Chapter 14
Lovell, Massachusetts
March—August 1861
The secession of South Carolina from the Union was the first event in an ominous chain reaction. In swift order, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, and Louisiana seceded after New Year’s Day. Texas held out until February before declaring their independence from the Union. Much like the rest of the country, Lovell was in a state of shock and disbelief about what had happened. “What does it mean?” the women would each other when they met at the market, or gathered outside of church when the service was over. They were filled with fear for their husbands, sweethearts, and sons who seemed to be spoiling to join the fight, and anxiety over what this meant for their families. The men were more decisive. “We will be at war before the year’s end,” declared many a man attending the exchange or conducting business. Their bravado masked the fear that they felt as well when considering what might result from this catastrophic rift between states.
What will Virginia do? This was the thought foremost on Margaret’s mind. She had not been surprised at South Carolina’s departure from the Union; they had been fomenting war for months. Henry and Maxwell had spoken of little else while visiting over Christmas, and had shown an almost giddy glee at the thought of a Southern confederacy of states. The night of the announcement at the Thornton Christmas Ball, their predominant reaction had been one of righteous gladness. While others looked glum or uncertain, Henry and Maxwell had clasped each other’s hands in celebration. Later that night, while Mr. and Mrs. Hale had held hands before the fire in the parlor, and Aunt Shaw had sat with her vinaigrette beneath her nose, attended to by a sober Edith, the two brothers had expressed great satisfaction at the situation. “At last,” Maxwell had gloated, “we will be free from the oppression of the Northern states!”
Mr. Hale had gazed at his rash young guest in disbelief. “To do what?”
Maxwell had blinked. “Well, to set up our own republic, of course!”
To everyone’s astonishment, Mr. Hale had surged to his feet. “You young fool! There will be no separate republic! Don’t you understand that this means war—war between the Northern states and those who have seceded?” When Maxwell stared at him in blank amazement, Mr. Hale shook his head in sorrow and reached down to help his wife to her feet. Without speaking, they exited the room, leaving those behind to ponder what would face them in the months ahead.
As Mr. Hale predicted, when April arrived, the country was at war. Upon being sworn into office, Lincoln directed his inaugural speech to the South, striving to appeal to the better nature of Northerners and Southerners alike. He earnestly claimed, "We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies...The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."
Once in office, the newly elected president tried to limit the expansion of the Confederacy by reassuring the Border States and mid-south that slavery would be confined. His actions infuriated the Secessionist states, thwarting their vision of enlarging the Confederacy beyond the Deep South. After the Confederate attack on Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861, Lincoln called up the states’ militias to muster under his command and re-occupy U.S. forts. With President Lincoln's call for troops on April 15, war appeared inevitable. In rapid order, four more states seceded, including Virginia. Margaret despaired when she heard that her beloved state was leaving the Union it had fought so fiercely to create. What would Washington or Jefferson say? What would they do? Could anyone have prevented this sad situation?
War was the only topic on anyone’s lips. Militia units were forming, and young men were joining up from all areas of town. A number of the older siblings of Margaret’s students enlisted; their younger brothers exclaimed with envy, hoping for the day when they, too, could don a uniform and shoulder a rifle. Margaret shuddered at the thought of a conflict lasting long enough to sweep these young men away to a battlefield, and prayed for a swift resolution to this rift.
As the days wore on, her hopes eroded. On July 21, the First Battle of Bull Run, also known as the First Manassas by Confederate forces (starting a long tradition of different names for battles in this conflict, both sides incapable of reaching accord on something as innocuous as the name of a battle) was fought near the city of Manassas, Virginia. The first major land battle of the war
occurred just months after the bombing of Fort Sumter. Northerners clamored for the Union troops to march against the Confederate capital in Richmond, Virginia, believing that a quick and decisive victory might easily end the war.
Little did the Northerners understand the implacable position of the South, or the strength and cunning possessed by the officers who had left the U.S. military to serve the Confederacy. At the war’s onset, the South had claimed the allegiance of brilliant military men such as Lee, Jackson, Longstreet, Magruder, and Armistead. Yet, the North persisted in believing that the South could be quickly defeated, that this was a sham of a war which their Southern brethren did not take seriously. Yielding to this mindset, Brigadier General Irvin McDowell led a green army across Bull Run creek straight into the line of sight of Confederate Brigadier General P.G.T. Beauregard. Initially at a disadvantage, Confederate forces, bolstered by reinforcements from Shenandoah Valley, turned the tide of the battle. A brigade of Virginians under the command of Jackson stood unflinchingly against the Union army, earning their leader the nickname of “Stonewall.” As Union troops fell back in disarray, the retreat turned into a rout. The battle stood as a sobering call to both sides, however, as the experienced officers realized that this war would last much longer than anticipated, and take a much higher toll than expected.
