Candle In The Darkness Part 32

[image]

On a hot, muggy day in August, the police arrested a Richmond woman named Mary Caroline Allan on charges of espionage. I had been making regular trips to Mr. Ferguson's booth in the farmers' market with the information I'd gleaned from social gatherings and from my father's many visitors, and the news of Mrs. Allan's arrest alarmed me, reminding me of the dangerous path I was treading.

On the very same day, Tessie went into labor. Ruby and Esther settled her into their quarters above the kitchen and forbade me to come anywhere near her. But I could hear Tessie's cries of pain through the open windows, her suffering intensified by the afternoon's sticky heat.

When Esther finally emerged with the good news that evening, she was wringing with sweat herself. "Tessie had herself a boy," she said with a weary smile. "Another beautiful little boy. And I got myself a grandchild." I was finally allowed upstairs to see them. "But just for a minute," Esther warned.

Tessie looked exhausted but radiant. Her son, whom she'd named Isaac, had Josiah's dark, scowling face. Tears filled my eyes as I thought of Grady.

"You go on out, now," Esther said, shooing me. "I gonna give Tessie a bite to eat, then she gonna have herself a rest."

Daddy had gone downtown on business, but I sat in the stair hall that sultry evening, watching out the window for his return. I barely gave him time to come through the front door before confronting him with the news. "Tessie had her baby . . . a little boy."

Daddy looked fl.u.s.tered. "Well. I see." Neither of us had ever said a word about her pregnancy but he certainly must have noticed it.

"I have a question," I said, following him into the library. "Does her baby belong to us or to Jonathan, since he owns the baby's father, Josiah?"

Daddy stared into s.p.a.ce for a moment. "Josiah's the father? Are you sure?" Then he came out of his trance and glanced around the room as if he weren't sure where he was or how he got there. "Well. It doesn't really matter who sired it. The child is the property of whoever owns the mother. Negro women never tell the truth about who the sire is."

I drew a deep breath. "In that case, I would like to own the baby-as my servant. I know all the servants will be mine someday, but in the meantime I would like one of my own."

Daddy sank into his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. "Why? What are you going to do with him?"

"I don't know, but-"

"He's not a toy, Caroline, not something that you can play with like a rag doll. That's what you did with Tessie's other boy and I should have put a stop to it from the very beginning. Slaves are valuable pieces of property."

"I'd like him to be my property," I said, forcing the words from my mouth. "When he's old enough, Gilbert can teach him to drive a carriage. I'll need my own driver once Charles and I are married. Look, I'll buy the child from you if you'd like. But I really want to own him, Daddy." I gazed up at him the way I had as a little girl, begging for favors-the look he'd never been able to resist.

"If that would please you, Sugar . . . all right. But make sure you put him to work. Don't spoil him. If he grows up to be as big and strong as Josiah, he'll be worth a pretty penny."

I made Daddy draw up the owners.h.i.+p papers that same night, making the slave, Isaac Fletcher, my legal property. As soon as the ink dried, I went straight up to my room and transferred my deed of owners.h.i.+p to Isaac, writing it on the back of the same paper, using the legal terms my father had used. I hadn't even owned my slave for five minutes before granting him his freedom.

When I climbed the steep ladder that night to the stifling slaves' quarters above the kitchen, Isaac was nursing at Tessie's breast. I knelt beside them, listening to his soft, baby coos and to the gentle lullaby Tessie hummed as his tiny fingers curled around hers. I could remember her humming the same tune to me years ago.

When the baby finally slept, I gave Tessie the paper. I watched as she read it in wonder and disbelief, trying to absorb what it meant.

"Isaac is free, Tessie," I said. "That paper proves it."

"My boy . . . my son is a free man?"

"Yes. No one can ever take him from you."

Then we both wept.

Chapter Twenty-two.

Fall 1863.

The weather stayed warm for a long time during the fall of 1863, giving us a near-perfect Indian summer. But even the finest weather couldn't dispel the twin shadows of poverty and defeat that closed in on Richmond. It became a common sight to see some of the city's wealthiest families, their clothes threadbare, trying to sell their jewelry and other valuables in order to eat.We still had some of Daddy's gold, but it did little good since so many of the stores had empty shelves. The goods that were available sold for such exorbitant prices that I watched Daddy's "fortune" rapidly dwindle.

