Lizzie’s heart pounded as she hurried from the room. “And Mary?”
“I don’t know,” Judy said, racing to keep up with her. “She’s not here.”
Bewildered, alarmed, Lizzie raced down the stairs and into the parlor, where she found Eliza dozing listlessly on the sofa and John holding a sobbing Annie, walking her back and forth and patting her back in an attempt to soothe away her tears. Two men stood by the window, holding their hats and conversing in hushed, serious tones, and after a second look she recognized them as friends of John’s, lawyers who shared a practice on Main Street, if she was not mistaken.
Mindful of her state of undress, she nevertheless flew to Eliza’s side, stroking Annie’s head in passing. “What is going on?” she asked John, touching the back of her hand to Eliza’s burning forehead and flushed cheeks. “Where’s Mary?”
“She’s at home, under Hannah’s watchful eye.” John’s voice was like stone, and his evident anger filled Lizzie with relief—she had feared he would tell her that Mary was dead. “I returned home from a late meeting to discover that she had forsaken her children to go out for a night of dreadful sin.”
“What?” Lizzie exclaimed. “She left the children alone? But where was Hannah? What—what sort of sin do you mean? Where did you find her?”
“Never mind that now,” John snapped, and the two men exchanged quick, embarrassed glances. “I’d like to leave the girls here with you and Mother, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. They’re always welcome. You know I love them as if they were my own.”
“Better than that, I think, judging by their own mother’s neglect.” John’s mouth was hard, bitter line, and his eyes sparked with fury. “I’ll return in the morning with their things, and with Hannah.”
As he turned to go, Lizzie caught him by the arm. “John.” She glanced over her shoulder at the two men, who were putting on their hats, and she lowered her voice. “Is it the laudanum? Whiskey?”
“Both, and more,” he replied in a whisper, his voice trembling with outrage. He kissed her swiftly on the cheek and departed, his friends following after, nodding to her in polite apology as they passed.
With Judy’s help, Lizzie soon had the girls tucked into bed, Eliza with a cool, damp cloth on her brow. Lizzie remained at her bedside through the night, dozing now and then, until Mother came in shortly after dawn to relieve her. “You should have woken me last night,” she scolded in an undertone as she sent Lizzie off to her own bed, but mercifully, she saved her questions for later.
Lizzie was still asleep when John returned with Hannah and his daughters’ clothing, books, and toys, so it was Mother to whom he confessed the shameful story. The previous evening, when he had come home to find Mary absent, Hannah missing, Eliza ill, and Annie crying, he interrogated Mary’s diffident maid until she reluctantly admitted that Mary had hired Hannah out to a neighbor for the night, and then she had gone out alone, as she apparently always did whenever business detained John late into the evening.
“Mary hired Hannah out to strangers?” asked Lizzie, disbelieving. “John allowed this?”
“Of course not,” said Mother. “He knew nothing of it, although evidently Mary has done it before.”
“Why didn’t Hannah tell him? Why didn’t did she tell us? She must have known we wouldn’t stand for it.”
Mother shook her head helplessly. “She was afraid that Mary would sell her off Down South before we could stop her. She also worried that we would bring her home but leave Eliza and Annie with their mother, helpless, with no one to look after them.”
After John had gotten the story out of Mary’s maid, he fetched Hannah back from the indignant neighbors who had hired her for the night, apologizing profusely for the mistake and smoothing things over by assuring them they owed him nothing for the hours Hannah had worked. He then stormed from one tavern and hotel to the next, searching up and down Main Street, and eventually he found his wife teetering on a stool in the bar of a third-rate hotel accompanied by a gentleman of uncertain origin and questionable morals, her mind addled by laudanum and drink. Mary had screeched and clawed and fought as John wrested her away from the bar and outside, but as he struggled to lead her down the street toward home, his two acquaintances had spotted him through the window of their law office and had come to his aid.
“What will he do?” Lizzie asked, appalled, when her mother had finished.
