Sarah's Roses, Book II: Roses of White

Chapter IX

Chapter IX

As every proper Southern girl was expected, I joined the war effort and would spend a great part of my day knitting socks and sewing sheets and pillowcases. The war effort was a big part of everyone around me, however, the first year of the war I was not as actively involved as the rest of my peers. This was because by the end of the year our household was filled up with an even greater care than the war. Aunt Helen took ill.

Aunt Helen not feeling well was nothing new, she would often be very sickly and in the winter times she could spend as much as a week in bed without getting out. Her health had been frail from her birth, and as most of the slaves whispered, she would never have survived if Lulu had not nursed her and pulled her through. She was not expected to live long, and the fact that she had outlived her father, mother and sister was a mystery to everyone. Aunt Helen’s health had been failing for the past two years, but I never expected the day to come when she could no longer rise from her bed.

A hush fell over the household. It was as if we all understood Aunt Helen would not live much longer, and this cast a shadow over us all. Lulu nursed Aunt Helen night and day and Uncle Andrew was often in her room, holding her hand and softly conversing to her. Sometimes, when I would tip-toe past the room and peek inside, I would see him reading to her from a large black book I knew to be the family Bible.

As for myself, I was never called to her, though I did all in my power to help in caring for her. I would help prepare her food and carry it up the stairs myself before passing it on to Lulu. I wanted to help my Aunt in any way possible. I had long given up the hope that she would ever love me, but I didn’t want to seem like an ungrateful child. I wanted her to know that I appreciated the fact that she and Uncle Andrew had taken me in and raised me. As the weeks slowly dragged on and Aunt Helen only got worse. It became painfully obvious that her days were numbered. All around us, things didn’t get better. The Union had imposed a blockade on the Confederacy, supplies could not be brought in, and what was worse, the cotton could not be sold. I saw new lines appear on my Uncles brow, and though he never spoke about anything I knew he was concerned, and stressed.

News began pouring in of the casualties. Every time the mail came in I would hold my breath, almost expecting to see a telegram informing us of Jeff’s death. My Aunt often spoke of Jeff, and I had written him, wondering if he could somehow get leave to come and say his final farewell to her. He had written that for now it was impossible.

One day, as I sat in the drawing room, busily knitting a pair of grey, woolen socks, Lulu walked in and told me that my aunt wished to speak to me. 

I lay down my work and went up the stairs. I paused right outside the door to her room. Why was I so afraid? This was not the first time I was going to see my aunt, and as of late, we had been on relatively smooth terms. Still, there was that fear that gripped my heart every time I went to her. How many times had her pale blue eyes looked at me in coldness, telling me without words what a disgrace I was, telling me I was life’s greatest mistake. Taking a deep breath I pushed the door open. Uncle Andrew was sitting by her bed; he stood up when I entered.

“Sarah’s here.” He softly told my aunt. Walking over, he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and left the room, closing the door behind him. I stood, rooted to my spot, not knowing what to do.

“Come here, child.” Aunt Helen called me.

I slowly walked over to where she lay. Her face had gotten very pale of the week that she had been sick. She looked so frail, so helpless as she lay there on her bed.

“You wished to see me, Aunt Helen?”

“Have a seat, Sarah; there is something I want to tell you.”