Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (69 page)

             
Carrie looked around the room while she waited.  She was surprised to find she didn’t know most of the other women in the room.  She had been fairly familiar with Richmond society before the war and even during the first year of it.  The faces seemed to have all changed. 

             
“Trying to find someone you know?”  A teasing voice broke into her thoughts. 

             
“Natalie!”  Carrie gasped, spinning around and grabbing her old friend in a warm hug.  “I had no idea you were still in the city.”

             
“Kind of easy to lose people with the thousands pouring in,” Natalie said wryly.  “For the life of me, I can’t figure out why people come here.  Those of us who were born here can claim a reason to stay through starvation and suffering.  It’s the ones who come looking for it that leave me mystified.”

             
Carrie laughed.  “You haven’t changed.”

             
Natalie’s blue eyes turned serious beneath her blond curls.  “Oh, I’ve changed,” she admitted.  “I’m no longer the innocent little girl you traveled to Philadelphia with to visit my Aunt Abby.”

             
Carrie’s eyes misted over.  “I miss her so much.”

             
“You two formed a special bond,” Natalie agreed. 

             
“Have you...?”

             
“Heard from her?”  Natalie finished.  “Getting mail from the North is about as difficult as getting a real cup of coffee in this city.”  She snorted.  “Impossible.” 

             
Carrie laughed again.  She had always enjoyed Natalie’s easy humor.  She had assumed her friend had long ago left the city.  Her family had a wonderful place in North Carolina.  “Why are you still here?” she asked suddenly.

             
“I told you I’d changed,” Natalie replied.  “You thought I would be in North Carolina, didn’t you?”  She didn’t wait for an answer.  “I could be.  My family left when McClellan threatened the city.”  She stopped, staring out over the dancers.  “My place is here.  My husband is fighting with General Lee.”

             
“You’re married?”  Carrie cried.  “I didn’t know.”

             
“Right after the war started.”  A tender smile played on Natalie’s lips.  “I met Theodore at one of the parties.  It was love at first sight.”  She laughed.  “And I don’t even believe in love at first sight!” 

             
“You’ve stayed in the city to be closer to him,” Carrie guessed.

             
Natalie nodded.  “I’ve only seen him twice in the last two years, once when they were marching through town.  It was only for thirty minutes, but it was enough to keep my heart hoping.”  She looked sad for a moment, then brightened.  “In the meantime, I do everything I can.  I’ve nursed sick soldiers in my home, made so many bandages I can do it in my dreams, and held benefits to raise money for our glorious cause!” 

             
Carrie decided not to comment on the
glorious cause
.  “I hope you’ll see him soon,” she said.

             
Natalie smiled wistfully then shook her head.  “Enough about me.  What about you?”

             
Carrie started to fill her in.  She was just getting ready to tell her about Robert when he came striding toward them, two glasses of water in his hands.  “And this is my husband,” she finished with a smile.

             
“So you did marry this good-looking thing,” Natalie cried with her usual abandon.

             
“Do I take that as approval?”  Robert asked.

             
Natalie turned to Carrie.  “I’m so happy for you.” She gripped Carrie’s hand.  “How are you so lucky?  How is it that such a dashing man in captain’s stripes is hanging out in Richmond?”

             
Carrie felt a twinge of guilt then shoved it aside.  She had done her share of suffering.  No one would commandeer the joy she had now.  She was sure the future would steal it soon enough.  “He seems to be indispensible to President Davis right now,” she replied. “I know just how fortunate I am.”

             
The three chatted for a few more minutes; then Natalie moved off with a promise to be in touch soon. 

             
Robert handed over the glasses of water.  “I’m glad she didn’t look thirsty.  I thought about being gallant and offering mine, but I have to confess I didn’t want to.”  Quickly he drained his glass.

             
Carrie followed suit.  “Do you know many of the people here?” she asked curiously.

             
“Richmond is full of new faces,” Robert replied.  “Most of the men here are connected with the government in some way.  That’s the only reason they’re not with the army somewhere.  Would you like to meet some of them?  I’m afraid I’m not as familiar with the women.”

             
“Yes, please.”  Carrie wasn’t up to engaging in idle small talk tonight, anyway. She much preferred what she knew would be the more serious conversation of the men.  She had stayed close to her hospital work for months now.  She was surprised to realize how much she had missed the stimulation of conversation. 

             
Moments later Robert was leading her up to a small knot of men.  “Gentlemen,” he said, nodding slightly.

             
“Welcome, Mr. Borden, isn’t it?” a short, round-faced man asked. 

             
“Indeed it is, Mr. Whipple,” Robert answered.  He pulled Carrie forward.  “I’d like you to meet my wife, Carrie Borden.”

             
Mr. Whipple bowed slightly.  “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

             
The other men in the group graciously acknowledged the introductions but then turned back to their talk.  Carrie was content to listen.  She was suddenly hungry to find out what was going on - and to hear it from more than just her father’s perspective. 

             
Mr. Whipple was the first to speak.  “Our Congress has just given Davis writ of habeas corpus again,” he said sourly.

             
“I don’t know that he had much choice,” another man replied in a reasonable voice.  “Our armies are being crippled by absenteeism.  The number of deserters has increased, and many of the men who are drafted just aren’t showing up.”

             
“I would venture it safe to say the enthusiasm for the war has rather declined,” one added.  “That’s hardly a reason to give Davis such power.”