~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~
On a rainy summer evening, Margaret sat in the kitchen shelling beans. It had been a sultry day of high thunderclouds with occasional rumblings and slashes of lightening. The air was filled with electrical energy, and she felt a restless uneasiness settle over the house. Her mother had fallen ill that day, an occurrence which was becoming more common as the heated, anxious days passed by. Her father was secreted in his library, pouring over some tome selected to force his mind from worries about money and his wife’s health. With the advent of the war, his school had closed as most of his students had either joined the army or were needed at home to fill in for fathers and brothers who had been swept into the Union Army. Mr. Hale spent his days tutoring those students who were too young to enlist, and doing translations of works in anticipation of future classes. Margaret feared that many of his students would not make it home alive to participate in such classes, but knew enough to keep her morbid thoughts to herself. As a result of the closing, his salary had been reduced to a mere stipend.
His lessons with Mr. Thornton had dwindled to one or two hours every other month, since work had picked up at the factory. Although Mr. Thornton was scrupulous in his attempts to avoid Margaret, she had overheard him say on several occasions that the factory had any number of orders to fill before they might be forced to shut down operations as workers were recruited to make munitions. Already a sizeable part of his workforce was women, and as more men were recruited into the Army, he expected that number to grow. Jessy and Tansy had both sought work at the mill, and had been hired. They now shared a small house with their father, pooling their wages to pay their room and board. Margaret missed their company as well as their assistance at the house, and had assumed a greater share of the household chores, given Dixon was preoccupied with the care of Mrs. Hale.
A quiet knock was heard on the kitchen door that led out to the small back yard and garden. Margaret glanced up in wonder—who could this be? And what caller would announce his or her presence at their servant’s entrance? With mounting foreboding, Margaret set aside the colander of beans and wiped her hands on her apron. She moved cautiously to the door and opened it a mere crack.
“Who is it?” she demanded in a low tone.
“Is this the Hale residence?” a man whispered.
“Yes, it is.” She tried to peer into the deep shadows beyond the halo of light thrown from the open door.
“Margaret,” the cloaked figure hissed. “Don’t you know me?”
Margaret squinted into the darkness. Could it be possible—no, it couldn’t. He would not be that foolish. “Frederick?” She whispered the name in a thin thread of a voice, and was rewarded with a crushing embrace.
“Oh, Margaret,” her brother gasped when at last they pulled apart, “you have no idea what I have been through. I thought I should never see you or Mother or Father again.”
Grasping him by the wrist, Margaret tugged him into the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know the Army is looking for you? If they should find you here, you will be sent to penitentiary.”
Her brother looked stricken. “You know?” He hunched his shoulders defensively.
“Of course we know. The Army has been here twice, once with the news of your desertion, and again to ask if we had received any correspondence from you.”
“Oh, the Army,” Frederick said with scorn. “If you knew all that I have had to endure because of the Army—”
“Frederick, you are a wanted man! Surely you cannot be unaware of the gravity of your situation!”
“I am reminded of it some hundred times a day, Margaret! I have travelled in rail cars and hitched rides on farmer’s carts, enduring every sort of discomfort and indignity, to remain hidden from the Army. I am sore and hungry and filthy, and do not want to have a lecture read over me.”
Margaret softened immediately. He may be a deserter, but he was her only brother, and she felt love and compassion well up within her. “Come, sit here and I will prepare something. You can eat while I break the news to Mother and Father.” Moving efficiently about the kitchen and storeroom, she carved several slices of homemade brown bread and lopped off a large hunk of cheddar cheese which she placed on a plate before him, along with a crock of creamy butter and the remains of a pewter pitcher of ale.
She left him wolfing down his repast and moved toward the staircase, taking slow steps as she tried to imagine the best way to tell her parents that their lost, lamented son had come home. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she wrapped her hand about the newel post and sent up a brief prayer for the words to relate the news, but none came. She struggled against tears, uncertain how to proceed when she heard a noise above her and, glancing up, saw Dixon on the landing above her.
“Miss Margaret, what is it?” Dixon asked sharply, seeing the tears on her young mistress’ cheeks.
“Dixon, it’s...Frederick.”
