Candle in the Darkness (29 page)

Mrs. Randolph quickly blotted a tear with her hankie. “My boys are not cowards, so I must be brave, as well. I sent them off gladly. Their country needs them.”

I had hated to watch Charles go; I couldn’t imagine watching a beloved son, a child I’d nurtured from infancy, march off to war. For a second time I thought of Tessie, of how she must have felt to watch her son being taken away against her will.

Then, like a changeable wind, the conversation turned to another aspect of the war, our first victory. Mrs. Goode told us about the letter her son had sent describing last month’s skirmish at Big Bethel Church.

“The Yankees sent troops up the peninsula from Fort Monroe— more than four thousand of them—thinking they could drive us out of our fortifications and move inland. But my Daniel said our boys fought like wildcats. We drove them back, that’s for certain, even though our boys were outnumbered nearly four-toone.” The society ladies of Richmond gave a modest little cheer.

“God’s favor is always on the side of justice,” Sally said. “Even if we’re outnumbered, heaven will protect the Southern cause.”

Her words brought an even more enthusiastic response. When the applause died away, Mrs. Goode said, “It also shows that our enemies are cowards who will run at the first chance.”

“That’s right,” everyone agreed. “Billy Yank won’t fight.”

“Johnny Reb will, though. It’s our homeland that’s being invaded.”

When the room quieted again, Mrs. Randolph asked, “Have any of you been downtown yet, to see all the Yankee banners we captured at Big Bethel? They’re on display in the store windows.”

“I’ve seen them,” Mrs. Taylor bragged. “And I also saw them parading the prisoners right down Main Street. I got my first good look at a real live Yankee.”

“Frankly, I’d much rather see a dead one,” Mrs. Goode replied. Everyone laughed except me. I had been picturing Robert in his U.S. Army uniform.

As the afternoon wore on, the drawing room grew increasingly hot, the scratchy wool uniforms like blankets in our laps. Even with all the windows and double doors thrown open, we perspired in the heat, our needles slipping through our sweaty fingers. The St. Johns had equipped several of their slaves with palmetto fans and stationed them around the room to keep the air circulating. But when the young Negro girl standing behind Sally and me grew weary and paused to rest, Sally turned around with a frown and pinched her leg.

“Sally! That’s no way to treat a child,” I admonished her without even thinking.

“But it’s hot in here,” Sally said, pouting. “She’s supposed to keep fanning.”

“She’s been fanning us for nearly an hour.” I kept my voice low, hoping no one else would hear me. “Your arms would be tired, too, by now. And she’s just a little girl.”

“Caroline, she’s a slave.”

“That’s no excuse to treat a person unkindly.”

At first Sally seemed annoyed that I had interfered. But when she glanced over her shoulder again, she saw that the girl had tears in her eyes. “Sit down and rest a minute, Lucy,” she said with a sigh. Then Sally turned to me. “I don’t even realize I’m being unkind. I hardly think of them as persons. I’m sorry, but I was raised not to see them.”

Now it was my turn to be ashamed of my behavior. Admonishing my hostess had been rude. I mumbled an apology of my own and tried to disappear into the sofa cushions.

By now the discussion had turned to another topic—the traitorous Yankee sympathizers who lived in western Virginia. Unwilling to secede from the Union, they had seceded from Virginia instead, forming a new state.

“There are probably Northern sympathizers living right here in Richmond, too,” Mrs. Taylor said. “If we’re not careful, they’ll be stabbing us in the back and passing secret information to the Union government.”

“That’s why the city council passed a new ordinance this week,” Mrs. Goode said. Her husband served on the council, so she prided herself on being among the first to know the council’s business.

“What ordinance is that, dear?” Mrs. St. John asked.

“It’s called the ‘Suspicious Persons Law’ or something like that. We’re supposed to be on the lookout for people who express Northern sentiments or opinions. If we discover such a person— man or woman—it’s our duty to inform the mayor immediately so he can have them arrested.”

