If we happened to be at the ranch in California on July 4, we went into town for a huge picnic and fireworks. One of my earliest memories is of sitting in Papa�s lap to watch the sparkling displays light up the sky over Stockton. But if we happened to be in New Orleans�and later in Nashville�there was no celebration. There was only Decoration Day when the women put flowers on the graves of the Confederate soldiers buried nearby.
Jarrod and Nick had fought in the war, and Heath�I learned later�had run away from home, lied about his age, and then spent most of the war in a prison camp called Carterson. Gene, of course, was too young to go.
My brothers didn�t talk much about the war�Heath didn�t talk about it at all. Jarrod said that there was no glory in war. Nick called it a dirty business.
I was somewhat confused because I�d heard that the war we fought to win our independence from Great Britain was the whole reason we celebrated on July 4. Mother said we weren�t celebrating war but rather America�s birthday. �Many good men on both sides lost their lives, Kate. That�s nothing to celebrate.�
Once I asked Papa if he�d been a soldier. He looked at me for a long time and then said slowly, �Yes, Kate, I was a soldier.� But though I waited expectantly for one of his wonderful stories, I waited in vain.
Much later, Mother told me about Papa�s service on the frontier after his graduation from West Point�and how he�d followed his conscience in fighting for the South�not because he believed in what they were fighting for but because he couldn�t fight against his own family. �He has put it behind him, Kate,� she said firmly. �We won�t speak of it�do you understand?�
I understood Mother�s tone of voice�if not her reasoning�and I respected her wishes.
The year I was twelve, Miss Turner, the history teacher, assigned a paper on Tennessee�s role in the war. �There are many brave veterans of the Great War still living in Nashville�some in your own families. You shouldn�t have any trouble obtaining information.�
Amanda Cummings, my best friend, was ecstatic. �Father was an officer, you know,� she babbled as we collected our things from the cloakroom that afternoon. �A colonel.�
I bit my tongue to keep from saying that everyone knew it�he still called himself Colonel Cummings�and Amanda�s mother always referred to him as the colonel.
�What about your father, Kate? I suppose he was too old to fight.�
�Actually, he wasn�t,� I said. �He graduated from West Point, you know.�
�He was a Yankee?� Amanda�s expression was one of sheer horror.
�General Lee was a graduate of West Point, Amanda,� I said patiently. �He was even superintendent there for awhile.�
She looked blank. �Oh.�
I felt a little guilty for making her appear ignorant�but she was in a way. Mother said it wasn�t her fault, that it was her upbringing, and that I should be kind to her.
�I�m sure your father will have some wonderful stories to tell you, Amanda,� I said, taking her arm as we walked toward the front entrance of the school. �You�ll have a terribly good paper!�
Her good humor was restored instantly. �Oh, I expect I will!�
We parted company at the corner. Mother was sitting on the porch when I arrived at home. �Did you have a pleasant day, darling?� she asked, kissing my cheek.
�I have to write a paper on Tennessee�s role in the war,� I blurted. �I�m supposed to talk to�to people.�
She sighed. �Will they never let it rest?�
�I suppose not.�
�Go in and leave your books, Kate, then come back. Mrs. Bonds will have some tea ready to bring out.�
When I was settled in the swing, I said, �I can�t talk to Papa, can I?�
She frowned. �He doesn�t like to talk about the war, Kate.�
�Why do other people like to talk about it so much then?�
�It was their moment of glory, I suppose. I don�t know.�
I had learned from an early age that the fewer questions I asked, the more information I received, so I waited in silence for her to go on.
�Your father made a difficult choice when he gave up his military career to join the Confederate Army. When the war was over, he had nothing left.� She chewed her bottom lip the way she did when she felt something deeply.�Perhaps it�s time you knew just how much he lost.�
Again, I waited.
