Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

February 1841

Seventeen-year-old Amanda Hunter traveled to Bluesmoke for the first time as her father’s emissary to attend the funeral of Jonathan’s grandfather. Though their fathers had been friends for years, Jonathan and Amanda had never met. Her father, Alexander Hamilton Hunter, was preparing to leave for Richmond when the news of the death came.

“I must warn you about Charles’s wife,” her father told her.

“What about her?” Amanda asked.

“I’ll just say she’s strange,” he replied, “and let you make your own judgment. Don’t get your feelings hurt when she scowls at you. She does that to everybody.”

Amanda’s uncle Teddy accompanied her to Bluesmoke. She had never traveled without at least one of her parents along, but the excitement of the trip and the rugged beauty of the mountains soon overcame her sadness at leaving home.

She had no great expectations of a house in a country as rustic as northeastern Tennessee was at that time. They had passed some beautiful homes in some of the small towns they traveled through, but the last leg of their journey had offered nothing of civilization except dogtrot houses: two separate structures of the same size connected by a roofed passageway. She was unprepared for the beauty of Bluesmoke.

The Armstrong farm was tucked into one of the pockets of land—coves, as the locals called them. Beyond the house were fields of different sizes and levels, which rose higher and higher until they melted into the woods beyond. The high ridges of the Great Smoky Mountains rimmed the farm like a giant horseshoe.

Split-rail fences bordered a wide lane of hard-packed earth. A light dusting of snow had fallen the night before. It had settled on the fence rails like icing on gingerbread. In the afternoon sun, the rails cast wavy gray shadows onto the pristine snow that covered the meadows in front of the house. Several swales in the land created subtle drops in elevation as the lane descended toward the house.

The lane ended at a white wooden entrance gate, which was attached to two brick pillars. Fences intersected at right angles at the gatepost and enclosed the front meadows, where corn had been grown the previous season. The stubbles, left behind when the dry cornstalks were broken off, looked like miniature tents under the snow.

Beyond the entrance gate, an oval carriage drive allowed vehicles to pull right up to the front doorstep. A creek meandered lazily through a strip of very tall trees, their bare winter branches stretching skyward like bony fingers.

A brick chimney rose at each end of the house’s most creative feature: a railed observation deck. It sat astride the center of the low-pitched roof. This was the sort of structure usually built atop a coastal house—like a widow’s walk, from which a nervous wife scanned the horizons for the return of her husband’s ship.

The white two-story colonial house of frame construction had a brick terrace that ran the full length of its broad front. Four square columns stretched from the brick floor to the roof. At the right end of the terrace was a wrought-iron trellis that ascended to the roof and supported dozens of climbing rosebushes.

A carved oak door graced the front of the house. Handsome Ionic pilasters with brick bases supported the doorframe. Shutters flanked all of the windows, which had narrow panes of glass, nine to the sash, eighteen to the window. At the second-story level, a sizable balcony was suspended.

Jonathan’s father, Charles Armstrong, Jr., came out to greet them. Amanda was just alighting from the carriage when Jonathan rode up on a beautiful and powerful roan mare. Introductions were made all around. Normally a conservative man, Charles Armstrong had been quite extravagant in building his house. He loved to show it off, and was delighted when Amanda commented on its beauty.

“Come in,” Charles said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “It’s a blustery day we’re having.”

Jonathan jumped right in and pulled Amanda away from his father, which she thought was rude, but Charles didn’t seem to mind. Jonathan created quite a charming little ceremony of introducing Amanda to the house. He escorted her through the front door, which opened into a large rectangular center hall. The floors were made of beautiful random-width pine. Just to the right of the main entrance was an elaborately carved staircase that led to the second floor.

“I’m charmed to meet you, Evalinda,” Amanda said when she was introduced to Jonathan’s mother.

“Just call me Eva,” she replied, and then walked away.

