Sifoddling Along

                

 By Marilyn Carnell

 

 

 

Following is an excerpt from the Civil War novel I am writing:

 

 Following is an excerpt from the Civil War novel I am writing:

By the fall of 1862, Missouri Diana Calloway (Zudi) was starving. Her little cabin in the woods of McDonald County was located at the terminus of the Mason-Dixon Line, adjacent to Indian Territory. Thus, it lay in the pathway of the back and forth movements of both armies and the frequent target of Bushwhackers and Red Legs. All of the men were ill equipped, so they helped themselves to any supplies they encountered from the residents.

Zudi, awake from hunger pangs remembered a lovely evening in a better time – the farewell party she gave to see her father off to serve as a surgeon in the Confederate Army.

The ladies of the Methodist Church South rallied around her – bringing food, arranging flowers, polishing silver – and by six o'clock on the evening of April 28th, 1861,  the Calloway house was a stunning backdrop for the occasion.

Small tables draped in white linen lined the walls of the parlor, each one graced with a bouquet of Sweet Williams and lacy ferns gathered that morning from the riverbank.

Candles blazed in the chandeliers and wall sconces, throwing warm golden light across the polished floors of the second-floor ballroom

The dining room table groaned under its burden. There was turtle soup in the big tureen and a platter of fried oysters at the near end. The centerpiece was a magnificent baked ham glazed with champagne sauce, flanked by a roasted turkey with oyster dressing and a saddle of venison that old Mr. Pemberton brought as his contribution. Side dishes crowded every available inch – mashed turnips, macaroni with English cheese, glazed onions, buttermilk biscuits with wild plum jelly and pawpaw preserves, watercress salad dressed with vinegar and a little sugar. At the far end stood the desserts – a bread pudding, two peach pies, and a magnificent black walnut cake that Julia Brown had stayed up until midnight to bake.

Zudi wore her green silk gown – the one that matched her eyes – her red hair arranged in an elaborate coiffure with long curls just touching the back of her neck. She surveyed the gleaming rooms with satisfaction. It was, she thought, exactly right.

Then she heard her father's step on the stairs and turned, and the satisfaction went out of her like a candle in a draft.

He was in uniform.

She had known, in the abstract way one knows things that have not yet become real, that he had applied for a commission as assistant surgeon with the Missouri State Guard. He had mentioned it at supper one evening, matter-of-factly, the way he mentioned everything, and she had listened and nodded and told herself it was all very preliminary, that these things took time, that the war would likely be settled before any of it came to anything. She had believed this comfortably and completely because it was what she needed to believe.

But here he was on the stairs, and the uniform was not abstract at all. It was fine cadet grey merino wool, beautifully cut, with a green silk sash wrapped twice around his waist in the manner of an officer – the same deep green as her own gown, she noticed with a strange pang. He looked distinguished and proud and entirely, heartbreakingly unfamiliar.

"Dr. Papa," she said, and could not say anything else for a moment.

"And you, my darling girl," he said, coming down the last steps and taking her hands and stepping back to look at her, "are the most beautiful woman in McDonald County." He kissed her forehead and offered her his arm. "Shall we greet our guests?"

She took his arm. She did not trust herself to speak. But she smiled, because the guests were already at the door, and smiling was what was required.

The music began at eight. Zudi took her place at the piano and the neighbors filled in around her – a fiddle, a banjo, a harmonica, a tambourine, and two old gentlemen in the corner who produced a jaw harp and a pair of spoons and proceeded to provide the most enthusiastic rhythm section in McDonald County. Together they made a joyful noise that filled every corner of the ballroom and spilled out the open windows into the honeysuckle-scented night.

They opened with a lively quadrille that brought half the room onto the floor at once. Then a Virginia Reel that set even the oldest guests clapping from their chairs. Then a schottische, a polka, another reel – Zudi's fingers flying over the keys, her back straight, her face bright with the effort of keeping the music going and her feelings firmly in check.

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This issue appears in the ezine in the blog www.pencilstubs.net at Google Blogger with the capability of adding comments at the latter.

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