Nearly every pew in church was filled with people, and I knew that nearly every heart, like mine, was filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Even so, most people avoided discussing the latest news and talked of spiritual matters, as was fitting and proper on the Lord’s Day. Daddy and I joined Charles’ family for a lovely Sunday dinner, and it was as if Sumter had never happened as our conversation focused on simple pleasantries.
Monday’s news plunged us all back into the maelstrom.
Every newspaper in the nation trumpeted the appalling headline— President Lincoln had declared war on the South. To prove his resolve, he had called for an army of seventy-five thousand men to put down the rebellion. I desperately needed Charles to reassure me that Virginia would not become involved in this conflict, that our wedding would take place in July, that we would begin our new life together just as we’d planned. But Charles was gone all day and half the night as the state convention met in the capitol to debate secession.
When I read the newspaper on Tuesday, all remaining hope for neutrality dissolved. Lincoln’s secretary of war had demanded that Virginia do its share to quench the Southern rebellion by sending three regiments of soldiers to Washington. Governor Letcher refused this demand. He must have had a change of heart since the night Fort Sumter surrendered, because he told President Lincoln that his request “has inaugurated civil war.”
I waited all day Tuesday for Charles to come, then all day Wednesday. Sick with anxiety, I sorted through the items in my hope chest, folding and refolding linen sheets and damask napkins, wondering if I’d ever have a chance to use them. Tessie threatened to lock the chest and take away the key.
“You gonna have them nice things all worn out before you ever use a one of them,” she scolded.
Charles finally arrived at our house early Thursday morning, exhausted after a sleepless night of debates. I quickly dressed and hurried downstairs without taking time to pin up my hair. The news he brought Daddy and me was anything but reassuring.
“Late last night the convention reached a decision,” he said wearily. “Virginia has joined the Confederacy.We’ve seceded from the Union.”
Charles’ usually neat clothing was rumpled, his shoulders bent with fatigue. He seemed almost too tired to stand. Daddy invited him into the library, where he collapsed into a chair.
“It’s war,” he said. “We’re in this fight now. There is no way to avoid it.”
Outside, the April morning was peaceful and serene. Blossoming trees showered the grass with pink and white petals. Spring flowers pushed through the warming soil. No armies marched, no cannon boomed, no battle cries disturbed the sound of birdsong. The very idea of war seemed preposterous.
“What changed the delegates’ minds?” Daddy asked. “The victory at Fort Sumter?”
Charles sighed and shook his head. “President Lincoln tipped the scales against himself when he called for soldiers from Virginia. When it comes right down to it, the Virginia militia simply can’t turn against their fellow Southerners. If we have to fight and die, then it will be for the states’ right to govern themselves, not for Northern tyranny.”
I listened, sick at heart, while they discussed the secessionist vote. Charles explained how most of the opposition to secession had come from western Virginia. Daddy offered his scathing opinion of the gangly despot who had taken over the White House.
“Let’s all have some breakfast,” I said when I could no longer stand listening to the disturbing conversation.
“Thank you, but I really can’t stay,” Charles said. He slowly stood, as if getting up out of the chair required the last of his strength. My father stood as well and crossed the room to shake Charles’ hand.
“Thanks for stopping by with the news,” Daddy said. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, there’s something I must attend to.” Daddy left, closing the library door behind him. He had given Charles and me a rare moment alone.
Charles opened his arms to me and I rushed into them. He held me closer, more tightly than ever before. I felt his heart thumping as I wept against his chest.
“Listen now,” he murmured. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
I pulled away to look up at him. “Is it really, Charles? Promise? Because right now I feel like nothing in our lives will ever be the same.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. But it wasn’t the warm, tender kiss he’d given me four months ago on the night we were engaged. This time his lips were possessive. His hands caressed my back, then became lost in my unbound hair. For a few brief moments, I forgot that the world was crumbling around us as I kissed him in return.
When he finally pulled away, we were both breathless. “I love you, Caroline,” he said hoarsely. “That’s one thing that will never change.”
Then, before either of us wished, he turned and left.
By the end of the day, the Confederate flag flew above the capitol. All business was suspended as news of Virginia’s secession spread. Cannon fired, bells rang, people rushed to and fro, shouting and cheering in the streets, just as they had after Fort Sumter surrendered. Jonathan came to the house to fetch me after supper, and we drove downtown to pick up Sally and Charles.
Throughout that warm, spring evening of April 19, a magnificent torchlight procession illuminated the city of Richmond. Bands played, crowds cheered and sang as they paraded down Main Street; rockets and Roman candles exploded and blazed. Once again, we listened as a succession of orators delivered impassioned speeches about the War for Southern Independence.
“I predict that in less than sixty days we will capture Washington,” one of the speakers said. Someone shouted from the crowd, “No, thirty days!”
I prayed it would be so. Charles and I were to be married in just ninety days.
