The Union Quilters (41 page)

Mr. Bastwick assured him he would be cautious and shook the reins to start the horse.

 

“Those men looked as if they hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks,” said Gerda quietly as they drove off. “I suppose we should not be surprised that they took our food.”

“I’m thankful they took only our dinner and left us the horse,” said Mr. Bastwick grimly, gradually increasing their speed as they left the patrol behind.

Mr. Bastwick knew the region well from visits before the war, and thanks to the directions provided by the livery stable, they reached the Whitehall residence before six o’clock in the evening. For no reason whatsoever, Gerda had expected Mrs. Philippa Whitehall to be a plump dowager, and she was surprised to discover a slender, energetic woman close to her own age, becomingly clad in a subtly made-over dress of blue silk, her only obvious concession to the deprivations of war. Philippa came outside to the whitewashed portico to greet them and quickly ushered them inside the spacious, redbrick Georgian home while a colored servant took care of the horse. Gerda’s relief that her telegrams had apparently been delivered suddenly gave way to the realization that they were in a slave state. She wondered if the man leading the horse away was a slave.

Inside, they met Philippa’s husband, a tall, thin man who looked to be ten years her senior, who leaned on a cane as he shook their hands. Two young daughters about three and five years of age were brought to the foyer to curtsy to the guests before being whisked away by a matronly colored woman for their dinner in the kitchen. Philippa noted the intensity of Gerda’s look and said, “While some of our neighbors use the term ‘servant’ euphemistically, I assure you that ours are indeed servants, and not slaves.” Gerda, embarrassed to have been caught judging her hostess, stammered an apology. Sympathetic, Philippa cut her short with an understanding laugh and invited them to the dining room.

The meal was sparer than the one they had enjoyed the previous night in Washington City—sweet potato pie, boiled greens, fresh bread, and custard—but was surely the best the Whitehalls could provide. Gerda was glad to know that Mr. Bastwick had two pounds of coffee beans for them and two more for Miss Van Lew hidden at the bottom of his satchel, gifts to thank them for their assistance. The Whitehalls asked about their travels, and although Charlotte said little during the meal, Gerda was relieved to see that she nearly cleared her plate, perhaps out of consideration for the Whitehalls’ generosity in sharing the little they had.

Philippa had seemed on the edge of her seat throughout the meal, and as soon as the maid returned to clear away the dishes, she turned to Charlotte, seated at her right, and said, “My dear Mrs. Granger, I hope you will forgive me for waiting until now to tell you, but good news can be as shocking as bad. You seemed peaked when you arrived, and I thought it would be prudent to fortify you with a good meal first.”

Charlotte stiffened. “Fortify me for what?”

“She said ‘good news,ʹʺ Gerda reassured her, then turned back to her hostess. “Has Miss Van Lew already spoken to the commandant? Has he agreed to release Jonathan’s remains to us—to Mrs. Granger?”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Mrs. Whitehall. “That is to say, Miss Van Lew has spoken to Major Turner, but he will not give you your husband’s remains, Mrs. Granger, because your husband is not dead.”

Charlotte went very still. “What do you mean?”

Philippa clasped her hands and beamed. “Your husband is alive. Miss Van Lew spoke to him only yesterday. He is the worse for his ill treatment, as all the prisoners are, but he is alive and working in the prison hospital. He sends you his love.”

A scarlet flush rose in Charlotte’s cheeks. “Are you certain?”

“Miss Van Lew says it is so, and I trust her.”

“But—” Gerda hardly dared hope it could be true. “How can this be? We saw the casualty list. His name was on it.”

“A dreadful mistake,” said Mr. Whitehall. “The list was composed from the released prisoners’ reports, but of course the men had no documents, only their memories. Someone erred and counted Dr. Granger among the deceased.”

Charlotte pressed her hand to her heart, her breath coming in small gasps. “He lives,” she said faintly. “My husband lives.”

Mr. Whitehall looked around the table, regarding each of his guests with solemn intensity. “Miss Van Lew believes that due to the doctorʹs poor health and your fortuitous arrival, you should appeal to Major Turner to release him on humanitarian grounds, due to his illness and his profession. You may have no other opportunity. Back in March, Richmond’s provost marshal ordered the evacuation of most of the city’s prisoners to Georgia.”

