Julia inwardly flinched. Though she had expected her mother to be angry, nevertheless her finality cut to the quick. When the silence lengthened, Julia cleared her throat. “I am sorry to have caused you so much distress, Mother, Papa.” She again looked to her father, but he appeared to be made of stone. “It was not my intention to do so.”
Her mother clenched her hands so hard that she shook. “Of course not! You did not give us a second thought, when you threw yourself at that…that man. Vile Yankee! You should count your blessings that Payton is a true Christian gentleman, and far too good for you. It surprises me that he did not reject you on the spot. Instead, that sweet boy insists he loves you and will give you a good home. A week from Saturday, you will be married to dear, kind Payton, and he will take you back to Belmont. It’s far, far more than you deserve.”
Julia nearly gagged. Payton didn’t love her! She had seen his face when he dumped her on her bed last night and it wasn’t full of kindness, but a much more base emotion. Lifting her chin, she stared down at her mother. “I regret to add to your displeasure, but I refuse to marry Payton Norwood.”
A strangled cry rose out of Clara’s mouth. For the first time, Julia’s father looked at her. His frown deepened.
“Payton is a worthy bridegroom for any girl, Julia,” the doctor said, in a bruised tone dredged up from the pit of his melancholy.
Clara found her voice. “Payton is far too good for you! All the girls in Richmond are just dying to marry him. So handsome, so polite, so intelligent!”
Julia steeled herself for the sake of her future. “Let the Richmond girls keep him, then. But I will never have that false loon for a husband, not on Saturday next, not ever.”
“Ungrateful wretch!” her mother gasped, pulling out her handkerchief.
Before the crocodile tears could commence, Julia hurried ahead, her words tripping over themselves. “I loathe Payton. Being married to him is not going to make this situation any better, except for Payton. You think he is so good and kind to marry me even though my good name is ruined? He doesn’t care a fig for me. What he lusts for is Grandmother’s ten thousand dollars that will be mine on my birthday next month. That’s why he still insists he wants to marry me. But he’ll never have that money! I intend to use my inheritance to open a school for girls. Payton may want to marry me, but I refuse him. This is my life, Mother, and I will choose to live it as I see fit—not as you command.”
“You will die in the gutter like one of those…loose women!” Clara shouted. “That’s where you will end up if Payton doesn’t take you. No one will want a brazen hussy to teach their daughters. You will starve, do you hear me? Starve, for we have washed our hands of you. See how you like that!”
Though her mother’s vindictiveness inflamed Julia’s temper, she fought to remain calm. She had never before seen her so overwrought. “Believe me, I have done nothing wrong. But it will be a crime if I am forced to marry Payton. He will beat me as he does his slaves and dogs. I refuse to be saddled with a husband I despise, and live out my life in sorrow, merely to give you membership into Richmond’s social circle. That’s really what you want, isn’t it, Mother?”
With the scream of a harpy, Clara launched herself out of her chair. She flew at Julia with her fingers curled into claws. Her husband grabbed her around her waist before she had the chance to touch Julia.
Dr. Chandler shook his head as if he bore an unbearable weight. “Hush, Clara, hush now. You will only do your heart more injury,” he soothed. “There, there, be still now, and we will get your laudanum for you. You will sleep. It will be good for you. Hush now.”
His wife’s eyes bulged, though she calmed in his arms. All the while, she stared at Julia with a silence that unnerved her daughter. Julia took a horrified step backward. Her mother was truly mad!
Her father stroked Clara as if she were a kitten, while he spoke to his daughter. “Julia, you do not understand your position. Your rash actions have taken away your choice in this matter. As your parents, we must do what is right to save you from yourself, if that is necessary. Your infatuation for that…man in the garden has led you astray from all that you have been taught.”
The sudden realization stunned her. “That’s true,” she said aloud. “You taught me to hate the Yankees. I was told that they were crass bullies who envied us and who wished to crush us. I have discovered, much to my shock, that not all Northerners are evil. In fact, some can be more civil than Southerners on occasion.”
