Candle In The Darkness Part 35

His answer confused me. "Then what difference does it make if I obey Him or not-whether I risk everything to spy for Him or stay at home-if He's going to do it all anyway?"

Eli pulled another clump of carrots, then slowly stood to face me. "We ain't gonna eat the tops of these carrots, are we?"

"No . . . but what does that-"

"Can't you see, Missy Caroline?" he said gently. "Spying ain't the job G.o.d gave you to do in this here war. He don't need people to do stuff like that for Him. What He need is for you and me to show folks what He's like . . . to love others for Him. That's the real work you done . . . underneath it all."

"How? How could betraying my country possibly show G.o.d's love?"

"I tell you one way," he said, crumbling the dirt off the vegetables as he talked. "My son Josiah hate white folks. He think they all alike. He turn away from Ma.s.sa Jesus because he think Jesus is the white folks' G.o.d. But Josiah seen that you different-not because you spying, but because you spying for us, so that we could be free."

I remembered the tender look I'd seen on Josiah's face as he'd held his son, the tears on his cheeks as he'd thanked me.

"I been trying to tell Josiah about G.o.d's love all his life," Eli continued, "and he ain't listening. But he seen your love, Missy Caroline, he seen how you risk everything you have for us . . . and so he finally seen G.o.d's love-in you."

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My tale is nearly told now. There's only one more episode to describe, and that's the afternoon when I knew that the end had finally come for me. Charles' father arrived at my door, his face the sickly gray color of dirty water. He looked much too unwell to be out of bed, let alone out of the house.

"Are you all right? Did something happen. . . ?" He ignored my questions, pushing past me to enter my father's library. What worried me more than his obvious illness was the anger in his eyes-no, I saw hatred when he looked at me.

"I need to see one of your father's books," he said. He began perusing the shelves without waiting for my permission. I could hear his labored breathing all the way across the room, as if his lungs were a pair of worn-out bellows that could barely pump air. I was afraid he would find the hollowed-out volume, even though it now held only two or three gold pieces.

"Please, let me help you," I said. "Are you looking for a particular book?"

"Yes. This one."

He pulled A Tale of Two Cities A Tale of Two Cities from the shelf. Something about that book alarmed me but I didn't know why. Then Mr. St. John took a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was the map I'd drawn on a page torn from that book. I watched, paralyzed, as Mr. St. John opened the book to the beginning, to the place where the t.i.tle page should be. When the map fitted perfectly into place he groaned, swaying as though he was about to collapse. I tried to help him sit down but he waved me away as if my touch would poison him. from the shelf. Something about that book alarmed me but I didn't know why. Then Mr. St. John took a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was the map I'd drawn on a page torn from that book. I watched, paralyzed, as Mr. St. John opened the book to the beginning, to the place where the t.i.tle page should be. When the map fitted perfectly into place he groaned, swaying as though he was about to collapse. I tried to help him sit down but he waved me away as if my touch would poison him.

"I knew you were involved . . . I knew it!" he said, wheezing. "They recaptured one of our escaped slaves. He had this map . . . and these false doc.u.ments. . . ." I recognized the freedom papers he showed me as forgeries of the ones my father had drawn up for Isaac. The name had been changed to Jeremiah St. John.

"We got Jeremiah to confess that one of the servants from the ladies' sewing circle forged these, but he refuses to say who. Every time someone was robbed, though, the victim was here, visiting you. Now you're going to tell me which one of your slaves can read and write."

"Please . . . Mr. St. John . . ."

"If you don't tell me, then I swear I'll beat a confession out of every last one of them."

I went cold at his words. "You will not lay a hand on any of my slaves. I drew that map."

He stared at me, his eyes filled with loathing, not surprise. Perspiration dampened his hair and rolled down his flushed face.

"I drew the map for my servants when I found out that Daddy planned to sell some of them." I said. "I don't have much gold left, but I'll pay you and all the others for the slaves they lost and for the property their servants stole. It was wrong of them to steal, but I'm not sorry that any of them escaped."

He glared at me. "So you finally admit that you're a Union sympathizer?"

"I believe that slavery is morally wrong."

He set the book and the papers on Daddy's desk. "None of us ever imagined that you were deliberately deceiving us all this time, Caroline-least of all Charles. We should have guessed when you spent so much time visiting your Yankee prisoner, but we all wanted to believe that you were telling the truth, that your visits were purely humanitarian. You played us for fools. I should have listened to Major Turner. He was convinced that you were involved in that prison break. And he says you also had an improper relationship with your Yankee friend."

"That's a lie! I did no such thing!" I had listened to Mr. St. John's accusations in stunned shock, but I couldn't let the last one pa.s.s for truth.

He held up his hand to silence me. "I'm not finished. The fish vendor, Ferguson, has been suspected of spying for some time. He was watched. The police told me that you were a regular customer- which is odd since you have six slaves to do all your shopping for you. The authorities asked me if I thought you might be involved, and like a fool I defended you. Now I'm not so sure. They found incriminating notes wrapped inside the money Ferguson collected. All I need to do is compare that handwriting with your writing on this map or with some of the letters you've sent my son. What am I going to discover then, Caroline?"

