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  Mattie waited for a long time, trying not to ask, trying not to bring up yet another subject that had in some obscure way that she did not understand become awkward between them. Then, ‘Johnny?’ she said, quietly.

  He grunted.

  ‘My dear – don’t you think – isn’t it time we moved on to Pleasant Hill? Won’t your father be expecting us?’

  He shifted a little.

  ‘Johnny?’

  ‘Soon,’ he said. ‘We’ll go soon.’

  Chapter Four

  Given how quickly Mattie was adapting to this new life, she should not, she supposed, have been in any way surprised that ‘soon’ could stretch with so little apparent effort on anyone’s part to a month or more. Despite the fairly frequent exchange of messages from Pleasant Hill to Savannah and back – the content of which she suspected had become more demanding as the weeks passed, since Johnny had stopped reporting them word for word and simply conveyed his family’s vague best wishes – they stayed in the city for the whole of the golden month of October, being wined, dined and congratulated on their marriage.

  ‘Why, my poor, precious dears,’ Aunt Bess was wont to say at intervals, if the subject of leaving was raised, ‘who in the world knows what’s to happen next? A weddin’ trip’s a weddin’ trip, whatever the circumstances – why, Mr Packard and I were away in Europe for a full two years! We brought our darlin’ Edward back with us! No, no, let that naughty old Pa of yours wait! He’ll have you for long enough! Mattie, honey, I have the best surprise for you! Remember the Greens – the charmin’ people we met at Aunt Sophie’s the other day? They want to hold a party for you and Johnny in a week or two. Now really, my dear, that’s a chance you can’t think of passin’ up.’

  Mattie’s own reaction to the delay was ambivalent; she was, as she had admitted to Constance, more than a little nervous at the thought of her first encounter with her new family, and her instinct was to get the meeting over and done as soon as possible. However, she was also well aware of the truth behind Aunt Bess’s words; once in the country – Macon was over one hundred and seventy miles inland from Savannah, and the plantation some ten or fifteen miles on from there on the strangely named Ocmulgee River – there could be no knowing when they might come back to this green, beautiful city again, and to the friends they had made here. It would have taken a greater kill-joy than she to reject such warm-hearted and generous hospitality. Yet one part of her longed to be away from here, and alone with Johnny, to start their new life.

  But here, too, lay a small disquiet.

  ‘Where shall we live?’ she had asked, many weeks ago, in the exhausting whirl of activity that had preceded the wedding.

  ‘We’ll build a house, on the plantation, a mile or so from Pleasant Hill. I know just the spot – a clearing beside the river — shaded with trees so old that people say the Indians thought the Spirit of the Land lived in them.’

  But the house in the clearing was as far in the future now as it had been then. Until it was built it was clear from the way Johnny spoke that she must first expect to live with a father-in-law, three new brothers and a sister-in-law in the house called Pleasant Hill. Johnny would not be hers alone for yet awhile. So – why cut short so happy an interlude as this? Despite the fiery and excitable talk of secession from the Union, despite the growing excitement and self-righteous anger she sensed about her, despite the drilling in the streets and squares of the city of small and picturesque bands of young men, watched and admired from beneath silken parasols by ringleted girls in wide skirts and lace gloves, whose light and pretty voices expressed notions if anything even more bloodthirsty than those of their beaux, it was hard to believe that war could really come to this lovely, indolently graceful land.

  And so they stayed on in Savannah, and Mattie, for those few magical weeks, allowed herself to be lulled for the one and only time in her life into that sense of unthinking, uncritical, secure and self-centred happiness that, a part of her well knew, her father would unhesitatingly have described as living in a fool’s paradise; a paradise that lasted only until the day in early November when a gangling, slow-spoken railsplitter born in the Kentucky wilderness and raised on the tough Western frontiers of this still-expanding young nation was elected President of the United States, and suddenly the deadly talk of war was, even by the most optimistic of observers, no longer to be taken lightly. Mattie, along with most others, read with growing concern the firebrand reports in the Southern newspapers. Abraham Lincoln had taken the Presidency without achieving a single electoral vote in the South; indeed, in five of the Southern states he received not a single vote of any kind. Here was a man who just three years before had publicly condemned the institution of slavery as a ‘moral, a social and a political wrong’, and who had declared himself in favour of a policy that would treat it as such. His views and those of his party were anathema to the slaveholding states. Unless the North accepted the right of those states to secede from a Union of which they no longer felt a part, his election must surely be the match laid to the long, slow fuse leading to conflict.

