10. Pressed Flowers

1863 AUTUMN

10

In those first months, I walked on deerlike feet, afraid I might do or say something to warrant offense. In leaving the only homes Katie and I knew, I was like a ship lost at sea. Ignoring my reserve and Katie's shyness, they showed grace and kindness. No one asked why I wore mourning clothes or how Katie came to be my ward. I assumed Mrs. Mathis explained the circumstances. She asked few questions of me, mostly about John. Her silent observation when John and I started exchanging correspondence left a ghost of a smile at her lips.

Although we were surrounded by the Mathis family, I was an island. I could not help the guilt I felt in thrusting this burden upon Mrs. Mathis and her children. The longing and sorrow I felt for the loss of Robert, and then my home, left me homesick. I wrote John as much.

"Remain stalwart," he replied. "The woman I met in Pennsylvania was brave and determined. I know you can face this trial in the same vein. Do not worry about my mother and siblings. It sounds like they are taking this all in stride. Nora writes that you and Katie are a pleasant distraction from her own worries and believes you will be fast friends. Seth is grateful you have given our mother purpose, taking the attention off him for once."

His encouraging words bolstered my resolve, but I worried about the speculation cast upon Mrs. Mathis and John. With the help of Kay, the maid who greeted me upon my arrival, I dyed all my dresses black. Donning mourning would keep the judgment at bay, while neighbors acquainted themselves with Katie and I.

The Chisholm family, dear friends of the Mathises, were particularly welcoming. Clara, who was closest in age with Margaret, was a twin—her brother also fighting in the South. I was told her brother, Brett Chisholm, was a very handsome, young man, matching his sister's beauty and charm. According to Nora and Renny, Brett was a shameless flirt. They were regular callers and even came for supper on my birthday. When Renny discovered the date of my twenty-first birthday in early October, she insisted on hosting a party with cake.

"It brings a smile to my face to hear of Renny arranging your birthday party," John inscribed. "I have enclosed a gift for you. Wildflowers picked near our camp." Pressed flowers were folded among the pages. "The yellow one particularly reminded me of you." My heart soared at the sweet purple, white, and yellow flowers.

He did not talk of war in our letters, though I asked him how the troops fared. I had to stumble upon a letter he wrote to Seth to learn of the conditions and morale.

"If I never lived through another Virginian summer, I would die a happy man," he wrote. "Skirmishes prevail, but it's the swampy heat and mosquitoes that tear us down, not the Rebel bullets. For the first time in a long time, I crave the coolness of Vermont autumn. Five deserters were executed a week ago, four of whom were foreigners drafted to the Cause. They were discovered attempting to recross the Potomac. These occurrences seem to be increasing. Our troops are plagued with malcontent. Many of them are draftees and substitutes now. Very few volunteers remain. Our company has been despondent, solemn from the awfulness. Our officers issued an order of peace, forbidding noise and levity, in remembrance of these men.

"It's been days since I commenced this letter. Seth, I pray to God this war ends before you are of age. I tell you, brother, my heart is still pounding after the surprise we had. The sun rose brilliantly this November morn', and we finally had a break in the heat. Rations and ammunition were low, but we were content to wait patiently for supplies. If we had only known the rail lines and telegraph lines had been cut. I had stepped out onto a hill to survey the land, only to find the enemy en masse waiting in the valley. Without hesitation, I ran to give the orders, calling all stretcher-bearers and ambulances to the front, knowing we could not win this one. My men were the first ones struck. We ended up firing from a ditch, waiting till the enemy was upon us so as not to waste a shot. It was in this fight that I came face-to-face with a boy in Gray. He had to have been no more than fourteen. I thought of you, and it pains me to think it could have been you facing my barrel. So close have you been to the fate of this boy. I knew if you had been allowed to follow me, just as you had done that one night, you, too, would be lying on the ground."

After having read the letter, I knew I had to appeal to John to take a furlough. Just as he'd encouraged me in my absence from home, I attempted to urge him to come home. To visit his family and set aside the past. His reply surprised me.

"More than anything, I wish to gaze upon your beauty." My whole body flushed. "I spoke of this briefly with you in Gettysburg, but I do not believe I am welcome home. I have not been under my mother's roof since my father sent me away. I have not stepped foot in St. Albans since Robby was killed."

Killed? I had yet to hear what happened to Robby Chisholm, but I often heard the Chisholms reminisce about Robby and John's camaraderie. There was always a sour tone when Mr. and Mrs. Chisholm mentioned John. Mrs. Mathis seemed remiss to ignore cutting comments, often changing the subject. No one spoke of what had caused John to leave.

"I send you my fondest thoughts and prayers. This war may one day conclude, and when it does, I hope I may still find you safe, and dare I dream—waiting for me."

A thrill shot through me. Was he daring to dream of a life with me? So many emotions whirled in my mind. Elation at his sweet talk and our care for one another. But there was also an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear. Guilt that I was taking advantage of John and the Mathises' kindness, and that I was somehow betraying Robert's memory and the love we'd shared. And fear that if I opened my heart again, I would lose. I did not think my heart could handle another loss.