Free Homeland by Barbara Hambly Page B

describe repeatedly and at length. To this, Mother invariably contributes, “If it is God’s will that you give your life bringing forth a child into this world, remember that it was so ordained since the beginning of Time.”
    Susanna, I am frightened, terribly frightened. I try not to think about dying, and I try not to think about the pain. And all Elinor will talk about is how the town has voted to pay ten dollars per family, to any man who will enlist, and how towns all over Maine have been trying to wriggle out of paying the families of volunteers anything, and what a shocking thing this is, and what the Daughters of the Union must do about it. I try to remember that I am in God’s hand, and that
this present moment
—Elinor’s chatter, Peggie’s wails, the marvelous smell of maple-sugar, and Mother’s belief that saying “God knows the hour of your death” will comfort
me—all
this was formed by God, for my benefit, and is part of His ultimate intention for me.
    Most of the time I do not succeed in this attempt. My child is due in the middle of June. If this is the only letter from me that reaches you, pray for me in that week. May God have mercy on my beautiful child.
    And may God bless Mr. Poole, whatever his sins, for providing a trunk-full of comfort, of distraction, of amusement secretly imbibed, to lift my heart and dispel my fears. With my confinement approaching I should read nothing that does not calm and inspire, yet I find myself gorging on Mr. Poe’s macabre tales. Black cats—give me a sack-full! Gruesome resurrections? The more shocking, the better! Frightful revenge? I revel in each detail!
    Can this be akin to my periodic, overwhelming cravings for pickles and crab?
    Or is it only because these absurd horrors banish true fear?
    May God bless you, my friend. Keep you safe.
    Love,
Cora
    P.S. I am more sorry than I can say to hear of your brother Gaius’s death, and the bereavement of poor Henriette, who was so hospitable (was it only March?) although I’m sure she quite agreed with your Aunt Sally about my Yankee barbarity. Please let me know, when you hear that she and her children came to safety. Let me know, too, if you have news of what became of your dear friend Mr. Cameron after seeing the Academy students safely to Chattanooga—and whether Mrs. Acklen’s art gallery suffered during the looting in Nashville.
    C.
    [forwarded to Vicksburg—reached Vicksburg end of May]
    Cora Poole, Southeast Harbor Deer Isle, Maine
To
Susanna Ashford, c/o Eliza Johnson
Greeneville, Tennessee
W EDNESDAY , A PRIL 9, 1862
    Dearest,
    News of horrendous battle in Tennessee, casualties almost unbelievable: nearly one man in five. Though as far as I can make out,Shiloh is far from Greeneville (the nearest atlas belongs to Elinor), I have heard fearful stories of conditions in the east of Tennessee. I fear for you and your sister, though I know, even as I write these words, that I am powerless to help or even to know what is taking place there at this minute. And when you read them, the situation will have improved or worsened, but will not be the same situation. What manner of world do we live in, Susie?
S ATURDAY , A PRIL 12
E VENING
    Snow is flying, just when it looked to be spring at last. Papa is expected but has not yet arrived. Ollie is carrying in extra wood. He and Papa were to have cleared away the boughs from around the house this afternoon. Yet another week of darkness and snowshoes …
W EDNESDAY , A PRIL 16
    Still snowing. Sugared off four times. How I wish I could send you a cake of it!
T UESDAY , A PRIL 22
    Your letter. A prayer of thanks, that Julia’s child is safe born! It gives me hope for my own. I feel such fear, and then the child moves within me, and all the world transforms to joy.
    And you, my dear, have a wicked, wicked pen! And yet, like Miss Austen’s books, your drawing of your Pa’s triumphant homecomingdisarms my rage at the man, for reducing the two of you—the
three
of