by Ginny Dye
Thomas Cromwell cleared his throat as he reached for his glass of water. “I have proof today that all of Richmond is indeed trying to do their part for the war effort.” He allowed his voice to trail off, inviting questions.
Carrie roused herself with an effort. Her father had been casting anxious looks at her since she’d reached the table. She had seen Janie talking to him just before they were called to dinner, so she was sure he knew Robert had been called away. She forced a light note into her voice. Giving into despair would do no one any good. “And just what evidence did you acquire today?”
Thomas turned to her eagerly, obviously relieved by her show of interest. “Even the proprietors of our gambling halls have embraced the patriotism of our time.”
“And just how, pray tell, have they done that?” Janie asked in an openly skeptical voice. “Are they opening their doors to Union soldiers as well so that they might make more money?”
Thomas laughed but shook his head. “They have closed their doors for a while.”
“What?” That was enough to get even Carrie’s attention. She had been in town for only short periods during the last year, but she was well aware of the gambling halls’ reputations.
Thomas nodded. “They’ve decided to suspend operations for a while because too many of our officers were being lured from their duties. But that’s not all,” he said and paused dramatically. “They have also voted to give twenty thousand dollars to our cause.”
“Be still my beating heart!” Janie cried dramatically as laughter rang through the room.
“They have decreed it be used to purchase articles needed to treat the wounded in whatever may be coming.”
Carrie felt the now-familiar fear clutching at her throat.
Her face must have betrayed her emotions, for her father looked at her regretfully and said, “I’m sorry, Carrie. That was thoughtless and insensitive of me.”
Carrie pushed aside visions of Robert lying wounded on the battlefield and reached forward to take her father’s hand. “Nonsense. I am very glad the owners of the gambling halls are finally going to do something constructive with their money. It will be much needed. Our soldiers deserve the finest care.” She searched her mind for a way to change the subject and let her father off the hook, but it took all her mental energy to keep from bursting into tears.
“I understand they took care of another Union spy today.” The statement was offered by Warren Pucket, a clerk in the War Department. The slightly built man, in his early forties, had been turned down for the army because of medical reasons, but that had not stopped him from making the trip from Alabama to offer what services he could.
Thomas turned toward him with obvious relief. “I had heard a little about it but don’t really know the story. Do tell us.”
Warren complied. “Evidently Timothy Webster was a master spy. Since last October he has been dispatching letters to the North detailing the Confederate’s military secrets. From what I have been told, he managed to work himself into Baltimore’s Confederate Underground. They actually helped sneak him over the lines because they thought they were helping their own cause.”
“Rather ingenious,” Thomas muttered angrily.
“It gets worse,” Warren replied. “Webster posed as an Englishman here in town and made friends with officials on every level. He hung around the newspapers and the War Department. Why, both General Winder and Secretary Benjamin used him as a dispatcher.”
“He was used by the Secretary of the War Department? Judas Benjamin was taken in by him?” Thomas exclaimed.
Warren shrugged. “He was evidently very good at what he did.”
“How did they catch him?” Janie asked.
“The story I heard said Webster fell ill with extremely painful rheumatism. He went so long without reporting to Washington, they got worried about him and sent two men down to check on him. Someone recognized the two men as northern detectives. They hadn’t been here long before they found themselves in jail.”
“But what about Webster?” Carrie asked. She found the story fascinating even though she was appalled to think these were all American citizens spying on each other.
Warren smirked. “The two men in jail didn’t take too kindly to the idea they were going to hang for being spies. With a little persuasion and promises of mercy, they broke and told all about Webster and his mission. He was really the big fish in the whole operation. Until yesterday he has occupied one of our prisons.”
“What happened yesterday?” Carrie asked.
“They hanged him,” Warren stated flatly.
Carrie turned white and stared at him. “They hanged him?” she repeated.
Warren’s face hardened with anger. “You don’t get away with spying in the capital. There is no telling how many of our men died needlessly because of the information he passed out.”
Carrie saw her father open his mouth to break into the conversation, but Warren hurried on, reveling in the story.
“There weren’t many people out there to watch the hanging. A whole crowd of folks showed up for the hanging of his two buddies but were disappointed when it didn’t actually happen. I guess they decided this one wouldn’t really happen either. They missed a great show!”
“You were there?” Thomas asked.
“Yes. I was asked to record it for the War Department. Anyway, the first time the trap was sprung, the rope was too long. He fell straight to the ground. It busted him up a little, but it certainly didn’t kill him.”
Carrie shuddered as the picture sprang into her mind. She listened in horrified silence.
Oblivious to the fact that not everyone was enjoying his story, Warren hurried on. “They picked him up, helped him up the stairs, fixed the ropes, and sprung it again.” He paused. “He hung for thirty minutes before he was cut down. Then the detectives sliced up the rope for souvenirs.”
