Candle In The Darkness Part 36

"No, wait. . . ." Caroline begged. "Josiah's wife and child live with me. At least let them be together-"

"Why? So you can help him escape like you helped all the others? You must take me for a fool."

"But Josiah saved Charles' life. Your son would be lying dead in a trench out there if Josiah hadn't brought him here. You have to-"

"Don't you dare tell me what I have to do with my slaves." Mr. St. John limped to the door, then turned to look at his son again before leaving. His eyes filled with tears. "I'll let you take care of him for now because I want him to live. But as soon as he's well enough, I'm going to tell him the truth about you." He left without another word.

As Caroline waited by Charles' bedside that long night, some of the other men in the room began to moan. One of them wept softly. Without even thinking, Caroline went to them, one by one, and tended to their needs-giving one a drink of water, quietly praying with another. She closed the staring eyes of one young man who had died and gently pulled the sheet over his face. When she returned to Charles' cot, she noticed Eli still sitting on the floor beside him.

"You may as well go home, too, Eli. I don't intend to leave Charles' side."

"Me either," he said, shaking his head. "I staying here to pray for him. And for you."

"Thank you," she whispered. Caroline sank down on her knees beside Charles' cot and took his limp hand in her own. He was barely alive. The slender thread had never seemed more ragged and frail. Caroline's tears began to fall again as she silently prayed.

"Please, Lord. All I ask of you is that you allow Charles to live.

In return . . . in return . . . I . . ."

She paused, unsure of what she could offer G.o.d in return for so great a gift as Charles' life. The debt she already owed G.o.d for all the injustices done to Grady, to Tessie and Josiah, to the slaves her family had kept at Hilltop, was much too great an account to ever repay. She had no close family members now that her mother was dead, her father and Jonathan missing. Her servants were her family, but their lives weren't hers to barter. All she had was herself.

"In return for Charles' life, I offer you my own. I offer you the life Charles and I would have had together as husband and wife, the son we might have had if we'd married. It doesn't matter what you do with me, Lord. It doesn't matter if Charles ever forgives me . . . or if I go to prison . . . or if I hang for my crimes. Whatever you ask of me, Lord, I'll do. I'll obey you as your servant. I only ask that you let Charles live. Please . . . let him live. . . ."

Caroline stayed by his bedside day and night for the next week, afraid to leave. Her servants brought her meals. The first time Charles regained consciousness and saw her sitting beside him he smiled, then closed his eyes again. Even before he'd been wounded, Charles had lost so much weight after weeks of dysentery and near-starvation that at first he didn't seem to have the strength to get well. Caroline fed him the vegetable broth Esther had cooked; she made sure he drank water; she changed the dressings on his wounds herself to keep them clean; she bathed him with cool water when he grew feverish. All the while she never stopped praying, offering her future as Charles' wife in return for his life.

Charles' family came to the hospital every day, too, spending hours by his bedside. When Charles was conscious, Caroline thought he would surely notice the looks of hatred his father gave her, or the way his mother glared at Caroline every time she touched him, or the fact that Sally never spoke a single word to her. But Charles was much too sick to be aware of what went on around him. Sally had decided to wait until he was out of danger to tell him that Jonathan was missing. No one knew if Jonathan had been taken prisoner or if he had been blown to pieces in an explosion. It seemed to Caroline that Sally was on the verge of a breakdown as she waited for news of her husband.

Gradually, the color seeped back into Charles' face. Strength returned to his body, and he was able to weather an attack of pneumonia. His wounds slowly began to heal with no signs of infection. But throughout the long months that she nursed him, Caroline was aware of what would happen once it became certain that he would live. Charles' father would tell him the truth.

She saw that day inching closer when the doctors allowed Charles to leave the hospital and recuperate at home in Court End. His servants carried him inside and laid him in the bed they'd prepared in the small parlor, near the fireplace. His father still allowed Caroline to come and see him for a few hours each day, but Mr. St. John never left them alone in the room, watching her closely, listening to every word she said.

