Candle in the Darkness Read online

  “Ruby . . .” My voice sounded loud in the quiet night. “Ruby, there’s something I need to know.”

  “You as pretty as she always was,” Ruby murmured as I stepped closer. I cleared the knot of fear from my throat.

  “The doctor said my mother was fine after the baby was born . . . but Mother died.”

  Ruby said nothing. I didn’t want to ask the question out loud, but she wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

  “How . . . how did my mother die?”

  Ruby shook her head as if she wanted both me and my question to go away. I knelt on the floor in front of her, face to face, taking her hands in mine.

  “I came here to see Mother the day the baby was born. She didn’t have a fever. She wasn’t sick. . . .” I waited. “Please tell me, Ruby.”

  “Seem like . . . seem like maybe your mama make a mistake,” she said in a tiny voice. “She not sleeping much, you know . . . and maybe she want to sleep. Laudanum pill always help her sleep, but maybe . . . maybe she take too many this time . . . by accident.”

  “Is that what you think, Ruby? That it was an accident?”

  She closed her eyes. By the light of the single candle, I watched the tears roll down her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled. “I glad they bury her little baby with her. Now he won’t be all alone in that cold ground. Your mama so worried about that. Said a child need its mama.” She squeezed my hands tightly, her eyes pleading, begging me to understand. “Your mama didn’t want to leave her child all alone, Missy Caroline.”

  I wanted to understand, but I couldn’t. I was her child, too. I needed my mother. And she had left me all alone.

  My father seemed to age twenty years overnight. He wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and spent most of the time in his library, where Gilbert endlessly refilled his glass. Daddy and Uncle William had shouted at each other in loud voices the night before my uncle returned to Hilltop, but I didn’t hear what they’d said. When it was time for Aunt Martha to return to Philadelphia, she and Daddy called me into the library one night. The sight of his griefravaged face brought tears to my eyes.

  “I have business overseas, Caroline,” Daddy said without preamble. “I’m sailing at the end of this week. Aunt Martha has offered to take you to Philadelphia to live with her for a while.”

  I couldn’t find the words to tell him that I didn’t want anything to change, that too many things had changed already. I felt this new loss as if it had already taken place. “I want to stay here, Daddy,” I said desperately. “With you.”

  “I can’t stay, Caroline.” He glanced up at me, then quickly looked away. I knew I reminded him of Mother. I saw the resemblance myself in the mirror every morning. “I’ll be gone for several months,” he continued. “Your Aunt Martha doesn’t think you should stay here alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. I have Tessie and Eli and Esther. . . .”

  “That’s not an option,” Daddy said harshly. “If you stay in Richmond you will have to board at school.”

  His words filled me with dread. I’d lost my mother, and now I was losing my daddy and my home, too. Aunt Martha came to me, slipping her arm around my shoulders, taking my hand in hers.

  “Boarding schools are terribly lonely places, Caroline. After all you’ve been through, don’t you think it might be better if you lived in a home for a while, with your family? I have two girls of my own who are about your age. They’ll be company for you.”

  “The only other choice,” Daddy said, “is to stay with my brother at Hilltop.”

  I didn’t care for any of those choices. I knew I would hate boarding school—the cold gray hallways and barren rooms, standing in line for everything. I had no friends there—the other girls weren’t like me at all. Nor could I go back to Hilltop with an aunt and uncle who thought I belonged in an asylum. My cousin Jonathan was away at college, and I didn’t think I could stand being at Hilltop without him, living in the plantation house with papered walls and rich food on the table while the slaves lived in drafty cabins with dirt floors and cornshuck beds. I would never get used to seeing beautiful children like Caleb and Nellie hungry and sick, knowing their mothers were praying that they would die. That left Philadelphia as my only option—and I had no idea what to expect if I went there. Aunt Martha was as plump and plain as one of Esther’s biscuits. She had none of my mother’s beauty nor her shifting moods. She seemed kind.

  She gently squeezed my hand. “Come to Philadelphia with me, Caroline.”

  “How long would I have to stay?”

