Candle in the Darkness

by Lynn Austin

  I knew exactly how he felt. I decided I would do it; I would give him one last fight, ending this obsession once and for all.

  “Do you believe that Negroes can accept the Gospel?” I asked quietly.

  “Certainly.”

  “Then wouldn’t that make them our Christian brothers and sisters? The Bible says we can’t love Christ and hate our brother.”

  “I don’t hate Negroes.”

  “Maybe not. But if you loved Christ, you couldn’t stand to drive past the slave auction on Fourteenth Street, knowing what’s going on in there to some of your Christian brethren.”

  He danced silently to the music for a moment, then said quietly, “I don’t have an answer to that. I’m sorry.”

  He pulled me closer. His grip on my hand and my waist was firm, possessive. I’d danced with dozens of men before, but I couldn’t recall ever being so aware of a man holding me, so conscious of his nearness or the strength of his presence. Everything inside me seemed to be vibrating, as if I stood inside a clanging alarm bell.

  When the music ended, we moved apart. I waited for him to thank me for the dance and walk away, yet I was terrified that he would. I had no awareness of the room, the people, or anything else that was going on around me, just Charles standing in front of me, his eyes studying my face. He hadn’t let go of my hand.

  “What are you doing to me, Caroline?” he asked softly. “Do you know I’ve actually found myself thinking about some of the things you said? And some of the stupid things I said—like the Negroes being an inferior race. I don’t really believe that. I’ve been wondering which one of us has been brainwashed with overblown rhetoric.”

  I don’t know how long we stood that way. I felt breathless, disembodied, as if I were floating—not only from his words but also from his nearness. It was just as Tessie had described it.

  “I argue about slavery all the time in Washington,” Charles continued. “I can do it in my sleep. But I’m not used to debating with a woman—especially such a beautiful woman. And to be frank, I’ve rarely known one who had anything intelligent to say about political matters. You’ve turned my comfortable world upside down, Caroline. And I’m forced to admit that you were right about at least one thing—I should have bought that little Negro boy an apple.”

  I was so moved by his words, so captivated by his extraordinary blend of humility and charm, that I couldn’t speak. Suddenly, Jonathan’s friend Roger bounded over and tapped Charles’ shoulder, breaking the spell.

  “Excuse me. May I have the next dance with you, Miss Fletcher?”

  I had to decide. If I accepted this dance with Roger, then Charles would probably walk away, perhaps for good. If I refused it, Charles would know that I had feelings for him. I thought of Tessie’s words about not having a second chance with love, and I made my choice.

  “I’m sorry, Roger, but Mr. St. John has the next dance.”

  Charles closed his eyes, briefly, as Roger walked away. I heard him exhale. “What do we do now?” he asked when he opened them again.

  “Maybe we could stop arguing for once and listen to each other.”

  He pulled me into his arms again and waltzed me smoothly around the dance floor. For a long time neither of us spoke, then Charles said, “There is some truth in your arguments about slavery, but they are too simplistic. Besides, this dangerous rift between North and South is not about slavery. It’s about states’ rights.”

  “But the right they want to preserve is the right to hold slaves.”

  “Slavery is necessary to the South’s economy.”

  “True, but that doesn’t make it morally right.”

  His grip on my hand tightened. I could sense that he was waging a struggle within himself. “Even if we agreed to abolish slavery tomorrow,” he said, “what would the millions of Negroes do with their freedom? Where would they live? How would they support themselves? The abolitionists have never come up with a sensible plan. And don’t give me that nonsense about Liberia—do your slaves all want to move back to Africa?”

  “No, but surely our lawmakers in Washington could come up with a better plan if they put their minds to it. The Negroes deserve the right to have dreams of their own, to live with their families, to know that their children won’t be sold out of their arms.”

  “Listen now. Not every slave owner is that cruel.”

  “If even one of them is, then it’s wrong. Have you ever befriended a Negro, Charles?”

  “My family has always treated our servants well. I was very fond of the mammy who cared for us when we were small.”

