Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [163]
I thought of Charles a thousand times that day. Our wedding here in St. Paul’s, planned to take place nearly three years ago, would have been much the same as this one. Three long years. I tried to picture Charles and myself in their places, tried to recite the vows in my heart along with them, promising to love Charles and cleave to him as long as we both shall live. But I knew that I was praying, My will be done, instead of Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
When Dr. Minnegerode pronounced Sally and Jonathan man and wife, I glanced across the aisle at Charles’ parents. Against my will, I remembered Charles’ words: “You must prepare yourself . . .I’ll need you to be strong, for my parents’ sake . . .”
There had been so few joyous moments since this terrible war began that I determined not to spoil this day with morbid thoughts. I pushed them from my mind and joined my aunt Anne and uncle William for the short carriage ride back to the St. Johns’ house for the reception.
The St. Johns’ vast drawing room had been opened for the first time in over a year, and every inch of it gleamed—even if there were no fires in the fireplaces and the chandeliers weren’t lit. The buffet lunch of carefully hoarded foods had been stretched to the limit by Esther and the St. Johns’ cook and was beautifully arrayed on polished silver platters. Daddy’s wine, watered down with juice and cider, filled the punch bowl, and we raised crystal glasses to toast the new bride and groom. The only musicians we could find were the members of the Home Guard band, comprised of old men and young boys who were ineligible to fight, but we waltzed to military marches that afternoon, pretending it was Richmond’s finest orchestra.
Sally and I had been unable to arrange a hotel room ahead of time. There hadn’t been an empty room anywhere in town for the past three years, so Ruby, Tessie, and I prepared Mother’s bedroom as a bridal suite. Sally and Jonathan retired there that evening— and didn’t come out again until Jonathan’s furlough was nearly over, five days later. I envied their happiness.
“Take care of her for me, Caroline,” Jonathan begged when it was finally time for him to leave.
“I will. You be careful now, okay? And please, don’t forget to tell Charles that I love him.”
Josiah was returning to the front with Jonathan, and he could barely tear himself away from Tessie and his son. “I was afraid you and Josiah were going to run away,” I told Tessie later. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”
She reached out to stroke my hair and caress my cheek. “I couldn’t leave you, honey,” she said. “Don’t you know that you my child, too?”
Chapter Twenty-three
Spring 1864
“I understand that the roads are drying out,” Mrs. St. John said with a sigh. “I suppose that means the fighting will begin again.”
Sally and her mother and a mere handful of other ladies had gathered in my parlor, along with all our maidservants and Negro seamstresses, for an afternoon of sewing. We weren’t sewing for the soldiers this time but for ourselves, helping each other restitch last year’s faded and frayed summer clothing into something we could wear now that warmer weather had arrived in Richmond. Even if bolts of new cloth could somehow make it through the blockade and onto store shelves, none of us could afford to buy any. But Sally had the latest copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and we were doing our best to remake our clothes in the newest styles.
“Well, even if it does mean more fighting,” one of the other ladies said, “I’m so glad another winter is finally over and done with.”
“I was just thinking this morning that it’s been three years since our first victory at Fort Sumter,” Sally said. “Remember that night in 1861 when all of Richmond celebrated? We went together, Caroline—you and Charles, Jonathan, and me.”
“Yes, I remember,” I said. “In one of the speeches that night, didn’t someone predict that the war would be over in sixty days or maybe even thirty days?