  It was in subdued mood that Mattie supervised the packing for the journey to Pleasant Hill. Around her the house, like the city, buzzed with excitement and outrage. Johnny, she knew, was closeted with his uncle and cousin discussing the development, predicting – indeed hoping – that this would mean the final break from the detested Yankees and their interference. The girls, too, had been vociferous in their contempt and anger. ‘I declare,’ young Dorcas had exclaimed at breakfast that morning, the colour high in her cheeks, dark eyes glittering, ‘I’ll just die if Dalton doesn’t join Colonel Lawton’s Volunteers straight away – why, if he doesn’t an’ the Yankees come they’ll be whipped and it’ll all be over before he gets into uniform!’

  ‘Lance Smith said Colonel Lawton told him that the first thing the Volunteers would do would be to garrison Fort Pulaski.’ ’Belle cast a sly, sidelong look at her older sister. ‘Lance has been in the Volunteers since July. He and the Colonel are real good friends.’

  Mattie had watched them, wondering at their unnerving certainties. Nothing she had known or experienced before coming to America, and most certainly nothing she had heard since or learned from the Southern newspapers indicated that an armed struggle, if it came, would be so easily won. Quite the contrary. Her eyes had gone to Johnny, his dark head turned as he talked animatedly to Edward. God forbid that she should ever see him in uniform; and even as the thought had taken form she had heard him say to his cousin, ‘Pa said in his last letter that there are volunteer units forming at Macon. Seems if it comes to it my best chance would be there –’

  She glanced now about the untidy bedroom. Trunks and bags lay open on the floor. Rosie, whilst managing, Mattie had noted wryly, to do as little as possible herself, was supervising three other girls as they folded and packed. ‘Primmy! What in the world do you reckon yo’re about with that?’ Rosie snatched a shirt from one of the other girls, shook it out, spread it on the bed to refold it. ‘You-all want them folks at Pleasant Hill to think a Packard niggah cain’t decently fold a shirt?’ She watched the busy black hands, the closed black faces. What did they think of the fuss that was going on about them? They were neither deaf nor stupid; Aunt Bess had openly admitted that the house slaves of the city knew a great deal more of what went on than did most of their masters. Did they know or understand how influenced their lives might be by the result of this election? Did they care? And if war were to come – what would they do?

  War. Suddenly the very word sounded barbarous; horrifying. ‘Rosie!’ she found herself snapping irritably. ‘For goodness’ own sake! If you’re going to insist on refolding everything all the time we’ll never be ready in time for the train!’

  Rosie said nothing, withdrawing into a dignified and offended silence, the shirt receiving, Mattie noted, even slower and more meticulous attention. The other girls sniggered, glancing at each other and at Mattie from beneath lowered lids. Mattie turned h
er back on them all, looking out of the window.

  The freshness had gone from the garden. The long hot summer and autumn were all but past, the short winter would set in fairly soon.

  And then what?

  Suddenly a future that had seemed serene and safe was uncertain. Suddenly she knew that she did not after all stand on as steady ground as she had over these past weeks convinced herself. She did not want Johnny to go to war; above all she did not want him to go to war for a cause that she knew deep in her heart to be wrong. She had listened to the passionate arguments, had even to some extent been swayed by them. She had seen how fiercely held were these peoples’ views and convictions, and had understood their anger; yet, for all her attempts to pretend otherwise, to herself and to others, she knew that she believed them to be mistaken.

  ‘My ancient faith teaches me,’ Abraham Lincoln had said, ‘that all men are created equal, and that there can be no moral right in connection with one man’s making a slave of another.’

  What treachery to stand here, in this house, in this place, amongst these kindly and hospitable people, and to know that she agreed with him.

  She stared sightlessly into the empty, dusty garden.