  “But are you friends with anyone now, as an equal? Have you listened to his thoughts and dreams?”

  “Truthfully? No. Have you?”

  “Yes. That’s why I feel the way I do. It’s not because I’ve swallowed all of the abolitionists’ propaganda. It’s because of Tessie and Eli. I wish you could meet them.”

  He seemed to wrestle with the idea for a moment before saying, “I think I’d like to.”

  When the waltz ended, Charles steered me out of the noisy ballroom, his hand resting lightly on my back. I felt as though I no longer had any bones in my legs. We found a quiet corner outside on the terrace where we could talk.

  “I wasn’t sure we could do it,” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “Talk to each other for more than five minutes without fighting. But see? Nearly twenty minutes have passed, and you haven’t told me once how infuriating I am.”

  He smiled. “I knew the first day we met that you were an unusual woman. I’d certainly never met one before who was as outspoken as you—not to mention one who went around clubbing suspected slave drivers with her bag. I thought you were just parroting empty words, Caroline, but you aren’t. You really believe what you say. You really care. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

  “Will you forgive me for allowing the Negro boy to escape?”

  Charles laughed out loud. “Certainly. But that little thief is still loose on the streets of Richmond, you know. It would serve you right if he snatched your purse right out of your hand one day.”

  I smiled up at him in return. “I’ll take that chance.”

  Charles looked at me for a long moment. He seemed to be drinking me in, the way a thirsty man gulps water. “Who did you come to this fund-raiser with tonight?” he asked at last.

  “My father.”

  “I’d like to meet him. I’d like to ask him if I may escort you home.”

  My father was very pleased when Charles asked for permission to court me. “The St. Johns are one of Richmond’s finest families,” Daddy said proudly.

  “Not to mention, one of the richest?” I teased.

  “Well now, that never hurts, either. But let’s not forget what’s really important—”

  “That I’m growing very fond of Charles?”

  “No,” he said, laughing, “that he’s a good Southern Democrat.”

  Charles and I went everywhere together that summer—to musical recitals and dinner parties, to the theater, and to countless political functions as the upcoming presidential election grew closer and closer. As my feelings for him deepened, so did the guilt I felt concerning Robert Hoffman—especially when Robert’s unanswered letters began to pile up on my desk.

  I realized that my cousin Julia had been right; Robert believed he was in love with me. I’d continued writing to him regularly since returning to Richmond, but now that I was falling in love myself, I knew that it was unfair to string Robert along with false hopes. I sat down at my desk one day and wrote him a long, honest letter, gently explaining to him that we no longer had an “understanding.”

  At the same time, I wrote to Aunt Martha, asking her to help cushion the news. I felt relieved, but a little worried, when Robert’s letters stopped immediately. I eventually received a very cool note from my aunt saying that she and Robert had talked, but she gave no indication of how he had received the news. My cousin Julia stopped mentioning him in her
letters.

  I had much bigger things to worry about that fall. The United States that I loved so much seemed on the brink of a terrible crisis. The race for president, like John Brown’s uprising, revealed a nation bitterly divided over slavery. The Democratic Party had split in two, with Northern Democrats nominating Senator Stephen Douglas of Illinois, and Southern Democrats nominating Kentucky’s Senator John Breckinridge. The Republicans chose a compromise candidate named Abraham Lincoln, who pledged to halt the spread of slavery in any states that joined the Union in the future but promised not to interfere with slavery in the states where it already existed. I thought Mr. Lincoln’s position was a fair compromise; Charles disagreed.

  “Lincoln’s views are unacceptable,” he insisted. “Once our slave states are outnumbered in Congress, we will no longer have fair representation. The North could enact any laws they pleased.”

  “Is that why South Carolina is threatening to secede if Mr. Lincoln is elected?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly why. America broke away from Great Britain for the same reason—her interests were not being fairly represented.”

  “Do you think it will come to that, Charles? Another revolution?”

  “I pray not.”