“My goodness,” Mrs. Randolph said. “Isn’t it frightening to think such traitorous persons could be living right here among us and we wouldn’t even know it?”

Mrs. Taylor gave her a withering look. “Don’t be naïve, Clara. Any fool could tell.”

“How? How could they tell?”

“Why, just open your eyes and look around. Notice who isn’t cheering along with everyone else. Pay attention to the person whose enthusiasm seems a little . . . false.”

I felt my cheeks begin to burn. I had not been among those who’d cheered the Confederate victory at Big Bethel a few moments ago or the capture of Yankee prisoners. But I wanted to run from the room when Mrs. Taylor’s daughter Helen spoke next.

“Another way to tell is if they’re Negro-lovers.”

The room went momentarily silent. My heart thumped against my corset stays. Helen Taylor had fancied herself Charles’ sweetheart before I came along. Neither she nor her mother had ever forgiven me for “stealing” Charles away. Too late, I realized that Helen was sitting close enough to Sally and me to have observed our conversation over the little slave girl.

“Traitors are always Negro-lovers,” Helen repeated. She and her mother exchanged looks. My instincts urged me to run, to plead dizziness or nausea or some other excuse and leave while I still had a chance, but I didn’t know how to escape the tightly packed circle of women without causing a scene. When Helen directed her next question to me, I knew it was too late to run.

“I understand that you once lived up north, isn’t that right, Caroline? And don’t you still have relatives living up there? I suppose they’re all fighting for the Yankees now.”

“None of them are fighting,” I said shakily. “My aunt and uncle have two daughters.”

“I’ve heard that Philadelphia is a hotbed of abolition activity,” Mrs. Taylor added. “I pity you for having to live in such a place. Poor girl—I’ll bet they tried to fill your head with their anti-slavery ideas.” All of the ladies had stopped sewing, waiting, as women will, for a fresh scrap of news to feed the gossip fires. I had to say something.

“My aunt Martha is a native Virginian.” My voice sounded tiny, apologetic. “She was born and raised right here in Richmond.”

“Well, how do
you
feel about the slavery issue?” Helen asked. “Do you agree with the Yankees that it’s an
evil institution
?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I was a coward. I had returned from Philadelphia determined to spend myself on behalf of the oppressed and to let my light rise in the darkness as the Scripture urged me to do. I had once prided myself on being outspoken with Charles and helping to alter his way of thinking. But now I remained silent. Sally did, too, even though she knew the truth.

“Come now, speak up, Caroline,” Mrs. Taylor said. “You must have an opinion.”

As I vainly searched for a way out of the trap, Mrs. St. John suddenly cleared her throat as if about to make an important announcement. “Ladies,” she said, her voice dripping gentility like honey, “perhaps you’ve forgotten that Caroline was forced to move to Philadelphia after her mother’s tragic death. And I think you’ve also failed to notice that the dear girl is now sitting here among us, pricking her own fingers raw to help the cause. But maybe I should also remind you that she is engaged to my son, Charles. If her loyalty is in question, then so is his.”

Mrs. St. John finished her little speech with a prim smile, then turned to one of her maidservants. “You may serve us our tea now, Katy.”

When the grueling afternoon finally ended, I returned home, ashamed. Today was only the sewing society’s first meeting; I would have to return tomorrow and the next day, working several times a week until the shortage of uniforms eased. I would have to face the same women, the same questions. Mrs. Taylor’s suspicions would be confirmed if I didn’t return to support the Southern cause. And I couldn’t lie to myself and vow to speak out bravely the next time. I would be just as cowardly tomorrow and the day after as I had been today.

Tessie wisely said nothing on the way home. As ashamed as I was of my behavior, I knew that the only way I was ever going to figure out what to do about it was to talk to Eli. I remained inside the carriage after Tessie climbed down. I stayed until Gilbert drove us inside the carriage house and unhitched the horses. When all the others were gone, Eli ducked into the back of the carriage and sat down beside me.

