Falling for the Enemy

A Change of Heart

                                                                                    Catherine

Mr. Charles Sankey is a childhood friend of my father’s so when he shows up on our doorstep I cannot turn him away even though I would like to because I am worried that his presence here will cause more unneeded stress on my father and he is already so fragile and dealing with so much. Also, I am harboring a fugitive in my bedroom. So for heaven’s sake, my father has been dealing with a lot of stress and the fact that a United soldier is living under his roof isn’t helping the situation.  Mr. Sankey being here is the last thing my father needs.  

    When father greets Mr. Sankey, I can easily see the tension between the two men.   Over the last few years, my father and Mr. Sankey have grown apart over their very different views of slavery they each hold but in my father’s true fashion he cannot turn away a friend.  Mr. Sankey describes the events leading up to the burning of his home and his lack of family, which is the reason Mr. Sankey has turned to my father for assistance. Almost all of Mr. Sankey’s family has moved out West and he is one of the few in his family still on the eastern side of the country.  

“Thomas, thank you for allowing me to stay with you and your family.  I know this is a great burden for you to take upon yourself, especially with your health and the war.”  

“Nonsense Charles, you are an old friend.  I will not turn you out to the streets” father says coughing into his handkerchief.

     Father then gestures for Mr. Sankey to follow him further into our home.  

“I can see the United have been here too,” Sankey says disgustedly. 

“Yes, unfortunately, they have and they took most of our possessions with them,” I say sadly.  

“Well, at least Moher is still standing.  That’s got to count for something.”  

“Indeed Moher is still standing and I plan on keeping her that way,” I say smiling and agreeing with Mr. Sankey.  

“But you should know that you are not our only guest here at Moher.  We are also housing my distant cousin from Fracti.  His parents were having difficulty providing for all of their kin and they knew we were in need of strong able bodies so they sent my cousin Henry here to help us with the burden of running a plantation on our own.  Unfortunately, soon after Henry’s arrival, he was regrettably injured while out on a hunting outing.  He is recuperating in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”  

I say leading Mr. Sankey up the stairs.  

“I also must warn you; my cousin does not speak a single word.  He has been mute since the day he was born.  He can understand you but he is unable to respond to you or anyone verbally.” Walking to the end of the hallway upstairs I lead Mr. Sankey to a guest bedroom where he can stay.  

“I’m sorry about the lack of furniture but as you noticed earlier the army has been here and they took or destroyed most of our possessions.” 

I hand Mr. Sankey a blanket and leave him alone in the mostly empty room.  Even though I was dreading Mr. Sankey, he turns out to be a wonderful addition to the house.  He is younger than my father by at least 8 years and he is still very healthy which means he is able to help with many of the chores around the home.  I am more at ease knowing that there is an able body male in the house to help take care of the daily chores and jobs that the plantation demands.  One morning after hunting with Mr. Sankey and shooting a doe he takes the time to show me how to skin and gut a deer which is something that I knew nothing about prior to his stay, so I am starting to see Mr. Sankey’s stay as a blessing instead of a curse.  If Sankey suspects Henry of being anything other than what we have told him, he is a very good liar because Sankey has not shown any reservations towards Henry. In fact, I think Henry is one of his favorite people to be around because he has nothing to say.    I do however notice the difference in which Mr. Sankey treats and speaks to Sarah, Samuel, Susanah, and Adam.  When he is around them he makes me extremely uncomfortable and it’s hard to explain exactly why.  Something in his demeanor and the way he speaks to them makes me feel and see their inferiority more so than ever before. 

            It’s the first week of March and I still find myself lying on the floor outside of Henry's room. I have been here since he arrived making sure he didn't try anything in the middle of the night while everyone slept.  I am still trapped with a United soldier in my bedroom and it has been more than 3 months.  Henry’s leg is taking much longer to heal than I originally anticipated and he has been confined mostly to my bedroom since we first brought him into our home.  

Henry is beginning to walk around with the assistance of two homemade crutches created by Mr. Sankey.  Mr. Sankey has taken a great liking to our “cousin”, in fact, Mr. Sankey will sit for hours with Henry telling him stories of his childhood and talking to him about our country’s current war, and Henry dutifully plays his part as the mute cousin, nodding his head in agreement and smiling, even though I know in his heart he wants to punch Mr. Sankey square in the face for some of the things he says.  Henry is a good actor, which worries me.  If he can be this convincing as a confederate mute, what else is he capable of doing?  Rolling over and burying my head in my pillow I start to think of the day ahead.  Yes, on this beautiful March day both Susanah and I are planning on beginning the preparation of Moher’s land for the planting season.  By planting and growing our own crops this means we will have more food to support our little family and maybe even have enough food left over to sell at the market in Goldsboro.  However, even though this is an exciting morning, I still find myself struggling to awake this morning.  For the last few days, I have had to push myself to wake with the rising sun.  My body aches from the work done from the day before and each morning it protests at the start of a new workday, and each night I lay my head down on my pillow, and my body and mind are so completely drained and exhausted that I don’t have to lay down on the floor for more than a few seconds before sleep reaches my body. I know that after today I will be even more tired, because of all the preparation work that needs to be done on the land.  