  “As long as you’d like. You can enroll in school with my girls.”

  “Could I come home again if I didn’t like it there?”

  “You’d have to agree to give it a reasonable amount of time,” my father said. “It’s not easy traveling back and forth at the drop of a hat. Especially after making all the arrangements for school.”

  “Why don’t we say . . . at least until the school term ends in June,” Aunt Martha said. “That’s only four months away. Then we can see how you feel about staying longer.”

  In the end I agreed to go. I didn’t seem to have much choice. Aunt Martha wanted to leave by the end of the week, which didn’t give Tessie much time to pack our things.

  “I’ve never ridden on a train before, have you?” I asked Tessie the night before we were scheduled to leave.

  “No, I sure ain’t never been on any train.” Her voice sounded muffled, coming from inside the huge steamer trunk she was bending over.

  “Are you excited, Tessie?”

  She straightened, still holding a pile of folded clothes in her hands. She looked puzzled. “Excited? I ain’t going on the train with you, Missy.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, child . . . didn’t they tell you? I staying here. I thought you knew.”

  I ran from the room, raced down the curved stairs, and barged into my father’s library without knocking.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” I told him. “I don’t want to go to Philadelphia.”

  It took him a moment to recover from my outburst. He looked disoriented, disheveled, the glass in his hand nearly empty. His shirtfront was wrinkled and stained, his usually neat hair unkempt, his face flushed. “It’s too late now. I’ve purchased your train ticket, made all the traveling arrangements, notified the school. You’re going to Philadelphia.”

  “You didn’t tell me Tessie wasn’t coming. I don’t want to go without Tessie.”

  He looked away. “Well, I’m sorry, but Tessie can’t go. It’s out of the question.”

  “Why? Why can’t she go?”

  He tried to relight his cigar, but his hands shook so badly he couldn’t strike the match. “People do things differently up north. They don’t have Negro mammies, for one thing. And they don’t care very much for people who do. The abolitionists and free Negroes will fill her head with crazy talk about running away.”

  “Tessie would never run away from me.”

  “Don’t be too sure. It’s different up there, you’ll see. Tessie would be out of place, like a fish out of water. Ever see what happens when you take a fish out of water?”

  “I need Tessie—”

  “No! I need her here!” He picked up the whiskey bottle, sloshing it all over his desk as he poured another drink. This man wasn’t my daddy. I couldn’t bear to watch him toss back his head and drain the glass. I stalked to the door.

  “You’re sixteen now,” he said as I reached it. “It’s time you outgrew your mammy.”

  I stumbled up the stairs, trying not to cry. I was afraid that if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop again. I would never outgrow my mammy. Hadn’t Ruby been my mother’s mammy all her life?

  Tessie came to me as soon as I walked into the room. Her beautiful face was etched with concern. She rubbed my shoulders and stroked my hair, murmuring, “I thought you knew, baby. I thought they told you.”

  “Would you be a fish out of water if you went with me?” I asked, st
ill fighting my tears.

  “Is that what your daddy say?”

  “Yes. And he said he needs you here.” Her hands froze. She looked at me with an odd expression on her face, but it passed before I could define it.

  “Your girl cousins won’t have mammies in Philadelphia,” she said, her hands caressing my shoulders again. “They be jealous of you if I there to fuss all over you. Best thing for you is to fit in, do like they do when you up north.”

  “But I’ll miss you!”

  She pulled me close, hugging me so tightly I could scarcely breathe. I heard sniffing and knew she was crying, too.

  “Baby, you like my own child since the day you was born. I couldn’t love you more if you my own flesh and blood. But you just about all grown up now. You be wanting a husband to share you room one these days, not an old colored woman like me.”

  I hugged her tightly in return, my tears finally falling. “You’re not old at all. And I’ll always want you with me, forever and ever.”

  But the mention of a husband reminded me that Tessie was secretly married to Josiah. They saw each other only rarely, but maybe she didn’t want to go away to Philadelphia where she would never see him.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” I said firmly. “I’ve decided to go to Hilltop instead of Philadelphia. I’ll go tell Daddy. He’ll let you come with me to Hilltop.”

