When Will This Cruel War Be Over? Page 2

  It was a beautiful morning. The ground was covered with dew and there wasn’t a sound to be heard above the horses’ hooves.

  Just when we were about to return home, Cousin Rachel’s comb fell out of her hair. When she jumped to the ground to retrieve it, Sultan jerked the bridle out of her hand and made for the house, happily riderless, his mane f lying in the wind. Cousin Rachel immediately took off after him, her now loosened hair also f lying behind her.

  I followed slowly behind, laughing at the scene unfolding before me. When we finally reached the house, the Negroes working in the field stopped to watch the spectacle. Sultan had been put back in his stall, from which he stared bale-fully at us, although I thought I could detect a twinkle in his eye.

  That night we regaled everyone with the story of Sultan and the lost hair comb which, I realized this morning, I had retrieved, but never given back to Cousin Rachel.

  It gives me some welcome relief to allow my mind to dwell on those pleasing memories of the past. Alas, there are, all too often, frequent reminders of sadder memories. The saddest are those of Brother Cole.

  Each morning I am reminded of the competition between Father and Brother Cole to see who would be the first to wake in the morning. Brother Cole played the game, I must say, with little success.

  Iris, too, took great delight in watching the two of them, as she would gleefully report to Mother and me on those rare occasions when Father would descend the stairs to find his son sitting in his customary seat at the breakfast table.

  Iris brought us near to tears trying to imitate Father’s shock, followed by his heartfelt laugh and Brother Cole’s beaming smile.

  Aunt Caroline and Cousin Rachel’s company has been the only thing that truly takes my mind from the trials of the past two years.

  I was gravely disappointed that they were unable to join us this Christmas, due to the situation in Richmond and the general fear of traveling that has caused so much consternation in the area.

  My diary has become my true friend

  Saturday, January 9, 1864

  My diary has become my true friend.

  Expressing my thoughts in writing, especially during these dark days that have descended on our sunny land, is a great comfort to me.

  Sunday, January 10, 1864

  Attended church today. Amos placed a warm brick and extra blankets in the carriage to keep Mother and me as comfortable as possible. It is snowing lightly.

  I washed my hair today.

  Monday, January 11, 1864

  I wonder if anyone will ever think me presentable — although I know this is a silly question to ask, especially at this time. I certainly hope I am not becoming vain, but it is useless to try and put these thoughts aside once they arise. I wonder if ugly people are able to find other ugly people and are actually attracted to them — although I am not so foolish as to think I am ugly. At times I feel quite pleased with myself, especially if I am wearing a pretty dress and my hair is done in a fashion I think is flattering.

  I wonder if pretty girls feel pretty all the time?

  I know that all of this sounds quite foolish but I feel it is better to write in my diary — where no one will ever see it — than speak to anyone about such foolishness.

  Wednesday, January 13, 1864

  I never realized how happy I was until this war besieged our land.

  The moon had never shone as brightly

  Monday, January 18, 1864

  I wonder if I will ever fall in love. He will have to be someone whom I feel is worthy. I must confess I do have an image in my heart. I do have a weakness for beauty. I care nothing of what others might think, but I do desire to gaze on a face I find pleasing. Should I be different? I am not sure I can be.

  Of course he must have other characteristics. He must be intelligent and possess a sense of honor. I could never marry anyone I did not respect. The most important thing is to be sure you love the one you marry with your whole heart.

  It is hard for me to believe that a year ago, at this time, Tally and I had not even met.

  I miss him more and more as the days go by.

  Last year, in July, when Aunt Caroline gave birth to Baby Elizabeth and we learned of Uncle Benjamin’s tragic death, Mother decided we should make the journey to Richmond, despite the dangers. The journey, although arduous, was without incident and we arrived exhausted, but happy to see our beloved relatives.

  Early the next morning Cousin Rachel had the carriages brought around and we spent most of the day in town. Richmond is so much larger than Gordonsville; I felt quite overwhelmed.

  That evening we chose our dresses — I wore the one with the wreath of roses and a white lily in my hair — for the reception that Aunt Caroline was giving in honor of Baby Elizabeth’s birth.

  One boy, whose name I cannot quite remember, which is no wonder, boldly introduced himself to me.

  Like most boys, he seemed to take great pride in misunderstanding everything I said, twisting it this way and that and politely pointing out precisely where my thinking was in error, although I honestly do not recall talking about anything that warranted such attention.

  There is nothing that troubles me more than people who go out of their way to criticize everything you say, holding each sentence under a magnifying glass and repeating it back to you in a completely unrecognizable fashion.

  Like most boys, he was more interested in debate than discussion, more concerned with the sound of his own words than what others were saying. He employed what I can only call a kind of false voice when he was about to orate on a particular subject.

  I do not know what it is about boys that causes them to think this behavior impresses girls but, frankly, it vexes me quite a bit.

  I endured it for as long as I could — it seemed as if we had been chatting for an eternity — finally excusing myself by telling him that I had to attend to a private matter, which, I could see, put him in quite a state.

