Souls Aflame

by Patricia Hagan

  “Oh, but Libby Prison, sir,” the man gasped. “They call it the Black Hole. The tales I have heard about that place are atrocious. They say our soldiers despised Major General John Pope for his antagonistic attitudes toward southern civilians, so they’re determined to vent their hatred on prisoners from his army particularly—but every prisoner there suffers. As well they should, being Yankees. Do not misunderstand me…”

  Julie listened in horror as the man went on to describe what he had heard about the prison; and with each word, she knew she had to move as fast as she could to get Myles out of that place. He told how the prisoners arrived in cattle cars, packed in tightly and covered in manure by the time they arrived. Then they were marched through the streets, amidst jeers and taunts, on their way to the Tobacco Warehouse Prison. Deserters, idiots, lunatics, thieves, murderers—all were packed in together with barely space to lie down.

  He described tales he’d heard of the floor being over an inch deep in greasy slime, and a horrible odor permeating the air from the open privy which was used by all. And the walls, he added, were smeared from the floors on up with the slops and excretions of the hundreds of other prisoners housed up there.

  “Well, you can’t expect better for a stinking Yankee.” A third voice joined the conversation. “And with all due respect, sir, the boy’s a traitor to the South!”

  Julie could not bear to listen to such drivel any longer. She moved swiftly into the parlor, where the three men looked up at her in surprise. She did not have to ask who had spoken last, for when she recognized Thad Parkland, a deacon in the church who took it upon himself to sit in judgment on everyone, there was no doubt in her mind that he had made such a remark.

  “I will ask you to leave this house,” she said tightly, struggling to keep her voice low, her anger in check. “I will not have you speak of my brother in that manner, and I should think you would have some respect for the dead. Go now. This is a day of mourning.”

  Several people standing about overheard Julie’s remarks and gasped with surprise. Virgil’s eyes bulged as he cried, aghast, “Julie—what is the meaning of this?”

  “If you do not leave,” she continued to glare at Thad Parkland, “I will call a servant and have you thrown out. Now, do you wish to make a scene?”

  “You have already made one, Miss Marshal,” Parkland said curtly. Turning to Virgil, he bowed slightly and murmured, “My sympathies, sir.”

  Everyone in the parlor followed him to the front door, buzzing among themselves and glancing back nervously at Julie.

  Virgil reached out and clutched her arm so tightly that Julie winced with pain. He had turned his back on the crowd, shielding them from the view of the others. “Julie, how could you do such a thing? Thad Parkland is one of the most prominent men in the community—”

  “He’s a sanctimonious Pharisee, and I would’ve attempted to throw him out of this house myself had he not gone willingly. It’s quite enough that you are here, for you’re the most damnable hypocrite of the lot! To think what you have done to my mother, my brother, and to me.” She jerked her arm away, taking him by surprise; freeing herself, she stepped back. “I wish it were you in that coffin, Virgil Oates! And if you ever try to touch me again, I will see you in your grave!”

  A few people closest to the parlor heard and turned their heads to stare. Virgil’s face colored as he gave them a nervous smile and murmured, “The girl is grief-stricken. Pay no heed, please.” With lowered voice he whispered to Julie, “You go to your room at once and remain there until the hour of the funeral. And remember, how long that bastard brother of yours lives depends on how you behave.”

  It took every ounce of self-control for Julie to walk out of the room. How she wanted to strike him…cursing and screaming for everyone to hear. But this was not the time. No, there were long hours to be endured before she could leave, and if things were to go smoothly, she would have to force herself to remain calm.

  Nervously she paced about in her room, anxious for time to pass so she could be on her way. And all the while, she was reminding herself that she must face the possibility that Derek might not be in Wilmington. Perhaps he was somewhere between the port and Bermuda. Though his ship had been destroyed, he might be on another. How could she hope to find him?

  In any case, she refused to let herself think he was dead. No, he was alive. He had to be. She would find out more once she arrived in Wilmington. Surely there would be a headquarters of some kind where blockade runners would be listed, crewmen and officers. Maybe she could locate someone who had been on the Ariane.

