Blue Honor

Sealing Fate II. - Part 1

II. Sealing Fate

West Point, New York

Late June 1860

                "Paper says the convention elected Douglas. The party is indeed split over the nomination and the Southern delegates plan to elect their own man. They want to distinguish themselves from what they term black republicanism," Stuart Conrad read aloud to his family. On his nose rested a pair of rectangular glasses.

                The Conrads were gathered in a rented but fine townhouse parlor. Emily's face had matured noticeably in the past year. His heart warmed to see her embroider a pillow, though she knew he wished she would read a book instead. Her father loved to discuss politics if allowed and to display his unrivaled intelligence. So they humored him nightly while he read his paper. It was no bother to Emily—she believed that it improved her mind instead of filling it with naive nonsense. He told her, in opposition to her mother, that no good match wanted an ignoramus, and so he worked hard to educate her. Emily admired her father and often prayed for someone like him to come to the farm and sweep her away.

                Emily studied the fine needlework of her father's waistcoat, her mother's execution in striking perfection. Mrs. Conrad sat beside her on the hard cushion of a carved wood and velvet sofa. The Conrad matriarch concentrated on a quilt now, her brow pinched as she cautiously laid each stitch. Mrs. Conrad made a great many things for her family, and deserved recognition for her pains, but recognition was never enough, especially from her children. She wanted them helplessly indebted to her. For example, she schooled Emily in the techniques of stitching, made a hard taskmistress, but Emily was never able to reach her level of skill. Her mother said teaching her was to prove her hardest, though finest, work; Mrs. Conrad always double spoke simultaneously insulting and complimentary. Emily guessed she didn't want her to think she wasn't needed anymore.

                Emily's father fumbled reflexively with the watch chain attached to his waistcoat. Emily bought the fob for him for Christmas with her allowance, after the last broke in a fray with an unruly cow. He had worn it ever since.

                "At least some of them came to their senses. They should've stopped yielding to that branch long ago," he continued. He lowered his paper to turn the page and wink at Emily.

                Emily felt out of place just the same. Unlike her mother, who was a subdued but refined woman of fashion, Emily wore a pumpkin cotton gown with an ivory and gray apron she'd sewn. Emily enjoyed bright colors, but never found a real need to dress in them, so that when she wore her dresses of notable hue, she felt conspicuous. Before her mood worsened with the added stress of thinking she was a fright, she returned to her little pillow. She nearly finished the patch on the long voyage from Vermont to West Point. Her mother wanted her occupied no other way.

                Opposite the women, Michael slouched sullenly in a soft chair. He was still unused to the cadet uniform, even after three years of wearing the suit. His golden head lowered until his chin nearly rested on his chest. However, his clothes weren't really the issue. Mr. Conrad's words resonated with Michael. The news disturbed him more than his family ever knew. Unlike his sister, Michael was aware of other details that assured him and his fellow Pointees that something bigger than they was coming. His professors lectured them daily on how they were on the brink of war. For all the threat it posed, the other men didn't seem to really care, except that they finally got to do what they studied for.

                "Are you feeling all right, Michael?" Mrs. Conrad asked, sensing his mood.

                "How can you both just sit here and talk about it like it isn't happening?" Michael asked, shoving forward in his chair. He gripped the arms so tight his knuckles went white. "For Christ's sake it's the end of the world!"