not even going to write that, because Pa always finds some reason that he’s too busy to write. I can just see him when he returns, pinching my chin and grinning, “I knew my Babygirl would take care of everything!” And giving me a new handkerchief that he bought for me in Richmond, and Julia a diamond necklace!
It makes me feel better to write this to you (and to draw the enclosed picture of Pa’s triumphant return).
M ONDAY , M ARCH 10
Having just re-read the above, I want to ask you, or tell you … I know you love your parents, and your home, and Elinor and Emory. I love Julia and Pa, and Tennessee. But sometimes I feel two things at once—like sincerely loving Justin with all my heart, and sincerely not wanting to marry him because it would mean not going to the Academy of Art. All my life, Julia’s been telling me, “You can’t be angry at Pa if you truly love him.” Well, I truly love him, and I’m
furious
at him, Cora. And I’m furious that I’m not allowed to say so; that most people will say there’s something wrong with me even for thinking,
He’s acting like an irresponsible blackguard
.
Can we make an agreement, you and I, that whatever I write, you know that I’m not mad to love Pa, and Julia, and Justin, even though I may decide that I love Art even more?
I think that’s one reason I love
David Copperfield
so much. Mr. Dickens touches it so
exactly
. It truly helps to know that I’m notinsane for feeling two contradictory things with equal force. Is there a copy of it, by the way, in Mr. P’s trunk? Mr. Dickens also talks, in
DC
, about what
I
do with books—put myself in those places, make up other adventures for those people. Mrs. Elliott would say, like your Father, that we should only read what improves the mind, but I don’t think that’s so. Sometimes we just need to rest our minds, to let our hearts sit quietly next to a warming fire until the chill abates. With dear friends, if our friends are near-by. But if they aren’t, then with those other friends—Quasimodo and Eliza Bennet and Mr. Micawber, and all the rest.
W EDNESDAY , M ARCH 12
Julia had her baby, a little boy. Thomas Jefferson Ramsay Balfour.
W EDNESDAY NIGHT
Charley Johnson just brought word that his father has reached Nashville, to take over as Military Governor of the Union-held part of Tennessee.
Love,
S
Susanna Ashford,
c/o Eliza Johnson, Greeneville, Tennessee
To
Cora Poole, Southeast Harbor
Deer Isle, Maine
S ATURDAY , M ARCH 15, 1862
Cora,
Your letter came yesterday, but I daren’t pass your good wishes along to Julia. She hates the Yankees with a virulence equalled only by the Daughters of the Union for the South. I keep your letters hidden, and only read them when she’s asleep.
Aunt Sally Bodmin came today. Ordinarily you couldn’t get Aunt Sally into Senator Johnson’s house at gunpoint. Since Mrs. J is supposed to be at death’s door I went downstairs, to tell her we’d had to give Mrs. J Extreme Unction last night (even though she’s a Methodist). But the minute I came into the parlor Aunt Sally demanded, “Has Julia had her baby yet?” which makes me laugh, Cora, because she’ll slap my hands if I even
hint
that women
have
babies. So I said, Wednesday, and I couldn’t help noticing that in spite of the Union blockade, Aunt Sally’s hoopskirt, silk dress, bonnet-feathers, and lace all looked new. So did the coloring of her hair. She asked, “Can Eliza travel?” Meaning Mrs. J. When I shook my head she glared at me and asked, “If the house were burning down, could she flee?” With that she brushed past me and went upstairs to Mrs. J’s room with the news that within a week Mrs. Johnson and Charley were going to be on their way to Libby Prison (and poor little Frank on his way to God knows where!) because Senator Johnson has arrested the entire city government of Nashville (and poor Dr. Elliott!) for refusing to swear the Loyalty Oath to the Union.
“And no more than that
It makes me feel better to write this to you (and to draw the enclosed picture of Pa’s triumphant return).
M ONDAY , M ARCH 10
Having just re-read the above, I want to ask you, or tell you … I know you love your parents, and your home, and Elinor and Emory. I love Julia and Pa, and Tennessee. But sometimes I feel two things at once—like sincerely loving Justin with all my heart, and sincerely not wanting to marry him because it would mean not going to the Academy of Art. All my life, Julia’s been telling me, “You can’t be angry at Pa if you truly love him.” Well, I truly love him, and I’m
furious
at him, Cora. And I’m furious that I’m not allowed to say so; that most people will say there’s something wrong with me even for thinking,
He’s acting like an irresponsible blackguard
.
Can we make an agreement, you and I, that whatever I write, you know that I’m not mad to love Pa, and Julia, and Justin, even though I may decide that I love Art even more?
I think that’s one reason I love
David Copperfield
so much. Mr. Dickens touches it so
exactly
. It truly helps to know that I’m notinsane for feeling two contradictory things with equal force. Is there a copy of it, by the way, in Mr. P’s trunk? Mr. Dickens also talks, in
DC
, about what
I
do with books—put myself in those places, make up other adventures for those people. Mrs. Elliott would say, like your Father, that we should only read what improves the mind, but I don’t think that’s so. Sometimes we just need to rest our minds, to let our hearts sit quietly next to a warming fire until the chill abates. With dear friends, if our friends are near-by. But if they aren’t, then with those other friends—Quasimodo and Eliza Bennet and Mr. Micawber, and all the rest.
W EDNESDAY , M ARCH 12
Julia had her baby, a little boy. Thomas Jefferson Ramsay Balfour.
W EDNESDAY NIGHT
Charley Johnson just brought word that his father has reached Nashville, to take over as Military Governor of the Union-held part of Tennessee.
Love,
S
Susanna Ashford,
c/o Eliza Johnson, Greeneville, Tennessee
To
Cora Poole, Southeast Harbor
Deer Isle, Maine
S ATURDAY , M ARCH 15, 1862
Cora,
Your letter came yesterday, but I daren’t pass your good wishes along to Julia. She hates the Yankees with a virulence equalled only by the Daughters of the Union for the South. I keep your letters hidden, and only read them when she’s asleep.
Aunt Sally Bodmin came today. Ordinarily you couldn’t get Aunt Sally into Senator Johnson’s house at gunpoint. Since Mrs. J is supposed to be at death’s door I went downstairs, to tell her we’d had to give Mrs. J Extreme Unction last night (even though she’s a Methodist). But the minute I came into the parlor Aunt Sally demanded, “Has Julia had her baby yet?” which makes me laugh, Cora, because she’ll slap my hands if I even
hint
that women
have
babies. So I said, Wednesday, and I couldn’t help noticing that in spite of the Union blockade, Aunt Sally’s hoopskirt, silk dress, bonnet-feathers, and lace all looked new. So did the coloring of her hair. She asked, “Can Eliza travel?” Meaning Mrs. J. When I shook my head she glared at me and asked, “If the house were burning down, could she flee?” With that she brushed past me and went upstairs to Mrs. J’s room with the news that within a week Mrs. Johnson and Charley were going to be on their way to Libby Prison (and poor little Frank on his way to God knows where!) because Senator Johnson has arrested the entire city government of Nashville (and poor Dr. Elliott!) for refusing to swear the Loyalty Oath to the Union.
“And no more than that
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