Her mother went white. Bright red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “Hold your tongue, Julia May!” she shrieked. “You have lost your mind. No matter, that will be Payton’s problem, not ours, thank heavens.” She struggled again in the doctor’s embrace. “Mark my words, you will be married next week. Between now and then, you will be locked in the second bedroom. You are forbidden to join us for meals, nor may you walk in the garden.” She shuddered convulsively at the mention of the place. “You will not speak to any of us again as we have no desire to communicate with you. From this moment on, you are dead to the Chandlers. Do you hear what I say? Dead! Dead! You are dead!”
Julia felt as if she had been slapped in the face. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but then she noticed that her mother watched her as closely as a cat at a rathole. A thin smile of triumph flitted across her mother’s face.
She was gloating! She thought she’d defeated her, and that Julia would fall on her knees and beg for forgiveness. Astonished by her mother’s downward spiral, Julia blinked back her pain. She turned to her father. “Is this your decision as well, Papa?”
Dr. Chandler closed his eyes for a moment before he nodded. “Our hearts are blistered with sorrow by your behavior, Julia. It is beyond comprehension. You were always such a good girl—until now.”
Julia shot a quick glance at her mother. She noted that Clara remained dry-eyed and triumphant. It was all a game to her—one that she had to win! The realization was an awakening experience that sent Julia reeling.
“Yes, Papa,” Julia replied softly. “I always did everything you asked of me, so that Mother would not have one of her fits.” She looked at Clara, as if seeing her for the first time. “I grew up terrified that it might kill you if I did something that upset your nerves. That’s the way you wanted it, isn’t it, Mother? All these years, you have ruled our family like a tyrant, using your delicate health as a two-edged sword over our heads.”
“How dare you speak to me like this!” Clara shook her fists. “Oh, Jonah! I had no idea that we had harbored such a viper in the bosom of our family.”
Julia was tempted to point out that her mother was the true viper, but looking at the distress on her father’s face, she saw that she had already gone too far.
“I will not marry Payton,” Julia reiterated in a monotone. Her energy drained away from her, leaving a heavy feeling of lassitude in its wake. Without waiting to be excused, she turned toward the hall door. All Julia wanted now was to lie down and sleep.
Clara tried to lunge after her, but Jonah held her tighter. “Your insolence is intolerable! I do not care a whit what you want. A week from Saturday at ten in the morning, you will be married to poor, dear Payton at Saint Paul’s, even if we have to drag you through the streets of Alexandria behind our carriage to get you there.”
“Now, dear,” her husband soothed in the singsong voice that he used with his cantankerous patients. “She will change her mind once she has had time to consider. You’ll see. Let us find your laudanum bottle. Hush, my sweet. Be still as a mouse.”
Julia opened the door to the hall. She would never reconsider. But Lord only knew how she would get out of there.
Hettie hovered outside. The servant hugged the girl in a tight embrace. “A one-eyed mule can’t be handled on his blind side,” she murmured in Julia’s ear. “Pay your mother no mind now, child. It’s the devil in her mind that’s done all her talking. You go to bed, and I’ll mull you some cherry bounce that will help you sleep.”
&nb
sp; Julia wrapped her arms around Hettie’s shoulders and rested her head on her ample breast. “Oh, Hettie, what am I going to do?”
Still holding Julia tight against her, Hettie helped her up the stairs. “Bide your time and wait for a better day, Miss Julia, just like I’ve done all my life. You have yourself a good cry, then sleep some. After that, we’ll put our heads together and hatch us a good plan.”
Julia didn’t have the strength to argue with her. Sleep was what she craved. Once rested, she could turn her brain to the knotty problem before her.
“Come hell or high water,” she vowed to the housekeeper under her breath, “I will not marry the loathsome Payton.”
Hettie massaged her shoulders. “’Course not, child.”
After drinking Hettie’s warm, sweetened brandy, Julia slept for nearly twenty-four hours. The weekend dragged by like an overloaded cart on a rutted road. Clara spent much of the time sedated in her room. Payton disappeared among the inhabitants of Alexandria for hours on end. Jonah occupied his days reading his newspapers, both Unionist and Confederate, while smoking on his pipe. Carolyn kept her sister informed of the family’s changes of moods, as well as the news of the day beyond the confines of the Chandlers’ front door. Though Julia spent her days examining the problem of her future in a logical manner, no reasonable idea came to mind.
