Two Girls of Gettysburg (12 page)

“Mother,” I said, “Mr. Wilcox happened by this spot just moments ago on his way to an appointment. He wishes to call upon us tomorrow.”

I sensed John start. Indeed, my daring surprised me, too. Mother hesitated, knowing that to refuse in front of her companion would make her look rude. With forced calm, she named four o’clock as the time. John bowed and took his leave.

My triumph was short-lived, however, for once we were at home and Mrs. Sullivan had gone, Mother turned on me.

“I don’t want you to see that Wilcox boy, and you know it.”

“He is hardly a boy,” I said, indignant. “He is twenty-two. And I will be eighteen.”

“When he calls, I will say you are indisposed.”

“Please do not, Mother!” I resorted to pleading. “We have not seen each other in two years. We merely wish to have a conversation.”

Mother gave a harrumph.

“You still do not trust me,” I said, summoning hurt and a little defiance to my voice. “Well, then, take the matter to Father, and perhaps you two can send me away to Gettysburg again.”

My words were cruel, but they did silence her. She glared at me before turning her back to me.

In the wake of our argument, doubts surged again into my mind. I recalled how finely dressed John had been when I saw him. Was he on his way to meet a woman? Alas, who am I to be jealous? What if he does not come?

And where will I find something suitable to wear?

July 23, 1862

I put on my prettiest day dress, a sprigged calico, and fixed my hair without Mother’s assistance so she would not see how my hands trembled. John arrived precisely on the hour, bearing a bouquet, which he presented to Mother. I thought well of his manners, but she was like a nut, hard to crack. Then, under her watchful eye, John and I sat at opposite ends of the parlor settee, unable to say anything of significance to one another, though we longed to. Instead we talked about blockade runners (their audacity) and the weather (its unpredictability). Mother tartly proclaimed her dislike of both. She asked John, rather sharply, “Are you furthering your education then?” She might as well have said, “Why are you not in uniform like all the other
young men?” John admitted to being no scholar and sat tongue-tied after that. It was a most uncomfortable forty minutes.

When I ushered him to the door, he murmured in a low and hasty voice, “I have not been able to stop thinking about you. May I call again?”

My heart gave an excited lurch, and I whispered back, “Yes, but do not come here. I will meet you by the giant oak tree in the park tonight.”

His eyebrows shot up. I realized how accustomed I have grown to the social freedoms of Gettysburg. In Richmond, a well-bred girl does not venture out on the streets unescorted—especially at night, and especially in these dangerous times. In neither place should young ladies make secret assignations! Nonetheless, I named an hour, and he nodded and was gone. Mother did not suspect a thing.

I went to my room early, pleading a headache, and slipped out using the back stairs. The park was only a few blocks away, surrounded by black iron palings. The trees rustled their leaves like ladies do their silken skirts, and in the distance a nightingale called. Even before I reached the corner, John appeared and fell into step with me. The odor of his sandalwood cologne filled my nostrils.

“I couldn’t let you walk alone,” he said, taking my arm with assurance.

It was already a warm night, and his closeness made me flush until I had to open my fan and cool myself. I sought for some harmless topic of conversation and settled on that of his family. I knew that his father was involved in shipping enterprises and his mother was a society lady.

“The blockade has cost my father dearly. Otherwise my parents are well, though some dastardly sickness has been plaguing our darkies
lately.” He shook his head. “Such a lot of responsibility, like having a passel of children to look after.”

My eyes grew wide to hear John Wilcox speak of his family’s slaves. They own a dozen Negroes, most of whom are house servants or work on the docks. John even has his own valet and is very fond of him. I thought of Lizzie, who is similarly fond of Amos. But she would probably dislike the Wilcoxes because they keep slaves.

“Are your slaves happy, or do they clamor for freedom?” I asked.

“What a strange question,” he replied. “They are not mistreated and have no reason to be discontented. Now tell me, Rosanna,” he said, changing the subject, “why did you come back to Richmond? You should not be gallivanting around during wartime.”

I was afraid that he was scolding me, but I saw him smile. Since I had been in Gettysburg, he had grown a small, trim mustache, and his dark brown hair was longer, curling over his collar. Again I put off the desire to reach for it and decided to answer his question levelly.

“A boy I had been writing to was killed in battle last month. I wanted to go away for a while.”

We took several more steps before he said, “But you haven’t forgotten him?”

I listened for a hint of jealousy in his tone, but his voice stayed neutral.

“I didn’t forget you, not even after two years,” I replied, avoiding his question. I asked how he had been occupying himself, hoping to hear that he was no longer idle but engaged in some honorable activity.

“I’ve been at my usual pursuits,” he replied lightly. “Riding and hunting. Some gaming in the evenings.”

I tried to hide my disappointment at hearing that he still gambled.
But who is drawn to a person only for his virtues? Is it not worthier to love someone despite his imperfections?

As we strolled through the grounds, my hand on his arm, I told John about life in Gettysburg, my sister’s family, and my adventures with Lizzie. Then John and I came to a wooded grove within the park. We sat upon the trunk of a fallen oak tree. He was so near that his thigh pressed into my leg. I thought I should move away but did not want to, so remained touching him.

“Did you love … this soldier who died?” asked John.

The darkness made it easier to be truthful.

“I don’t think I did. Not like—” I took a breath and let it out in a rush. “Not like I loved you.” I was surprised to hear the tone of accusation in my words.

John spoke with difficulty. “I cannot forget that night, Rosanna. I have always regretted … my mistake in putting you in such a position. I wish you could forgive me.”