The Confederate dollar had depreciated until it was worth only four cents. The shoes I had bought Gilbert six months ago now sold for four times as much. The four-dollar b.u.t.ter Esther had complained about seemed cheap with b.u.t.ter now selling for fifteen dollars a pound. We ate a lot of potatoes, but even they were expensive at twenty-five dollars a bushel. And flour, if you could find it, had gone from six dollars a barrel three years ago to as much as three hundred dollars a barrel. With heating fuel scarce and very costly, everyone dreaded winter.

News of the battles raging out west added to the gloom. Federal troops occupied Chattanooga, eastern Tennessee, and the c.u.mberland Gap. Our Rebel forces under General Bragg won an impressive victory at Chickamauga, but it cost him two-fifths of his men. The North, with its larger population, could replace their losses with fresh troops; the Confederates had no way to replace their soldiers when they fell in combat.

By November, General Ulysses Grant had taken command of the Federals. From Tennessee, they began pus.h.i.+ng our Confederate forces back, driving them from Lookout Mountain, inching their way toward Atlanta.

Even with all this suffering, neither Daddy nor anyone else in Richmond talked of losing the war or abandoning the fight for Southern independence. Like the Old Testament pharaoh, their hearts grew harder, leaving me to wonder how many more plagues we would have to endure before the slaves finally won their freedom.

My father still entertained important guests-although on a more modest scale than before-and I continued to collect information and pa.s.s it along to Mr. Ferguson. I made it a point to learn more about military tactics so I would know which questions to ask and which facts were important. I became very skilled at acquiring information and remembering details. I not only told the Yankees what the Rebels' plans and movements were, but I told them what the Rebels already knew of the North's movements and strengths.

I no longer felt remorse at deceiving my father or using him this way. Not after eavesdropping on his conversation with Mr. St. John one afternoon. "I might be forced to sell some of my slaves this winter so we'll have fewer mouths to feed," Daddy said.

I nearly cried out. I had come into his library on the pretense of looking for a book to read, hoping to pick up some new information from the two men, but Daddy's words stunned me. I wanted to plead with him not to do this, but I was afraid that if I let him know I was listening he would stop discussing his plans. I randomly pulled A Tale of Two Cities A Tale of Two Cities from the shelf and pretended to leaf through it, biting my lip as I listened. from the shelf and pretended to leaf through it, biting my lip as I listened.

"I didn't think you could get a decent price for slaves these days," Mr. St. John said. "I'd sell a few of mine, too, if I thought that I could get a fair price for them."

"No, no, they're not selling for anywhere near what they're worth," Daddy said. "I could use the money, but that's not why I'm thinking of selling them. Frankly, food is just too hard to come by, and I don't want the expense of feeding so many slaves this winter."

"I know what you mean," Mr. St. John said. "The way things are, it hardly seems worth feeding one just so she can polish the silver."

"Caroline and I can probably get by with two maidservants," Daddy said. "After all, there's only two of us. And I really don't need two menservants either, since we only have the one mare to care for. But it will be hard to decide whether to sell Eli or Gilbert. They're both good slaves."

I couldn't listen to any more. I closed d.i.c.kens' book and hurried from the room with it. By the time I reached the backyard where Eli was hoeing his vegetable patch, my tears were falling fast. Eli took one look at my face and dropped the hoe to run to me.

"It ain't Ma.s.sa Charles, is it?" he asked, gripping my shoulders to steady me. "I seen Mr. St. John come, but I didn't think-"

"No, Charles is all right. It's . . . it's you and the others, Eli . . ." I wanted to lean against his broad chest and sob, but Eli took my arm and led me into the carriage house before trying to comfort me.

"Go ahead, Missy . . . it's all right," he soothed as he finally wrapped his arms around me. "You can tell me all about it . . . it's okay. . . ."

But it wasn't okay. I remembered the expression of joy on Gilbert's face the day Daddy returned home from blockade running, how Ruby and the others had spread a banquet in celebration, how Esther had cooked all his favorite foods. They loved Daddy, trusted him, served him faithfully-yet he planned to sell them as if they were simply useless possessions he no longer needed. I didn't want to tell Eli the terrible truth, but I knew that I had to. When I could control my tears, I raised my head to look up at him.

"My father is planning to sell three of you before winter," I said.

For a moment, Eli appeared not to believe my words. Then an expression of such intense pain filled his eyes that I had to look away. "It's okay. . . ." hemurmured, "G.o.d gonna have His way . . . it's okay. . . ."

"No, it's not," I shouted. "I can't part with any of you. This is wrong, Eli. Help me think of a way to stop him."

