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  Rob returned the handshake with his left. “Rob Montgomery, sir. I hope you gentlemen will not mind having a New Yorker in your midst.”

  “So long as you don’t snore much,” shot back one of the men.

  The lieutenant colonel nodded. “Hamilton’s my name, Rob. The boys call me A.G., and I’m a Kentuckian by birth and breeding—a Northern Kentuckian.” He pointed to a spot on the floor along the outside wall. The “bed” was a single rolled blanket without the addition of a cot or straw mattress.

  “You can sleep over there since the youngster who was using it last night doesn’t need it anymore.” A.G. paused for a moment; a tic quivered along his jawline. “The wind will keep you wakeful, I’m afraid, but when we all lie down, it gets nearly tolerable in here. Just holler when you want to turn over.”

  The stark conditions of his new surroundings appalled Rob, though he did not betray his shock. Until he could learn who was planning the breakout, he would watch, wait and pray that he could get these lean, hollow-eyed men back home.

  That night, in the few hours of sleep that he could manage, Rob dreamt of Julia Chandler.

  Two mornings after the painful interview with her parents, Julia quietly dressed in the gloom of pre-dawn. Thanks to help from Hettie and Carolyn, she was ready to make her bid for freedom, though it cut her to the quick to realize that her disappearance would cause her beloved Papa great pain and fill her mother with fury. On the other hand, she didn’t care a fig what Payton would think once he realized that his golden goose had fled her coop.

  Since her planned escape route compelled her to travel with little baggage, Julia dressed with care, putting on two layers of everything. The double skirts, petticoats and, especially, the tight bodices made her appear considerably heavier than she was. In a small carpetbag, she packed toothbrush and powder, her hairbrush, tortoiseshell comb and a small ivory-backed mirror, a small bottle of lavender water, a clean set of underdrawers and camisole, a spare chemise, a half-dozen handkerchiefs, her spectacles and a pair of wool stockings. She hated to part with her precious books but necessity forced her to be sensible. A woman on the run could not be encumbered with a library.

  Carolyn watched her from the warmth of the four-poster bed. “I’ll hide your books,” she said with sympathetic understanding, “so Mother won’t burn them in a fit of pique. Someday you’ll be back…” She trailed off with a sniffle.

  Julia paused in her preparations to give her sister a quick hug. “I do hope so, lambkin.” With her own eyes welling up, she turned back to her little bag. “I’ll take my Bible for comfort, and Mr. Browning’s poems for diversion,” she continued, stuffing the two small volumes deep inside the bulging satchel.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Carolyn asked her yet again. “Once you leave, you know that Mother will never let—”

  Julia interrupted her. “I know I can’t stay here and marry Payton. In Richmond, maybe I can find some employment. I understand they need nurses badly in the hospitals.”

  Carolyn made a face. “I would faint at the sight of blood.”

  Julia didn’t want to think about the grim scenes she knew those houses of suffering held. She would find out soon enough. “Once I have found a place to stay, I will go to the Libby Prison. I am sure I can persuade the guards to let me visit with Rob. I’ll bring him some extra food and whatever else he will need. I’ve got to prove to him that I didn’t betray him to those soldiers.”

  Her sister sighed. “You must truly love that varmint to run off after him like this.”

  Julia fastened the bag’s latch with a snap. “I don’t love Rob, Carolyn. You make me sound like one of those sugary heroines in those novels of yours. But I do feel very responsible for his capture. It’s only right that I try to make his imprisonment as comfortable as possible.”

  She paused before the tall dresser where Frank Shaffer’s silver locket lay in its velvet box. Julia held up the trinket. The little heart twirled on its black velvet ribbon. For nearly three years, she had worn it faithfully, but that time was now past.

  “Rest in peace, sweet Frank,” she whispered to the locket. “Thank you for teaching me how to love. I will always remember you.” Then she returned it to its box, burying the treasure deep in the top drawer under her handkerchiefs.