Carrie could control herself no longer. “How can you find anything good in such a horrible thing! These are Americans who are killing Americans!”
Warren’s voice was flat and emotionless when he turned to her. “I’m sorry if the reality of the war is disturbing to you, Miss Cromwell. It is disturbing to all of us. I freely admit I find satisfaction in knowing another threat to our way of life has been destroyed. Timothy Webster knew the risk when he decided to come down and betray the people who put trust in him. We are at war, Miss Cromwell. A war we intend to win. We will do whatever it takes to win it.”
Carrie stared at him as his chilling words sank into her heart. Suddenly she was tired. Very, very tired. “Excuse me. I think I will retire now.” She slipped from her place at the table and climbed slowly up the stairs to her room. When she heard her father’s chair scrape back, she managed to turn and smile at him. “I’ll be all right, Father. I just need some time alone.”
In her room, she curled up on the window seat and stared out at the rain still pounding the city. She heard the echo of words spoken by a Richmonder earlier in the week. “I have begun to feel like the prisoners of the Inquisition in Edgar Allen Poe’s story - cast into a dungeon of slowly contracting walls.”
The walls were closing in.
CHAPTER TWO
When Carrie woke the next morning, she lay still and watched as a slight breeze ruffled the curtains. A quick glance told her Janie had already departed for the hospital. Carrie stretched and allowed the bed’s softness to envelop her body for a few more moments. This was her first day off in a week. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. The light outside told her it was mid-morning.
Several long minutes passed while she listened to the sounds of birds outside her window. To be sure, they were competing with the sound of a noisy city, but if she pretended really hard, she could almost imagine she was still on the plantation. Funny, she had been in such a hurry to leave the plantation, to follow her dreams of becoming a doctor. Her decision to grow crops had been her own, and it had been easy to throw her whole heart into it, but she had yearned fo
r the day she could begin to follow her dream in earnest.
Well, here she was. Only her dream hadn’t included thousands of men needlessly killed and wounded from battles pitting Americans against Americans. It hadn’t included countless amputations and infection that sapped the life of vibrant young men. It hadn’t included infectious diseases that spread like wildfire, claiming countless lives, as they swept through the camps that bred them.
Carrie had dreamed of going north - to the school established by one of the first women physicians in America, Dr. Harriet Hunt. She would have lived with Aunt Abby in Philadelphia while having the support of other women who had braved the cold waters of change before her. Now Philadelphia was a foreign city. She was indeed in a medical hospital, but every step she took was going to be a battle. For just a moment, fatigue caused her dream to waver in front of her. The picture dimmed and grew hazy as she envisioned the obstacles she would face.
But only for a moment. With a snort of contempt at her own self-pity, Carrie forced a defiant laugh and threw back the covers on her bed. “Get out of bed right now, Carrie Cromwell!” she muttered. “Lying around feeling sorry for yourself is a stupid thing to do. You are right where God wants you. You have a chance to make a difference. So what if you have to fight a little? Isn’t that what you do best?” she demanded of herself in an exasperated tone.
Throwing her long, flowing curls over her shoulder, she stepped to the window. A deep breath told her the storm last night had cleared the air only temporarily. Heavy gray clouds still captured the sky, and sultry air invaded the morning freshness. Just like the day before, the air hung heavy, seemingly burdened under the threatening events it was being called upon to convey. Carrie felt the heaviness reaching for her heart, but tossed her head, and retreated back into her room. “I have a whole day to myself,” she declared brightly to her empty room. “Now what am I going to do with it?”
A soft knock at her door caused her to spin. She had been sure she was alone in the house. Whoever was still around would think she was a trifle daft for carrying on a conversation with herself. “Yes?” she called, slightly irritated.
“Do you think your old father might share in all this talk with you for a while?”
Carrie laughed and flung open the door. Her father was used to her tirades with herself. She had done it from the time she was a child. “Father! What are you still doing home? Nothing is wrong is it?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’ve already been to the Capitol but had to return to retrieve some papers. My next meeting is not scheduled to start for a couple hours. When I heard you up, I thought I might talk you into having breakfast with me.”
“The two of us alone? I can’t think of anything I would like more,” Carrie exclaimed. “Give me just a few minutes to get ready. I’ll be right down.” She smiled as she slipped into her dress and tamed her hair into a braid and bun. She had not been alone with her father since the few minutes they had talked when she’d regained consciousness after the surgery on her shoulder to remove the bullet. There were always other people around. Whistling softly, she closed the door to her room and ran lightly down the steps.
Thomas was already seated at the table. “May will be in in a few minutes with our breakfast.” He laid aside the papers he had been perusing and fixed her with a loving smile. “Now, daughter, tell me how you’re doing.”
Carrie slipped into the chair next to him. “Feeling quite refreshed. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I got to sleep for so long.”
“You have barely slowed down since you arrived. You should have given yourself more than five days to recover from your injury before jumping into the hospital.” He grinned when Carrie merely shrugged. “Not that I would have expected you to do anything less.”
