Spy of Richmond

by Jocelyn Green

  “Yankee lover, all alone, You’re still made of flesh and bone. Daddy’s gone and Mommy’s dead, Turn your aid to Rebs instead.” A smile smeared his face, and the blood froze in Sophie’s veins. “Remember that? I’ll bet you remember this: Big houses still burn. Watch yours!” Fischer held up two sloshing pails reeking of alcohol.

  “Giddyup!” Harrison kicked his heels into his mount and charged across Mayo’s Bridge from the south side, whipping past a stream of Rebel soldiers. No one seemed to care that he’d deserted the Southern army. Order and law had evacuated along with the Confederate government.

  “Heading the wrong way!” a soldier called to him in passing.

  Leaning into the gallop, he thundered ahead, crackling fire loud in his ears from behind him as the bridge went up in flames. The railroad bridges to the west and east were already collapsing in fiery chunks into the James, which hissed with steam.

  Harrison’s head ached with his recent concussion as he urged his horse toward the burning city. To the east, dense yellow smoke billowed above Rocketts Landing and the Navy Yard, and tobacco warehouses lining Canal Street burst with light and flame. To the west, the Confederate arsenal exploded with a deafening roar.

  At last, the bridge spit Harrison into the inferno engulfing the lower city. The streets were lined with flames and the telltale odor of burning alcohol. He wheeled his horse east, but the leaping flames were too much for the beast to take. Quickly, Harrison peeled off his shirt, tied it over the horse’s eyes, and kicked him once again.

  Heat washed over Harrison in undulating waves. Sheets of fire leapt from window to window, and from warehouse to bank to hotel. Not a single alarm sounded. No one even tried to contain the blaze. Please God, stay the flames.

  Susan stood shoulder to shoulder with Sophie in the library. Otto Fischer reeked as much as the whiskey he poured on the floorboards, threw at the bookcases and sloshed over the brocade curtains.

  “F—Fi—Fischer!” Sophie sputtered like the candle in Susan’s hand. He wasn’t just draped in shadows, he was made of them.

  He looked up, and noticed Susan for the first time. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see her. “Susan? What is this grotesque mask you wear? Whatever happened to that creamy, silken skin of yours?”

  “Otto Fischer, how dare you?” Her father stood in the doorway, pale as a ghost. He stepped forward, looking every bit as tall and imposing as the father Susan had always remembered. “You would burn me and my daughters in our beds?” Susan wondered if her ears played tricks on her. It sounded as though her father was interceding for her right along with Sophie.

  “Haven’t you heard? There is no law tonight. It’s vigilante justice.”

  “Justice! You think you’re here to mete out justice? Like Nat Turner?” Preston hunched his shoulders forward, clutched at his chest.

  “Wait.” Fischer held out his hands. “You don’t know the whole story. The fall of the Confederacy is no accident, you know.”

  Preston grunted in obvious pain. “You have ten seconds to get off my property or I’ll kill you myself—there being no law tonight.”

  But Susan’s father could barely remain on his feet.

  “I came here tonight looking for a spy. Did you know you’ve been quartering one in your house?”

  Sophie’s hand twitched inside Susan’s, and Susan saw with crystal clarity that she had brought this upon herself, and upon her little sister and father. All of her grasping after Preston’s attention—her accusations of Sophie—her stubborn refusal to apologize, or even to pray … It had all led to this moment. Harm would come. But Susan would not escape it, either. Guilt coated her like the sweat now filming her skin. God … forgive me!

  “You’re lying,” Preston snarled at Fischer. “Leave!” Every word clearly cost him. Susan wrapped her arm around her father’s waist for fear he would collapse. Sophie supported him from the other side.

  But Fischer stood his ground. “In good time.” He held an unlit match aloft. “But I leave you with the gift of truth. The spy in your midst is—”

  “Right here.”

  Sophie jumped at the sound of Harrison’s voice.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, though his own body was slick with sweat and stained with soot.

  “Oliver?” Preston said.

  “Actually, my name is Harrison Caldwell.”