“You planning on sleeping out here?” he asked gently.

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from crying.

“Must be something awful bad happen if you gonna be living in the barn from now on.”

“I don’t know where I should live, Eli.” My tears began to fall, but Eli waited, patient as always, until I could speak. “Some people up north are working so hard to end slavery,” I finally said. “John Brown may have been misguided, but at least he put his convictions into action, even though it cost him his life. I want to help end slavery, too, but everyone else in Richmond is working very hard to keep it. I don’t want to leave my home, but as long as I’m living here and working alongside the other women, I feel like I’m condoning slavery—like I’m helping their cause.”

“You want to tell me what happen today?”

“One of the women came right out and asked me, in front of all the others, how I felt about slavery, if I thought it was an evil institution. I didn’t answer her, Eli. I’m so ashamed of myself now. I wasn’t afraid to tell Charles how I felt, but today I didn’t say anything at all to those women. Not one word.”

His mouth twitched with a playful smile. “Tell you the truth, I’d rather face Massa Charles any day than a whole roomful of women.” He made me smile in spite of the situation, but my guilt quickly returned.

“It’s worse than that. They were talking about a new law the city council passed. Citizens are supposed to report people who sympathize with the North. Anyone who’s against slavery might be a spy and could be arrested.”

“That what would happen if you spoke out today? They throw you in jail?”

“I don’t know. But I was afraid someone would report me as a suspicious person. I was scared.” I continued staring down at my lap, twisting my hands, too ashamed to face him. “When I first came back to Richmond I was committed to speaking out. I wanted to serve God—but now I feel like I’ve let Him down. I’m nothing but a coward.”

Eli sighed. “That ain’t no surprise to God, Missy Caroline. He know exactly what’s inside each one of us. Now you know it, too. And that’s good.”

“How is that good?”

“The Bible ask if a leopard can change its spots? Answer is
no
. Leopard can’t change its spots—unless couple things happen. First, that leopard has to look in a mirror and see her spots need changing. Then she has to figure out she can’t change them all by herself. But God sure can.”

“So . . . I should pray for courage? Then what, Eli?” I finally lifted my head, looking up into his gentle brown eyes. “Maybe I’ll be brave enough to give my opinion tomorrow, but what if Helen Taylor reports me and I end up getting arrested? What good will I be to God in jail? Maybe I should have stayed in Philadelphia, where people don’t have slaves. Maybe I should go back there now and work for the side that’s trying to end slavery instead of sewing Confederate uniforms.”

“I don’t think so, Missy Caroline,” Eli said, shaking his head. “You know the story of Queen Esther? Lord put her in the palace among all them unbelievers for a reason. She have a job to do for Him—when the time’s right. I think Massa Jesus send you up north, then bring you back here for a reason, too. But I think you have to wait until the time’s right. God gave Esther courage so she could walk right into that throne room saying, ‘If I perish, I perish.’ But then she waited. She invite that king to dinner two times before she speak her mind. Wasn’t because she scared. She waiting for the Lord to say, ‘Now, Esther! Now’s the time!’ ”

“So if they ask me my opinion again tomorrow . . . what should I say?”

“Nothing. Because even if you tell them what you believe, you ain’t gonna change a single woman’s mind, are you?”

“No, probably not.”

“Don’t go running ahead of God. He’s gonna tell you when the time’s right. Then whatever you do gonna make a difference. And one more thing—Queen Esther asked all her servants to pray with her. We be praying with you, Missy Caroline. You know we be praying.”

I lived in a continual state of suspense that July, not only waiting for the war to begin in earnest but waiting for God’s call to act. Tessie and I read the story of Queen Esther, and the words of Scripture seemed to shiver through me: “And who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this.” I felt as though I was waiting to be called into battle, just as the two huge armies that were mustering near the Potomac waited for the battle that was certain to come.