Yawning and stretching my arms towards the ceiling I stand up and walk into Mary’s room and look in the mirror, I quickly dress in my plain worn tan skirt and white blouse.  I no longer worry about the hoopskirts and corsets, as I did prior to the war.   Instead, I slowly button my blouse and tuck it into my skirt, and slide on my dirty shoes.  I will have to mend that hole sooner than later.  Looking in the mirror once more I am finding it hard to recognize the girl that is standing there.  I used to be so full of life and now I am drained of any happiness. Looking in the mirror my attention shifts to my hands. They have become so calloused and rough that they are no longer recognizable as a proper southern belle’s hands.  Southern girls are supposed to be prim and proper without any signs of sun or work on their bodies. My body shows the exact opposite of prim and proper.  My body is tanned from the southern sun, and my skin is tough and leathery and no longer soft.  My fingernails have dirt under them from digging and tending to the animals. These are not the hands of a woman anymore. These are foreign hands; they couldn’t possibly belong to me.  Vaguely I recall what Nathan said about my skin before he left to join the Confederate army. He once compared my skin to the feeling of rose petals and my scent to that of jasmine.  I doubt anyone could make that comparison now.  My skin feels as rough as tree bark and my scent is less than pleasing. Disgusted with myself I begin combing my long chestnut brown hair and then braid it down my back. I glance once more to the mirror.  I am no longer looking at the same pale and innocent girl I was before, untouched by war.  No the girl I am looking at now is tired and rugged.  This girl in the mirror is someone that has been scorched by the sun and whose hands will forever be scarred with the memories from this war, and I will never be able to go back to the old girl that was here before the war.  After I have finished wallowing in my own self-pity; I begin my daily chores in the barn and then meet Susanah in the fields.   Susanah and I busy ourselves in the fields trying to prepare the soil for planting season which is quickly approaching.  We have been lucky this winter because the season was generally mild.  In fact, March has been so mild that the dirt is already soft enough to plow, which is why Susanah and I are getting an early start because we know it will take us three times as long to get anything finished.  Susanah and I drag our hoes through the hard soil, tilling it and breaking it apart.  The plot of land we have chosen has had time to heal itself because it has not been used for a few planting seasons so it is my hope that this plot of land will provide us with a bountiful harvest. Of course, Susanah and I can only work a small part of the land but it still feels like a massive undertaking for just the two of us.  My arms are aching from holding onto the hoe and the hot sun is beating down on my body.   I am angry that the Yankees took our plow and burned it.  It would have made our work go a lot quicker.  I am so weary and I just want to lie down and give in to everything that is happening around me.  But I know if Susanah and I do not plant the crops, there will be nothing for any of us to eat.  So I continue pounding the hoe into the ground and with each movement, my hands burn.  All of the blisters on my hands have broken and they are now bleeding.   I tried to prevent this by wearing gloves, but it was in vain.  Staring up at the hot sun, I wonder how any of our slaves worked in this South Rotta heat because the heat I am experiencing right now in March is nothing compared to the heat that the slaves experienced during the hot summer months.   

“Susanah, I need to stop and get a drink.  This sun is starting to get to me. I will be right back with a fresh bucket of water” 

Susanah nods and continues on with her work. Susanah and I have been working in the field for at least four hours now and it doesn’t seem like we are making a dent.  No matter how much work we both do, it never seems to be enough to accomplish what needs to be done.  True, it has been easier with Mr. Sankey here, but we were not able to find him this morning to ask him for his help.  On other days he has helped with many of the chores but we are still very short-handed.  I take the hem of my skirt and bring it to my forehead to wipe the sweat and dirt from my face and continue walking towards the stream that runs parallel with Moher’s property. Bending over to fill the bucket with fresh water, I am tempted to strip my clothes off and jump into the cool water of the stream.  Instead, I cup my hands in the water and take sip after sip.  I then proceed to wash my face.  Splashing my face with water I think I hear something, but when I pause to listen, it is completely silent other than the nature surrounding me. Hesitating at first I wait a few more seconds before throwing another handful of water on my face, but this time I am sure I can hear something.  Again I freeze and stop to listen.  I hear a blood-curdling scream coming from inside the house.  The scream sounded like it could possibly be from Adam, Susanah’s young 8-year-old son.  Picking up my skirt and pulling it high above my knees I begin sprinting as fast as I can towards the house.  I fly across the veranda and into the main room.  Stopping to listen for the screams once more, I hear them again but this time they are closer, and I can hear a man talking in a deep voice before each terrifying screech.   