  I slowly ferried my way through the gathering, which had, by now, grown quite sizable. I badly needed some air, and I hoped the portico would provide some. Before I arrived at my destination Aunt Caroline beckoned to me. She introduced me to a handsome young man named Taliaferro Mills.

  He was, as I said, quite handsome, but even more compelling was the sense I felt that Tally — as he requested I call him — was different from other boys.

  We immediately and effortlessly engaged in a discussion about a variety of subjects: books, education, religion, politics, slavery, and the war. One thing I liked about Tally right off is that he was not ashamed, as are most boys, to admit how much he enjoyed reading.

  Tally appeared eager to hear my opinions, which I considered quite flattering. It is not that I consider myself brilliant, but I know that my views are just as profound as the ones boys put forth as if they are in private possession of the wisdom of the ages.

  More than anyone else I ever met, Tally seemed to challenge me with his seriousness. At first I found this quite disarming, causing me to blush, I fear. I also found it, however, quite refreshing.

  He also has a way of looking sad, which made me care for him even more.

  He asked if I would like some night air and perhaps a glass of punch, and I readily agreed to both. We made our way to the portico, which was lit by a full moon. It seemed to me that night that the moon had never shone as brightly.

  Later that evening, when we finally bid everyone good night, Cousin Rachel and I retired to her room. She sleeps in a beautiful four-poster bed and still keeps the steps beside it that she used as a little girl to get in and out.

  I learned from her that Tally’s parents were tragically killed two years ago in a fire while he was away at school. They have joined the ranks of the blessed. Perhaps this accounts for his serious manner.

  She chided me for flirting with him, pointing out that I hardly spent a minute with anyone else during the entire evening.

  I replied that I simply preferred, having found someone to my
liking, to spend time with him, rather than have one silly conversation after another.

  Cousin Rachel said that she herself preferred having one silly conversation after another — which caused us both to laugh uproariously until we embraced, tears of mirth running down our cheeks, both of us, I fear, feeling the effects of the wonderful punch.

  During the long journey home all I could talk about was Tally. Mother, as she often does, warned me not to judge people at first sight. I must confess that she is right; I do tend to do that, but I trust my instincts and I do not think that will ever change.

  Looking back now on meeting Tally, I can see that he was disturbed by the war and concerned about doing what was honorable.

  At the time I did not understand all that was happening to us and I am not certain that I do now. Perhaps I could have convinced him that he need not have gone off to fight. I am not sure, however, that that would have been the proper thing to do.

  The next week he left Richmond to join General Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, which I learned about later when he wrote me this letter:

  Dear Emma,

  I felt it my duty to personally acknowledge my debt of gratitude toward you for helping me make what, for me, was a grave and difficult decision.

  Your frank comments on the subject of this war, which is surely a plague on our land, helped me formulate my own often complicated views of my responsibilities as a citizen of the South.

  By the time you receive this letter I will have joined my Confederate comrades, who are fighting to remove the Yankee invaders from our land.

  May I humbly and earnestly request that I might be allowed to write you from time to time, if my letters can find their way, and that perhaps you might do me the honor of a reply, if time permits. My warmest regard to your father and mother.

  Sincerely,

  Taliaferro Mills

  Lord knows when he will return — when all our gallant boys will return.

  She has called upon me to take her place

  Friday, January 22, 1864

  Mother is not feeling well due to a fever, and she remains in bed. I pray the Lord will provide.

  Iris helps me tend to her throughout the day — she is quite devoted. I sat up with Iris for the past two nights while Mother slept peacefully. Iris urged me to go to bed and get some rest, but I am more comfortable being with her and Mother and I think I do doze from time to time on the sofa.

  Mother’s night table is now cluttered with bottles of medicine and various liquids, including quinine, which Doctor Harris says will help reduce her fever.

  Sunday, January 24, 1864

  This morning Mother was well enough to sit up in the large chair in the corner of the room by the big bay window.

  I brushed her hair, as I know she likes to look presentable.

  She was quite grateful.

  Mother has asked me to see to it that the weekly classes with the Negro children continue as before her illness. Mother has always seen to the education of her little scholars. I know she feels badly that she is unable to leave her bed chamber and is quite distressed that she cannot carry on her duties as before, but Doctor Harris insists she rest.

  I am proud that she has called upon me to take her place.

  I tried my best with them but, I must say, it is a trial. They are more interested in playing than hearing stories from the Bible and it is quite tedious reading to them while they fidget about.

  Iris helps as we begin class at ten each Wednesday morning, although few of the children arrive on time. Iris’s darling daughter, Dinah, is a shining exception, arriving promptly and eager to begin.

  I have resolved to do my utmost to ease Mother’s mind while she recuperates.

  I pray each night that Mother’s fever will be gone.

  Monday, February 1, 1864

  I have been unable to write for the past week. Mother’s illness has caused me to sink into a melancholy state. Doctor Harris says she needs time to regain her health and that nothing will help more than rest and quiet. He reassures us that merciful are the ways of the Lord.

