Afternoon on the Grassy Knolls with Watercress and Gunfire

            “Did you pack the watercress, dear?” Mother asks as Father places the plaid picnic blanket down. I ruffle my dress and sit carefully onto the side, tossing out my legs but covering my ankles, as Father would insist I do. Father smiles brightly at my mother and kisses her cheek gently, his eyes looking to the not-so-distant battlefield. Gray-coats begin to spill from the trees beyond, guns blazing and aimed at the boys in blue, oh those boys. My brother is among them, surely, among those brazen men, strong and resilient. The flag waves in the wind, and it’s beautiful sunny day—a little hot, though.

            “Of course, honey, I wouldn’t forget them,” he answers. “They’re your favorite, and Alice’s too.”

            “I’m glad you remembered, Father.” I take one from the basket and look around at the crowd.

            Rebel yell!

            Boos erupt from the crowd within fifty yards, and everyone goes mad. There is a deafening sound coming from the field on the blue side, and we all turn to see what it is.

We look amused as the others when the fighting starts—boom goes a cannon and the black weight goes flying! I’ve never seen such a thing, such a monstrous beast! Cheers erupt from us when the blue boys set off another! We want more! Suddenly the grass below the patch of grey turns scarlet, and rolling towards the Jacksons is a stunned and broken bloody head.

            “Did you see that, Margaret! Clear off his shoulders!” Father cries excitedly as he points at it, and other men do too. Mother giggles to herself and continues nibbling on her watercress. “It’s a beautiful thing when those rebels go down! I knew it was foolish for them to fire on Sumter, you know.”

            “You say it every day, Father,” I say, sipping the red tea in my china cup. “Do you think Frederick is out there?”

            “Oh, my boy fears no man save for Jesus Christ!” he cries. “Go on, Fred!”

            “Honey, come and calm down now,” Mother says, smiling. “Do try to keep your composure. We’ve back to Washington right after this. I don’t want you to work up a sweat before we even get to the White House.”

            “Yes, you’re right, Margaret.” Father finally sits beside her and looks to the blanket next to ours, housing the Jacksons. They cannot decide whether or not to keep the head. The heat is a little unbearable in my dress, but I try not to let it get to me as the battle intensifies. We watch with careful eyes, and the Jacksons have now decided to make a collection of souvenirs to bring back with them to Baltimore, though I haven't the foggiest idea of how they’ll stop the rotting, because eventually they will rot. Mother drinks tea with her binoculars in hand, attempting to find Frederick in the fray, and I laugh to myself whenever Father makes another comment about how the field is turning a pretty shade of red—whenever someone is hit with the cannons, they explode into a pile of red apples tumbling across the field to those who already have enough. Part of me wants a part of a bayonet, just to keep, but Father will not allow it. Instead I pour perfume onto my handkerchief, because the stench from the battlefield is beginning to get a little overbearing. I fear I may faint under the stifling heat and the awful smell unless I manage to control it. Father is still engrossed—sometimes I’m sure he wishes he could’ve gone instead of Frederick, but Frederick was determined to subdue the rebels, and I do not blame him in the slightest. How are we to face the French Ambassador when he arrives to dinner hearing of such an embarrassing situation in our country? And to think, these people believe that they should be a separate nation. Please. Less than five score, we were fighting to become one. Have the ungrateful rebels forgotten that?

            I ruffle my dress again when I notice that there is a bit of red on it, which certainly will not do. Underneath me, I had hardly noticed, is a purple hand—that is the source of the stench, I am sure, and I toss it to the next blanket so that the Jacksons can complete their makeshift soldier. The smell relieves and I am able to remove my handkerchief and have another watercress. They are quite good—Mamie has outdone herself.

            “George, dear, how long do you believe it shall take for us to get to Washington?” Mother asks as she puts her tea down. It takes a great deal of prodding before Father rips his eyes from the massacre. There is far more grey than blue now, and it is beginning to puzzle me. I thought the Union was better? We have better technology. We have better soldiers. We have better colonies.

            “Haven’t any idea, really. Perhaps a few hours,” he responds. “Are you ready to go?”

            “Well you see, the battle seems not to be going well, and I cannot imagine the amount of carriages to block the roads for those who also have invitations. We should go now.” Mother’s voice is shaking, like she is afraid of something. I cannot fathom what, but I am also concerned about time. Being out in the hot sun has caused my ringlets to wilt, and I do wish to look my best for the President. Father pauses at Mother’s logic, as if to think about it, but I know it pains him a bit to be away from the action since we are already so close. The men wear thin when the sky does, and there is far more grey and violet than anything else.

            “Bah, if you must,” Father agrees. “You girls work so hard to be beautiful when you already are. I do not and never will understand it.”

            “Father, you know I must change to my evening gown. I could never wear such a thing to the party. It’s got a spill on it, you see,” I say as I point to a flicker of blood I discovered on my hem. “Come, we will cheer on Frederick when he gets home, okay?”

            “Surely he will get home,” Mother whispers. I barely catch it as her eyes are now wavering between the sides. I do not understand, nor wish to, but I put the watercress and the tea back and lift the basket as Father folds the blanket.

            “What a fun afternoon this has been,” I say as we turn our backs on our boys.