"Can't n.o.body stop him, Missy. We can only pray and trust G.o.d to-"

"No! You can't let him do this. You have to escape to freedom, Eli. All of you."

"Escape?" He said it as if he'd never heard the word.

"Yes. I'll never let my father sell you. Never. I'll help all of you run away first."

I could see that Eli was deeply shaken. He had to sit down. "It ain't an easy thing to go running off, you know. Esther's ankles always swelling up . . . and Tessie has my little grandbaby to think about. Ain't such an easy thing."

"You don't have to go far. As soon as you cross over to the Yankee lines you'll be free. The Yankees are right here in Virginia. They have troops stationed at Williamsburg and Norfolk. I can draw you a map. Here . . ." I opened the book I still held in my hand and ripped out the t.i.tle page. "Do you have something I can write with?"

Eli simply stared into s.p.a.ce. The look of sorrow in his eyes was so profound it broke my heart. "Please don't give up, Eli. I'm doing everything I can to help the North win this war so you'll be free, but you've got to think of yourself and the others in the meantime. You've got to be ready to escape if my father goes through with this."

"All right," he finally said. "All right . . . There's a pencil in that box over there."

I dug through the wooden crate where Eli kept the horse brushes and some extra lengths of rope. Packed away near the bottom, wrapped in a clean rag, was his Bible-and a pencil. Using the lid of the crate for a table, I drew Eli a map of the route to Williamsburg, explaining it to him as I drew. Then I showed him another route, crossing the James River and going south to Norfolk.

"I want you to tell the others about this," I said when I finished. "They have to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. I'm quite sure that my father won't give us any warning, so make sure Gilbert pays close attention to his movements. If Daddy drives down to the slave auction on Fourteenth Street . . ."

"Okay, Missy. We all be ready," Eli said. He hadn't looked this sorrowful since the day they'd taken Grady away. "But I'm gonna be praying that G.o.d change your Daddy's mind so we don't have to go nowhere. G.o.d can do that, you know. I be praying that we never have to use this map."

[image]

My task of spying took on a new urgency. The North had had to win-and soon. For a full week after I'd overheard my father's plans I lived with the fear that he had already sold some of our servants without my knowledge. Each time a carriage or a wagon pa.s.sed the house, I worried that it had come from the slave auction, that two burly men would jump out and drag away Ruby or Luella or Gilbert the way they had dragged poor Grady. Then one night while Daddy and I were eating dinner he said, "Caroline, I've been forced to make a very difficult decision." to win-and soon. For a full week after I'd overheard my father's plans I lived with the fear that he had already sold some of our servants without my knowledge. Each time a carriage or a wagon pa.s.sed the house, I worried that it had come from the slave auction, that two burly men would jump out and drag away Ruby or Luella or Gilbert the way they had dragged poor Grady. Then one night while Daddy and I were eating dinner he said, "Caroline, I've been forced to make a very difficult decision."

I stopped eating, waiting.

"I had a meeting with President Davis a few days ago," Daddy said. "He asked me to return to blockade running."

"What?" It took a moment for his words to sink in-he wasn't announcing that he had sold our servants. I closed my eyes, bowing my head in relief. Daddy mistook my reaction for grief.

"I know you're upset, Sugar, but I have to do it. The Yankees have a fleet blocking Charleston harbor, another squadron at Wilmington, North Carolina-that's why goods are so expensive. And so scarce. Our soldiers need medicine and guns. . . . The Confederacy needs my help. I'm sorry, but I'm going to do what the president asked."

"When will you leave?"

"There are a few things I need to take care of first," he said, looking away, "but as soon as I possibly can."

I knew by the way he avoided my gaze that one of those things was to sell three of our slaves. They would have to flee tonight unless I could convince my father to change his mind. Then I suddenly had another idea-but it meant taking a huge risk.

"Daddy, can I tell you something?"

"Certainly, Sugar."

"I overheard you telling Charles' father that you might sell some of the slaves."

"Now, Caroline-"

"No, listen. I admit that I was upset about it at first, but I feel differently now that I know you're leaving. It's such a huge responsibility for me to take care of this house and six servants all by myself. I'm so worried that we'll all starve this winter. I agree with you that we should sell some of them."

"It's a relief to hear you say that, Caroline. I was afraid you would fuss."

"No, this war has forced me to change. And I know they have to be sold. If you tell me who to contact, I'll take care of selling them for you. I could use a week or two to decide which ones to part with-and I know you'll want to set sail before the winter storm season begins."

"Are you certain you can do this?" he asked.

