Candle in the Darkness

  Chapter Twenty-four

  September 1864

  Artillery boomed in the distance, shaking the floor beneath Caroline’s feet as she stood with Tessie on the balcony off her father’s bedroom. “It might be coming from Drewry’s Bluff,” she said. “The Yankees might be trying to send warships up the river past the fort again.”

  “Sounds closer than that, Missy. Look there. . . .” Tessie pointed to the southeast where flashes of light illuminated the low-hanging clouds like summer lightning. “Those big guns gotta be this side of the river.”

  “I think you’re right. Maybe it’s coming from Fort Harrison.”

  Caroline knew from months of spying that the outer ring of Confederate defenses encircling Richmond was less than ten miles away; the inner ring, not even four. This current battle, which had begun yesterday, September 28, was one of the closest ones yet to her home. She also knew that Lee’s troops, defending this sixty-five-mile-long perimeter, were spread very thinly in places.

  Charles and Jonathan might be fighting out there somewhere. In his last letter, Charles had said they were being sent up from Petersburg to counteract a rumored buildup of Yankee forces near New Market Heights. Now a horrific battle was raging out in that direction. At times, the artillery fired so rapidly that it sounded like one continuous boom.

  “Here comes Eli,” Tessie said, pointing down to the street below them. “Let’s go see what he find out.”

  “Yankees started attacking the Confederate lines yesterday,” Eli told them when they reached the backyard. “Rumors say they already capture Fort Harrison. Now they trying to capture Fort Gilmer.”

  “Get the carriage ready, Eli. I’d better go up to Chimborazo. It’s the closest hospital to where they’re fighting. They’ll be bringing the wounded there first.”

  Tessie held Caroline’s arm to stop her. “Honey . . . you can’t,” she said quietly. “Remember?”

  Caroline moaned and leaned against her friend. “No . . . I completely forgot.”

  Two days ago, Sally Fletcher had come to her front door—a very different Sally from the friend and near-sister Caroline had known for so long. Sally had offered no word of greeting or other pleasantries, refusing to look Caroline in the eye, and would come no further than the foyer. She delivered her message in a voice that was distant and cold.

  “My father told us what you’ve done, Caroline. I didn’t want to believe it. The shock of it has made Father so ill—” she paused as her voice quavered. “So ill that he’s been bedridden ever since.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Sally held up both hands to silence her. “Don’t talk, Caroline, just listen. Father sent me in his place to tell you that until he’s well enough to decide what to do with you, he wants you to remain at home. Don’t go anywhere, not even to church, or he will have you arrested. Don’t leave the house, and don’t entertain visitors. When you write to Charles, you can’t tell him anything about this.”

  “Sally, please listen. You’re my dearest friend, and nothing I’ve done will ever change that.”

  “You’re wrong. I feel so betrayed by you, Caroline. I trusted you . . . loved you. I can’t even imagine what this news will do to Charles, but I agree with my father—Charles must not be told about you while he’s still fighting. If he found out right now that he’s in love with a traitor, it would kill him. But as soon as Charles is safe, Father is going to tell him everything.”

  Even now as Caroline stood in her backyard, the memory of Sally’s words sent a shiver through her. Her dearest friend wouldn’t even try to understand or forgive her. She was not trusted to care for wounded soldiers at Chimborazo.

  The sounds of battle continued all day. Artillery still echoed sporadically off Richmond’s hills later that night as Caroline sat in the kitchen with her servants, talking quietly after their evening meal. The only light came from the fireplace, now dying into embers. Outside, clouds shrouded the moon and stars while cannon fire flickered on the horizon.

  A sound outside made Caroline look up. Her heart pounded with dread when she saw Josiah standing in the open doorway.

  He wore no shirt, only ragged trousers. Dried blood smeared his broad chest and hands. Caroline took one look at his dark, somber face and scrambled to her feet, terrified of what he might say.

  “Make her sit down,” Josiah said, pointing to her.