“He wants to leave the girls with us, for now,” Mother said. “Of course I said that would be fine.”
“Not only fine but necessary. Mary is clearly in no state to care for them.” Lizzie took a deep breath. “Mother, do you think they will...divorce?”
“Oh, Lizzie, I don’t know.” Mother’s voice broke, and she wrung her hands. “John found Mary in the bar of the hotel, not emerging from a rented room or even descending the stairs, so I’m not sure he can have her charged with adultery.”
“But she was with another man.”
“Who doubtless has disappeared into the crowd of strangers Richmond has become, never to be found again. Without his testimony, Mary could claim their meeting was perfectly innocent, which it very well could have been.”
Incredulous, Lizzie said, “A married woman leaves her children home alone at night so she can dose herself with laudanum and meet a strange man for drinks in a hotel bar. You could not fit the word innocent into that description with a shoehorn and a crowbar.”
Mother acknowledged the truth of Lizzie’s words with a nod. “Even if John could divorce Mary for adultery, think of the scandal. Think of what it would mean to those poor little girls.”
“I am thinking of those poor little girls,” said Lizzie. “They would be better off removed from their mother’s influence.”
“And they shall be, for a while. They will remain here with us until Mary is capable of caring for them herself.”
Lizzie imagined Hannah would have quite a lot to say about Mary’s capabilities. “And John? Will he come home?”
“I believe he intends to stay with Mary. He won’t abandon her, but he will insist that she stop drinking and taking laudanum. If she refuses, or if she cannot...”
When her mother fell silent, Lizzie hesitantly filled in the rest. “The sanitarium?”
Mother’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “What else can he do?”
“I don’t know,” Lizzie said. As much as she disliked Mary, she would not have wished this fate on her, nor on anyone. And John—her poor brother, to have been so publicly humiliated, and now, likely to become the subject of ugly gossip.
She longed to help him, to help them both, but in her bewildered uncertainty, all she could think of to do was to resolve to care for their daughters with all the devotion a loving aunt could offer.
Annie and little Eliza were overjoyed to be home, as they had never stopped referring to the Church Hill mansion, and they settled into their familiar rooms so easily it was almost as if they had never moved away. John visited at least every other day, and the girls were showered with so much attention from their grandmother, auntie, and nurse that they did not seem to miss their mother, judging by how infrequently they asked about her. When the girls could not overhear, Lizzie and her mother asked John about Mary, but he said very little other than to assure them that she was on the mend, and that she was meeting regularly with her minister and a nurse, and that as far as he knew, she had not touched a drop of alcohol or laudanum since that dreadful night. “She was terribly sick at first,” John said, “but every day, she seems a little stronger, although she is furious with me.”
“Does she ask about the girls?” Lizzie asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“No,” John said flatly. “That is, she asked once, after the worst of her illness passed. I told her they were here, and that you were looking after them. She nodded, turned away from me, and ha
sn’t asked about them since.”
She will, Lizzie thought. Mary was too overwhelmed by her own troubles to think about her children at present, but a time would come when she would want them back—and Lizzie would have a terrible time letting them go.
She was reading the girls a bedtime story one evening when William appeared in the doorway. “Miss Lizzie,” he said urgently, “You have a visitor, in the kitchen.”
Guests were customarily escorted to the library or parlor depending upon the time of day, although they might be left standing in the foyer if they were strangers or if the Van Lews did not like them. Only one sort of visitor was taken to the kitchen instead. Quickly Lizzie finished the book, helped the girls say their prayers, tucked them in, and kissed them good night, and after turning down the lamp, she hurried to the kitchen, which smelled of freshly baked bread and pickling spices. A pale, dark-haired young man with full cheeks, a prominent nose, and a short, thick, bushy beard sat at the table devouring a plate of cold ham, cheese and leek pie, stewed greens, and bread left over from the Van Lews’ supper. He wore the gray uniform of a Confederate major, but it was too snug, and the sleeves scarcely reached his wrists.
