Part 18 (2/2)
”Please, no more,” Charles finally begged. ”My uniform b.u.t.tons are about to pop off, and I haven't a clue how to sew them back on.”
”I'm sorry, Ma.s.sa Charles, but I do love to see you eat. You a man with an appet.i.te, just like my Josiah. Little Missy here don't eat enough to keep a bird alive. Ain't no fun feeding her at all.”
After dinner, Charles and I walked outside through the drawing room doors and into the balmy evening. Tomorrow was the last day of June. If it weren't for the war, we would have been married in three more weeks. I was sickened at the thought that this was our last evening together, that neither of us knew when- or if-we would ever see each other again. We walked wordlessly through Eli's garden, never noticing the carefully tended boxwood or lacy crepe myrtle, oblivious to the scent and beauty of the flowers we pa.s.sed. Charles didn't stop until we reached the shelter of the magnolia tree near the rear of our yard, the tree I'd climbed so often with my friend Grady. We ducked beneath its low-hanging branches, then stood once again beside the trunk. There, hidden behind a curtain of thick, glossy leaves, Charles bent to kiss me.
”You have no idea how much I want to make you my wife,” he murmured as we clung to each other afterward. ”It should be our life together that's just beginning, not a war.”
”Then let's get married, Charles-now, tonight. I don't care about a big wedding, I want to be your wife, if only for one night.”
He pulled back to look into my eyes. ”I can't do that to you. I won't. If anything should happen to me-”
”Don't say it!”
”Listen now. If anything should happen, I don't want to leave you a widow.”
”I want to be your wife.”
”I know. But let's get this war behind us first. Let's begin our marriage in happier, more hopeful times.”
Our final moment together had come. I tried to study every detail of his face in the moonlight, memorizing it. We had exchanged photographs, but a picture wouldn't help me recall the exact shade of his eyes or the texture of his hair. It couldn't offer me the same a.s.surance of love that I felt every time he looked at me.
He gave me one last kiss, one final embrace. ”I love you,” he whispered.
”Please don't go,” I begged as I held him for the last time.
”Caroline . . . please don't ask me to stay.”
He tore himself from my arms, tearing my heart from its place, as well. I watched him hurry away.
He looked back once when he reached the garden gate-the same gate they'd dragged Grady through-but the night was too dark for me to see Charles' face.
Jonathan returned for Josiah later that night. When all three men were gone, Tessie and I wept in each other's arms. We didn't speak. There were no words to say. We both knew the thoughts and emotions that filled the other's mind and heart. The color of our skin didn't matter, nor did the fact that she was my slave and I was her mistress. We each loved a man, and now we each felt the same pain, knew the same fear at his leaving.
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The day after Charles left, I began practicing the piano again, using music as an outlet for my h.o.a.rded emotions. Concentrating on the notes took my mind off the war, if only for a few hours each day. I was in the parlor one afternoon, so intent on learning Mozart's ”Turkish March” that I didn't hear my father return home early from work. I don't know how long he stood listening in the doorway, but when I finished the piece, he applauded softly.
”That was excellent, Caroline.”
”Is there a reason why you're home early?” My heart had changed tempo the moment I saw him there. It accelerated when Daddy moved a small parlor chair next to the piano and sat down beside me.
”May I talk with you, Sugar?”
”What's wrong?”
”Nothing's wrong. But I've reached an important decision today, and I'd like to share it with you.”
”You aren't going away to war, too, are you?”
He smiled, and for a moment I saw my childhood daddy again, the man with the familiar, c.o.c.keyed smile and uplifted brow. ”No . . . no, I'm not going to fight. This war came ten years too late for me. But there is a way I'd like to help the Confederate effort.” I stared down at my hands as I waited, my heart beating a quickstep.
”You've read in the papers about 'Operation Anaconda,' haven't you, Sugar? How the U.S. Navy intends to close all our Southern ports?”
I could only nod and wait, fearing what he was about to say.
”Lincoln thinks he can strangle us to death by cutting off all our supplies. Frankly, I think it will be quite impossible for seventy-odd Union s.h.i.+ps to patrol more than three thousand miles of Southern coastline. Still, it's clear that Richmond has already begun to feel the effects of blockade.”
Anyone who had shopped downtown lately had noticed the blockade's effects, not only in the higher prices but also in the growing scarcity of many consumer items. Richmond relied on imported goods. Everything came from outside the South, from tin pots to teacups, from our hairpins to our shoes. In the months ahead we would quickly learn to either make do, do without, or make it ourselves.
”Is the blockade interfering with your business, Daddy?”
”It is, but that's not the point. I met with President Davis today. He said the government is having trouble importing the military equipment we so desperately need. England is willing to sell us their Enfield rifles, but we need s.h.i.+ps to get them here.”
”Are you going to loan President Davis your s.h.i.+ps?”
”Sugar . . . I'm going to sail to England with them myself.”
”He's asking you to be a blockade-runner? Daddy, no! It's too dangerous!”
”The president didn't ask me to go-I volunteered.” I tried to protest, but Daddy wasn't listening. ”There's nothing useful for an old man like me to do around here. Besides, importing things is my job, Caroline. I'm good at it. I've done it for nearly twenty years.”
”But not with the U.S. Navy trying to shoot you out of the water!”
He reached to take my hand in his. ”It's a very big ocean.We'll be transporting the rifles from England to Bermuda, first. The odds are very good that we'll never even encounter the Navy. The freight steamers that run from Bermuda to our Southern ports are small enough and swift enough to outmaneuver the Union s.h.i.+ps.”
I felt too numb to absorb what Daddy was telling me. I only knew that I was about to suffer yet another loss. ”How long will you be gone?” I finally asked.
”I'm not sure. I'll probably return home from time to time, but I plan to make runs for the Confederacy for as long as I'm needed. It's not just for arms. We also need tools, medicine, things like that. And if I can carry a load or two of cotton to England on my way over for the rifles . . . well, so much the better.”
I felt too overwhelmed to speak. Daddy was leaving. Like Charles and Jonathan, he was willing to risk death for the Confederacy. He rose from his chair and stood over me, resting his hands on my shoulders.
”You mustn't worry, Sugar. I have a good man to manage my affairs here in Richmond. I've instructed him to give you whatever funds you need to live on.”
”I'm not worried about money.”
”Good. You shouldn't be. I know I can rely on you to run the household and oversee the servants for me while I'm away.”
I looked up at him. ”First Charles left me . . . and now you? I'll be all alone.”
”You won't be alone,” he said gently. ”You'll have Tessie and Eli.” I heard something sad and wistful in his tone, almost as if he was envious of the relations.h.i.+p I had with them. And he was right, of course. They wouldn't think of leaving me alone and defenseless.
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When the terrible day finally arrived and I had to say goodbye to Daddy, he called all of the servants into his library with us to give them their final instructions.
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