Chapter Eighteen

November 1862

“The Union Army is going to try again,” I told Robert that November. “A new general named Burnside is moving his forces south to try to take Richmond. But first he’ll have to get past the Army of Northern Virginia.”

“That includes your fiancé’s regiment?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to discuss Charles, but Robert seemed determined to follow his movements as closely as I did. It was as if he enjoyed tormenting himself by comparing Charles’ triumphs to his own failures.

“The first battleground will probably be Fredericksburg,” I said.

“Where’s that?”

“About halfway between Washington and Richmond.”

Robert paced the tiny storeroom, as if he was the commanding general, plotting strategy. If I hadn’t known him so well, known that discussing battles and military maneuvers had been his passion since youth, I never would have had the patience to indulge his questions.

“Have you ever been to Fredericksburg?” he asked.

“No. It’s really very small—no more than five thousand people. But I know it’s on the Rappahannock River.”

“Who has to cross the river, the Yankees or the Rebels?”

“The Yankees do. I heard Mr. St. John and the other men discussing it after church last Sunday. The city is on our side of the river. They’re planning to destroy all the bridges before the Yankees get there.”

“Of course. We will be expecting as much. We’ll have to construct pontoon bridges. And we’ll have to control the high ground to do it. Are there any hills nearby?”

“Robert, I’m sorry, but I really don’t know. I’ve never been there.” I didn’t dare tell him that refugees were already fleeing Fredericksburg and coming to Richmond for safety. He probably would have begged me to interview them. “I did hear the men talking about Marye’s Heights, but don’t ask me where that is.”

“Burnside will have to move quickly,” Robert said. “That was McClellan’s problem—he moved too slowly, and . . .” He stopped suddenly, staring at me with an expression of amazement on his face. “Caroline! Of course!”

“What?” I was certain he was going to spout off more battle strategy, so I wasn’t prepared for his next words.

“You could find out what else the Rebels are planning. You could deliberately place yourself in a position to overhear their strategy, like you did at church. Didn’t you tell me your fianceé’s family is high society? You could wine and dine the generals and other high officials. No one would ever suspect that a woman was paying attention. Do you know many of the Confederate bigwigs?”

I hesitated. “President Davis goes to St. Paul’s church— Charles’ church. So does General Lee when he’s in town. I have met a few majors and colonels and such, but—”

“But what?”

I felt the same revulsion I’d felt before delivering Robert’s Bible—as though I was betraying Charles. St. Paul’s was his church, and I had only begun attending there because of his family. They were also the ones who had introduced me to all the ranking officers I knew. To do what Robert was asking would mean betraying the St. Johns’ trust.

The guard knocked on the door just then, telling me my time was up. I was relieved. “I don’t know if I can do what you’re ask- ing or not,” I told Robert. “You’ll have to give me time to think about it.”

I gathered up my things and hurried away. I really didn’t want to think about what Robert had asked me to do. I was sick to death of this war and all the difficult decisions I’d had to make, all the impossible things I’d been forced to do. I was tired of feeling torn between conflicting loyalties, choosing between my love for Charles and my love for Tessie and the others. When the nation split apart, my life had been ripped right down the middle along with it.

I emerged from the prison into the cold November afternoon, wanting nothing more than to run home and hide. But when I looked across the street to where Eli had parked the buggy, I was shocked to see Mr. St. John standing there alongside him, waiting for me.

My first response was a stab of shame, as if Charles’ father had somehow overheard my conversation with Robert and read my thoughts and had come to accuse me. But I realized that was impossible—and then a towering fear rose up inside me, overshadowing everything else. He must have come with news of Charles.

The pain that suddenly filled my chest was so intense I pray I never feel it again. Without thinking, without looking, I rushed across the street to him. I might have been run over by a carriage, for I never even looked.

“Oh, God . . . has something happened to Charles?”

For a moment, Mr. St. John seemed taken aback. “No . . . no, I’m not here about Charles.” He saw how badly he’d frightened me and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, Caroline. I haven’t heard from Charles.”

I leaned against the buggy and closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the same sickening nausea I’d felt after I’d seen Will’s name and Jonathan’s on the casualty lists. I honestly believed I might faint.

Eli gently took my arm and helped me up onto the carriage seat. “Easy, Missy. Better sit down a minute.”