  She caught my arm in time to pull me back. “Listen, child. Your daddy won’t let me go there, either. I certain of that.”

  “But why not?” Tessie didn’t answer. I lifted her chin so I could see her face. “Is it because of Josiah? I know you’re secretly married—”

  “Hush your mouth!” Tessie’s eyes went wide with fear. “Don’t you ever say such a thing in this house!”

  “Is that why Daddy sold Josiah to Hilltop . . . so you couldn’t be together?”

  She pulled me into her arms, smothering my words as if trying to smother flames. “Child, don’t you go around opening doors that are better off closed and locked. It only lead to trouble— especially for Josiah. Forget you ever ask all these questions. Leave things the way they are. Promise?”

  I nodded.

  “You go on with your aunt to Philadelphia. Then, if you don’t like it there, you can always come on home to Richmond again. And I be here waiting for you.”

  I watched Eli carry my trunk downstairs to the carriage the next morning and wondered who I would share all my troubles with in Philadelphia, who would answer all my questions. Gilbert was driving us to the train station, so this was the last time I would see Eli. The thought of saying good-bye to him made my heart ache inside, but when he returned to my room for the last load, I knew I had to try.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go away to Philadelphia,” I said.

  He nodded, his gray head bowed in grief. “I know . . . I know. Sure won’t be the same around here without my Little Missy. No one asking me questions all the time . . . no one to drive to school. . . .”

  I was a grown girl of sixteen, too old for a mammy, too old to sit on Eli’s lap and listen to his stories. But when he finally looked up at me and I saw the love and the tears in his eyes, I was a child again. I ran into his arms. He hugged me as tightly as Tessie had.

  “I’ll miss you so much, Eli!”

  “Me too, Little Missy . . . me too.” When we finally let go, he wiped my tears with his thumb. “You remember to hide all them words I teach you in your heart . . . you hear?”

  I nodded, tapping my chest the way Grady used to do. “They’re in there, Eli.”

  “And anything too big for you, just take it to Massa Jesus.”

  “I will.” I thought about Eli’s terrible secret, the secret that could get him killed. I stood on tiptoe to kiss his bearded cheek and whispered, “Be careful, Eli.” Then I turned away so I wouldn’t have to watch him go.

  Chapter Seven

  Philadelphia, February 1857

  Our train arrived in Philadelphia in the middle of a blizzard. I’d never felt such cold, damp air before, or a wind that sucked away my breath the way this one did. My uncle, Judge Philip Hoffman, had come to the station with a driver and a sleigh to meet us, but I remember little else of that day except the bitter cold and my aching homesickness—a longing that had increased with every mile that separated me from Richmond and the people I loved.

  In the months to come, I would visit all of Center City’s famous landmarks and sights, but on that first day, places such as Penn Square and Independence Hall were hidden behind a blinding curtain of white. I knew we had crossed the Schuylkill River into West Philadelphia only because Uncle Philip told me we had. He was a portly, dignified man with receding hair and piercing eyes. I could easily imagine how his stern demeanor would strike fear in any criminals who stood trial before him, yet he was very gentle and kind to me. As we traveled through the storm, he asked me politely about my journey and the accommodations on the train. I couldn’t answer; my mouth and my heart seemed as frozen as the landscape. I was grateful when Aunt Martha signaled for him to stop with a gentle shake of her head.

  The horses labored uphill through the snow, coming at last to a wealthy residential suburb and a large gray stone house that blended seamlessly with the snowy street and colorless sky. We were home.

  The introductions passed in a blur. I learned that my cousins’ names were Rosalie and Julia, but the Hoffmans employed more immigrant serving girls and chambermaids than I could ever hope to keep track of.

  “I imagine you’re tired from the long trip,” Aunt Martha said when we’d finished a light supper. “Heaven knows I’m exhausted, too.”

