Leigh Ann's Civil War (7 page)

Our carriage!

And people getting out!

My people. Viola. And Cannice. And the dog Cicero. And the mayor. And Pa, with a gun.

She grabbed me and threw me face-down on the bed and raised the riding crop, but I rolled and jumped up and away from her. "Pa's here and he's got a gun," I told her, "and you know what he told you. That he'd kill you if you ever hit me again. And Pa's just crazy enough to do it."

"You lie," she growled. "You lie."

I ran out of the room, down the stairs, and through the hall. They were just bursting in the door. Amber was there to greet them.

"These are my people, Amber," I told her. "They've come to rescue me." And I threw myself into Viola's arms. "Oh, am I glad to see you all." Then I hugged Pa, who hugged me back. He did not have his rifle. Mayor Hanley must have made him leave it in the carriage. Cannice grabbed me in an embrace and called me her lamb. Cicero jumped up and licked my face.

Mayor Hanley held a paper in his hand. I curtsied to him.

"Where is she?" Pa boomed. "Where is the woman who kidnapped my daughter?" He started to advance toward Mother menacingly, but Mayor Hanley held out a restraining arm.

"Let me handle this, Hunter."

But Pa saw the riding crop in Mother's hand. "Did you hit her again?" he demanded. He looked at me. "Well, did she?"

For a minute they all looked at me. Even Cicero, who sat expectantly, waiting. I felt a darkness pass over us, like when there is an eclipse of the sun.
She was about to,
I could say. But then, sure as God made eight-foot alligators, Pa would head outside to fetch his rifle and, no matter what Mayor Hanley said, come back in and shoot Mother dead.

Then he'd be sent to jail, maybe hanged. I couldn't let that happen to Pa, to us. So I stood there and said, "No, she never hit me, Pa. She never even hinted at it."

Pa nodded and settled himself. I saw Viola and the others sigh in relief, saw Cicero wag his tail. Mayor Hanley officially presented Mother with the paper Teddy had left in his care, saying that Viola was in charge of me. "It's been notarized, Mrs. Conners," he told her. "I'm afraid you'll have to give the child up."

Mother was trembling. In the twisted disorder of her mind she was already planning something.

"He's never officially been named her guardian."

"But he's been responsible for her for how long now? Since before he went to college, Viola told me, which puts her at about three or four. And while away at college. Viola showed me letters from him, with directives from there. And when he wasn't around, Louis was responsible. And her father, until he took sick. You left the family, Mrs. Conners. Everybody knows that. You abandoned your child."

The air went out of Mother. She seemed to diminish in size.

"Come now, let's be on our way," the mayor said. "Get your things, child."

"Where did you get that horrible dress?" Viola asked. "Where is your other one?"

"Upstairs in my room."

We both looked at the mayor, who nodded his permission, and I took Viola upstairs, where she went white in the face as she looked about the room. She said not a thing. Just scooped up the dress and petticoats. I grabbed the pink sash and we went back downstairs. The others had gone out to the carriage. Only the mayor waited with Mother in the hallway.

"Goodbye, ma'am," the mayor bade her.

We said not a word to Mother, nor she to us, as we went out.

***

"Which puts her at about three or four," the mayor had told Mother.

I was four when it happened.

And I remember the why and the how of it like it was yesterday, only nobody, not even Teddy, knows I remember.

It stands out in my mind like a painting, like the one we have in the hall of the Dutch girl with the pearl earring by Vermeer.

Sometimes I think only Teddy and I know about it. But then sometimes I think that, as close as he is to Louis, he must have told him about it. They share everything.

What I know is that Teddy carries the burden around with him. Blames himself for the whole untidiness of it, the breakup of our parents' marriage. And that is why he is so moody sometimes, so strict with me and Viola.

He does not want us to turn out like Mother.

So there I was, four. And Teddy was sixteen. And Mother was still living at home and we were, on the surface at least, still one normal family living happily ever after. Then one day this man named Nicholas Waters comes along, this very rich man from Sweetwater Creek, thirty miles away, who owned the Sweetwater Factory, a textile mill much like ours.