“I’m very sorry,” Mr. St. John repeated. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “As long as Charles is okay, I’ll be fine.”

“Well . . .” He cleared his throat. “What I’ve come to discuss with you is very serious, but it has nothing directly to do with Charles’ safety. Would you prefer to drive home and talk about this?”

“I don’t know . . . tell me what it’s about.”

“It has to do with Libby Prison.” He tilted his head toward the building across the street.

“The prison? Tell me now.”

He sighed, then studied the ground for a moment as if searching for words. “It has recently come to my attention that you have been a regular visitor there, and frankly . . . well, I was shocked to hear it. I didn’t believe Major Turner when he first told me you went there, but he suggested I drive down and see for myself. And so I have.”

I was dumbfounded. “I’ve never tried to keep my visits a secret from you . . . or anyone else.”

“I understand you’re visiting a specific prisoner?”

“Yes, my cousin Robert Hoffman. Why?”

“Just how is this man related to you . . . if I might ask?”

I couldn’t believe he was interrogating me this way. My heart continued to pound as my fear slowly transformed into anger. I struggled not to show it. “Robert is related by marriage. My mother’s sister—who grew up here in Richmond—married Philip Hoffman, Robert’s uncle. They were kind enough to take me into their home in Philadelphia after my mother died. That’s where I met Robert. He is nothing more to me than a cousin, no different than my cousin Jonathan.”

Mr. St. John’s eyes met mine. “I’d like to ask you not to visit him anymore.”

“Why? All I do is bring him a little food and some reading material. Conditions in that place are deplorable.”

“From now on your boy can deliver the parcels. Major Turner will see that your cousin gets them.”

“That’s not the point. Doesn’t the Bible say we’re supposed to visit the sick and those who are in prison?”

“Does Charles know you’re going there to see that man?”

I shook my head. I don’t know why I’d never told Charles, but I hadn’t. At first, it didn’t seem important. After I’d carried the Bible to the Union lines, I was afraid to tell him, afraid my guilt would bleed between the lines, staining my letters with it. I could no longer meet Mr. St. John’s gaze.

“Listen, Caroline, I’m sure your intentions are innocent enough. But in many people’s eyes, your actions are scandalous. The fact that you’re helping an enemy soldier calls your loyalty into question. Visiting a man in close quarters without a proper chaperone puts your reputation at risk. I’m going to ask you again for Charles’ sake—and for the sake of your own reputation— please stop coming here to the prison.”

For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. He was right, of course. I would have to send Robert a note in my next parcel, explaining why I could no longer come. I sat with my head bowed, staring at my hands for such a long time, Mr. St. John interpreted my silence as acquiescence and got ready to leave.

“Thank you for understanding. Good day, Caroline.”

I finally looked up, and this time my eyes met Eli’s. There was no anger in them, no reproach, yet I knew before I even asked his counsel what his answer would be.

“Mr. St. John . . . wait!”

He turned and slowly limped back as I climbed down from my carriage.

“I’m sorry, but I have to refuse your request. I will write to Charles myself and tell him all my reasons for visiting Robert. And Eli will stay right beside me from now on as a chaperone. But I believe that obeying Christ is more important than worrying about what other people think. Robert is not an enemy soldier but a prisoner, a friend suffering inhuman conditions. Jesus said that whatever we do for the least of our brethren, we do for Him.”

Mr. St. John turned so abruptly and walked away that I wasn’t able to see his face. But I saw Eli’s. And his smile could have lit up the darkest prison cell.

I wrote to Charles that evening, telling him the same things I’d told his father. I asked for neither his permission nor his blessing but concluded by saying that if he were ever captured, I would pray that the women up north would show their enemies the same Christian kindness I was showing to Robert. Two days later, I gave the letter to Jonathan to deliver. He was returning to the warfront, the wound to his arm finally healed. Sally and I went to the train station to see him off.

The moment Jonathan’s train disappeared from sight, Sally gave up all pretense of bravery and fell into my arms, weeping. I rode home with her, trying my best to comfort her. The servants brought tea and pulled one of the parlor sofas close to the fire so we could warm ourselves after our farewell on the chilly train platform. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t carry on like this the last time Jonathan left.”

“Sally . . . have you fallen in love with him?” I asked gently.