Dixon clutched her breast in fear. “He’s not been taken, surely!”
“No, no! He’s in the kitchen—he has come home.”
A glow of joy passed over the servant’s face. “My boy—home? And me not there to feed him? He must be starved.” She moved to pass Margaret and descend the stairs, but Margaret placed a restraining hand upon her arm.
“He is eating now. Dixon, you must prepare Mamma. The news must be broken gently to her. He cannot show himself to her unannounced—the shock might make her even more ill than she is.”
Dixon halted. “You’re right, miss. I’ll let her know, and then you bring him to her bedside.” She turned reluctantly toward her mistress’ room. “Who will tell master?”
Margaret smiled wanly. “Leave that to me.”
~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~
The reunion was all that Margaret had feared. Mrs. Hale burst into noisy gusts of tears upon Frederick’s entrance to her room, working herself into a state of extreme illness. While she was overjoyed to see her favorite child, she was terrified of him being seized by the military. Dixon administered a dose of laudanum to calm her mistress, and Frederick and Mr. Hale retired to the parlor, where Margaret had closed the curtains against any potential prying eyes. Father and son sat silently in each other’s presence, uncertain what to say. After much throat clearing, Mr. Hale spoke. “Frederick, why have you come to Lovell? I know you have missed your family, but the danger is so dire.”
“I know, Father, but I have longed to see you and Mother—and Margaret. I am sorry to have brought such troubles to your doorstep, but I could not stay one moment longer in the Army. I will not fight against my friends and family in the south.”
Sitting quietly in a corner of the parlor, darning her father’s socks, Margaret looked at her brother in surprise. In his letter, he had professed eagerness to serve the Army in the coming conflict. What had happened to change his mind?
“I understand. Are you planning to enlist in the Confederate Army?”
Frederick shook his head. “No, I am done with being a soldier. I wanted to see you once more before I return to Mexico.” He hesitated before continuing. “I have met a woman, Father—her name is Dolores.” He started up eagerly to pace about the room. “Oh, if you and Mother could meet her, I know you would love her as I do.”
Mr. Hale stared. “Will you marry this woman?”
His son nodded eagerly. “I have asked her and she has accepted. Her family has a ranch and raises cattle. Her father and two brothers have asked me to join the family business—” He hesitated before moving swiftly to kneel before Mr. Hale. “But I must have money to buy into the business, to show her father and brothers that I am a serious partner.”
Margaret’s busy hands faltered. Though she did not doubt her brother wanted to see his family, he has arrived at the true purpose for his hasty visit: he was in need of money—and a great deal of it, if she were to hazard a guess. As if reading her mind, her father spoke. “A serious partner must have serious money, I suppose. How much did you have in mind, Frederick?”
Frederick named a sum that caused his father to stare in disbelief. But he remained silent; he knew his wife would move heaven and earth to give her boy whatever he needed to be safe and secure, if he could not be with them. “I will see what can be done,” Mr. Hale replied at last, rising from his seat and passing a weary hand across his face. “In the meantime, we should rest. We will speak of this again tomorrow.” He took his son tenderly in his embrace. “Good night, my boy.” He slipped from the room, his daughter forgotten.
She arose from her chair, and crossed the room to take her brother by the hand. “Let me show you to your room,” she said quietly.
On the morrow, Mrs. Hale had recovered her strength and insisted on descending to the parlor. Buoyed by the presence of her son, she requested that he sit next to her and tell her of all that had passed since they had last met. As he related his troubles in the Army and his travels to Mexico, she gazed lovingly at him, occasionally passing a tender hand over his hair or caressing his cheek. When he told her of his need for funds, she was insistent that money would be put at his disposal. But where would the money come from? Her inheritance from her father stipulated that only a portion of the money be available each year, so that source was useless for their purposes. “Richard, we must sell the house in Virginia and use that money to help Frederick,” she insisted to her husband when he entered the parlor later that afternoon. Margaret, sitting quietly in the corner once more, stifled a cry of protest. Sell their home?
Mr. Hale sighed. “It will take months to achieve such a sale, Maria. And who knows who will buy the house with the war underway? Things are so uncertain, and money will be difficult to come by in the South—so much is being used to fund the war.”
“Then, what are we to do?”
He sighed again, a leaden weight falling upon him. “I have had an idea.” He cast an imploring glance in the direction of his daughter. “We could use Margaret’s dowry, and repay it as we are able. I do not like to suggest it, but it is the only source of ready money we have at our disposal.” He appealed to Margaret, his face shining with earnestness. “We can replace the funds over the next several years with money from your mother’s inheritance.”
