Beloved Enemy (19 page)

Julia awoke the following morning with the rattling of sleet and freezing rain against her window pane. Looking out, she saw that Richmond had turned gray and slick overnight. Julia rued that she had not brought her umbrella with her. Nevertheless, she would not cower inside her comfortable hotel when Rob lay so nearby, possibly starving to death.

After a quick breakfast of rolls and expensive coffee, Julia buttoned her cloak, tied on her hat, put on Rob's lovely gloves and prepared to face the day. Stopping to chat with the doorman, she inquired abour directions to the nearest shopping district as well as Libby Prison.

“Don't know what a nice lady like you wants to see those Yankees for,” the man remarked when she thanked him for his help. “I hear they are nothing but trash. And…” Lowering his voice, he whispered in her ear, “Pardon me for saying so, miss, but everybody in that jail
has got cooties, and you don't want to catch them on you, no sir!”

Julia thanked him for his caution, though she did not have the slightest idea what a “cootie” was. It sounded nasty.

The sparse stock on the grocer's shelves shocked her. Alexandria's shops and vendors were always well-supplied with every luxury imaginable, thanks to the northern suppliers. For the first time since war had been declared, Julia saw for herself the hardships and privations that so much of the south endured on a daily basis. Richmond painted on a merry face, but the pinched look of the ordinary citizens illustrated the stress of living under the perpetual threat of siege. Many women wore mourning clothes. Most of the men were in uniform. The latest reincarnation of the Confederate National flag hung wet and limp from many flagpoles.

Julia's Yankee money stretched enough to buy a half-dozen apples, a small can of sardines, a packet of salt crackers and a box of soft nougats from Richmond's celebrated Italian confectioner, Mr. Pazzini. At the dry goods store, she added three handkerchiefs and a thick pair of woolen socks to her basket. Recalling the conversation from the previous evening, she purchased a small bar of lye soap and a toothbrush. Watching her fellow shoppers counting out huge quantities of Confederate bills, Julia wondered how anyone could possibly afford to live in Richmond. She didn't allow herself to think what would happen if her funds gave out before her birthday. Once she could draw on her inheritance, all would be well, but for now, she would take each day as it came.

Turning downhill toward the river, Julia made her way to the prison. The neighborhood changed from neat row houses, shops and churches to large gray and brown ware
houses, interspersed with noisy oyster bars, garish restaurants and tenements that teemed with grubby children and large, frightening dogs. Since the rain had ceased, hopeful lines of washing hung across garbage-strewn alleyways. Rough-looking men, smelling of stale spirits, and women with reddened, chapped faces brushed past her on the tiny bits of broken sidewalk. Julia regretted that she had not hired a cab at the Spotswood, even though it would have cost a fortune. At last, she spied the building, just as the hotel doorman had described it. Outside the long brick warehouse, a faded wooden sign announced Libby & Son, Ship Chandler & Grocer. Dirty whitewash paint covered the brick wall up to the second floor. The sentinels in their gray uniform greatcoats stood out starkly against it.

As Julia drew closer to the entrance on Cary Street, she saw that a dozen or so women paraded back and forth on the sidewalk opposite the prison. Despite the cold, wet weather, they bared their shoulders and breasts that all but fell out of their brightly colored satin bodices. The women shouted rude taunts and bawdy remarks up to the crowded windows of Libby's second and third floors.

“Don't you wish you had some of this sugar, Yankee boy?” called out one soiled dove as she raised her skirts to reveal her lower legs clad in white patterned stockings.

Dozens of disembodied arms stuck out through bars of the open windows above the heads of the grinning sentries. The inmates shouted down some of the foulest words Julia had ever heard. Ducking her head into the folds of her soaked shawl, she crossed the street quickly lest the guards might mistake her for one of the rabble.

At the door, her curiosity got the better of her common sense. She asked the young sentry, “Who are those women?”

He had the grace to blush before answering, “Them?
They's…well, miss, I guess you could call them fancy ladies.” He gave her a sidelong look, swallowed hard, then continued. “They're not your kind, miss. You don't want to have anything to do with them. They are…well, um…the sort of lady that a good brother would never introduce to his sister.”