  Sophie held her breath as Preston cast his dissecting gaze on Harrison. “You were a spy?” He turned to her. “Sophie—?”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks in answer, and she felt his knees give way. She and Susan guided him to a chair before he collapsed. “You knew,” he whispered. “Did you help him? Did you spy for the Union, too?”

  It was killing him. Sophie’s betrayal would finish his limping heart. “I’ll always be your girl.” She smiled through her tears.

  “It was you!” Fischer pulled a revolver from his belt, aimed it at Harrison. “Spies hang, you know. But in this case, a bullet will do.”

  “Fischer,” Preston panted, head bowed, utterly defeated. “It’s over. All of it. Gone. Go home.”

  “Home? I have no home.” The hammer clicked back on the gun.

  Suddenly, an explosion rocked the house with a force so monumental, it could only mean the fire had reached the arsenal. More explosions followed, one after another, knocking them all to the whiskey-soaked floor. Fischer’s gun was shaken loose from his sweaty grip. He scrambled after it.

  “Harrison!” Sophie screamed, but her voice was lost in the never-ending roar as hundreds of railcars full of ammunition detonated, their reverberations spreading throughout the city in terrible, mind-numbing waves.

  The room jarred again, and Harrison lunged at Fischer. The floor pitched and yawed and still they wrestled like drunken sailors aboard their ship.

  Susan dropped her candle.

  Within moments, the tiny burning wick had sent fire across the alcohol-soaked floor. Crackling orange puddles spread toward Harrison and Fischer while flames leaped up the drapes. Fischer scrambled to his feet and ran out the door shouting, “I told you your house would burn!”

  “Water!” Harrison shouted as he hefted Preston out of the chair. Sophie and Susan launched out the back door and ran to the pump.

  Lois and Pearl came quaking from the kitchen house.

  “Fire inside,” Sophie shouted, barely able to hear her own voice past the ringing in her ears. The slave women ducked back into the kitchen house and returned with pots and pails to carry water.

  Harrison helped Preston into the slave quarters, then dashed back outside. “Don’t come near the fire,” he told them as Susan pumped. Sophie dunked a rag in the water and handed it to him. “Leave the pails in the hallway, or if that’s too hot, or the smoke is too thick, just leave them on the back porch …” After tying the wet rag over his nose and mouth, he swiped the bucket from under the spout and ran inside with it.

  Beneath a sky that boiled with smoke from a city going up in flames, the women took turns pumping as fast and hard as they could, and carried the sloshing pails into the house. Water splashed the hem of Sophie’s billowing nightgown, and blisters budded on her palms. Please God, Sophie prayed as her hair whipped into her eyes. Please, she said again, over and over.

  Until finally, Harrison emerged from the house, his chest streaked with soot and smoke. Coughing to clear his lungs, he tugged the rag loose and wiped it over his face. “Fire’s out.”

  Sophie dropped her pails, and the cool water splashed over her feet. Shaking with relief, she walked toward him. In three long strides, he spanned the distance between them and captured her in his arms, pressed her tightly against his bare chest.

  “It’s all right now,” he whispered, the heat of the fire radiating from his skin. “It’s over. I’m not leaving you again.”

  Lumpkin’s Slave Jail, Richmond, Virginia

  Monday, April 3, 1865

  Wake up, wake up!”

  Bella jolted awake after getting barely any s
leep at all, and immediately leapt to her feet. The door to her jail cell had been swung wide open. She followed her fellow inmates as they burst into the light of day, charred though it was, to find Union soldiers hurrying to put out the fires. So the Yankees had come after all.

  Slavery chain done broke at last! Broke at last! Broke at last! Slavery chain done broke at last! Gonna praise God ’til I die!

  The song of her fellow inmates filtered through her shock. Bella lifted her hands to the sky and closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, and joined her voice to theirs. “Slavery chain done broke at last! Gonna praise God ’til I die!”

  She opened her eyes and turned north toward Broad Street, where United States Colored Troops, 28th regiment, marched west in smart formation. Colored Richmonders lined the street, cheering their liberators with shouts and song.