             
“That’s not the point,” the man on Davis’ side insisted.  “We are losing battles because we don’t have enough men.  Lee is forced to stay on the defensive or just plan rather moderate offenses because he simply doesn’t have the men he needs to do something more effective.”  He took a deep breath, obviously gearing up for his final point.  “There are so many absentees that if they were all to show up in camp at the same time we would be able to face the North on equal terms.”

             
Robert coughed, and all eyes turned toward him.  He was the only one present in uniform.  “I’m afraid your sources might be somewhat incorrect.  I agree there are a horrible number of absentees, but it is simply not possible for the South to match the North man for man.  Their population is quite a bit more substantial than ours.”

             
“Then you’re saying there is no way for the South to win?”

             
Carrie watched Robert closely.  How would he respond.  He opened his mouth, but Whipple interrupted him.

             
“Don’t y’all understand that the writ places in peril the sacred principle that led to secession in the first place?”  Whipple protested.  “I fear that with our whole country under martial law, with our imminent president enforcing it...”  He paused, his voice leaving no doubt of just how imminent he thought Davis was, and shook his head dolefully.  “I fear our constitutional liberty has become a mockery.  I think it would be much better for our country to be over-run by the Yankees, our cities sacked and burned and our land laid desolate.”  He paused again.  “I would much prefer that to our citizens’ personal liberties being taken away by professed friends.”

             
Carrie gazed with interest at the man’s reddened face and bulging eyes.  He obviously knew he was a minority, but he was quite determined to state his case.  That he had done so with great passion could not be denied. 

             
One man, a touch of irritation in his voice, swung to face Whipple.  “Were you not in favor of secession?”

             
“Well, of course I was,” Whipple snapped.

             
“Then surely you realize the price that must be paid.  Oh, I know you’re parroting the sentiments of Vice-President Stephens.  You people are all the same,” he snapped.

             
Whipple flushed even redder.  “What do you mean?” he demanded angrily.

             
“Everyone has to have someone to blame when things don’t go right.  This spring you were praising Davis,” he reminded Whipple sternly.  “After the battle at Chancellorsville, you were touting that all of us had to make great sacrifices for the country.  That no amount was too much.”  His voice grew scornful.  “We run into a few setbacks, and now it’s all Davis’ fault.  You criticize everything he does.  How convenient to have a scape-goat!”  Having spoken his mind, the man wheeled on his heel and spun away, his eyes flashing.

             
“He is a close aide to Davis,” Robert whispered to Carrie. 

             
Carrie nodded and continued to watch Whipple.   The man’s attack had subdued him, but he was certainly not cowed.  His face was set stubbornly, his lips narrow with anger. 

             
Another man spoke into the silence.  Carrie remembered him as Mr. Count from North Carolina. 

             
“I believe the President received a letter from Governor Vance of North Carolina recently.”

             
“I had heard something about that,” Robert said eagerly.  “What can you tell me?” 

             
Carrie watched the tension dissipate as the attention swung away from Whipple.  He took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow, then listened eagerly.  Carrie had to admire his courage.  It was never easy to take a disparate stand when a person was the only one of his belief present.

             
“Vance wrote to Davis to appeal for his help,” Count began.  “As most of you know, North Carolina’s was not a loud voice for secession.  We went along with the rest when Lincoln called for us to take up arms against the South, but I’m afraid we simply don’t possess the passion some of the states do.”

             
“Well, at least you’re willing to look at it honestly,” Robert said.

             
Count shrugged.  “It’s the truth,” he said simply.

             
Carrie looked at him more closely.  She liked his kind face and intelligent eyes.  Gray hair swept down over his creased forehead.  She leaned forward closer to listen. 

             
“Vance informed Davis there is much discontent in our state.  He believes it can be removed by negotiation with the North.”

             
“He is calling for submission?” one man asked in a shocked voice.

             
“Certainly not,” Count said firmly.  “Vance is quite certain Washington will reject the fair terms we would submit to him.  But he believes if our people see that, it will greatly strengthen and intensify the war feeling.  He believes it will rally support for the government.”

             
“Vance is saying that such a move would convince North Carolinians that the government cares about them and would truly never ask them to risk their lives any longer than necessary,”  Robert stated, his brow creased  thoughtfully.

             
“Exactly!”  Count agreed. 

             
“But negotiation has been tried,” one man offered.  “They wouldn’t even receive Stephens six months ago.  You can’t negotiate if you have no one to talk to.”

             
“And Davis has been announcing his desire for peace since the beginning of the war,” another added bitterly.  “We have made our desire to be left alone quite clear.  I don’t know what else can be done.” 

             
“Nothing can be done,” another announced in a loud voice, stepping forward into the center of the circle.

             
Carrie tried to remember who he was.  Finally it came to her - Mr. Mitchell from Georgia.

             
“President Lincoln has made his position quite clear.  He has informed us in the last few months that we can expect his gracious pardon only with our emancipating all our slaves and swearing allegiance and obedience to him and his proclamations.”  He took a breath.  “In point of fact, Lincoln would desire that we become the slaves of our own Negroes.”  His burning gaze swept Count.  “Can there really be in North Carolina one citizen who has so fallen beneath the dignity of his ancestors as to accept those terms?”  His voice left no doubt where he stood.