I couldn't speak. I was afraid I was going to be sick.

"When I think of all the important people you've entertained in your home," he continued, "all the crucial information you might have overheard . . . That's why you continued to have social gatherings here, isn't it? Even after your father left. You deliberately deceived us! You used my son . . . my daughter . . ." He gripped his left shoulder suddenly, wincing in pain.

"Please, you need to sit down, Mr. St. John. Let me get you something-"

"No!" he shouted. "You've done enough harm as it is. And the biggest tragedy of all is that my son loves you. He loves you! I can't imagine what this news will do to him. What were you thinking, Caroline? How could you lie to Charles like this, pretending that you loved him when-"

"I wasn't pretending. I do love Charles."

"How can you possibly say you love him when you've been helping his enemies?" Mr. St. John tried to take a step, then gripped the edge of the desk to keep from falling. "I don't know what to do," he said, wheezing. "Charles must be told the truth. But if he learns it now, while lying in a filthy trench, I fear he'll be so devastated that he won't want to live. I won't let you kill my son."

His hands trembled as he refolded the map and phony doc.u.ments and put them back in his coat pocket. He picked up my father's book. He stared at me, but it was as if he was looking through me. His face had been flushed with rage a moment ago, but now it was as colorless as a corpse.

"I don't know what to do about you," he said, shaking his head. "If you're guilty of half the things I think you are, then I want you arrested . . . no, I want you to hang! But if the truth about you comes out now . . . it will destroy my son. . . ."

There was nothing more I could say.

Mr. St. John managed to stagger to the door without me. I watched his servant help him into his carriage and drive away.

Two days pa.s.sed, then three. Now four. I have no idea what will happen to me. All I can do is wait, wondering when my arrest will come. In the meantime, I've been unable to sleep. I decided to write this account, explaining my reasons for doing what I've done. I pray that when you read it you will understand how I became entangled in all of this. And that you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

I offer no defense except these words from the book of Proverbs: " 'If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small. If thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn to death, and those that are ready to be slain; If thou sayest, Behold, we knew it not; doth not he that pondereth the heart consider it? . . . and shall not he render to every man according to his works?' "

Caroline Ruth Fletcher September 1864

PART TWO.

"You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my G.o.d turns my darkness into light. With your help I can advance against a troop; with my G.o.d I can scale a wall."

Psalm 18:2829 NIV

Chapter Twenty-four.

September 1864.

Artillery boomed in the distance, shaking the floor beneath Caroline's feet as she stood with Tessie on the balcony off her father's bedroom. "It might be coming from Drewry's Bluff," she said. "The Yankees might be trying to send warships up the river past the fort again."

"Sounds closer than that, Missy. Look there. . . ." Tessie pointed to the southeast where flashes of light illuminated the low-hanging clouds like summer lightning. "Those big guns gotta be this side of the river."

"I think you're right. Maybe it's coming from Fort Harrison."

Caroline knew from months of spying that the outer ring of Confederate defenses encircling Richmond was less than ten miles away; the inner ring, not even four. This current battle, which had begun yesterday, September 28, was one of the closest ones yet to her home. She also knew that Lee's troops, defending this sixty-five-mile-long perimeter, were spread very thinly in places.

Charles and Jonathan might be fighting out there somewhere. In his last letter, Charles had said they were being sent up from Petersburg to counteract a rumored buildup of Yankee forces near New Market Heights. Now a horrific battle was raging out in that direction. At times, the artillery fired so rapidly that it sounded like one continuous boom.

"Here comes Eli," Tessie said, pointing down to the street below them. "Let's go see what he find out."

"Yankees started attacking the Confederate lines yesterday," Eli told them when they reached the backyard. "Rumors say they already capture Fort Harrison. Now they trying to capture Fort Gilmer."

"Get the carriage ready, Eli. I'd better go up to Chimborazo. It's the closest hospital to where they're fighting. They'll be bringing the wounded there first."

Tessie held Caroline's arm to stop her. "Honey . . . you can't," she said quietly. "Remember?"

Caroline moaned and leaned against her friend. "No . . . I completely forgot."

Two days ago, Sally Fletcher had come to her front door-a very different Sally from the friend and near-sister Caroline had known for so long. Sally had offered no word of greeting or other pleasantries, refusing to look Caroline in the eye, and would come no further than the foyer. She delivered her message in a voice that was distant and cold.

"My father told us what you've done, Caroline. I didn't want to believe it. The shock of it has made Father so ill-" she paused as her voice quavered. "So ill that he's been bedridden ever since."

"I'm so sorry."

Sally held up both hands to silence her. "Don't talk, Caroline, just listen. Father sent me in his place to tell you that until he's well enough to decide what to do with you, he wants you to remain at home. Don't go anywhere, not even to church, or he will have you arrested. Don't leave the house, and don't entertain visitors. When you write to Charles, you can't tell him anything about this."

"Sally, please listen. You're my dearest friend, and nothing I've done will ever change that."

"You're wrong. I feel so betrayed by you, Caroline. I trusted you . . . loved you. I can't even imagine what this news will do to Charles, but I agree with my father-Charles must not be told about you while he's still fighting. If he found out right now that he's in love with a traitor, it would kill him. But as soon as Charles is safe, Father is going to tell him everything."