He started when she appeared in the doorway, jostling the table and setting the dishes clattering as he half-rose out of his seat. “Please, don’t get up,” Lizzie said easily, covering for his alarm. “I’m Elizabeth Van Lew, and this is my home. How is your supper?”
“It’s the most wonderful meal I’ve ever tasted,” he said reverently, running the heel of the loaf over his plate to collect every last crumb. A moment later, Caroline was at his side to offer him seconds, which he gratefully accepted. Then he remembered his manners, rose, and offered Lizzie a slight bow. “I’m Captain William Lounsbury, Seventy-Fourth New York Infantry.” He sat down again, looking dazed. “And I can’t believe I’m here. An hour ago I was in Libby Prison.”
Lizzie smiled. “I’m very glad you made your escape.”
“I didn’t do it alone.” The captain shook his head, still disbelieving. “I was standing with the rest of the men in quarters when Ross entered—Ross is the clerk who calls the rolls and superintends the prison under Major Turner.”
“Yes, I know,” Lizzie remarked. “I’ve met him.”
“He never calls the rolls without swearing at us and abusing us and calling us Yankees, and other vile names not suited for your ears, begging your pardon, Ma’am. We all hate him, and many a man has said that if given a chance, he would get even with the little scamp.”
“Oh, dear,” said Lizzie, unsettled. Perhaps she should warn Mr. Ross that he was playing his role too convincingly. “Are you aware of any plans to do him harm?”
“No, and if I were, I’d tell you so you could warn him.” Captain Lounsbury paused to polish off another piece of ham. “This evening, we were lining up for roll call when Ross struck me in the stomach and said, ‘You blue-bellied Yankee, come down to my office. I have a matter to settle with you.’ I had no idea what he was talking about. I couldn’t think of anything I had done wrong, any rule I had broken.”
Sighing, Lizzie seated herself at the table. “I’m told prisoners are often punished even if they’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Well, that’s true enough. All the men had noticed that Ross would from time to time take officers away for punishment, but they would never return to quarters. We had no knowledge of what became of them, whether they were transferred to another prison or exchanged or killed. So when Ross ordered me to come with him, some of the other men whispered to me, ‘Don’t go. You don’t have to.’”
“But of course, you did.”
The captain nodded. “I followed Ross down to his office in the corner of the prison, an old counting room on the first floor, right by the exit. There was no one inside the office, but through the window I saw a sentry standing outside in front of the door on the sidewalk. Ross motioned for me to go behind a counter, and when I did, found a Confederate uniform there.”
Lizzie rested her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her palm. “Imagine that.”
“I lost no time in getting into it, although—” He gestured wryly to his straining buttons. “It was too small for me.”
“So I see.”
“Ross put a finger to his lips to warn me to be silent, then he jerked his head to show that I was to follow him. He left the office, and I waited a bit before following after. He had exited the prison, and when I peered outside, I saw him strolling off with the sentry down the sidewalk. So I just walked out the door.”
“I would have done the same.”
“It was just after dark, so I ran across the street to a vacant lot thinking to hide in a patch of overgrown brush until I could decide what to do. As I was catching my breath, a colored man stepped out and said, ‘Come with me, sir. I know who you are.’ And then he led me here, to you.”
Lizzie reached across the table and clasped his hand. “And we are so very glad to have you. That was Nelson who brought you here, and in a day or two, when you’re rested, he’ll guide you to the next safe haven along your route.” She rose, smiling. “When you’ve eaten your fill, William will show you to your room. It’s a bit small and there’s no view whatsoever, but it’s snug and no one will find you there.” She turned to go, but she paused in the doorway and added, “Please don’t think unkindly of Lieutenant Ross. He is a great friend of mine, and of the Union, although he has been obliged not to let it show.”
“I know that now,” the captain declared. “Believe me, Miss Van Lew, I take back every unkind word I ever said about the man. As soon as I get back to the North, I’m going to send him a box of cigars.”