  What a betrayal of the man she loved to be in sympathy with his enemies, to condemn something for which he, his brothers, his friends were ready to fight and to die.

  ‘Mattie, honey, are the cases nearly done? You’ve only a couple of hours before the train leaves -’

  Mattie jumped. Aunt Bess had bustled into the room behind her, accompanied as always by the rustle of satin and a drift of flowery scent upon the air.

  She turned. ‘Yes. Nearly done.’

  ‘Oh, sugar,’ in warm and genuine distress the older woman held out both arms to her, ‘don’t look so very sad, my precious girl! Lord knows we don’t want you to leave – oh, if only that dreadful man hadn’t won! If only the Yankees would mind their own business and leave us alone!’ Her normally light and pretty voice was almost venomous. ‘Oh, I tell you, Mattie darlin’, I could bring myself to hate those wicked people for what they’re doin’ to us – an’ here you are, havin’ to leave –’

  Wryly and affectionately Mattie found herself almost smiling at that, wondering how concerned Mr Lincoln would be to know that the ire of at least one Southern lady was directed at him because Mattie Sherwood had to leave Savannah. ‘We were going to have to go anyway, Aunt Bess. I believe Johnny’s father is becoming impatient – one can’t blame him – he’s been expecting us for the past month.’

  Aunt Bess sniffed briskly, enfolding Mattie in her arms. ‘Now, don’t you let that ol’ Logan Sherwood bully you, darlin’. He likes his own way, there’s no denyin’ that – an’ those boys of his, big as they are, ’most always give it to him – well, I don’t count Robert in that of course – that boy’s got more of his mother in him than I have, an’ she was my blood sister! – Primmy, for land’s sakes! What are you doin’ with that pretty dress? It’ll be ruined before it gets half-way to Macon, packed like that!’ Aunt Bess released Mattie and pounced on the unfortunate Primmy, pushing the girl, snatching the dress from her and shaking it out. Rosie cast a small, smugly hurt look at Mattie, which Mattie sensibly ignored.

  ‘I’d better go and find Johnny,’ she said, knowing Aunt Bess to be far more capable of overlooking the packing than she. ‘I’m sure he’s forgotten the time. He always does.’

  She lifted her skirts and ran swiftly down the curving staircase. Apart from the bustle upstairs the house was quiet. Mattie stood for a moment, her hand still resting upon the carved newel post, listening. The murmur of male voices came from the parlour. She walked to the door and pushed it open.

  ‘Mark my words,’ Henry Packard rumbled in his low, slow, heavy voice. ‘South Car’lina will leave the Union. She’s sworn to. Nothin’ll stop her. Then what can we do in Georgia but join her?’

  ‘Nothin’, Pa. It’s natural. An’ Virginia, an’ Mississippi, an’ all the others. They cain’t stop us!’ Edward’s voice, young and excited.

  ‘There’s no choice left to the South.’ Johnny was quieter, more thoughtful. ‘But then what? Will the Yankees accept it? Will they let us go?’

  Mattie stepped into the room. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, they won’t. You know it.’ She was aware of three astonished pairs of eyes turned upon hers; levelly she returned their gaze. ‘They think they’re right. They know they’re right. As you think – know – you are. There’s no compromise to be reached. No reconciliation.’

  There was a small glint of disapproval in Uncle Henry’s eyes as he courteously acknowledged her presence and her interruption. ‘Mattie, my dear.’

  Mattie’s eyes were on Johnny now. It was to him she spoke the words, the passionate convictions, that she had battled to contain for the past weeks. Knowing as she did it that this was neither the time nor the place; helpless to stop herself. ‘To argue secession – to offer to die for it! – is sheer madness. No amount of courage, no amount of fortitude, can overcome the odds! Why can’t you see it? Johnny, in the end it simply can’t happen! The North won’t accept it, and no-one in Europe will support you; whether you wish it or not a war of secession will be seen as a war to preserve the institution of slavery. No European government can be seen to support that, least of all the British.’ She stopped, watching her husband, suddenly seeing that there was more than disapproval in Johnny’s eyes – there was real anger.

  ‘England and France need our cotton, child,’ Henry Packard said, sharply.