"I'm certain."

He reached for my hand. "You've grown into a strong young woman, Caroline. I'm proud of you."

My father gave me the names and addresses of two slave traders a few days before Gilbert and I drove him to the train station. "What you gonna tell him when he come home and see you ain't sold n.o.body?" Gilbert asked as we waved good-bye to him.

"Hopefully the war will be over by then," I said, "and you'll all be free."

When I returned home, my servants came to me, one by one, and thanked me for what I had done for them. I didn't know how we would all get through the coming winter, but I knew that we would take care of each other and that G.o.d would provide.

My new concern was how to continue gathering military secrets without my father. I turned to Sally for help without her ever knowing it. "I'm bored and lonely now that Daddy's gone," I told her. "Will you help me plan some parties or something for entertainment?"

Sally, with her vivacious personality, eagerly embraced the idea. "I would love to. We could have musical evenings, put on plays . . . I know all sorts of parlor games. And let's have a dance, Caroline. Oh, it's been so long since I've danced. Who shall we invite?"

"I was thinking that some of our army officers and government officials and their wives could use some cheering up," I said. "Your family knows all those people don't they?"

"Oh, yes. Mother and Daddy know everyone." She gripped my arm, her eyes dancing with excitement. "I know, we could start a 'starvation club.' "

"What's that?"

"It's when everyone gets together for an evening of socializing, but the hostess doesn't serve any refreshments. In fact, she's forbidden to serve anything-mainly because no one can really afford it. But it still gives us an excuse to spend an evening in each other's company."

Food or no food, an invitation to one of the parties Sally and I hosted quickly became a coveted thing in Richmond that winter, offering welcome relief from the sadness and privation of war. Sally and I also started up the sewing circle again, gathering all the society wives together to knit socks and scarves and mittens for our soldiers. The women's conversation often proved a richer source of information than their husbands'.

It snowed just before Christmas, burying the ugliness of wartime Richmond beneath a blanket of pure white. Unbelievably, this was the third Christmas we had celebrated since the war began. The night of Charles' and my engagement seemed like a lifetime ago, instead of four years. Indeed, hadn't we both lived through a lifetime's worth of experiences since that night? The fact that no end to this war was in sight made our sorrow worse. As we gathered in church on Christmas Eve, everyone prayed that this would be the last Christmas our men would be away from us. I asked for that, too. But while the others continued to pray that the Confederate States would win their independence, I struggled to surrender to G.o.d's will, trying to pray "Thy will be done."

Christmas dinner in most Richmond homes was a somber affair. It wasn't the scarcity of food that caused the sadness but the missing faces at each meal, the ever-increasing tally of loved ones who would never return home. I shared a simple meal in the kitchen with my servants again, a quiet celebration of the fact that we were all together, that no one had been sold. The celebration was enriched by baby Isaac's robust laughter as he bounced in his grandfather's arms, pulling on his snowy beard.

I spent Christmas Day with the St. Johns again, but I eagerly looked forward to dinner with them this year because of the secret errand my cousin Jonathan had entrusted to me-delivering Sally's Christmas present on his behalf. Sally hadn't seen him in over a year, ever since he'd recovered from his injury and had returned to fight at Fredericksburg. Of course, wrapping paper and ribbons were nowhere to be found, but I managed to make the present look special by covering the little gift box with an embroidered handkerchief from my trousseau and tying it up with a ribbon cut from one of my hats. For the first time in three years, I was antic.i.p.ating the holiday.

"Special delivery," I said, handing the present to Sally on Christmas Day. Her family had gathered in her little parlor that morning, huddling around a skimpy fire. "It's from someone who wishes he could have given it to you himself."

"From Jonathan? Really?" She was nearly speechless with delight.

"Go ahead, open it. There's a note from him inside, too."

Sally carefully untied the ribbon and parted the folds of the handkerchief. I saw her hands tremble as she lifted the lid off the box and pulled out a glittering topaz ring.

"Oh . . . it's beautiful!"

"It belonged to our Grandmother Fletcher. Jonathan's father made a special trip into Richmond to deliver it. Read the letter."

Sally covered her mouth with her hand in a futile attempt to hold back her tears as she read the note Jonathan had enclosed. "He's asking me to marry him," she said, looking up at her parents and me. "Daddy. . . ?"

"I know, I know. He already wrote and asked for my permission." Mr. St. John spoke gruffly, as if unwilling to reveal his emotions.

"Did you give him your blessing, Daddy?"