"I want to marry you," Charles murmured to her one day, more than two months after he'd been wounded.

"I know. You already asked me." She slipped her hand into his so he could feel the engagement ring on her finger.

"No . . . I mean now . . . before the war ends. Like Sally and Jonathan."

Caroline felt Mr. St. John's eyes on her, boring into her. She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. But she'd seen the unspoken threat in his eyes as he silently shook his head. No No.

Caroline gently squeezed Charles' hand, willing herself not to cry. "You've been away so long you hardly know me anymore. I've changed since the war began. Maybe you should get to know me all over again before you decide if you still want to marry me."

"I know all that I need to," Charles said. "I know that you have a tender, loving heart . . . that injustice makes you angry . . . that you want to make the world right more than you want pretty dresses. Those are all the reasons why I fell in love with you. Have any of those things changed?"

She lost the battle with her tears.

"Listen now. Don't cry. Maybe it's not fair to ask you to marry me when I'm . . . like this. . . ."

"Oh, Charles, it's not because you're wounded. You're the only man I will ever love or ever want to marry."

Mr. St. John slowly rose from his chair at her words. He planted his hands on his hips. Charles didn't notice, but Caroline did.

"There are some other things about me . . . that you don't know," she told Charles.

"Then tell me."

"I can't. There isn't enough time today. I have to go home now so you can rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

She stood to leave, but Charles clung to her hand for a long moment, refusing to let go. "I should have listened to you, Caroline," he said softly. "I should have married you the last time I came home."

Yes, she thought. she thought. Yes, if only you had Yes, if only you had.

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A light blanket of snow covered the ground the next morning when Caroline awoke. It dusted the tree branches and squeaked beneath the carriage wheels as she and Gilbert drove down the hill to Charles' house. Richmond looked almost beautiful again, its war-torn shabbiness hidden by the sparkling whiteness. Even the city's usual noises seemed m.u.f.fled and still, the streets nearly deserted as few people ventured outside into the cold.

"Everything looks so pretty, doesn't it?" she asked Gilbert.

"Yes, Missy, it sure do."

But when the St. Johns' butler opened the door for her, the mansion seemed ominously silent, as if the cold air that had breathed across the city had seeped inside, turning its inhabitants to ice. Caroline walked into the parlor and noticed right away that Charles was alone. His father's chair stood empty.

Charles stared at her from across the room, his face white with pain, his eyes red with grief.

"What's wrong?" she cried out. She started toward him.

"Wait." He held up his hand.

"Is it your father. . . ?"

He shook his head. "I had a long talk with my father last night after you left. We talked some more this morning."

Caroline grew very still. The moment she'd dreaded had finally come.

"He accused you of some terrible things. Things I didn't want to believe. He said he had proof. He showed me the book from your father's library, the map he says you drew. I still don't want to believe him. . . ." Charles could barely speak. "Listen now. If I ask you . . . will you tell me the truth?"

Caroline knew by the anguish on his face, the coldness in his voice, that if she told Charles the truth she would lose him. But she also knew that she could never hold on to his love or build a life with him based on a foundation of lies. She closed her eyes.

G.o.d, help me. Help me tell him the truth in a way that he'll understand.

Then she looked at him. "I love you, Charles. I swear that I will never lie to you."

He drew a ragged breath. "Father showed me the map Jere- miah used to escape. He showed me how it matched your book. . . ."

"I drew that map for my own servants. My father was planning to sell them, and I couldn't let that happen. I drew it to help them escape . . . but that shouldn't shock you, Charles. From the very first day we met you knew how much I hated slavery. And you also knew how much Eli and the others meant to me."

"Five families were robbed of their slaves and their valuables while being entertained in your home-including my own family." The anger in his voice was slowly rising. "Yes, I knew you believed in abolition, but I didn't think you would encourage slaves to steal or to break the law by running away from their lawful owners."