She began weeping all over again. “I’ve spent so much time with him these past few weeks, talking to him, taking care of him . . . and he is the sweetest, most wonderful man I’ve ever known. If anything happens to him . . . if I never see him again . . . I don’t know what I would do or how I would live.”

I gathered her in my arms, soothing her the way Tessie always soothed me. “I think you’ve answered my question. You’re in love with him. And if it’s any consolation, Jonathan has been in love with you for three years.” I smiled, but she was too distraught to return it.

“What am I going to do, Caroline? How can you stand not seeing the man you love, having him so far away? And in so much danger?”

“I can’t stand it. I hate it. I know you’ve always supported the war, but I wish it would end right this minute, before one more person has to die.”

“I think I understand why you’ve never cheered like everyone else,” Sally said as she blew her nose. “I can’t believe I was naïve enough to think the war was glorious.”

“War may not be glorious, but it does take courage to stand up for your convictions like Jonathan and Charles are doing. That’s what my father told me before he left. He said every man—and every woman—needs to do what they feel is the right thing to do in this war.”

“Is that why you visit your Yankee friend in Libby Prison?” Sally asked. She spoke just above a whisper.

I shivered, but not from the November chill. “Yes . . . how did you hear about Robert?”

“My father. He’s furious with you.”

“Because I refused to stop going there?”

“Yes, and because everyone in Richmond is talking about you. Helen Taylor and her mother are spreading gossip about you all over town. Daddy hates a scandal.”

“Did your father also tell you why I refused? That it’s because the Bible says when we visit those in prison it’s as if we’re visiting Jesus himself?”

Sally reached for the teapot and poured each of us a cup of tea. She wouldn’t look at me. “You have to understand my father. He’s used to getting his own way. He was very angry with you for not leaving Richmond with us last May. This incident at the prison only made matters worse. He feels responsible for you. You should try to smooth things over with him, Caroline.”

“How? He won’t be happy unless I stop going to the prison altogether, right?”

“I suppose not. But he’s threatening to write to Charles about you.”

I shivered again. “Let me ask you a question. If your father was angry with Jonathan . . . if he forbade you to see him . . . would you marry him anyway?”

Sally set her cup on the tea cart before answering. “I could never have imagined going against Daddy’s wishes before the war started. But I also couldn’t have imagined working with all those wounded men at the hospital. Now, after all we’ve been through . . . yes. I would marry Jonathan whether Daddy approved or not.”

I closed my eyes in relief. “I hope your brother feels the same way you do.”

The battle we had all been expecting took place at Fredericksburg on December 13. Once again, the victorious Confederates halted another Union drive to take Richmond. And once again, Sally and I joined with the other women of Richmond in the heartbreaking ritual of reading the casualty lists. Neither Jonathan nor Charles was listed among the more than five thousand names.

My relief was profound. Then I saw the disappointment on the face of every slave I passed on the streets and realized that for them, a Confederate victory was a defeat, their freedom that much further in the future.

I dreaded facing Robert for the same reason. He had been certain that General Burnside would succeed where the others had failed and that any moment now, Union troops would pour into the city, liberating him and his fellow prisoners. “Is it true about Fredericksburg?” he asked the moment he saw me, and I knew he must have heard about it from the gloating guards.

“Yes, it’s true. Fredericksburg was another Union defeat. I brought you the newspaper if you want to torture yourself with the details.”

He pushed it away. “I have a plan, Caroline.”

“It’s too late. The battle is over and done with. The snow is falling, it’s freezing outside, and there probably won’t be any more fighting until spring.”

“Not a battle plan,” he said, shaking his head. “An escape plan.” His eyes were unnaturally bright. I’d never seen such frenzied agitation in them before, and I was frightened for him. I glanced at Eli, who now accompanied me on each visit, then sank down onto the bench.

“I’m listening.”

“Good. Because I’m going to need your help.” He pulled his bench closer, speaking barely above a whisper. “I’m going to dig a tunnel. I know that sounds impossible, but I think I’ve figured out a way to get into an unused part of the basement by burrowing down through the chimney. What I need from you is the layout of the area surrounding this place so I’ll know in which direction to dig and how far. You need to find a place where I can come out of the tunnel without being seen by the sentries.”

“Robert . . . if you’re caught—”

“I know! I know!” he shouted. “You don’t need to say it!” Then he took control of himself again and lowered his voice. “I know the risks. But I need to make up for all my stupid mistakes at Ball’s Bluff. I need to get back into the war and fight. I let my men down when I surrendered—I let myself down. Maybe I can make up for it by getting some of us out of this place.”