Apparently Mr. Waters needed to meet with Pa about some mill business, so he stayed in Roswell at the home of a Mr. Angus Brumby, whom he knew and who was away at the time.

Somehow, Mother and Mr. Waters "had something going" as Teddy would say. And she made arrangements to meet with him at Angus Brumby's house.

This was, I learned later in life, not Mother's first act of unfaithfulness to Pa.

She had been "having something going" with various men ever since I was born.

This particular afternoon, Cannice had taken Viola to town. I was down sick with a fever and in the way of Mother's plans, so she solved the problem by taking me with her.

Teddy, who always suspected her of carrying on, now knew for certain she was. Unable to locate me about the house, he was told by Primus that she'd taken me off in the fancy carriage. So he rode to the house of Angus Brumby.

What I remember is sitting in the parlor of Mr. Brumby's house, propped up on the couch and covered with blankets, both shivering cold and hot at the same time, and playing with my doll.

I knew Mother had gone into the bedchamber with Mr. Waters to take a nap. Times when Pa came home afternoons, she often took naps with him and I was told not to disturb them. So I did not disturb her with Mr. Waters. Although I wanted, more than I wanted some taffy right then, a drink of cool water. But there was no one to get it for me.

Suddenly I heard the sound of a horse outside.
Oh good,
I thought,
Pa's come to get me. Now I can have my water. And maybe some taffy, too.

The front door crashed open and my brother Teddy, already a man at sixteen, came into the hall. He saw me on the couch in the parlor, looked around, and said, "Where's Ma?"

"She's taking a nap with Mr. Waters," I said. "I'm not to disturb them. And I haven't. I've been good, Teddy."

He looked at me and felt my face with his hand. "You're burning up," he said. He looked around and asked me which room. I pointed toward it. "Stay here," he said. "Don't move, no matter what. I'm coming right back to take you home."

Then he crashed right through the door of the room I'd pointed to and it made a powerful bad noise and my head hurt. I heard yelling and screaming from inside and knew Mother was giving him what-for because he'd woken them up.

Next thing I knew they were out in the hall, he and Mother, and she was in her wrapper. They were saying terrible things to each other.

"How dare you come here?" Mother was saying.

"How dare I not? You bring Leigh Ann? And leave her sitting there with a fever? What are you teaching the child?"

"She's
my
child!" Mother told him. "I'll do what I want with her."

"Not while I live and breathe," Teddy snapped back. "If it's not this Waters popinjay, it's somebody else. Any judge or lawyer would take her away from you."

"Oh, and who would tell them?" Mother challenged.

"Me," Teddy told her. "I would."

"And who would be responsible for her then? Your father? He's never around. He practically lives at the mill. Sometimes he doesn't even come home at night."

"I'll be responsible for her," Teddy vowed. "For her and Viola, too. 'S'matter of fact, I heard Pa say if you did this sort of thing again, he didn't want you home anymore, that you could just pack your things and get out."

"And how will he know?" Mother pushed.

"Because I'm going to tell him," Teddy said.

"You wouldn't," she challenged. "You haven't the mettle. And again I ask
who would be responsible for her?
And Viola? You?" And she laughed in his face.

Teddy was not laughing. "You've been neglecting both of them since Leigh Ann was born. If it weren't for Can-nice, God knows what would have happened to them.

"Last week when Cannice was down with a stomach ailment and Viola was at a party, Louis found Leigh Ann by the stream, muddy as hell. Never mind that she could have
drowned!
He brought her home, and because all the servants were busy he had to bathe and change her. You didn't know that, did you? Well, I'm telling you now. I'm telling Pa tonight what's going on here. And as sure as God made eight-foot alligators, Pa's going to put you out. If he doesn't end up shooting Waters and you first."

With that, Teddy came over, picked me up, and took me outside, where he sat me in front of him on his horse to take me home.

I don't remember the rest of it, but after that Mother
did
move out. Actually she'd been moving out little by little all along, coming home less and less, only for the sake of appearances. Like the time she came home for two days when Louis got drunk and she whipped him.

There were rules in the house, set down by Pa. When she came home, for one or two days, we did not have to obey her but we had to respect her.