  As I climbed the wide stairs to the large bedroom my cousins and I would share, Julia danced around me like a happy puppy, eager to please. A chambermaid had lit a blazing fire, and the bedroom was warm, the bed inviting. The maid, who barely spoke English, helped me shed my traveling clothes. The truth still hadn’t sunk in that this room wasn’t simply a place to rest for a night or two, but my home for the next few months, perhaps years.

  “Don’t overwhelm her, girls,” I heard my aunt telling my cousins outside the door. “Remember, Caroline has recently lost her mother. Give her time to grieve.”

  As I crawled between the linen sheets, however, the sorrow I felt wasn’t only grief for a mother I barely knew, a mother who had chosen to leave me, but a deep yearning for the beloved servants who had raised me and nurtured me, and who’d had no choice at all in our parting.

  For the first month, the memory of Esther’s fragrant kitchen, filled with all the people I loved, remained fresh and clear, a tiny pocket of solace and warmth amid the ice and cold of Philadelphia. I dwelt on those memories, fanning them like embers to keep them alive, anxious for them not to die—the sound of Eli’s deep, rumbling voice as he talked to Massa Jesus; the touch of Tessie’s dark hands as they gently soothed, caressed, loved. I kept thoughts of Virginia burning like tiny flames as I counted the weeks and the months until I could return.

  The morning in March when everything changed began innocently enough—with Uncle Philip reading the Philadelphia Inquirer as he did every morning at breakfast. His choice to read rather than to give his full attention to my aunt was a constant source of friction between the two of them. Because of it, he’d developed the habit of reading a sentence or two aloud every now and then so his wife couldn’t accuse him of ignoring her.

  “I see Pierce Butler’s mansion here in town is going up for sale,” he said, adjusting his rimless spectacles. Aunt Martha’s interest was instantly piqued.

  “Oh? That’s a lovely home. I know several people who might be interested in buying it.”

  “Well, it should sell for a bargain. It seems Butler ran up enormous gambling debts. But listen to this . . . this is truly tragic. ‘A racetrack in Savannah, Georgia, was converted into a slave auction to dispose of 436 of Butler’s Negro slaves. The unfortunate men, women, and children—who dubbed the event “The Weeping Time”—were sold to the highest b
idder without regard for family ties, earning a total of $303,850 toward Butler’s debts.’ My! That should add fuel to the abolitionists’ fires!”

  “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Aunt Martha said. “That seems like an awfully large number of slaves. I certainly don’t recall any plantations around Richmond having that many, do you, Caroline? How many darkies does your uncle work with at Hilltop?”

  “Um . . . about fifty.” I could barely answer. I recalled the terrible anxiety that had gripped Hilltop’s slaves after my grandfather had died, their tension and their fear as they’d waited, wondering who would be sold. I could well imagine the grief Pierce Butler’s slaves must have suffered.

  “I don’t understand how people can own other people,” my cousin Julia said, “much less buy and sell them like a new hat. That seems very wrong.”

  “That’s because you girls were raised with servants, not slaves,” my aunt replied. Her Virginia drawl, undetectable in most social situations, always became more pronounced whenever she grew annoyed. “Not every slave owner treats his people as callously as Pierce Butler did. Why, some of the slaves back home are just like family, aren’t they, Caroline? And they certainly receive better treatment than the immigrants who labor in Northern factories. You’ve seen South Philadelphia where they live, Julia. Nobody provides those people with free clothing and food like we give our slaves.”

  I recalled my cousin Jonathan once voicing a similar argument.

  “That may be true, my dear,” Uncle Philip said, folding his newspaper. “But Northern factory workers are free to leave their place of employment whenever they choose. And they don’t have their families torn from their arms like these poor souls did.”

  I pushed my plate away, unable to eat any more. The newspaper account had changed everything for me. The happy memories of home that I’d been keeping alive were suddenly overwhelmed by a flood of uglier ones—memories of dirt-floored shacks on Slave Row, of mothers who’d rather see their babies die than be sold, of the slave market on Fourteenth Street. And the still-vivid memory of Grady being dragged away, screaming for his mother.