Part 16 (1/2)

The mob hissed as if Letcher was a villain in a melodrama. Someone shouted, ”Aim the cannon at the governor's mansion!” and the crowd roared with laughter.

The gathering gradually split into smaller torchlight parades, fanning out from the square in all directions. My feet ached. It seemed we had walked for miles, and I was growing exhausted. Sally looked tired, too.

”It's getting late,” Charles said. ”We'd better take you ladies home.”

As we made our way across the square toward Ninth Street in search of Jonathan's carriage, we saw a group at the capitol building raising the rebel Stars and Bars in place of the Stars and Stripes.

”It looks as though Virginians aren't going to wait for your convention to vote on secession,” Jonathan said with a grin. ”Tonight, the people have spoken.” Even from where we watched across the square, the shouts that greeted the Rebel flag were uproarious.

”Some of them certainly have spoken,” Charles said quietly. ”But we still believe in democracy here in Virginia, not mob rule . . . and I know that a good many people in the western part of the state don't share these sentiments.”

We walked uphill, searching for our carriage. My emotions felt as worn-out as my legs. It was so easy to be caught up in the frenzy of the crowd, to rejoice over the victory at Fort Sumter, to feel pride for the part Richmond had played in making the cannon, to feel stung by the governor's cold, dampening words. Yet part of me didn't want Virginia to leave the Union and take the dangerous path toward war. I found myself hoping that cooler heads would prevail at the convention, that Charles would help Virginia reach a comfortable compromise without resorting to armed conflict.

It seemed as though everyone was choosing sides between North and South and that I must soon do the same. But I felt too confused to choose, my loyalties painfully divided. Virginia was my home, the United States my country.

We finally found Jonathan's carriage. Hours had pa.s.sed since we'd left it, but Josiah still sat tall and proud on the driver's seat, waiting for us. I felt sick inside at the tremendous waste of it all- how a man as intelligent as Josiah could be forced to wait endlessly on someone else's whim, as if he had nothing better to do, as if he was as mindless as the horses that had waited along with him.

”Oh, poor Josiah. He's been waiting all this time.” My voice trembled as the last strand of my frayed emotions threatened to break.

Charles gave me a puzzled look. ”Most carriage drivers spend a great deal of time waiting. I'm sure he's quite used to it.”

”I know, but it seems so unfair. We can run all over the city, following the crowds and the excitement, while he's forced to wait here for hours, just because he's a slave.”

Charles frowned. ”It has nothing to do with the fact that he's a slave. It's part of his job, Caroline. Don't carriage drivers up north have to wait, too?” I could tell that he was annoyed with me, but then his tone and his expression softened as he decided to make light of it. ”Listen now. Sometimes my job requires me to spend long hours waiting, as well. In fact, I've been waiting two months for this blasted convention to reach a decision. After what happened today, maybe they finally will.”

I knew he was right. I recalled seeing long lines of carriages in Philadelphia, waiting for a party or some other social gathering to end. The emotion-filled day must have made me overly sensitive. I started to climb into the carriage behind Sally and Jonathan, but Charles stopped me.

”Caroline. . . ?” His fingers caressed my cheek while his eyes searched mine, as if to see if his words had offended me. ”I agree that some plantation slaves have a difficult life,” he said gently. ”But our servants lead pretty good lives, don't they?”

I glanced up at Josiah, but his stony expression was unreadable. I wanted to explain to Charles that Josiah and Tessie were in love, to ask Charles how he would feel if we were prevented from living together in marriage, as they were. But I didn't say anything. Charles was a good man who genuinely hated injustice. It wasn't his fault that he'd been raised to accept slavery as a natural way of life, just as Daddy and Jonathan and everyone else in Richmond had been. The fact that I sometimes saw things differently could never alter the fact that I loved him.

”Yes, Charles,” I said. ”They're treated well.”

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On Sunday, Daddy and I joined the St. Johns for wors.h.i.+p 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 rea.s.sure 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 Was.h.i.+ngton. 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 rea.s.suring.

”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 gra.s.s 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 hoa.r.s.ely. ”That's one thing that will never change.”

Then, before either of us wished, he turned and left.

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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 impa.s.sioned speeches about the War for Southern Independence.

”I predict that in less than sixty days we will capture Was.h.i.+ngton,” 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?”