Candle In The Darkness Part 34

"Is there any truth to the rumors that Richmond is going to be evacuated soon?" I asked, fishing for information.

But before anyone had a chance to reply, Mr. St. John suddenly arrived, storming into the parlor without waiting to be announced. He looked so badly shaken that I dropped my scissors and thimble, immediately fearing for Charles.

"My dears, you need to come home right away," he said. "Two of our servants have run off-Jeremiah and Gus."

I closed my eyes in relief. Eli had warned that the two men planned to escape rather than help dig miles and miles of fortifications for the Rebel army.

"Did they rob us? Is anything missing?" Mrs. St. John asked, hastily gathering up her sewing.

"I'm not sure. I don't know where you and Sally have hidden all your things. I think you'd better come home and help me look."

The other ladies quickly packed away their sewing, too. "Oh, I do hope nothing irreplaceable is missing," Mrs. St. John said as her servant fetched her bonnet and shawl.

"I warned you," Mr. St. John said. "I told you that I thought it unwise for you to come here together, didn't I?"

I gladly closed the front door behind him.

When I was alone, I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders against the spring chill and went out through the drawing room doors into the yard. I had watched Eli and Gilbert through the windows all afternoon as I'd sewed. They were working in our garden, planting the food we would eat in the months ahead. I silently thanked G.o.d for them-that they hadn't left me, that they knew how to keep us all from starving. The lovely mazes of flower beds and boxwood hedges were gone, but it didn't matter. With the Yankees planning to besiege Richmond, food was much more important. The last time I had looked in my father's hollow book, only four gold coins remained.

At the rear of the yard, the magnolia tree that Grady and I used to climb was getting ready to bloom. Charles had kissed me beneath that tree the night he'd left for the war. Last winter, I had told Eli he could chop it down for firewood if we needed to, but he had urged me to wait. "We can bundle up to keep warm, Missy. But a tree that fine takes too many years to grow back."

When Eli looked up and saw me he stopped digging. "Something wrong, Missy?"

I shook my head. "I just thought you'd like to know that the St. Johns' servants, Jeremiah and Gus, ran away this morning."

He leaned against his shovel. "I was expecting it any day," he said slowly. "They didn't steal nothing, did they? I made them both promise that they wouldn't."

"The St. Johns aren't sure yet. They just went home to look things over."

I stood watching the two men work for a while, their shovels and hoes churning the rich brown earth, and I was suddenly filled with an intense longing for Hilltop. I remembered the way it had looked before the war, with verdant crops growing in the fields and the smokehouse filled with hams-and Jonathan holding my hand as we walked in the fragrant woods, naming all the trees that were no longer there. I wondered if he and Charles and my father would have entered into this war so willingly if they could have seen how much they would lose. Even if the South won the war today, would it have been worth such a staggering cost?

My thoughts were interrupted when Ruby came up behind me and rested her hand on my shoulder. "Missy Caroline . . . I'm sorry, honey, but there's a man here to see you. He say he has news about your daddy."

"Oh, no . . . did he say what kind of news?"

"Tell you the truth, I was scared to ask. He waiting in the front hallway for you."

I drew a deep breath and followed Ruby inside, my heart jumping. The man waiting for me in the foyer was dressed in working clothes, like the sailors I'd seen loading my father's ships down at Rocketts Wharf. He carried a revolver stuck in his belt and looked as I imagined a pirate would, with a scarred, weatherbeaten face and a mangy beard. He frightened me at first, making me wish Gilbert or Eli had come into the house with me.

"Afternoon, ma'am. My name's John Dooley." He smiled nervously, revealing a gold tooth.

"How do you do? I'm Caroline Fletcher. Would you like to step into the library?"

He shook his head, staring at his feet. I couldn't tell what was making him so uncomfortable-if it was me, our extravagant home, or the news he had brought.

"I understand you have news of my father, George Fletcher?"

"Yes, ma'am . . . that is, I wish I had news other than what I got, which is the fact that . . . well, he's missing, you see."

"Could you please explain?"

"Yes, ma'am. We was aboard a small steamship called the Florida, Florida, running the blockade at Wilmington. The Yanks have the main entrance to the Cape Fear River blocked, you see, but we can still use a narrow pa.s.sageway around the other side because it's protected by our Confederate guns at Fort Fisher. So we did like we always done, you see, which is to chart a course along the coast, like we was planning to sail on past it. But then we turned and made a run toward sh.o.r.e at the last minute, trying to outrun them. This time we couldn't quite make it, ma'am. It was the coal, you see." running the blockade at Wilmington. The Yanks have the main entrance to the Cape Fear River blocked, you see, but we can still use a narrow pa.s.sageway around the other side because it's protected by our Confederate guns at Fort Fisher. So we did like we always done, you see, which is to chart a course along the coast, like we was planning to sail on past it. But then we turned and made a run toward sh.o.r.e at the last minute, trying to outrun them. This time we couldn't quite make it, ma'am. It was the coal, you see."

