A Rose Blooms in Texas

I. May 1863 – Fairfield, Texas

Berta was startled awake with an intense sensation that she could hardly describe. It wasn’t a feeling of fear or dread, but one of acute expectation. Sleep came easily for the fifteen-year-old, so she wondered what could have roused her on this night. Did she have a nightmare? Maybe, but she could not remember. Brushing a few wayward strands of hair from her eyes, she sat upright on her bed, the fading light of a gibbous moon in the western sky illuminating the room and her pale face. No dream came to mind, but as she gradually awoke, she sensed that this day would be unlike any she had ever experienced. This was the day she would return home to the Smith Landing Plantation. Her first session at the Fairfield Female College was ending, and the seniors would have their farewell ceremony that afternoon.
Berta could hear birds singing in the oak tree outside her bedroom window. She quickly put on her robe and slippers, and stepped through the French doors that opened onto the veran-da, which extended around the entire second story of the college. It was the largest building she could remember, although the Tremont Hotel in Galveston, where she and her family had stayed on their arrival from North Carolina six years earlier, may have been of similar size. The Fairfield College building and its views of the surrounding fields and forest had been her home since January. Berta walked around the veranda and saw the morning mist rising from the pasture and the small creek that ran across the back of the property where a small group of deer were quietly browsing near the water.
As she reached the south side of the building, she noticed three raccoons heading away from the building, likely lumbering back to their dens after feasting on scraps left for them by the kitchen workers. Stone pillars formed the foundation of the building, and the first floor was above the ground such that small creatures could easily hide underneath. Towards the rear of the building, the cave-like cellar connected to the pantry on the first floor, providing a cool storage room for preserved foods. Given the early morning hour, Berta knew she would soon hear the first bell ringing to awaken the students and signal the beginning of the day’s activities.
As her stroll carried her to the east side of the building, she marveled at the beauty of the impending sunrise, at the rose-colored reflections from strands of clouds considered by the an-cients as the fingers of Eos, goddess of the dawn. On this morning, she and her classmates would be meeting with their instructors for a final review of their efforts during the session. Ber-ta continued to feel an unexpected sense of excitement and anxiety about the day. Perhaps it was the idea that school was ending and she would soon return to her beloved family, or perhaps it was the anticipation of meeting one last time with her music instructor, who would be leaving Fairfield College at the end of this session.
The helpers at the college had cleaned and pressed her clothes for this special day, and Berta took greater care than usual to arrange her lustrous red hair atop her head in a neat bun. She had a vague sense of guilt about the pride she took in her hair, as its unique hues were a trait she shared with her mother. She had also inherited her mother’s pale skin, which would glow pink when she became overheated. Berta’s complexion made it impossible for her to hide her emotions, as she would blush at the slightest provocation. Her father often teased her about this. Guile, he said, was not a trait that she should cultivate because her face would always reveal her true feelings.
The final detail of her preparation was to see that her hands and nails were presentable, as every pianist should. Although she didn’t expect to perform on this occasion, she refused to ne-glect this detail of her routine. Her hands were smaller than she would have liked, which limited her ability to play some of the more intricate chords in her pieces, and her pinky finger extended outward noticeably. As she studied her hands, she thought, with a twinge of sadness, of her dear departed brother Lucius, who, because of the shape of her hands, had often teased her about having four thumbs.
Shaking off the sad thought of her brother, Berta turned to anticipating the final meet-ings with her instructors. The senior girls had already finished their meetings; the only activities left were to prepare for the trip home and the closing ceremonies that afternoon.
Not all the girls were enthusiastic about the immediate future. Berta’s friend, Molly Ra-ther, whose family had sent her to Texas to avoid the anticipated warfare in their home state of Mississippi, was one of those girls. She was graduating now, but the future was looking uncer-tain, as the Rathers had fled their home following the Union army’s push into Mississippi after the Battle of Shiloh in Tennessee the previous year. Molly’s family had relocated to an area on the Brazos River in Texas, where her mother’s relatives had settled some years earlier when the state was still part of Mexico.
Berta’s first meeting of the morning was with her piano instructor, Count Rudolph von Godski. The Polish aristocrat sported a slight limp from the battle at Shiloh and an exuberant mustache, held in place with beeswax, which threatened to catch fire every time he leaned over the candelabra on the forte-piano. The Count eased her anxiety that morning by pronouncing her talent exception and her performance technique excellent. But he then went on to suggest she would need to work harder to reach her full potential; she was very good, he noted, but she could be even better.
After thanking him for his encouragement and instruction, Berta thought about what ac-tivities she could give up to follow his advice. She already spent several hours every day practic-ing different pieces, such as etudes, mazurkas, waltzes and barcarolles. Her other pursuits, which included reading for pleasure and visiting with friends, played an important role in her life, and she wouldn’t want to give them up. Music was wonderful, even necessary, Berta decided, and she would continue to develop her musical skills. But her playing would be for pleasure, not as a full time effort.
Between meetings with faculty members that morning, she encountered Betty Graves, the older daughter of the college president, Dr. Henry L. Graves. Betty taught younger students at the academy and had become her friend. Dr. Graves and his family which included his wife Re-becca and their children lived in the college building. Betty was the oldest and Ophelia-who pre-ferred to be called Mollie-was in her class. A younger son, Henry, attended the academy which was a school for local children attached to the college which also provided teaching experience for the college students. In addition to teaching the younger students, Betty had assumed the responsibility of protecting and cultivating a rose garden that flourished in the Freestone County environment. She would permit older students to walk among the bushes and occasionally pick a bloom. When Betty had learned that Berta had lost her brother, Lucius, in the war, she went out of her way to show her kindness and compassion, even teaching her some of the gardening tech-niques she used.
That day, Betty was beautifully groomed, as usual, with her abundant dark hair neatly arranged atop her head and her long dress adorned with a colorful ribbon that matched the one in her hair. Berta was surprised when her friend offered up a rose plant to take as a reminder of her happy years at Fairfield Female College and a token of Betty’s affection and respect.