Sunday, April 14, morning
“The newspaper can wait this once,” Ma had said firmly. “With the world turning upside down, this is no time to be skipping church services. No discussion.” So instead of heading to the Herald office as early as I’d planned on Sunday morning, I was stuck going to church with Ma and Pa.
To be straight with you, they only knew I needed to get the extra edition out for its news value. They didn’t know I had only eight days left until Mr. Shuttersworth drove up in his wagon to collect his money—or my press. I didn’t want their pity, or their money. The Herald was my business. I had to manage it myself.
Yesterday’s Herald had sold forty-six extra copies, so that was ninety-two cents, and the business cards for Mr. Dana had brought in $2.60. My account book now read $46.40. But how would I get the remaining $18.60 in only eight days?
I hoped God wouldn’t mind if I snuck in an extra prayer for a small personal miracle. I figgered it wouldn’t hurt none, and I could use all the help I could get. April 22 was looming close.
Seemed like everyone in town was thinking like Ma and Pa. The Congregational Church was full to overflowing. Reverend Merrill had hung the largest flag he could find above the entrance, so we all walked beneath the Stars and Stripes as we filed inside.
No one questioned whether church and state should be separate on this April morning. Most folks in Wiscasset were churchgoers, and we were all patriotic citizens. What conflict could there be?
Clearly Reverend Merrill saw none, as he prayed for our soldiers and for those misguided souls in the Confederacy. He prayed for President Lincoln and Vice President Hamlin, and for the Cabinet, and for all the senators and representatives, and for Governor Washburn up in Augusta. He prayed for peace, and for the healing of our nation without bloodshed. We all sang “Am I a Soldier of the Cross?” as we left services.
I was itching to get down to my office, but no one else outside the church seemed in any hurry to rush off. Most Sundays folks chatted on the Green after services before leaving to fix Sunday dinner. Today a group of boys had found sticks and were racing about, pretending to shoot Confederate soldiers. About a dozen men headed directly from the church down toward the telegraph office. Had more news come in? I hoped Charlie’d checked. He hadn’t been in church. How long would Ma and Pa want me to stick close to them? We’d done our praying, and I was getting more edgy by the minute.
“Ma, can I go down to the Herald office now?” I finally asked.
“Go on home and change out of your good clothes first,” admonished Ma. “And put something in your stomach when you’re to home. I do wish you’d stay for a decent dinner one of these days. We’ve hardly seen you in the past week.”
“The boy’s getting out the news,” said Pa, winking at me. “He’s a man with a job. You get on, Joe. Your ma and I have some planning to do for the store. If this war lasts more than a few days, it’s going to make a difference in what folks are going to be looking to buy.”
“Bound to be shortages, too,” Ma said. “The first stores to get orders in will make out best. We have to decide how much of our savings we’ll gamble on what inventory,” she added. “We’ll see you when you finish up for the day.”
“Thanks!” I said, taking off toward home before they changed their minds. I was at the Herald’s office within fifteen minutes.
Owen and Charlie had beat me there.
“News?” I managed to get out as I raced up the stairs and through the door, breathing deeply. “Any news?”
“Where’ve you been?” said Charlie sharply. “It’s practically the middle of the afternoon. This is your newspaper, and I’ve had to set almost the whole first page myself. Did you think you could take Sunday off just because you felt like it?”
“My parents expected me to go to church with them. And it’s not the middle of the afternoon. It’s not even noon.”
“Well, la-di-da. I didn’t know you were so religious. I thought you were a newspaperman.” Charlie slammed a type tray down. “Godfrey mighty! I’ve been here since early this morning. Even Owen has been here since eight o’clock. Nice of you to take the time to stop in—or maybe you thought you were helping by praying for us?”
“What needs to be done?” I knew better than to argue when Charlie was angry. I was just glad they’d both been there working.
“I’ve started printing a one-pager with today’s news. Major Anderson surrendered, as expected. And there was one death at the fort. I had to rewrite the story twice as details changed, and then set the type by myself.”
“I thought no one had died in the fighting,” I said.
“No one did. But one of our gunners decided to give a last salute to the flag before the surrender. He was loading his gun when it exploded, and blew off his arm. He bled to death.”
“How awful.” I shook my head. “He died for no reason.” I started re-filing pieces of type that Charlie had discarded and left on the table.
“What do you mean, ‘no reason’? He died for his country,” snapped Charlie. “What better death can there be?”
“A death that accomplishes something. That makes a difference to those still living,” I said. “Not bleeding to death because your gun blows up.”
“He died a hero,” said Charlie, turning to me and standing a little too close for comfort.
Owen managed to squeeze between us. “Joe, while Charlie does the printing, would you help me hang the pages so they’ll dry fast?” He was holding the rope we usually strung across the room.
“Of course I’ll help, Owen.” I stepped backward, avoiding a confrontation. “We all want to get that page finished as soon as we can. You’ve both done a great job this morning. I can’t believe you worked so quickly.”
“President Lincoln should make an announcement soon,” said Charlie. “He’ll tell us what he’s going to do, and what he wants the country to do. After all, we’re at war. Everything’s going to be different from now on.” Charlie started to print copies. “This is probably the most important time of our lives.”
“That will mean a lot of special issues of the Herald, right?” said Owen. “We’ll make a lot more money.”
“We may,” I said.
I hadn’t yet told Owen about possibly losing the press; I’d hoped I would never have to.
“Special issues are just the beginning, Owen!” said Charlie. “There’s no telling how different our lives are going to be from now on.” He was grinning, working the press faster than I’d ever seen before. “Changes are coming, Owen. Just you wait and see! Nothing’s going to be the way it was before Fort Sumter fell.”
He made it sound as though war was the best thing that could have ever happened to us.