Part 36 (1/2)

”No, wait. . . .” Caroline begged. ”Josiah's wife and child live with me. At least let them be together-”

”Why? So you can help him escape like you helped all the others? You must take me for a fool.”

”But Josiah saved Charles' life. Your son would be lying dead in a trench out there if Josiah hadn't brought him here. You have to-”

”Don't you dare tell me what I have to do with my slaves.” Mr. St. John limped to the door, then turned to look at his son again before leaving. His eyes filled with tears. ”I'll let you take care of him for now because I want him to live. But as soon as he's well enough, I'm going to tell him the truth about you.” He left without another word.

As Caroline waited by Charles' bedside that long night, some of the other men in the room began to moan. One of them wept softly. Without even thinking, Caroline went to them, one by one, and tended to their needs-giving one a drink of water, quietly praying with another. She closed the staring eyes of one young man who had died and gently pulled the sheet over his face. When she returned to Charles' cot, she noticed Eli still sitting on the floor beside him.

”You may as well go home, too, Eli. I don't intend to leave Charles' side.”

”Me either,” he said, shaking his head. ”I staying here to pray for him. And for you.”

”Thank you,” she whispered. Caroline sank down on her knees beside Charles' cot and took his limp hand in her own. He was barely alive. The slender thread had never seemed more ragged and frail. Caroline's tears began to fall again as she silently prayed.

”Please, Lord. All I ask of you is that you allow Charles to live.

In return . . . in return . . . I . . .”

She paused, unsure of what she could offer G.o.d in return for so great a gift as Charles' life. The debt she already owed G.o.d for all the injustices done to Grady, to Tessie and Josiah, to the slaves her family had kept at Hilltop, was much too great an account to ever repay. She had no close family members now that her mother was dead, her father and Jonathan missing. Her servants were her family, but their lives weren't hers to barter. All she had was herself.

”In return for Charles' life, I offer you my own. I offer you the life Charles and I would have had together as husband and wife, the son we might have had if we'd married. It doesn't matter what you do with me, Lord. It doesn't matter if Charles ever forgives me . . . or if I go to prison . . . or if I hang for my crimes. Whatever you ask of me, Lord, I'll do. I'll obey you as your servant. I only ask that you let Charles live. Please . . . let him live. . . .”

Caroline stayed by his bedside day and night for the next week, afraid to leave. Her servants brought her meals. The first time Charles regained consciousness and saw her sitting beside him he smiled, then closed his eyes again. Even before he'd been wounded, Charles had lost so much weight after weeks of dysentery and near-starvation that at first he didn't seem to have the strength to get well. Caroline fed him the vegetable broth Esther had cooked; she made sure he drank water; she changed the dressings on his wounds herself to keep them clean; she bathed him with cool water when he grew feverish. All the while she never stopped praying, offering her future as Charles' wife in return for his life.

Charles' family came to the hospital every day, too, spending hours by his bedside. When Charles was conscious, Caroline thought he would surely notice the looks of hatred his father gave her, or the way his mother glared at Caroline every time she touched him, or the fact that Sally never spoke a single word to her. But Charles was much too sick to be aware of what went on around him. Sally had decided to wait until he was out of danger to tell him that Jonathan was missing. No one knew if Jonathan had been taken prisoner or if he had been blown to pieces in an explosion. It seemed to Caroline that Sally was on the verge of a breakdown as she waited for news of her husband.

Gradually, the color seeped back into Charles' face. Strength returned to his body, and he was able to weather an attack of pneumonia. His wounds slowly began to heal with no signs of infection. But throughout the long months that she nursed him, Caroline was aware of what would happen once it became certain that he would live. Charles' father would tell him the truth.

She saw that day inching closer when the doctors allowed Charles to leave the hospital and recuperate at home in Court End. His servants carried him inside and laid him in the bed they'd prepared in the small parlor, near the fireplace. His father still allowed Caroline to come and see him for a few hours each day, but Mr. St. John never left them alone in the room, watching her closely, listening to every word she said.

