Elizabeth had grown up in Boston, Alice in New York, and Florence in Philadelphia, though her parents had moved away several years earlier to a small town in Illinois where her father practiced medicine.
“Doesn’t all snow turn gray?” Alice teased.
“Not on Cromwell Plantation,” Janie assured her. “It stays pure and white, reflecting back a million diamonds when the sun hits it.” She smiled as she remembered. “It seems to swallow sound…” Her voice trailed off. “It makes you feel”— she searched for the right word—“safe,” she finally said. “I know that sounds odd, but that’s how it made me feel. Like the snow created a barrier from the rest of the world — especially the war. They were the most peaceful days I spent during the war.”
The kitchen fell silent, all of them with their own thoughts and memories of the war. Alice stood to fill her bowl with more soup but not before Janie caught the bright sheen of tears in her eyes. “Alice?”
Alice stiffened as she faced the stove, remaining silent while she dished up her soup. “I got a letter from my parents today,” she finally admitted. She turned slowly, her face tight with pain. “My brother is not doing well.”
Janie frowned. “The morphine?”
Alice hesitated and then nodded. “He was caught breaking into the local dispensary to steal some.” Her voice caught. “My parents say they don’t know how to help him. His doctors say he doesn’t need it anymore, but he’ll do anything to get it.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’m hearing that story from all over the North,” she said.
“And the South,” Janie said quickly. “We don’t have quite as big of a problem because the blockade stopped the flow of drugs long before the war was over, but there is still a large addiction problem. Morphine and opium may have been hard to come by, but moonshine is easily available in the South.”
“They’re blocking out memories,” Florence said quickly. “All of them have so many horrible memories of what happened to them. Not to mention pain they will suffer for the rest of their lives from their injuries. Addiction is a very real thing,” she said angrily. “Dr. Anderson told me today that there are hundreds of thousands of war veterans suffering from addiction. I know our doctors thought they were doing the right thing when they continued to give morphine for the pain, but the long-term results are disastrous.” She scowled. “Forget what I said earlier about almost wishing the war wasn’t over. I’ll be happy if I never have to walk onto another battlefield covered with dead and dying men,” she said fiercely. “So many are going to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.”
“The people around them will suffer as well,” Alice said quietly, her blue eyes dark with worry. “My parents have tried everything to help my brother. He was only sixteen when he went to war. My parents tried to stop him, but he snuck off one night with some friends because he didn’t want to miss the adventure,” she said bitterly.
The three women remained silent, knowing her brother’s adventure had sent him home minus a leg below the knee and with an addiction that was destroying him. He had just turned twenty.
“He got married during a leave from the war,” she revealed for the first time, “but his wife left him a few months ago because of his rages.”
Janie flinched, knowing all too well what that was like. “Is it easier up here?” she asked impulsively.
“Easier?”
“To leave your husband?” Janie asked, knowing she was off topic, but all the talk had reactivated her memories. She gripped her napkin tightly to conceal her shaking hands.
Florence looked at her closely and then reached under the table to take hold of one of her hands. “What haven’t you told us?” she asked perceptively.
Janie shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “We aren’t talking about me.”
“We are
“Doesn’t all snow turn gray?” Alice teased.
“Not on Cromwell Plantation,” Janie assured her. “It stays pure and white, reflecting back a million diamonds when the sun hits it.” She smiled as she remembered. “It seems to swallow sound…” Her voice trailed off. “It makes you feel”— she searched for the right word—“safe,” she finally said. “I know that sounds odd, but that’s how it made me feel. Like the snow created a barrier from the rest of the world — especially the war. They were the most peaceful days I spent during the war.”
The kitchen fell silent, all of them with their own thoughts and memories of the war. Alice stood to fill her bowl with more soup but not before Janie caught the bright sheen of tears in her eyes. “Alice?”
Alice stiffened as she faced the stove, remaining silent while she dished up her soup. “I got a letter from my parents today,” she finally admitted. She turned slowly, her face tight with pain. “My brother is not doing well.”
Janie frowned. “The morphine?”
Alice hesitated and then nodded. “He was caught breaking into the local dispensary to steal some.” Her voice caught. “My parents say they don’t know how to help him. His doctors say he doesn’t need it anymore, but he’ll do anything to get it.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’m hearing that story from all over the North,” she said.
“And the South,” Janie said quickly. “We don’t have quite as big of a problem because the blockade stopped the flow of drugs long before the war was over, but there is still a large addiction problem. Morphine and opium may have been hard to come by, but moonshine is easily available in the South.”
“They’re blocking out memories,” Florence said quickly. “All of them have so many horrible memories of what happened to them. Not to mention pain they will suffer for the rest of their lives from their injuries. Addiction is a very real thing,” she said angrily. “Dr. Anderson told me today that there are hundreds of thousands of war veterans suffering from addiction. I know our doctors thought they were doing the right thing when they continued to give morphine for the pain, but the long-term results are disastrous.” She scowled. “Forget what I said earlier about almost wishing the war wasn’t over. I’ll be happy if I never have to walk onto another battlefield covered with dead and dying men,” she said fiercely. “So many are going to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.”
“The people around them will suffer as well,” Alice said quietly, her blue eyes dark with worry. “My parents have tried everything to help my brother. He was only sixteen when he went to war. My parents tried to stop him, but he snuck off one night with some friends because he didn’t want to miss the adventure,” she said bitterly.
The three women remained silent, knowing her brother’s adventure had sent him home minus a leg below the knee and with an addiction that was destroying him. He had just turned twenty.
“He got married during a leave from the war,” she revealed for the first time, “but his wife left him a few months ago because of his rages.”
Janie flinched, knowing all too well what that was like. “Is it easier up here?” she asked impulsively.
“Easier?”
“To leave your husband?” Janie asked, knowing she was off topic, but all the talk had reactivated her memories. She gripped her napkin tightly to conceal her shaking hands.
Florence looked at her closely and then reached under the table to take hold of one of her hands. “What haven’t you told us?” she asked perceptively.
Janie shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “We aren’t talking about me.”
“We are
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