Candle In The Darkness Part 30

"I can do that for you, Ma.s.sa Fletcher," Gilbert said as he returned with the second box.

"Very good. But open the box you're carrying first." Daddy dusted off his hands and returned to his chair, watching as Gilbert pried open the second box. A dozen bottles, filled with ambercolored liquid, nestled beneath layers of wood shavings. "Ah . . . I see they all made it safely," Daddy said. "Uncork one of them, Gilbert, and pour me a gla.s.s."

As I watched Gilbert scurry around the room waiting on Daddy, I realized that my father would never change. He couldn't change. His att.i.tudes toward Negroes had been born and bred into him, hardening and solidifying year after year until they had turned to stone. He would carry them to his grave. So many of the people he lived with and worked with carried the same att.i.tudes that no one even questioned them anymore. If the South won the war, nothing would change for the Negroes. Slavery would continue the way it had for centuries. And if Tessie and Josiah gave birth to another child, Daddy wouldn't even think twice about selling him, just as he'd sold Grady.

Many people would say I was wrong to think about deceiving my father, taking advantage of his friendship with Confederate leaders in order to help his enemies. They would say I was wrong to mislead Charles and his father about what I did at Libby Prison. But those who've been through a war will understand how right and wrong, truth and lies, can sometimes get confused in the smoke and mayhem of conflict. They certainly were no longer clear to me. What was clear, though, was that in G.o.d's eyes, my father was wrong to own people as his slaves.

"Are you home to stay this time?" I asked him.

"For a few months, anyway."

"I think we should throw a welcome-home party for you. We can invite all your friends, share some of these treats you've brought."

"That's a good idea, Sugar. I'm glad you thought of it. Thank you, Gilbert," he said as the servant finally handed him his drink. Then Daddy happened to glance down and notice Robert's old shoes on Gilbert's feet. "Good heavens! Why are you wearing such a disgraceful pair of shoes in my house?"

"They all I got, Ma.s.sa Fletcher."

"Well, what on earth have you done to wear them out that way-walk to Texas and back?"

"They were probably poorly made to begin with," I said. "I couldn't afford to buy him new ones. Shoes are very expensive these days."

My father fished another gold piece out of his pants pocket and tossed it to me. "Here . . . catch. Take him downtown tomorrow and buy him a new pair. Buy yourself a new pair, too, if you'd like."

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Gilbert and I didn't notice anything unusual the next morning as we headed downtown to a store on Main Street to buy his shoes. We caused enough of a stir all by ourselves, outfitting a slave with new shoes costing twenty-five dollars a pair. Slaves usually wore their master's castoffs, whether they fit him or not.

Had we driven past the capitol, we might have noticed the huge crowd of people milling in the square, armed with knives and axes and pistols. But we drove down Main Street, not Franklin, and we had no idea of the danger we were in until the mob poured down the hill into the commercial shopping district, clamoring for food. As they streamed past the window of the store we were in, shouting for bread to feed their starving families, the alarm bell in the square started to ring. I saw that the mob was mostly women-poor and ragged, some as thin as skeletons. Many carried ragam.u.f.fin children in their arms. The woman at the head of them was as tall as a man, wearing a hat with a long white feather in it and armed with a six-shooter. The women surged into bakeries and grocery stores, grabbing food off the shelves.

"What's going on?" one of the other customers asked as we crowded near the store window to watch.

The proprietor quickly locked the door. "I think you'd better stay inside where it's safe, ladies. Those people look like rabble . . . and they're out of control."

I watched in astonishment as the crowd flooded through the shopping district, looting the stores, grabbing bread and hams, loading their arms with b.u.t.ter and bacon and sacks of cornmeal. More people came running from their homes to join the band of women, including dozens of men who didn't look half-starved at all. They began plundering more than food, stealing shoes and tools and bolts of cloth.

I stood frozen in front of the window, watching as the rioters rushed toward the store where Gilbert and I had taken refuge. When they discovered that the door was locked, they picked up bricks and homemade bats to smash the window. Gilbert perceived their intentions a moment before I did, and he grabbed me around the waist, whirling me away from the window, shielding me with his own body as the window shattered in a hail of shards. The proprietor was struck by a brick, several of the others cut by flying gla.s.s, but thanks to Gilbert, I was unharmed. Then he stood in front of me, brandishing a cobbler's mallet as looters poured into the store through the broken window, s.n.a.t.c.hing all the merchandise they could carry.