  ‘Not as much as they need trade with the North. Not as much as they need Abolitionist support for their own governments. Not as much as they need to assuage their own guilt in the whole slavery issue –’ She had gone too far and she knew it. Face suddenly suffused with colour, she stopped.

  ‘Guilt?’ Johnny enquired, after an oppressive moment, very gently.

  Mattie clasped her hands and said nothing. She had never found it harder in her life to keep her eyes steady upon another’s.

  There was a small, unpleasant silence.

  ‘You no doubt came,’ Henry said after a moment, courteous as ever, ‘to remind Johnny that it is almost time to leave?’

  ‘I – yes.’ Helpless, Mattie saw the cold anger in her husband’s face, and could do nothing about it. ‘We haven’t said goodbye to the girls, and we need to leave in an hour or so.’

  ‘I’ll fetch them, of course. Like all of us, they aren’t happy to see you go.’ Uncle Henry nodded pleasantly enough and left them. Edward after a slightly awkward moment followed him, his bright eyes curious upon Mattie, as if, she thought with a quick spurt of something close to temper, she had unexpectedly become some freak in a sideshow.

  ‘I’m sorry. That was unforgivable of me,’ she said quietly, when it became obvious that Johnny was not going to break the difficult silence; but somewhere anger of her own was stirring. Why was she apologizing? She had believed – did believe – everything she had said. Certainly – surely? – she had the right to voice her opinion on something that affected her as closely as it affected anyone else?

  ‘Yes. It was.’ He strode past her and out of the room before she could open her mouth or do anything to stop him. She stood alone, face set against the sudden, miserable tears that would betray her and leave her helpless in a way that anger would not.

  After a moment she stalked after him, up the stairs and into the still chaotic bedroom. Aunt Bess was gone. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Aren’t you finished yet? I swear I could do better on my own with both hands on my head! Rosie – stop fiddling with that and get that case shut! And you –’ she levelled a finger at a small girl who had jumped as if she had seen a bogeyman when Mattie had burst into the room ‘– take that stupid look off your face and help her! Primmy! I’ve had quite enough of your nonsense! Go tell Jeremiah to come up and take the trunks! Now!’

  * * *

  The journey to Macon was not a happy one. They each treated the other with an acrimonious polite
ness that was worse than anger. As the train chugged steadily into a fertile countryside of forests, fields and startlingly red earth, Mattie kept her head turned to the window, apparently absorbed in the vast tracts of land that reeled past it. Here and there a cabin, or the glimpse of a white plantation house with its sprawling village of attendant buildings clustered about it, caught the eye, or a rust-coloured, rutted road, or the gleam of water; but for the most part the red land stretched to the horizon cloaked in the green of its trees, its pastures and its crops. The cotton had been picked clean; the great fields rested in the cool autumn air. They clanked through villages where children waved and horsemen doffed their wide-brimmed hats.

  Johnny said nothing.

  She stood it for as long as she could before giving in and making her peace. She had for long enough seen her arrival at the Sherwood plantation as an ordeal; to endure it with Johnny withdrawn into a frigid and unfriendly silence was more than she could contemplate.

  ‘Please, Johnny – I’m sorry I interrupted your talk this morning. Sorry I upset you. It was very bad-mannered of me; I can’t think what got into me. It’s just – all this talk of war –’ She let the words fade into silence. Then, ‘Don’t let’s start off at Pleasant Hill bad friends?’ She despised her own bowed head, the small voice that was all that she could manage if she were not going to shriek at him.

  He held out for perhaps half an hour before tentatively taking her hand in his. She let it rest there. A short while later he pointed through the window. ‘See the roof over there? With the big chimneys, just there through the trees? That’s the Baineses’ place, on Turkey Creek. Old Mr Baines was a real good friend of Pa’s. Got himself killed a year or so ago – thrown from a horse – broke his neck. His son Jeff’s got the place now, and making a damned fine job of it. We were at school together. Mighty nice lad, is Jeff.’

  Mattie accepted the olive branch with grace. ‘Why yes, I see it. What a delightful-looking house! It looks quite like a wedding cake with all those verandas and windows.’