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  Armstrong had one more battle to win. I glanced at him and, empowered by his look of love, said firmly, "No, Papa, it is not impossible."

  Mama gasped and began to mutter about dresses and plans and the like, but I looked straight at her and said, "I will see that it is done."

  And so began the most hectic two weeks of my life, as I planned the event most girls take a year or more to worry over. The two weeks are yet a blur in my mind, a whirlwind of dress fittings, conferences with Mama and Betsy about food, a visit with Headmaster Boyd, who was to perform the ceremony. Nettie and I found time for two long talks about men and marriage—filled with more speculation than knowledge—but Armstrong and I had little time.

  "It's all right," he told me. "We have a lifetime ahead of us." The laughing Armstrong, whose eyes twinkled in amusement at me, the one I'd fallen in love with, was back, and I pushed out of my mind that stern, unbending man who'd fled to Fanny when he didn't get his way. I, who had been miserable for months, walked on clouds of happiness and anticipation. The best, I thought, is yet to be.

  Two incidents from those two weeks stand out in my mind. The first was one of the few moments Armstrong and I had alone.

  "You must call me Autie now, and no more of this formal Armstrong business," he said. "My family and loved ones have always called me Autie, and you are now the first on my list of loved ones." From that moment on he was Autie, my darling boy.

  The second memory is of a special day. One cold morning Autie drove up in David Reed's farm buggy, his overcoat buttoned up to the red kerchief that protected his neck, his head almost buried in a large woolen hat. I watched from the window as he threw the reins over the hitching post, stamped the snow and mud from his boots, and mounted the steps. Then I was at the door before he had a chance to open it.

  "Good morning," I said happily. "Come in and take off your coat."

  "No," he said, sweeping me off my feet and twirling me around. "We're going for a buggy ride."

  "La, Autie, it's too cold, and I have too much to do," I protested, but to no avail. In no time at all, I found myself bundled up to the ears and tucked under a lap robe as we crossed town. The cold bit into my face, and I burrowed down under the blanket, but Autie sat straight and tall, waving at first one person and then another and enjoying himself immensely.

  "The last time you took me for a surprise ride," I said, "you proposed to me."

  "No need to do that again," he said. "I'm taking you to meet my family."

  The ice that struck my insides had nothing to do with the cold outside. I was overwhelmed and more than a little afraid at the thought of meeting the Custers and the Reeds, for now they all lived together in a farmhouse several miles beyond town. I had seen Mrs. Custer once at the market, passing so close to her that I could have touched her, as I wrote Autie. But I didn't speak out of shyness. She was with one of Autie's younger sisters, a cunning child who was sweet and obedient.

  My fear was not that they would think me a snob, though that was of some concern, for we were of two different social classes in a community small and rigid enough that social class mattered. Hadn't Autie himself once archly pointed out that he was Methodist and I Presbyterian? More than that, though, I was afraid that I shouldn't know how to behave in a household where pranks and teasing set the tone, rather than the controlled quiet and dignity of my own family.

  We pulled into a barnyard before a white two-story frame house that would have benefited from paint. Behind it, in much better shape, was a red barn, but there were no animals to be seen—all hiding inside the barn from the cold, no doubt. The ground in front of the house was bare, though I could see the remains of a tiny flower garden right near the front-porch steps. There was a bare look to the house and barnyard that spoke less of poverty than of a lack of concern with appearances.

  Autie hitched the horse and let out a loud "Halloo!" even before coming around to help me out of the buggy. Immediately the door opened and three small children tumbled out, one of them the young girl I'd seen with Mrs. Custer. They wore no coats, although the two girls wore heavy sweaters over their linsey-woolsey dresses, and the boy sported a wool flannel shirt under his coveralls. Still, they should have been shaking with cold, but they seemed oblivious.

  "Is this her?"

  "Can she come in?"

  "Introduce me first!" They clamored around the side of the buggy so that I could barely find a place to put my feet down on the ground, and Autie, laughing, held me in the air a minute longer than necessary. Tentatively, I smiled down at the upturned faces and was rewarded with a sighed, "Oooh, she's pretty!" Then I blushed heartily.