The next morning, Jonathan chose for Amanda a gentle bay mare from their fine stables, and they rode together every morning. In the evenings, they strolled through the woods, walking and talking, with an occasional respite for sweet kisses. Jonathan was impressed when she told him she fished and hunted with her brother at home, and was an accomplished horsewoman.

With Jonathan, Amanda practiced her new mannerisms and melodious speaking voice, which she had acquired after many hours of rehearsal in front of a full-length mirror. She wanted to look and sound more like an English lady than a rural Virginia girl. At a very young age, Amanda had noticed that her mother spoke more elegantly in public than when she was at home with her family, and she intended to duplicate her mother’s style.

Amanda and her uncle remained at Bluesmoke several days after the senior Armstrong was laid to rest, during which time Amanda and Jonathan had long conversations by the light of a blazing fire of hickory logs in the parlor. Their courtship officially began on Valentine’s Day, 1841. By the end of that first visit, they had established a strong attachment to each other.

Everyone made a point of leaving the couple alone, everyone except Evalinda. When the clock struck nine o’clock, she appeared in the doorway and continued to stand there until Jonathan went upstairs to bed. She glared at Amanda all the while. The last night Amanda stayed there, Evalinda took the parlor lamp with her, which was the only light left burning in the entire house, leaving Amanda to find her way to bed in the dark.

Amanda wasn’t accustomed to the strictness she encountered at Bluesmoke. Evalinda ran the household on a precise schedule. Everyone ate, worked, and slept when she said it was time to eat, work, and sleep. Charles and Jonathan tolerated it as if it were their duty.
Amanda immediately noticed the strangeness in Evalinda that her father had mentioned. It was something Amanda couldn’t quite define—coldness, aloofness? It seemed to Amanda that Evalinda just didn’t want to be bothered with people. The longer Amanda knew her, the less she understood her. And she got the feeling that that was exactly the way Evalinda wanted it.

Back at Hunter House, Amanda’s elation over the wonderful turn her life had taken was dampened by her mother’s reluctance to have her youngest daughter become so obsessed so quickly with a man she hardly knew.

“You have many men to meet before you decide on a mate for life,” Mother said.

“I must admit I’m a little flustered,” Amanda said. “I didn’t know people could fall in love so fast.”

“Maybe you’re the only one in love.”

“Oh, no, he’s just as much in love as I am.”

She overheard an argument between her parents. Mother finally admitted that a union between their daughter and Charles Armstrong’s son wouldn’t be a step down for her, socially.

Their courtship endured through long separations. Amanda fell more in love with Jonathan through his letters. He expressed beautiful emotions in his writings; and when they were together, words seemed unnecessary.

Finally, on a warm and beautiful June evening in 1845, Amanda Belle Hunter and Jonathan Cambridge Armstrong were united in marriage. The wedding ceremony was held in the center hall at Hunter House, with family and many friends in attendance. Charles attended the wedding without Evalinda. She refused to go.

The front and rear doors were wide open, in hopes of catching a cool breeze to dissipate the heat from hours and hours of cooking. The pocket doors that separated the parlor from the hall were pushed back, and the band was set up in there. Across the hall, every inch of the eight-foot dining table was covered with a grand buffet.

Amanda wore an ivory hand-embroidered Indian muslin dress trimmed in lace. Her sister, Penelope, was her bridesmaid. Though Amanda knew that Penelope was mortified to see her younger sister married before she was even engaged, Penelope seemed to forget her displeasure for the moment, and brought a pink rose for Amanda to wear in her hair.

The new Mr. And Mrs. Armstrong spent their wedding trip visiting relatives, which was the custom. After spending their last night at a hotel in Knoxville, Jonathan took his bride home, where Evalinda’s strange behavior became stranger still.

On the day Jonathan and Amanda crossed the threshold at Bluesmoke as man and wife, Eva ceased to help with meal preparations, house cleaning, or any other chores. Amanda was soon bogged down with housework, and she was homesick. A tearful letter to Mother soon took care of those problems.

