Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [91]
By now the discussion had turned to another topic—the traitorous Yankee sympathizers who lived in western Virginia. Unwilling to secede from the Union, they had seceded from Virginia instead, forming a new state.
“There are probably Northern sympathizers living right here in Richmond, too,” Mrs. Taylor said. “If we’re not careful, they’ll be stabbing us in the back and passing secret information to the Union government.”
“That’s why the city council passed a new ordinance this week,” Mrs. Goode said. Her husband served on the council, so she prided herself on being among the first to know the council’s business.
“What ordinance is that, dear?” Mrs. St. John asked.
“It’s called the ‘Suspicious Persons Law’ or something like that. We’re supposed to be on the lookout for people who express Northern sentiments or opinions. If we discover such a person— man or woman—it’s our duty to inform the mayor immediately so he can have them arrested.”
“My goodness,” Mrs. Randolph said. “Isn’t it frightening to think such traitorous persons could be living right here among us and we wouldn’t even know it?”
Mrs. Taylor gave her a withering look. “Don’t be naïve, Clara. Any fool could tell.”
“How? How could they tell?”
“Why, just open your eyes and look around. Notice who isn’t cheering along with everyone else. Pay attention to the person whose enthusiasm seems a little . . . false.”
I felt my cheeks begin to burn. I had not been among those who’d cheered the Confederate victory at Big Bethel a few moments ago or the capture of Yankee prisoners. But I wanted to run from the room when Mrs. Taylor’s daughter Helen spoke next.
“Another way to tell is if they’re Negro-lovers.”
The room went momentarily silent. My heart thumped against my corset stays. Helen Taylor had fancied herself Charles’ sweetheart before I came along. Neither she nor her mother had ever forgiven me for “stealing” Charles away. Too late, I realized that Helen was sitting close enough to Sally and me to have observed our conversation over the little slave girl.
“Traitors are always Negro-lovers,” Helen repeated. She and her mother exchanged looks. My instincts urged me to run, to plead dizziness or nausea or some other excuse and leave while I still had a chance, but I didn’t know how to escape the tightly packed circle of women without causing a scene. When Helen directed her next question to me, I knew it was too late to run.
“I understand that you once lived up north, isn’t that right, Caroline? And don’t you still have relatives living up there? I suppose they’re all fighting for the Yankees now.”
“None of them are fighting,” I said shakily. “My aunt and uncle have two daughters.”
“I’ve heard that Philadelphia is a hotbed of abolition activity,” Mrs. Taylor added. “I pity you for having to live in such a place. Poor girl—I’ll bet they tried to fill your head with their anti-slavery ideas.” All of the ladies had stopped sewing, waiting, as women will, for a fresh scrap of news to feed the gossip fires. I had to say something.
“My aunt Martha is a native Virginian.” My voice sounded tiny, apologetic. “She was born and raised right here in Richmond.”
“Well, how do you feel about the slavery issue?” Helen asked. “Do you agree with the Yankees that it’s an evil institution?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I was a coward. I had returned from Philadelphia determined to spend myself on behalf of the oppressed and to let my light rise in the darkness as the Scripture urged me to do. I had once prided myself on being outspoken with Charles and helping to alter his way of thinking. But now I remained silent. Sally did, too, even though she knew the truth.
“Come now, speak up, Caroline,” Mrs. Taylor said. “You must have an opinion.”
As I vainly searched for a way out of the trap, Mrs. St. John suddenly cleared her throat as if about to make an important announcement. “Ladies,” she said, her voice dripping gentility like honey, “perhaps you’ve forgotten that Caroline was forced to move to Philadelphia after her mother’s tragic death. And I think