Candle in the Darkness (25 page)

“What’s all the noise and carrying-on about this time?” she asked as she unpinned my hair.

“Virginia has left the Union. We’re going to war against the Northern states.”

“They celebrating that?”

I nodded wearily as she ran the brush through my hair.

“I think you’ve had enough of this here celebrating,” she said, pointing to the mirror. “See how pale you are? You all worn out. Look like they dragged you down Franklin Street behind a team of horses.”

My eyes filled with tears. “Charles is going to fight.”

The brush froze in Tessie’s hand. “You mean in the war? What about your wedding?”

“I don’t know.”

She bent over me to hold me in her arms. I allowed her to soothe me for a minute, then I gently pulled away. “Josiah is here,” I told her. “He and Jonathan are spending the night. I think you should go be with your husband.”

For a moment she looked taken aback. “Well . . . we’ll see about that later. Let me get you tucked away in bed, first.”

“No, you go now, Tessie. Time is much too precious to waste. I’m a grown woman. I can get undressed by myself.”

“You sure?”

“He’s your husband. You belong with him.”

I stood at my bedroom window after Tessie left, gazing outside into the night. A light shone from the carriage house and I knew that Eli was inside, taking care of Jonathan’s horses. I watched him passing back and forth in front of the window as he worked, barely visible through the veil of new leaves and tree branches, and I felt the same helpless anger I’d felt the night I’d seen Josiah waiting for us on the carriage seat. He and Eli were grown men, human beings, with lives that didn’t deserve to be wasted on someone else’s whim.

I thought I understood how they must feel. I had also lost control over my life, my future. I was forced to submit to a war I neither believed in nor wanted, powerless to act while others decided my fate. Charles could go to war, fight for control, take action to win back the freedom he felt was being stolen from him. But the war could rob me of my wedding day, my husband, my tranquil future in Richmond, Virginia—and like Eli and Josiah, I could do nothing about it. We could only stand by and wait.

I hadn’t changed out of my dress yet, so I slipped my shoes back on and went outside to talk to Eli. He was scooping feed into the trough for the horses, but he stopped when he saw me and ambled over to where I stood.

“I hear there’s big news going around. They talking about a war.”

“It has already started. Charles told me tonight that he’s going to fight in it.”

“He’s a good man, Missy Caroline. Your Massa Charles a real good man.”

“I know. But now all the plans we had for a life together . . .” I paused, battling to control my tears. I didn’t want to cry. Eli waited patiently until I could trust myself to speak.

“The world I know has changed, Eli. It finally sank in tonight that war is inevitable. The men I love will all go off to fight— some of them might die. My life will never be the same as it was two days ago, and I want it all back.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

“I’m so afraid of what lies ahead. We’re at war. It doesn’t seem like it right now, but the war has begun, and now there’s an enemy out there who wants to destroy me and my loved ones and my way of life. I don’t feel safe anymore. I think of all the things I took for granted and might no longer be able to do, things like walking in the park or visiting the plantation. Will I ever get married, Eli? Have a home? Be a mother? My security and stability are all gone, all changed, and I can never get them back. I can’t even go to bed without the fear of what tomorrow will bring. I feel so helpless.”

“That’s a terrible feeling, Missy Caroline. I sure know it is. From the moment I born I ain’t never had any power over my own life. I never knowing about tomorrow, if I be living here or if I be sold to auction like little Grady. They snatch away the people I love, like Grady and Josiah, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I ain’t telling you all this so you feel sorry for me. No, I telling you so maybe you can face it like I do . . . so maybe you can lay down your head at night and not worry about tomorrow.”

“What’s your secret, Eli?”

“Ain’t no secret at all. It’s right there in the Bible—you give your life to Massa Jesus. You stop trying to control everything and to figure everything out, and you let Him do all the figuring. That way, if it’s God’s will I be set free tomorrow, then I be set free. If Massa Fletcher sell me to auction tomorrow, I know it ain’t because it’s Massa Fletcher’s idea; Jesus must be wanting me down there for some reason, so I better get on down there and do it. The Bible says men got plenty of plans in his heart, but it’s always the Lord’s plans that win. Right now it’s your plan to marry Massa Charles, have a bunch of little babies, live happy-ever-after. But that might not be God’s plan. Can you live with that, Missy?”

