Richmond was once a spectacle of a city. It was, at one point, a hub for creativity and establishment in the southern world, and acted as a capitol of the entire region below the Northern lines.
The people there were exceptional. Townsfolk lined the walkways reciting chants, shuffling along curious and intertwined in the city that they love. They smiled, held hands…failing to be evaporated by the influential forces beyond the walls of the city.
It was no disrespect to the other cities up and about in the thirteen colonies, but there was something special about Richmond and Virginia that left it notable and exceptional…a place to prosper for the white man, without the overextended reaches of the politician’s greedy mittens.
The war brought intensity to these people. Richmond was no longer used as a hub for creativity but a capitol to react effectively against Northern assaults.
Richmond inevitably was destroyed.
Carl blinked, recollecting the story from his friend during the evening of that battle. He no longer knew where his friend was, but before they split the friend made Carl very well aware of the events at Richmond.
Even though this was Carl’s first time in the city, he was haunted.
Carl was a Southerner, and after word spread about the eclipse of the war, he felt a sensational feeling of exhaustion and relief. He was one of only a few now who survived the greatest Civil War in history.
Despite the war being off to a close, a large portion of the civilians were still unaware of its end. It has only been a few days, and it was only now spreading throughout the soldiers. Most of the South knew- it was the larger union army who was now becoming aware of the end.
Richmond, after its destruction, was largely evacuated by the North. The North stirred the civilians out of their homes, mostly woman and children, and of course, the hiding man or two who has beaten on and shamed for their cowardliness.
Carl could just smell the scent of those union bastards beating on his fellow Southerners, and yet Carl was no coward- to some degree, they deserved it.
There were very few people in Richmond but the first few people began trickling into the city, it slowly being filled back with its citizens. Once a glowing city, now Richmond is fueled by the waking tender ashes of those who perished and those who sought its creativity for an everlasting and breathtaking life.
Richmond was dead. It would take the energy of its citizens to drive a resurrection.
The ashes, still burning, stung Carl’s eyes. He paced slowly, meticulously, eying the ravaged buildings willingly smothering the front of the homes with his gaze.
Carl was in Richmond. It was not his choice to visit such a ravaged city, but confederate orders were still fairly intact, and Carl was a loyal man.
The signs dangled broken, interrupted, and quite useless. A carriage lay sideways, wasted, up against the side of a brick wall. It was emptied, thieved of all its resources.
Richmond, on this foggy and dilated night, was utterly miserly.
Carl had two other men with him. It was a trio. They were all armed, one man holding a pistol in his pouch, and Carl containing a nice little piece given him by his grandfather who fought in a previous battle.
The superiors doubted the existence of any extensive resistance still wandering about the city. The South left it in shambles, thieving any necessary components of its vitality into their own grubby hands and reminiscing. But they were nervous that indeed a few renegade union soldiers were sitting idly by, waiting for the confederates to drop their guard and kill a few for glory.
Despite the close of the war, death was still a far-reaching bastard.
Carl saw it. The home he came out to find. He saw the red fence (though most of the planks were burnt and scattered) and he saw the garden outside. He saw the large oak out front now down-sized to a small half-lit tree, and the gate out front completely ram shackled off its hinges and dug into the dirt-infested ground below.
Despite its outwardly appearance, it was one of the largest homes in Richmond.
Carl nodded his head to his two fellow soldiers and they began walking up to the house. They were cautious, taking small intimate steps until they hit the front door. Carl nodded again to the fellow on his right, and he backed off.
The other two stepped up a few short steps.
Carl approached the door. Only a brief moment passed, and a woman answered.
“Yes?”
“Hello. My name is Carl Larney.” Carl frowned.
“Sir?”
“Are you the wife of…James Stuart?” Carl paused, barely able to press out the words. “You are Eve right?
She nodded quickly.
“I have news to bring to you and your family.”
Eve looked alerted. “Is he!?”
“The war is over.”
She awakened her eyes.
“I heard I heard sir. Is he?”
Carl looked down towards the ground, unable to contain eye contact. He looked towards the right where his partner stood with a gun over his chest.
The woman cowered on the ground and cried.
She mumbled recklessly under her hands, and a young girl came creeping out to the front door. The woman reached her hands up to the girl, presumably a daughter, and they both cradled each other, rocking back and forth and settling on nothing but the imminent despair of their companionship.
Carl turned his back to the door and began walking away.
“Wait.” She reached her hand from the ground below and grazed Carl’s hand.
“How did he?”
Carl glared, intently down below at her.
“I don’t know.” Carl spoke and continued walking…
“Did you see what happened? Did…”
Carl turned around. “Ma’am I am sorry. There will be others coming soon but now we are only in the early stages of recovering…”
“Mr. Larney.” The woman was clearly distressed, shaking, her daughter barely able to hold her body up as she was crouching and twisting, her torso, though her hands were limp and off to her side.
“Please come in. Talk. Your men too.”
Carl looked pleased. “You have no responsibility to quarter us ma’am we will be on our way…”
She interrupted him. “Come in come in I show you…” The woman slid herself back up to the door and held herself up, her daughter staring intently.
Carl nodded to the other men and they all inched inside, patiently and with ease.
“I have soup.” Eve told the men. She then whispered to her daughter and she shuffled off.
The house looked worse on the inside. Many of the walls were knocked in, and the rooms were empty, completely rid of all the belongings. Many of the larger objects, furniture and such were smashed and torn open. It smelled intense and vivid, animal feces lined the edge of the walls and floor, and made the entire atmosphere riddle of a sense of abandonment.
A rat shuffled under a hole in the floor.
The men sat, rounded around a table, the woman placed a wooden bucket of soup on the table and some wooden ladles.
“I do not have separate pots.”