  But when Abraham Lincoln won the election—with only forty percent of the popular vote—Charles and I both felt a sense of dread. Not a single slaveholding state had voted for him.

  Charles and I still disagreed over slavery, but we were able to discuss it without arguing now. He listened to my opinions, and that drew my heart to him. He admitted that slavery was unjust, and I admitted that abolishing it immediately would not only destroy the South’s economy but would leave millions of slaves unequipped to deal with their immediate freedom. Charles was kind and fair to his family’s slaves, even if the bonds of love that existed between Tessie and Eli and me were missing.

  Tessie and I continued with our reading lessons in the afternoons, and she made excellent progress. Within six months, she could read simple stories and write down the sentences I dictated to her, even though her spelling was poor. She remained very fearful of being discovered, however, and every afternoon she would make me repeat my promise not to tell a soul what we were doing before she would agree to read or write a single word. What had begun as a way to prove Tessie’s equality to Charles would forever remain our secret.

  But I no longer felt compelled to prove anything to him. Charles had admitted to me that some slaves could undoubtedly learn how to read, but he felt quite strongly that they should not be educated. Even though we often disagreed, Charles and I were convinced of one thing: our growing feelings for each other were much stronger than our political differences.

  Late that year, on December 20, Charles’ family hosted a Christmas party in their enormous home. All of Richmond’s high society was invited. As I waited for Charles to arrive to escort me, I couldn’t help recalling his sister Sally’s party, just one year earlier.

  “So much has changed in a year’s time,” I said to Tessie. “I wonder what I’ll be doing a year from now?”

  She was watching for Charles’ carriage from my bedroom window, but she turned to smile mischievously at me. “Think you’ll be waking up beside your Mr. St. John by next Christmas?”

  The subject still made me blush, but the thought made my heart race. “I . . . I hope so,” I said shyly.

  Tessie clapped her hands together and laughed out loud. “That prove it, then! My baby girl in love! And here come Prince Charming’s carriage now.”

  I heard it, too. I waited for the ring of the door chimes, the sound of Charles’ footsteps in the foyer, his languid voice as he greeted my father. They never came. “What’s taking him so long?” I asked.

  Tessie peered out the window again. “He standing out in back . . . talking to Eli.”

  “Let me see.” I went to the window and saw them there, deep in conversation—Charles dressed in formal attire, Eli in ragged stable clothes. They were the same height, and they faced each other, eye to eye. The discussion seemed to last a long time. Then, to my amazement, Charles extended his hand to Eli. Tears filled my eyes as they shook hands with each other. Never before had I seen a well-bred Southern gentleman shaking hands as equals with a Negro.

  “Hey, now! Stop that crying!” Tessie scolded. “Your eyes gonna be all puffy and red.”

  “I can’t help it. I love him, Tessie.”

  “Well, didn’t I just say that, honey?”

  When I came down the stairs and saw Charles waiting for me, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. He took my hand and kissed it, his lips lingering for a moment. He tenderly rested his bearded cheek against the back of my hand, then kissed it again.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  I had no sensation of my feet touching the ground as I floated out to his carriage. We settled in the back, side by side, for the drive downhill to his home in Court End.

  When he said, “I want to give you your Christmas present a few days early,” my heart began to pound with joy and anticipation. Charles pulled a small, wrapped box from his pocket. My fingers trembled so badly I couldn’t unwrap it.

  “Need help?” He smiled and took it from me again. Inside was a magnificent ruby ring in what looked to be a very old platinum-and-gold setting. “It was my grandmother’s ring,” Charles said. He paused for the space of a heartbeat, then said, “Will you marry me, Caroline?”

  I wanted to shout my answer from the top of the capitol building, but I couldn’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper. “Yes, please.” I sounded like a small child accepting a cookie. Charles laughed and pulled me into his arms as I battled to control my tears.