But from that afternoon on there was a line drawn. Teddy was in charge. So was Louis. Pa said so. Viola and I had to listen to them.

***

"Which puts her at about three or four," the mayor had said.

Four, mayor. I distinctly remember it.

Teddy doesn't know I remember it. He doesn't know that I know he has dark moments when he blames himself for the breakup in our parents' marriage. When he wonders if he is being punished for it when he and Carol do not get on.

Times there are when I want to say something to him, when I want to tell him he did the right thing, not to blame himself. And the right thing is not always the easy thing.

How many times have you told me that, Teddy?

But I dare not say anything at all.

Things went on sadly at home after the boys left to go fighting. Everyone tried to fall into a routine to keep from thinking of them. I saw them at every turn in the house. Viola kept me busy, playing. She took me riding and swimming. We baked cookies for the boys and Johnnie. She took me to sewing bees and bandage-rolling get-togethers. Carol went home to stay with her parents. Every day Viola and I went into town for whatever newspapers we could get.

Our president, Jeff Davis, and Abraham Lincoln were both being pressured by public opinion, she told me. Which meant that the public wanted the armies to fight.

The Roswell Guards were camped in Centerville, Virginia, and we had not heard from Louis or Teddy because all letters were being intercepted.

And we soon learned that the
Baltimore American
was a Yankee paper and we couldn't believe a word it said.

I started having nightmares. I saw terrible scenes of men firing their guns, of bullets hitting soldiers between the eyes and blood spurting out, of heads being blown off, of horses rearing and screaming, fire exploding out of their mouths, of cannon roaring, of men flying through the air.

I screamed out. Viola came running. "Leigh Ann, Leigh Ann, you've got to stop this."

"Teddy's been hurt. Teddy's dead."

"He's not dead. We would have heard."

"Louis, then."

"Oh, sweetie." She used the endearment the boys called me. She held me until I stopped trembling. She stayed until I fell asleep. When I woke in the morning, I found her nestled beside me in the bed.

***

After a lot of fussing on the part of both armies, they finally clashed in Manassas on the twenty-first of July, a Sunday. Probably because it was the first battle of the war and they wanted to be reverent about the killing.

The North wanted to be festive, we found out later. Women came in droves, in carriages trimmed with ribbons, bearing picnic baskets, to watch. These were the Yankees my mother wanted me to be like?

On the Thursday morning before that Sunday, Pa, Viola, and I were at breakfast when we heard Cannice arguing with someone at the back door. Viola and I got up to see what was going on.

A negro woman of about sixty, wearing a faded dress, a neckerchief, and a bandanna around her head, was standing in the doorway. She was carrying a basket full of fresh vegetables. We watched, open-mouthed, as she slithered into the kitchen. Not even Cicero's barking discouraged her.

"What is this?" Viola demanded.

"She just worked her way in, Miss Viola," Cannice said.

"What do you want?" Viola asked.

"Ise gots some fine vegetables heah," the woman said, "the best in the county."

"We don't need any," Viola told her.

Jon, who had been in and out of the dining room, attending Pa, came in. "Do you need any help, Miss Viola?"

"No," she said sharply. She was getting impatient with Jon. It seemed he was always around, in her way, never giving her any peace. "I can handle this myself. Go back and see to Pa."

Jon bowed and left. I still didn't like him.

The woman held up some carrots. "You wanna jus' try these?"

Viola frowned. She was growing suspicious. "I said no!"

Then the woman did a funny thing. She winked at Viola and gestured with her head that they should go upstairs.
Upstairs?
I saw the question on Viola's face.

The woman nodded yes, then did another funny thing. She mimicked, with her moving lips, the reading of something. It was just our good fortune that Cannice had turned back to her work.

"Why, yes," Viola said, "perhaps it would be a good idea to let Pa take a look at the vegetables." And without further ado she led the woman into the hall and up the stairs and into her bedroom.

I followed. By now, of course, I expected that the whole world had gone mad. And I accepted anything.

In her bedroom Viola closed the door and said firmly, "This had better be for a good reason, or I'll have you thrown out of the house lickety-split."