Carl nodded and thanked the woman nonetheless. She leaned against a counter.
“Thank you for this…”
“It’s fine Mr. Larney, anything for a friend of my husband.”
He was a fine man. This is not the first time I’ve said this as well.” Carl paused and put the ladle up to his mouth. “These men over here, they both met him personally. I’m sure they can answer any questions you have far better than I could.” The men nodded and ate some more soup.
“I believe my friend here fought with Stuart at Bull Run.” The man nodded again and returned to his soup.
“Well gentlemen. I hope your meeting of him was pleasant.”
They both, again, nodded complacently.
Eve was still quite shaken up, but the mere attention and presence of the soldiers, who were more than relatable to her own dead husband, were enough to keep her grounded for now. She smelled their familiarity, their tone, image… and she was perplexed by their attitude.
Especially Carl.
I would like to show you his living space if I could…” Eve stuttered. “Carl?”
Carl looked over at her and smiled calmly. “Ok ma’am.” He pushed his seat back and stood up. “My men?”
“They are fine staying here aren’t they? Of course we will be back in just a moment…”
Carl looked towards his men in mild confusion. Under normal circumstances, he would have denied the request, or at the very least, invited his fellow soldiers along with him. But due to the awkward encounter of the evening and the fragile state of the woman in mind, he felt cooperating was in the interest of everyone in the home.
They couldn’t walk upstairs for the stairs were fallen through and in shambles. Carl’s curiosity only briefly peaked, but it was none of his concern and he simply followed the woman down the hall.
“We’re heading to his work room…his library.” Eve continued walking down the hall, keeping her eyes straight and barely skipping her steps despite the frantic nature of personality just moments before.
She stalled in front of a room. There was no door, but it was very dark. They stepped inside, and Carl could smell the scent of paper. He could see the walls were lined with books, shelves and shelves of text. It was quite an impressive collection. Perhaps a thousand books littered the room, enough to satisfy the needs of many schools, and enough knowledge contained in one room to please the education of decades of younglings.
“You see how smart he was?” The woman asked. ‘He was the smartest man in Richmond, probably the entirety of the South. But we all know how intelligent Lee and his men are, eh?”
Eve gave a frustrating glare over at Carl who was eying the room calmly, placing his hand up against a wall and rubbing it down the side, the wood chipping off uncomfortably and giving Carl a splinter.
“He appeared to be a very intelligent man.”
“He was shot dead. A union bastard shot my husband, didn’t he? My husband is far too strong to die of some ridiculous illness.” Eve pointed her finger at Carl’s face, her fingernail scraping his chin. “And it wasn’t the fault of the North I tell you, no not the North.”
Carl was confused and suddenly taken aback.
“Oh no no no it was the South that started this war and it was the South that made my husband die.” She took another step towards Carl who was now plastered up against the wall, Eve’s finger pointed deeper into his cheek.
“Eve your husband was a great man…we all had loses in this war…” She lost it. Eve took her hand and smacked Carl. Carl put his hand to his face, but only for a moment. Eve continued smacking, again and again, yelling out blasphemies and cursing the South.
“You killed him, you killed my husband!” After a moment he managed to grab both her hands and hold them at bay. Eve’s swinging immediately halted.
They both stood there, Eve’s wrists grasped tightly by Carl, whose face was crumpled and aggravated, as well as red from the few hits that made it clear across his cheek and a cut that ran below his eye.
“I killed no one ma’am.”
“You killed a blue coated man didn’t you Mr. Larney?”
“War will do that.”
Eve spit in Carl’s face. Carl tightened.
“Are you going to hit a lady, Mr. Larney? Are you going to hit the wife of a general?”
“A dead general ma’am.”
Eve’s eyes widened and she loosened her body. Carl slowly let her hands fall limp to her side and Eve just stood there, torn and evaporated. Carl stepped outside the library quickly.
“Wait Mr. Larney!” she yelled.
Carl stopped and turned around patiently. “We are leaving ma’am. I am sorry for your lose.”
“Wait!” she yelled again.
Carl took a step forward towards Eve and looked down at her eyes. They were full of an intensity that Carl was very unfamiliar with. Sure, he spent years beside soldiers, most were dead, and who had eyes languishing in sadness and desperation, eyes darker than any regular man. But there was something about Eve in that hall, something about her limp weak body and begging posture. There was something innately horrific about her place in life. Eve pressed forward and hugged Carl. Her warmth was enticing, and Carl returned the hug.
“Will you stay with me, Mr. Larney?” She paused and tears swallowed her pupils.
“I have my own family.” Carl closed his eyes and pressed himself off of her grasp. “I have a wife. A daughter too, just like you, one that I miss very very much.”
Eve stepped back and tears simply erupted around her.
“Why would you do this to me!? Why would you let me…?”
Carl showed his back to the woman and walked down the hall rounding the corner and coming out to the kitchen. His fellow soldiers sat there comfortably, and Carl nodded in their direction and directed them to the front door. Carl leaned down towards the daughter and drew his hat to his chest.
“Good day ma’am.” He patted her on the head and smiled. The daughter, black hair, petite nose, opened her lips wide and grinned her teeth.
“Thank you sir.”
The three men continued out the door and placed their hats on their head. As they made out just beyond the red fence one of the men looked towards Carl.
“What did she want? I heard her yelling…” the man asked.
“It was nothing. Let’s go.”
The three men walked side by side, hats on their heads, and frowns strewn across their faces. Carl took a quick glance back and saw the front door the of the white home, the silhouette of a woman crouching by the door could barely be made out against the darkness of the sky- only her tears glistening lightly.
After seeing his daughter, Carl would cry in front of her for the first time in his life.
And Carl would never visit Richmond again.