Painted jezebels!
Aloud, Julia persisted, “But what are they doing
here?
Surely they don't expect to…conduct business with the prisoners.”

The sentry's eyebrows went straight up to his hairline. “Service a Yankee?” he sputtered, then turned even redder. “I mean, no, miss. They come around to…um…” At this point, his vocabulary ran out.

“I see,” said Julia hurriedly. “I've come to visit the prisoners myself—but purely in Christian charity,” she added in a rush, tapping her basket. “Would you be so very kind and tell me with whom I should speak?”

The young guardsman eyed the covered basket. “I'm afraid those Yankees in there won't appreciate anything a fine lady like yourself might do for them. Their souls are far beyond redemption.”

Julia bit back her growing impatience. Water from the gutter seeped though the stitching of her walking boots. “I do appreciate your concern,” she replied as sweet as sugar, “but there is no harm in trying, is there? The good Lord particularly sought out the worst kinds of sinners for His grace, didn't He?”

The soldier furrowed his brow as he tried to recollect his childhood Bible classes. “I expect so, miss.” He opened the door. “You will want to speak with Major Long or Mr. Ross. Good day, miss.”

Stepping across the bare wooden threshold, Julia had the uneasy feeling that she had just entered a reasonable facsimile of Dante's Inferno. A potbellied stove set against a
brick partition wall hissed as if it were filled with writhing snakes, though it warmed Julia's cold fingers. She removed her gloves, then looked around for someone in charge. A man dressed in a gray sack coat shifted his attention from the papers on his battered desk. Around his waist, he wore two holstered pistols.

“May I be of assistance?” he asked, though none too kindly.

Controlling her jitters, Julia gave him her best smile. “Good morning, sir. My name is Julia Chandler and I have brought a few things for…” She had not given thought how to explain her relationship with Rob until now. “For my cousin. Most regrettable, to be sure, that he turned against his family and went off to fight for the Yankees. It all comes from sending him to one of those schools up there. Turned his head, it did.” Taking a page from her mother's repertoire of hysterics, she sniffled a little and wiped her cheeks. “Just about broke his poor mother's heart.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Julia saw that her story not only interested the clerk, but also several guards and a little old woman who sat against the far wall on a rough-hewn bench. Gathering more courage from their attention, she continued, “Naturally, the family disowned him on the spot, but I…” She sighed deeply.

“We were playmates so many years ago, and I have always kept a soft spot in my heart for him. When we learned that he was here, I thought it my Christian duty to at least pay him a call. Perhaps he has come to regret his hasty action.”

The clerk barely moved a facial muscle. “And the name of this black sheep?”

“Montgomery, Major Robert Montgomery,” she said, hoping not to sound too eager. “I do believe he joined a
regiment from New York.” She gave him another smile. “I would be ever so grateful if you would let me see him—even just for a minute…ahem…so that I can tell his mama that he is safe. She does grieve so for her baby boy.”

“Montgomery.” The clerk opened a large black ledger, flipped through a few pages, then ran his finger down a column of names. “Robert,” he repeated to himself. Then he closed the book with a snap. “Yes, Miss Chandler, your cousin is residing with us. Do you have your pass from the provost marshal?”

A cake of ice hardened in Julia's stomach. Real tears threatened to make their presence known. She had not abandoned her home and security only to be turned away for want of a wretched piece of paper. She allowed her lower lip to quiver, and hoped that this stone-faced man with his little mustache was susceptible to women's tears.

“Oh, dear, no. I had no idea I needed something like that. No one told me. And I have so very little time here in Richmond. Oh, please, kind sir, I mean no harm. I have not come here to abduct my cousin, only to bring him a little hope and cheer—as it is my Christian duty,” she added for good measure.

The clerk's stare bored a hole into her soul. She prayed that he wasn't a mind reader. The guards laughed and repeated “kind sir” under their breath to each other. Julia clutched her basket and stared back at him, willing him to give in.

“For heaven's sake, Mr. Ross, just
where
did you hang up your manners today?” snapped the little woman on the bench. She rose and tottered across the room to stand beside Julia. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself for making this poor child cry.”