  “Jesus has opened the way,” called one.

  “We been waiting on you,” called another.

  Some of them asked after relatives who had fled north. Have you seen a man named Moses? He has a scar above his eyebrow. A woman named Liz, with a space between her two front teeth? After their emancipation, reuniting with their families seemed foremost in their minds. It was certainly foremost in Bella’s. She would find Sophie in good time, but for now, she had other business to attend to.

  The soldiers were too disciplined to break rank and answer their questions at the moment.

  Once they arrived at Camp Lee, however, the colored troops stacked their arms and eagerly shook the hands of those who had followed them. Bella swelled with pride that the colored regiment should be conquering heroes in the rubble of the Confederate capital. She clasped each hand she could reach, and could not resist asking about her husband.

  “Abraham Jamison?” she said. “He was in the 54th Massachusetts, fought at Fort Wagner, but then was captured and imprisoned at Libby. Last I knew he was working in a furnace in western Virginia … Abraham Jamison,” she said again and again as she went down the line.

  The next hand she shook did not let her go. “Bella.”

  For a moment, words abandoned her.

  Abraham pulled her against his muscled chest in a fierce embrace. “Thank God you’re all right!”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Abe! You fought for Richmond?”

  He pulled back to look at her, and she rejoiced that his handsome face was no longer gaunt and defeated. “I fought for you. I fought for all of us.”

  She touched his face, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You did it, Love. You won. All of them are free at last. I’m so proud of y—”

  Abraham covered her lips with a kiss that took her breath away. As Bella melted into the strong arms of her husband, the cheers of the unshackled rang joyfully in her ears. Thank You, God, she prayed. More than conquerors indeed.

  Kent House, Richmond, Virginia

  Monday, April 3, 1865

  Sophie stood back as Susan fluffed the pillows behind Preston’s back, unsure if he even wanted Sophie around. His world, and his heart, had crumbled.

  “Sophie,” he said.

  She stepped to his side.

  “Bring Oli—Harrison, too.”

  Susan stepped into the hall, and in moments, Harrison took her place at Preston’s side.

  “Harrison Caldwell.” Preston’s voice was weak. “Caldwell? Was your mother Christine?”

  “The very same.”

  “She was Mother’s best friend from Philadelphia,” Sophie added.

  Preston grunted. “Then she would be pleased.”

  “But you aren’t,” she whispered.

  “I am old. And tired. And in mourning for the Confederacy. But—” He sighed heavily. “If it were not for Harrison here, I’d be buried right along with it. You saved my life, though I was your enemy.”

  “You were never the enemy,” Harrison said.

  Preston’s brow wrinkled. “But weren’t you a spy for the Union? Weren’t both of you spying for the Yankees?”

  Sophie bowed her head. “I followed my convictions, Daddy. And so did Harrison. But I’ll always be your—one of your girls.” She turned to Susan, who was waiting quietly against the wall, and smiled.

  “I’m done fighting. It’s over.” Preston peered up at Harrison. “You are truly a newspaperman?”

  “Yes, sir. And I truly love your daughter.”

  “I know you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have saved me. Twice. Thank you for that. Now be off with you. I’m sure you have plans to make. Susan can keep me company.”

  Sophie kissed her father’s brow, and Harrison shook his hand before they took their leave, and Susan resumed her post.

  Susan sat next to her father and held his hand, coals burning in her gut. But if he could forgive Sophie for what she did for the Yankees, then perhaps … No more stalling, she told herself. God help me. “Daddy.”

  He looked at her with hooded eyes.

  She licked her lips. Swallowed. “Forgive me. I’ve sinned against God, and you.” Tears coursed down her cheeks as the words finally broke from her lips.

  His own composure crumbled as he pulled her down into an embrace, and she sobbed onto his chest. Preston laid his hand on her hair. “Forgiven. And if I have wronged you, if my shortcomings harmed you, I ask your forgiveness, too, before it is too late.”

  “What?” She pulled back to search his face.

  “Do you forgive?” His eyelids fluttered.

