What if tomorrow is even worse? Josephine wanted to ask, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Aunt Hattie began singing hymns, but Jo didn’t join in. This seemed like the longest night of her life as she sat waiting for the dawn. Exhausted, Josephine finally leaned against her sister and began to doze.
An enormous explosion jolted her awake. The blast shook the entire house and rattled the windowpanes. Mary leaped from the sofa and into Mother’s arms, Josephine’s cousins sobbed and wailed, and slaves screamed in the kitchen below.
“The Yankees are shelling us!” Aunt Olivia said. “Their gunboats must have made it up the James River.”
Another explosion followed, louder than the first. Josephine ran to the window and parted the curtains. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the entire sky glowed with an eerie, unnatural light.
More blasts followed, one after the other like a hundred cannons firing, until the whole earth seemed to reverberate. Josephine raced upstairs to peer out the window that had the best view of the city and saw molten flames leaping into the sky beneath clouds of thick, dark smoke. This wasn’t a bonfire like yesterday. The city was burning. She stumbled downstairs again to tell the others. “It-it looks like the whole city is on fire.” Everyone stared at her, mute with shock.
Aunt Hattie spoke first. “It says in Scripture that at the end of the age ‘the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and all the elements shall melt with fervent heat.’”
Stop it! Jo wanted to scream. Just stop it! You said that tomorrow would be better, but it isn’t! Her sister and cousins couldn’t stop crying, and it seemed to Jo that the end of the world had truly come. There was nothing to do but wait for it. Aunt Hattie tried to gather everyone together to pray, but Jo wanted no part in it. “I’ll go watch in case the fire spreads this way,” she said. She climbed the stairs again, alone.
Josephine had no idea how much time passed, but eventually the sun rose and the sky began to grow lighter. She could glimpse a small stretch of Franklin Street between the houses and trees and saw a moving wall of dark blue marching down the hill toward the center of town, toward the flames. Wagon wheels and marching feet rumbled like distant thunder. The enemy had arrived.
If God was good, and if He loved Josephine and her family, how could this have happened? She had prayed! They all had. She covered her face and wept, not for her lost nation but for her lost faith.
Another hour or more passed, and the view grew dim behind a haze of smoke. Josephine dried her tears and went downstairs to rejoin the others just as their neighbor arrived at the door again. This time Aunt Olivia led him inside so everyone could hear his news.
“The Yankees are here,” he said quietly. “Richmond has surrendered. The explosions we heard before dawn were our own gunboats, the Virginia, the Beaufort, and the Richmond. We blew them to smithereens in the harbor so the Yankees wouldn’t get them.”
“It looks like the city is on fire,” Josephine said.
“Yes, the commercial district is ablaze, and our fire and police forces are nowhere to be seen. But the Yankees are working hard to quench the flames. Church Hill should be safe.”
“How could this happen?” Aunt Olivia asked. No one replied.
“Well, at least the worst is over,” Aunt Hattie said. She was the only one who hadn’t been weeping. “From now on, we’ll face whatever we must with faith in God.”
Jo didn’t want to hear it. She returned to her bedroom, her faith in God as shattered as the Confederate gunboats. Why pray when God wasn’t listening? Besides, her only prayer would be that the Confederate Army would surrender and the war would end—and her family would call her a traitor if she said that out loud. But why keep fighting? Why prolong this nightmare?
Josephine opened her diary, then closed it again. It recorded her past, but there was nothing left of her old life. Everything she’d learned during the past twenty-two years would have to be revised. Not simply cleaned up and pruned the way the slaves back home trimmed the bushes and cut the weeds, but dug up and yanked out by the roots so that something altogether new could be planted in its place.
Jo still believed in God; only a fool could deny the existence of a Creator. But she no longer believed in prayer or in a God who cared about her suffering. It was time to bury her childish faith in a God who was her loving Father, watching over her, doing what was best for her.
As far as she was concerned, He was as distant and unreachable as her own beloved father.
