Devotion: A novel based on the life of Winnie Davis, Daughter of the Confederacy

Winnie’s Notebook

Winnie’s฀Notebook july฀25,฀1898 In฀the฀dream,฀the฀junction฀could฀be฀a฀mural฀or฀a฀mirage.฀The฀ sky฀is฀an฀improbable฀larkspur฀blue;฀the฀station฀house฀resembles฀a฀ cuckoo฀clock฀that฀I฀had฀as฀a฀child฀and฀believed฀was฀haunted.฀Bystanders ฀appear฀inanimate฀until฀a฀turbaned฀woman฀the฀color฀of฀ a฀fine฀piano฀glides฀toward฀me฀with฀a฀basket฀of฀peaches.฀Murmuring ฀in฀the฀rich฀timbre฀of฀her฀race,฀she฀places฀a฀piece฀of฀her฀fruit฀ in฀my฀hand;฀I฀feel฀as฀though฀I฀have฀received฀a฀blessing.฀Now฀she’s฀ some฀distance฀away,฀standing฀guard฀over฀a฀long฀wooden฀box,฀and฀ I฀am฀lying฀on฀the฀ground฀with฀my฀eyes฀sealed฀shut.฀Above฀me,฀in฀ the฀patois฀of฀the฀deeply฀rural฀South,฀a฀dialogue฀commences: “Lord฀a฀mercy,฀poor฀thing฀just฀folded฀like฀a฀fan.” “She’s฀no฀poor฀thing.฀This฀is฀Winnie฀Davis,฀the฀Daughter฀of฀the฀ Confederacy.฀She’s฀also฀the฀daughter฀of฀the฀man฀who฀was฀responsible ฀for฀our฀troubles.” “Shouldn’t฀heap฀all฀the฀blame฀on฀Jefferson฀Davis.฀Some฀say฀if฀ not฀for฀him,฀we’d฀have฀lost฀the฀War฀sooner฀than฀we฀did—” “—in฀which฀case฀there฀would฀have฀been฀less฀bloodshed฀and฀ poverty.฀Looks฀like฀she’s฀still฀breathing.฀Maybe฀a฀little฀slap฀will฀ bring฀her฀around—” 2฀ devotion฀ The฀slap฀opens฀my฀eyes฀and฀gets฀me฀to฀a฀sitting฀position.฀I฀am฀ relieved฀to฀find฀the฀scratchy฀bombazine฀skirt฀has฀not฀risen฀higher฀ than฀my฀ankles. The฀conductor฀asks฀these฀two,฀whose฀dough-colored฀faces฀are฀ almost฀hidden฀by฀sunbonnet฀brims,฀to฀escort฀me฀back฀to฀the฀car.฀ The฀more฀contentious฀one฀asks฀which฀side฀I’m฀on.฀“There฀are฀ no฀sides฀to฀a฀circle,”฀I฀say฀as฀I฀give฀each฀of฀them฀a฀small฀pasteboard ฀rectangle฀imprinted฀with฀my฀name฀and฀“The฀Daughter฀ of฀the฀Confederacy”฀beneath฀my฀half-faced฀likeness.฀They฀stare฀ suspiciously฀at฀the฀photographs,฀as฀though฀I฀am฀trying฀to฀deceive฀ them.฀.฀.฀.฀They’re฀left฀behind,฀but฀their฀magpie฀thoughts฀follow฀ me฀onto฀the฀train:฀The฀South฀lays฀claim฀to฀Winnie฀Davis,฀yet฀she฀has฀ chosen฀to฀live฀in฀the฀North.฀.฀.฀.฀People฀bow฀and฀scrape฀to฀her,฀but฀her฀face฀ is฀overrun฀with฀sadness.฀.฀.฀.฀She฀ought฀to฀thank฀her฀lucky฀stars฀she฀doesn’t฀ have฀to฀hoe฀and฀plow. The฀rocky฀red฀terrain฀gives฀way฀to฀a฀grass-covered฀slope฀beside฀ a฀glistening฀river.฀At฀the฀forefront฀of฀a฀group฀of฀mourners,฀my฀ swooning฀mother,฀draped฀in฀black฀chiffon฀like฀the฀mirrors฀in฀a฀ house฀of฀death,฀is฀flanked฀by฀Maggie฀and฀Kate,฀both฀in฀severe฀but฀ stylish฀mourning฀garb.฀Fred฀stands฀apart฀from฀everyone฀else.฀As฀a฀ breeze฀becomes฀my฀hand฀and฀ruffles฀his฀hair,฀he฀looks฀as฀though฀ he฀sees฀an฀apparition.฀Now฀they฀are฀in฀the฀past,฀and฀I฀am฀being฀ hurtled฀alone,฀to฀God฀knows฀where.฀.฀.฀.฀ The฀tall,฀thin฀conductor฀stoops฀to฀admonish฀me฀in฀a฀stern,฀ stentorian฀voice:฀“Miss฀Davis,฀you’ve฀a฀long฀way฀to฀go,฀and฀we’re฀ not฀out฀of฀Georgia฀yet.฀I฀can’t฀be฀watching฀every฀time฀we฀pause฀at฀ a฀whistle-stop฀to฀make฀sure฀you’re฀not฀left฀behind.” I฀give฀him฀my฀word฀I฀will฀not฀get฀off฀again฀until฀we฀arrive฀at฀my฀ destination.฀Or฀maybe฀I฀say฀“my฀destiny.”฀When฀next฀I฀see฀the฀ man,฀I฀am฀fully฀conscious,฀and฀he฀is฀shorter,฀more฀solid,฀and฀less฀ winnie’s฀notebook฀ 3 formidable฀than฀his฀Doppelgänger.฀The฀train฀shakes฀as฀though฀it฀ will฀fly฀apart฀at฀any฀second,฀but฀it฀is฀reassuring฀to฀know฀we฀are฀on฀ the฀right฀track,฀headed฀North฀(in฀the฀South,฀the฀East฀is฀called฀the฀ North),฀and฀moving฀along฀at฀a฀steady฀clip. I฀have฀almost฀drifted฀off฀again฀when฀he฀coughs฀to฀get฀my฀attention .฀“Ma’am,฀I฀noticed฀you฀declined฀to฀go฀to฀the฀dining฀car฀ earlier,฀yet฀you฀devoured฀a฀peach฀back฀there฀as฀though฀your฀life฀ depended฀on฀it.฀Are฀you฀feeling฀better฀now?” “Yes.฀Thank฀you฀for฀your฀concern.”฀I’m฀aware฀of฀a฀film฀of฀dried฀ nectar฀on฀my฀mouth฀and฀chin.฀“I฀can’t฀recall฀whether฀I฀paid฀for฀ that฀peach.฀Did฀you฀happen฀to฀notice—?” “I฀heard฀the฀woman฀say฀it฀was฀a฀gift.฀She฀also฀said฀the฀time฀has฀ come฀for฀you฀to฀forgive฀anybody฀you฀need฀to,฀including฀yourself .”฀His฀forehead฀creases฀with฀the฀burden฀of฀wondering฀why฀he฀ felt฀obliged฀to฀relay...