“Henry” is all I am able to spit from my lips. I am sure that the Yankee coward has turned on us and he is attacking Adam.  Running over to one of the hidden wooden panels in our home and opening it, I grab my father’s rifle and run towards the kitchen where the screams are coming from.  I do not take the time to think of a plan or to think of how I am going to react to what is causing Adam so much pain on the other side of the door.  Without thinking I burst into the kitchen to see Charles Sankey and not the United soldier holding a piece of kindling wood in one hand and in his other hand he is holding  Adam’s tiny bruised and bloodied body.   Adam bent over with his back facing towards Mr. Sankey.  

“You filthy dog!  That will be the last time you will spill water on someone’s shoe.  You’ll learn how little dogs like you should act in the presence of a white man.”  

And with that Mr. Sankey drops his arm again and strikes Adam in the back with the kindling wood. Adam instantly lets out another scream but this time his scream is answered back by a blow from the butt of my gun to Mr. Sankey’s head.   

“Let him go” I scream once more hitting him with the butt of my gun again.  After making contact the second time to Mr. Sankey’s skull his hands drop the kindling wood.  Mr. Sankey stumbles backward in a daze, steadying himself against the wall in the kitchen; he stands frozen with anger raging in his eyes.  Blood drips from Sankey’s head. Quickly I scoop Adam up into my arms and carry him to the opposite side of the room.  

“Are you okay” I whisper into Adam’s ear but the only response Adam can give me is his sobbing cries coming from the pit of his stomach. “What the hell is wrong with you beating a little boy like that?” I say setting Adam down on the floor behind me and pointing my father’s rifle at Mr. Sankey.  “You wretched little b***h how dare you strike me when I am punishing this dog for his indiscretion?” Just as Mr. Sankey is finishing this sentence Samuel and my father come stumbling into the kitchen.  

“Catherine what is happening?” my father asks frantically.  

“This pig was beating Adam with a piece of kindling wood” I spit from my mouth and take a step to the side so both Samuel and my father can see the damage that has been done to Adam by the hands of Mr. Sankey.  

Both men gasp instantaneously upon seeing the small black and bloodied heap at my feet.  Samuel runs towards me giving me a look of thanks for stopping the beating when I did and then gently cradles Adam in his arms and carries him from the room.   

Shouting I yell across the room to Mr. Sankey “I speak on behalf of my entire family when I say you must remove yourself from our home and from our property at this very instant or I will be forced to shoot you on sight as an intruder in my home.”  Charles looks from me to my father. “Thomas” Mr. Sankey pleads with my father.  “You wouldn’t send me out on the streets for beating some little black boy would you?” Mr. Sankey says half laughing.  

“Charles, you heard my daughter.  You must leave my home as soon as possible.  You are no longer welcome here at Moher and if I or anyone else in this home sees you on our property again they will kill you on sight.” My father says in a very dark voice and then coughs into his handkerchief.  

“You heard my father! Get out!” I repeat still aiming my gun at Charles Sankey.  

“You are going to regret choosing that little pig over me.  Oh yes, you will regret it” he says throwing open the door and stumbling down the dirt road that leads in the middle of the willow trees.  I watch him until he is just a speck in the distance and then I go to check on Adam.

            By the time I find Adam, he is lying in his bed at the slave quarters across from the barn.  Susanah and Sarah have already joined him and are huddled around him.  They are each taking turns washing his back with cold water and comforting him in between sobs.  

“Susanah, I am so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.  Is he going to be okay” I ask leaning my gun against the wall.  

“He is bruised badly and has some deep gashes from where the wood dug into his skin but I think with much rest he will be okay,”  Susanah says without looking at me.  “Why don’t you take him to the house so he is more comfortable?” I ask hopeful that they will say yes and make me feel better about what has happened. I am feeling guilty and I am disgusted by the way Adam was treated in my home. I feel that as a white person I owe them an apology and at this moment I wish I was any other color than white. “No, we will stay here where our home is.” Sarah says in an unemotional voice.  I walk over next to Adam and kneel down next to the bed where his broken and bruised body is lying.  Caressing my hand on his cheek I apologize once more and tell both women I am sorry once again.  I decided that it would be best to leave Samuel and his family alone to deal with the events that have occurred today.  Walking back towards Moher, I find myself getting angrier.  How could a grown man beat a little boy like that again and again and again over spilled water?  I wouldn’t even treat a dog like that. I am beginning to doubt the war and our efforts as southerners. Maybe just maybe the south is fighting for the wrong side and maybe that damn Yankee up in my bedroom is on the right side.  All this time I believed in what the Rebels were fighting for but now that I witnessed the pure evil that happened to Adam today, I am finding that I am becoming more and more confused about what I would like the outcome of this war to be.  He is just a child. Adam's screams echo through my mind. again and again. What happened here today is wrong in so many different ways that I don’t even know where to begin. Why is it okay to beat a black boy in that manner but not a white child?  Are they not both children?  Suddenly I find myself running towards the last place I would think to find solace.  I am running to Henry. Henry will understand.