  "Be quiet, you ragamuffins," he commanded. "Move aside and let Miss Bacon have space to walk." He set me on the ground and, taking my elbow, propelled me toward the steps before I could say a word. The children danced alongside us.

  "Aren't you cold?" I ventured. "You'll catch your death."

  "Naw," the boy said. "Ma says we're hearty."

  "They are, too," Autie said in boasting tones, and I gathered that heartiness was a family trait and a source of some pride. Then he spoke sharply to the boy. "Mind your manners. Say 'No, ma'am,' not 'naw.' "

  "Yes, sir," he said dutifully, his spirits not at all dashed by the reprimand.

  We were through the door and into a warm and cozy parlor by now. A quick glance around showed me mismatched furniture that had obviously seen lots of wear. A sheet-iron stove in the center of the room gave off comforting warmth, and Autie placed me directly in front of it with a command to warm myself.

  Mrs. Custer came through a doorway, pushing aside a chintz curtain that apparently blocked one room from the other. "My dear," she said, holding out both hands to take mine, "I am glad to meet you. You are making my Armstrong very happy."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Custer," I said, taking the offered hands. "I'm very happy, too."

  She was a small and frail woman, so faded-looking that it was difficult for me to believe that Autie had sprung from her. She had none of the vibrant energy that distinguished Autie, though her voice was firm when she ordered the children into the other room, and I noticed that they obeyed immediately.

  It was not long before I discovered where Autie had inherited his energy. Father Custer burst into the room like the proverbial bull in a china shop, booming, "Where is this lady who's stolen our boy away?" In contrast to my papa's balding head with its fringe of hair, Father Custer's head seemed to sprout gray, wiry hair in every direction, even sideburns, which grew down into a full beard as brushlike as the rest of his hair. But it was his eyes I noticed—the same blue as Autie's and with the twinkle that sometimes graced the son's eyes. I liked him immediately.

  There was laughter in his voice as he said, "We thought no one would capture Autie," he said, "but you've got him hog-tied."

  Those were not the terms in which I thought of our relationship, and I could think of not one thing to say. My silence didn't seem to bother Father Custer at all, and he went on, "You're as pretty as Autie told us, every bit!" And he walked around me, surveying, until I felt like a horse on the auction block.

  Within minutes the entire family was gathered in the room—Autie's parents, the youngest children—Boston, who was nine years behind Autie, and little Margaret, who was then only eleven, Ann and David Reed and their two small children, one a boy named after Autie, and Nevin, Autie's older brother, who stayed home and farmed because rheumatism had caused the army to reject him. They made, to me, an enormous crowd, especially when they all talked at once. I stood silently in the middle, grateful for Autie's comforting arm at my elbow.

  "Hush now," Father Custer said loudly, "you're overwhelming. You back off and let the little lady take off her greatcoat and get warmed up." The room fell silent for perhaps a minute, and then the hubbub started over again.

  Amid all the commotion, Ann Reed serenely put a steaming pot of apple cider on the lace-covered table in the dining room and followed that with a tray of slices of freshly
made pound cake. I was served first as the guest of honor, though little Lydia had to be reminded twice to wait her turn, and finally I was seated in a wood rocking chair, balancing my cake and cider, while trying to talk to Mrs. Custer, who sat next to me on a straight and very uncomfortable-looking chair.

  "He's a good boy," she said, peering at me through wire-rimmed spectacles, "and has never caused me any worry. I'm sure he will bring you nothing but happiness."

  Oh, Mother Custer, I think so often of those words!

  "They liked you," Autie said with satisfaction as we headed back to Monroe Street. "You'll love them," he predicted, and I murmured that of course I already did, for they were his family, were they not?

  Papa was reading and Mama sewing when I entered our home. Each looked up and greeted me, but the house seemed silent as the grave, and I already longed for the boisterous Custer household.

  * * *

  In spite of the hasty planning, we had a grand and large wedding at the Presbyterian Church, with Mr. Boyd, my old headmaster from the seminary, performing the ceremony.