  “No . . . Oh, God, no . . . not Jonathan . . .” she cried out. Eli pulled Caroline into his arms and held her tightly. She felt as if she stood onboard a ship in a storm and was about to be blown overboard.

  “It ain’t Jonathan,” Josiah said. “It’s Massa Charles.”

  “No!” Pain tore through Caroline, as sharp and real as any gunshot.

  “He’s hurt real bad,” Josiah continued. “They bring him to that big hospital up on the hill, just now.”

  “Oh, God, please don’t let him die,” Caroline wept. “Please . . . please . . .”

  “I’ll get the carriage ready,” Gilbert said. Josiah stepped aside as the servant hurried out the door.

  “What happened, son?” Eli asked.

  “They been fighting hard all day. I went looking for Massa Jonathan when he ain’t coming back with some of the others. Couldn’t find him. I look everywhere . . . lots of dead and wounded . . . but I ain’t seeing him. I only find Massa Charles, lying there in that hole.”

  “Sweet Massa Jesus . . .” Tessie prayed as she rocked Isaac, who was sleeping on her lap. “Help him, Massa Jesus . . .”

  “Ain’t gonna lie to you and pretend it ain’t bad,” Josiah said. “The men who picking up the wounded walk right on past him, thinking he good as dead with two big holes in him and bleeding so bad. But I tore up my shirt and stuffed the hole in his chest like I seen the doctors do, and I wrap one of the shirtsleeves around his leg. His head bleeding bad, too. Then I carry him to the forward aid station, but they keep walking past him, saying there ain’t much hope. So I carry him to the field hospital, about half-mile back, and put him on the first ambulance I see, not waiting for nobody’s permission. Ambulance just now bring him to that big place up on the hill.”

  Esther handed Josiah his father’s coat to put on. “Does his family know about Massa Charles?”

  Josiah shook his head. “I came here first.”

  “Guess someone better go on down and tell them,” Eli said. “But first we got to get Missy up to the hospital.”

  Gilbert returned to the kitchen just then. “Carriage ready,” he said.

  Caroline tried to walk but her legs wouldn’t hold her. Eli lifted her into his arms. “Oh, God, please don’t take Charles,” she pleaded as he carried her outside into the dark autumn night. “Please don’t take him!”

  They crossed the backyard toward the open gate, and a memory came to Caroline, sharp and clear. Eli had carried Tessie in his arms the same way while Tessie had pleaded, “Don’t take him . . .please don’t take him!” But the men had dragged Grady through the open gate in spite of Tessie’s pleas.

  A terrible fear suddenly gripped Caroline. Charles was going to die in payment for that sin.

  It seemed to Caroline that hours passed before she found out where they’d taken Charles in the sprawling hospital complex. In spite of Josiah’s warning, she wasn’t prepared for the sight of him— his uniform drenched in his own blood, his face as pale as death. Huge, raw wounds punctured his right shoulder and thigh and creased the side of his head. She lifted his hand and found a faint heartbeat, touched her lips to his and felt the warmth of his breath.

  “Please, God . . .”

  It took longer still for Caroline to find a doctor who would agree to waste time on such a seemingly hopeless case. He finally consented only because he recognized Caroline and remembered her tireless work at the hospital. Charles’ family arrived, and they waited in icy silence for the doctor to finish the surgery. He came out to speak with them when he was done.

  “He’s still alive . . . but barely. I’m sorry
I can’t offer you a great deal of hope.”

  “We’re taking him home,” Charles’ father announced.

  “If you move him now you’ll kill him,” the doctor said. “He’s too weak. Wait a few days, until he recovers from the surgery. Miss Fletcher knows how to administer the very finest care. She has done excellent work here.”

  The St. Johns stayed for several hours, hoping in vain that Charles would regain consciousness. But Mr. St. John was still quite ill himself, and Sally was distraught over the news that Jonathan was missing. They decided to return home for the night. Before leaving, Charles’ father stunned Caroline with an announcement. “Your cousin’s servant, Josiah, will remain with us. Since Sally is Jonathan’s wife, the Negro now belongs to her.”