"The . . . coal? You mean, your cargo was too heavy?"

"No, ma'am. The coal that fires our boilers ain't worth a . . . pardon me. It's poor quality, you see, and we can't go as fast as we used to. The Yanks spotted us and came after us, firing their cannon. We took a hole in our hull on the starboard side. Captain Fletcher kept us steaming for as long as he could, trying to beach us on land, but the ship started to sink. Some of us swam to sh.o.r.e safely, but the Yanks sent out longboats and picked the rest of the men out of the water."

"So now they're prisoners of war?"

"That's right, ma'am. The captain was one of the last to leave, you see, making sure everybody else had a chance to get overboard. Now he's missing. Mind you, he might have been picked up by the Yanks, so you can't give up hope."

I thanked Mr. Dooley for coming and offered him payment for his trouble. He refused. "I had to come, you see, because the other fellows and me . . . well, we have the highest regard for Captain Fletcher."

I didn't break down until after Mr. Dooley left. Then I fell into Tessie's arms, praying, "Please, G.o.d . . . no. Not Daddy."

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That spring, Charles and Jonathan fought in some of the fiercest battles of the entire war. The fighting that took place in the wilderness, outside Fredericksburg on May 5 and 6, was so horrific that neither Sally nor I could bear to look at the casualty lists. We waited in the carriage together, praying, while Sally's mother went to read them, then we wept and thanked G.o.d when we learned that He had spared both men.

Our grim tasks at Chimborazo Hospital began all over again, with wounded soldiers pouring in at the rate of several thousand a day. Sally and I worked for as many hours as we could bear before collapsing with exhaustion, but for all of our efforts, some days it seemed as though the angel of death laughed in our faces. I cut up the last of the linens from my hope chest to make bandages when the hospital ran out of them.

Many of the soldiers I tended wept as they described the terrible battle that had taken place in the wilderness's dense thickets and tangled woods. They told me that more than two hundred wounded men had burned to death as fires swept through the underbrush. General Longstreet, who had been Charles' commander for so long, had been severely wounded.

Our troops weren't the only ones who'd suffered. The Yankees lost so many thousands of men that everyone believed General Grant would retreat, just as all the defeated Union generals before him had. But regardless of his losses, Grant kept moving forward toward Richmond, skirting around Lee's forces to the south and east. The exhausted Rebels marched forward to meet him, battling him again at Spotsylvania on May 8. That battle surged back and forth all day, the terrible fighting continuing until after midnight. One of the thousands of wounded men I tended told me that the artillery and rifle fire had been so intense that an entire forest of trees, many more than a foot and a half thick, had been reduced to stumps by bullets and sh.e.l.ls. In places, the dead lay piled four deep where they had fallen.

Since Charles had little time to write, his letters became more brief and, for me, more precious.

We have been fighting for six long days. When I close my eyes at night it's very difficult to erase the horrifying sights and sounds from my mind. And so I curl beneath my blanket on the hard ground and dream of the day when you will lie in my arms at night. I study your picture before every engagement so that your face is the last thing I see before the enemy charges. I carry it in my breast pocket, above my heart. . . .

In Richmond, we felt the pressure of the enemy closing in on us from several directions. While Lee's men held off the main body of Yankees, a smaller force under General Sheridan marched to the northern outskirts of the city. The Home Guard, along with every available man, young and old, scrambled to our defense. The Confederate cavalry under J.E.B. Stuart arrived in time to stop Sheridan, but Stuart himself was wounded in the fight at Yellow Tavern and later died. Meanwhile, more Yankee troops under General Butler set out from the south, making it as far as Richmond's "back door" before Rebel forces drove them away. Everyone in the city knew our armies were fighting for their very lives-and for ours.

On the first three days of June, Charles battled the Yankees again at Cold Harbor. They were now only nine miles from Richmond. We could hear the artillery and smell the gunpowder and smoke whenever the wind blew in our direction. And, of course, we tended to endless wagonloads of wounded. The Union Army had threatened Richmond before, but as Grant edged closer and closer, not giving up in spite of staggering losses, we all wondered if the city would finally fall this time.

Grant seems to have a determination that the other generals lacked. He doesn't care how many of his own men die, and has vowed to stay here all summer if he has to. Our Confederate forces were well entrenched at Cold Harbor, and we turned back fourteen separate Union a.s.saults before the Yanks refused to obey orders to attack again.In a matter of hours, Caroline, we killed about seven thousand of their men, and I pray I never have to do anything like that again.The dead littered the ground for more than five acres. Grant may have hoped that this would be the decisive battle, but he couldn't defeat us. . . .