2
APRIL 19, 1865
Eugenia Weatherly couldn’t bear to watch her daughters go hungry another day. A week had passed since the war ended and the South had surrendered, and Eugenia’s household was starving. She was the strongest one. She had to find food. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the morning chill and strode toward the door to the slave yard, determined to find her manservant and enlist his help. But just as she reached the door, her sister Olivia called to her, “Eugenia, wait!”
Eugenia paused with her hand on the knob, impatient to be on her way. Her mind was made up and she wouldn’t let her sister talk her out of it. “What now, Olivia? Your neighbor said to get there early, before the line gets too long.”
Tears brimmed in Olivia’s eyes and soaked her wadded hanky. “I can’t bear the thought of you begging. Father must be turning in his grave. Isn’t there any other way to get food?”
“No. There isn’t. The larder, the root cellar, and all of our stomachs are empty. The market is a charred ruin, our children are hungry, you can’t stop crying—”
“Only because of the news. I can’t believe that General Lee has truly surrendered.”
“Well, he has. The war ended a week ago, and we’re at the mercy of our enemies. If the United States Christian Commission is distributing free rations downtown, then I believe we’re entitled to some.”
“Who would have ever thought we’d have to accept charity?” Olivia wept.
Eugenia kept her chin raised with pride. “I refuse to think of it as charity. The Yankees stole everything we had, so it’s high time they gave some of it back.” She opened the door again, bringing a gust of cool air and the stench of the stables and slave yard into the tiny hallway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Wait. You shouldn’t go alone. Let one of us go with you.”
Eugenia shook her head. “I’d rather go by myself. You’re still unwell and I won’t allow my daughters out in the streets with Yankee soldiers everywhere.” Nor did Eugenia want her girls to witness her disgrace as she begged for food. “I’ll take my manservant with me—Amos or Otis or whatever his name is.”
“Are you certain he’s still here? It seems like more and more of my slaves are slipping away every day. The Yankees are telling them they’re free to go.”
“I think it’s cruel to grant freedom to people who don’t know what it means or what to do with it. It’s like giving a lit torch to a baby. If my slave isn’t here, I’ll see if one of your people will accompany me.”
“Be careful, Eugenia. Everyone says it’s dangerous downtown.”
“I know . . . And, Olivia, please don’t tell the others where I went.” She hurried through the back door, eager to get this distasteful errand over with as quickly as possible. She was unaccustomed to using the slaves’ door and nearly tripped over a young black boy sitting on the stoop, whittling a scrap of wood. He jumped to his feet when he saw Eugenia and stood with his arms stiff at his sides like a soldier at attention. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you know where I might find the slave who drove me here from White Oak Plantation?”
“Otis? Yes, ma’am. He’s probably in the stable, taking care of that horse of yours and shining up your carriage.”
Eugenia felt a wave of relief that Otis hadn’t run off like so many of the others had—or that he hadn’t stolen her horse. “Tell him I would like a word with him.” The boy raced across the barren yard to the stable and returned a minute later with Otis. The b
ig Negro halted ten feet from Eugenia and removed his straw hat. He was a tall, well-muscled field hand, and although Eugenia always found it difficult to determine a slave’s age, she guessed him to be around thirty. He was a docile slave and kept his eyes lowered, as well he should.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Eugenia was suddenly aware that she no longer owned him and had no right to order him to do anything. She would have to ask him to go with her—and Eugenia had never asked a Negro for a favor in her life. She steeled herself for his refusal.
“I have an errand to run downtown near St. Paul’s Church, and I don’t think it’s safe for me to go alone. I wondered if you would accompany me?”
“I been down there and seen the mess for myself, ma’am. I’m willing to go with you but . . .”
“But what?” Was he going to ask to be paid?
“Well, I hope you ain’t planning on taking that carriage of yours. People see you got a horse, they be stealing him away quick as lightning. The carriage, too.”