�He was wounded at the second Bull Run. In those days, medical care left much to be desired, so family members often came to the field hospitals to nurse their loved ones. His first wife, Catherine�for whom you are named�traveled from her family�s home in New York to Virginia for that purpose.�
�She was from the North?�
�Yes�not too far from where my great-grandparents settled before the colonies became the United States. Anyway, she managed to get through the lines. It was largely because of her nursing that he recovered and was able to return to his unit. But first, he arranged for her to re-cross the lines again.� Mother seemed to be struggling with her emotions, and I wondered why. She hadn�t known Catherine at all.
�There were�deserters�looters�on the roads in those days. The Union officer she was supposed to meet to help her get home had been�there�s no easy way to say this, Kate darling. He�d been murdered, and the men attacked Catherine, too.�
I felt as if the breath had suddenly gone out of my body. �And. . .and they. . .�
�They killed her. Your father didn�t learn of her death until much later�and then by accident. It was�a cruel blow.�
I tried to take it all in. Knowing how much Papa adored Mother�and me�I could almost feel his pain at losing someone else he loved as much.
�So you see, Kate, it isn�t so much his part in the war that he doesn�t want to talk about. It�s just that talking about any of it brings back those terrible memories.�
I felt tears spilling down my cheeks. �Oh, Mother, how awful for him!�
She moved from her chair to sit beside me in the swing. �Yes, it was, Kate darling.�
�Please don�t tell him about the assignment, Mother!�
�What will you do?�
�I don�t know�but I�ll think of something. Promise you won�t tell him!�
Mother brushed my hair away from my face and kissed me. �Of course not.� The pride in her beautiful eyes as she gazed at me took away some of the sting of her words. To think of my wonderful Papa being hurt so cruelly also pained me.
�But I was named for her�for Catherine. Doesn�t that hurt him?�
�Not at all. We made the decision to give you a part of our past�of our good memories of Catherine and of Tom Barkley. He chose the name Kate to call you by�and Barkley also ties you to your brothers and sister.�
I considered that. �I have a great deal to live up to, don�t I?�
She shook her head. �Not at all, darling. You must only live up to your expectations for yourself. Your father and I have taught you what we believe to be right, and now you must set your own goals and standards.�
�I�d never want to disappoint you and Papa.�
�And you never will�never could.�
I snuggled into her arms. She was still comforting me when Papa arrived home for dinner.
********
I had two weeks in which to write my paper. Amanda quizzed me daily on my progress. �It�s coming along nicely,� was all I would say. In truth, it wasn�t coming along at all. Finally, on the last evening but one, I began to put my thoughts and feelings onto paper.
Laying the Conflict to Rest
The North and the South fought a terrible war for over four years. Neither side was really victorious, because no side ever really wins in a war. All wars are bad, and this one was the worst of all because it split apart the United States of America.
Many people like to talk about the war. My father does not, and I would never hurt him by asking him to tell me about it. He was a graduate of West Point and had just been promoted to the rank of major when he had to make the decision to join the Confederate Army rather than fight against his own family. The South lost the War, but Papa lost most of all�not only his career but his first wife who was killed by deserters while trying to cross the lines after nursing Papa in a field hospital in Virginia. It didn�t matter which side the deserters came from�North or South. They murdered her just the same.
The War has been over for over a quarter of a century. Over. It was a terrible thing for everyone. Many men were killed, and even more were wounded. Maybe we should not forget about it, but we should not remember it too much either. It is fine to put flowers on the graves of our fallen soldiers on Decoration Day. It is good to talk about the good, kind, brave things that many of them did even in the middle of a terrible time. But it is over now. We should be talking and writing about peace. We should lay the conflict to rest.
Katherine Barkley Wardell
October 13, 1892
I didn�t show the paper to Mother. Two days after I handed it in, Miss Turner told me to remain after class.
�You didn�t write the paper I assigned.�
�No, Miss Turner.�
�Why not?�
�Papa doesn�t like to talk about the War.�
�Did you ask him?�
�No.�
�Why not?�
�It would hurt him.�
�Then I have no choice but to give you a failing mark.�
I nodded.