On Monday afternoon, while their mother took another laudanum-induced nap, Carolyn paid one of her clandestine visits to her sister, bringing newspapers and caramels. “You could run away,” she suggested. “Go to Aunt Charlotte in Strasburg.”
Julia shook her head. “I am sure Mother wrote to her the first thing, telling her how wicked I had become. I’d be chased off Aunt Charlotte’s front porch with a broomstick just like a pesky raccoon.”
Carolyn nodded. Idly, she turned the page of the latest smuggled copy of the Richmond Enquirer. With a small cry, she sat upright on the bed, clutching the newspaper.
“What did you say your Yankee’s name was? Montgomery?”
Her eyes closed, Julia massaged her temples. It hurt to remember him. “Major Robert Montgomery. He’s from someplace in New York.”
Carolyn whistled through her teeth, a habit she had picked up on her unchaperoned jaunts around Alexandria. “Could it be Rhinebeck?”
Opening her eyes, Julia stared at her sister. “The very place! How did you guess?”
Carolyn folded back the paper. “No guesswork at all. Look down the last column on the right, near the bottom of the page.”
Julia’s hand trembled as she took the newspaper. She polished her spectacles on her sleeve before squinting at the tiny, blurred newsprint.
“Among the recent prisoners incarcerated in Libby Prison this week is Major Robert Montgomery of New York’s Rhinebeck Legion who was apprehended by Colonel John S. Mosby late on Friday evening. It had been assumed that Montgomery was a highly placed staff officer under the command of Union General Ulysses Grant. Alas, the perfidious Yankee proved to be merely an invalid soldier employed in the Federal Quartermaster Department. He can now spend his new leisure time in contemplation of the tasty victuals that he will no longer enjoy in the Federal City’s Willard Hotel.”
“Oh!” The paper fell from Julia’s hand.
Carolyn gave her sister a pitying look. “I’ve heard that Libby is the very worst prison in the whole South. Your major is likely to die there.” She made a face at the idea, then added in a gentle voice, “I am truly sorry for it, Julia. He may be a Yankee, but at least he made you happy.”
Julia hugged herself as if she could squeeze out her misery. “Don’t talk like he is already dead, Carolyn.”
Carolyn retrieved the newspaper and folded it. “There’s nothing we can do for him here. And I highly doubt that Payton will let you go visiting him when you are living at Belmont.”
A brilliant idea hit Julia so hard, she nearly slipped off her chair. In the blink of an eyelash, she knew exactly what course of action she would take—and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Payton Norwood.
She forced herself to settle down so that she could think straight. “Run and get Hettie, Carolyn,” she asked as excitement ignited her hope.
The girl stared at her sister with anxiety. “Have you taken ill?”
“No, you little goose! I’ve finally turned the corner of my life. Hurry up and don’t ask me questions now. There is very little time left and a world of things I must do. Get Hettie and don’t talk to another soul.”
Carolyn cast Julia a second worried glance, then raced out the room, banging the door behind her. Julia heard her footsteps thudding down the stairs. New life welled up inside her. She made a list of all her jewelry in her small satin-lined jewel case in her top bureau drawer under the handkerchiefs. She underlined the string of pearls that Papa had given her for her sixteenth birthday. They ought to fetch a good price at a Yankee pawnbroker’s.
Chapter Seventeen
Libby Prison, Richmond, Virginia
Late January 1864
“Fresh fish! Fresh fish!” cried a dozen voices at once. Then a hundred more took up the refrain in the rooms overhead.
Two days after his capture in Julia’s garden, Rob stood before Major William Long of the Confederate States Army and adjutant of Richmond’s infamous prison for Union officers. Rob couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten a full meal, nor when he had been allowed to lie down and sleep for more than three hours at a stretch. Despite his fatigue, he straightened his shoulders and gave Long a crisp military salute, albeit with his left hand.