“Georgia,” Gerda exclaimed. “So far away.”

Mr. Whitehall nodded. “Indeed. Most of the enlisted men have since been sent to a prison in Andersonville, but the transfer of the officers from Libby was delayed while the Rebels constructed a new prison in Macon. Transfers began as soon as the building was completed, but fortunately, Dr. Granger has not yet been sent south, perhaps because he is useful in the Libby Prison hospital. However, as you can see, if he cannot obtain his freedom now, it is unlikely he will do so before the end of the war. I should warn you, this will be a far more difficult undertaking than seeking the release of his remains.”

“But far preferable in every regard,” exclaimed Gerda, overwhelmed. To soar from the depths of loneliness to the pinnacle of hope in a matter of minutes—her mind was reeling. She wanted to set out for the prison immediately, that moment, before she had time to take another breath.

Her beloved Jonathan was alive.

 

They were obliged to wait until morning to make the trip into Richmond, but thankfully, Miss Van Lew sent her buggy for them early. Mr. Bastwick and the Whitehalls sent them off with good wishes and warnings to be careful and to follow Miss Van Lew’s lead in all things. Charlotte was too excited and nervous to do more than nod, but Gerda assured them they would obey Miss Van Lew’s instructions to the letter. She would have agreed to anything to see Jonathan again.

They left the countryside behind and entered the city. Although Gerda had seen the toll war had taken on Gettysburg, the scars of a three-day battle were slight compared to the wounds Richmond had suffered during its prolonged siege. Market stalls were bare, soldiers appeared on nearly every street corner, and buildings were pockmarked from shells or bore gaping, crumbling holes from heavy artillery. About an hour after they set out, they arrived at an elegant mansion on the south side of Grace Street on Church Hill, with six tall white columns supporting a high portico on the southern aspect, many windows framed by black shutters, and six chimneys. Lush trees and a thriving garden surrounded the house, and birds chirped and sang in the foliage.

Miss Van Lew and her mother greeted them in the front parlor. “My dear Miss Bergstrom,” she said, taking Gerda’s hands in hers. Her dark hair was pulled back into a French knot, with curly wisps framing her face. She had a strong nose and chin, and her gaze was steady, clear, and intelligent. “It is good to meet you at last, after such a lengthy and beneficial correspondence.”

“The benefit has been all mine, I believe,” said Gerda, smiling. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am—how grateful Mrs. Granger and I both are—that you’re willing to help us.”

“I’m sure you’ve put yourself at considerable risk for our sakes,” Charlotte added. “Your letters have been such a comfort to me throughout these long months. I’m grateful to you beyond my ability to express.”

Miss Van Lew smiled wryly. “We’ll see if there’s any need for gratitude later.” She called for a servant to bring tea. Gerda, her memory prompted, offered her the sack of coffee beans Mr. Bastwick had provided, but insisted that she save it for another occasion for her and her mother to enjoy.

As they drank their tea, Miss Van Lew prepared them for their visit to the prison, warning that they had never witnessed such horrid conditions or seen men treated so brutally. They would avoid the worst of it, she believed, since they would meet Major Turner in his office and not enter the prisoners’ rooms, as Miss Van Lew had on many occasions. The guards might be abrupt with them or impudent or indifferent, depending upon which were on duty. “You are a lovely little thing,” Miss Van Lew remarked, scrutinizing Charlotte. “Your charms may soften the major’s heart and encourage him to grant your request. If he refuses, a few pretty tears might win him over, if you could muster them up.”

“That should not be a problem,” said Charlotte, her voice trembling.

“Money also has persuasive charms,” Miss Van Lew added. “Preferably Union dollars or silver.”

“That will not be a problem either,” said Gerda, earning her a puzzled glance from Charlotte, who was unaware of the purse she had hidden inside her skirts.

“Good,” said Miss Van Lew briskly. “If Major Turner releases Dr. Granger, we should get him to the buggy and depart immediately, before the major has an opportunity to change his mind. I should warn you, ladies, you will find Dr. Granger much changed. The prison is harsh and unyielding, but please endeavor to conceal your distress when you see him.”

“Then you are confident this Major Turner will grant our request?” asked Charlotte.

Miss Van Lew hesitated. “I am fairly confident he will let you see your husband. More than that, I do not know. Do you understand? Are you prepared to see him only to bid him farewell again?”