Margaret sighed with relief. She would much rather sacrifice her dowry than her childhood home. She supposed she had always thought she would return to Virginia one day and take up residence in the lovely old house once more, with its light, airy rooms and beautiful garden.
“I do not like to take money that is yours.” Mr. Hale glanced at his daughter, deeply troubled by what they were about to do. Margaret never asked for anything, but the money was hers. He felt as if he were robbing their daughter. It did not feel right.
“I know, Richard, but Margaret would surely want us to do this for Frederick.” Mrs. Hale spoke with certainty. “We must be assured of his safety and security. There is no other way.”
Margaret rose and moved to stand beside her parents. “It is the only way, and I do not mind, Papa.” The unthinking use of her childhood name for her father did not go unnoticed by Mr. Hale, who enfolded his daughter tenderly in his arms and kissed her brow.
“You are a good girl, Margaret.” Her mother looked up at her in approval.
A wistful smile crossed Margaret’s face. “Besides, I may never marry, so the dowry may all be for naught.”
“Of course you will marry!” Her mother was shocked at such a statement. “The right man has not yet come along, but he will! If not for the war, I am certain someone would have claimed your hand at Christmas.” Mrs. Hale smiled mysteriously, and Margaret knew she referred to Henry, but Henry had no part in her thoughts. Instead, she reflected that the right man might have already asked for her hand, and she had turned him away.
Mr. Hale made preparations that afternoon to have a bank draught drawn from the monies set aside for Margaret’s dowry. However, it would take several days for the bank to pull the funds together and arrange for the money to be available. In the meantime, Fred’s train ticket must be procured, and provisions for his travel purchased. Glancing from her father to her mother over the dinner table, Margaret suggested that she might sell some of hers and her mother’s jewelry for some ready cash. At the alarmed look upon her mother’s face, she hastened to clarify her suggestion. “No, not our heirlooms or what is truly irreplaceable. But I have an ivory brooch, a pearl necklace, and several gold bracelets that Aunt gave me while I was in Charleston that I never wear. And I know you have items in your jewelry box that you have never worn, Mother—and would in all probability never miss.”
Her mother thought for a moment, then glanced at her son’s hopeful face. Calling out for Dixon, Mrs. Hale requested that her jewelry box be brought down to the parlor immediately. She intended to sift through its contents after dinner. This exercise consumed several hours, up until bed time, as Mrs. Hale and Dixon reminisced over every piece lifted from the velvet depths of the cask. “Remember the ball where you wore these diamond drops, Missus? You were a sight that night.” Dixon placed the drops back in the box, adamant that they must be kept. In the end, however, a small heap of jewelry considered inconsequential in either quality or sentimentality was placed aside for Margaret to take to the jeweler on the morrow.
The following day, Margaret wore a nondescript gown and a bonnet with a veil in the hopes of conducting her errand in as much anonymity as she could. She reached the jewelers’ without meeting a single acquaintance, and was ushered into a back room, where she revealed her purpose and swore the clerk to secrecy. The clerk summoned the shop owner, Mr. Dandridge, whose son had attended Mr. Hale’s day school. Mr. Dandridge thought highly of Mr. Hale, and was happy to help his daughter, especially when he saw the quality of the jewelry being offered. He quickly examined the necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings, and offered Margaret a sum higher than she had expected. She accepted with alacrity, and he left the back room, returning moments later with an envelope of bills.
Margaret tucked the envelope into her reticule, and offered her hand to Mr. Dandridge. He escorted her to the door, but before she could depart, she caught a glimpse of a young woman moving swiftly away from just outside the back room. It was Fanny Thornton. Margaret’s alarm at her proximity was heightened by the expression of excitement on Fanny’s face. The girl smiled slyly and nodded at Margaret before departing the store. How much had she heard? Margaret had not divulged the reason for her visit, but still feared that news of her selling her jewelry might look suspicious to anyone, especially Captain Grenville who continued to visit Lovell periodically in the hopes of finding Frederick. Perhaps Fanny would not say anything—and perhaps the clocks would chime thirteen bells instead of twelve.
