Chapter Three: Expectations Denied
Abigail O’Toole gazed slowly across the classroom. How did it get so messy? She thought the students had had a good day, considering the circumstances. It was getting more difficult to keep their minds on their lessons, now that Richmond itself seemed in danger.
At the beginning of the war, things had been very different. The war had been little more than a game at first. The boys had grabbed broomsticks and marched around the schoolyard in imitation of Richmond’s beloved F Company or frolicked around on pretend horses like the renowned Light Cavalry Blues. The girls had clapped their hands together in admiration of the boy’s antics, duplicating the delighted faces of their big sisters as they watched the handsome young men go off to the battle of First Manassas. And when Richmond had been chosen as the capitol of the entire Confederacy and President Davis took up residence there, why it looked as if the young boys would fairly burst with pride.
But things had changed somewhat when the first casualties started to be brought back to the city. At first, there was much talk of the gallant bravery of the young soldiers and how one must accept the occasional “empty chair” as a cost of defending freedom. When the first word came of the early Confederate victories, there were predictions of a short war—predictions that Washington would soon be taken by the brave Confederate boys who were each worth any five Yankees.
But the older veterans—those who had fought in the Indian or Mexican wars—were quieter, less prone to boasting. And as the stretchers and the simple pine boxes that served as coffins began to stack up at the railroad stations, the talk grew more muted, at least for a while.
It had been a thrill when the first Yankee prisoners had been paraded through town, looking bedraggled and dispirited. But the prisoners, and the large number of Confederate recruits who poured into Richmond, stretched the town’s resources to the limit. Temporary prisons and hospitals were set up everywhere. Prices for everyday items had skyrocketed. There was a shortage of many of the necessities of life. And more and more frequently, you could see the amputees—originally strong confident southern boys, some from Virginia and some heralding from the deeper south—who now looked confused and unsure. They hobbled around, sometimes with a bottle of whiskey in their hand. The good citizens of Richmond would nod toward them and then look away quickly, hurrying down the sidewalk to their destination a little faster than usual. Not all the casualties of the war were heroic deaths—young men cut down in an instant as they defended their comrades. Some deaths seemed to take much longer.
At first, Abigail was able to use the children’s excitement to her advantage at the school, at least some of the time. The arrival of each new regiment from afar was celebrated by a new geography lesson, highlighting that regiment’s place of origin. Never had the children, especially the boys, seemed so eager to talk about Alabama, South Carolina, even Texas, which had always before seemed so far away, almost like a foreign country. It was harder to get the children interested in talking about the Northern states. But when a group of prisoners from a New York regiment were brought to Richmond, she had used the opportunity to talk about their home state. The children had professed little interest, but some had squirmed a little when she had described New York’s industrial might.
But as the war dragged on, there were fewer opportunities to exploit it in the classroom. Some children had now lost their fathers. Several had not seen them for months. Most of the war talk remained optimistic, at least publicly. But she could tell that even the children were becoming more fatalistic, especially as the threat drew nearer to Richmond itself.
Abigail found that she herself had to become more animated to reach them. They seldom laughed now and many seemed lethargic. But on a good day she could rekindle that spark of curiosity in their eyes, at least for a little while. And today had been one of those days.
As she picked up the last of the papers littering the floor, Abigail turned quickly, hearing a familiar voice.
“Miss Abigail, I do hope that I am not catching you at a bad time.” A pale young man in uniform stood before her.
Abigail smiled slightly. “Mr. Whitney, this is a fine time. I’m glad to see you.” She offered her hand to the young soldier who took it and kissed it gently.
“I see your young charges have been dismissed for the day,” Mr. Whitney said, a slight smile crossing his lips.
“I fear that my young men, not to mention my young ladies, do not conduct themselves with the polish displayed by the brave men of the Montgomery Regiment,” said Abigail, pulling her hand away slowly.
“I am confident that you have all the young men eating out of your hand, Miss Abigail,” said the soldier with a slight bow.
“They are a spirited lot, I can vouch for that. Or at least they used to be.”
“But the spirit of Virginia can never be broken by…”
“The war takes its toll. There is no use denying it.”
“But Abigail, the war goes well. Every day we hear good news.”
“Good news, James? What? That Richmond has lost fewer sons in the most recent battle than in the one before? Or perhaps that we have suffered great casualties but remain in possession of the field…some God forsaken farmer’s field of no use to anyone? Now that’s something to crow about.”
“Abigail!” demanded James. “You must not give in to dark thoughts. The men fight bravely and all of Richmond—nay, all of the South—pulls together for a common goal.”
“Our great common cause—of course,” said Abigail shaking her head sadly.
“We have discussed this before, Abigail. Surely you must admit that freedom from tyranny is the most noble goal for which mankind can fight!”
“But what of the tyranny that we bring on ourselves, James?”
“The conniving Yankees have always been the aggressors—you know that, Abigail.”
“Do I, James? The North responded to our declaration of war at Fort Sumter, to our tearing the Union apart.”
“The Union!” spluttered James angrily. “What do the Yankees know of the Union? They are responsible for destroying the Union. Their prying, mettlesome ways destroyed the Union long before the first short was fired at Sumter.”
“Enough, James,” said Abigail, shaking her head sadly. “It does us no good to discuss these matters and it hurts our once-true friendship.”
“Surely, Abigail,” objected the young soldier huskily,” surely we must protect our way of life?”
“Oh, it’s a grand life to be sure, James. We live in a city full of anger and violence. Many of the children have lost their fathers…”
“Virginia must defend its own values and its own people. You used to understand those values. You—even as a Northerner—used to understand the value of our society.”
Abigail looked away, staring purposely out the window.
James continued, speaking more softly. “Abigail…I don’t understand. In these last months we have drifted farther and farther apart. We used to…understand each other. But now it seems that you have little use for me.” James paused, lowering his head. “Of course I am merely an aide to the general, I myself have not had the opportunity to prove my manhood on the battlefield.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “You think that we would be closer if you had risked your life in battle? Do you think that perhaps I would love you more if you had been maimed by a sabre or a cannonball?” Her eyes showed fury now. “Or do you think you could find more favor with me if you had killed dozens of Yankees, bringing their swords and flags home as prizes.”
“Abigail, I…”
“No, James. We came together when we were young. I was, perhaps, too young and not able to see what I now can see so clearly. This war is wrong, James. To fight a war to maintain slavery is wrong, no matter how skillfully the war is justified by reference to honor or the great traditions of Virginia.”
“I see, Miss Abigail,” James said formally, clicking his heels slightly. “You have fin
ally made your sentiments as clear as crystal.” He paused for a few seconds. “Well, I am grateful for that. It appears that I have been wasting my time…that we both have been wasting our time for these past two years. I assure you that I will not darken your threshold again.” James turned quickly and walked briskly out of the classroom.
Abigail leaned slightly on the desk with her left arm, her right hand whisking away a tear from her eye.