“You are hardly the one to talk, anyway,” Carrie responded with an impish grin. “You are at the Capitol both day and night.”
“You’re right,” Thomas sighed. “There seems to be no end to the things that need to be done. Helping to govern a state any time is a continual challenge. When war is added into the mix, it becomes...” His voice trailed off in weary fatigue.
Carrie leaned forward and laid her hand on his. “How long since you’ve had any rest yourself?” she asked tenderly.
Thomas shook his head and straightened. “Rest will come when there are no longer thousands of soldiers camped at our door,” he said firmly.
Carrie was concerned at the deep lines of fatigue she saw etched on his face but said nothing more. She knew it would do no good. Her father had found salvation in his work with the Virginia state government after her mother died. She would not interfere with the very thing that had saved him. Giving his all to the state he loved had been the only reason he had found for living. “What is going to happen?” she asked quietly.
“Only time will tell,” Thomas said heavily. “I’m afraid there is discontent behind the battle lines as well.”
“What do you mean?”
Thomas shrugged. “I’m afraid our own President is unable to find out what is going on. He and General Johnson don’t have the best working relationship. My understanding is that the general is a very capable commander. He just doesn’t feel any great need to communicate what is happening on his battlefields.”
“Not even with the President?”
“It seems President Davis didn’t know how far Johnson was retreating from McClellan until he rode outside the city limits and found our own army camped just a few miles away,” he commented drily. “Word has it that Johnson initially wanted to take his stand against McClellan right where he is, but Davis and General Lee persuaded him to take the battle to McClellan down on the peninsula. Johnson went, but he’s been retreating ever since. Now he’s right where he wanted to be all along.”
“It can’t remain a standoff forever, though.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Thomas said grimly. “There seemed to be some movement of the troops yesterday, but no one really knows what is going on. Except for Johnson, and he’s not talking.”
Carrie heard the ripe frustration in her father’s voice. “Have all the stragglers gone back to the army?” She vividly remembered the day last week when she had gone down into the city. There had been weary, ragged men everywhere - sprawled on the sidewalks, outside cellar doors, and beneath porch overhangs. Tired, hungry, and discouraged, they had poured into the city seeking a respite from their suffering. General Johnson had sent troops in to bring them back to their duty.
“Most of them are gone. Others snuck out of the city toward the west, I’m sure.”
Carrie looked at her father thoughtfully as his angry voice boomed out in the house. She could find no anger in her heart toward the confused men who had come to fight this war - either voluntarily or conscripted. No one had been prepared for the slaughter and suffering that had met them. It was little wonder many of them longed for home and made the decision to let other men fight the battles for them.
A long silence stretched between father and daughter as visions of what the immediate future might hold paraded before them through the room.
Thomas broke the quiet first. “There is a possibility the city will fall, Carrie.”
Carrie knew how it must be tearing her father up inside to admit even the possibility. “What will you do?” All she could do was let him talk.
“There are lots of things being said. You already know Richmond plans to torch its tobacco and cotton warehouses. Other men are threatening to set fire to their own homes - and to the Capitol. They are even planning to destroy the magnificent statue of Washington if the Yankees succeed.”
Carrie whitened at the thought of the destruction that would destroy their city. “Surely the North would do no more harm than what we plan on doing to ourselves,” she protested.
“I agree,” her father replied wearily. “But emotion can play a much bigger role than reason at a time like this.” He paused for a long minute, and then his face tightened with anger.
“By God, we’ve not fallen yet!” he exclaimed as his fist pounded against the table. “We will not go down without a fight.”
“And without thousands of soldiers being killed and wounded.” Carrie made no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.
Thomas sobered instantly, but his face was still hard. “We didn’t ask for this war. But we’re going to see it through - and we’re going to win.” After another long pause, he said, “We have to win.” Those words he spoke more to himself than to Carrie.
The first boom of cannons and pop of gunfire erupted just after one o’clock that afternoon. The heavy, overcast sky seemed to catch it and throw it toward the city with frightening clarity. The wait was finally over - or was it just beginning? Only time would tell the outcome of the battle. Would Richmond still be the capital of the Confederacy after the noise died away?
Within minutes the streets were thronged with people hurrying to the higher elevations to view the fighting. Carrie hurried to join them. In spite of her revulsion of the war, it was impossible not to want to know what was happening. There was no way she could stay in her father’s house and simply listen. She had to be with the people. She had to be a part of what was going on in her world.
The book she had been attempting to read had been tossed aside unceremoniously. She couldn’t even remember the title. It was one she had idly chosen from her father’s extensive collection when she was trying to decide how to spend the day. Not that it had held her attention. For the first time in her life, no book could interest her. The events surrounding her made the fiction she had been trying to read look comparatively flat. Nothing but the drama that was unfolding in Richmond would be able to keep her attention.
