Candle in the Darkness (41 page)

“Measure the lot on the east side for me,” Robert said.

“How on earth—”

“Pace it—like this.” He stood and walked the length of the storeroom, counting each step. “I’ll measure your stride with my belt and use it to measure the tunnel.”

When Eli and I were back out on Cary Street, I asked him if he’d heard Robert’s plan. “I heard,” he said quietly. “I could help him by myself, Missy Caroline, if you wanted to stay out of this.”

I drew a deep breath. “No. Let’s do it together. Two minds are better than one.”

“All right,” Eli said with a sigh. “Let’s go have a look, then.”

We crossed Cary Street to where the buggy was parked, and stood beside it, slowly scanning the area around the prison in all directions. What I’d remembered of the northern and western sides had been correct; the vacant lots were too wide and too desolate to serve Robert’s purposes. But opposite the narrow vacant lot on the eastern side was a small, two-story brick building with a sign that said “Kerr’s Warehouse.” It faced Cary Street, not the prison, and behind it was a fenced yard with a small tool shed. The fence ran the length of the lot and was attached to another brick building of about the same size, facing Canal Street.

I knew Eli was thinking the same thing as me when he said, “Must be some way we can find out what’s in the yard behind that fence.”

“Yes. Let’s drive around the block and see what that other building on Canal Street is.”

The sentries who patrolled the perimeter of the prison watched as we circled the building, going south on Twentieth Street to the canal instead of turning north toward home as we usually did. The December afternoon was much too damp and windy for a pleasure ride, especially along the waterfront. We rounded the corner and drove past the building that bordered the south side of the fenced yard. It housed the offices of the James River Towing Company.

“Looks to me like the best place for his tunnel to end is behind that fence,” Eli said as we headed home. “Your friend only have to dig about fifty feet or so.”

“I agree. Now all we need to do is find out what’s on the other side of the fence.”

“You always was a smart gal,” Eli said. “Sure you’ll think of something.”

The queasy feeling returned at the thought of aiding in a prison escape. “I think I know how Rahab felt when she helped Joshua’s spies escape from Jericho,” I said. “I know that the Bible portrays her as a heroine, but it never occurred to me before that she had to betray her own city, her own people, in order to help her enemies escape.”

“You know why she did it? Bible say it’s because she believe in the power of God. She know He gonna have His way, and she determine to be His servant, no matter the cost.”

“What if that cost includes Charles?” I asked quietly.

Eli sighed. “I know this ain’t easy to hear, but God never take something away without giving us something even better in return—if not in this life, then in the next.”

I shook my head. “If I lose Charles, I don’t want anything else. And I can’t imagine what God could possibly give Rahab that could replace her home or her family and friends.”

Eli snapped the reins, and the mare began to a trot as she pulled the buggy up Church Hill. “Bible say Rahab’s family got saved along with her. But if you want to see what else God done for Rahab, you read the first chapter of Matthew when you get home.”

I turned to the passage when I was alone in my bedroom. At first I thought I must be reading the wrong passage—this was a list of Jesus’ family tree. Then my tears suddenly blurred the page. Named among our Lord’s ancestors was the traitor and spy, Rahab.

I waited anxiously for Charles to answer my letter about visiting Robert in Libby Prison. When one finally arrived from him, I was afraid to read it. I knew it was the reply to my letter because he’d used the same envelope I had. A shortage of paper all over the South made it necessary to reuse every envelope by carefully opening the seams, folding it inside out, then re-gluing it. I turned the envelope over and over in my hands for the longest time before finally gathering the courage to open it and read it.

My dearest Caroline,

How I long to see you. I’m looking at your picture as I write this and remembering all our wonderful times together. I even have fond memories of the arguments we used to have when we first met. You have a way of keeping me on my toes, making sure I don’t take myself too seriously, and I love you for that. You look so beautiful in your picture—the most beautiful woman in the entire regiment—but I’d much rather be holding you in my arms right now than gazing at your image. When I think of how long it has been since I held you and kissed you, I sometimes feel close to despair. But I always draw hope by dreaming of our future together.

We are wintering here outside Fredericksburg, and the weather has been freezing cold. The Yankees shelled the city before they attacked it, then looted what was left of it. Don’t worry, my regiment remained safely above it on Marye’s Heights. It seems that war consists of only two extremes—endless hours of tedious waiting, followed by unending moments of pure terror. We don’t even have time to mourn the friends who are struck down alongside us. But I think we are winning this war. Our city—and you—are still safe, and I thank God for that.

I must admit that I’m not happy about your visits to the prison, but not for the same reasons as my father. I fell in love with you because you are a woman of deep convictions, with the moral courage to stand up for those convictions (even when it means clubbing men on the streets of Richmond). Although I would hate to see your reputation unjustly tarnished, I love you more than ever for not allowing the fear of what other people might think to deter you from doing what God wants you to do.

No, it isn’t the gossip that worries me, nor am I jealous of your cousin Robert. You will always have my complete trust. But I am very concerned for your safety. I’ve seen how men can sometimes turn into animals under such dire circumstances as imprisonment, and my imagination envisions a prison uprising with you being held as hostage. I know Eli would protect you at all costs, and I’m grateful that he accompanies you on your visits. But he’s only one man against how many thousands of Yankees? If I can’t persuade you not to go to the prison for your own safety’s sake, then I beg you to please, please be careful.

It’s hard to believe that I have been in the army for more than a year and a half now, and I haven’t been home to see you except for that one quick visit at Rocketts Wharf. I never imagined that the war would last this long. I’ve been hoping to receive a furlough for Christmas to celebrate the second anniversary of our engagement, but it doesn’t look as though anyone will get a furlough. The Yankees are still camped too close, across the Rappahannock River at Falmouth, and we can’t risk sending anyone home. I’ll think of you on that blessed day—as I do every day—and pray that this will be our last Christmas apart.