Outside, firemen turned their hoses on the rioters, but that only seemed to make them more violent, and they turned their weapons against the volunteers. Then the Home Guard came running to the scene, alerted by the ringing alarm bell, armed with rifles and bayonets.

"Better look away, Miss Caroline, in case this get ugly," Gilbert warned. I stepped back from the window a few more paces, but I didn't want to believe that the guards would actually use their bayonets or open fire on civilian women and children.

There was a louder shout above the chaos, and the crowd parted right outside our store to let Governor Letcher pa.s.s through. "What is the governor saying?" someone asked the store owner. He had stepped cautiously toward the window to listen, holding a bloodied handkerchief to his head.

"He says he's giving them five minutes to disperse or the guard will open fire. n.o.body is leaving, though. The looting has stopped, but even with bayonets pointed in their faces, no one is leaving."

The tension was as sharp and brittle as the fragments of gla.s.s beneath our feet. But before the five minutes were up and the guard would be forced to fire, President Jefferson Davis arrived. Gilbert and I edged toward the window to watch as Davis climbed onto a wagon that had been turned sideways across the street.

"Go home," he shouted to the crowd. "The Yankees are the enemy, not one another."

"We're hungry!" someone called. "We can't afford to feed ourselves or our children."

"But if you steal," the president replied, "then farmers won't bring any food at all into the city. We'll starve for certain." He reached into his pockets and pulled out all of his change, flinging money into the street. "Here . . . take it. It's all I have. I don't want anyone injured, but this lawlessness must stop. You have five minutes to disperse or you will will be fired upon." be fired upon."

Davis took out his pocket watch and held it in his palm, waiting. The first three or four minutes seemed to pa.s.s very slowly as no one moved. Then the crowd gradually began to drift away, leaving only the Home Guard and a very relieved president and governor when the five minutes were up. I sagged onto the nearest chair, feeling weak.

"Those thieves didn't steal your new shoes, did they, Gilbert?" I asked shakily.

"No, Missy, they right here on my feet."

"Good." I remembered how Gilbert had pulled me away from the flying gla.s.s, how he'd protected me from the looters, and I vowed I would repay him someday. I would help win his freedom.

"I believe we've done enough shopping for one day," I told him when my strength finally returned. "Let's go home."

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More than a month after I said good-bye to Robert, I sat in the drawing room one evening, reading one of my father's new books, when Gilbert tiptoed into the room and whispered in my ear.

"There's someone outside who needs to talk to you, Missy. Says he knows your friend Robert."

Daddy, who'd had more than one after-dinner drink, was snoring loudly in a chair beside me, his book falling closed on his lap. I followed Gilbert out to the backyard.

The middle-aged man waiting for me in the shadows by the carriage house was beefy and florid-faced, with reddish hair and beard. He wore suspenders and a shopkeeper's ap.r.o.n and smelled very strongly of fish.

"My name's Ferguson," he said, lifting his hat. "A Lieutenant Robert Hoffman sent me a message saying I should contact you."

"Where is Robert? Does this mean he made it home safely?"

"I have no idea. I never met the gentleman. And the less you and I know about each other, the better. My contact in Washington said to tell you he spoke to the lieutenant. Said maybe you'd be willing to supply us with some information that would be useful to our cause."

I suddenly felt as though a million eyes and ears were watching us, listening to us. "I don't have any information at the moment, Mr. Ferguson. But if I did . . . how would I get it to you?"

"I sell fish at a booth in the farmers' market on Eighteenth and Main. Know where that is?"

"Yes."

"Fold the information inside a bank note and hand it to me when you pay for your fish."

I glanced around nervously and saw Gilbert standing at a respectful distance, guarding me. I noticed that Ferguson had left the backyard gate open, as if prepared to flee in a hurry if he had to. I was embarking on a dangerous course.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"If either of us is caught, we're gonna swear on our grandmother's graves we never met."

