Underground: Traitors and Spies in Lincoln's War

Chapter 3

Mary Jane

April 1861

"Give me liberty or give me death!" Patrick Henry's famous words echoed in Mary Jane's head as she glanced up at the towering spire of the church. The day was gray, but somehow the white paint of the wooden structure was still blinding and Mary Jane had to shield her eyes with her hand, the lace on the sleeve of her finest red dress billowing in the wind.

"It is for your own protection," Miss Lizzie had appeared beside her, in her usual sly manner. Stealth was as natural to Miss Lizzie as her notions of abolition, borne by her education in Philadelphia.

Mary Jane dropped her arm. "I don't love him."

"I am aware. But marriage and love don't always equate. Look at me... I was in love too, a lifetime ago." Miss Lizzie had once been beautiful and, according to her, had been a much sought-after Virginian belle. But her fiancé had died of yellow fever in the epidemic of 1841, and now, at forty-three, with her blond hair graying and her face becoming thinner and more pinched by the day, she was an established spinster. "Perhaps love will develop out of affection. Besides, Wilson Bowser will make a perfectly adequate husband."

"He is a slave." Mary Jane's anger was swift and sudden. For most of her young life she had been ruled by Miss Lizzie's desires—she'd gotten an education up North and then spent some time in Liberia, all at Miss Lizzie's expense. But her choosing Mary Jane's life partner was too much to bear.

"A slave who is working to pay for his freedom." Miss Lizzie turned her hawkish face to look Mary Jane squarely in the eyes. "After what happened last year..." Miss Lizzie's voice faded out. She disliked talking about Mary Jane's arrest even more than Mary Jane herself. Miss Lizzie switched to a different tactic. "Let's not forget you too were born a slave." Miss Lizzie broke eye contact, as she always did when she mentioned Mary Jane's status.

They both turned as a carriage pulled up a safe distance away from the women so as not to muddy their dresses.

"Miss Richards!" A black man several years older than Mary Jane climbed down from his post next to the driver.

"Mary Jane, then." Bowser—Wilson—replied. He led the way into the church, which was sparsely adorned. Unlike her fellow Richmonders, including her sister-in-law, Miss Lizzie had no desire to be ostentatious, either in dress or decoration. She had invited many of her most influential neighbors, but most refused to attend a Negro wedding. A few servants filled the family pew along with Miss Lizzie and her brother John. Their mother, Mrs. Van Lew had sent her best wishes that morning, but she was suffering from another one of her headaches and could not leave her bedroom.

Mary Jane replayed the Patrick Henry speech in her head during the ceremony. She'd memorized it in its entirety long ago, much to Miss Lizzie's delight since he had stood in what had eventually become the Van Lew family pew as he called such prominent Virginia colonials as Thomas Jefferson and George Washington to arms. Mary Jane wanted to concentrate on anything besides the commitment she was making, another mistake possibly, just like going to Liberia had been. Miss Lizzie had convinced her that Liberia would have been Mary Jane's ticket to freedom, once and for all. But Mary Jane's roots had always been in Virginia; it was where her mother had lived and died, and, if Mary Jane couldn't be with her, at least she could be near her burial site. In her letters, Miss Lizzie had included accounts of the unrest the nation was feeling, especially in regard to the question of that peculiar institution of slavery. Mary Jane realized they were on the brink of another revolution: this time for the rights of blacks instead of American men and begged for Miss Lizzie to pay for her return. She had finally relented, and after Mary Jane had been arrested, arranged for her to marry Wilson Bowser.