“You mean . . . you’re not the only one who’s going to do this? H-how many others?”

“Anyone who wants to take the risk with me.”

I wished I had done what Mr. St. John had asked and never returned to see Robert. I couldn’t possibly get involved in such a dangerous plot. I could hang for helping enemy prisoners escape. But I could also see how close to the edge of sanity Robert was, and I didn’t know how to dissuade him without destroying all of his hope.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when I hesitated too long.

“It’s one thing for you and the other men to risk your own lives. It’s another thing to ask me to risk mine. I delivered the Bible because I thought it would bring the war to an end and buy the slaves their freedom. But what you’re asking now . . . for me to help you and who knows how many others to escape . . . that’s an entirely different matter.”

“No, it’s exactly the same. You didn’t let me finish telling you my plan, Caroline. Once I’m out of here, I’m going to have our undercover people here in Richmond contact you. All the information you gather from the Confederate officials in your social circle can be passed along to them. They’ll relay it to our military planners. If you help us win the war, slavery will be abolished in all the Rebel states.”

“I never said I was willing to spy—”

“You’ve already spied,” he said angrily. “Whatever your reasons were for doing it the first time, they’re exactly the same reasons why you should continue to help us. In fact, this time you’ll be safer. You won’t even have to leave Richmond.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“Fine. You think about it.” His tone was bitter, his face twisted with contempt. “In the meantime, I’m going to start digging. Are you going to help me plan the tunnel’s exit site, or are you too afraid to do even that?”

I hated the man Robert had become in this terrible place. After the defeat at Fredericksburg, it would be months before the Yankees could make another attempt to conquer Richmond and set him free. He would never last that long.

“What do you need to know?” I asked.

“We’re only allowed to look out of the south windows. I know there’s a street down below, and the canal about fifty feet away. We can’t tunnel in that direction because it would probably fill with water. I need to know what’s on the other three sides of this place.”

I thought for a moment. “Twentieth Street runs along the western wall of the building, and Cary Street along the northern. Across the street from both of them are huge vacant lots. Nothing to hide behind in either one. You’d have to dig a very long way to be out of the guards’ sight when you emerged.” I paused, trying to picture the fourth side. “There’s another, smaller vacant lot along the eastern wall, about fifty feet wide. There are some buildings on the other side of it—I’ve never looked too carefully at them, but I will if you want me to. I can let you know what I find out the next time I come.” I stood, knowing that our allotted time was nearing an end.

“Measure the lot on the east side for me,” Robert said.

“How on earth—”

“Pace it—like this.” He stood and walked the length of the storeroom, counting each step. “I’ll measure your stride with my belt and use it to measure the tunnel.”

When Eli and I were back out on Cary Street, I asked him if he’d heard Robert’s plan. “I heard,” he said quietly. “I could help him by myself, Missy Caroline, if you wanted to stay out of this.”

I drew a deep breath. “No. Let’s do it together. Two minds are better than one.”

“All right,” Eli said with a sigh. “Let’s go have a look, then.”

We crossed Cary Street to where the buggy was parked, and stood beside it, slowly scanning the area around the prison in all directions. What I’d remembered of the northern and western sides had been correct; the vacant lots were too wide and too desolate to serve Robert’s purposes. But opposite the narrow vacant lot on the eastern side was a small, two-story brick building with a sign that said “Kerr’s Warehouse.” It faced Cary Street, not the prison, and behind it was a fenced yard with a small tool shed. The fence ran the length of the lot and was attached to another brick building of about the same size, facing Canal Street.

I knew Eli was thinking the same thing as me when he said, “Must be some way we can find out what’s in the yard behind that fence.”

“Yes. Let’s drive around the block and see what that other building on Canal Street is.”

The sentries who patrolled the perimeter of the prison watched as we circled the building, going south on Twentieth Street to the canal instead of turning north toward home as we usually did. The December afternoon was much too damp and windy for a pleasure ride, especially along the waterfront. We rounded the corner and drove past the building that bordered the south side of the fenced yard. It housed the offices of the James River Towing Company.

“Looks to me like the best place for his tunnel to end is behind that fence,” Eli said as we headed home. “Your friend only have to dig about fifty feet or so.”

