Alice's Tulips: A Novel (14 page)

“You promised you wouldn’t ever again,” Nealie says, sounding pitiful. “I don’t want any of it. You know I don’t. If anyone suspicions you, we’ll have to quit Slatyfork, just like all the other
places. There’s meanness about you, and it’s got worse than ever. Oh, I should have taken your brother’s warning before we married and had done with the whole family. Now take these with you, and get you gone before Mrs. Bullock wakes.” She lowered her voice, so’s I couldn’t hear. Then Mr. Frank Smead’s voice rings out, “Shut up!” and there was the sound of a scuffle, and I took a step toward the room, but stopped myself, knowing it would only go worse with her if her husband found me listening. There was a sharp crack, and I could not tell at first which of them was on the receiving end, but Nealie cried out, and then says, “If you do it ever again, I’ll tell, and you know what your brother will do. He has promised to protect me.”

At that moment, I knew I had misjudged Mr. Samuel Smead. He has faults aplenty, but it would seem he is all that stands between Nealie and violence from her husband. And here’s another thing I know: Mr. Frank Smead is one of the marauders and has jayhawked all of Nealie’s pretty things. No wonder she does not wear her jewelry in public: She dare not, because it is plunder and might be recognized. As I crouched there, my shoes gripped in my hand, I thought how lucky I was to be married to a man as good as Charlie. What if I had married Mr. Frank Smead and found myself in Nealie’s boots? I would be trapped. Mama and Papa would be disgraced if I left my husband and went home, and James would have made you turn your back on me. How horrid to have no one to turn to, to be married forever to a scoundrel, a man who is thief, killer, and worse, for many of the women who were set upon by bushwhackers were ravished. I heard of one man and wife who were cornered by guerrillas, who held the man down, then took turns raping the woman. After they left, the husband told his wife she had not resisted enough, for she was not badly bruised, so he beat her almost to death. And to think that one of those plunderers might have been the man standing just on the other side of the door. Mr. Frank Smead is dishonest enough to steal pennies from the eyes of a corpse.

Then I heard him say in a voice filled with natural-born meanness,
“Mrs. Bullock is as uppity as a nigger. I might could teach her a lesson, too.” Nealie protested, and there was another crack. Lizzie, nobody but you has ever stood up for me before. Now, to think Nealie risked her safety to defend me from her own husband! I decided I must go to her, to prevent her from being used bad on my account. But I heard the outside door open. “I’ll let it went for now, but she’ll get her due,” he says.

“Go. Please go,” Nealie says so soft, I could barely hear her. She closed the door, and at the sound of the bolt, I stole away, and not one minute too soon, for as I reached the bedroom, the inside door of the kitchen opened, and Nealie would have caught me. Safe in my room, I felt my face burn up, so I drew the curtain and laid my cheek against the cold glass of the window. As I looked out, I saw Mr. Frank Smead go into the barn, then come out on his horse, braced against the cold and snow. He rode by the house, and I drew back so he could not see me. But I felt a chill as he passed under my window and out through the wintry barnyard. Had he tried to hurt me, neither Nealie nor I could have stopped him. He has a gizzard instead of a heart.

As soon as he was out of sight, Nealie came quietly up the stairs and paused at my door, and I held my breath so she would not know I was awake. After a time, she left, and I stood quietly for three-quarters of an hour before I made loud sounds of getting up. When I emerged into the kitchen, neither me nor Nealie remarked on her husband’s visit, and Nealie, I am sure, does not know I am aware of it. But the event had made me anxious, and I knew my fingers would be no better than dumplings for stitching that day, so I said I had had a dream that Mother Bullock was ill, and I needed to go home instanter, as my dreams often came true. Me and Nealie were as gay as could be on the way to Bramble Farm, and I arrived in good spirits, as far as anyone could judge—Mother Bullock, that is. I was relieved to be absent from the Smead house but filled with remorse as I wondered if I had abandoned Nealie in her need. Because you are my sister, you will say I did right to concern myself with my own well-being,
but I am not so sure. Who will protect us women if we do not protect one another?