  Julia pulled on her green velvet cloak. It was a snug fit over all her other clothing. She tied on her hat, then put on the wonderful gloves that Rob had given her. Lastly, she took up her reticule. Inside, the proceeds from her pieces of jewelry and her meager pin money amounted to less than seventy dollars, most of it in small greenback bills and the rest in a mixture of silver and copper coins minted by the Federal government. The pawnbroker assured Hettie that Federal money was worth a lot more than the pink shinplasters that the Confederate Treasury printed.

  A soft knock on the door startled both girls, then Hettie peeped in, holding a lantern. “Are you about ready, Miss Julia? Old Sam will be down the street any minute now and you need to be on the corner.”

  The little clock on the mantel showed 4:25 a.m. by the single candle’s light. With one final glance in the mirror, Julia straightened her hat. Then she wrapped the plaid wool shawl around her shoulders and picked up her carpetbag. It weighed more than she had anticipated, but she couldn’t stop to repack it now. “Ready,” she replied in a shaky voice. She crossed over to the bedside and hugged Carolyn. “Don’t cry, honeylamb. You are not supposed to know I’ve gone.”

  Carolyn wiped her nose on her nightdress’s sleeve. “Don’t worry about me, Julia. I’ll be fast asleep in my own bed.” She got out of the four-poster that she had shared with her sister since she was barely out of infant clothes. She stuffed the bolster pillows under the sheet to approximate the shape of a sleeping body. “That will fool them for a while.”

  Julia cupped Carolyn’s chin in the palm of her hand. “Promise you won’t tell them where I’ve gone? Mother will send Payton after me, if you do.”

  “Won’t breathe a word. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Carolyn shrugged. “How could I know anything? I was across the hall asleep in my own bed when you sneaked out of here like a thief in the night,” she added, mimicking their mother’s voice. She blew out the candle. “I will miss you something fierce.”

  Julia hugged her again. “And I will think of you every day. Please remember me in your prayers. I love you, Carolyn.”

  Hettie tapped her foot. “We’ve got to go, Miss Julia.” Just then, a faint call drifted up from the street. “There’s Sam now.” She pulled Julia out into the hall. “You get back in your own bed, Miss Carolyn, or you will give us all away. Lordy, stop sniffling, both of you,” she whispered, shutting the bedroom door with a soft “click.”

  Suddenly, there was no more time for Julia to think or reconsider the drastic action she was about to take. Once she left her home, she knew she could not return. The shame and scandal of running away would be too painful for even her gentle father to bear. Hettie pushed her past the closed doors of her parents’ suite and Payton’s room. The two women hurried down the back stairs, through the pantry and out the rear door.

  On the back stoop, Hettie hugged Julia, then looped a small basket over her arm. “Some bread and butter, apples, cold chicken, hard-boiled eggs and caramels. You make that last, ’cause I don’t expect there will be much between here and Richmond that’s fit for a lady to eat.” She kissed her on the forehead. “Now you behave yourself and tell Old Sam that next time he comes by, I’ll place a double order for eggs, you hear?”

  Julia’s heart was too full to voice her gratitude lest she dissolve in tears. She hugged Hettie for a third time, then dashed down the steps. Lifting her multiple skirts to allow her more speed, she raced to the back gate. She could hear the clip-clop of Old Sam’s horse as he pulled the heavy egg-and-chicken wagon up Columbia Street. They would pass the corner of Prince at any moment. Hettie had cautioned Julia several times that Sam would not loiter there for her. Even though he was a fre
eman, the penalty for “kidnapping” a white woman from her home would be very stiff for him, no matter what Julia would say in his defense.

  She reached the intersection just as the cart passed by. Old Sam, looking younger than she had expected, pulled the horse to a stop, then jumped off the seat. With a mumbled “morning” to Julia, he snatched her bag out of her hands, and tossed it among the willow-work coops of his feathered wares. The chickens, startled from their sleep, squawked their indignation, breaking the silence of the slumbering neighborhood.