Eugenia hadn’t considered that possibility. The commissary where the food was being dispensed was at least a dozen blocks away, and she was unaccustomed to walking. But how would she get home to her plantation if someone stole her horse? “I suppose we’ll have to walk then,” she finally said. “Find an empty burlap bag to bring with us.”
They walked two blocks to Franklin Street, then headed down the hill toward the capitol building, its white roof and the spire of St. Paul’s visible in the distance. The closer Eugenia got to the center of Richmond, the more the landscape degenerated into a nightmare. She had tried to prepare herself for the devastation, but it shocked her just the same. Mere skeletons of buildings stood in the deserted commercial district with blackened holes like vacant eye sockets for windows. Rubble lay knee-deep in the streets. Lovely homes had been reduced to piles of charred bricks and beams and tottering chimneys. The heart of Richmond—lovely Richmond—was in ruins.
Otis tried to avoid the worst areas, leading Eugenia around mounds of debris and past crumbling walls that threatened to topple in the wind. The breeze blew grit and cinders into Eugenia’s eyes and left the taste of destruction in her mouth. Her shoes weren’t made for such rugged walking. They turned black with soot, and if she hadn’t been dressed in mourning, the soot would have stained the hem of her skirt, as well.
“Wait. I need to rest a moment.” Eugenia paused, feeling light-headed. The burned-out hulk in front of her was the bank where her husband, Philip, had done business. What had become of all the money? The bank records?
At least St. Paul’s Church still stood intact and the capitol building across the square. The sight cheered her until she saw the hated Union flag flying from the capitol’s rooftop. The grassy square in front of the building was a sea of indigo uniforms. Eugenia looked away, pressing her fist to her chest as her heart squeezed painfully. Had the war been for nothing? Had Philip and their son Samuel died in vain? She recalled the words of one of Aunt Hattie’s psalms, mourning Israel’s defeat by her enemies, and never had the words seemed so bitterly appropriate: “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.”
She drew a breath and started forward again, bypassing Capitol Square as she made her way toward Broad Street and the commissary. A line of people stretched away from it for nearly two blocks. Eugenia steeled herself as she took her place at the end of the line, distressed to see that all manner of unsavory people had lined up with her—trashy whites and saloon girls, worthless beggars and Negroes—people that Eugenia had never associated with in her life. She swallowed a knot of anger at being forced to stand in line with them, forced to seek charity. The jostling crowd nudged her forward each time the line moved and she lost her balance for a moment and fell against her manservant. He gripped her arms to steady her, then quickly recoiled.
“Sorry, ma’am! Sorry! You all right?”
“I’m fine.” But tears of rage and humiliation stung her eyes. Eugenia had never dreamed she would stoop this low. She turned her gaze away from the filthy people crowding around her and silently vowed that she would never, ever, stoop this low again. Her dignity would be the very last thing that the Yankees would ever take from her.
“I need rations for my entire household,” she told the clerk when she finally reached the distribution counter, “as well as food for the . . . servants.” She had nearly called them slaves.
“How many people?”
“Eight. My servant can tell you how many Negroes we have left.” She gestured to Otis.
“A handful,” he said with a shrug. “Plus some little ones.” Too late, Eugenia realized that he probably couldn’t count.
The clerk reached behind him and lifted a sack of cornmeal onto the table. He added sacks of flour, dried beans, and rice, a ration of salt pork, and a greasy package of lard, grimacing while he worked. Otis placed everything in the burlap bag and swung it over his shoulder. Eugenia’s task was done. She walked away, refusing to thank the Yankee for giving back what was rightfully hers.
She had to stop and rest several times as they plodded up Church Hill again. The sun had become too warm for the shawl, and Eugenia felt weary with hunger. When they finally reached home, Otis stopped her outside the back door. “Can I ask you something, ma’am?” He stared down at his worn shoes, not at her.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Everyone’s saying we’re free now, and some of the others are saying they ain’t working for Miz Olivia no more.”
