Richmond, VA
Sunday April 2
nd
, 1865
Sitting near the front of St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Mrs. Lancaster pointed out President Davis's solitary figure several rows in front of them. Brianna watched him while she fanned her neck during the minister’s sermon.
He was concluding his speech when a man hurried down the aisle and bent to speak with the President, whose face took on an unhealthy gray pallor. He rose quickly and left the church. The service ended in unease, the parishioners pouring out into the street.
A light breeze swept off the James, the daffodils and budding branches swaying along the streets. The sun shone brightly over Richmond, despite the war and the Yankees lying entrenched on three sides of the city.
Whatever message Davis had received had not been good news for the citizens of Richmond.
Hope made Brianna’s heart knock in her chest, but Mrs. Lancaster was near to swooning with fear. Brianna felt even more protective of the woman since Justin’s visit. That night Mrs. Lancaster had told her how desperate Justin was to find her, scolded her for keeping such a secret from her, then hugged Brianna to her formidable bosom and sworn to be like her family until Justin came back for her. Brianna still hadn’t told her that Justin was really a Union officer.
“Mark my word, the Yankees are coming. Maybe this minute.” Mrs. Lancaster’s rash words alarmed several people, who rushed away with wide eyes.
Brianna and Nan hurried her and her daughter into the carriage and bade the driver to take them home. When they arrived, Mrs. Lancaster insisted on going to a friend’s house to await any news. Brianna escorted Cassidy into the house.
Hours later, when she was busy in the kitchen with Nan preparing the evening meal, a commotion broke out in the foyer. Hurrying to the front hall, they both stopped short at the dreadful expression on Mrs. Lancaster’s face. She was white as flour, pressing a handkerchief to her trembling lips as she stared at them with swimming eyes.
The woman’s shaking hands rose to her throat. “They’ve left us!” she cried in a voice edged with hysteria.
“Who?” Brianna asked.
She started pacing across the polished floor. “Nan, get me my smelling salts before I faint!” She paused, glancing wildly about the room. Her theatrical wail bounced unchecked through the vaulted archways.
“Who’s leaving?” Brianna pressed.
Terrified light blue eyes swung back to her. “The government! They’re leaving us and the army’s going with them. Oh, lord, the Yankees will come and destroy us!”
A curious numbness flooded Brianna. Davis and his government were leaving Richmond with the army? Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. They must have abandoned Petersburg. That meant the lines were broken! She’d known the end was near, but it had happened so much faster than she had dared hope.
A new wave of panic seized Mrs. Lancaster, and her eyes grew frenzied. “They will rape us and burn this house! Oh, my grandmother’s silver, my china…” She reached out and dug her fingers into Nan’s arm, who had retrieved the vial of smelling salts. “Quick! Fetch my valuables while I get a shovel. We’ll bury everything in the rose garden. Those blue devils won’t get a thing from me, by God!”
Heart about to burst, Brianna ushered her distraught employer to an overstuffed chair in the parlor and brought her a steaming cup of tea.
Mrs. Lancaster peered up at her. “Thank you, Jen—I mean, Brianna dear.” The delicate cup rattled against its saucer. “I’m sorry. I should not be so selfish in my distress. You must be worried as well with the Yankees so near. After all, you are a Southerner.”
Yes, whose Yankee husband and brother would, with any luck, be paying a visit soon.
Brianna laid a soothing hand on the woman's wrist, belying the joy racing through her. The war was all but over. Justin would come for her. Morgan was on the mend and would be free. She struggled to mask her elation. “It will be all right, ma’am, the Yankees will not harm us. They are soldiers, not animals.” Even as she said the words, she recalled how the
Richmond Examiner
had painted them to be vicious, heartless barbarians, burning and pillaging as they went. War was a desperate endeavor. Even men like Morgan and Justin sometimes did the unthinkable to bring the suffering to an end.
Mrs. Lancaster stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious! The Yankees are dreadful beasts! Why, only last week I received a letter from my cousin in Charleston about the horrible behavior of those animals. Oh, we will surely be robbed and raped or worse.” Her eyes squeezed shut.
Brianna was never more aware of the bitter divide that had torn the country apart. “No, ma’am. We’ll be safe. I’ve been through much worse than an occupation, and if I can live through that, we can surely make it through this together.”
Besides, Justin and my brother will not let anything happen to us.
She gave Mrs. Lancaster’s damp hand a quick squeeze. “I think a short nap would do you a world of good.”
Brianna took her up to her bedroom and helped her under the covers, pausing at the window to peer outside for any signs of the Union troops. Seeing none, she pulled the drapes closed and enveloped the room in darkness.
Not here yet, she thought. But very soon.
****
At four o’clock that afternoon, the official announcement came and the clamor of terrified citizens grew outside in the streets. Men were sent out to destroy the liquor supplies to prevent alcohol from adding to the problems once the officials left the city. People began fighting for the rationed commodity, some going so far as to scoop it up in shoes and hats.
The crowd threw the warehouses open, revealing mountains of food that had lain undetected by the citizens through these lean times, hoarded away for purposes known only to the government. The outraged mob stormed the buildings, grabbing anything they could carry. The rabble grew violent and riots broke out, looters capitalizing on the destruction.
Brianna kept her mistress upstairs and away from the windows to shield her from the sights and sounds. The level of panic gripping the city frightened her. Everywhere she looked, families were packing wagons and fleeing down the pedestrian-choked roads. Richmond had become a frenzied animal, turning on itself, even aiding in its own destruction. Behind locked doors, she waited tensely for the rabble to reach their door. A loaded Springfield rifle was positioned there. If she had to, she would use it.
She pulled a curtain aside and gazed out across the river toward Libby. Had they released the prisoners yet? Morgan might be caught up in the mob somewhere.