  "You don't mind, do you?" I'd asked Autie, and he'd replied, "Not as long as he's got the authority to conduct a legal ceremony. Will we really be married?"

  I assured him we would.

  Autie's favorite brother—though he always denied favoritism—came home from the war for the wedding. Tom, six years younger than Autie, was with the Twenty-first Ohio Infantry, and he and Autie had not seen each other for four years. I went with Autie to the railroad station to meet Tom, and their reunion fair gave me a glow of happiness. But it took them a moment before that reunion to recognize each other—"Is that you, Tom?"

  "Autie? Where are your curls?"—and that pause gave them an idea.

  "We'll pass you off as my aide, a Major Drew," Autie said, and Tom laughed enthusiastically. "Even Ma won't know."

  I protested they could not do that to poor Mother Custer and added, besides, that a mother would always know her son. But they pooh-poohed me and carried on with their joke. Mother Custer, to my dismay, was properly fooled and greeted the false Major Drew with formal hospitality. It was Father Custer who saw through their ruse and cuffed both boys so soundly that I caught Autie fingering his one ear the rest of the afternoon.

  "Serves you right," I whispered.

  "Sympathy is what I always look for in a wife," he replied with a grim smile.

  Tom was to be in the wedding party, along with Jacob Greene, Nettie's beau, and Conway Noble—"He brought us together," Autie said sanctimoniously when I asked about Conway as a choice. I had asked Nettie, and Laura Noble, Conway's sister, and my cousin from Grand Rapids, Rebecca Richmond, to be my attendants, and they had all agreed in spite of short notice.

  Papa caught me once for a solemn talk in the days before the wedding. "Daughter," he said, "I cannot believe you have any idea of the difficulties of military life. I am deeply worried."

  "Papa," I begged, "be happy for me. Don't worry. Whatever the difficulties are, Autie and I will meet them together." Oh, how naive the young are!

  Three hundred people watched me walk down the aisle of the church on Papa's arm. In spite of having described to Autie a wedding gown of pea-green silk looped with military braid, I wore a rich white silk dress with a bertha of point lace and a veil fixed at the brow with orange blossoms. Autie, who walked down the aisle with his beloved mother, wore his uniform, with all his braid and insignia and the ever-present red scarf, and I thought he looked magnificent—though I longed for the curls.

  When Mr. Boyd pronounced us man and wife, I could scarce contain my joy, wanting to shout in exuberance. Instead, I received a subdued kiss from my new husband, and we turned to face a congregation of smiling faces. Papa, I thought, looked a little grim.

  We paraded from the church to the house on Monroe Street to the accompaniment of sleigh bells and cheering friends. Three hundred people strained the capacity of the house, but the reception was social, hilarious, and delightful. It being winter, the guests could not easily overflow outside, though I noticed Conway Noble and a few of the other young men standing on the porch to smoke.

  "When can we escape this?" Autie whispered in my ear.

  "Soon," I said comfortingly. "We are to catch the midnight train."

  "I know," he said patiently, "but midnight is four hours away! And even then we shall be surrounded by people."

  "Hush," I said, putting my finger to his lips and bidding him to be gracious in greeting family friends and accepting their congratulations. It was, I later agreed, too long.

  Finally, bidding this one and that good-bye and thank you, I followed Nettie upstairs to my bedroom to change into my traveling outfit, a dark brown dress of empress cloth trimmed with white buttons, with a hat to match. There I looked around the room that had been my home for twenty-one years. The cross-stitch samplers I had done at the age of eight and Mother had framed for me, the flowered drawings that Mama had given me and framed to match the yellow walls of my room, the poster bed where I'd slept as a maiden and would sleep no more because there was not room for two—all made tears rush to my eyes, and had Nettie not been there to help me change, I think I would have broken down into a good cry.

  "Come now," Nettie said, with her usual brisk cheerfulness, "we've got what we wanted all the while. Let's not mess it with tears."

  "You're right." I laughed and proceeded to change my clothes.