  Sara’s voice brought her back to the agony of the present. “Miz Julie, the parson says it’s time.”

  Quickly opening her door, Julie stepped into the hallway and whispered, “We must succeed tonight, Sara. Is everything ready for us to leave? We won’t get a second chance.”

  “Yes’m. Everything was done just like you said to do it. Now you better get along downstairs, ’cause ever’body is waitin’ fo’ you.”

  Julie led the way nervously, her whole body trembling with the fear that ran through her veins. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she was stunned to see the swelling crowd below. Not only was the parlor filled to overflowing, but so were the other rooms and the hallway as well. She stiffened as Virgil hurried up the steps solicitously to take her arm and lead her to her place near the coffin.

  As the parson read from the Bible, Julie kept her eyes on her mother’s stark white face. To think she had devoted her life to making this place so prosperous, only to lose it to such an unscrupulous man as Virgil. Shaking her head and biting her lip, Julie fought once again for control in order to keep from raging at the heavens above. It was not fair. Dear God, none of it was fair.

  The procession formed behind the wooden cart carrying the coffin and made its way to the cemetery. Virgil kept his hand clamped on Julie’s arm, squeezing even tighter when they reached the spot where Myles had been captured. She stared down at the earth covering her father’s grave and wondered if anyone else would notice that it had been disturbed.

  The casket bearing her mother’s body was laid in the gaping hole in the ground, and then the parson was murmuring words she did not hear, and people were singing hymns that escaped her memory. She could only stand there mutely, stiffly, thinking ahead to the hour when she could leave.

  It was over. People were departing. Virgil released her, to accept more words of sympathy. Playing his role to the hilt, she thought with disgust.

  Suddenly she heard her name called out. Turning, she found herself staring into the sad eyes of Adelia Carrigan. Of course she would come to the funeral, but Julie had not thought of the possibility, or prepared herself for the eventuality of their meeting. Now she found it difficult to keep from turning and running. This was the last woman on earth she wanted to see.

  “I am so dreadfully sorry, dear,” Adelia murmured in a soft, gentle voice, her hand extended.

  Julie had no choice but to touch fingers with her. No point in making a scene. Not now. “Thank you, Aunt Adelia. It was nice of you to come.”

  “Please, if there’s anything I can do, or my children—” she began, but Julie interrupted.

  “No, there’s nothing anyone can do. Mother is out of her misery now. She won’t suffer any longer. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a trying day, and I’d like to lie down.” She did turn away then, unable to bear the woman’s presence any longer. There was so much more she wished she could say to her, but it was not her place to judge. Julie had spent too many years feeling bitter as it was.

  “Julie, wait. There’s something I’d like to say. I…I heard about Myles—” She sounded nervous.

  Julie turned back, surprised. “Yes, I suppose everyone has heard by now.”

  “Well, I didn’t know if you knew or not, but Thomas is one of the officers at Libby Prison,” she said anxiously, hands clasped together to stop their trembling. “I heard your stepfather asked that he be turned over to
the Confederacy. I expect Libby is where he’ll be sent. I just wanted you to know that I plan to write to Thomas, so he’ll be aware of what’s going on. He says the prison is terribly crowded, but if he knows Miles is there, I’m sure he’ll look for him.”

  “That’s nice of you…”

  “Now, I can’t promise Thomas can treat him any differently from the other prisoners, but they are cousins, and I just wanted to let you know I’ll get word to him right away.”

  Julie was finding it difficult to contain her excitement. Not only was it highly likely that Thomas could make life easier for Miles, but there was a good possibility that he could help her get him out of that horrid place.

  “Thank you, Aunt Adelia,” she said, lips trembling. “Thank you very much.” And then she turned and hurried toward the house, lifting her skirts so that she could scurry quickly across the red Georgia clay. She still despised the woman for what she had done with her father, but this day Adelia had done her family a great service.

