Daughter of Twin Oaks (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Richmond, Virginia

“Aunt Sylvania?” Louisa stuck her head into the sewing room. No one there, but she could tell they’d been busy sewing the wedding finery. Laces and ivory satin pieces draped the chair and hung over the three-paneled screen. A bodice fit perfectly on the dress form with a swath of lace pinned to one shoulder. Bits of thread and scraps of fabric littered the floor like the leaves that were falling from the trees in the yard.

She carefully shut the door and walked down the hall to her aunt’s room. As usual the door was closed. She tapped once and waited. Nothing. Turning the handle gently in case her aunt was napping, she pushed the door open enough to peek in. The bed was made up with every pillow and bolster in place.

She pushed the door open a bit more and scanned the remainder of the room. Everything appeared neatly in place, including her aunt’s wire-rimmed glasses sitting atop her Bible that lay in its usual place on the whatnot table beside the rocking chair.

She closed the door again and went into her own room to hang up her shawl and wash her hands. After tucking stray locks of hair back in the bun at the base of her head, she rubbed rose water and glycerin lotion into her hands and left the sanctuary of her room behind. How good it would feel to lie back on the chaise lounge and let the knots relax out of her lower back and shoulders. To pick up her book of poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and dream of the love she knew God had waiting for her somewhere. While she refused to be paraded on the marriage block like Carrie Mae, she knew that someday her prince would come.

He didn’t need any armor or a snowy white horse. Or a crown either. The thought of a tall, terribly thin man galloped through her mind and kept on going, crutches tied behind his saddle. That thought reminded her of her brother.

She
had
to share the good news.

“She out in de garden,” Reuben said when he met her descending the stairs. “I was comin’ fo’ you.”

“Thank you. Have Abby bring out some lemonade, would you, please?”

“Surely will do dat.” He motioned her to go down the hallway first and followed close behind. “She lookin’ a mite peaked. Dis cheer her.”

But when Louisa opened the French doors and stepped out onto the slate patio, her aunt didn’t look sad. She was sound asleep.
Something must be wrong, this is so unlike her
. She hesitated, taking her aunt’s wrist and counting her pulse, something she’d learned from one of the assistants at the hospital. If Aunt Sylvania was coming down with something, perhaps she should just call the doctor, not that he had much time for house calls with all the wounded he tended at his house too. The military weren’t the only ones wounded in this war.

Come to think of it, Aunt had been a bit pale lately. Was she moving more slowly too? Louisa tried to think back over the last weeks. When did she first notice a difference? Or maybe it was just the unseasonably warm weather.

So instead of saying anything, she sat down on the other chaise lounge, just as she’d wished to do upstairs, only now she could look over the garden. The roses still bloomed, scenting the air with a perfume all their own, from sweet to spicy and layers in between.

A fat bumblebee trundled from blossom to blossom, tasting the chrysanthemums and the fading petunias, then arising with pollen yellowing his legs. A pot of gardenias lent their heavy scent and glowed in the dimming light like pure beeswax candles. She stroked one of the blossoms, then leaned over to inhale their perfume. The creamy flowers against their dark glossy leaves always showed their best at this time of day.

When Abby brought out the tray, Louisa pointed to the table and touched her finger to her lips, glancing at the sleeping woman to signify silence.

Abby nodded, set the tray down with barely a tinkle of the filled glasses, and tiptoed back into the summer kitchen set off from the house. The peace of the garden seeped into Louisa’s bones and calmed her as nothing else ever did. Doves cooing in the magnolia branches above the brick wall added one more layer to the contentment. No wonder God created a garden to wander in of an evening.

When she first came to Richmond, she had spent hours digging in the garden, transplanting daisies and irises, trimming the spent roses and tying up the honeysuckle that did all in its power to disguise the fence and overrun the plum tree. Taming the honeysuckle had helped keep the tears of homesickness at bay. Or else the salt of her tears had dampened its rampant growth. Either way, the garden had been her salvation until she answered the call to service at the hospital.

