Part 34 (2/2)
We were all gathered in the kitchen for our supper one hot night in July. In order to conserve fuel, it was the only meal Esther cooked each day. Richmond was very close to starvation because of the siege. The food that did make it through on the remaining rail line had to be shared with the troops guarding the city. At our house we had fresh produce, thanks to Eli and Gilbert, but no meat except for the fish I brought home from my visits to Mr. Ferguson. I still brought him a few tidbits of news each week, mostly things I'd learned from the steady stream of wounded men arriving at the hospital. Sometimes I managed to glean a little more information at the countless funerals I attended.
”I'm gonna ask you something, Missy,” Esther continued, fanning herself in the summer heat. ”I sure hope you ain't gonna get upset with me.”
”Of course not, Esther.” I bent to pick up baby Isaac, who was clamoring to crawl up onto my lap. ”You may ask me anything.”
”Well . . . they selling meat in the market, but I ain't sure you want me to buy it. I think I can probably cook it up real nice and feed all of us a good meal for once . . . but I ain't sure if I should tell you what it is first or just serve it up. I decide I better ask you.”
”What is it?” I asked quietly.
”It's rat meat.” Esther must have seen by my expression that the idea revolted me. ”They selling it in the butcher shop,” she quickly added, ”all cleaned and dressed like any other kind of meat. I talk to some folks that try it and they say it ain't no different than squirrel. Said you'd never tell the difference if you didn't know.”
I looked around the table at the others. ”What about all of you?” I asked. ”Could the rest of you eat it?” Only Gilbert and Eli were willing to try. ”Buy it and cook it for them-and for whoever else is willing,” I told her. ”Maybe someday I'll be hungry enough to eat rat meat, but I'm not that desperate yet.”
In August we celebrated Isaac's first birthday. I had written the date in the family Bible so we would all remember. ”He's a free man, not a slave,” I told the others, ”so it's important that he always knows when his birthday is and how old he is.”
Esther baked a tiny pancake for him and drizzled it with sorghum. Tessie gave him a tallow candle to blow out, the only kind we had. I wished that I could buy dozens of presents to repay him for the joy he had brought all of us during the past year, but Isaac was content with the tiny wooden animals Gilbert had carved for him.
The city of Atlanta fell to the Yankees' General Sherman in September. They burned it to the ground. Since everyone in Richmond was already half-starved and worried about our own fate, the news was a severe blow, reminding us of what might soon happen to us. A large part of the South already lay in ruins, and Sherman had vowed to continue to battle across the state of Georgia, all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.
On the day we learned that Atlanta had fallen, my uncle William and cousin Thomas drove their wagon up to our backyard gate.
”Won't you both come in?” I invited. ”I can find you something to eat and fix you some mint tea.”
”Thank you, but I can't stay,” Uncle William said. ”I'll let your stable boy water my horses, but then I have to head home. I want to get back before dark.”
”Are you staying, Thomas?” I asked. He had jumped down from the wagon, carrying a small satchel.
”I'm joining the army, Caroline,” he said proudly.
”You can't be! You're only . . . how old? Sixteen?” But then I recalled how the Confederate Government, desperate for soldiers, had extended the draft to include boys aged fourteen to eighteen for the junior reserve and men aged forty-five to sixty for the senior reserve. They would be trained and kept in reserve for rearguard duty.
”I'm finally old enough to fight, just like Jonathan,” he said.
I still thought of Thomas as the six-year-old child he'd been the first time I'd visited Hilltop, even though he was several inches taller than me. But at sixteen, he was still a long way from manhood. How could any government ask its children to fight? How could they ask this family, who had already given so much to this war, for yet another one of its sons? It didn't seem fair.
”Isn't it true that if a plantation has more than twenty slaves, the owner can get an exemption from the draft?” I asked Uncle William. ”Couldn't you sign over the deed to Thomas so he wouldn't have to go?”
My uncle slowly shook his head. ”Caroline, there aren't that many slaves left at Hilltop.”