Charlotte was quiet for a moment. “No.”

Gerda shot her a look of utter surprise. She had expected Charlotte to say that she would be thankful for even a moment with her husband. It was what Gerda would have said.

“No?” echoed Miss Van Lew.

“No.” Charlotte straightened in her seat. “I am prepared to petition Major Turner relentlessly until he grants my request. I have no intention of leaving Libby Prison without my husband.”

Gerda stared at her, dumbfounded, but Miss Van Lew smiled approvingly. “I admire your determination. Let us see if it bears fruit.” She rose and sent her maid to tell the driver to prepare the buggy.

Soon they were on their way through the streets of Richmond, traveling south toward the James River and then west parallel to it. Gerda recognized the former warehouse at once from Miss Van Lew’s descriptions—three stories of strong brick walls and barred windows surrounded by Confederate soldiers on guard.

They approached the front entrance until their way was barred and they were obliged to leave the buggy and proceed on foot. Miss Van Lew, a heavy basket on her arm, told Gerda and Charlotte to follow her and stay close. At the main gate, she spoke briefly with the sentinels, who recognized her from her frequent visits and knew she was allowed to enter. Gerda shuddered with foreboding as she passed through the gates and crossed the yard toward the front entrance. The prison gave off an air of palpable anguish and suffering, and she thought she heard men crying out in despair through the barred windows.

Inside, a lieutenant in gray stood in the foyer conversing with two guards, issuing them their orders for the day. He turned at the sound of the women’s approach, his eyebrows rising in recognition. “Well, if it isn’t the fair Miss Van Lew,” he said in a Kentucky drawl. “What brings you here today? More misspent desire to comfort the Yankee rabble rather than our own boys?”

Miss Van Lew smiled. “Good morning, Lieutenant Todd. As you well know, our boys are not held captive here or I would surely do whatever I could for them too. I daresay this will surprise you, but I have nothing for the prisoners today, although I do have this good gingerbread.” From her basket she took a loaf wrapped in cheesecloth. “I seem to recall it is your favorite.”

The lieutenant’s face lit up as he accepted the loaf. “You recall correctly, miss.”

“I have gifts for Major Turner as well. I wondered if you might take us to him.”

“He’s very busy.”

“Yes, of course he is, which is why I’ve brought him some tasty delicacies to ease the burden of his labors.” Miss Van Lew drew back the corner of the cloth covering the basket and nodded in satisfaction. “I can only imagine how disappointed he would be if he learned that someone had prevented me from delivering my gift. You know what a temper he has.”

The lieutenant eyed Gerda and Charlotte for a moment before his gaze traveled to the basket, and then to his own gift of fragrant gingerbread, its warm and homey smell utterly incongruous with their stark surroundings. “I’m sure he’d be willing to make time for you and your friends,” he said, placing one hand on the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist and gesturing down the hallway with the other. The women followed him to an office and waited outside while the lieutenant went to see if the major would receive them.

“You do know who that warden is, don’t you?” Miss Van Lew murmured when they were alone. When Gerda and Charlotte shook their heads, she said, “That is Lieutenant David Humphreys Todd, half brother to Mary Todd Lincoln and brother-in-law to our dear president.”

Astonished, Gerda had no time to reply, for Lieutenant Todd returned and announced that the commandant was willing to see them. They were escorted into an office that smelled strongly of cloves and tobacco smoke, with a window overlooking a high-fenced yard where the prisoners should have been allowed exercise. A young, clean-shaven man rose from his desk when the ladies entered, his spurred boot heels faintly jingling. He was not very tall, but he had an imperious manner no doubt cultivated by his authority over the lives and deaths of many far more superior men. Miss Van Lew introduced him as Major Thomas Pratt Turner, he smiled and offered a slight bow, and they seated themselves.

Gerda could see at once that the commandant was wary of the Richmond socialite, and yet not immune to her charms. He welcomed the gifts of blackberry preserves, buttermilk biscuits, and cherry cordial, but after admiring the basket, he sat back with a small smile, knowing Miss Van Lew would ask a favor in return. Evidently he had not expected such an audacious request, however, for his smile gave way to an incredulous laugh. “My dear Miss Van Lew,” he said, “you must know I cannot release prisoners simply on my own inclinations.”