The irony of one of her aunt’s friends helping her get on there had been lost on Aunt Sylvania. After hours of hand wringing, feigned sick headaches, and outright threats, she had finally given in. However, she had no idea what Louisa really did there, and the less said of it the better.

Studying the garden gave her mind a bit of an itch. If working in this one had helped
her
so much, what could it do for her broken soldier, Private Rumford? His body was gaining health by the day, but his mind—who knew where it wandered? There were gardens out behind the hospital in terrible disrepair. What if she took him and others like him out to restore the garden? Her gaze narrowed on the garden shed. There were enough tools in there to equip a platoon of garden lovers, and if they weren’t that when they began, the garden itself would bring them to that feeling with time. And maybe, just maybe, would take them out of the shadowland that kept them prisoner.

She started to rise to check on the contents of the garden shed when her aunt harrumphed and sat up.

“Land sakes, child, what are you doing sneaking up on me like that? I just closed my eyes for a moment and—”

“Now, Aunt Sylvania, I just sat down here to enjoy the garden with you. And see, Abby brought us some lemonade.” She got up and carried the tray over. “Here, have a sip while I tell you our most wonderful news.” She carefully kept from looking at her aunt’s face, so flushed now that perhaps she was running a fever. Instead, she set the tray down and took her own glass, holding it against her cheek as she sat back down. “My, doesn’t that feel wonderfully cooling. Is it always this warm even when almost October?” She refrained from saying Kentucky would be cooler, because the last time she’d mentioned home, she’d received one of
those
looks.

“News? What news?” Sylvania took a sip of her lemonade and settled her glasses back on her nose, the better to stare over them at her niece.

“Well …” Louisa tipped her head to the side and shrugged just a bit, keeping the smile from bursting forth only with great effort. “Remember I mentioned the soldier who was so bandaged up we couldn’t see what he looked like and had not regained consciousness since they brought him in?”

“Now, Louisa, you know that—”

Louisa did the unforgivable. She interrupted. “I know, Aunt, but listen. That man is Zachary. I knew there was something—”

“Our Zachary?” Some of the lemonade splashed out of the glass when Sylvania jerked upright so quickly. While dabbing at the front of her dress, she asked again, “Not
our
Zachary?” Her chin quivered on the name.

“Yes, Aunt. My brother Zachary is alive.” She set her lemonade down on the slate at her feet and, rising, crossed to take her aunt’s hands in her own and kneel in front of her. “Zachary is badly wounded, missing one leg below the knee, and I’m not sure what else, but he is alive.”

“Hello, y’all. Sorry I’m late.” Carrie Mae breezed through the French doors, stopping at the look on her aunt’s face. “What’s wrong? Aunt, are you all right? You’re flushed as if you’ve been runnin’ ’round the garden.”

“You’re just in time to hear the news.” Louisa rose and turned to take her sister’s hands. “Maybe you’d better sit down first.”

“Stop teasing her.” Aunt Sylvania harrumphed again but dabbed at her eye at the same time. “Our boy is here in the hospital, and he’s comin’ home soon.”

“Zachary?” Carrie Mae took her sister’s advice and sank down on the lounge. “You’re not teasing?”

“No, he’s the man who’s been all bandaged and unconscious.”

Carrie Mae shuddered when Louisa listed her brother’s injuries. “But he’s alive, oh, thank you, heavenly Father.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Ah, if only we could tell Jesselynn. I’ll write to her tonight.”

“I think we’d better bring Zachary home as soon as possible. We can take much better care of him here than they do in that pest hole.” Sylvania clasped her hands in her lap and looked skyward. “Oh, thank the good Lord, at least one of the men in our family has made it through the war. I haven’t heard from Hiram in months, and with Joshua still fighting, God only knows where.” She took a bit of cambric from her pocket and dabbed her eyes, then straightened. “And why, Missy, did you not bring that news home to me as soon as you knew?”