A few weeks later, Alex Hunter brought Barbé to Tennessee. “I don’t wish to give the impression that I am overly concerned about Amanda’s welfare,” he told Jonathan, “but I will feel better if she has someone with her she has known all her life.”

Jonathan didn’t object. Charles was an avid abolitionist and must have disapproved of the arrangement, but he never mentioned it to Amanda.

Jonathan agreed with Amanda that Bluesmoke needed to be redecorated, but what it needed most was a good cleaning. It appeared that it hadn’t seen much cleaning in the two decades since it was built. The same draperies, the same furniture, and the same floor coverings remained. Amanda learned that Eva took doting care of her roses, but not much else. The draperies hung full of a moist, brown goop. The walls, once painted a soft gray, were an almost indescribable greenish color. The whole place reeked of tobacco.

Not only did Charles and Jonathan keep their pipes lit almost every waking minute, Eva dipped snuff, and kept a wad of it between her bottom lip and her gums all day long. There were spittoons everywhere, but Eva rarely hit them when she spewed an arc of vile brown liquid across the room. It appeared that she made a game of trying to hit the vessel farthest away from where she was sitting. If at the fireplace, she spat in the general direction of the spittoon located next to the chair at the window. She never aimed, nor did she actually look up. She just spat in that general direction.

If the spittle hit its target, with a “ping,” she made not a sound. If it hit the floor with a “splat” or landed on the rug with a “thud,” a loud cackle escaped from her lips.

Jonathan gave Amanda carte blanche to make the house the way she wanted it. She selected new carpets, furniture, and draperies. She went through the house room-by-room and changed everything from floor to ceiling. She also bought new china, silver, and crystal for the dining room.

Charles was pleased with the improvements Amanda made, readily admitting that it needed a new look, more in keeping with his son’s new profession. Eva stayed with her sister in the mountains during the renovations. When she returned, she looked around, uttered a grunt, and retired to her newly decorated bedroom.

The refurbishing took months, but by winter, Amanda was bored, and lonesome for the companionship of her husband. Jonathan began to spend an occasional evening at the Old Duck Tavern at Armstrong Crossroads, which left her feeling neglected.

He had ambitious plans for his law practice. “I’ll be able to help people in this community who have never had legal representation before. And, if I’m lucky enough to be elected, I’d like to serve in some capacity in the government.”

Amanda looked forward to that lifestyle. It was exciting to think that she might be the wife of a senator someday, maybe a governor. With a husband in political office, Amanda could continue the work her grandmother had begun—championing the rights of women. After she was widowed, Belle Hathaway Hunter had spent the last two decades of her life working for that cause.

Amanda waited for Jonathan one night until he returned from the Old Duck Tavern. He had spent two evenings there that week, and she was unhappy. And it was very late when he finally came home.

“I thought I knew you, Jonathan,” Amanda said tearfully. “I never dreamed you drank, and certainly not in a vile and filthy place like a tavern.”

“You do know me,” he insisted.

“No, you’ve changed these last few months,” she said. “And what’s happening with your practice? I hardly see anyone coming to your office these days.”

“It’s just slow in winter. And those of our neighbors who have attorneys in Greeneville—once they realize they don’t have to travel that far and pay those outlandish fees, they will bring their business to me.”

“Really?”

“Things will pick up in the spring. Nothing for you to worry about.”

But, by the spring of 1846, Amanda was no happier. Life at Bluesmoke Farm was nothing like she thought it would be. She decided that if she were to have a social life, she would have to create it.

“It’s dull here,” she complained to Jonathan. “Don’t you ever have company? Don’t your friends ever stop by for a visit?”

“Absolutely not,” said Jonathan. “I’m too busy.”

“You head off to the tavern several nights a week now,” she complained, “and I get lonely.”

“Aren’t you busy enough taking care of me and the house?”

“No,” she insisted. “That does not suffice. I need people. Rarely did a day go by without someone stopping by for a visit at Hunter House.”

“Charles used to have corn shucking in the autumn, hog killing day, and such nonsense. I put an end to that when I started my law practice. I can’t have people underfoot all the time.”