“I agree. Now all we need to do is find out what’s on the other side of the fence.”

“You always was a smart gal,” Eli said. “Sure you’ll think of something.”

The queasy feeling returned at the thought of aiding in a prison escape. “I think I know how Rahab felt when she helped Joshua’s spies escape from Jericho,” I said. “I know that the Bible portrays her as a heroine, but it never occurred to me before that she had to betray her own city, her own people, in order to help her enemies escape.”

“You know why she did it? Bible say it’s because she believe in the power of God. She know He gonna have His way, and she determine to be His servant, no matter the cost.”

“What if that cost includes Charles?” I asked quietly.

Eli sighed. “I know this ain’t easy to hear, but God never take something away without giving us something even better in return—if not in this life, then in the next.”

I shook my head. “If I lose Charles, I don’t want anything else. And I can’t imagine what God could possibly give Rahab that could replace her home or her family and friends.”

Eli snapped the reins, and the mare began to a trot as she pulled the buggy up Church Hill. “Bible say Rahab’s family got saved along with her. But if you want to see what else God done for Rahab, you read the first chapter of Matthew when you get home.”

I turned to the passage when I was alone in my bedroom. At first I thought I must be reading the wrong passage—this was a list of Jesus’ family tree. Then my tears suddenly blurred the page. Named among our Lord’s ancestors was the traitor and spy, Rahab.

I waited anxiously for Charles to answer my letter about visiting Robert in Libby Prison. When one finally arrived from him, I was afraid to read it. I knew it was the reply to my letter because he’d used the same envelope I had. A shortage of paper all over the South made it necessary to reuse every envelope by carefully opening the seams, folding it inside out, then re-gluing it. I turned the envelope over and over in my hands for the longest time before finally gathering the courage to open it and read it.

My dearest Caroline,

How I long to see you. I’m looking at your picture as I write this and remembering all our wonderful times together. I even have fond memories of the arguments we used to have when we first met. You have a way of keeping me on my toes, making sure I don’t take myself too seriously, and I love you for that. You look so beautiful in your picture—the most beautiful woman in the entire regiment—but I’d much rather be holding you in my arms right now than gazing at your image. When I think of how long it has been since I held you and kissed you, I sometimes feel close to despair. But I always draw hope by dreaming of our future together.

We are wintering here outside Fredericksburg, and the weather has been freezing cold. The Yankees shelled the city before they attacked it, then looted what was left of it. Don’t worry, my regiment remained safely above it on Marye’s Heights. It seems that war consists of only two extremes—endless hours of tedious waiting, followed by unending moments of pure terror. We don’t even have time to mourn the friends who are struck down alongside us. But I think we are winning this war. Our city—and you—are still safe, and I thank God for that.

I must admit that I’m not happy about your visits to the prison, but not for the same reasons as my father. I fell in love with you because you are a woman of deep convictions, with the moral courage to stand up for those convictions (even when it means clubbing men on the streets of Richmond). Although I would hate to see your reputation unjustly tarnished, I love you more than ever for not allowing the fear of what other people might think to deter you from doing what God wants you to do.

No, it isn’t the gossip that worries me, nor am I jealous of your cousin Robert. You will always have my complete trust. But I am very concerned for your safety. I’ve seen how men can sometimes turn into animals under such dire circumstances as imprisonment, and my imagination envisions a prison uprising with you being held as hostage. I know Eli would protect you at all costs, and I’m grateful that he accompanies you on your visits. But he’s only one man against how many thousands of Yankees? If I can’t persuade you not to go to the prison for your own safety’s sake, then I beg you to please, please be careful.

It’s hard to believe that I have been in the army for more than a year and a half now, and I haven’t been home to see you except for that one quick visit at Rocketts Wharf. I never imagined that the war would last this long. I’ve been hoping to receive a furlough for Christmas to celebrate the second anniversary of our engagement, but it doesn’t look as though anyone will get a furlough. The Yankees are still camped too close, across the Rappahannock River at Falmouth, and we can’t risk sending anyone home. I’ll think of you on that blessed day—as I do every day—and pray that this will be our last Christmas apart.

I must close before I become unbearably sad—and I make you sad along with me. This is the season of great hope, so let’s draw hope for our future from the hope we have in Christ. God bless you, Caroline. I love you more than words can say.

Charles