and Mary glared at her. “You would enjoy this,” she said brittlely. “You’re Union to the core. Mrs. Lodge says—”
They all watched her, waiting for her to continue, but she fell abruptly silent.
“Mary,” said John levelly, “I will not have you carrying tales about Lizzie through the neighborhood.”
Balling her hands in her lap, Mary glared up at him. “I have nothing to say to my friends about her that they haven’t already heard elsewhere or observed for themselves.”
“Nevertheless”—John’s voice carried an edge—“I will not have my wife gossiping about my sister. Do not embarrass me.”
“That’s all that matters, isn’t it? That your sister is thought well of.” Mary bolted to her feet, tears in her eyes. “My parents warned me that I was marrying down when I agreed to be your wife, but they couldn’t have known how very low I would fall, that I would always come second to your precious spinster sister.”
“I’ll be in the garden,” Lizzie said, cutting short the painful exchange, and hurried out back for a better view of the James. Shading her eyes from the sun, she walked to the foot of the garden, where she had watched the torchlight parade march past a few nights before, but the only boats she observed on the winding, silvery river were those docked at Rocketts Wharf and a rowboat carrying several especially foolhardy sightseers.
“That Yankee gunboat ain’t comin’, Miss Lizzie.”
Startled, Lizzie whirled about to find Nelson sitting on his heels tending the oleander, and despite everything, it occurred to her that she ought to chide him for working on his day off. “How can you be so sure?”
“I got a nephew works on one of them pole barges.” Stiffly, Nelson straightened with a grunt, brushed soil from his palms, and joined Lizzie at the edge of the terrace. “Spoke with him after worship, soon as we all heard the warning. I’ll tell you what he told me and you make up your own mind. City Point’s about twenty miles away, where the Appomattox meets the James. The river’s narrow and twisting, and some places the channel’s so narrow all you got to do is fell a single tree to block any ship that might want to come further. Set a few fieldpieces up on them high ridges, and hide a few marksmen on those steep bluffs, and that gunboat wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Lizzie felt faint. “Have the rebels placed any soldiers there?”
“I surely don’t know, but the Yankees don’t either.” Nelson squinted at the distant river, shaking his head. “My nephew says with them odds, no gunboat captain would risk his ship and his crew just for the chance to shell a small city like ours, not even if he was drunk or insane.”
As evening fell and the bewildered, disappointed, relieved citizens of Richmond abandoned their lookout posts, descended Church Hill, and returned to their homes, Lizzie stepped out onto the rooftop again and looked to the east until the sun set. She saw flickering campfires along the riverbanks down by Rocketts Wharf, where the city’s defenders had bivouacked for the night, but the Pawnee never appeared.
A quiet night passed, and in the morning, William went out after breakfast for the papers and brought the Dispatch to Lizzie on the back piazza. A bold headline caught her eye: “The Excitement Yesterday.”
“Shall I read to you how the Dispatch accounts for the invasion that wasn’t?” she called to Mother, who was cutting flowers in the garden and laying them carefully in a basket.
“No need, dear,” she called back. “I was there.”
Lizzie smiled and read on silently. “In times like these we must be prepared for any emergency, and every rumor deserves careful and considerate attention,” the article declared, but to Lizzie the affirmation read like an embarrassed apology on behalf of a city that had flown into a panic at the first sign of real danger. The city of Richmond—and perhaps the entire state of Virginia—was
They all watched her, waiting for her to continue, but she fell abruptly silent.
“Mary,” said John levelly, “I will not have you carrying tales about Lizzie through the neighborhood.”
Balling her hands in her lap, Mary glared up at him. “I have nothing to say to my friends about her that they haven’t already heard elsewhere or observed for themselves.”
“Nevertheless”—John’s voice carried an edge—“I will not have my wife gossiping about my sister. Do not embarrass me.”
“That’s all that matters, isn’t it? That your sister is thought well of.” Mary bolted to her feet, tears in her eyes. “My parents warned me that I was marrying down when I agreed to be your wife, but they couldn’t have known how very low I would fall, that I would always come second to your precious spinster sister.”
“I’ll be in the garden,” Lizzie said, cutting short the painful exchange, and hurried out back for a better view of the James. Shading her eyes from the sun, she walked to the foot of the garden, where she had watched the torchlight parade march past a few nights before, but the only boats she observed on the winding, silvery river were those docked at Rocketts Wharf and a rowboat carrying several especially foolhardy sightseers.
“That Yankee gunboat ain’t comin’, Miss Lizzie.”
Startled, Lizzie whirled about to find Nelson sitting on his heels tending the oleander, and despite everything, it occurred to her that she ought to chide him for working on his day off. “How can you be so sure?”
“I got a nephew works on one of them pole barges.” Stiffly, Nelson straightened with a grunt, brushed soil from his palms, and joined Lizzie at the edge of the terrace. “Spoke with him after worship, soon as we all heard the warning. I’ll tell you what he told me and you make up your own mind. City Point’s about twenty miles away, where the Appomattox meets the James. The river’s narrow and twisting, and some places the channel’s so narrow all you got to do is fell a single tree to block any ship that might want to come further. Set a few fieldpieces up on them high ridges, and hide a few marksmen on those steep bluffs, and that gunboat wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Lizzie felt faint. “Have the rebels placed any soldiers there?”
“I surely don’t know, but the Yankees don’t either.” Nelson squinted at the distant river, shaking his head. “My nephew says with them odds, no gunboat captain would risk his ship and his crew just for the chance to shell a small city like ours, not even if he was drunk or insane.”
As evening fell and the bewildered, disappointed, relieved citizens of Richmond abandoned their lookout posts, descended Church Hill, and returned to their homes, Lizzie stepped out onto the rooftop again and looked to the east until the sun set. She saw flickering campfires along the riverbanks down by Rocketts Wharf, where the city’s defenders had bivouacked for the night, but the Pawnee never appeared.
A quiet night passed, and in the morning, William went out after breakfast for the papers and brought the Dispatch to Lizzie on the back piazza. A bold headline caught her eye: “The Excitement Yesterday.”
“Shall I read to you how the Dispatch accounts for the invasion that wasn’t?” she called to Mother, who was cutting flowers in the garden and laying them carefully in a basket.
“No need, dear,” she called back. “I was there.”
Lizzie smiled and read on silently. “In times like these we must be prepared for any emergency, and every rumor deserves careful and considerate attention,” the article declared, but to Lizzie the affirmation read like an embarrassed apology on behalf of a city that had flown into a panic at the first sign of real danger. The city of Richmond—and perhaps the entire state of Virginia—was
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