"I didn't do any of those things. The map and the papers were intended for my own servants. I didn't know that they would . . ." Caroline stopped, unwilling to incriminate Tessie or Eli with her words. "I don't condone what they chose to do with the map. But I do understand why they did it. When freedom is just a few short miles away-"

"If your slaves were responsible, then they must be punished. Have you disciplined them for what they've done?"

"No. And I'm not going to. I'll take the blame for their actions myself before I'll ever allow them to be punished."

His eyes flashed with anger. "Do you hear what you're saying? Your slaves are involved in criminal activities, and you're not going to stop them?"

"All of the servants who escaped were about to be separated from their loved ones or have their lives turned upside down- including your own slaves. We helped them escape because the greater wrong would have been to stand by and watch them suffer. No one was hurt in the escapes or the robberies. I'm sorry about the thefts, I don't condone them, but . . ."

She stopped. Charles was shaking his head. Caroline knew he wasn't hearing her, wasn't understanding what she was trying to say. The silence that followed was terrible. She was afraid she might be sick.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, cold. "What about the prison break at Libby? Were you involved in any any way?" way?"

She had to force the words out of her mouth. "Yes. I was."

"So, you lied to my father? And then you let me play the fool, defending your integrity?"

"It wasn't like that, Charles-"

"What was it like, Caroline? You tell me. You lied when you told Father you had nothing to do with it, didn't you? Did you lie about your relationship with that prisoner, too?"

"No." Tears rolled silently down her face at the resentment in his voice, the distrust in his eyes where love had always been. "Robert has never been anything more to me than a friend."

"Oh, really," he said, scornfully. "Is he in love with you?"

Caroline hesitated, knowing what the truth would sound like. Charles saw her hesitation and said, "You promised you would tell me the truth, Caroline."

"Robert says that he loves me. But I always made it very clear to him that I loved you, that we were engaged and-"

"Did you hide him from the authorities?"

She could only nod.

"Where? My father said they searched your house."

Caroline saw his love slipping away like a ship sailing downriver, getting smaller and less distinct as it faded into the distance. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She told him the truth. "While the guards were searching downstairs, Eli hid Robert in my bed."

"Dear G.o.d . . . Caroline . . ."

"Please believe me . . . I did nothing improper. If I had, would I have told you the truth about his hiding place?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to believe anymore." Pain had replaced the anger in his eyes. His chest rose and fell as he struggled with his emotions.

Caroline knew he would ask her about Ferguson soon, and she dreaded telling him. At the same time, she wanted this terrible inquisition to end. If she couldn't make him understand why she had helped the slaves or why she'd helped Robert, she knew he would never understand why she had pa.s.sed information to his enemies-much less forgive her for it.

"I don't want to believe any of this," Charles said. "Especially the accusations that you were involved with this spy, Ferguson- that you pa.s.sed secret information to him. I told my father that it couldn't possibly be true, that you would never do such a thing. But he believes you went out of your way to cultivate friendships with army officials and cabinet members, hosting parties for them-then you shared all their confidences with our enemies. He says we could compare your handwriting and learn the truth . . . but I told him I wanted to ask you myself."

She could no longer face Charles. The grief and betrayal in his eyes were too painful to see. Caroline covered her own face and wept.

"If I've just accused you falsely," he said in a trembling voice, "tell me and I'll apologize. Tell me that my father is wrong, and I'll defend you before the highest court."

"No . . ." she said. "No. It's true."

"Oh, G.o.d . . ." Charles moaned in pain. Then he began to shout, as if the only way he could keep from weeping was to smother his grief with rage. "I was lying out there in a trench, in danger, and you betrayed me to the enemy? I was being shot at and sh.e.l.led day after day and you told them where to aim? I risked my life for you. For you, you, Caroline! I could have died a hundred times because of the information you gave them, and you expect me to believe that you love me?" Caroline! I could have died a hundred times because of the information you gave them, and you expect me to believe that you love me?"