  “No, wait. . . .” Caroline begged. “Josiah’s wife and child live with me. At least let them be together—”

  “Why? So you can help him escape like you helped all the others? You must take me for a fool.”

  “But Josiah saved Charles’ life. Your son would be lying dead in a trench out there if Josiah hadn’t brought him here. You have to—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what I have to do with my slaves.” Mr. St. John limped to the door, then turned to look at his son again before leaving. His eyes filled with tears. “I’ll let you take care of him for now because I want him to live. But as soon as he’s well enough, I’m going to tell him the truth about you.” He left without another word.

  As Caroline waited by Charles’ bedside that long night, some of the other men in the room began to moan. One of them wept softly. Without even thinking, Caroline went to them, one by one, and tended to their needs—giving one a drink of water, quietly praying with another. She closed the staring eyes of one young man who had died and gently pulled the sheet over his face. When she returned to Charles’ cot, she noticed Eli still sitting on the floor beside him.

  “You may as well go home, too, Eli. I don’t intend to leave Charles’ side.”

  “Me either,” he said, shaking his head. “I staying here to pray for him. And for you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Caroline sank down on her knees beside Charles’ cot and took his limp hand in her own. He was barely alive. The slender thread had never seemed more ragged and frail. Caroline’s tears began to fall again as she silently prayed.

  “Please, Lord. All I ask of you is that you allow Charles to live.

  In return . . . in return . . . I . . .”

  She paused, unsure of what she could offer God in return for so great a gift as Charles’ life. The debt she already owed God for all the injustices done to Grady, to Tessie and Josiah, to the slaves her family had kept at Hilltop, was much too great an account to ever repay. She had no close family members now that her mother was dead, her father and Jonathan missing. Her servants were her family, but their lives weren’t hers to barter. All she had was herself.

  “In return for Charles’ life, I offer you my own. I offer you the life Charles and I would have had together as husband and wife, the son we might have had if we’d married. It doesn’t matter what you do with me, Lord. It doesn’t matter if Charles ever forgives me . . . or if I go to prison . . . or if I hang for my crimes. Whatever you ask of me, Lord, I’ll do. I’ll obey you as your servant. I only ask that you let Charles live. Please . . . let him live. . . .”

  Caroline stayed by his bedside day and night for the next week, afraid to leave. Her servants brought her meals. The first time Charles regained consciousness and saw her sitting beside him he smiled, then closed his eyes again. Even before he’d been wounded, Charles had lost so much weight after weeks of dysentery and near-starvation that at first he didn’t seem to have the strength to get well. Caroline fed him the vegetable broth Esther had cooked; she made sure he drank water; she changed the dressings on his wounds herself to keep them clean; she bathed him with cool water when he grew feverish. All the while she never stopped praying, offering her future as Charles’ wife in return for his life.

  Charles’ family came to the hospital every day, too, spending hours by his bedside. When Charles was conscious, Caroline thought he would surely notice the looks of hatred his father gave her, or the way his mother glared at Caroline every time she touched him, or the fact that Sally never spoke a single word to her. But Charles was much too sick to be aware of what went on around him. Sally had decided to wait until he was out of danger to tell him that Jonathan was missing. No one knew if Jonathan had been taken prisoner or if he had been blown to pieces in an explosion. It seemed to Caroline that Sally was on the verge of a breakdown as she waited for news of her husband.

  Gradually, the color seeped back into Charles’ face. Strength returned to his body, and he was able to weather an attack of pneumonia. His wounds slowly began to heal with no signs of infection. But throughout the long months that she nursed him, Caroline was aware of what would happen once it became certain that he would live. Charles’ father would tell him the truth.

  She saw that day inching closer when the doctors allowed Charles to leave the hospital and recuperate at home in Court End. His servants carried him inside and laid him in the bed they’d prepared in the small parlor, near the fireplace. His father still allowed Caroline to come and see him for a few hours each day, but Mr. St. John never left them alone in the room, watching her closely, listening to every word she said.