  Wednesday, February 3, 1864

  Aunt Caroline, Cousin Rachel, and Baby Elizabeth have come from Richmond to stay with us. We had to put up the crib for the baby, who stays in Father’s room.

  Aunt Caroline says they have come because of the state of affairs in Richmond, but I think they have come because of Mother’s condition. I keep these thoughts to myself, however, not even mentioning them to Cousin Rachel.

  Baby Elizabeth seems to be the only one who is truly happy these days. I gave her a warm bath this morning, which she seemed to enjoy immensely. Afterward she played with the doll I made her for Christmas, but never sent. Tending to the baby helped take my mind briefly from my concern for Mother.

  Saturday, February 6, 1864

  I feel so very helpless. Thank the Lord for Aunt Caroline and Cousin Rachel. I do not know what I would have done without them. Their presence is such a comfort.

  When will this cruel war be over?

  Sunday, February 7, 1864

  I am finding it difficult to obtain ink. We no longer have any coffee or salt, and Aunt Caroline says that everything is high priced these days.

  Tuesday, February 9, 1864

  We hear that more Negroes have gone off to join the Yankees. God bless our Negroes, who remain loyal.

  When will this cruel war be over?

  Sunday, February 14, 1864

  Cousin Rachel is quite disturbed that she has not received any Valentine’s Day cards. She said that previously she received over a dozen — which was more than anyone in her school.

  Monday, February 15, 1864

  Mother has improved somewhat — which is a great relief to me — although she has lost weight and still looks quite tired. She is so weak she cannot hold a book in her hands. It is quite distressing to see her in this state. I know how much Mother dislikes being ill and unable to perform her duties. It would be a great comfort to her if Father were here.

  I am reading to her each morning and she naps in the early afternoon.

  Tuesday, February 16, 1864

  There are many reports of smallpox in the area.

  Friday, February 19, 1864

  Mother is feeling better today. How merciful are the ways of the Lord. She says she enjoys my reading aloud to her so much that it is the first thing she thinks of when she awakes each morning.

  We are reading Wuthering Heights, which Mother listens to with rapt attention, sometimes requesting I reread a particular passage. This morning she asked to hear Catherine’s speech to Isabella concerning her infatuation with Heathcliff.

  As I have said, I find Heathcliff a loathsome creature and fail to understand what attraction he holds for these two women.

  Saturday, February 20, 1864

  Aunt Caroline has been a dear help to Mother in managing the servants.

  The household continues as before, thanks to her efforts. Mother, thank the Lord, has been well enough to spend some time in the morning with Dolphy, going over the clothes that need mending so badly. It is impossible to get new ones and we are fortunate that Dolphy is such a wonderful seamstress.

  Iris sees to it that all the rooms are in order, everything dusted and swept and the beds made, although we are, of course, expecting no one. Father would have wanted it that way, she says.

  I asked Cousin Rachel if she wanted to pull the breast bone of the guinea hen we had for dinner so we could see who would marry first. She said she would prefer not, as she thought it a silly thing to do and that she considered marriage just as silly.

  I must confess, I was startled by this. Cousin Rachel is rather high bred and seems to be putting on airs quite a bit of the time. Perhaps it is because she is older than me — although only by three years.

  Sunday, February 21, 1864

  The baby is cutting a tooth and Aunt Caroline is awake most of the night tending to her. I help when I can.

  Monday, February 22,
1864

  Colonel James has been killed, although there was no notice of it in the papers. Mrs. James’s oldest son was killed the first year of the war and now she is a widow with three young children to care for.

  Tuesday, February 23, 1864

  Mother remained in bed all day.

  Saturday, February 27, 1864

  Aunt Caroline has had great difficulty all week due to problems with her teeth. Six had to be extracted and the long and painful operation, without the benefit of gas, has left her with a grave shock to her system. This coupled with her exhaustion due to the baby has caused Aunt Caroline to look wan and tired.

  I simply want Tally to return safely

  Thursday, March 3, 1864

  O glorious day — a letter from Tally. The letter was dated Christmas Day, and he seemed disconsolate.

  He says the weather is quite cold and when the rain and sleet fall icicles hang from their hats and clothes. Many of the men are badly frostbitten, and some have froze to death along the roadside. He has seen enough of the glory of war, and he marvels at the ability of those around him to get used to the deprivations they are forced to endure.

  I hope it is not childish to think of my own feelings when the war is being waged about such grave issues — but I cannot help that I simply want Tally to return safely.

  He reports that they have been expecting an engagement for the past two weeks but that, thus far, it has not come — which is just as well with him. They are in winter quarters and the men are quite restive. One soldier on lookout duty was found asleep at his post. He was, Tally says, brought up before a court-martial but his life was spared.

  Everyone believes the Yankees are just in front of them and the battle is looming. He says that the fighting has resulted in great slaughter on both sides and that he has lost many friends. He has seen quite enough of a soldier’s life. The Yankee artillery is so fearsome — felling every upright thing — that one of his comrades was killed by a shattered tree limb.