Even now as Caroline stood in her backyard, the memory of Sally's words sent a shiver through her. Her dearest friend wouldn't even try to understand or forgive her. She was not trusted to care for wounded soldiers at Chimborazo.

The sounds of battle continued all day. Artillery still echoed sporadically off Richmond's hills later that night as Caroline sat in the kitchen with her servants, talking quietly after their evening meal. The only light came from the fireplace, now dying into embers. Outside, clouds shrouded the moon and stars while cannon fire flickered on the horizon.

A sound outside made Caroline look up. Her heart pounded with dread when she saw Josiah standing in the open doorway.

He wore no shirt, only ragged trousers. Dried blood smeared his broad chest and hands. Caroline took one look at his dark, somber face and scrambled to her feet, terrified of what he might say.

"Make her sit down," Josiah said, pointing to her.

"No . . . Oh, G.o.d, no . . . not Jonathan . . ." she cried out. Eli pulled Caroline into his arms and held her tightly. She felt as if she stood onboard a ship in a storm and was about to be blown overboard.

"It ain't Jonathan," Josiah said. "It's Ma.s.sa Charles."

"No!" Pain tore through Caroline, as sharp and real as any gunshot. Pain tore through Caroline, as sharp and real as any gunshot.

"He's hurt real bad," Josiah continued. "They bring him to that big hospital up on the hill, just now."

"Oh, G.o.d, please don't let him die," Caroline wept. "Please . . . please . . ."

"I'll get the carriage ready," Gilbert said. Josiah stepped aside as the servant hurried out the door.

"What happened, son?" Eli asked.

"They been fighting hard all day. I went looking for Ma.s.sa Jonathan when he ain't coming back with some of the others. Couldn't find him. I look everywhere . . . lots of dead and wounded . . . but I ain't seeing him. I only find Ma.s.sa Charles, lying there in that hole."

"Sweet Ma.s.sa Jesus . . ." Tessie prayed as she rocked Isaac, who was sleeping on her lap. "Help him, Ma.s.sa Jesus . . ."

"Ain't gonna lie to you and pretend it ain't bad," Josiah said. "The men who picking up the wounded walk right on past him, thinking he good as dead with two big holes in him and bleeding so bad. But I tore up my shirt and stuffed the hole in his chest like I seen the doctors do, and I wrap one of the shirtsleeves around his leg. His head bleeding bad, too. Then I carry him to the forward aid station, but they keep walking past him, saying there ain't much hope. So I carry him to the field hospital, about half-mile back, and put him on the first ambulance I see, not waiting for n.o.body's permission. Ambulance just now bring him to that big place up on the hill."

Esther handed Josiah his father's coat to put on. "Does his family know about Ma.s.sa Charles?"

Josiah shook his head. "I came here first."

"Guess someone better go on down and tell them," Eli said. "But first we got to get Missy up to the hospital."

Gilbert returned to the kitchen just then. "Carriage ready," he said.

Caroline tried to walk but her legs wouldn't hold her. Eli lifted her into his arms. "Oh, G.o.d, please don't take Charles," she pleaded as he carried her outside into the dark autumn night. "Please don't take him!"

They crossed the backyard toward the open gate, and a memory came to Caroline, sharp and clear. Eli had carried Tessie in his arms the same way while Tessie had pleaded, "Don't take him . . .please don't take him!" "Don't take him . . .please don't take him!" But the men had dragged Grady through the open gate in spite of Tessie's pleas. But the men had dragged Grady through the open gate in spite of Tessie's pleas.

A terrible fear suddenly gripped Caroline. Charles was going to die in payment for that sin.

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It seemed to Caroline that hours pa.s.sed before she found out where they'd taken Charles in the sprawling hospital complex. In spite of Josiah's warning, she wasn't prepared for the sight of him- his uniform drenched in his own blood, his face as pale as death. Huge, raw wounds punctured his right shoulder and thigh and creased the side of his head. She lifted his hand and found a faint heartbeat, touched her lips to his and felt the warmth of his breath.

"Please, G.o.d . . ."

It took longer still for Caroline to find a doctor who would agree to waste time on such a seemingly hopeless case. He finally consented only because he recognized Caroline and remembered her tireless work at the hospital. Charles' family arrived, and they waited in icy silence for the doctor to finish the surgery. He came out to speak with them when he was done.

"He's still alive . . . but barely. I'm sorry I can't offer you a great deal of hope."

"We're taking him home," Charles' father announced.

"If you move him now you'll kill him," the doctor said. "He's too weak. Wait a few days, until he recovers from the surgery. Miss Fletcher knows how to administer the very finest care. She has done excellent work here."

The St. Johns stayed for several hours, hoping in vain that Charles would regain consciousness. But Mr. St. John was still quite ill himself, and Sally was distraught over the news that Jonathan was missing. They decided to return home for the night. Before leaving, Charles' father stunned Caroline with an announcement. "Your cousin's servant, Josiah, will remain with us. Since Sally is Jonathan's wife, the Negro now belongs to her."