Family, Honor, and War

INFERNAL CONFLICT

Family, Honor, and War

David M. Dunaway

WRITER’S PROLOGUE

The Antagonist

The antagonist of this story is the war and its effect on these two families who dearly love the South, and fight for her, but see the war for what it is, an "Infernal Conflict" - the working title right now.

The Protagonist

The protagonist, aside from the human characters, is THE SOUTH that I love despite all of its flaws. I want the readers to constantly be asking themselves, "How could these people of conscience who had questions and doubts about the legitimacy of the war, yet fight and die for THEIR SOUTH? We do not ignore the tragedy that was our history, but that history does not taint, in any way our love for our land. That is the conundrum of the South, isn't it - that Yankees, then and now, cannot understand our love for this land and the gratitude we feel for being born Southerners.

The first "chapters" will be about the Baileys although, in John Bailey's story, you will meet David Merriweather's father and see how he and John Bailey became friends and how that led to David's apprenticeship with John. I take Cassandra up to age 18, but I know that I will fill in some more of her story. You will meet her brother, Andrew-Ryan who takes over the family business. You will meet LauraLeigh Bailey, she is the matriarch of the Baileys. As the war progresses and ends, she will play a substantial role. She is going to have serious reservations about her daughter, Mary Assumpta, marrying James Merriweather with a couple of surprises there. You will meet the youngest of the family, Joseph who meets with tragedy early in his life. And his death will have a major impact on his mother and her role in the family. Finally, you will read of the roles that Dr. John Bailey and his brother Andrew Ryan played in the war although I need to develop Andrew-Ryan's role a bit more.

It has been an interesting journey for me thus far and these characters are beginning to be real people to me and exciting to help them live their lives. Same kind of feeling I have as a reader when I get immersed in a character in a story.

Character Name Changes

As I have gotten further along in the story and could begin to foresee some interesting plot twists, I just did not think it was fair to family members to have folks wondering or assuming if the twists of fate had actually befallen my own family. Pat Conroy, I am not!

That said, there are plenty of character and personality traits that carry a “certain air of truth” related to some actual friends and family members. You will just have tofigure those out on your own!

I have no idea if REAL authors make changes such as these name changes, but real authors are not putting their drafts on Facebook for the world to see either! With that in mind, I might as well break this news to you now.

At some point, I will stop posting chapters. I know that I will not post the first chapter in the book that I anticipate as being the hardest to write. And I know that I will not post the climax, the falling action, or the epilogue (some of which I already have written). You must be satisfied with rising action that will continue to build for quite some time yet. (Corrine King, my senior English teacher and Laura Lee Pike, are I know, so proud that I remember the parts of the plot of a story!)

So my faithful friends and readers, at some point, you WILL have to shell out a few bucks to get, as Paul Harvey used to say, “The Rest of the Story!”

PARTI: THE BAILEYS OF CHARLESTON

CHAPTER I

Irish, Catholic, And Very Southern

The Catholic-believing Baileys had fled the religious conflict in Ireland in the early-eighteenth century, settling initially along the banks of the Chesapeake Bay, and with the second generation immigrating to the growing city of Charleston where the winter climate was more temperate.

By the third generation the family began to prosper as merchants in a growing Charleston. James Patrick Bailey, the founder of the Charleston Baileys began the family business by selling home remedies brought with him from his native Ireland. James was a keen observer and quick learner, traits shared by his son Mathew and his grandchildren,JohnColin, Andrew-Ryanandgranddaughter Mary Assumpta. He added local cures and remedies, often obtained in trade with local Indian tribes, to his business. Although, his business began with remedies sold from a pushcart, he soon recognized that if he could open a store he could expand his offerings beyond remedies and have the customers come to him. Over the years, most customers, even if they were coming for potatoes or rice, almost always sought his advice for their ailments. Inevitably leaving with a potion or a poultice.

By the time MatthewConroy Bailey took over the business, Bailey’s Remedies & Sundrieswas a well-established and respected Charleston business that allowed the Baileys to, on occasion, comingle with Charleston society.

Matthew took the pharmaceutical side of the business a step beyond any others in Charleston. He began calling regularly on the growing number of physicians being graduated from the Medical College of the State of South Carolina in Charleston. He had correctly concluded that a connection to physicians would be profitable for both parties, as the physicians had no need to purchase drugs to keep on hand, because they knew that patients had easy access to them through Matthew Bailey. It meant for Matthew, and the business, a source of customers he could count on.

The Baileys, not so far removed from tyranny at the hands of England as Irish citizens, had no interest in the slave trade. But their feelings on slavery had no bearing on their allegiance to their land. They were Southerners, and if war came, they would not falter in doing their duty.