“Major Robert Montgomery, Rhinebeck Legion, New York,” he stated, staring straight into the gray eyes of the man on the other side of the desk. “Pardon my salute, Major, but some of your boys took care of my right hand at Gettysburg.” He gave the adjutant a cold smile.
More voices overhead shouted “Fresh fish,” and banged their tin cups against the floor planking. Rob looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t know you served fish on your menu for supper. What kind?”
Behind him, a young prison guard sniggered. Even Major Long permitted a half smile to flit across his face. “We haven’t had fish here since last September, Major Montgomery. It’s you who is our latest catch.”
“Oh,” replied Rob crisply, to cover his chagrin. “Then I am honored by the welcome of my brother officers.” He wished Lawrence had given him a better briefing on Libby’s rituals. From now on, he would hold his tongue until he learned the customs of this cloistered society.
Long scanned the report that had accompanied Rob on his journey from northern Virginia—miles jostling on horseback, followed by more miles lying bound on the floor of a train’s unheated cattle car.
“I see that Colonel Mosby was misinformed,” Long remarked at last. “It appears that you are not a member of General Grant’s staff, as the colonel was led to believe, but merely a flunky in the Quartermaster’s Department.” He regarded Rob with a penetrating look. “Pray enlighten me. How on earth could Colonel Mosby have been so wrong about you, when he is usually so right?”
Rob decided to play the part of a “bombproof,” the derisive name for officers who sought safe desk jobs instead of the hazards of field command—men like Major Scott Claypole. Relaxing his stiff posture a fraction, he assumed Claypole’s annoying mannerisms.
“To tell you the truth, Major, I was as surprised as the colonel. More so, in fact, since I was…shall we say, interrupted in the midst of a promising tête-à-tête with a most delightful young lady.” The young guardsman perked up and drew nearer in hopes of hearing more lurid details.
Ignoring the beardless pup, Rob continued to weave his cover story. “I have nothing to do with General Grant, and have never even had the pleasure of meeting him. So you see, Major, I am utterly useless to you, and I said as much to Colonel Mosby. I must confess, he did not take too kindly to the mistaken identity. Nor did he offer an apology for my inconvenience.”
In fact, Mosby had lost his temper, both at Rob and at
Lieutenant Adamson. The Gray Ghost baldly accused Rob of lying and a great many other devious crimes as well. The heated interrogation had lasted until dawn before Mosby grudgingly accepted Rob’s identity as a mere supply officer. No breakfast was served the prisoner except a cup of the foulest-tasting excuse for coffee he had ever drunk, followed by the harsh ride across open countryside to Catlett Station.
Major Long lifted a brow. “Inconvenience? Well, I would not count on seeing your young lady again in the near future. You will bide a while with us.” To the guard, he ordered, “Take the major upstairs and put him in the central gallery.” To Rob, he added, “I do hope that you get along with Pennsylvanians, Major. You’ll be sharing quarters with quite a number of them. Reveille is at five, breakfast at six, roll calls are at eight and four in the afternoon, supper at six and tattoo at seven. See that you don’t miss anything. My sergeant-at-arms is very touchy about punctuality.”
As the guard pushed him toward the far door, Rob asked, “What time did you say was dinner, Major? I’d hate to be late for that.”
Long narrowed his eyes. “There is no dinner here, Major. Good day.”
The young guard sniggered again as he prodded Rob up a narrow flight of open stairs. “You’re in hell now, Yankee.”
With bewildering speed, Rob left the last vestiges of normalcy in the adjutant’s office, and entered into a nightmare existence at the top of the stairs. The second floor of the former tobacco warehouse and ship chandler was comprised of three long galleries, divided from each other by bare brick walls. Cast-iron stoves inside large fireplaces at each end of the galleries provided a feeble heat. Despite the huge number of men packed into each gallery, the room was chill as stone. Wind from the nearby James River whined through the open-barred windows that lined the outside walls of each gallery.
A lanky lieutenant colonel, wearing a dog-eared uniform, stepped out of the crowd and extended his hand. “Welcome to Hotel de Libby, Major,” he said with a grin. “You’ve arrived just in time. We were about to commence this evening’s entertainment, cootie races.” The men around him laughed, though there was no mirth in their eyes.
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