She and Nan kept a watchful eye on the chaos for the rest of the day. The rioters and looters never came, and that evening she helped Mrs. Lancaster soothe a blinding headache before turning in for the night. Brianna was sound asleep in her attic room hours later when a huge explosion rocked the house.
She shot up in bed with a smothered gasp, her heart galloping. Her window had shattered. The walls shook and the entire house seemed to wobble on its foundation for a few moments. Things fell off walls and clattered amongst the cupboards, tables and mantelpieces. When everything stilled, she heard Mrs. Lancaster screaming.
Oh, God, was she hurt? Had something fallen on her? Brianna leaped out of bed and tore down the hall, nearly got run over by Cassidy as she raced to her mother’s bedroom, a nightcap clinging to the blond curls streaming behind her. When Brianna reached the bedchamber, Mrs. Lancaster was on the carpet huddled in a ball, still screaming as if the end of the world had come. She latched onto Brianna’s legs and dragged her down to the floor by her nightgown. Crouched on the carpet with Mrs. Lancaster and Cassidy, she tried to determine what had happened.
“They’ve come to kill us!” her hysterical mistress sobbed, fingernails digging into Brianna's arms.
She freed herself and went to the shattered window, taking a cautious look outside. On the other side of town, flames rose in an angry maelstrom. Fiery tongues licked high into the black sky, smoke soaring so high it blotted out the moonlight. Several small explosions followed. She felt the concussion of them in her chest.
The ammunition stores.
The retreating army must have destroyed them to keep the supplies out of Union hands.
A thrill raced through her. The Union troops had to be close.
Please God, let this mean it’s over.
She returned to her almost catatonic employer and helped her to bed. “I think they blew up the armory, to keep the weapons from going to the Yankees,” she said, blotting the tears that coursed down Rosemary’s cheeks. “I daresay they might have given us some sort of warning first.” A relieved laugh escaped her.
Her employer stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.
On the street below, someone went from door to door yelling, “Fire!”
Brianna shivered, thanking God they were across the city from the doomed arsenal. She didn’t need to be told that the inferno would spread fast with no soldiers around to staunch it, and the looting would only get worse.
Mrs. Lancaster opened her mouth to say something, but Cassidy leaped up into her bed, sobbing. Patting her daughter’s hand, she shifted her gaze back to Brianna. “There, there, my darling,” she soothed, as much to herself as to her daughter. “Brianna says they have blown up the armory, that’s all.” Her eyes lost some of their wildness, then narrowed on her in annoyance. “Although she should be under these covers with us, worrying about her own neck. I cannot understand why she hasn’t the sense God gave a goose!”
Flushing, Brianna bobbed a curtsy and left the frightened women to console themselves. She hurried downstairs to find Nan already standing guard by the door in her nightgown, weapon in hand. Without a word, her friend handed her the loaded Springfield. As the minutes passed the rifle got heavier, but Brianna held it tight. If anyone dared to break in, they would be sorry.
Together they kept silent vigil until the sun appeared on the smoke-smudged horizon, waiting for the approaching Union army they knew was coming.
****
The morning of April 4th, Brianna watched from the window as the first columns of blue-clad soldiers entered the city and hoisted a U.S. flag from the state building. It didn’t even look like Richmond anymore. Retreating Confederate troops, rioters and the arsenal fires had burned much of the once-beautiful city, and the skyline was a charcoal smudge against the horizon.
As soon the Union troops arrived, however, that all changed. An eerie calm spread through the streets, but Brianna kept the doors locked and covered the broken windows. Though she and Nan were exhausted after their guard duty, they set out to clean up the mess. Fallen bricks and broken glass littered the streets. Several nearby homes and buildings were reduced to charred rubble. Everyone waited anxiously to learn how the occupying army would treat Richmond’s citizens.
A guard detail came to the house and informed them a soldier would be posted there to ensure no harm came to the women. The news consoled Mrs. Lancaster somewhat, but when the lady gathered her courage and peered out to see a colored soldier on her front steps, she made such a scene that Cassidy lapsed into another crying fit. Brianna would have laughed if she hadn’t been so worn with worry. It was over, and it looked as though their Northern guests would be staying for some time.
After supper, Brianna went back to her post at the front door. Things remained quiet outside, but amid the conquering army, people were on edge and she worried more fighting might break out. Across the river, her eyes swept over the smoldering devastation toward Libby prison. Her brother’s health had been improving before the city fell, but she hadn’t risked visiting him because of the fires and mobs in the streets. The Union troops must have liberated all the prisoners by now. Had Morgan been too sick to leave? Was he in a hospital somewhere? For all she knew, they might have sent him to the Union base at City Point for treatment.
She wasn’t sure where Justin was. His brigade had been active all around Richmond these past weeks. From what the papers said, he was probably chasing what remained of Lee’s army of Northern Virginia, moving away to the west.
Withholding a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the end of the street. A man’s silhouette came into view. Tall, dressed in a Federal uniform, his gait was somewhat slow and awkward. Her fingers tightened on the rifle as she watched him approach. Something about him seemed familiar. The tilt of his head, maybe.
She sucked in a breath, her heart leaping in her chest.
Morgan. Morgan is here.
She dropped her weapon and tore down the steps, her feet flying over the debris-strewn sidewalk until she launched herself into his waiting arms with a glad cry. He hugged her so tight her ribs ached.
“Morgan,” she whispered, burying her face into his ragged coat, feeling like a lost little girl instead of a grown woman who’d survived the devastation of war.
“I’m all right, Bree.” His voice was rough.
“You’re so pale,” she whispered, looking up into his dear face. “And you’ve lost more weight.” She laid her hand on his brow, found it hot. “How bad are you?”