For a few months, Zechariah and Sarah seemed to get along better.  They celebrated Christmas together in the big house.  I got to watch them sneak into the room and wrap presents for each other beforehand.  They seemed giddy.

Zechariah seemed to be taking to the new job well.  Sarah loved the house and having something called “slaves.”  The closest I could figure, they were talking about the people with darker skin, but something didn’t seem to connect in my alloy about the tone in Sarah’s voice and the way she talked about people.

For their part, the people with dark skin were a fascinating bunch.  They spoke in a thick accent, and would always come into Zechariah and Sarah’s room when they weren’t in there.  This was a new concept to me, and at first, I watched them carefully to make sure they didn’t steal anything – not that I could have stopped them if they had tried – but they never did.  Instead, they would make the bed, changing the sheets periodically, gather dirty clothes, and clean the room.  If needed, they would stoke the fire and clean out the ashes.

They always talked about “how nice the new mastah” was.  I had no idea what they were talking about.

Stress lines around Zechariah’s face seemed to deepen.  I longed to ask him what was wrong, and wished desperately that Sarah would.  It took her months before she noticed, and she only noticed when she was talking about baby names and she realized he wasn’t listening.

“Zechariah!  Are you paying any attention?”

“What?  I’m sorry Sarah.  What were you talking about?”

“I was talking about your child.  I would think that would be of some importance to you.”

“Of course it is,” he snapped, “I just have a lot else on my mind.  But what is so important you’re going to come onto me about it?”

“What should we name the baby if it’s a girl?”

“Names?”  Zechariah shot up in bed, the covers flying off his shoulders to land in his lap.  “You’re going to yell at me about baby names when that time is a few months off yet?  Don’t you know that there’s a war about to start?  A war that could take away our entire way of living in this new life?  We could be right back where we started with nothing, and you are worried about a name.”

Sarah scoffed.  “There won’t be a war.  People are blowing things out of proportion.” 

Zechariah paused.  His voice softened.  “South Caroline succeeded from the country just before Christmas.  Other states plan to follow.”

Sarah became silent, her eyes wide.  “Why are they leaving us?”

“President Lincoln wants to abolish slavery.  Many southern states rely on slavery to grow their crops – just like we do.  Though I don’t think paying the people a wage would completely destroy us like many plantation owners fear.  Of course, you and I are used to living on a lot less than they are, too.  We could take a dip in profit okay.”

“A dip in profit?  I don’t want to make less money.”

 “It’s not that we’d be making less, we would just be paying the slaves to work for us.  If President Lincoln has his way, then we would no longer be able to own slaves.”

“Then who would work for us?”

“The same people could.  We would just pay them like an employee instead of owning them.”

“But that would cost a lot of money.”  Sarah pouted.  “Why does President Lincoln want to take our way of life away from us?”

Zechariah’s eyes narrowed.  “Sarah, we would not lose our new way of life.  And if we did, we would still be better off than we were before, right?”

“But think of the baby!  Think of the life we can give him or her now.  Do you want to lose that?”

Zechariah’s body stiffened.  “What do you think I’m thinking about?” he demanded.  “It’s all I ever think about is how to take care of you and the baby.  It’s how to keep this plantation going as my family trusts me to – Aunt Carrie has completely stepped away and doesn’t care to know what’s going on anymore on the business end.  I have so much to think about, and all you care about it the name of a baby that’s several months from coming.  Excuse me for being lost in my thoughts.”

Sarah seemed to shrink as he spoke.  They were both quiet for a while after he stopped.  He lay back down.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.  “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“I understand,” she said, “and I forgive you.”

They hugged under the covers and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

War did come.  Virginia succeeded from the United States while Sarah was very large with child.

Zechariah went off to fight in the Confederate army to protect his home and family.  From the discussions – arguments, really – he and Sarah had, it was clear that he wouldn’t mind paying his slaves, but he had to do what he could to protect his family from the Union army.  As much as he wanted to be home for the baby’s birth, he wanted to help get the war over with quickly so things could return to normal.

The war was not over quickly.

Things did not go back to normal.

Sarah had her baby a few weeks after Zechariah left.  A girl.  Sarah named her Carrie, after Zechariah’s aunt who had provided such a nice home for them.

Confederate soldiers invaded the plantation.  I saw them come.  I saw them eye Sarah lustfully, as she cowered with Carrie in her arms in the corner of the room.

“Leave her.  She has a baby.”

I would have sacrificed my glass to bust over their heads at their pitiful behavior.  How could humans do such things to each other?

My mortification only increased when I heard that they stole all the food from the house, shoes, warm clothes and blankets, and then – the worst of all – plowed salt into the fields.  When Zechariah returned, he would not be able to grow crops for many years and much hard work.

If he returned.

In the summer of 1862, Sarah received a letter from a commanding officer, saying that Zechariah had been severely injured in one of General Stonewall Jackson’s campaigns.  He had been part of a small group that engaged Union forces in Kernstown, Virginia.  The Confederate army had been misinformed that the Union army there was half that size that it actually was.  Zechariah had to pay the price.  The Confederate Army retreated.  Fortunately, the Union Army had not pursued them, so after the battle, they were able to help Zechariah off the field. 

All Sarah knew was that her husband was alive, but severely injured.  He would be coming home as soon as he was well enough to travel.

Things were more difficult when Zechariah got home than when he had left.  He had been shot in his right leg, and ended up having to have his leg amputated from the knee down.  He walked with a crutch and was very bitter.

He considered himself a cripple.

His land was wasted.

Most of his slaves had run off – more would run off after President Lincoln signed something called the Emancipation Proclamation.  All I understood from what Zechariah read to Sarah was that all slaves were now considered free.  He could not work to get his fields able to sustain new growth in his state, and most of his help was gone. 

He did seem to rely on Sarah more, though.  I watched Sarah grow in strength and understanding.  She aged quickly, but she held on.  I was proud of her for the challenges she faced and strove to overcome.

Sarah wanted more children, but Zechariah was unable to provide them for her.  Although she tried to hide it, I saw the many tears she cried.

They grew thin from lack of food.

They often shivered together in front of the fireplace, trying to stay warm.

It would have been hard for things to get much worse for Zechariah’s family as they struggled through to survive the end of what was to be called the Civil War.