Then, in an undertone that Julia barely heard, she said through stiff lips, “Turn up your waterworks, girl.”

“M
ontgomery!” shouted the guard over the din on the second floor. “Robert Montgomery! Downstairs! Now!”

Rob looked up from the card game that he was playing with a couple of amiable and talkative Pennsylvanians. He had been in Libby long enough to know it did not bode well for any prisoner to be singled out.

Captain Stu Cramer folded his hand and gave Rob a commiserating look. “What did you do to attract Colonel Turner's personal attention? You haven't been here long enough for him to recognize you on sight.”

The third man in their game, Lieutenant Joe Grimwold, smiled. “Maybe Rob is planning an escape, and the colonel wants to have a chat with him about it.”

Rob returned the grin, but felt sick inside. He certainly hoped not, though there was precious little he could tell anyone at this point. Whomever was working on the breakout was keeping very closed-mouthed about it.

“Montgomery!” the guard shouted with more impatience. “I ain't got the time to stand here all day yelling for you!”

Rob tossed his cards down on the blanket, then pulled himself to his feet. A brief wave of dizziness caught him.
The sudden privation of decent food had weakened Rob more than he cared to admit. After steadying himself, he picked his way over and around the several hundred men who were packed in the Chickamauga Suite, the long room named for the battle where the majority of the prisoners had been captured the previous September.

The guard pushed him down the first three steps. “I don't cotton to you, Yankee,” he informed Rob, giving him another shove in his low back. “I especially don't like you for seducing a fine Southern gal like the one who's waiting for you in the guard room. Now how in the Sam Hill did you accomplish that?” He pushed Rob again, and laughed when the major stumbled down two more steps.

“Don't know either, private,” Rob mumbled, while his mind raced. He knew no one here in Richmond, except the name of Elizabeth Van Lew, and she was supposed to be some elderly spinster. Was this summons the Reb's idea of a joke?

His heart nearly stopped when he turned the corner at the bottom of the staircase and saw Julia sitting on a bench. The smile she gave him warmed him more than a bonfire.

“Oh, Rob!” she mouthed, as she rose to meet him.

His brain spun in a kaleidoscope of emotions and desires. He wanted to clutch her so tightly against him that nothing would ever part them again. Standing in the middle of the stark room in her travel-stained cloak, she radiated beauty, like an angel stepped down from a church window. Rebellious tendrils of her cinnamon-flame hair framed her pale face in such an enticing way that he longed to reach out and twine them around his fingers—if only to confirm the reality of this heavenly vision.

Yet Rob held himself in check. His unwashed stench and the itch of a hundred lice bites made him acutely aware of his present condition. How could he possibly touch Julia
now? Moreover, his ingrained sense of self-preservation gave him pause. What was Julia doing here in this hellhole? Wasn't she supposed to be married by now? Where was her husband? Or were the Confederates using her to ferret out the truth of Rob's mission? Had she really betrayed him in her garden and inadvertently played into Lawrence's plan?

To display his true feelings now would be folly, especially when the prison clerk and four of the guards watched him like cats around a wounded mouse. Rob stiffened his features into a mask.

“Good morning, Miss Chandler,” he greeted her formally, though his heart hammered in his chest. “I confess, it is a surprise to see you here.”

A dart of pain shadowed those luminous green eyes of hers. “Oh, cousin Rob! It has been far, far too long since we last met. Has the army made you grow so cold?” She smiled again, though her lush lips trembled.

“Five minutes, miss,” Ross barked from his desk. He glared at Montgomery as if daring him to object.

Rob blinked, trying to focus on Julia's words. Now they were cousins? She stepped toward him. He held up his hand to stop her before a battalion of his vermin could leap on her.

“Don't come any closer, Julia,” he cautioned, though his tone was more harsh than he had intended. “I'm not fit for civilized company.”

Despite his warning, she drew nearer to him. Her eyes widened when she looked up at him. “You…” she faltered, then began again. “You are much thinner than when I last saw you.” She bit her lower lip.

