Candle in the Darkness (24 page)

“Yes, Charles,” I said. “They’re treated well.”

On Sunday, Daddy and I joined the St. Johns for worship services at St. Paul’s Church. Across the street in Capitol Square, the Rebel flag had been removed from the capitol building, and the United States flag waved in the breeze above it once again. Most of the excitement over the surrender of Fort Sumter had died away, but a cloud of suspense seemed to hover over the city as everyone braced for the next thunderclap.

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.