  “Hettie said—” Julia began, but Sam gave her no time to talk. Without preamble, he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her into the back of the cart. The chickens screamed louder. Sam pointed to an old blanket behind the pile of coops. “Get under that and stay there, miss, and you let my hens do all the talking. I’ll tell you when you can come out—and not before, you hear?”

  Julia nodded, them stumbled her way to the blanket. Sam hopped back in his seat, snapped the reins and the cart jerked forward. Jolted by the sudden movement, Julia sat down hard on the floorboards, just missing a stack of the occupied coops. She pulled the blanket over her head and curled herself into as small a ball as she could, considering the amount of clothing she had on.

  Above her hiding place, Sam bellowed, “Chick-ens! Fresh, lively chickens! E-e-e-gs! I got eggs this morning!”

  For hours upon hours, Old Sam wended his way around Alexandria hawking his wares. The cobblestones of the city’s streets jolted the cart and rattled Julia to the bone. Though the day was as cold as the previous week, she felt hot and stuffy under the foul-smelling blanket. She had never realized until now just how pungent a large number of confined chickens could be.

  At first, she feared that the horrid smell would make her gag. Then she worried that the swaying, rocking wagon would upset her already nervous stomach. Eventually, she grew used to the smell and the uneven movement. Sam seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to sell his birds. He chatted up a large number of families’ cooks, whistled while he drove between stops as if he hadn’t a care in the world, and spent an unhurried dinner hour among friends from Market Square. Fortunately, Julia had no desire to eat. The proximity of the chickens coupled with her gnawing anxiety killed her appetite. A headache began behind her eyes. The swaying lulled her. She fell asleep sometime during the early afternoon.

  “I said you can come out now, miss.”

  Waking with a start, Julia forgot that she was under a blanket. Everything was very dark. When she pulled it from her face, she found that the daylight had passed, the cart was now stopped on a country road and Sam was grinning at her.

  “I reckon you would like to stretch a bit,” he observed. He handed her a canteen. “Water, miss. It’s cold.” He chuckled.

  Julia smiled wanly. The bitter wind, unchecked by houses or trees, blew across the barren fields and slapped her in the face. She drank deeply, the water flowing down her parched throat in an icy stream that made her teeth ache. She started to stand up, but Sam shook his head.

  “No, miss, not yet. We still have a ways to go and I don’t want nobody to see you sitting up in the box with me. You’re supposed to disappear, so you have to stay invisible.” He pointed to the loathsome blanket again.

  Julia sighed but made no further protest. She had to trust Sam, just as she trusted Hettie who had arranged her flight. She certainly didn’t want to get either of them in trouble, nor did she want to be caught and returned to Prince Street. At least, all the chickens were gone, though their noxious smell remained. Julia lay back down in the bottom of the cart, and once again covered herself with the blanket. This time the wagon took off with more speed. Obviously, the horse knew he was headed for the barn. As she jittered and bounced down Virginia’s frozen dirt roads, Julia reviewed the next step of Hettie’s plan.

  Tonight, she was supposed to stay at an old inn in some village. As the wearisome hours jolted by, she flicked the blanket off her face and drew in deep drafts of the cold night air. Above her, the stars shone like bright diamonds in the black velvet sky. When the everlasting wind chilled her skin, she covered her face once more. Only the thought of seeing Rob again kept her from giving way to despair.

  It was not quite how she had envisioned the beginning of her life as an independent woman.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thirty-six hours after she had fled from her home, Julia stepped onto the station platform of the Central Railroad Depot in Richmond. Exhaustion blurred her vision so that she did not immediately notice the difference between Alexandria and the Confederate capital. The night before, she had not slept well in the farmer’s house at Burke’s Station—the promised “inn.” The following morning, she boarded a train for Manassas Junction, where she had to bribe the local provost marshal for a pass through the lines. She had told him that she was racing to a family deathbed.

  The train out of Manassas was derailed somewhere north of Fredericksburg—an occurrence that was quite common, a fellow passenger assured her, as they picked their way over frozen bracken at the side of the railroad bed. Several hours later, she boarded another train to Rappahannock Station. From there, Julia, and other passengers bound for the Confederacy, climbed into an army ambulance wagon for a trip down country roads to Guinea Station. There, they caught another train, this one headed for Richmond. The journey had utterly drained her.