“Send it to me rather than the prison,” Lizzie advised. “I’ll see that he gets it. You wouldn’t want your gift to betray him.”
“Never.” Suddenly the light of understanding appeared in Captain Lounsbury’s eyes. “So all those missing officers, taken aside for punishment—Ross freed them all, and they sought refuge here.”
“Not always here,” said Lizzie. “We have other friends throughout the city, but you will forgive me if I divulge no more than that.”
With a parting smile, she left him to finish his supper.
Captain Lounsbury remained with them two days to rest and regain his strength, and to allow the furor of pursuit to diminish before embarking upon the most dangerous part of his journey. They used that time to study maps, and with Lizzie’s help he learned which roads to follow and which to avoid, where to take to the woods to elude the Confederate pickets, and where he was most likely to be able to cross over into Union lines safely. On the third evening after his escape, Lizzie provided him with a civilian suit, packed some food in a haversack, and had Nelson escort him under the cover of darkness to McNiven’s Bakery, where he would hide in the delivery wagon, travel beyond the city limits, and continue on foot to Mr. Rowley’s farm.
For several days following his departure, Lizzie and her mother anxiously searched the Richmond papers for an announcement that Captain Lounsbury had been recaptured, but with each day he remained free, their hopes that he would safely reach the Union army rose. Then, two weeks later, they were rewarded with an unexpected, terse announcement in the Richmond Dispatch: “We have heard from the Yankee press that Captain W. H. LOUNSBURY, 74th NY Infantry, late of Libby Prison, has arrived in New York City, where he will be feted before returning to his brigade. It does not seem possible that his escape could have happened without the aid of Yankee-lovers in our own city and perhaps within the prison itself. We trust that General Winder will roust the traitors from their dens and fling them into the darkest corner of Castle Thunder.”
Lizzie felt a chill. Earlier in August, General Winder had commandeered three adjacent tobacco factories and warehouses on a single block of Cary Street to establish a new prison for Confederate deserters, political prisoners, and Union sym
pathizers. The stark name was meant to evoke the storm and fury that would be brought down upon the treasonous men—and, increasingly, women—who were imprisoned there.
That was where she would be sent if she were found out. Lizzie could not walk past the new prison or glimpse its name in the newspaper without brooding over that grim truth. Sometimes Lizzie imagined that her lurking enemies had already prepared a dark, gloomy, lonely cell for her, and that they were watching and waiting, burning with eager malice, determined to catch her in a mistake.
If she were discovered with escaped prisoners in her home or secret papers on her person, if the evidence against her were irrefutable, she knew not even General Winder’s pass would grant her liberty from Castle Thunder.
It was far more likely that General Winder would himself shove her into a cell and lock the cold iron bars behind her. She would find no mercy there.
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
SEPTEMBER 1862-JANUARY 1863
A
ugust ended with all of Richmond—and indeed, all the South—celebrating Robert E. Lee’s triumph at the Second Battle of Manassas, and September began with General Lee pressing his advantage. After trouncing Union major general John Pope’s army on the familiar fields where so much blood had already been spilled, General Lee led his army across the Potomac River at White’s Ford near Leesburg and into Union territory. As terrified Pennsylvanians evacuated government archives, treasure, and personnel from offices in Harrisburg and Philadelphia, the Confederate army captured food and horses, and searched with less success for recruits among sympathetic Marylanders.
By September 7, General Lee’s forces were marching into Fredericksburg, with General McClellan in pursuit. The people of Richmond waited anxiously for news, hearing only frustratingly vague rumors about fighting around South Mountain and Harpers Ferry. Then, in the middle of the month, word came of fierce and terrible fighting that had broken out the misty morning of September 17, of an enormous clash of armies on the ridges above the village of Sharpsburg and along Antietam Creek. Both sides consolidated their forces overnight and resumed the bloody battle in the morning, but ultimately General Lee was forced to withdraw his troops back across the Potomac, his brief invasion of the North thwarted.
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