He tipped his hat again and hurried off into the shadows. When the gate closed quietly behind him I knew I had just opened a door through which I could never return.

Chapter Twenty-one.

April 1863.

On the night of my father's party, our house seemed to come alive, like Rip Van Winkle waking from a long slumber. For the first time since the war began two years ago, we had people crowding into every downstairs room, food and spirits spread across our dining room table like a banquet, and brilliantly lit chandeliers filling every dark s.p.a.ce with light and cheer. Tessie and Ruby served at the buffet table wearing starched white ap.r.o.ns. Gilbert padded among the men, refilling their gla.s.ses, the leather of his new shoes squeaking jauntily. Esther had outdone herself, cooking for days, refusing Daddy's offers to hire an extra cook. Now, after the spectacular meal, laughter and music spilled from the drawing room as our sated guests forgot the war and their privations for a few stolen hours.

The prominence and prestige of Daddy's friends amazed me- cabinet members, senators, army generals, city officials. The only men of importance who were missing, it seemed, were General Lee and President Davis. Of course, the St. Johns had been invited, and I was relieved to see Charles' father laughing with mine, his suspicions and accusations seemingly forgotten.

As I circulated through the drawing room, engaging my guests in conversation, accepting their compliments and congratulations, Charles' mother waved me over. With her was a group of government wives.

"This is a lovely party, Caroline," Mrs. St. John said. "You've done a wonderful job. Caroline is engaged to my son, Charles, you know," she bragged to the others. "She'll be a fine a.s.set to him someday, don't you think?" They nodded and murmured in agreement.

One of the ladies took my hand in both of hers and pressed it warmly. "Thank you so much for a splendid evening, Miss Fletcher. My husband, Lewis, really needed this diversion. He works in the War Department, and ever since those spies were captured last week he's been under a great deal of pressure."

The very word spies spies made me shudder. I had read about their arrest in the paper. made me shudder. I had read about their arrest in the paper.

"You mean, your husband knew that horrible Mr. Webster?" Mrs. St. John asked.

"Yes, he worked as a clerk in the War Department. We knew his wife, too. They've both been arrested. It seems they were both both spies." spies."

"I heard that he was a double spy," one of the ladies said. "He sold Yankee secrets to our government as well as selling ours to the Yankees."

"It will all come out in the trial, I suppose. If he's convicted of espionage he'll be condemned to hang. No telling what they'll do to his wife."

"They say there are all sorts of spies living among us," one of the generals' wives confided. "They even come to gatherings like this one. They hear every word our leaders speak in private and take it straight to the enemy. And they do it for money-can you imagine?"

"That's what upset my Lewis so much-the way those people deceived us all. Mr. Webster worked side-by-side with him. His wife even wore a secession badge. They worshipped with us at church, worked in the hospitals-and all this time they've been lying to us."

"I think they should both hang," the general's wife said. "Their treachery not only cost the lives of our men on the battlefield, but it put all of us at terrible risk. If the Yankees were to take Richmond, heaven only knows what they would do to us."

Mrs. St. John shuddered. "G.o.d will repay them for their deeds."

I stared at the floor, terrified to meet anyone's gaze, certain that these women would see me for what I was. Fear of being caught, of being hung for treason, vibrated through me. I wanted this party to end. I wanted nothing to do with pa.s.sing information to Mr. Ferguson, to Robert, or to the Yankees. I couldn't remember why I had ever decided to do such a thing in the first place. I glanced up to see if anyone had noticed my anxiety, and I saw Tessie standing a few feet away. I could tell that she wanted to speak with me, but she hadn't wanted to interrupt. I thanked G.o.d for the timely escape.

"Excuse me please, ladies. I believe my servant needs me." I hoped my voice sounded normal.

I clung to Tessie's arm as we walked into the dining room. At first she didn't notice anything wrong with me or realize that I was hanging on to her for support.

"Esther's wondering when you want us to serve the coffee and dessert," she began. Then she looked at me for the first time. "What's wrong, honey? You looking like you about to faint. You need smelling salts?"

"The women were talking about those two spies who were caught . . . the Websters." My heart pounded against my corset stays. "I . . . I don't think I can do this, Tessie. What Robert asked me to do is too hard."