Louisa sat back on her heels, shaking her head.
So much for that brief moment of shared joy
. She returned to her own lounge and sitting down, picked up her glass and took a long swallow. When she set it down, she met the hard line frequently seen on her aunt’s face when directed at her.

While Carrie Mae could do nothing wrong, sometimes it seemed that Louisa could do nothing right.

Guilt sneaked up behind her and grabbed her around the throat. She should have come right home. She had thought of it at the time. But all the injured men needed her so much worse. Should she tell Carrie Mae about her concerns about Aunt Sylvania? What should she do?

Chapter Nineteen

Gordonsville, Kentucky

Wish I had shot him when I had the chance
, Jesselynn thought, but knew deep down she couldn’t kill the man, no matter how evil he was.

“You want we go take care of him?” Meshach spoke softly enough that none of the others could hear.

The temptation to say yes was so strong she had to bite her lower lip to keep the words from rushing forth. “No, we will just get on around that town. Dunlivey has no idea we are here. He can’t know that.” She turned to Benjamin. “Were any other soldiers there with him?”

“Not dat I could see. Least no uniforms.”

“Was he wearin’ a Confederate uniform?”

“Had gray pants and s’penders. He din’t have no jacket on.”

Jesselynn thought back to the last meeting with Dunlivey at Twin Oaks. He’d worn an officer’s jacket then, looking right resplendent. Was he still in the army, or had he deserted? She had a hard time believing that the Cavendar Dunlivey she knew would tolerate military discipline for long. But being in the army gave him permission to kill and maim, and that part he would love, along with taking advantage of the soldiers under him. The snake loved to hurt living things and especially people.

The thought that he’d been riding a Twin Oaks horse made her want to … to … she didn’t dare contemplate the things that came to mind. She wondered what officer he had stolen the horse from. Why did God let scum like him live while fine men like her father and brothers died?

If anyone ever thought this life was fair, the war would surely prove them misguided.

Ahab nudged her shoulder.

“We best be goin’ on, Marse Jesse.” Meshach’s soft voice brought her back from her wandering thoughts. She pried her clenched fingers loose from the reins and flexed them to get the blood flowing again.

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s move on.”
And not stop until we’re clear across the Mississippi
.

By the time they’d detoured around Gordonsville and picked up the road again some miles west, her ears and eyes ached from the strain of watching shadows and hearing night noises. When an owl hooted not far above her head, she jerked the reins so hard that Ahab reared. Calling herself all manner of uncomplimentary names, she stroked his shoulder and leaned forward to rub his ears. “Sorry, old son. That was uncalled for. I’m just lucky you’re gentleman enough to not dump me on the ground.”

When she finally got her middle settled back down, her thoughts kept returning to Twin Oaks. How had the tobacco harvest been? Had Joseph insisted on payment in gold as she’d instructed him? That would give those on the plantation something to live on in the months ahead and perhaps even send some money to her sisters. There would be enough to plant again in the spring, and when Zachary came home—she had to believe he was still alive—she could hand a thriving plantation over to him, in spite of the war.

If he comes home
. That thought warred with the others.

She turned around, trotted back to the wagon, and rode alongside it for a while. At times Sammy still coughed until he threw up, making her wish she had bought some whisky in town. That and honey would surely help this poor baby. She heard Ophelia singing to the little one, a song that sang of glory in the by-and-by.

How can she really believe that glory by-and-by? With all the death and filth we’ve seen!
Jesselynn scratched a mosquito bite on her neck. Sammy’s crying brought back the horror of finding his dead mother. What terrible things had that woman endured to try to save her babies? And now Jesselynn had her people depending on her for their safety. She caught herself shaking her head. Riding in the dark, where even the scenery couldn’t be a distraction, gave her too much time to think.