“And I suppose you want to leave, too?”
“Well . . . I promised Massa Philip that I’d watch over you and Missy Josephine and Missy Mary while he’s away. He said if I did, he would give my two boys their freedom when he got back—though I guess they’re free now anyway. I kept my promise and helped y’all come to Richmond, but now I’m missing my wife and family something terrible. I’d like to head on back to White Oak and see if they’re okay.”
“How will you get there?”
“Guess I’ll be walking home, ma’am.”
Home. It called to Eugenia, bringing tears to her eyes. She lifted her chin, determined to remain strong. “You don’t need to walk, Otis. If you can wait a few more days, we will all go back. You can drive the carriage for us.”
He broke into a wide grin. “Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy to do that.”
Eugenia was going home. She wanted to tell her sister of her decision right away and found Olivia sitting at her writing desk in the morning room, alone. “You’re back!” Olivia said, springing from her chair. “I’ve been so worried about you. Did everything go well?”
Eugenia nodded. “We have enough food for a couple of weeks. But listen. I’ve decided to go home to White Oak.”
“Oh, Eugenia, you can’t leave! It’s much too dangerous! The Yankee soldiers are everywhere, along with all sorts of vagabonds wandering the countryside. Refugees and Negroes and—”
“White Oak is my home. It’s where the girls and I belong.” She crossed the room to take her sister’s hands in hers, pleading with her. “You should understand how I feel, Olivia. You didn’t want to leave your home and so you stayed here through the very worst of it, when everyone else said it was too dangerous to stay. Now I intend to go home, too, no matter what anyone says. I’ll trust the Almighty to keep us safe.”
“But think this through, Eugenia. How many slaves did you own? Dozens? Suppose they turn against you?”
“Philip always treated them well. I doubt that they’re dangerous. My manservant told me just now that he’s been watching over the girls and me because of a promise he made to Philip.”
Olivia pulled her hands free. “Don’t be naïve. Who knows what your other Negroes have been up to while you’ve been away.”
“Nevertheless, I’m leaving, Olivia. The girls and I are going—”
“Where, Mother? Where are we going?”
Eugenia turned to see her daughter Josephine standing in the doorway. “Home
, dear. We’re going back to White Oak.”
A faint smile lit up Josephine’s face, the first that Eugenia had seen in weeks. “When?” she asked.
“In a couple of days. Next week at the latest. I’ve only just decided this morning.”
“I don’t think you’re considering your daughters’ welfare, Eugenia. Or their safety.”
“I’m not afraid. Are you, Josephine? Because if you are, I won’t make you leave Richmond against your will. Mary either.”
Josephine crossed the room to stand beside her. “I’m not afraid. I want to go home, too.”
Eugenia caressed her daughter’s cheek, then turned to Olivia again. “There, you see?”
“I think you’re being very foolish.”
Eugenia exhaled. She recognized the stubborn look in her sister’s eyes, but she could be just as stubborn. She had won the argument this morning and had brought food supplies home. She would win this battle, as well.
“Josephine, would you please give your aunt and me a moment to talk in private? Thank you.” Eugenia waited until she and Olivia were alone, then said, “I need to think of my daughters’ futures. They deserve more than this cowering fear, this day-to-day existence, wondering what tomorrow will bring or if there will even be a tomorrow. They’ve become so quiet and withdrawn, and it makes me furious to think they’ve lost their girlhood to this war, the best years of their lives.” She reached for her sister’s hand again. “Remember when we were their age, how we would lie in the poster bed, giggling with secrets? Remember the dances we went to and the gowns we wore? And that delicious game of courtship? How we loved to tease and flirt! Those years were filled with laughter and joy, but my girls don’t know any of that happiness.”
“I understand, but those things are going to take time—”
“All the more reason to get started right away. We’ve lost five years of our lives, Olivia—five years that we’ll never get back.”
“At least wait until Daniel returns. He’ll probably be home from the army soon. Why not wait until he’s there to protect you?”