Praise for Spy of Richmond
Spy of Richmond is meticulously researched historical fiction that shares the struggles, courage, fears, and faith of ordinary citizens who lived in extraordinary times. Jocelyn is a master at weaving historical facts into her novels so the reader is simultaneously educated and entertained. A captivating story that brings history to life.
—JESSICA JAMES, author of Noble Cause and two-time winner of the John Esten Cooke Award for Southern Fiction
A spellbinding story, told with historical veracity, about loyal Unionists who risk everything for their country in the heart of the Confederacy. Once begun, Spy of Richmond is nearly impossible to put down.
—JOSEPH WHEELAN, author of Libby Prison Breakout: The Daring Escape from the Notorious Civil War Prison
The Spy of Richmond is richly peppered with descriptions and details of Confederate Richmond as it feels the strains of the last two years of the Civil War. Tensions in the city come to life through characters, both Northern and Southern, grasping for hope and survival. Sophie’s desire to do what is right and morally humane in the face of the terrors of war is applaudable. It’s inspiring to see how one woman’s sacrifice could impact the freedom of so many.
—KAREN A. CHASE, Church Hill Association, Richmond, Virginia
Praise for Wedded to War (Book 1)*
*2013 Christy Award Finalist (Historical Fiction and First Novel categories)
With stirring detail and a firm grasp of the historical background, this novel totally engages the reader and shows the difficulties women encounter as they strive to serve the Union and make unconventional choices.
—CAROL KAMMEN, editorial writer for History News and Tompkins County (N.Y.) historian
The research behind this shines. Green’s descriptions of the first hospitals, the horrors of battlefield medicine, and the extraordinary courage and vision of the women who took on this challenge carry the whole book. For this alone it’s worth the read.
—HISTORICAL NOVEL SOCIETY
Praise for Widow of Gettysburg (Book 2)
With equal amounts history, romance, and mystery, Jocelyn Green writes with heart-stopping detail, crafting a story that resonates on every page. Highly recommended!
—LAURA FRANTZ, author of Love’s Reckoning
Amazing … Green gives a voice to the women and children of the Civil War and skillfully shares their struggles.
—RT REVIEWS, 4.5 out of 4.5 stars and named a TOP PICK
Jocelyn Green does a masterful job juggling the different storylines that parallel Liberty’s life experiences, creating an urgent desire to continue reading from one cover to the other … A compelling, realistic rendition of a woman’s life during the Civil War.
—CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES
Praise for Yankee in Atlanta (Book 3)
Green has written a rare Civil War novel that hits no false historical notes. In a cruel and violent time that divided loyalties, families, and hearts, Green’s heroines’ enduring courage, compassion, and mercy show the wellspring from which a renewed nation could emerge from the fires of war.
—MARC WORTMAN, PhD, author, The Bonfire: The Siege and Burning of Atlanta
Rarely have I read a novel that so envelops you into the excitement and intrigue of 1864 Atlanta. With passion, courage, and accuracy, Yankee in Atlanta hits the mark. A must-read for all historians and romantics alike!
—AMY REED, curator of Exhibits and Educational Programming, Marietta Museum of History, Marietta, Georgia
Move over, Scarlett O’Hara. Yankee in Atlanta mixes grit and grace in ways that transcend stereotypes and tug at your heart. A terrific must-read.
—JANE HAMPTON COOK, historian and author of Pulitzer-nominated American Phoenix
© 2015 by
JOCELYN GREEN
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Published in association with the literary agency of Credo Communications, LLC, Grand Rapids, Michigan, www.credocommunications.net.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Pam Pugh
Interior Design: Ragont Design
Cover Design: Left Coast Design
Cover photo of woman’s face copyright © by domi79/Shutterstock 79244173. All rights reserved.
Cover photo of dress provided by The Museum at FIT.
Author Photo: Paul Kestel of Catchlight Imaging
Map of Richmond: Rob Green Design
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Green, Jocelyn.
Spy of Richmond / Jocelyn Green.
pages; cm. -- (Heroines Behind the Lines: Civil War; Book 4)
“River North fiction.”
Includes bibliographical references (pages).
