Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [169]
“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?
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.”
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 God 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 fishing boat once a week and deliver his espionage reports to a Yankee boat sent from Fortress Monroe. Authorities suspected that several of his customers passed secret information to him as they purchased fish, since they’d discovered incriminating notes wrapped inside the money in Ferguson’s apron 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 God 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 God ask me to risk so much if it was all for nothing?”
“You don’t know that it was all for nothing,” Eli said, brushing dirt from the carrots he’d just pulled. “You only seeing the outside of things. Nobody except God can see what He’s doing underneath. The seeds I planted last spring been growing into carrots whether we seen it or not. God gonna have His way, Missy, even when it look like His plans isn’t amounting to nothing.”
His answer confused me. “Then what difference does it make if I obey Him or not—whether I risk everything to spy for Him or stay at home—if He’s going to do it all anyway?”
Eli pulled another clump of carrots, then slowly stood to face me. “We ain’t gonna eat the tops of these carrots, are we?”
“No . . . but what does that—”
“Can’t you see, Missy Caroline?” he said gently. “Spying ain’t the job God gave you to do in this here war. He don’t need people to do stuff like that for Him. What He need