“You’ve changed, Jonathan,” she complained. “I rarely see you these days, until you come to bed at night. Doesn’t it bother you that we spend so little time together?”

“Relationships change after marriage,” he said. “My trips to the tavern are helping me attract new clients. These men are more likely to talk about their personal situations after they’ve had a few nips. It’s only business.”

“You have the companionship of those men at the tavern, while I’m left alone. Eva never talks to me. If Charles says two words to me, she gets angry and makes the rest of our evening miserable.”

“I can’t be in two places at the same time, Amanda,” Jonathan said.

“Then let me have a little supper,” she said. “I can get to know some of the women in the community. I could invite some of your new clients. It seems you have been getting a few new ones.”

“I’m not much for socializing,” he said.

“Maybe you should be,” she said, with a smile. “It might be good for your practice.”

Jonathan relented.

She invited the more prominent people around Armstrong Crossroads—there weren’t many—to a casual Saturday night supper. She served ham, duck, and pheasant, several vegetables, and a selection of desserts. After supper, Amanda served wine and coffee to the women in the parlor. The men preferred whiskey, which Jonathan offered in the library. Amanda thought the occasion was a success and she felt more alive than she had in months.

“You’re the talk all over the Valley,” Jonathan said, the following Saturday night, when he returned home from the tavern.

“Why?” Amanda said.

“They’re saying that at your supper, you flounced around, and acted like you were better than the other women.”

“I did not. You were there. You saw how I behaved.”

“I didn’t pay much attention to what you did,” he said. “I was trying to further my business interests.”

“I was just trying to be friendly,” she said.

“Yes, well, I’ve tried to tell you that people are different here. They’re more reserved.”

“I’ll do better next time,” she said. “They just need a little more time to get to know me.”

“No,” Jonathan said. “The men are afraid you’ll influence their wives, who seem to think you have free rein to do whatever you want here. They don’t want their wives demanding more freedoms at home. What did you say to those women when you were in the parlor?”

“I just wanted to be interesting.”

“Well, you accomplished that much. No one said you were boring!”

“It’s not fair,” she whined. “You have a party three or four nights a week with your friends at the tavern.”

“Yes,” he said, arrogantly, “I do. I buy them a few drinks, and I’m hoping they’ll send some business my way.”

“Isn’t that expensive—buying all those drinks?”

“Not overly,” he answered.

“Then I should be able to have a little party once in a while.”

“No more parties!”

Amanda believed that it was essential for her happiness that she be the head of local society. She would just have to find another way to do it. Mother had taught her that a true sense of self could only be achieved by helping others to lift themselves up from poverty and ignorance.

Maybe living at Bluesmoke would offer her the best opportunity to create a social life. In a larger community, she would have to compete with other women for the top spot. Bluesmoke was more isolated than she would have liked, but she vowed not to be disheartened.

A few nights later, while Amanda was getting ready for bed, she heard loud voices coming from Jonathan’s office. And not just a few voices—several people, laughing and talking. Jonathan must have brought some clients home from the tavern. They should be leaving soon.

But they didn’t leave.

She put on her robe and slippers and went to the end of the walkway that led to Jonathan’s office.

“Your wife wants you,” one of the men said, laughing.

“Get back in the house,” Jonathan whispered. “You’re half-naked.”

“Why are these men here?”

“I thought about what you said the other night—it is expensive buying drinks at the tavern. It will be much cheaper buying the whiskey and serving it here.”

“Well, I hope it won’t happen again any time soon.”

“Oh, I’ve ordered a whole case of whiskey,” he explained. “I won’t be drinking at the tavern anymore. I’ll have my friends come here instead. It’ll save me money, and you’ll have no reason to complain about me being away from home so much.”

“That’s not what I meant!” she shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered.

“How do you expect me to sleep through this?”

“It’ll be over soon. Go back in the house.”