“I too was in the wrong. But I don’t wish to dwell on that night.”

“You have moved on, I see,” he said.

“And you?” I ventured to ask. “Have you kept company with anyone while I was away?” I held my breath, waiting for his reply.

“Yes,” he confessed. Jealousy twisted my insides. “But,” he went on, “your return has changed that.”

“Indeed. How?” I prompted, but he offered no explanation. His hand brushed my hair and lingered there.

“Rosanna, you are as beautiful as ever. May I kiss you?”

“Please, John,” I said, closing my eyes as I felt his breath on my face. The touch of his lips, familiar even after two years’ absence, made the tears spring to my eyes, and through my head ran the thought:
I am home, I am home, I am home.

Rosanna
Chapter 14

July 25, 1862

Carried on a current of passion, my life rushes headlong like water over slippery rocks. I can no more resist than the stream that flows in its fated course!

Last night John and I met again at the park. The darkness made me bold and I ventured to kiss him deeply. He responded in kind before pulling back. He let out a low whistle.

“You do tempt a man, Rosanna,” he said. “But we mustn’t take any risks this time.”

“We were younger then. Can’t we trust each other now?” I said, wishing for him to draw me close again.

“Yes, but your parents will never trust me again,” John said with a sigh.

I was silent. Father and Mother still did not know everything. I never could bring myself to tell them about the stolen money, the gambling debts. It was bad enough that they believed John had seduced their innocent daughter.

“What can I do to earn their regard?” he asked.

I feared the answer was “nothing.” But that would not do. I fumbled for more hopeful words.

“They expect a man to have … some ambition in life. They are quite patriotic, you know, as I am—as are we all—and they tend to look unfavorably on someone who is … not in uniform or doing something for the Southern cause.”

“I’m just too dashed lazy, I guess. A fellow even tried to talk me into helping the Confederacy by smuggling goods past the blockade, but it seemed like too much work. You see, it’s not money I want, it’s—” He broke off, rubbing his hands through his hair in seeming frustration.

“What is it you want?” I asked, my voice wavering between hope and fear.

But John shook his head. “It is late. I’ll see you home before your father realizes you’re gone and sets the law on me.”

We walked in silence to the corner where we had met. He held my face gently in his hands, and the light from a gas lamp illuminated his face, where a struggle was being played out. It was I who plunged forward, letting the current of emotion carry me.

“John, I am going to tell Father and Mother that I love you. They cannot forbid me to see you.”

“Not yet, Rosanna,” he replied with sudden intensity. “Let me call upon you tomorrow afternoon, and we will see if your parents turn me away.”

With that he kissed me hard, leaving my lips numb, then turned and left. Now I am apprehensive about tomorrow. If I do not sleep now I will look pallid and unwholesome when he comes.

July 26, 1862

Today at three o’clock John Wilcox came to our door, wearing a fine gray uniform, a saber at his side. Mother and Father were present as he announced that he had enlisted in the First Regiment of the
Virginia Infantry. We were all astonished. Even more so when John dropped to one knee and asked me to be his wife. Without a moment’s hesitation, I consented! Mother fluttered her hands in a gesture of helpless defeat, and I heard Father murmur to her, “The same regiment George Washington once commanded. That ought to make a man out of him.”

Resplendent is not too strong a word to describe John’s appearance in his uniform. Truly there is something about it that grants him the status of a gentleman, though his family is not of the “old Richmond stock” that my parents value so highly. That he is a soldier is enough to persuade them of his good intentions and preclude mention of his past behavior.

July 27, 1862

I still cannot believe the words I say to myself: I am to marry John Wilcox!

There is no time to prepare for a grand wedding. I will wear my best baize dress (which I had the foresight to bring with me), resewn with some of Mother’s lace, and the quaint bonnet that she wore when she wed Father. I do not think Margaret will regret missing the chance to create me a new gown. We shall be married in the drawing room, with only a few guests attending. It will be the 9th of August.

I must write to Lizzie. She must be happy for my good fortune, my newfound joy!

August 1, 1862

John’s days are busy with military drills and routines, as his regiment is sure to be called to the front soon. Already we seldom see each other, and I am plagued with sudden doubts as I realize that I barely know this man who is to be my husband. What will he expect of a
wife? Father has lectured me on obedience, and Mother speaks blushingly of vague “duties,” leaving me none the wiser, only apprehensive.

August 5, 1862

Today we went to a military review and watched soldiers march by with admirable precision, the sun glinting on their polished rifles. I swelled with pride to see John among them! We also glimpsed the president on his gray horse. Mr. Davis has a wide and noble brow, wavy hair, and a beard on the underside of his chin. “Richmond can never be taken!” was the defiant boast on every tongue, “Dixie,” the song on everyone’s lips. I felt my individual fears dissolve in the common stream of patriotic feeling. We are not alone in the struggle but borne along and upheld by the strength of others.

August 10, 1862

Yesterday I wed John Wilcox. I carried a jasmine bouquet whose fragrance filled the room. John looked splendid in his new uniform. He stood firm as a rock while I felt myself trembling with emotion. A few tears escaped me, but thankfully did not stain my dress. Luckily I did not stumble over my vows, though my heart stuck briefly at the minister’s words, “Wilt thou obey him and serve him?” But I said, “I will,” believing that John would never demand of me anything that I am unwilling to do.

Then we clasped hands and faced forward together as husband and wife. We are making a new start and have promised to each other not to dwell on what is past, but to live blameless in the future.