  As Julia mustered her mental and physical resources, she became aware of the city’s bustle. A second train screeched into the station, blowing its steam whistle to warn the lines of waiting ambulances and stretcher bearers that another load of Confederate sick and wounded had arrived from far-flung winter encampments.

  Men shouted at porters. Porters shouted at each other. Vendors hawked everything from pigs’ feet and gingerbread to used nails. Horses, dogs, children and women added to the hubbub. The sheer wall of noise nearly knocked Julia off her tired feet. Alexandria, though filled with Yankee soldiers, seemed a poky little town in comparison to Richmond—and Julia hadn’t even left the depot yet!

  Wiping train soot from her face and hugging her carpetbag closer to her body, Julia plunged into the crowd that streamed out toward the street. She had not the slightest idea where she should go. Once on the sidewalk, Julia surveyed the scene with growing dismay. In the fading light of the late afternoon, dray wagons loaded with barrels and boxes, light-sprung buggies, cabs filled with passengers, open carriages, men pushing handcarts, boys running in every direction and dogs racing underfoot vied for space along the cobbled thoroughfare. A living river of people, both black and white and of every age and description, pushed and shoved their way along the sidewalks.

  Until now, Julia had thought herself well-acquainted with city living, but this discordant panorama made her feel very sheltered and naive. She had to find a hotel—a nice, respectable one where single ladies could sleep in safety. There must be something like that in Richmond, but where? Just then a distinguished-looking, elderly black man sitting on the driver’s box of an enclosed carriage waved at her, and motioned her toward him. Remembering Hettie’s admonition “not to trust nobody in that sinful city,” Julia approached with caution.

  “Yes?” she asked when she came within hailing distance. “Did you wish to speak to me?”

  “Yes’m,” he replied, lifting his burnished topper. “Are you looking for the Spotswood Hotel, miss? This here is the hotel’s conveyance for ladies and gentlemen of refinement such as yourself,” he announced with evident pride.

  Julia cast a quick glance inside the carriage. To her relief, she saw that two men and a woman, all fashionably dressed, occupied the two facing seats. There was clearly room enough for one more. One of the men, spying her hesitation, lowered the window.

  “We’re going to the Spotswood, miss. Please join us.” He smiled at her. “I assure you, it is the finest, most elegant hotel in Richmond. General Robert E. Lee himself stayed there once, and so did President and Mrs. Jefferson Davis when they first came
to town.”

  The coachman chuckled in agreement. “That’s the gospel truth. It is the best hotel you will find anywhere north of Charleston.” He stepped down off the box and held out his hand. “You come along now. I can put your grip on the roof, if you like.”

  Julia clutched the handles of her bag. “No…thank you. I prefer to hold it.”

  The coachman opened the door and offered to help her inside. Julia made a split-second decision. Since she had no idea where else to go, she would investigate the Spotswood. If it was not to her liking, she could leave. She gave her hand to the driver who settled her inside the coach. Only when he had closed the door did the faint odor of chicken manure fill the compartment. Julia winced, but said nothing. If she pretended she didn’t notice it, perhaps no one else would, either. Lordy, she could just die!

  The other woman, seated across from Julia, lifted her handkerchief to her nose and snapped open her fan. Her companion glared at Julia, before turning his gaze to the passersby. A tense silence enveloped the compartment as the coach started up. Julia’s seatmate, the man who had encouraged her to join them, continued to smile at her.

  “I fear that travel is mighty difficult during these hard times,” he finally remarked. “Especially for unaccompanied ladies.”

  Julia blessed him for his understanding. “Indeed, sir. I am much relieved to finally be here,” she replied.

  “Do you intend to stay in Richmond for long?” he inquired.

  Hettie had also warned Julia against divulging too much personal information to strangers, even if they appeared to be friendly. Julia replied, “I have no idea, sir. It will depend upon my business here.” Then she lowered her eyes.