We all thought General Grant would move toward Richmond next, and Charles marched south again with Lee's army to meet him. But Grant skirted around the city instead, crossing the James River on a pontoon bridge, and headed south toward Petersburg to try to choke off our main supply routes. Petersburg nearly fell on June 15, but the meager Rebel troops stationed there held off a Union force more than three times larger than their own before reinforcements arrived. Then the two armies reached a standstill.

This war has become a digging contest. We've attacked and killed and maimed each other for six weeks, and now both sides have dug in for a siege. I guess it will continue this way until one of us runs out of men.Meanwhile, we live like moles in a maze of trenches called zigzags that are open to rain and sun, sh.e.l.l and mortar fire. During a battle, thousands of us are crammed in, side by side, and we can't get out, stand up, stretch our arms and legs, or even lie down to sleep, for days at a time. Something as simple as raising your head or going for a cup of water could cost you your life. At night, we can hear the enemy talking to each other in their trenches in between the sh.e.l.ling.We can even smell the smoke of their cigarettes.When the war first started, I remember how we all dove for cover whenever we heard the sound of cannon or rifle fire. But now I'm so used to the sound of bullets singing over my head and sh.e.l.ls exploding day and night, and men dying on either side of me, that I can hardly recall any other way of life. Caroline, my love, I don't write all these alarming things to upset you, but so that you will understand the truth of my situation-and be prepared. The love we share keeps me strong. My dreams of our future together encourage me to go on.I love you, Charles [image]

"We been through a lot of hard times in this war," Esther said with a sigh, "but I do believe this summer we seen the hardest times yet. Good thing you never did eat much, Missy, cause we sure ain't having very much to eat these days."

We were all gathered in the kitchen for our supper one hot night in July. In order to conserve fuel, it was the only meal Esther cooked each day. Richmond was very close to starvation because of the siege. The food that did make it through on the remaining rail line had to be shared with the troops guarding the city. At our house we had fresh produce, thanks to Eli and Gilbert, but no meat except for the fish I brought home from my visits to Mr. Ferguson. I still brought him a few tidbits of news each week, mostly things I'd learned from the steady stream of wounded men arriving at the hospital. Sometimes I managed to glean a little more information at the countless funerals I attended.

"I'm gonna ask you something, Missy," Esther continued, fanning herself in the summer heat. "I sure hope you ain't gonna get upset with me."

"Of course not, Esther." I bent to pick up baby Isaac, who was clamoring to crawl up onto my lap. "You may ask me anything."

"Well . . . they selling meat in the market, but I ain't sure you want me to buy it. I think I can probably cook it up real nice and feed all of us a good meal for once . . . but I ain't sure if I should tell you what it is first or just serve it up. I decide I better ask you."

"What is it?" I asked quietly.

"It's rat meat." Esther must have seen by my expression that the idea revolted me. "They selling it in the butcher shop," she quickly added, "all cleaned and dressed like any other kind of meat. I talk to some folks that try it and they say it ain't no different than squirrel. Said you'd never tell the difference if you didn't know."

I looked around the table at the others. "What about all of you?" I asked. "Could the rest of you eat it?" Only Gilbert and Eli were willing to try. "Buy it and cook it for them-and for whoever else is willing," I told her. "Maybe someday I'll be hungry enough to eat rat meat, but I'm not that desperate yet."

In August we celebrated Isaac's first birthday. I had written the date in the family Bible so we would all remember. "He's a free man, not a slave," I told the others, "so it's important that he always knows when his birthday is and how old he is."

Esther baked a tiny pancake for him and drizzled it with sorghum. Tessie gave him a tallow candle to blow out, the only kind we had. I wished that I could buy dozens of presents to repay him for the joy he had brought all of us during the past year, but Isaac was content with the tiny wooden animals Gilbert had carved for him.

The city of Atlanta fell to the Yankees' General Sherman in September. They burned it to the ground. Since everyone in Richmond was already half-starved and worried about our own fate, the news was a severe blow, reminding us of what might soon happen to us. A large part of the South already lay in ruins, and Sherman had vowed to continue to battle across the state of Georgia, all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.

On the day we learned that Atlanta had fallen, my uncle William and cousin Thomas drove their wagon up to our backyard gate.

"Won't you both come in?" I invited. "I can find you something to eat and fix you some mint tea."

"Thank you, but I can't stay," Uncle William said. "I'll let your stable boy water my horses, but then I have to head home. I want to get back before dark."

"Are you staying, Thomas?" I asked. He had jumped down from the wagon, carrying a small satchel.