�You�ve never had a failing mark before. What will your parents say?�
�They�ll say that I followed my conscience�like Papa did when he resigned from the Army. Like General Lee did.�
The tip of Miss Turner�s nose turned very pink. She was clearly angry because she couldn�t refute what I�d said. She knew I was right.
�I�m very disappointed in you, Miss Wardell. I�ve no doubt your parents will be disappointed, too.� She thrust the paper, marked with a very large F, under my nose. �You may go.�
Amanda was waiting for me. �What did she want? Did she want to tell you she loved your paper? She always loves what you write! Did you get an A? Let me see!�
I snatched the paper away from her grasping fingers and tucked it into my book bag.
�Why can�t I see?�
�Because it�s none of your business!�
She made a face. �That�s not a very nice thing to say to me!�
I threw my bag over my shoulder and left her standing in the corridor.
I wasn�t sure if my feelings were just hurt or if I was really angry. Running most of the way home helped. I stopped at the end of the walk to compose myself, but when I came through the front door, Mother and Papa were standing in the foyer waiting for me. Their faces were grave.
�Come into the parlor, Kate precious,� Papa said.
With a sinking heart, I followed them into the room.
�Miss Turner sent word to your father�s office this morning that she wanted to see him,� Mother began.
�About the paper,� I mumbled, not looking at either one of them.
�I saw her at noon. She asked me to read what you had written.�
I was glad to be sitting down, because my arms and legs felt too limp to support my weight.
Papa held out his hand. �Come here, Kate.�
Somehow I managed to get up and stand before his chair.
�I am so very proud of you.�
�You�re�you�re proud of me?�
Mother joined us. �You are your father�s daughter, Kate. Just as he did many years ago, you followed your conscience.�
Papa drew me to his knee. �Until you have children of your own, you�ll not fully understand the gift you�ve given us today.�
Relief flooded me. �Then you�re not disappointed that I failed?�
�You didn�t fail, Kate precious. On the contrary, the mark on your paper is your badge of honor for a battle you fought, for the most part, all alone.�
I laid my head against his chest and felt Mother�s hand smooth my hair. I didn�t really understand�but it was all right. It really was all right.
From the journal of Dr. Katherine Barkley Wardell:
Years later, going through Papa�s papers after his death, I found the essay I had written, carefully preserved in a folder that held his most precious remembrances. I never doubted that my parents were proud of me, but as I held the yellowed essay in my hands, I wondered if they�d known how proud I�d been of them.
They were not only my parents but my best friends, the ones I�d trusted with my deepest feelings and most intimate thoughts, to whom I�d gone to with my joys and sorrows, both small and large. Even as they�d aged visibly, I�d always considered them the handsomest couple I�d ever known.
Amanda said more than once that they�d kept me under their thumb, but she was wrong. Yes, they�d sheltered me, but at the same time they�d given me what I needed to stand alone� as they knew that someday I must.
Once I asked Audra if she thought they�d known how I felt about them�beyond being their daughter. She took my face in her hands. �Oh, yes, darling, they knew! Mother told me once that sometimes she thought you truly believed that she and Royce could walk on water�and was concerned that you�d be crushed when you found that they had feet of clay like everyone else.�
�I know they were only human, Audra, but they were bigger than life to me.�
�In a way, I think they were to all of us. They epitomized what we all aspired to�a truly decent life in a world that�s changing�not always for the better.�
I considered her words again the day I took flowers to the cemetery as I always did on my yearly visits to the ranch. I left a bouquet for Annie first and then made my way to the place where Mother rested between Tom Barkley and Papa. First I brushed and washed the markers, then laid the flowers from Mother�s garden on each grave.
The words from a popular song that Papa liked came back to me.
A city so silent and lone, Maggie,
Where the young and the gay and the best
In polished white mansions of stone, Maggie,
Have each found a place of rest.*
They had both been young and gay once, before I�d known them, but they�d always been the best. . .they�d given me the best. . .
I stood up. �Thank you,� I whispered, picked up the pail and brush, and walked away.
*From �When You and I Were Young, Maggie�
Lyrics by George Washington Johnson
Music by James Butterfield