Few words were exchanged the next morning at the O’Toole’s home. After venturing out of the house briefly to examine the charred ruins of the Wilson’s house, Mrs. O’Toole returned weeping. For the next hour, she continued to glance furtively at the street from behind the curtains of the parlor windows, checking to see if anyone was approaching the house. Finally, she broke down in tears once again and retreated to her upstairs bedroom where she spent the day.
Mr. O’Toole wore an expression of steely resolve on his face, breaking it only briefly to attempt a few light-hearted exchanges with his sons. But Ryan and Matthew were somber as well. No laughter was heard in the O’Toole’s home that day.
Mr. O’Toole did not go into the bank that day. He explained to his wife that Mr. Wilson might need his help in the aftermath of his great catastrophe. Luckily, no one in the Wilson family had been hurt; everyone had managed to escape the building long before the fire had spread dangerously. It seemed that the five hooded men who had snuck into their backyard and set the fire shortly after dark had planned it that way. Shortly after the fire was set, they had banged loudly on metal pots and pans, apparently to warn the family of the fire. At least, Mr. O’Toole thought to himself, they hadn’t wanted to kill anyone.
But that was small consolation to Mr. Wilson. He and his family members had stayed overnight with another neighbor, and Mr. O’Toole had gone over early in the morning to once again express his regret over the tragic situation and to offer whatever help he could give. Mr. Wilson was taciturn. “I said the other night that I’d leave Richmond if I could,” he mumbled to Mr. O’Toole as they sat closely together in the kitchen of their neighbor’s house.
“Yes, I remember that you did,” replied Mr. O’Toole, nodding his head gently.
“But don’t you see?” cried Mr. Wilson. “That’s what brought all this on!”
“I don’t understand…” began Mr. O’Toole.
“Sure you do. This happened because I said in our meeting the other night that I had a half a mind to get my valuables together and sneak out of Richmond.”
“But how would anyone…”
“How would they know? They would know because someone told them…someone in that meeting told those Confederate thugs that was I planning to leave town. And you know as well as I do who did it.”
“But I’m sure our friends wouldn’t…”
“Our friends? Why do you assume that Stinson and Latimore are our friends? Because they were born in the north and moved here just like you and me? That means nothing! They’re southerners now, and proud of it.”
“There are many fine southern people, as you know, Richard,” said Mr. O’Toole quietly.
“That’s as may be, and I’ll admit that there is much to admire in the people of Virginia,” said Mr. Wilson, “but you’ll excuse me if I don’t feel too kindly toward them at present.”
“It’s the war,” Mr. O’Toole said sadly.
“Of course it’s the war,” Mr. Wilson snapped. “But fighting a war over your principles doesn’t give you any right to abandon those principles any time it’s convenient to do so.”
“Richard,” said Mr. O’Toole. “Who did it? Did you see the people who set the fire?”
“Got a glimpse of them,” said Mr. Wilson, shaking his head slightly. “It wasn’t the regulars. No uniforms. But of course they’d take off their uniforms for dirty work like that.”
“Did you lose everything?”
“Just about. We had some warning, but not much. No one got hurt, but our dog’s missing. We were hoping that maybe he’d show up today. But I’m afraid that he was lost in the fire.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. I’ll be traveling a lot lighter if I ever do leave Richmond,” he said, a grim smile coming over his face. “I have some money in the bank and at least my business is still intact. I’ll just hunker down and see if we can rent a small house somewhere, although God knows that won’t be easy. At this point I’m just praying that the war gets over with soon so I can pack up what’s left and go back north. I can’t stay in a town where you can’t even trust your friends.”
“If you need a place to stay, we’ll be happy to take you and your family in,” Mr. O’Toole said earnestly.
Mr. Wilson was incredulous. “Are you serious? You were at that meeting, William, and if I remember correctly you said something about leaving Richmond as well.”
“I didn’t say much,” said Mr. O’Toole quietly. “Meachem was saying that he might try it.”
“Well, then he’s in trouble. He’d better look to his family. But I’d keep a sharp eye, William. My guess is that Stinson or Latimore have made a full report of that meeting to the local authorities and I doubt that they painted a particularly pretty picture of you.”
“I understand, Richard,” said Mr. O’Toole, “but I’m not really sure what I can do. My wife would never even consider the possibility of leaving Richmond.”
“I guess you’d know what is best for your family, William, but I’ll tell you again—I think you’re a marked man.”