CHAPTER II

LauraLeigh O’Brien Bailey – Courtship and Early Years

LauraLeigh O’Brien Bailey, the current matriarch of the Bailey clan, had met her future husband, rather predictably, at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. Matthew Conroy Bailey, the bachelor son of Charleston merchant, James Bailey, was not a regular attendee at Mass, but the spirit moved him to attend on a mild Summer Sunday in 1819. He was taken immediately with the crystal blue-eyes speckled with gold, and the sunset-tinted tresses of LauraLeigh as she sat her pot of venison stew and a large bowl of buttered grits on the table with the other food that would feed the congregation at is annual church dinner-on-the-grounds feast.

Having learned the art of conversation at the feet of his merchant father, Matthew was never at a loss in starting a conversation with a total stranger, especially one as beautiful as the creature before him on this Sunday afternoon. Well and truly smitten, and with the confidence of youth, he introduced himself, “Miss O’Brien? I am Matthew Bailey, and I believe we share a common heritage. Do you fancy exploring that possibility over a bowl of your venison stew?”

“Well, Mr. Matthew Bailey, while you may be correct about our connections to the old country, you are mistaken that I would fancy a sit-down with you, a man I do not know in the slightest. However, I might abide a bit of conversation if you are willing to help me serve this stew and these grits and the clean up afterward.”

“It would be my honor, Miss O’Brien.” And, Matthew’s church attending was about to increase significantly.

From that day and through every day since, he never failed to refer to his love as Miss O’Brien, although as his wife, he relented slightly, calling her Miss O’Bailey, but never Lauraleigh. He reserved her Christian name for the intimate moments they were able to carve out of a busy life. In fact, his children could never recall a time when their father referred to their mother in any way other that Miss O’Bailey.

LauraLeigh Bailey, in quick succession gave birth to four children. John Calvin, Andrew Ryan, Mary Cassandra, and Joseph Paul. Joseph’s life in the Bailey family lasted but a few days. He was born premature after a particularly difficult pregnancy disrupted by almost constant nausea and severe anemia brought on by LauraLeigh’s aversion to eating any red meat. Her stomach, it seemed, was in a constant state of unrest. While she had had typical bouts of nausea early in each of her previous in her pregnancies, nausea was her constant companion throughout her pregnancy with Joseph and she simply had no desire to eat. When compelled to eat out of concern for her unborn child, she seldom kept any food down more that a few minutes. So, instead of gaining weight during her pregnancy, she was an emaciated shadow of herself, spending most of her pregnancy in bed too tired to rise and dress.

Joseph’s died less that a week after his birth. A family tragedy – it was not unexpected. Premature weighing only two pounds, he had little chance at life. His lungs were underdeveloped and his heart enlarged from trying to overcome an inadequate number of red-blood cells brought on by LauraLeigh’s anemia.

LauraLeigh was unable to nurse him, and although a wet nurse was found, Joseph never took to the nipple and simply starved to death.

CHAPTER III

John Colin Bailey – A Natural Healer

The direct connection between the Bailey family business and the medical community had an unexpected influence on his children. He was not surprised when eldest son, John Colin, enrolled in the Medical College of Charleston. As a child John had taken in every stray, injured, or emaciated cat, dog, rabbit, raccoon, or fox that he could ensnare or entice and soon released – at least the wild ones –back into nature. The house always had a feel of a menagerie about it, much to the dismay of his mother, and the delight of his sister.

He was a natural healer. As a medical student, he thrived looking for ways to advance beyond the knowledge of his professors. A questioner, he daily danced close to the line of insubordination with his questions that often began with, “But professor, why?” John was graduated by the Medical College of Charleston, with much more than the rather rudimentary knowledge that was typical of his classmates.

The medical arts as learned and practiced in the early 1800s, like most professions, were learned through an apprenticeship. John Bailey was no different, except his father, Matthew, had a firsthand knowledge of the good, the not-so-good, and downright dangerous doctors practicing in Charleston. So when John Bailey began talking about his upcoming apprenticeship, his father introduced him to Dr. Aaron Salvador.

Dr. AaronSolomon Salvador was the nephew of a distinguished Charleston Jewish family. His uncle was the first Jewish colonist elected to public office and the first Jewish-American killed in the Revolutionary War. Like his uncle, Dr. Aaron Salvador had built an exceptional reputation in both the Jewish and Christian communities of Charleston. When John Bailey completed his apprenticeship with Dr. Salvador, he left with not only significantly increased knowledge of medical practices, but with an unrepentant belief that a true healer does not pick and choose his patients. Illness is the physician’s enemy, not the color of man’s skin or the religion he practices.