  “I want to marry you,” Charles murmured to her one day, more than two months after he’d been wounded.

  “I know. You already asked me.” She slipped her hand into his so he could feel the engagement ring on her finger.

  “No . . . I mean now . . . before the war ends. Like Sally and Jonathan.”

  Caroline felt Mr. St. John’s eyes on her, boring into her. She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. But she’d seen the unspoken threat in his eyes as he silently shook his head. No.

  Caroline gently squeezed Charles’ hand, willing herself not to cry. “You’ve been away so long you hardly know me anymore. I’ve changed since the war began. Maybe you should get to know me all over again before you decide if you still want to marry me.”

  “I know all that I need to,” Charles said. “I know that you have a tender, loving heart . . . that injustice makes you angry . . . that you want to make the world right more than you want pretty dresses. Those are all the reasons why I fell in love with you. Have any of those things changed?”

  She lost the battle with her tears.

  “Listen now. Don’t cry. Maybe it’s not fair to ask you to marry me when I’m . . . like this. . . .”

  “Oh, Charles, it’s not because you’re wounded. You’re the only man I will ever love or ever want to marry.”

  Mr. St. John slowly rose from his chair at her words. He planted his hands on his hips. Charles didn’t notice, but Caroline did.

  “There are some other things about me . . . that you don’t know,” she told Charles.

  “Then tell me.”

  “I can’t. There isn’t enough time today. I have to go home now so you can rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She stood to leave, but Charles clung to her hand for a long moment, refusing to let go. “I should have listened to you, Caroline,” he said softly. “I should have married you the last time I came home.”

  Yes, she thought. Yes, if only you had.

  A light blanket of snow covered the ground the next morning when Caroline awoke. It dusted the tree branches and squeaked beneath the carriage wheels as she and Gilbert drove down the hill to Charles’ house. Richmond looked almost beautiful again, its war-torn shabbiness hidden by the sparkling whiteness. Even the city’s usual noises seemed muffled and still, the streets nearly deserted as few people ventured outside into the cold.

  “Everything looks so pretty, doesn’t it?” she asked Gilbert.

  “Yes, Missy, it sure do.”

  But when the St. Johns’ butler opened the door for her, the mansion seemed ominously silent, as if the cold air that
had breathed across the city had seeped inside, turning its inhabitants to ice. Caroline walked into the parlor and noticed right away that Charles was alone. His father’s chair stood empty.

  Charles stared at her from across the room, his face white with pain, his eyes red with grief.

  “What’s wrong?” she cried out. She started toward him.

  “Wait.” He held up his hand.

  “Is it your father. . . ?”

  He shook his head. “I had a long talk with my father last night after you left. We talked some more this morning.”

  Caroline grew very still. The moment she’d dreaded had finally come.

  “He accused you of some terrible things. Things I didn’t want to believe. He said he had proof. He showed me the book from your father’s library, the map he says you drew. I still don’t want to believe him. . . .” Charles could barely speak. “Listen now. If I ask you . . . will you tell me the truth?”

  Caroline knew by the anguish on his face, the coldness in his voice, that if she told Charles the truth she would lose him. But she also knew that she could never hold on to his love or build a life with him based on a foundation of lies. She closed her eyes.

  God, help me. Help me tell him the truth in a way that he’ll understand.

  Then she looked at him. “I love you, Charles. I swear that I will never lie to you.”

  He drew a ragged breath. “Father showed me the map Jere- miah used to escape. He showed me how it matched your book. . . .”

  “I drew that map for my own servants. My father was planning to sell them, and I couldn’t let that happen. I drew it to help them escape . . . but that shouldn’t shock you, Charles. From the very first day we met you knew how much I hated slavery. And you also knew how much Eli and the others meant to me.”

  “Five families were robbed of their slaves and their valuables while being entertained in your home—including my own family.” The anger in his voice was slowly rising. “Yes, I knew you believed in abolition, but I didn’t think you would encourage slaves to steal or to break the law by running away from their lawful owners.”