Her Rebel Heart. Shannon Farrington

beginning to answer back. Sam feared they would soon use more than ugly words.

       “Where is the carriage?” he’d asked Edward.

       “Over here!”

       They’d done their best to cross the street. Pressing hard against the angry flow, they had been like salmon swimming upstream. By the time they’d reached Pratt Street, paving stones were being ripped from the roadbed. Carts and wagons were overturned. Julia tripped twice on her skirts.

       Tears had silvered her lashes. “What is happening? Why is everyone acting this way?”

       “Hurry. We must hurry.”

       Screams erupted as a volley of gunfire sent the masses scurrying. “They are shooting at us!” Julia cried. “The soldiers are shooting at us!”

       Instinctively, Sam shoved Julia into a narrow alley, knocking loose her bonnet. He and Edward then fell in behind.

       He’d thought that would be the end of it, that cooler heads would prevail and peace would return. He was wrong. War had come. His best friend had left to fight and the woman he loved now wanted no part of the life they had planned together.

       Sam’s shoulders fell with another long, labored sigh. He knew the conflict between him and Julia stemmed from that day on Pratt Street. She had recently confessed to having nightmares about the incident and was wary of walking anywhere in public. She loathed and feared the Federal soldiers who had brought such chaos and destruction to her city.

       Nearly a dozen Baltimoreans had died and countless others were wounded. Edward sought his solace in taking a stand against troops who would open fire in the presence of innocent civilians. Sam understood such a response but he could not bring himself to join Edward’s cause.

      And yet to do nothing…

       He snatched his topper from his head and raked his fingers through his hair. Standing on the dock, he gazed at the might of the Federal forces. Would scenes like the one at the train station be repeated? Were worse things to come?

      Where are You God? Have You turned Your back on us, on this city? What are we supposed to do now?

       Though Sam waited, God did not answer. A cool breeze blew over the harbor. The smell of fish drifted past his nose. By now it was almost dark. Replacing his hat and thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, he turned back toward Mount Vernon. The shops along Pratt Street were closing up for the evening. The lamplighter was making his rounds. Sam walked past him. The man nodded pleasantly, then moved on to his next lamppost. Sam couldn’t help but wonder which side the man and his family had chosen.

      Are they pro-Union or pro-secession? Are they united or divided?

       By the time Sam reached Monument Square he met up with a small contingent of Federal soldiers. Even in the semidarkness he could see that their uniforms were new and blue. They had brass buckles on their belts, polished muskets on their shoulders. He wondered if they had ever seen conflict before.

       A corporal in the group eyed him suspiciously. Assuming he was just another renegade in a neighborhood full of Southern sympathizers, the man fell out of step long enough to glare at Sam. He nodded politely to the soldier, then kept walking. He had no quarrel with the corporal and he wanted to keep it that way.

       The neighborhood doors were shut tight and the curtains drawn. The Stanton home was no exception. As Sam passed by he wondered what Julia was doing at that very moment. Had she baked another loaf of bread? Was the kindling box empty? Resisting the urge to knock on the door and find out, he kept walking.

       He lived a few blocks north of Mount Vernon. His was a quieter street and his brick home more modest than those in Julia’s neighborhood. Sam’s home was furnished sparsely, little more than the necessities. He had never minded the bare solitude before. It was conducive to study. Tonight, however, the house just seemed empty and cold.

      I will start the stove, he thought, warm up something to eat.

       He checked the kindling box. It was running low. He immediately thought of Julia and the look on her face when she saw him in her father’s study. Pain squeezed his heart.

      She did not wish to see me.

       Sam lit a lantern. Once more he took off his frock coat and went outside. He picked up his own ax and set to the task of splitting wood. That which had earlier been done as a labor of love was now an act of drudgery.

       Sunday morning dawned warm and humid, a foretaste of the oppressive summer to come. Julia dressed for church but found that her mind was far from worship. She was concerned about what the atmosphere of the morning service would be like. Many of her fellow parishioners already knew of Edward’s enlistment and those that didn’t would soon find out. She wondered what some would say. There had been tension in the congregation before the occupation of the city. Many families supported States’ Rights. Just as many others professed loyalty to the Union.

      Oh, Lord, please don’t let there be a scene.

       She climbed into the back of her father’s carriage. The seat seemed so empty without Edward beside her. She wondered where her brother was that morning. Had he and the rest of the Guard crossed safely into Virginia? What, if anything, had he had to eat?

       After whispering a prayer for his safety her thoughts returned to church. She wondered if Samuel would be waiting on the front steps when they arrived. He always walked to the building early, saying he enjoyed the serenity of the Lord’s Day morning. He would wait for her carriage to come to a stop then help her out. He’d give her hand a squeeze. She would smile.

      I won’t smile this morning, she thought, even if he is there.

       Her father rolled the carriage to a stop in front of the church. Fellow worshippers clustered about the yard but Samuel wasn’t there. Julia felt an odd mixture of disappointment and relief. She climbed slowly from her father’s carriage then followed her parents into the building.

       The windows were open, yet the room was stuffy. Creatures of habit, most parishioners sat in their usual pews each Sunday. Today, the people were scattered about. Longtime friends were now on separate sides of the aisle. Even some families were divided. A tension filled the air. No one seemed to be breathing.

       Julia knew exactly what had happened. A chill ran through her. They have chosen sides, she thought. And now they will watch to see what we do.

       She glanced at her father. He did not hesitate. Dr. Stanton led his wife to their usual pew, five from the front on the left-hand side. They sat down. Julia adjusted her hoop. She opened her fan. The chill had passed and now she was sweating.

       Within seconds after taking their seat, Charlie Johnson, a local businessman and friend of the family, slipped in behind her father. He whispered, though his words were loud enough that Julia could hear them.

       “Thomas, for goodness’ sake, what are you doing? Edward has enlisted. Why are you sitting on this side of the church?”

       Julia blanched. She realized to what Mr. Johnson was referring. They were sitting with those members who had expressed their support for the Federal occupation. Families with sons fighting for the Confederacy were seated on the right side of the congregation. Julia wanted to shrink from view.

       Her father did not flinch. “We are sitting where we always have, Charlie,” he said calmly. “This is our family pew. It always has been. It always will be.”

       Mr. Johnson let out a huff but moved back to his seat without further argument. A murmur swept over the congregation. Julia sat frozen, eyes staring straight ahead. She was glad that her bonnet limited her view to what was directly in front of her. She did not want to see what was happening around her. She knew the whispers were about her family.

       The pew creaked and Julia realized someone else was approaching. She held her breath, fearing another confrontation about their seating arrangements. She cocked her head ever so slightly, just enough to see who was coming.

       It was Samuel.