  “Yes but Daddy—too late for what?”

  Preston sighed deeply. “Perhaps it is right that I should die along with the Confederacy.”

  “No. No! You can’t die, not now, not when I’ve just truly come home to you again!”

  “Daughter.” He held her hand, but weakly. “I see you. I love you. But I don’t have the heart to keep up with this changing world.” The corner of his lips turned up as he thumped his chest.

  Susan’s spirit rebelled. He couldn’t leave her now. If not for her sake, then—“You have a granddaughter.”

  He turned his head, opened his eyes, frowning. “You’re a mother?”

  She shrugged, and more tears spilled from her eyes. “Only technically.”

  “Noah Becker’s girl?”

  Susan hesitated before nodding. “Yes. Noah is the best father that girl could ever hope to have.”

  Confusion furrowed his brow. “I thought you said he abandoned you after your illness. Yet he’s a good father?”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I lied. We annulled the marriage early on, and I was only too happy to be shed of them both. I would not presume to take Analiese from him for the world.” He frowned, but she kept going. “Forgive me. Noah’s family is in Germany still. I’m sure she’d love to meet you, her only living grandparent this side of the ocean.”

  “What is she—eight or nine years old now?”

  “Yes. Brown hair, and blue eyes like yours. Exactly the same shade.”

  “Where?”

  “I left her in Atlanta.” Inwardly, Susan cringed at the memory of their parting. “She’s in the care of a very capable governess. I’m sure life is better for them now that I’m not there—you know how I can make a person miserable. But you should meet your granddaughter, as soon as the railroads are repaired.” Please God, let it be something for him to live for …

  “Will you find her for me?”

  Susan almost laughed with relief. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

  “Oh pardon me.”

  Susan turned, and found a gaunt, bearded soldier dripping with rags in the doorway. But there was something about his eyes …

  He cleared his throat. “Susan? I mean, Miss Kent? Mr. Kent? It’s me. Asher Blair. Mother is home tending Joel’s minor wounds, but she sent me over to check on you. I saw your servant in the yard and she told me I might as well come on in … I don’t mean to intrude, I just—is there anything I can do for you?”

  Preston reached out his hand. “Son, you have done more than one man should ever r
equire of another. Thank you for your service. Welcome home.”

  Asher’s eyes crinkled in his weathered face.

  “And Mr. Blair,” Susan added. “Tell your mother I prayed, and came all the way home.”

  “That I will.” He bowed to her. “I trust she’ll know what that means?”

  Susan nodded. “Yes. Now go to her. We’re all so very glad you and Joel are home, too.”

  Harrison enveloped Sophie’s hand in his own as they sat on the front porch swing. The smell of the charred library followed them, but it only mingled with the odor of the burned city. Earlier, they had watched from the balcony as Yankee soldiers and cavalry had streamed into Richmond and raised the Stars and Stripes over the smoldering capital once more. But Sophie had seen enough of war to last quite a while. A lifetime, she supposed.

  “I have something for you.” A smile toyed with the corner of Harrison’s lips as he withdrew a single book from his pocket. The burnished corners curled back, but the pages remained intact. “It’s North and South.”

  “It survived!” Sophie hugged it to her chest. “But you know I can’t read it.”

  “You will. You’ll learn to read and write again. I’ll make it my personal mission.” He winked. “In the meantime, I’ll read to you, and when you want to write a story, I will be your pen. You have a marvelous story to tell, Sophie, and no one can tell it but you.”

  “What about you? Think of all you’ve seen and done! The prisons, the war department, the battles …”

  “My story begins and ends with you. If you’ll let it.” A lump shifted in his throat. “Sophie, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Sophie’s breath caught in her chest as he wrapped his arms around her, his rich brown eyes drawing her in. Her body warmed to him as though he still wore the heat of the fire. “We’ll stay here if you want and help rebuild the city. Or we can return to Philadelphia. Either way, let’s do it together. Let’s write our own happily ever after. One that will rival any in your novels. I have no ring to give you just yet, but I will. And what I have is already yours. My devotion. My heart. My life.”