March 2016

March 13th, 1866.—We had some errands in town this morning, so we stopped on the way home. Miss Flint told me Mr. Coolidge is related to the Eppes family here in Tallahassee. I shall find out all about that when I see My Soldier again.

I got home a little before sun-set and, in a few minutes, Charley and Lodie Austin and Cousin John Nash came to spend the evening. Mother just loves to have the Confederate Soldiers to a meal, she gets the very best of everything to put before them and they appreciate it; also they appreciate her and her music. I would like to be as charming as she is, and when I said this to Father he said, “You will never be, and this is why, you speak out too plainly. The world has a grudge against plain-speakers.”

I got “a slam” from Sister Mag tonight, too. She says I am “a coquette” but that is not true. The boys like me, but I like them, too, and they like me because they feel safe in my company. I talk about the things I think will interest them, I am a good listener—I do not encourage love-making. I do not allow caresses nor do I accept presents from young men. Even if I am young I have learned one piece of wisdom, “It is the unattainable that men sigh for.”

No, most assuredly, I am not a coquette and the only time I ever approached it was Aunt Sue’s fault and not mine; it was three years ago, I was nothing but a child, a brave Confederate captain “came a-wooing,” he was highly educated, wealthy and blue-blooded. He bore a character above reproach and I found him pleasant company. One night he persuaded me to let him put upon my finger a ring, which had been the betrothal ring for four generations. I wore that ring till morning; then I wrote a note and sent Jordan to take it back to him. I was sorry but I simply could not stand the feeling of the ring and the thought of what it meant. That was not flirting; it was only putting things right.

I am wearing another ring now and I shall never send this one back. This is a plain gold ring while the other blazed with diamonds but the owner of the plain little ring is My Soldier in Gray, and no words can tell what he means to me.

March 12th, 1866.—Last night Aunt Sue asked me to dress early and take charge of her little boys until the company arrived. She likes them to appear in the parlor and it is an easy matter to amuse them and keep them “spick and span.” It was cold and windy last night and I proposed to them to sit beside the fire and listen to some fairy tales. This they were ready to do and we were sitting there, deep in the thrilling story of “Beauty and the Beast,” when Jack opened the door and announced the first arrivals.

In came Mr. Bumford, Mr. Wessels and Mr. Coolidge, I do not know if they came together but there they were. I looked up and spoke and the children clamored for the rest of the story.

It was soon finished and then Mr. Wessels stood before me and said, “I have something here Miss Bradford, which may be of interest to you.”

As he spoke he laid across my lap a Harper’s Weekly, opened to its fullest extent. I am a trifle near-sighted and I did not at first take it in, but presently I saw what it was. A caricature of our beloved President Jefferson Davis, dressed in woman’s clothes, a large hoop-skirt had tripped him up and a huge, booted leg was showing through the hoops. The face was unmistakable and I gazed as if fascinated.

It was hard to realize that such an insult should be offered to me. I cannot speak when I am angry. I can only cry and there I sat, the tears rolling down my face. I do not believe either of the others had an idea of what he was doing, for Mr. Coolidge came and looked over my shoulder. Seizing the paper, he crushed it in his hands and throwing it in the fire, he grasped the poker and pushed it down until only ashes remained; then turning to the perpetrator of this sorry joke, he exclaimed, “Wessels, you are no gentleman.”

Little Diary, you should have seen him. He was splendid. I looked to see Mr. Wessels resent it, but he only laughed and just then other guests came and the episode was ended; but. I shall always feel grateful to my champion and never will he rank with “the Yankees” in my mind.

It was a gay scene; the bright dresses of the ladies, the brilliant uniforms of the officers, the plentiful sprinkling of civilians, the long mirrors reflecting it all, but I did not enjoy one minute of the evening. I did not enjoy it although My Soldier in Gray was there and usually that insures a happy evening for me. I could not sleep for hours; the insult cut deep.

March 11th, 1866.—Again I am at Goodwood. Uncle Arvah is having a card party and I was sent for; you see, he taught me to play whist and he says he is proud of his pupil. I have not played at a regular card party before but often Judge Love comes to Goodwood and we play, Aunt Sue and the Judge against Uncle Arvah and myself.

This, however, is a large party. General and Mrs. Foster are coming and many others; we have put three tables in the library and in the double parlors several more are placed. We have dressed the whole of the first floor, and the dining room is a dream. The chandelier is an immense shell of bronze, in it are water-lilies of mother-of-pearl. Six arms of bronze curve upward from this shell with its fluted edges, lighting the room beautifully and bringing out the pearly, pink tints of the lilies. The chandelier is supported by a figure of Neptune holding his tripod. It is the handsomest I ever saw and Mr. Croom, the former owner, brought it from Italy. He also brought over an artist from Rome who frescoed the ceilings of this lovely home. The mantel-pieces are of Italian marble, and all this is not in the downstairs rooms, for show, but each room is fitted up in the same way. Uncle Arvah and Aunt Sue are the very ones to have this spacious mansion for they love to entertain and indulge in a princely hospitality, which all enjoy.

March 5th, 1866.—Aunt Sue had the Italian harpers and the little grandchild to play tonight and I am here at Goodwood. These old, white-haired men are totally blind and the grandchild leads them around, but they make the sweetest music on their harps and the boy plays the violin. I heard them last week at the capitol but we cannot hear good music too often.

March 1st, 1866.—Little Diary, I have tried hard to tell you my secret but there are some things too sacred to write about. My Soldier in Gray has held by promise for many months and, before the year is out, we expect to be married. Father and Mother are willing, for they, too, like My Soldier in Gray but they insisted he should promise them never to take me away. I am the last one left at home and they cannot give me up. I love them so well and I am glad they want me to live with them always.

When the war was over, so many soldiers did not have anything to do, some even did not have a home to go to, but my soldier went immediately to work. His father has a large plantation and the overseer left as soon as the South surrendered; this Lake Lafayette plantation is five miles from Tallahassee, where the Eppes family live and his father is an old man and feeble; so he took right hold. He lives on the plantation and is managing splendidly, they say. I often hear his praises and I feel a glow of pride; but not even to you little friend, can I tell all My Soldier in Gray means to me. We met just after the Battle of Gettysburg and he has loved me ever since. Let me fasten this page down securely that none may see.