She was shocked when she looked at the men who were there. They weren’t anyone she knew—nor anyone she wanted to know. Their clothes were filthy. They chewed tobacco, and spat wherever they pleased. They were crude and unmannered creatures, from what she could see. She had no idea Jonathan knew such men.

And soon the men began to come every night, except Sunday. In fact, he stayed later and drank more because he didn’t have to stay sober enough to find his way home. For the poor farmers who had been his most constant drinking companions at the tavern, it was a stroke of luck.

No matter how much she denied it, Amanda was jealous of Jonathan’s new friends. She heard him laughing and telling stories to them. He was once that way with her.

During their courtship and the first few months of marriage, Jonathan had been enthralled with Amanda, almost embarrassingly attentive to her. Whether or not she looked his way, she knew his face expressed total adoration of her. It was more fun not to acknowledge his presence, to act as if she didn’t notice him at all.

When she finally looked his way, she was no longer the center of his world.

“I know I’ve been wrong,” she cried to him a few weeks after his drinking parties began.

“I know I’ve taken your love for granted, and I apologize. Give me another chance. I’ll be different, I swear.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” he said curtly.

“You don’t love me like you did,” she said tearfully.

“I’m providing you with a good life. You have no reason to complain.”

“But I feel like I’ve lost something—something I should have treasured more while I had it.”

The loss of Jonathan’s devoted attention affected Amanda profoundly, but not for long. She was determined to renew his interest in her. As she lay awake at night, waiting for Jonathan to come to bed, she planned what she would do the following day to make him adore her again.

Amanda soon learned that the mountain men weren’t interested in furthering the rights of women. They liked their women just the way they were, thank you very much! So, she would have to start slowly. She invited the wives of Jonathan’s drinking mates to a Saturday afternoon tea. She gave handwritten invitations to Jonathan for the men to carry home to their wives.

“Is this going to be another disaster?” he asked.

“Just a quiet afternoon tea,” she assured him. “I thought the women might like to see Bluesmoke. I’m sure none of them have ever been here.”

“Absolutely not,” Jonathan said emphatically.

Only four women came, and one of those dragged six squalling children along with her, the oldest being only eight years of age. They ran through the house and grabbed everything that interested them. Amanda attempted to be a good hostess, until she heard a crash in the dining room, and ran to find that one of the boys had broken a plate of Grandma Belle’s china.

Amanda had set up the dining room table prior to the women’s arrival. After showing them how to serve tea on the small round table in the parlor, she intended to show them how to set a table for dinner.

After the mishap of the broken plate, she asked their mother if the children could play outside. Maybe they wouldn’t find anything to destroy in the yard.
Eva came running into the hall, and shouted, “My roses!”

Certainly nothing wrong with the old crone’s hearing!

So, the children remained inside. Since they were in the dining room, Amanda began to teach the women how to set the table. She set the first place with china, napkin, silver, and glassware in the proper places. The women took turns setting the other places, with Amanda calmly correcting their mistakes, until the table was completely set, except for the broken plate.

By the time they returned to the parlor, the tea was tepid and the teacakes were dry, but Amanda served them anyway. Her guests gulped it all down and prepared to leave.
When the mother of the six children stood up, Amanda noticed that someone had spilled tea on her new red damask chair, or she hoped it was tea.

Of course, the afternoon was a complete disaster, but Amanda was determined, and invited the women to come back the following Saturday. “Without the children if possible,” she said diplomatically. “I hope we can read some poetry, and the noise would be disruptive.”

Two of the women giggled when Amanda mentioned poetry, but she paid no attention.

“I really want to come,” the mother of all the children said, “but I got no one to leave them with.”

“Maybe your husband will stay at home for a few hours with the children. You know, to give you some time away from them.”

“He’ll be where he is right now,” the woman laughed. “At the tavern, drinking with your husband.”

“Then, bring them—I guess,” Amanda said.

The following Saturday, at the appointed hour, Amanda carried three books of poetry from the library to the parlor: Burns, Keats, and Wordsworth. She planned to serve tea and cookies after the poetry reading, but left all of that in the kitchen where the children couldn’t get at it.