  Against Mama's advice, I had not packed my clothes, fearing they would crush unnecessarily. So at the last minute—past eleven o'clock—everyone pitched in to pack my gowns, which landed in the trunk willy-nilly. But Autie, charging in to be helpful—and anxious, I knew, to be away—met his match in a frame of hoops that soon had him hopelessly entangled. Finally, to everyone's delight, he called out desperately, "I surrender!" At the last minute everything was packed, and we were rushed away to the station, where I bid a tearful farewell to my parents and then, happy as a lark, boarded the train with my new husband.

  The honeymoon loomed before us.

  Civil War

  Bride

  Chapter 4

  Once our luggage was deposited inside our room at the Metropolitan Hotel and the boy who'd carried the bags had left, Autie and I stood and looked at each other uncertainly. It was our first moment alone in almost thirty-six hours of marriage, and we were both awkwardly aware of the privacy. Behind us was a long and tiresome train ride, during which the exhilaration of the wedding and reception had given way to pure, plain fatigue. I'd catnapped with my head on Autie's shoulder and worried that he was not getting any rest, but he assured me he was used to going days without sleep.

  "Wait," he said, "until we are in our very own room at the Metropolitan." It was the hotel in New York where West Point cadets held their formal banquet after graduation and where Autie had once stayed while working with General McClellan. He was, I sensed, excited about showing it to me, and I was excited about New York and hotels and honeymoons—so excited that I slept fitfully.

  And then, there we were, in our very own private room in the Metropolitan. Gas sconces cast a pale glow throughout the room, brightening it on a wintry gray afternoon. On the wall some unknown general stared at us from a gilt frame, and I thought of Papa's prized portrait of General Winfield Scott.

  The room was dominated by a massive double bed, with a solid mahogany headboard of nearly six feet and a footboard of at least four—Autie and I walked uncomfortably around it, avoiding looking either at the bed or at each other. Part of me longed for Autie to sweep me off my feet with passion, but another part of me held back timidly. No one had ever talked to me about the facts of life. Certainly Papa would not have, nor would Mama, and my own mother had died long before such talk would have been appropriate. Aunt Harriet hinted delicately at one thing or another just before the wedding—"I do hope Armstrong will be patient with you, Libbie" and that kind of thing, which meant nothing to me—and Nettie and I had speculated on what we knew was called "the ma
rriage relationship." But I knew virtually nothing about the physical side of marriage.

  Still, my woman's intuition was good, and I knew it involved a much-sought-after intimacy, and that it would arouse in me the same feelings I got when Autie kissed me—we'd managed a few long and passionate kisses since the wedding, even on the train when the lights were low for the night, and those kisses, with Autie's probing, insistent tongue, had caused a stirring in the pit of my stomach that puzzled and delighted me. I also knew, from whispers among the girls, that bridegrooms were unbelievably impatient for a marriage to be consummated. I had expected, therefore, that once we were alone—at last—Autie would make love to me.

  "Well," he said briskly, pacing about the room, "here we are."

  "Yes," I agreed, "here we are." I perched on the edge of a horsehair chair, watching Autie pace for a moment, and then got up to stare out the window. Even on this dull day, the city amazed me—so many people crowded into such a small place. I thought longingly of Monroe and the spaces between houses there.

  Coming up behind, Autie put his arms around me and turned me gently toward him. "I love you very much," he said, his voice husky, his eyes looking straight at me, filled now neither with laughter nor sternness, but unmistakably with love.

  "Oh, Autie," I cried, throwing my arms around him, "I love you, too. I... I just can't imagine we're really married."

  I expected perhaps another long, passionate kiss, which would this time lead us to the bed. Instead, he suggested a sight-seeing trip! "Freshen up and we'll go see the sights."

  Bewildered, I said as lightly as I could, "Of course. Just let me wash my face and rearrange my hair." I made my toilette in the lavatory, while Autie stood and stared out the window, occupying the very spot I'd just vacated.

  When I was ready, I crept up behind him and kissed him gently on the ear. He turned and crushed me in his arms, his mouth reaching for mine. But then he pulled away, laughing about my having caught him by surprise. Autie, I decided with amusement, was as nervous as I was. What a pair we'd make!