“Nudder river comin’ up.” Benjamin dropped back to ride beside her as dawn played hide-and-seek with the dark.

Jesselynn sighed and shook her head. “We just get dried out and there’s another creek or river to cross. How big is this one?”

“Big.”

“The Mississippi?” Hope leaped into her voice.

“Maybe.”

But it wasn’t. They crossed the Cumberland and then the Tennessee at Jenkins Ferry and kept on following the sun west.

A day later she rode the mule into a town crawling with blue uniforms. After tying her mount to a hitching post behind one of the stores, she strolled back and leaned against the wall of the local hotel.

Half the people in the streets wore blue uniforms. The other half swished their full skirts and simpered at the officers, twirling their parasols and giggling.

She ambled on down to where they had corrals for the army horses. A cloud of dust rose that made her sneeze as she climbed up on the corral posts to get a better look at the horses now cavorting around the corral, bucking and kicking, getting the kinks out. One trotted past that she was sure she recognized because of a twist of white hair on an otherwise deep red chest.

“Hey boy, get down from there.” A heavy hand grabbed her shoulder, tore her off the rails, and thrust her down.

Her rear smacked the hard ground first with such a jolt her tongue got caught between her teeth. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and rage clouded her eyes. “Why you …” Just in time she caught herself from saying anything to draw unwanted attention. She stared at the shiny black boots planted beside her.

The hand reached down this time and, grabbing her shoulder, picked her up and slammed her against the corral bars. “Now you git yer carcass on outa here and don’t be bothering our horses.”

“Can’t hurt lookin’ at ’em.” She remembered to lower her voice and spat a chunk of dirt at the ground. Good thing her brothers had taught her how to spit, another skill of hers that hadn’t pleased her mother.

“Don’t want no Johnny Reb hurtin’ our horses.”

“I ain’t never hurt a horse, you—” At the memory of his giant hand on her shoulder, she thought better of calling him a bluebelly bushwhacker. He could pick her up and shake her like a dog with a rat. And he nearly had. Her head hurt from the slam against the corral bar, and her posterior still protested the abrupt contact with the ground.

He waved his hands as if shooing a fly. “Git on with ye now.”

Jesselynn
got
, but her estimation of Union soldiers sank another notch. She made her way back up the street to the front of the newspaper office to study the lists of casualties. “Lee Defeated At Antietam” read one headline, “Lincoln Declares Slaves Will Go Free,” another. Her heart nearly stopped when she read the name Zachary on the dead list but started again when the last name was Arches.

She continued her stroll through the town, past the stores, looking in the windows at the ladies’ apparel shop, then hurrying on. No boy her size would be caught dead looking at ladies’ garments. When she passed a saloon the temptation to go on in and look for Dunlivey slowed her steps.
What if he’s here?

“Hey you, boy!” She glanced around to see whom the soldier was talking to and started to walk on when he yelled again. She flinched.
Is he yelling at me?

She turned, keeping her chin low. “Yes, suh?”

“How old are you? I kin sign you up for the army.”

“S-sixteen, suh.”

“Ah, the rebels might take boys like you, but you have to be a man to join the Union army.”

“Yes, suh.”
Like there’s any chance I’d join either army, least of all yours
. She bobbed her head, backing away at the same time. About the time she could turn and walk away, she bumped into something soft that emitted a feminine “oof.”

“Young man, where in the world did you leave your manners?” The matron staring at her looked so much like her Aunt Sylvania that she almost blurted out the name.

“Ah, sorry, ma’am. Please, I’m sorry.” She backed away, touching the brim of her cap and half bowing at the same time.

“You might look where you are goin’ next time.”

“I will. I surely am sorry.” At the corner she turned and jogged down the alley. No way was she staying in this town another minute. But when she rounded the next corner, Union soldiers marched three abreast down the street, gold buttons flashing in the sun, sabers clanking all in perfect cadence. The line appeared to go on forever.