  “Listen now. I believe I’ve finally found a way to render you speechless,” he said. “I should have tried this months ago. Here, try it on and see if it fits.” He slid the ring onto my left hand. It was a perfect fit. “I asked your father for permission to marry you a few days ago,” Charles said. “He gave us his blessing. Would it be all right if we announced our engagement at the party tonight?”

  I wanted the whole world to know, but all I managed to say was, “Yes. It would be wonderful.” Then another thought occurred to me. “Is . . . is this what you were talking to Eli about tonight?”

  “You saw us?” For a moment, Charles seemed embarrassed. “Actually . . . yes. I know what a good friend Eli is to you, and I thought . . . well, I thought I’d like to have him as my ally. He gave us his blessing, too.”

  I could no longer control my tears. I hugged Charles tightly, unable to express in words how much his gesture had moved me. He understood me well enough to know that Eli’s blessing meant as much to me as my father’s.

  Charles’ parents stood next to Daddy at the party later that night to announce our engagement. We would be married next July. The guests applauded the news. All of Richmond’s leading citizens stood in line to congratulate Charles and me and wish us well. Many remembered my mother and spoke fondly of her. But I couldn’t help wondering if a few were worried, for Charles’ sake, that I would turn out to be like her.

  Sally had tears in her eyes as she hugged me. “I’m so pleased that you’ll be my sister,” she said. We had become friends now that she no longer viewed me as her rival. She was fond of my cousin Jonathan but was reluctant to limit herself to only one beau.

  Jonathan offered his congratulations, too, along with a hug and kiss. “I must say,” he grinned, “this is one match I never would have bet money on, judging by your first date.”

  In the midst of this dizzying joy, Mr. Jennings Wise, editor of the Richmond Enquirer, arrived at the party two hours late. It quickly became apparent that he brought startling news. “We received a late bulletin over the wire this evening,” he said. “It came in just as I was leaving the office. South Carolina has officially seceded from the Union.”

  The news wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it rocked the gathering nevertheless, bringing the merriment to a temporary sta
ndstill. Even after Mr. St. John told the orchestra to continue playing, and urged us all to enjoy the evening’s celebration, everyone gathered in small, worried groups, discussing the secession in hushed whispers. I couldn’t help feeling afraid. I had seen firsthand the deep rift between North and South after the events at Harper’s Ferry. Now that the first state had broken away, I wondered if anything could stop an avalanche of splintering states.

  “Something terrible has begun tonight, hasn’t it?” I asked Charles.

  “We don’t know that,” he replied, but I read the concern in his eyes.

  “Do you think there will be a war?”

  “That depends on how Washington reacts. Every state joined the Union voluntarily; they should have the right to leave it again if the Federal government no longer represents their best interests.”

  “Will Virginia leave the Union, too?”

  He sighed. “There’s not a lot of support for secession at the moment. But listen now. We can only live our lives one day at a time—and this is our special day. Come with me, Caroline.”

  He took my hand in his and led me outside to the terrace. The night was warm for December, but still cold enough to make me shiver in my ball gown. Charles took off his coat and wrapped it around me before pulling me into his arms. He held me tightly. Suddenly all that mattered was this moment.

  When I stopped shivering, he pulled back to gaze at me with his beautiful eyes. “I love you,” he said. Then he bent his head toward me and kissed me for the first time. I felt the brush of his beard on my face, the pressure of his hands on my back, the warm touch of his lips on mine, and I knew that Tessie’s words were true—I wanted Charles’ arms around me more than I wanted air to breathe.

  Chapter Eleven

  Richmond 1861

  At the beginning of the new year, 1861, I began to include the Richmond Enquirer as part of Tessie’s daily reading material. Each morning after Daddy finished with the paper and left for work, Tessie and I would huddle near the fireplace in my bedroom and read aloud the latest news to each other. Then we would spend the rest of the day preparing my wedding trousseau and filling my hope chest. But throughout the month of January, the news we read grew more ominous, my future as a bride less certain. One by one, five more states followed South Carolina’s lead and seceded from the Union. Texas joined them on the first of February.