I must close before I become unbearably sad—and I make you
sad along with me. This is the season of great hope, so let’s draw hope for our future from the hope we have in Christ. God bless you, Caroline. I love you more than words can say.

Charles

Chapter Nineteen

December 1862

“Don’t know how I’m supposed to make a decent meal when there ain’t no butter,” Esther grumbled as she set a bowl of yams on the table.

“Never mind you fussing,” Eli said. “Just sit yourself down now so I can say the blessing.”

The fragrant kitchen was a wonderful blend of smells—cinnamon and cloves, smoky bacon and ham, onions and molasses. “If it tastes half as good as it smells,” I told Esther, “we’ll never miss the butter.”

The six servants and I had gathered around the scrubbed pine table in the kitchen for a simple Christmas Eve dinner. I hadn’t been able to convince Tessie or any of the others to eat in the house at the big dining room table with me. “Just ain’t right for us to eat there,” Tessie insisted. “Just ain’t fitting for servants to eat where the massa do.” So rather than eat alone, I joined all of them at the kitchen table.

In spite of Esther’s remonstrations, she had created a beautiful meal of yams, biscuits, the last slices of ham from Hilltop, her own special version of hopping John with beans and bacon, and shoofly pie for dessert. Eli bowed his head to pray.

“Don’t be giving a whole sermon, now,” Esther warned, “or this food gonna be stone cold.” Luella and Ruby snickered.

“Massa Jesus,” Eli prayed, “you been real good to us this year. We got plenty food to eat and plenty love to share round this table, and we thank you for both these things. We ask you to watch over our loved ones who’re far away, and bring them back to us just as soon as you see fit. We know you always in control, because you are God Almighty. And we know you love us more than anything in the world because you sent your Son on that first Christmas night. We love you, too, Lord. And anything you want . . . well, we’re here to do it for you. Thank you, Massa Jesus. Amen.”

“Amen,” I repeated. I started to reach for the bowl of yams, but Ruby sprang to her feet and insisted on serving me. None of the others would put a single morsel of food on their plates until I had been served and had taken my first bite.

“Mmm. This is delicious, Esther. You’ve prepared a feast,” I said.

“My whole life I never pay more than twenty cents a pound for butter,” she grumbled. “You know what they asking now, Missy Caroline? Man wanted four dollars!
Four dollars
for one pound of butter! Couldn’t believe my eyes. He say, ‘You gonna buy that butter or you just gonna stare at it?’ I tell him, ‘I’m gonna keep staring till I see what make this butter so special it cost four dollars.’ Butter that expensive too valuable to eat. Even butter you get in heaven don’t cost no four dollars a pound.”

Luella looked up from her dinner in surprise. “You mean we be paying for things in heaven, too? I thought everything up there gonna be free.”

“Don’t listen to her, Luella,” Eli said. “Everything free in heaven, even the butter.”

“I did buy a little bacon for the hopping John,” Esther said, “on account of it being Christmas. But I ain’t even saying what I pay for that. Before the war, I can buy twenty pounds of bacon for the price they charging me now for one measly pound. I want to know what they feeding them pigs to make their sorry little rumps cost so much.”

Eli grinned. “Maybe they feeding them some of that fourdollar butter.”

The laughter and love we shared that night in the steamy kitchen brought back happy memories of my childhood. The only sorrow came with my thoughts of Grady, taken from us nearly ten years ago.

Christmas dinner at the St. Johns’ the following day wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as my simple meal with the servants. Mr. St. John still acted coolly toward me, and Sally’s vibrancy was dimmed with worry over Jonathan. Reminders of Charles and of our engagement party two years ago magnified my loneliness. We would have been married eighteen months ago if it hadn’t been for the war, enjoying our second Christmas as husband and wife. We might even have been blessed with a child by now.

The melancholy I felt was echoed all over Richmond as people gazed at the empty chairs around their tables. For many of the women from our sewing circle, mourning dress replaced their usual Christmas finery. Mrs. Goode’s son was now crippled with an amputated leg, and only two of Mrs. Randolph’s five sons were still fighting—one had been killed, one wounded, and one taken captive. If the war didn’t end soon, I feared it was only a matter of time before something terrible happened to Charles. With all the fierce fighting he’d done, it was a miracle that he had remained uninjured for as long as he had.

Even though the St. Johns weren’t in mourning, their holiday parties lacked the extravagant luxuries they’d been famous for before the war. Food shortages, inflated prices, and our depreciating currency had affected all of us, rich and poor. Sally confided that her father had invested heavily in Confederate bonds to support the war effort; that production in his flour mills had plummeted after Virginia’s grain-growing regions had fallen to the enemy; and that he was now worrying about his finances for the first time in his life. Neither Sally nor I wore new dresses. They cost more than three times what they had before the war. Instead, we had carefully disassembled our worn dresses, then turned, cut, and re-sewed each piece so that frayed hems and threadbare collars wouldn’t show.

In early winter, a new fear rocked the city when we were struck by an outbreak of smallpox. Doctors quarantined the victims in a hospital on the outskirts of town or in homes displaying a white flag in their windows, but no one escaped the dread of contracting the disease. Rumors raged that our enemies had purposefully sent it, but I saw it as yet another plague inflicted on us by our own hardness of heart. Hadn’t we already seen plagues of darkness and famine and rivers of blood?

Illness struck the army camps as well, with dysentery, typhoid, diphtheria, and pneumonia claiming hundreds of soldiers who had successfully dodged bullets and Minie balls.
Everyone in camp is coughing,
Charles wrote.
The Yankees can probably hear us clear across the Rappahannock
.