ached for her sister, but on the other hand, she almost felt afraid of her. What had she done to cause such a reaction from her?

Elizabeth glared. Desperation sounded in her voice. “Don’t you realize we’re never going back to New Orleans? Thanks to this stupid war, we’re never going to know any happiness ever again. We’re stuck here on this godforsaken peninsula for good.”

“Don’t talk like that, Elizabeth. I know we’ll return to New Orleans. But in the meantime, I’m trying to make things better for all of us while we’re here. I have some fun things planned for the rest of Advent. I want everything to be perfect for Thomas’s last few weeks with us. You know he’ll be leaving shortly after Christmas.”

“That’s just fine with me. The sooner he leaves the better. Everything has been terrible since he’s been here—especially you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Elizabeth still didn’t make eye contact with her. “You know exactly what I mean. The way you showed yourself off to Thomas when he first came here is nothing but shameless. And don’t think I don’t know what you let Thomas do to you when y’all are alone together. You both should be ashamed.”

Margaret shot up from the bed. Her blood boiled from within. “I have done no such thing. And how dare you talk about Thomas that way. He has never been anything but a perfect gentleman toward me. Now you need to apologize…right this instant.”

“The only one that’s going to apologize is you…when God punishes you. And if He doesn’t do it soon, then maybe I will do it for Him.”

Margaret was speechless. She watched her younger sister get up and leave the room, slamming the door behind her. It felt as if a stranger had just walked past. Margaret didn’t even know her own sister anymore. She went to the desk and peered at the undecipherable marks her sister had scrawled. She noticed the single piece of paper upon which Elizabeth had written her poem. Margaret picked up the poem.

North versus South, state against state,

The South wanted freedom, the North gave them hate.

Cries of indignation, a southern son dies in vain,

Death on both sides, blood flows as rain.

Margaret stopped reading and sank onto the chair, clutching her stomach. Bile rose in her throat. She took the poem, folded it, and tucked it into her apron. Elizabeth could not show this to Mr. Langley. If I’d lost my son…actually he’s lost both his sons to the war...Oh, my goodness. This might just send the poor man on to the Promised Land. She swiped away tears that threatened. There was no time for crying now. She had to figure out what to do with the poem and with Elizabeth. Should she tell Papa…Mama…Thomas? But her time with Thomas was drawing to an end and she didn’t want to ruin what little time they had left. She had about as much control over Elizabeth as she did over the mighty Gulf of Mexico. The thought that Elizabeth could end up like Cousin Emma scared her more than anything.