"I begged you not to fight. I never believed in your cause. And I never understood why you did. You said you loved me, yet you left me here, all alone, to cope with my fear and hunger and loss- you and my father and Jonathan, you all left me! The only people who stayed and prayed with me and helped me find enough food to stay alive and enough fuel to stay warm were my slaves. You fought in a war you admitted we could never win. You did what you wanted to do, regardless of how I felt, regardless of whether I agreed with you or not. You were fighting against everything I believed in, Charles. Can't you see that you did the same thing you accuse me of doing? Does that mean you never loved me?"

"I never lied to you about what I believed or which side I was fighting for."

"And I never lied to you about slavery. That's why I pa.s.sed information to Mr. Ferguson. If the South wins, slavery wins. I did it because slavery is wrong, not because I didn't love you. I prayed that G.o.d would spare you, and He has."

"And did you think I could still love you when I found out what you've been doing all this time?"

"I prayed that you would understand."

"Well, I don't. A lot of good, brave men have been butchered by your Yankee friends . . . including your own cousins and maybe your father. Now I'm lying here, a pathetic invalid . . . I don't know how you can expect me to forgive you."

Caroline covered her face. The price she had offered G.o.d- her future with Charles-would now be paid in full. But at least he was alive. At least the man she loved would live.

"Listen now," Charles said coldly. "I told my father that if it were true, that if you were guilty . . . I didn't want you arrested here in Richmond. I don't need to see you publicly condemned or locked away in Castle Thunder. I hate what you've done, but seeking revenge won't change anything. When Timothy Webster and his wife were caught spying they hanged him, but they sent Mrs. Webster across enemy lines into exile. That's not a possibility right now, since we're under siege, but when the time comes, when there's another prisoner exchange . . ." Charles' voice trembled. "You'll be sent away. In the meantime, as long as you remain at home . . ." He couldn't finish.

Caroline didn't think it was possible to hurt as much as she did and still live. She slowly pulled the ring from her finger and laid it on the sheet in front of him. She longed to caress his face, to feel the touch of his hands on hers one last time. But he turned his face away from her. She saw tears in Charles' eyes before he closed them. She looked at the man she loved for the last time, then hurried away.

For the first time in Caroline's life, neither Tessie nor Eli was able to comfort her.

Chapter Twenty-five.

December 1864.

"Can this really be the fourth Christmas that we've been at war?" Caroline wondered aloud. She'd awakened to the sound of bells ringing on Christmas morning at nearby St. John's Church.

"Yes, Missy. I been counting them, too," Ruby replied. "And I been asking Ma.s.sa Jesus to please let this one be the last." She rose from her pallet in Caroline's room where she slept. Ever since Isaac was born, Ruby had taken Tessie's place as Caroline's chambermaid. Now she hurried over to the fireplace and began poking the embers back to life.

"Let the fire go out, Ruby. Let's not waste the wood."

"But it's too cold in here for you to be getting dressed. You'll catch your death."

"I'll dress quickly. I don't need all my hoops and petticoats and things. It'll be nice and warm when we get down to the kitchen."

Caroline couldn't help shivering, though, as she stood on the icy floor and waited for Ruby to tie her corset laces and help fasten her bodice. She put on both pairs of her stockings to warm her feet, even though they made her shoes feel too tight. Ruby quickly brushed her hair and pinned it up.

The church bells sounded louder as Caroline hurried outside to the kitchen. The carillon of St. Paul's Church downtown, and dozens of others across the city, had joined in with St. John's Church, each chiming different tones. She wished they would stop. They reminded her that it was Christmas, and Christmas reminded her of Charles and of their engagement five years ago. Sally would be remembering her engagement to Jonathan this morning, too, and praying that she wasn't a widow.

In the darkness last night, Caroline had silently wept into her pillow, longing to be in beautiful St. Paul's for the midnight Christmas Eve service. Confined to her home, she hadn't been able to attend church in weeks. She wondered if Charles had gone, if he was well enough now to leave his bed and his house.