Will this war never end? Julia shoved her tasteless field peas away and ate her fried cornbread patty void of salt. How much longer are we expected to go without salt in our diets? I could kill for a single shake over my food. Not even a drop of honey or molasses cling to our crocks to sweeten our pallet either.

But what Julia wanted more than salt or honey was to return to Wesleyan Female College and earn her diploma. She wants to follow in the footsteps of Catherine Brewer who two and half decades ago was awarded the first diploma from the woman’s college in 1840. Julia pushed her plate aside. How will I ever be able to return to college with only a few coins in my reticule?

She excused herself from the table and left the dining room with muted footsteps. After pausing beyond the Corinthian columns that framed sliding doors opening into the gentlemen’s parlor, she peeked inside. The room sat empty since her father, two brothers and fiancee left long ago, in their trim-fitting uniforms of Confederate gray, to fight the Yankees.

With quick steps she scurried across the expansive foyer into the ladies parlor. Evening sunlight beat through the windows highlighting natures outdoor canvas, rich in May’s overflowing foliage of intense greens bordered with red clay banks. How I long to hitch the horse to the runabout and retreat from Comfort Land Plantation and drive beyond the gardens, beyond the cotton fields, beyond all its borders. If only I could travel far enough away that I could no longer hear of General Lee’s fight with Grant in Virginia, the fight at Manassas, which the Yankee’s called Bull Run, or the name on everyone’s lips, the obdurate Major General William T. Sherman, advancing his army upon Atlanta.

Julia shivered, recalling the latest information learned. A group of Northern women tried to bring hidden medicine to their loved ones and the Federal authorities had them searched, after the Federal Government, for the first time in history, made clothing and medicine contraband of war.

Tears spilled down Julia’s pale cheeks and washed away her selfish wants. Is there nothing more I can do to help the cause, but pray? She closed her eyes and dissolved into deep thought and prayer. Father, I want to give more. I need to give more. I will do more, she resolved.

She wiped away her tears and climbed the stairs to her room with determination stitched to her soles. The plan formed while she packed. Tomorrow when Mother goes to town for our precious few supplies, I’ll hide under the tarp in the wagon. It’s time I respond with true Christian charity and join the other mistresses who have denied their own needs and are giving help to the wounded in the prison camps.

With her decision settled and her packing complete, she knelt by her bed. Lord, with your guidance, I will never take my Christian walk for granted ever again.