No wonder we’re losing the war. They even all have rifles
. Her father had been right, the Union army would be much better supplied, and no matter how dashing and chivalrous the southern soldier might be, guns were superior to sabers and rebel yells any day.

Instead of turning around and going the other way, she leaned against the wall, hands in her pockets as if she had all the time in the world. Overhearing the word “bluebellies,” she stepped closer to the corner of the building to listen. Maybe she could learn where the fighting was so they could go around it.

“With Grant at Cairo, we got them all over the place.”

“If we could get Shelby over here, we might see some changes made.”

Shelby? Who’s Shelby?
Jesselynn tried to appear totally uninterested, taking out her knife to dig under her fingernails. She’d seen her brothers use the tactic all the time. In the same instant, she took one step closer.

“He’s too busy in Missouri, and ferrying all those troops across ol’ Miss, Grant would have ’em before the hounds could howl.”

“I know. If ’n only General Lee would send someone here to help out. ’Course they got him all tied up in Virginia.”

The bugler passed, along with three drummers, and a platoon of prancing horses kept pace behind them.

Someone shouted an obscenity that brought a laugh from the crowd. The marching soldiers kept their faces straight ahead.

“God protect us,” a woman’s voice murmured.

God doesn’t seem to care much. I think He’s ashamed of this whole mess. Young men, old men, all killing each other for what? Sometimes even brother against brother
. While she hadn’t agreed with her brothers, believing her father might be more right, she was grateful they hadn’t been fighting each other. Two brothers of one of the neighbors back home about broke their mother’s heart when one went to fight for the North.

Jesselynn snagged her wandering attention and brought it back to the scene before her. And listened to the gossip.

When nothing more was forthcoming, she peeked around the corner to find the bench vacant, the two men gone.

Two young women were taking over the bench. “Ain’t he just the handsomest man you ever saw?” They settled their skirts around them and tipped back their parasols.

Jesselynn looked out to see an officer riding by. Not that any man wearing blue could be handsome as far as she was concerned, but he did cut a fine figure. So did his horse. Must be one of the Thoroughbreds from Kentucky—not a Twin Oaks animal but a fine Thoroughbred nevertheless.

When he tipped his hat to the two women on the bench, they both giggled and tittered.

Jesselynn wanted to whack them with their parasols. Instead she pushed off from the wall and strolled on back to where her mule was tied. Slipping the knot on the reins, she swung aboard and turned him toward the back streets. She’d learned what she needed. The Union army was everywhere.

When she told her people the news, Ophelia whimpered, Meshach frowned at her, and the others simply shrugged.

“How we keep away from dem bluebellies if dey’s so many of dem?” Ophelia finally asked what everyone was thinking.

“Go further south. They can’t control the entire river.” Jesselynn spoke with far more certainty than she felt.

They spent the next two nights threading their way between Union camps and scouts. By the time they reached a ferry without a cordon of blue-uniformed guards, they’d about been caught three times. Sometimes Jesselynn thought it might be easier to just head on home and only have the horses to hide. They hadn’t had any hot food for three days, not taking a chance on building a fire.

They drove on down south of the ferry and stood looking across the muddy, roiling river.

“I cain’t cross over dat.” Ophelia sniffed back the tears and clung to Meshach’s arm. “Please don’ make me go dere.”

“Oh hush, ’Phelia. ’Course you can. We all be on a ferryboat just like before. It’s not like you have to swim.”

“I cain’t swim.” Now she really was crying. Sammy picked up on her fear and began to wail. Thaddeus clung to Jesselynn’s arm, his chin quivering and a whimper in his voice.

“We go home, Jesselynn. Please, we go home.”

“Thaddeus Joshua Highwood, my name is Jesse! Jesse, remember that!” She wanted to shake Ophelia but knew it would do no good.

Surely after all we’ve been through, we won’t be stopped now
. She looked up at Meshach for reassurance, only to see stark fear on his strong features too.