When John looked for a place to open his practice, his father quickly suggested the two-story apartment attached to the family business. It had been vacant for sometime and seemed a perfect fit. John could live on the second floor and practice on the bottom floor – fine arrangement for any newly minted physician setting up practice in the spring of 1845.

His practice began slowly, but with a natural connection to the family pharmacy next door, he soon built a reputation as a physician of exceptional diagnostic skills. As he settled into his practice, it was not without controversy. He drew criticism from other physicians for opening his doors to any person who required his skills. Being shunned by Charleston society suited John just fine, as it allowed him more time to read, and contemplate remedies frequently outside the practice of most other Charleston physicians.

CHAPTER IV

John Colin Bailey – Surgeon

Bailey’s personal medical studies steered him as though by compass to the embryonic field of surgery. As he grew in his knowledge and skills, his patients were the testaments to his persistence and his techniques. Farmers with broken legs and infected bites or cuts, found a physician, in John Bailey, who turned away from traditional salves and balms and turned often to the scalpel (somewhat to his father’s regret as an apothecary). He was unafraid to lance and surgically remove infected tissue around a pustule or to open a leg punctured by a compound fracture in order to set the bone. But, even the simplest surgery was a harrowing experience for patient and physician alike. And this weighed heavily and constantly on his mind.

Dr. John Bailey routinely treated the seamen of Charleston’s docks for a variety of ailments. One such person was Bartholomew Jennings, a seaman aboard the coastal schooner, the DeMille. In early November of 1847, Jennings had picked up a bag of oysters for supper for the crew. But, while shucking the low country delicacy, his oyster knife, bounced off the oyster shell and embedded itself in the palm of his left hand. Not stopping to treat his wound, it soon became infected to the point he could hardly pull up his pants after his morning constitutional. The DeMille was headed north to Norfolk in three days and he dreaded the prospect of Captain Jeremiah Gaffney’s wrath if, once they were out to sea, he saw that Jennings was useless to him. Jennings knew he had to go see Dr. Bailey.

The men of the DeMille and Dr. John Calvin Bailey were well acquainted, as the Captain, gruffer than a hard-shell Baptist preacher on Pentecost Sunday, and just about as devout, knew he could not keep his men away from the delights to be found at the Three Sisters in “French Town” – so called because each house was painted the color of each madam’s hair. However, he could make sure they did not carry any unexpected passengers home to their wives back in Norfolk. And, so routinely, his men paid a visit to Dr. John Bailey the morning they were to depart Charleston.

As Bartholomew Jennings made his way to Dr. Bailey’s office, he already felt weak in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the scalpel slicing open the infected hand. Even the two slugs of whiskey that he had downed aboard ship did little to calm him.

As he stepped a foot across the threshold of the office, he almost turned around, but he had come this far, and how could the reality be worse than his dread? It was worse. It was always worse.

After, two slugs of better whiskey provided by Dr. Bailey, Jennings bit hard on the leather-covered hilt of the dagger he carried in his belt. Dr. Bailey opened the wound quickly and expertly, excised pre-gangrenous flesh, dosed the hand with alcohol, closed the wound with catgut, and covered it with a pine tar infused bandage. He would heal quickly if Captain Gaffney did not throw him overboard first.

Jennings pulled on his shirt, and turned to Dr. Bailey, “Doc, I been seein’ you a coupla times a year now, and I think you done so much cutting on me that I caint tell your scars from them I got in my bar-fight fracases.”

“Bartholomew, what’s your point?”

“Well, I think you will agree that I don’t shy away from the hurtin’ once I make it in the door, and have a couple of shots of your good whiskey.”

“I cannot disagree with that, other than you conveniently left out the shots you down to get your courage up to come see me in the first place.” Bailey smiled.

“Yessir, there is that,” Jennings admitted. “But I got to tell you, Doc, that my whiskey-courage just ain’t workin’ like it used to.”

Bailey paused a moment, as he truly never forgot about the pain that he often inflicted at the point of a scalpel. “Bartholomew, I wish I could offer you something better than whiskey and the leather hilt of your dagger.”

Jennings, getting up a different kind of courage, minus the whiskey, spoke respectfully, “Doc, you always treated me right ‘n’ kindly. Caint complain about that, and I ain’t one to tell you your business, but last time we was in Savannah, I heard about a doc down in Georgia who was usin’ some kind of gas that he gives his patients, and it knocks them out, and they don’t feel nothin’ whilst he’s cuttin’ on ‘em. They just wake up with a little headache. You ever heard such tales, Doc?”