Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [158]
“It’s a relief to hear you say that, Caroline. I was afraid you would fuss.”
“No, this war has forced me to change. And I know they have to be sold. If you tell me who to contact, I’ll take care of selling them for you. I could use a week or two to decide which ones to part with—and I know you’ll want to set sail before the winter storm season begins.”
“Are you certain you can do this?” he asked.
“I’m certain.”
He reached for my hand. “You’ve grown into a strong young woman, Caroline. I’m proud of you.”
My father gave me the names and addresses of two slave traders a few days before Gilbert and I drove him to the train station. “What you gonna tell him when he come home and see you ain’t sold nobody?” Gilbert asked as we waved good-bye to him.
“Hopefully the war will be over by then,” I said, “and you’ll all be free.”
When I returned home, my servants came to me, one by one, and thanked me for what I had done for them. I didn’t know how we would all get through the coming winter, but I knew that we would take care of each other and that God would provide.
My new concern was how to continue gathering military secrets without my father. I turned to Sally for help without her ever knowing it. “I’m bored and lonely now that Daddy’s gone,” I told her. “Will you help me plan some parties or something for entertainment?”
Sally, with her vivacious personality, eagerly embraced the idea. “I would love to. We could have musical evenings, put on plays . . . I know all sorts of parlor games. And let’s have a dance, Caroline. Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve danced. Who shall we invite?”
“I was thinking that some of our army officers and government officials and their wives could use some cheering up,” I said. “Your family knows all those people don’t they?”
“Oh, yes. Mother and Daddy know everyone.” She gripped my arm, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I know, we could start a ‘starvation club.’ ”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when everyone gets together for an evening of socializing, but the hostess doesn’t serve any refreshments. In fact, she’s forbidden to serve anything—mainly because no one can really afford it. But it still gives us an excuse to spend an evening in each other’s company.”
Food or no food, an invitation to one of the parties Sally and I hosted quickly became a coveted thing in Richmond that winter, offering welcome relief from the sadness and privation of war. Sally and I also started up the sewing circle again, gathering all the society wives together to knit socks and scarves and mittens for our soldiers. The women’s conversation often proved a richer source of information than their husbands’.
It snowed just before Christmas, burying the ugliness of wartime Richmond beneath a blanket of pure white. Unbelievably, this was the third Christmas we had celebrated since the war began. The night of Charles’ and my engagement seemed like a lifetime ago, instead of four years. Indeed, hadn’t we both lived through a lifetime’s worth of experiences since that night? The fact that no end to this war was in sight made our sorrow worse. As we gathered in church on Christmas Eve, everyone prayed that this would be the last Christmas our men would be away from us. I asked for that, too. But while the others continued to pray that the Confederate States would win their independence, I struggled to surrender to God’s will, trying to pray “Thy will be done.”
Christmas dinner in most Richmond homes was a somber affair. It wasn’t the scarcity of food that caused the sadness but the missing faces at each meal, the ever-increasing tally of loved ones who would never return home. I shared a simple meal in the kitchen with my servants again, a quiet celebration of the fact that we were all together, that no one had been sold. The celebration was enriched by baby Isaac’s robust laughter as he bounced in his grandfather’s arms, pulling