Rob glanced at the nearest guard before he answered. The Reb was close enough to overhear every word, and he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was listening.
Across the room, the civilian clerk, Erasmus Ross, observed them intently with a pocket watch in his hand. Returning to Julia, Rob saw that she fought back tears.

He cleared his throat. “I am afraid, at that time, I was like the biblical fatted calf,” he said with more truth than he had intended.

He really wanted to tell her how glad he was to see her. How much he had missed her and how beautiful she looked! He realized, with a start, that this was the first time that they had ever met in daylight.

Julia lowered her voice. “Please believe me, Rob. I had no idea there were any soldiers in our garden that night.”

Rob wanted to trust her. He wanted to embrace her, put her head against his chest as he had done in the cold moonlight, and tell her the thousand things that filled his heart. He lifted his good hand to stroke her cheek, saw the grime under his nails and shook his head. He dropped his arm to his side again. The visit was the worst torture the Rebs could have devised—and he doubted they even realized it.

 

Julia thought she would break in two. How poorly Rob looked and how cold he was to her, as if he blamed her for every minute he had languished inside these filthy, horrid walls! Libby Prison was much worse than she had expected. Rob's coat, with a tear along the shoulder seam, hung loosely from his tall frame. His cheekbones stood out, making his face look like a statue of cold bronze. His dark hair was uncombed and a short, ragged beard covered his once-smooth cheeks. The haunted darkness in his eyes frightened Julia the most. He looked like a dangerous animal that had been kept for too long on a short leash and short rations. He looked as if he could kill with his bare hand.

“Four minutes,” snapped the clerk.

Julia jumped at the sound of his grating voice. What could she say in four minutes? She needed hours, days to express all that she wanted to tell Rob, if only he would listen to her. She put her hand on his coat sleeve. He flinched and shook it off.

She moistened her lips. “You once told me that you studied law at Yale. As a lawyer, would you deny a fair hearing to a common criminal? If not, then why do you deny me?” She stepped as close as she dared to him. Her words were only for his ears. “Do you need proof of my fidelity to you? Very well, listen. I have run away from the only home I have ever had. I have left behind me everything that I love—except you.”

Rob blinked at her, though he said nothing.

Please, please let him believe her. Julia didn't want to beg him in front of all these strangers, but she would go down on her knees, if that would make him trust her.

“Three minutes.” The clerk looked almost gleeful.

Just then, the little woman in black who had helped Julia earlier again rose from the bench. “Mr. Ross!” she snapped. “I do believe that we have heard enough out of your mouth for this day.”

“Now, Miss Van Lew, you know I have to keep order here,” he shot back, though his tone softened a fraction.

Lizzie Van Lew advanced upon him like a small terrier stalking a large rat. “Exactly so, Mr. Ross, and you do that most admirably. But keeping order does not mean keeping time. We can do that for ourselves.”

He bore up under her assault, but looked less forbidding. The four guards backed away. None of them dared to laugh at her. Buoyed by this unexpected intervention, Julia hurried on with her little speech.

“I have brought a few things for you,” she whispered, “though I can see that it isn't half as much as you need.
Some apples, sardines, socks—” She babbled on, afraid if she stopped to take a breath, she would cry on the spot. She held up her little basket to him.

Did Julia just say she loved him?

Words refused to roll off Rob's tongue. She had run away—for him? “Then you are not married?” he whispered.

Green fire burned in the depths of her eyes. “No! I hope I never see Payton again.”

“And you have thrown away your reputation to come here—for me?”

Pink patches stained her white cheeks. “Yes, and I feel much better for it. Now, please, Rob, take my basket. I'll bring you more next time.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Thank you, Julia, but I beg you, don't come back. Libby is no place for a lady.”

She gave him a pert smile, one he remembered from the Winsteads' ball. “I gave up being a lady as my New Year's resolution—”

“Hush!” Rob interrupted her. He wanted to kiss that smile so badly. “Don't even tease like that—not here. You may be surrounded by your fellow Confederates, but underneath those gray uniforms, some of these men are the scum of the earth. They would gladly take you at your word.”

“Time's up, Montgomery!” called Ross.

“No, it isn't,” countered the remarkable Miss Lizzie. “Not until I say it's up—unless you want to pay for your own cigars from now on.”