  Julie found the kitchen empty. The servants had gone to the grave and were singing gospel songs while it was being covered and the guests were leaving.

  Quickly she looked around and found what she was after: a short-bladed butcher knife that could be easily concealed. She had just slipped it inside her high-topped shoe when she heard footsteps coming across the back porch. She straightened, and was smoothing her skirt as the door opened and Virgil walked in, frowning.

  “I saw you running this way and thought perhaps you were ill.”

  “No, I’m quite all right, but don’t concern yourself with me,” she snapped. “What I do is no business of yours.”

  His voice was like a whip in the silent house. “I challenge that statement. I’m the undisputed master of this household now, and I have supreme rule over all that goes on.”

  “Not with me, you don’t.”

  He took a step forward, then hesitated. “You’re going to marry me, Julie. I’ll give you a decent period to grieve, but then we’ll plan our wedding. No one will be surprised. They all knew it was you I was courting in the first place, so it’s only natural we marry now. So do your mourning and then make ready for our wedding.”

  “Marry you?” Her eyes flicked over him contemptuously. “I’d sooner die!”

  She ran from the kitchen as he yelled after her, “You’ll be sorry you said that. You’re going to learn to show me some respect around here…”

  The sound of his voice faded as she hurried through the house and made her way to her room, slamming the door behind her. Outside a light, cold drizzle had begun to fall. The gray shroud that was enveloping the land would make darkness come even earlier.

  She changed from her black bombazine dress to a simple woolen garment that would be warm and comfortable for travel. Then she began to count the hours till her escape.

  Sara brought Julie a supper tray of warmed-over stew, a fried potato pie, grits, and hot tea. She was so nervous and jittery that Julie gently chided her, saying she would give everything away if she did not get hold of herself. “Virgil shouldn’t suspect anything tonight, of all nights. He thinks I’m too grief-stricken to make plans to leave just now. And the weather outside is turning raw too. But if he sees you behaving as you are now, he’s sure to figure out something is up.”

  “Yes’m. I’ll try. I’m fixin’ to give him his supper, even though he says he don’t want nothin’. Some o’ the folks wanted to stay, but he tol’ ’em he just wanted to be left alone with his sorrow.” She snorted. “The only thing he’s sorry about is that she didn’t die before now. And he’s a-drinkin’ too. Hard liquor. He’s a-sittin’ in the library guzzlin’ it down and starin’ at the fire and mumblin’ to hisself. It’s gonna seem like fo’ever till midnight, Miz Julie. I just knows it is.”

  “I know. Let’s just hope he passes out drunk. Now you be sure you and Lionel are in that wagon and ready to leave the second I get there. We’re going to have to travel hard and fast and put much distance between Rose Hill and us, no matter what kind of weather we run into. We can’t fail now.”

  Alone again, she wandered about in the dark room until she grew weary. Then she lay down on the bed to wait until the appointed hour. The clocks had been restarted, and each time the chimes tolled, she held her breath and counted.

  There was an eeriness in the air that made her flesh crawl, as though the house were a living, breathing thing, waiting for something to erupt within its very soul.

  She was tired. She had had no sleep the night before, and the day had been exhausting. It would be so easy to fall into slumber, but she could not allow herself. The hour of departure was too near.

  Something made a clicking sound.

  Sitting straight up, her spine rigid with fear, she stared into the darkness. Was it her imagination or had she really heard the doorknob turn?

  Suddenly the door banged loudly against the wall, and her hands flew to her throat, stifling her scream of terror. Virgil was in the room. She could not see him, but she knew it was him.

  “Don’t you come near me—” she heard her voice warble, hating its frightened sound. She had to be brave. “I’m warning you, Virgil. Don’t try to touch me again—”

  “Ah, you beauteous bitch, you’ve been waiting for me.” The words were slurred. He was drunk. “Are you naked, my love? Are you waiting for me with parted thighs and eager loins?”