She placed the poetry books on the marble-topped table in the parlor and waited.
No one came.

Still, Amanda wasn’t disheartened.
***
“I want to have a picnic,” she told Jonathan a few days later.

“What’s this now?” Jonathan groaned. “Your teas failed miserably—“

Charles cut in to say, “I think it’s a wonderful idea. We haven’t had a party at Bluesmoke in a long time.”

“And it will be longer still, if I have anything to say about it,” Jonathan muttered.

“Please,” she said in her most pitiful tone. “Charles will help me with the preparations.

Won’t you, Charles?”

“I’d be glad to help,” Charles said, though Eva was glaring at him. “I’ll hire some men to set up the tables on sawhorses—under the trees in the side yard,” he said happily. “Like when we used to have get-togethers. You remember, Jonathan?”

“You know how I hate that sort of thing.”

“We won’t bother you one bit,” Amanda promised. “You can go to the tavern as you always do on Saturday afternoon.”

The following Sunday after the sermon at church, Amanda rose. “If I may have a moment, Reverend, before everyone scatters,” she said. “I would like to invite everyone to a grand outdoor picnic at Bluesmoke Farm next Saturday afternoon at two o’clock.”

“You’re such a fool!” Jonathan shouted on the way home. “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to do that? Heaven knows what kind of people will show up.”

“I didn’t want to play favorites. It’s only the people from church.”

“Believe me, they’ll tell all their poor relatives!”

“It’s the poor people I want to reach,” she said. “I can teach them to live a better life.”

“When are you going to give up on that stupid idea? These people are just as they want to be. And you’ll not change them as long as you may live!”

Amanda and Barbé cooked for three days. Four of the large tables were covered with meats, vegetables, fruits, breads, desserts, and large pitchers of iced tea and lemonade. Amanda hoped to keep the mess to a minimum by serving foods that could be eaten by hand, such as fried chicken and fried cakes. Her neighbors’ manners weren’t the best, but she would watch over them, to avoid any mishaps. Charles assured her that everything would be fine.

At the appointed time, twelve families came. Some brought passels of children, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. One family even brought along a large, slobbery dog. Amanda had never seen most of these people, but she remained calm. Some ate their fill and left, without so much as a word of greeting or farewell, or gratitude.

She took the precaution of locking the front door so no nasty-handed children could wallow on her new furniture, or break any more of her good dishes.

People kept coming. It was all Barbé could do to carry more food and drink from the kitchen. Amanda busied herself serving people and urging some to sit on the wooden benches, but most of them remained standing, grabbing handfuls of food from the tables.
Amanda noticed that the tables were almost bare, except for bones that had been licked clean and thrown back onto the serving plates. She ran to Barbé, who was standing on the front terrace, kneading her brow.

“Come on,” Amanda said, “I know you’re tired. I’ll help you carry out the rest of the food.”

“There is no rest,” Barbé whispered. “It’s gone.”

“It can’t be,” Amanda said, looking back toward the tables. “Do you know how much food we cooked?”

“Yes, I do. And I know it’s gone.”

Just then, several children emerged from the front door and brushed past her. “How did you get in there?” Amanda asked, frowning.

“The backdoor,” one of them said. He giggled at his cleverness, as he rubbed his greasy hands on the front of his shirt.

“Out!” Amanda screamed. “Time to go. Everybody. We have no more food!”

Charles ran up to Amanda, his face bright red. “What’s the problem, Amanda? You’re embarrassing me in front of my neighbors.”

“The food’s all gone,” she whimpered.

“Well, you don’t have to yell,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Charles.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

“What a mess,” Amanda said, after everyone was gone. There was food and remnants of food everywhere—on the tables, on the ground, and spread all over the side yard. She sat down on the front terrace and wept.

Jonathan heard about the fiasco. When he returned that night, she pretended to be asleep. He leaned down, and whispered in her ear. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Chapter 3 << – Index – >> Chapter 5