She rested her hands on my bare shoulders, steadying me, rea.s.suring me. "No one saying you have to, honey. And no one blaming you if you can't. Seems like you done plenty already."

"Thanks." I saw Tessie's love for me in her warm brown eyes and felt my strength slowly returning.

All of a sudden Tessie gave a little gasp of surprise. A look crossed her face that I'd never seen before, a look of wonder and inexpressible joy.

"What is it, Tessie? Tell me."

In an instant, panic replaced her joy. When she rested her hand against her stomach protectively, I knew. Josiah had gone back to the war with Jonathan last November, five months ago.

"You're going to have a baby, aren't you?" I said.

Tessie nodded fearfully. I smiled and pulled her into my arms. "It's all right, Tessie. I'm happy for you." I felt the tension leave her as she hugged me in return.

"Let me see you," I said when we finally separated. I don't know why I hadn't noticed before. Tessie's slender, hourgla.s.s figure was fuller, the waistband of her skirt an inch higher. And a quiet joy overspread her face.

"I felt the baby move just now," she said shyly. "Ain't no feeling like that in the whole world. Ain't no way to describe what it feels like to have him kicking . . . and knowing there's a life life inside there. He's part of me, part of Josiah, yet he his own person. You'll see for yourself, someday, with Ma.s.sa Charles' baby." inside there. He's part of me, part of Josiah, yet he his own person. You'll see for yourself, someday, with Ma.s.sa Charles' baby."

Life. A new child. Life was going to go on, to triumph even in the middle of all the suffering and death. At that moment I wanted the war to end more than I ever had before. I wanted Charles to come home to me, safe and alive. I wanted to create a new life that would be his and mine and yet its own.

And I wanted Tessie's child to be born a free person, free from the fear and uncertainty his parents lived with. I remembered why I was doing this, why I was risking my life to help my nation's enemies.

"Tell Esther to serve dessert," I told Tessie.

"You ain't mad at Josiah and me?"

"No, of course I'm not mad. I'm happy for you."

But as I hugged her once more she whispered in my ear, "Please don't tell your daddy."

"I won't." I pulled myself together and walked straight into Daddy's library where the men were enjoying their cigars. I played the charming hostess again, asking if everyone was enjoying himself, if he needed anything. "We're serving dessert in a few minutes if you'd like to make your way back to the buffet table," I said. But mostly I listened to their conversations, committing every sc.r.a.p of information to memory.

"The Commissary Department has their own problems," a cabinet minister was saying. "Imagine trying to come up with enough rations to feed some fifty-nine thousand men at Fredericksburg- and that's not counting the cavalry. During that blasted food riot last week, the looters took slabs of beef right out of our government warehouses."

I wandered over to another group of men who were talking with my father. "The Federals have us outnumbered two-to-one at Fredericksburg," an infantry major said. "We've got to send Lee some more troops before the Feds attack."

"I don't know where reinforcements would come from," a second officer said. "There are fewer than three thousand on active service here, guarding Richmond . . . General Wise has only about five thousand on the Peninsula . . . Imboden has maybe twenty-five hundred at Staunton. No other reinforcements can be brought to Lee in a reasonable amount of time."

"What about the men with Longstreet at Suffolk?" Daddy asked. That was where Charles and Jonathan were.

"He has three divisions. Their effective force, all told, is not even fifteen thousand men."

"I understand that D.H. Hill has been ordered up from North Carolina to reinforce Longstreet. They're saying he might take their place so Longstreet can reinforce Lee."

Daddy suddenly noticed me for the first time. "Did you need to speak with me, Caroline?"

"I only wanted to tell you gentlemen that dessert and coffee are going to be served in the dining room shortly."

"And it's real coffee, too," Daddy said, grinning. "I brought it back from South America myself."

I drifted over to another group and heard Mr. St. John say, "The defenses around Richmond are strongest at Meadow Bridge and Mechanicsville Turnpike."

"Which artillery units are manning those gun emplacements?" someone asked him.

"There are no guns in position," he said quietly. "We haven't enough to spare. The works are intended for field artillery. All we have there at the moment are Quaker guns."