Dearest Enemy. Nan Ryan

Arlington House. Suzanna went to bed each night fearing that blue-coated devils would come swarming into Whitehall.

      Her own apparent alliance with the Union had thus far saved Whitehall. Still, there was the ever-present danger that she would be unmasked for the Confederate sympathizer she was. Should that occur, she had no doubt the Yankees would immediately seize the estate.

      Even if that never happened, she worried that she would soon lose the mansion. The lengthy war had been financially devastating. The sizable LeGrande fortune had been lost. The tobacco fields of northern Virginia had long since been trampled down by thousands of marching feet. Months ago a letter had come bringing the distressing news that the once-profitable coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina had been taken over and occupied by the Yankees. There were no longer any indigo crops in Georgia. No huge amounts of capital rested safely in banks generating interest. No cash poured into the coffers to offset expenses for necessities. There was, although Suzanna never hinted as much to her ailing mother, next to nothing left.