Summary: “Trust none. Risk all. Richmond, Virginia, 1863. Compelled to atone for the sins of her slaveholding father, Union loyalist Sophie Kent risks everything to help end the war from within the Confederate capital and abolish slavery forever. But she can’t do it alone. Former slave Bella Jamison sacrifices her freedom to come to Richmond, where her Union soldier husband is imprisoned, and her twin sister still lives in bondage in Sophie’s home. Though it may cost them their lives, they work with Sophie to betray Rebel authorities. Harrison Caldwell, a Northern freelance journalist who escorts Bella to Richmond, infiltrates the War Department as a clerk, but is conscripted to defend the city’s fortifications. As Sophie’s spy network grows, she walks a tightrope of deception, using her father’s position as newspaper editor and a suitor’s position in the ordnance bureau for the advantage of the Union. One misstep could land her in prison, or worse. Suspicion hounds her until she barely even trusts herself. When her espionage endangers the people she loves, she makes a life-and-death gamble. Will she follow her convictions even though it costs her everything-and everyone-she holds dear?”-- Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-8024-0579-1 (softcover)
1. Abolitionists--Virginia--Richmond--Fiction. 2. Slaves--Virginia--Richmond--Fiction. 3. United States--History--Civil War, 1861-1865--Women--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.R4329255S69 2015
813’.6--dc23
2014031519
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For Deb, who inspires me.
Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.
—Psalm 31:24
Map of Richmond
A Note on the City of Richmond
Prologue
Act One: The Privilege to Differ
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Act Two: Courting Peril
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Act Three: True Hearts Grow Brave
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Act Four: A Battalion of Troubles
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Act Five: The Curtain Falls
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Epilogue
The History behind the Story
Selected Bibliography
Discussion Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Check out Books 1–3 in the Heroines Behind the Lines series:
Excerpt from Wedded to War
Excerpt from Widow of Gettysburg
Excerpt from Yankee in Atlanta
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Virginia was the cradle of democracy. Not only could it claim the settlement of Jamestown, but the leaders the state produced—George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and James Madison—guided the new nation through its earliest perils.
So when the Southern states seceded from the country Virginia helped birth, the Old Dominion hesitated. In fact, as late as April 12, 1861, Richmond was a Union town. The diverse, urban area had little in common with the agrarian sector of the Cotton South. But the action at Fort Sumter, South Carolina, changed everything. When Lincoln called for his 75,000 volunteers, Richmond and Virginia felt the choice was made for them. In the face of an invading army, Virginia was the last state to secede. Weeks later, the Confederate capital moved to Richmond. The city of 38,000 would balloon to more than 100,000 souls. It seethed with government officials, refugees, speculators, prisoners, soldiers, criminals, and wounded. No other American city endured what Richmond did during this war: four years of periodic attack, frequent raids, siege, famine, capitulation, and partial destruction by fire.
A small band remained loyal to the Union—and to the cause of freedom, especially after Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation—even in this feverishly patriotic capital. The Richmond Underground comprised native Virginians as well as immigrants, white and black, slave and free, men and women. Spy of Richmond tells a tale of commitment to conviction no matter the cost.
Outside Savannah, Georgia
Thursday, March 3, 1859
It is madness.
Rain hissing to the earth behind her, Sophie Kent shivered and craned her neck toward the platform, half expecting lightning to strike the Ten Broeck Race Course any moment. It was the second day of the auction selling more than 420 slaves, and the second day of boiling, weeping storms. Gripping her pencil and papers beneath the folds of her wrap, Sophie trained her eyes and ears to the drama around her.
Humiliation tightened her throat as she watched a woman on the stage made to jump, bend, twist, and turn. Her smooth complexion was the color of tea with milk and honey, a bright contrast to the cocoa and coffee bean shades of the others. Her almond-shaped eyes were cast downward as a man tugged off her shawl and head rag before pinching her arm and pulling her lips apart to display her teeth. Modesty told Sophie to avert her gaze from the indignity, but she resisted. For years, she’d been blind to the horrors of slavery. This time, she would not look away. Neither will I stay silent. Not any longer.
The man spun the woman around and exposed her back to the audience. “No scars from the disciplining lash—no trace of rebellion in her spirit,” he said. The woman covered herself once more.
As the bidding began from within the two hundred buyers in attendance, Sophie withdrew her auction catalogue from her wrap, her pencil poised to take notes. Humidity curled the pages, and the list of souls for sale drooped in her gloved hand.
116—Rina, 18; rice, prime woman.
117—Lena, 1.
118—Pompey, 31; rice—lame in one foot.