I asked Nealie to stay the night with us, but she would not, and as soon as she was gone, I told Mother Bullock my head felt large and rang like a kettle and I feared I had caught cold. Then I went direct to bed. In truth, I wished to crawl into her arms and tell her all, but she is not such a person, and besides, what would be the good of alarming her? I cannot go to the sheriff, for where is the proof? And poor Nealie might be arrested as part of a conspiracy. At the very least, she would be disgraced, and for no other reason than being the wife of a man who has done wrong. Lizzie, you of all people will understand why I could not do that to her. I have learned a lesson from your situation, and I shall be her friend, no matter what.

Mother Bullock inquired about my stay, and I told her it had gone finely, which satisfied her. In awhile, she brought me a tea made from pennyroyal for my cold and a supper of milk toast. I never ate my supper in bed before and said after my treatment by her and Nealie that I misdoubted I was Alice Bullock, but thought instead I might be the queen of France. Mother Bullock murmured something about being lonely without me, at which declaration, I almost dropped my supper bowl. On reflection, I think I misheard her.

And even if I didn’t, she spoiled the remark by waiting until I was almost asleep to let me know we had got a letter from Charlie. He has recently come through a sharp skirmish, with a bullet going through the sleeve of his coat, the closest he ever came to getting shot since he joined up. It made him think about why he is fighting. The letter is such a fine one that I wanted to send it to you to read, but Mother Bullock would shoot me before parting with one of Charlie’s letters, so I am copying down a little of what he wrote, and here it is:

I have got to studying on why I am fighting in this war. When I volunteered, I guess I wanted to kill Rebs and have me a good
time, which I have done both. I did not care overmuch about ending the bondage of the colored race, although that seemed as good a reason as any to fight the Secesh. I have got to know one or two darkies and do not think slavery is any way to treat a yellow dog. So it is not good for any man, either. But that is not the reason I am here. I am fighting for my country, the grandest there ever was in the history of the world. I think it is worth a war to preserve it. I had not thought much about that before, but now I have met men from almost all the Northern states, and I believe we cannot break apart this country like the halves of a walnut. We have to stand for something bigger than any state, and that is the union of the states. Saving the glorious country is more important than losing a few soldiers, even if those soldiers are me and Harve. The same God that has took me through one storm of leaden hail can bring me safe home, and I believe that He will do it. So I don’t fear the Rebel ball, nor I don’t fear the Rebel cannon. But, Doll Baby and Mother, at the Jubilee, if you find I have not marched to war but to the grave, you can rest easy knowing I was glad to die for the Union, the most righteous cause that ever widowed a woman. I think you would not want to give a man to the cause who did not hold such high ideals.

I never read a thing that stirred me so. I cried and cried. He’s a perfect brick, Charlie is, one of the best men that ever lived, and the horrid Mr. Frank Smead is a cur dog beside him. Mr. Smead is worse than the Rebs, for they are not afraid to fight for what they believe, wrong as it may be, but Mr. Smead is only an outlaw.

Of course, I waked up feeling finely, with no sign of a cold, and Mother Bullock marvels at my constitution.

From the proud wife of a Union soldier,

Mrs. Charles Bullock

P.S. Forgive me, dear, for I have got so caught up in the problems of my life that I quite forget to remark on your own. I am sure the season at Galena was poorer because of your absence.

That no invitations at all were extended to you and James is not to be believed. As was made clear to me yesterday, there are vipers abroad. The vipers at Galena wear fine clothes and pretend to be the cream of society. Oh, I should like to introduce Mr. Frank Smead to them.

February 26, 1864

Dear Sister,

Fly to me as soon as the river thaws. James is a brute, and I believe he is more dangerous even than the ice that floats in the Mississippi this time of year. He beats all for worthless men. Of course, you must take the money he hid to buy your passage, and do it fast, before he knows you have found it. How could he put you through such poverty when he had money all along? You would not be stealing. James took control of your little inheritance from Grandmother when you married, and where has it gone but with the wind? If a husband has the right to his wife’s money, then a wife by rights should have access to her husband’s.

I believe you can book cabin passage to Keokuk for the sum of about $8.50. Whether the girls pay as much or less is unknown to me. When you arrive in Keokuk, stay at one of the hotels there. They are not as nice as the DeSoto in Galena, but quite acceptable. Then you can inquire about passage on a stagecoach to Slatyfork. It runs three or two times a week, but not at all if the roads have thawed and are hub-deep in mud. Frozen roads make for a rough trip, but at least they are passable. You and the girls must sit with your backs to the horses to stay out of the wind. The stage fare is high, costing as much as a half-eagle for the three of you. It’s a pity a nice railroad doesn’t come here, so that you could ride comfortable in the cars. Still, I am not as fond of railroads as a steamboat, for the last train I rode was so slow, they must have put the cowcatcher on the rear. Your leaving may shock James into behaving, as you say, but I would not bet even a Confederate dollar on it.