”Besides, I want to fight,” Thomas added.
”You don't mean that,” I said. ”Please, come to the hospital with me and talk to some of the wounded men. Let them tell you what-”
”That's enough,” my uncle said quietly. ”The boy has no choice. If I were one year younger, they would have drafted me, too.”
”I'm sorry,” I mumbled.
”May he spend the night with you, Caroline? He has to report to the armory in the morning. If you could have your driver bring him there tomorrow, I'd be obliged.”
Eli had tended to the horses while we'd talked. Too soon, Uncle William was ready to make the return trip to Hilltop. I suppose it was a blessing that Thomas had no idea what he was getting into. He embraced his father with dry eyes, thinking only of the excitement that lay ahead. But my uncle's back was bowed like a very old man's as he drove away.
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”May I help you?” The burly man who addressed me from behind the butcher's block in Mr. Ferguson's fish stall was a stranger. He looked straight at me, eye-to-eye, something Mr. Ferguson had never done. I couldn't reply. ”Is something wrong?” he asked.
”You're not the man who usually waits on me.”
”Yeah, well, he was called away unexpectedly. He has entrusted all of his business matters to me while he's away.” His gaze remained locked with mine, as if he was trying to read my thoughts. ”The shad is especially good today,” he said.
I didn't know what to do. Should I trust him? Was he another Union agent working with Ferguson, or was this a trap? The man had phrased his explanation very oddly-”He has entrusted all of his business matters to me.” It didn't sound like something an ordinary fish vendor would say. I carried information about possible weak spots in the Confederate defenses, but I couldn't take the risk of giving it to a stranger. What should I say to him that wouldn't arouse suspicion? It didn't sound like something an ordinary fish vendor would say. I carried information about possible weak spots in the Confederate defenses, but I couldn't take the risk of giving it to a stranger. What should I say to him that wouldn't arouse suspicion?
I decided to simply purchase the fish and leave. Then I remembered that I'd already wrapped up the note I was delivering inside the only currency I had. I forced myself to stay calm. If I let my panic show he would surely notice.
”How much is the shad today?” I asked.
”For a lovely lady like yourself? It's a bargain at four dollars.”
”Oh. That's much more than I have,” I said. ”Good day.” I walked back to the carriage on shaking legs and told Eli what had happened.
”Just have to wait and see,” he said. ”That's all we can do.”
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Three days later, all of Richmond had heard the news-the authorities had arrested another Yankee spy, a man by the name of Floyd Ferguson who sold fish from a stall in the farmers' market.
”That's him, ain't it?” Tessie asked, reading the paper.
”Yes,” I replied. ”Thank G.o.d I didn't trust the man taking his place. I think it must have been a trap.”
According to the papers, Ferguson would set out on the James River in his fis.h.i.+ng boat once a week and deliver his espionage reports to a Yankee boat sent from Fortress Monroe. Authorities suspected that several of his customers pa.s.sed secret information to him as they purchased fish, since they'd discovered incriminating notes wrapped inside the money in Ferguson's ap.r.o.n pocket. So far, the police had not arrested anyone else.
My days of spying were over. In a way I felt enormous relief, especially since the information I'd been gathering concerned the army Charles fought with, the trenches he guarded. Yet I also felt that I had let G.o.d down.
I shared my frustration with Eli as he harvested the last of the summer vegetables from our garden. ”All my hard work, all my lies and deceptions have been for nothing,” I said. ”They still haven't bought a Yankee victory or helped free the slaves. Why did G.o.d ask me to risk so much if it was all for nothing?”
”You don't know that it was all for nothing,” Eli said, brus.h.i.+ng dirt from the carrots he'd just pulled. ”You only seeing the outside of things. n.o.body except G.o.d can see what He's doing underneath. The seeds I planted last spring been growing into carrots whether we seen it or not. G.o.d gonna have His way, Missy, even when it look like His plans isn't amounting to nothing.”
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