256—Daphne, 32; house servant.
257—Judy, aged; rice hand.
342—Cassander, 35; cotton hand—has fits.
Murmuring voices pricked Sophie’s ears. “Well, Smith, I saw you inspecting this chattel yesterday. Going to buy her?”
“I think not. No. 256 looks healthy enough, and can do a heap of work. But it’s been years since she had any children, she told me. Done breeding, I reckon.”
Heat scorched Sophie’s cheeks as she furiously recorded the exchange in the margin of her catalogue. Do they not hear themselves? Do they not understand these are people not livestock?
In front of her, rough-looking young men with knives in their belts and tobacco in their cheeks spoke of managing refractory slaves. Joining them were white-haired gentlemen with silk cloths at their necks. These advocates of severe whipping and branding were silenced by a booming voice: “I’m a driver, myself, and I’ve had some experience, and I ought to know. You can manage ordinary slaves by lickin’ ’em, and givin’ ’em a taste of the hot iron once in a while when they’re extra ugly; but if a brute really sets himself up against me, I can’t never have any patience with him. I just get my pistol and shoot him right down, and that’s the best way.”
Sophie looked up to see more than one man nod in agreement.
“Sold!” The gavel struck, and Daphne, chattel no. 256, twisted her bright yellow head scarf back into place over her hair. Her face settled into tense lines as a family of four replaced her on the platform.
Thunder snarled, and wind wailed through the pines surrounding the race course. The crowd shifted closer to the platform, away from the spitting rain. All except for Sophie, who remained rooted in place.
“Pardon me, Miss.” A man in gold-rimmed spectacles tipped his broad-brimmed hat to her. “Tedious doings, eh?”
“I can think of another word for it,” she muttered without looking up from her catalogue, waiting for him to pass.
He didn’t. “Sophie?”
She turned in time to see lightning’s flash brighten his twinkling brown eyes. “I thought you were in—” New York.
But the sharpness of his gaze penetrated her surprise. Harrison Caldwell was here for the same reason she was, which was why he wore spectacles he didn’t need, and a mustache too full to be his own.
“Shhhhh,” he said beneath his breath. “You can do this. Write it.” He bent, kissed her hand, and whispered, “Four years to go,” then stood tall and stepped away from her, his eyes focused on the platform.
Heart hammering, Sophie clenched her p
apers, careless of the ink and lead smearing her gloves. Aware that he would disappear into the crowd any moment, she stared at his broad back while she could. Memories kindled until her face burned.
A hand squeezed her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her kid leather boots.
“Daddy!” Sophie gasped. “You startled me.”
“Our business is finished here.” Head and shoulders above Sophie, Preston Kent’s silver-striped suit gleamed with the light of the storm, as if he were Zeus himself.
“Do you mean—”
“We’ve secured a new maid for your mother. Rachel’s been doing her best since Matilda died, but she’s no maidservant. I don’t blame her, of course, a housekeeper isn’t trained to wait on the personal needs of a mistress the way your mother has been accustomed. We simply must have a proper replacement. A marvel I was able to get this chattel no. 256—calls herself Daphne—alone, with most slaves being sold in families.”
“Has she none, then?”
“Not anymore.” Mr. Kent puffed on his cigar, the wind stripping the sweet blue-grey smoke from his lips. “No. 257—apparently, her aged mother—died of consumption in the sheds just after the catalogues were printed. Fortuitous, yes?”
She looked away. “Not for Daphne,” she murmured. “Not for her mother.”
“It’s good business. For instance, why buy two horses—especially when one of them is infirm—for a one-horse carriage?”
“No. 257? Her name was Judy, Daddy, and she most certainly was n-not a h-horse!”
Preston’s gaze pounced around them until landing on Harrison, who had never strayed far from Sophie, and watched her still. Lips forged into an iron smile, Mr. Kent caught his daughter’s wrist and cut his voice low as he led her away from the crowd. “You’re making a scene. Don’t embarrass me.” His blue eyes slanted into glittering slits. “Is this what I can expect from you from now on? Blatant, public defiance?”
“I’m capable of walking without you dragging me.” Sophie pulled away from him, but he only twisted harder. “You’re treating me like a child. I’m nineteen years old, Da—”
“So was—” He dropped the thought like hot coal, but Sophie could hear the unspoken. So was Susan.
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