I couldn’t lie to Eli or to myself. “No. I would be very angry with God.”

“That’s why we struggle. Until we can pray, ‘
Thy
will be done in earth, as it is in
heaven,
’ we gonna have a whole lot of sleepless nights. We want to make our own plans and then pray, ‘
My
will be done, if you please Massa Jesus, in earth, as it is in
my
plans.’ You got to put your life in Jesus’ hands. Trust that in the end, whatever happens, He still in control.”

“I can’t. I don’t have as much faith as you do.”

“Faith don’t come in a bushel basket, Missy. It come one step at a time. Decide to trust Him for one little thing today, and before you know it, you find out He’s so trustworthy you be putting your whole life in His hands.”

“That’s the problem—my whole life has been turned upside down. What’s going to happen to all of us?”

“God’s gonna have His way, Missy Caroline, that’s what’s gonna happen. God always have His way.”

Chapter Twelve

April 1861

Two days later, I was still thinking about Eli’s words when I attended Sunday worship services at St. Paul’s Church with Charles and his family. The minister, Dr. Minnigerode, was careful not to use God’s pulpit to preach politics, instead praying for His wisdom, for calm hearts, and for peace to prevail. The tranquillity of that beautiful sanctuary, the reassuring words of Scripture, and the hymns that spoke of God’s love and faithfulness helped me forget the ugly reality of war for a while. But when the appointed Old Testament Scripture for that Sunday was read, I sensed a ripple of excitement pass through the congregation.
“But I will remove far off from you the northern army, and will drive him into a land barren and desolate. . . .”

People nudged each other, exchanging glances, as if the scheduled reading from the book of Joel was prophesying a Southern victory. But weren’t people in the North gathering in their churches this morning, too, asking for God’s blessing on their cause? Which side was right? God couldn’t be on both sides, yet both sides prayed to Him, believed in Him. I had worshipped in both places, and I knew that there were faithful Christians in the North as well as the South who trusted Christ and looked to Him for guidance. How was He supposed to choose between them?

Near the end of the service, as Dr. Minnigerode asked us to bow for the closing prayer, the harsh clanging of the alarm bell sounding from the tower across Ninth Street on Capitol Square destroyed the morning’s tranquillity. It rang the signal for danger— two peals, a pause, a third peal—over and over again, shattering the quiet noon hour.

“What is it, Charles?” Mrs. St. John asked. “Why is that bell ringing?”

He sat on the edge of his seat, alert, listening. “It’s signaling danger. All able-bodied men are supposed to go to the armories and find out what the emergency is.”

The church was thrown into confusion as people sprang to their feet. Many of the men briefly embraced their wives before stepping toward the aisles and hurrying from the sanctuary. Charles gripped my hand in his for a moment, then left to join the others. He’d had no time to reassure me, to say “don’t worry” or “everything will be all right.” Perhaps he knew his words would be spoken in vain. Judging by the pale, frightened faces all around me, I wasn’t the only woman who feared for her loved ones.

When all the men of fighting age had departed, the rest of the congregation made its way outside into the warm spring sunshine. “Wait here,” Charles’ father told us. “I’ll go over and see if I can learn anything.” We watched him walk across the street to the bell tower, his steps slowed by rheumatism.

Sally held my hand while we waited. “I’m so scared! Aren’t you, Caroline?”

“Yes,” I admitted. I longed to run home to Tessie and Eli for comfort, but I couldn’t leave until I knew the danger we were all facing. After what seemed to be an endless wait, Mr. St. John limped back with his report. He spoke calmly, but his anxiety was evident in the way he quickly herded us toward the carriage.

“Governor Letcher ordered the alarm to be sounded,” he said. “Let’s start home, and I’ll tell you what little I know on the way.”

So much traffic jammed the streets as people raced about that we probably could have walked the few blocks to the St. Johns’ mansion faster than it took us to drive there. But once we were all settled inside the carriage, Mr. St. John told us what was wrong.

“The U.S. warship
Pawnee
has been operating in Norfolk Harbor for the past few weeks. The governor received a report this morning that it’s currently moving up the James River toward Richmond.”