After the first few hours, I found the excitement enervating. Charles also seemed drained after missing a night’s sleep. His enthusiasm, like mine, had been subdued all evening. When we came upon a deserted park bench near Capitol Square, we sat down to rest for a few minutes, away from the clamor and noise of bands and speeches.
“You don’t seem to be rejoicing like everyone else,” I said.
He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m tired. This has been the longest week of my life.”
I turned toward him on the bench so I could see his face. It appeared shadowed and gray, not from the night all around us, but from a restless anxiety deep inside him. “What’s going to happen?” I asked softly. “Please be honest with me, Charles. I know we’re at war, but . . . how will it all end?”
He wouldn’t look at me. For a long moment he didn’t reply. Instead, he held my hand in both of his, gently toying with the ruby ring he had placed on my finger. “You deserve to know the truth,” he finally said. “I don’t think we can possibly win this war.”
A rocket flared and boomed close by. Charles looked up at me, and his face was momentarily illuminated in sparkling light. “The Northerners have more manpower than we do, more resources, more guns. Compared to them, the South does very little manufacturing. We’re dependent on imported goods, yet we have no navy to protect our harbors. We’ll need cannon, arms, ammunition— but aside from Tredegar, there are few factories to produce them. Our transportation and supply networks are horribly inadequate. Five different railroads serve Richmond, but they are different gauges, and none of them connect properly with the others. It’s that way all over the South. . . .”
I touched my fingers to his lips to stop him. I didn’t want to hear anymore. There was another question I needed to ask, but I dreaded his answer. I turned away, afraid I would read the truth in his eyes before I found the courage to ask.
We sat in the dark for several minutes, watching the excitement that swirled around us. I felt wonderfully detached from it all, as if Charles and I floated magically above it, invisible, safe. But he brought me back to earth again when he sighed and said, “Listen now. If you’re rested,
we should try to find the others. I think it’s time we headed home.” He started to rise, but I stopped him, my need to know suddenly greater than my fear.
“Are you going to fight in this war, Charles?”
He paused, then said, “I have to.”
“Why? Why can’t we go abroad for a while? Let’s live in London or Paris or someplace else until this ends.”
“Virginia is my home,” he said quietly, “not London or Paris. I have to fight to defend it. To protect you, my family, my friends.”
“Can’t you fight some other way? The new government will need leaders; can’t you run for office?”
“There are plenty of experienced politicians for that. They’re stepping all over each other, in fact.”
“What about your father’s mills? Won’t there be a greater demand for flour—”
“We’re at war. I have to fight.”
“But you just said you didn’t believe we could win.”
“Maybe not. But I do believe in the cause.”
“The cause? How can you say you believe in this cause?” I was growing panicked at the thought of Charles taking up a gun, fighting, dying. “You’ve admitted to me that slavery is morally unjust—”
“Caroline, listen now. . .”
“How can you fight for the right to preserve slavery?”
“This war isn’t about slavery. It’s about giving Virginians—not the politicians in Washington—the right to decide what goes on in Virginia. We’re fighting for the freedom to govern ourselves, just as our ancestors did during the first Revolution. All we want is independence, to be left alone to—”
“To continue slavery.”
“No. To govern ourselves.”
“So you’re going to pick up a gun and march off to war? You’re going to fight against a more powerful enemy, knowing you can’t possibly win?” I was trembling all over with dread and fear. Charles took both my hands in his and held them tightly against his chest, speaking calmly to soothe me.
“They were outmanned and outgunned during the last revolution, too. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison . . . a handful of courageous men from Virginia weren’t afraid to defend themselves against a stronger, despotic government. Right here in St. John’s Church, Patrick Henry said ‘Give me liberty, or give me death!’ They all fought to win our freedom the first time. Now I have to fight to keep that freedom.”
“Please don’t go to war, Charles.”
I have to,” he said softly. “I have to stand up for what I believe.”
I lowered my head and closed my eyes as my tears began to flow. Charles gently took my face in his hand and lifted my chin. “Caroline, look at me . . . Remember the day we first met, how you clubbed me with your bag? I was much bigger and stronger than you were, but you believed that I was wrong to chase that boy, and you decided to stand up for what you believed. You must have known you couldn’t possibly defeat me in a brawl, didn’t you? But you had to do something, you had to try. It’s the same with this war. We have to try. Besides,” he added, smiling slightly, “you did win the war, Caroline. You won my heart, my love . . . my life. Who knows, maybe the South will win, too.”
I clung to Charles on that park bench in Capitol Square, not caring if it was improper, my face pressed tightly against his chest. He held me, gently rocking me, as cannon fire and church bells and Roman candles filled the night with noise, drowning out the comforting sound of his heartbeat.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I wept.
“You can’t lose me, Caroline. I’m yours forever.”
By the time Jonathan and I returned home it was late. It didn’t take much to convince him to spend the night in our guest room. I found Tessie waiting in my room with a lamp lit to help me undress.
“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 n
ot 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. . . .”