The money from the jewelry was used for Fred’s train ticket, as well as items to see him through his travels—a new portmanteau, and some clothes which Mr. Hale purchased as his own, seeing that he and his son were a similar build and size. It was decided that the sooner he could leave, the better for his safety and their peace of mind. Dixon hurried home one afternoon with the alarming news that Captain Grenville had been spotted in town, speaking to various merchants and asking if a young man matching Fred’s description had been seen thereabouts. Margaret gave a swift prayer of thanks that she had insisted her brother not set foot outside the house, despite his objections to being cooped up inside day and night.
Since Frederick had arrived, visitors had been turned away from their door on the pretense of Mrs. Hale’s illness, but they could not continue to shun company without raising suspicions. Margaret purchased the train ticket for an evening departure, knowing the station would be largely deserted at that time, and there was less chance of Fred being recognized or seized.
On his last day with his family, Frederick spent the day with his mother, who suffered at the thought of his impending departure. He truly loved his mother, and was saddened that he might never see her again, or his father. “Once this war is over, I will be able to return,” he offered hopefully. Margaret raised her eyes to the heavens—was he truly so naïve to believe the Army would forget all about his desertion once the war was concluded? But she kept her thoughts to herself, not wishing to hurt her mother or anger Fred.
The afternoon Fred was to depart, his mother pressed a small jeweler’s box into his hand; the box contained her beloved diamond drops. “Give these to your bride-to-be,” she instructed him, her eyes misty with tears. “My one hope is that I may meet her one day.” Fred hugged her close, and mother and son remained in each other’s arms for several moments, both realizing that this, in all probability, might be the last time they would meet on this earthly plain.
When darkness fell, Mrs. Hale insisted someone must see Fred off at the station. She could not, and Mr. Hale was too distraught at losing his son to go. The task fell upon Margaret, who donned her hooded cloak and walked the darkened streets with her brother. Neither spoke; the thoughts of both were full of the separation that would come all too soon. Disappointed as she was in his conduct, Margaret loved her brother and fought back tears at the realization that she might never see him again. Frederick at last remarked, “When I am settled, you all must come to Mexico to meet Dolores and her family.” His sister smiled at this fantasy scenario—Mrs. Hale’s health would never allow her to endure such a journey, even if travel in this perilous time of war were possible.
They reached the station on the outskirts of Lovell just as the west bound train pulled in. A porter hurried forward to help Fred with his trunk and bag, but brother and sister waived him off. Frederick entered the train and placed his trunk and bag beneath the bench. When he returned to bid his sister farewell, he took both of Margaret’s hands in his own and stood gazing down at her. “I have left a forwarding address with Father where you can reach me, should you need me. I will miss you, Margaret.”
Moved by his words, she stood on tiptoe, threaded her arms about his neck, and kissed his cheek. He pulled her tightly against him, and held her for several moments. He was her elder brother, savior of her childhood, and she felt despair at the thought of not seeing him again. The train emitted a loud whistle, signaling departure.
“Go!” she said in a muted hiss, pushing him toward the entryway of the nearest car. “You must leave now before anyone sees you!”
Frederick sprung into the car, and turned toward his sister, his hand outstretched in supplication. “If anything should happen to father and mother, you must come to me, Margaret. I will look after you.”
Tears of frustration filled Margaret’s eyes—as if her brother were capable of looking after her when he could barely look after himself! But she nodded her agreement, satisfying him on the point, and clutched at his outstretched hand, holding fast. She did not relinquish the contact, even when the train began to move and she had to trot along beside the car. When she was finally forced to let go, she raised her hand in farewell, remaining until Frederick and the train were swallowed up by fog and darkness. It was done; he was gone.
She turned away and gasped aloud. Mr. Thornton was standing in the entrance to the station office, no more than ten paces away. He had apparently witnessed Frederick’s departure—their embrace and emotional farewell. She had never seen him appear so grim. His gaze scalded her with disapproval for one long moment until he spun about and exited the platform.
Shame and fear stabbed through Margaret. She was ashamed that he had misinterpreted her actions; she could tell from his disgusted expression that he believed she was meeting a man, alone, after dark, and at a remote location. She was mortified at what he must think, but that was nothing to the fear for Frederick’s safety. He had seen Frederick, and would now be able to identify him to any officious Army officer asking questions. Thank God Fred was gone, but until he was in Mexico once more, he was not safe—trains could be intercepted, and he might yet be captured.
She considered rushing after Mr. Thornton to explain what had happened, but discarded that thought immediately. It was too dangerous to confide in anyone, in these times of extreme patriotism for the northern cause. A deserter would be seen in the blackest light possible. No, she must keep her own counsel and pray that Mr. Thornton would tell no one what he had witnessed that night.