  Quickly she yanked up her dress, reaching for the knife she had tucked into her shoe. Her trembling fingers wrapped about the handle, she slid from the bed, backing toward the doors leading to the balcony. “I’m warning you, Virgil. Get out of here! Now!”

  He laughed—an evil, maniacal sound. “I’ve come to take what’s mine.” He lunged for her in the darkness, and she was caught off balance by the sudden movement. The knife slipped from her grasp. He wrestled her to the floor as she groped frantically for the weapon. His lips were covering her face with wet, eager kisses as his hands fondled her wildly.

  Twisting, turning, she struggled to keep her hands free and upon the floor. Where was the knife? Dear God, she could not suffer one more night in his arms!

  “You’re mine!” he shrieked, fighting to hold her beneath him. “All mine…forever…”

  Her fingers touched the cold steel blade. She had the knife in her hand and brought it plunging downward, feeling the sickening thud as flesh parted. Virgil screamed in agony and lurched to one side. Quickly she scrambled to her feet. The knife was still imbedded in his body. Where, she did not know, and she could only hope he was wounded badly enough that he could not stop her from escaping now.

  “You cut me!” he screamed, thrashing about wildly, hands reaching out for her in the blackness. “I’ll kill you for this. I’ll fix you so no man will ever want you…”

  She tripped and fell to the floor, then scrambled up again and felt her way along. He was groaning—but struggling, she knew, to come after her. Once she found the door, she groped along the walls, moving her legs as fast as she dared. Reaching the stairs, she clung to the bannister, heart pounding and brain thundering as she hurried down. Escape. She had to escape.

  “Julie—” he was out of the room, fighting to make it down the hall. Then she heard him falling. He gave one last moan, then there was only silence.

  Bolting through the house, she ran out the front door, across the lawn, and around to the rear. Icy rain pelted down, and she realized dimly that she wore no shawl. It was very cold. But no matter. She was on her way, thank God.

  Tearing through the woods, she took a short cut to where the wagon waited. Bursting into the clearing, she began to laugh and cry all at once as she heard Lionel’s voice. “Miz Julie, is he after you? Oh, Lordy, he’s gonna kill us all—”

  He could not make out her face in the darkness, but he could distinguish her figure. She felt his hands reaching for her, and she threw herself toward him. “Help me onto the wagon. I stabbed him. I don’t know how badly he’s hurt, but for the moment we’re one step
ahead of him. Hurry…”

  Sara wailed, and Lionel yelled for her to be quiet. He slung Julie up onto the wagon, not taking the time to be gentle. Then he leaped to the driver’s seat and gave the mules full rein, popping the whip across their backs to urge them on.

  Julie clung to Sara as they bounced and jostled in the wagon.

  “Is we gonna make it?” the old Negro woman kept moaning. “Is we gonna get away?”

  “With God’s help, Sara,” Julie whispered, breathing a bit easier with every passing second. “With God’s help, we will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Julie’s chin trembled as she lifted her head and fought to retain her composure while she moved through the throngs of jostling, drunken men. They seemed to be everywhere, swarming down upon the staid old town of Wilmington like crazed wasps without a home. She had been in the city only two days, having been forced to take shelter in a barn, along with Sara and Lionel. They had no money for a hotel room, even if one could be found, and the two faithful Negroes refused to leave her until she found someone to help her.

  She prayed that someone would be Derek.

  The old woman who had agreed to give them shelter had warned Julie of the terrible conditions that surrounded them. “The town has just turned topsy-turvy,” Pearl Watson said with disdain. “Speculators from all parts of the South wait around to go to the weekly auctions of imported cargo, and the town is infested with rogues and desperadoes who make their living by robbing and killing.”

  She went on to say that it was not safe to go out at night anywhere, and there had even been shootings and knifings on the streets in the daytime. “Between the crews of the steamers in port and the soldiers stationed here, there’s always something going on. There’s been plenty of bodies found floating in the water around the docks, and the civil authorities can’t, or won’t, do anything to try and control the situation.”