"I'm joining the army, Caroline," he said proudly.

"You can't be! You're only . . . how old? Sixteen?" But then I recalled how the Confederate Government, desperate for soldiers, had extended the draft to include boys aged fourteen to eighteen for the junior reserve and men aged forty-five to sixty for the senior reserve. They would be trained and kept in reserve for rearguard duty.

"I'm finally old enough to fight, just like Jonathan," he said.

I still thought of Thomas as the six-year-old child he'd been the first time I'd visited Hilltop, even though he was several inches taller than me. But at sixteen, he was still a long way from manhood. How could any government ask its children to fight? How could they ask this family, who had already given so much to this war, for yet another one of its sons? It didn't seem fair.

"Isn't it true that if a plantation has more than twenty slaves, the owner can get an exemption from the draft?" I asked Uncle William. "Couldn't you sign over the deed to Thomas so he wouldn't have to go?"

My uncle slowly shook his head. "Caroline, there aren't that many slaves left at Hilltop."

"Besides, I want to fight," Thomas added.

"You don't mean that," I said. "Please, come to the hospital with me and talk to some of the wounded men. Let them tell you what-"

"That's enough," my uncle said quietly. "The boy has no choice. If I were one year younger, they would have drafted me, too."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"May he spend the night with you, Caroline? He has to report to the armory in the morning. If you could have your driver bring him there tomorrow, I'd be obliged."

Eli had tended to the horses while we'd talked. Too soon, Uncle William was ready to make the return trip to Hilltop. I suppose it was a blessing that Thomas had no idea what he was getting into. He embraced his father with dry eyes, thinking only of the excitement that lay ahead. But my uncle's back was bowed like a very old man's as he drove away.

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"May I help you?" The burly man who addressed me from behind the butcher's block in Mr. Ferguson's fish stall was a stranger. He looked straight at me, eye-to-eye, something Mr. Ferguson had never done. I couldn't reply. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"You're not the man who usually waits on me."

"Yeah, well, he was called away unexpectedly. He has entrusted all of his business matters to me while he's away." His gaze remained locked with mine, as if he was trying to read my thoughts. "The shad is especially good today," he said.

I didn't know what to do. Should I trust him? Was he another Union agent working with Ferguson, or was this a trap? The man had phrased his explanation very oddly-"He has entrusted all of his business matters to me." It didn't sound like something an ordinary fish vendor would say. I carried information about possible weak spots in the Confederate defenses, but I couldn't take the risk of giving it to a stranger. What should I say to him that wouldn't arouse suspicion? It didn't sound like something an ordinary fish vendor would say. I carried information about possible weak spots in the Confederate defenses, but I couldn't take the risk of giving it to a stranger. What should I say to him that wouldn't arouse suspicion?

I decided to simply purchase the fish and leave. Then I remembered that I'd already wrapped up the note I was delivering inside the only currency I had. I forced myself to stay calm. If I let my panic show he would surely notice.

"How much is the shad today?" I asked.

"For a lovely lady like yourself? It's a bargain at four dollars."

"Oh. That's much more than I have," I said. "Good day." I walked back to the carriage on shaking legs and told Eli what had happened.

"Just have to wait and see," he said. "That's all we can do."

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Three days later, all of Richmond had heard the news-the authorities had arrested another Yankee spy, a man by the name of Floyd Ferguson who sold fish from a stall in the farmers' market.

"That's him, ain't it?" Tessie asked, reading the paper.

"Yes," I replied. "Thank G.o.d I didn't trust the man taking his place. I think it must have been a trap."

According to the papers, Ferguson would set out on the James River in his fishing boat once a week and deliver his espionage reports to a Yankee boat sent from Fortress Monroe. Authorities suspected that several of his customers pa.s.sed secret information to him as they purchased fish, since they'd discovered incriminating notes wrapped inside the money in Ferguson's ap.r.o.n pocket. So far, the police had not arrested anyone else.

My days of spying were over. In a way I felt enormous relief, especially since the information I'd been gathering concerned the army Charles fought with, the trenches he guarded. Yet I also felt that I had let G.o.d down.

I shared my frustration with Eli as he harvested the last of the summer vegetables from our garden. "All my hard work, all my lies and deceptions have been for nothing," I said. "They still haven't bought a Yankee victory or helped free the slaves. Why did G.o.d ask me to risk so much if it was all for nothing?"

"You don't know that it was all for nothing," Eli said, brushing dirt from the carrots he'd just pulled. "You only seeing the outside of things. n.o.body except G.o.d can see what He's doing underneath. The seeds I planted last spring been growing into carrots whether we seen it or not. G.o.d gonna have His way, Missy, even when it look like His plans isn't amounting to nothing."