Bring sensible clothing, and do not worry about the style. In Slatyfork, it is fashionable to be unaware of fashion, as many believe a woman who is too concerned with the styles of the day is selfish, spending on herself money that ought to go to our fighting boys. Don’t worry about pocket money, either, for where is there to spend it? Mother Bullock was wrong when she said we would starve in the winter; we still have a plenty of potatoes and root vegetables, apple cider, and one smoked ham, so you will eat good, if plain. Nealie paid me twenty dollars for sewing, and as I did not deserve it, I am sending you ten dollars. It will pay the hotel bill, or if the money you take from James covers your stay, then spend this on a treat for the girls. (You do not need to mention it to Mother Bullock.)

I have told her you will be arriving. She does not know the particulars but has an idea, because I have complained on many occasions about James. “She’ll be welcome,” Mother Bullock says. “She is family.” She went into the old shed where she stores castaways and found a red top and a broomstick horse that Charlie and Jo played with and has set them in the house for Eloise and Mary. Mother Bullock has not been so well of late, but she utters not one word of complaint. It is a lesson to me, if I should choose to learn it, which, of course, I do not. Complaining has always been one of the things I do best.

But then, what do I have to complain about at present? I have only joy because I am expecting a visit from the person in the world I love best but Charlie. Oh, Lizzie, I can hardly wait. I am making a special trip to town to mail this, and when I get back, I shall clean the house from top to bottom, then whitewash the walls, so all will be in readiness. Write me your plans—or just come. You can send word from Slatyfork when you arrive.

Oh, here’s another thing: Would you please bring any new templates you have for quilts, as well as the tin patterns for laying off the quilt. No tin is to be had here, and I have tired of chalking around a dinner plate and have been using leaves for the quilting pattern.

With hugs and kisses to you and

the girls and not one kind word to James,

Alice Bullock

March 4, 1864

Dear Lizzie

I hope you are already on your way. But if circumstances have held you back and you yet remain in Galena, then leave at once. I cannot impress upon you enough the importance of leaving James before he learns of your plans. I know he would try to talk you out of it, and you have ever been a fool for his words. For you and the girls to stay longer is as giving pearls to swine.

Now, if there is time, please to consider these suggestions and a request.

Bring oiled-cloth cloaks and overshoes, because the sleet and mud are troublesome now. You’ll have no need of fine slippers and other accessories. Do you recall how I looked all over Fort Madison for lace mitts and a blue beaded bag for my move to Slatyfork? They have never been unwrapped from their tissue. Life here is not what I expected, but it is tolerable, and with you here, I would not wish to be anywhere else. And I shall endeavor to make it as pleasant for you as I can.

But bring your jewelry, for I do not trust James to keep it safe. That craven man would sell it and spend the money on whiskey. Now that you have made the decision to leave, I can tell you outright that I despise him, and I suppose I always have. At least I have ever since he went against me in that incident over the Carter boy. Oh, James is handsome and he can turn a phrase like nobody I ever heard, but he is selfish and a cheat and does not have a moral core like Charlie, else he would have joined up, and that’s a fact. I think you must be convinced of the truth of what I say by now. We’ll talk of it more when we’re together, to keep you from backsliding.

Many things are scarce here, so if time permits, please purchase
a paper of needles and some good flax thread. I think they can be readily found in Galena or Keokuk. I would be grateful for any bits of fabric from your scrap bag that you can tuck into your trunk, for all that’s available here in the way of yard goods is tarlatan and shoddy, and I do not like to put them into a quilt. One fades in the first washing, and the other wears out in the second. Some here are setting up their old looms and going to weaving, just like their old mothers, but I never favored it and would rather acquire good factory cloth, even if it is dear. If you have a pair of stout shoes in good repair that you no longer want, I would like them, too. Decent shoes aren’t to be found in Slatyfork, and I have patched the old ones until they look like a quilt. Annie says the Southern women no longer have leather for soles, and they have gone to making wood ones. If I don’t get a pair soon, I’ll make them out of a leather book.