”I want to marry you,” Charles murmured to her one day, more than two months after he'd been wounded.

”I know. You already asked me.” She slipped her hand into his so he could feel the engagement ring on her finger.

”No . . . I mean now . . . before the war ends. Like Sally and Jonathan.”

Caroline felt Mr. St. John's eyes on her, boring into her. She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. But she'd seen the unspoken threat in his eyes as he silently shook his head. No No.

Caroline gently squeezed Charles' hand, willing herself not to cry. ”You've been away so long you hardly know me anymore. I've changed since the war began. Maybe you should get to know me all over again before you decide if you still want to marry me.”

”I know all that I need to,” Charles said. ”I know that you have a tender, loving heart . . . that injustice makes you angry . . . that you want to make the world right more than you want pretty dresses. Those are all the reasons why I fell in love with you. Have any of those things changed?”

She lost the battle with her tears.

”Listen now. Don't cry. Maybe it's not fair to ask you to marry me when I'm . . . like this. . . .”

”Oh, Charles, it's not because you're wounded. You're the only man I will ever love or ever want to marry.”

Mr. St. John slowly rose from his chair at her words. He planted his hands on his hips. Charles didn't notice, but Caroline did.

”There are some other things about me . . . that you don't know,” she told Charles.

”Then tell me.”

”I can't. There isn't enough time today. I have to go home now so you can rest. We'll talk tomorrow.”

She stood to leave, but Charles clung to her hand for a long moment, refusing to let go. ”I should have listened to you, Caroline,” he said softly. ”I should have married you the last time I came home.”

Yes, she thought. she thought. Yes, if only you had Yes, if only you had.

[image]

A light blanket of snow covered the ground the next morning when Caroline awoke. It dusted the tree branches and squeaked beneath the carriage wheels as she and Gilbert drove down the hill to Charles' house. Richmond looked almost beautiful again, its war-torn shabbiness hidden by the sparkling whiteness. Even the city's usual noises seemed m.u.f.fled and still, the streets nearly deserted as few people ventured outside into the cold.

”Everything looks so pretty, doesn't it?” she asked Gilbert.

”Yes, Missy, it sure do.”

But when the St. Johns' butler opened the door for her, the mansion seemed ominously silent, as if the cold air that had breathed across the city had seeped inside, turning its inhabitants to ice. Caroline walked into the parlor and noticed right away that Charles was alone. His father's chair stood empty.

Charles stared at her from across the room, his face white with pain, his eyes red with grief.

”What's wrong?” she cried out. She started toward him.

”Wait.” He held up his hand.

”Is it your father. . . ?”

He shook his head. ”I had a long talk with my father last night after you left. We talked some more this morning.”

Caroline grew very still. The moment she'd dreaded had finally come.

”He accused you of some terrible things. Things I didn't want to believe. He said he had proof. He showed me the book from your father's library, the map he says you drew. I still don't want to believe him. . . .” Charles could barely speak. ”Listen now. If I ask you . . . will you tell me the truth?”

Caroline knew by the anguish on his face, the coldness in his voice, that if she told Charles the truth she would lose him. But she also knew that she could never hold on to his love or build a life with him based on a foundation of lies. She closed her eyes.

G.o.d, help me. Help me tell him the truth in a way that he'll understand.

Then she looked at him. ”I love you, Charles. I swear that I will never lie to you.”

He drew a ragged breath. ”Father showed me the map Jere- miah used to escape. He showed me how it matched your book. . . .”

”I drew that map for my own servants. My father was planning to sell them, and I couldn't let that happen. I drew it to help them escape . . . but that shouldn't shock you, Charles. From the very first day we met you knew how much I hated slavery. And you also knew how much Eli and the others meant to me.”

”Five families were robbed of their slaves and their valuables while being entertained in your home-including my own family.” The anger in his voice was slowly rising. ”Yes, I knew you believed in abolition, but I didn't think you would encourage slaves to steal or to break the law by running away from their lawful owners.”