Rob nodded his thanks to her. Then he returned to Julia. She looked as if she had walked every mile to Richmond—for him.

“You have no idea what your visit means to me,” he began. He had never before felt so helpless in the presence
of a female. Some day, he would be able to show Julia how much he appreciated her sacrifice, but not now under the rude gaze of the loutish guards. Not when he was crawling with vermin and dirt. Not when he had nothing to give to her—not even a kiss, though he longed for one of hers. He squeezed her hand.

Julia looked over her shoulder at their audience. She blushed when she returned to him. “Then you
do
believe me, Rob? Every word?”

“Yes,” he murmured. Then lowering his head, he kissed her soft hand. It trembled under his lips. He stared with the longing of a thirsty man into the deep green pools of her eyes. “This kiss, if it dared speak, would stretch thy spirits up into the air,” he whispered.

“Sweet Shakespeare!” Lowering her lashes, Julia rose up on tiptoe.

Rob shivered. He had to leave her now, before she tried to kiss him. Before he made a fool of himself and cried in front of his enemies. He lifted the basket out of her grasp. “I once told you that ‘parting is such sweet sorrow.' That was small talk then. I mean every word of it now.”

He turned abruptly and left her. Once back upstairs on his blanket, he closed his eyes, hugged the basket and wept silently.

 

Lizzie Van Lew waited until Rob's footfalls died away on the stairs before she took command of the guard room once again. Turning to Ross, she said, “There now! Your prisoner is safely back in his den and only six minutes have passed. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

Ross replaced his watch in his waistcoat pocket before he replied in an undertone. “No, Miss Lizzie, but one day you will go too far, and then not even the protection of General Winder will keep you out of trouble.”

Lizzie smiled sweetly at him. “I shall see you next week, Mr. Ross, and I won't forget those cigars—or some custard. Is that going too far?”

Ross grinned like a schoolboy. “Miss Lizzie, you are a caution.”

She regarded the pretty young girl who still stood rooted in the same spot—staring after the departed man. The more Lizzie studied the girl, the more she concluded that Miss Chandler was straight out of some secluded home deep in the countryside. It was written plain on her face that the child didn't know the first thing about Richmond, and wouldn't last a day without some sort of protection and guidance.

Lizzie picked up her large, now-empty basket, then turned toward Miss Chandler. “Well, young lady, don't dawdle. I have a lot to do today, and I can't waste my time waiting for you to quit your gawking.”

The girl snapped back into the present, then looked around to see if Lizzie had spoken to someone else. She blushed in a very becoming way that was not lost on the lusty youngsters who served as prison guards.

“You were addressing me, ma'am?” she asked with the widest green eyes Lizzie had ever seen.

This child was bound for a world of trouble if Lizzie didn't take charge of her immediately. “I did indeed, Miss Chandler. Now come with me. As Mr. Ross so gallantly pointed out earlier, time flies. It's nearly noon and my dinnertime. I detest missing my dinner, and I am sure you do, too. You may carry my basket. Lord knows, this cold wet winter will be the undoing of every bone in my body. Well?”

 

Julia had no idea why this little birdlike woman had decided to adopt her, but she was very glad that Miss Van
Lew did. Julia had not looked forward to returning to her hotel after such an unnerving visit with Rob. Miss Lizzie spoke of eating dinner as if Julia were invited to share that meal. Blessing her good luck, she smiled and took the basket.

“Much obliged, I am sure,” she murmured. “I shall be very glad to accompany you.”

The little woman sniffed, then turned on her heel. “Of course you are! Say goodbye to our nice Mr. Ross, and let us be on our way.” To the guards, who looked as thunderstruck as Julia felt, she added, “I'll be back in a week or so, boys. I expect you'll be wanting your usual buttermilk and ginger cakes, as well?”

They grinned like four puppies around a puddle of cream. The nearest soldier held the door open for the women. “You be sure to bring Miss Chandler back with you, too.”

Julia gulped. It had never occurred to her that she might be in harm's way among Confederate soldiers. It was always the Yankees she had worried about in the past…long ago, in Alexandria.