“Daddy, no!” Sally cried. “Can’t we stop it?”

“Well, it won’t be easy to stop a warship, but we’re certainly going to try. We’re mustering the militia, the Richmond Howitzer Battalion, the Fayette Artillery . . .”

“How could the Yankees move to attack us so quickly?” Mrs. St. John asked. “We just announced our secession a few days ago.”

“I know, I know. They were prepared, we weren’t. We haven’t had time to equip any shore batteries, so we have absolutely no defenses between here and Norfolk.We can’t stop the
Pawnee
from sailing up to our doorstep.”

“What will the ship do once it’s here?” I asked shakily.

When her husband hesitated, Mrs. St. John said, “It’s all right to tell us, dear. We need to know.”

“Well, I imagine they’ll bombard us from offshore. Richmond is one of the South’s most industrialized cities. They’ll try to demolish Tredegar Iron Works . . . perhaps destroy the entire city.”

“Your flour mills?” Sally asked. He shrugged helplessly.

Our vulnerability and impotence made me sick with fear, not only for my own safety but also for Charles’. Did the governor expect him and the other men to stand on shore with rifles, facing an armed warship’s cannon? How could we have entered a war without any defenses?

When we finally reached the St. Johns’ house, Charles’ father invited me to stay and wait for the latest news with them. Their cook had prepared an enormous Sunday dinner, but I was too ill with worry to eat any of it. I begged Mr. St. John to let his driver take me home.

“If you wish,” he agreed, “but I insist on escorting you there myself.”

It took nearly a quarter of an hour to drive less than three blocks to Broad Street. It seemed that every man and boy in Richmond had crowded into the streets, trying to join up with the city’s militia. Most of the men still wore their Sunday finery, and nearly everyone bore arms. I saw all manner of guns, from dueling pistols to Revolutionary War relics. The volunteers appeared pitifully inadequate and disorganized, certainly no match for a U.S. warship.

Mr. St. John pointed to the capitol roof as we passed the square. “See there? Those are lookouts watching for the
Pawnee
. I’ve heard you can see as far as the first bend in the river from up there. We’ll have a few minutes’ warning, at least.”

As we made our way east toward Church Hill, we were forced to stop again as a troop of soldiers crossed the street, marching in somewhat of a military fashion, their bayonets fixed. I searched the rows of faces for Charles’ but didn’t see him.

“Where are you headed?” Mr. St. John called from the open carriage window.

“Rocketts Wharf,” someone replied, “in case they send a landing force.” As if facing an armed warship wasn’t bad enough, now I had to face the possibility of marauding enemy soldiers overpowering our haphazard forces and invading the city.

The traffic thinned once we started up Church Hill, and a few minutes later we passed St. John’s Church. All my life I had heard the story of how Patrick Henry had spoken his famous words, “Give me liberty or give me death!” in that church just a few blocks from my home, but I had never before thought about what they meant. Charles had quoted them to me only a few nights earlier, saying he would willingly fight to keep his freedom. But freedom to do what? I still didn’t understand what Charles would be willing to die for.

When I reached home, Daddy thanked Mr. St. John for escorting me and invited him inside. I left the two of them in the library, discussing the impending invasion, and fled upstairs to the safety of Tessie’s arms. She tried her best to calm me, but every time I looked at the engagement ring on my finger and thought of Charles facing a warship, I was forced to battle waves of nervous hysteria. I knew the afternoon would stretch ahead of me endlessly as I waited, facing the terror of the unknown.

“How about we do something?” Tessie finally said. “Take your mind off your troubles instead of sitting here fretting.”

“I . . . I wouldn’t be able to do anything. My hands are shaking too badly to do any needlework or—”

“Not that kind of something. How about I practice my reading? I ain’t never gonna get any better if I don’t practice.”

Her offer surprised me. It was the first time she had ever asked for a lesson. Even though she was making wonderful progress with her reading and writing skills, her reluctance and fear had remained very strong, her written work invariably thrown into the flames at the end of each session. But this time Tessie had taken the initiative, and before I could respond to her offer, she had already fetched her latest textbook, the Bible, and was opening it to where we had left off in the Book of Psalms.