Love and War

rebs on Saturday or Sunday.'

Stanley had announced plans to drive out to view the spectacle. Undressing for bed, George and Constance discussed the possible risks of such an outing. She wanted to go and, counting on his consent, had ordered a lunch in a hamper from Gautier's. George marveled silently; in her short time in the city, his wife had learned any number of things, including the fact that one simply didn't do business with any other, less prestigious, caterer. 'All right,' he said. 'We'll go.'

That night, Billy wrote in his journal.

Today my nephew and namesake came over from the city. Securing the captain's permission, I took him to Fairfax Courthouse to watch the advance. It was a grand sight, with colors waving, bayonets sparkling drums throbbing. The volunteers displayed high spirits because a fight is now virtually certain. Some units, not engineers but designated so, have already drawn the fire of hidden batteries as they labor to clear the roads of trees felled by the rebels. Our company is to stay behind with the District forces, which disappoints me. Yet I also confess to a measure of relief. The battle may not be easy and sportive — though the volunteers behave as if they expect such. At M.R. this spring C. told me that prior to a fight, soldiers grow nervous and joke a lot. It's true; so much whooping and joshing I never heard as I did today. They sang too — one song 'J. Brown's Body' — and were so busy with the music and merriment they forgot all else. They do not keep in orderly ranks or follow instructions well. No wonder McDowell is mistrustful. Returning several miles to the encampment by shank's mare — we found no supply wagons bound this way — William and I passed Capt. F. 's tent and heard him praying in full voice: 'Behold the day of the Lord cometh. He shall destroy the sinners.' What is that? asked my startled namesake. To which I replied, 'I think it is Isaiah.' When I recovered from my mistake — he wanted to know the speaker's identity — he confounded me by asking whether God had turned away from our friends the Mains. I gave him the most honest answer possible, viz. — Yes, according to our side. But I explained that our enemy counted upon His favor with equal confidence. Young William is quick, like his father; I believe he understood the paradox. Capt. F. invited him to join our mess and treated him most cordially, complimenting him on intelligent questions. William stayed till watch fires shone across the countryside, then mounted his hired horse to go back to Washington, where, I am told, great excitement also prevails. As I write, I can still hear the army in the distance — wagons, cavalry, singing volunteers, and all. Though I have not seen the elephant and would be scared, I now wish I were going, too.

31

Brett missed Constance. The longing was sharpened because another woman had replaced her at Belvedere. A woman Brett strongly disliked.

A number of times in the days after Constance left, Brett tried to draw her sister-in-law into polite conversation. Each time Virgilia answered with monosyllables. She didn't act righteous or angry, as she had before the war, but she had found a new way to be rude.

Yet the younger woman felt a responsibility to be kind. Virgilia was not only a relative by marriage; she was a wounded creature. The night after George and Constance dined at Stanley's, Brett decided to approach her again.

She couldn't find her. She asked the house girls. One said, with evident distaste, 'I saw her go up in the tower with the newspaper, mum.'

Brett climbed the circular iron stair George had designed and manufactured at Hazard's. She opened the door from the book-lined third-floor study to the narrow balcony encircling the tower. Below were the lights of Lehigh Station, glowing in the summer dusk, the dark ribbon of the river, and the sun-etched mountains beyond. Smoke and a dirty red glare overlay the noisy immensity of Hazard's to the north. The factory work never stopped these days.

'Virgilia?'

'Oh. Good evening.'

She didn't turn. Strands of unpinned hair flew in the breeze; she might have been mistaken for Medusa in the failing light. Brett saw, tucked under her arm, a copy of the Lehigh Station Ledger, which had recently transferred its patriotism to the masthead and become the Ledger- Union.

'Is there any important news?'

'They say a battle will be fought in Virginia in a few days.'

'Perhaps it will bring a quick peace.'

'Perhaps.' She sounded indifferent.

'Are you coming to supper?'

'I don't think so.'

'Virgilia, do me the courtesy of looking at me.'

Slowly, Billy's sister complied; her eyes caught light from the sky, and Brett imagined she saw a flash of the old Virgilia — martyred, angry. Then the eyes grew dull. Brett forced a gentleness she didn't feel.

'I appreciate that you've undergone some terrible experiences —'

'I loved Grady,' Virgilia said. 'Everyone hates me because he was a colored man. But I loved him.'

'I can understand how lost you must feel without him.' It was a lie; it was beyond her to understand a white woman's love for a Negro.

Virgilia sank into self-pity. 'This is my own home, and no one wants me here.'

'You're wrong. Constance took you in. I'd like to help you, too. I know' — how difficult this was — 'we'll never be warm friends, but, even so, we needn't behave as if the other person doesn't exist. I would like to make you feel better —'

At last, the old Virgilia — scathing: 'How?'

'Well —' Desperate, Brett seized a straw. 'For one thing, we must do something about that dress. It doesn't become you. In fact, it's horrid.'

'Why bother? No man wants to look at me.'

'No one's trying to rush you to the altar or into the social whirl' — the light reply drew another hard stare — 'but you might feel better about yourself if you discarded that dress, took a long bath, and fixed your hair. Why don't you let me help you with your hair after supper?'

'Because it won't make any difference.'

How foolish to think she'd accept help, Brett said to herself. She's as stupidly ungrateful as —

The thought went unfinished as Brett studied the other woman. Virgilia's hair blew this way and that, and she had grown round-shouldered. Though she had lost weight, she still had a full bosom. But it sagged, like a crone's. Her eyes picked up light from the fading day again. Hurt. So hurt.

'Come — let's try.' Like a mother with her child, she grasped Virgilia's wrist. Feeling no resistance, she tugged gently.

'I don't care,' Virgilia said with a shrug. But she let the younger girl lead her inside and down the iron stair.

After supper, Brett sent two girls to pour kettles of hot water into a tub. When the girls realized the reason, they looked at her as if they suspected lunacy. But she pressed on, urging a limp and unresisting Virgilia upstairs.

She shut her in the bathroom. 'Throw out your clothes. Everything. I'll find something else for you to wear.'

She sat in the gloomy bedroom — Virgilia had closed all the drapes — and let five minutes pass. After ten, her irritation changed to alarm. Had the mad creature done away with herself?

She pressed her ear to the door. 'Virgilia?'