Daughter of Twin Oaks (18 page)

The lieutenant met her at the door in the morning, his jaw clenched so tight the outline of the bone showed through his skin. “And just what is it you think you’re doin’, Miz Highwood?”

Chapter Twenty-One

On the banks of the Mississippi River

October 2, 1862

“Hush now!” Jesselynn knew her voice sounded sharp, but she was past caring.

“Big river,” Meshach said from slightly behind her.

“It’s not like we have to swim it. Back aways they said there were ferries, depending on where we want to cross. They say General Grant owns this stretch, so we’re safe from the Confederates.”

“Bluebellies want horses worse.”

She wished he wouldn’t say such things. She’d just about get her confidence up, and he’d douse it with a few words of common sense. “So we stay away from Grant too. Let’s find us a hiding place, and I’ll go looking for ferry owners in the morning.” She didn’t mention the possibility of a guard on the ferry, nor the fact that she was hoping to get them ferried over after dark. Once on the other side, they could disappear into the Missouri woods and rest a bit. She studied the river, the currents changing the face of the water even in the starlight. With only a sliver moon, they would be even less visible.

Ignoring the whimpering of Ophelia and the little boys, she fingered the dwindling supply of coins in her pocket. She
had
to save what she could to get them to Springfield and Uncle Hiram’s. At their last stop she’d heard of fighting going on in Missouri too, fierce fighting. Only by refusing to let herself think about what lay ahead could she keep from turning tail and heading back to Twin Oaks. If her father had known what the trip would entail, would he have exacted her promise anyway?

For one brief moment she allowed herself to remember life as it had been before the war. Twin Oaks had sheltered them through all the seasons. She could picture winter and the mares dropping their foals; sowing tobacco seed in special beds; starting other plants; then pegging tobacco; setting out tomatoes and petunias, grateful for the rains that came when needed. She closed her eyes to see the kitchen, separate from the house, but full of harvest smells.

Her stomach grumbled her back to the present. Would they be able to be home in time to plant tobacco seeds? She’d instructed Joseph to save seed from the best plants in case there were none available to purchase, or they had no money. Since there’d be no yearlings to sell this year, the tobacco had to do well. Surely by now all the stalks were hanging in the drying barn, each hooked over the rods and spread apart just enough to allow air to circulate freely. Drying tobacco had its own pungent aroma, nothing like that of pipe or smoke. To her it smelled like hard money. How many hogsheads could they fill?

“Marse Jesse.” Benjamin’s soft voice interrupted her reverie, cutting off the ache to be at home tending to the tobacco and putting food by for the winter. “I found us a place.”

“Good.” The sigh caught her by surprise. “Let’s go.”
You better toughen up, or you’ll be squalling like Ophelia and the babies. If you’re going to wear the britches of a man, you’d better act like one
. She spun on her heel, then back at the wagon untied Sunshine’s reins and swung aboard.

She woke to the sun warming her and two yellow butterflies dancing above her pallet. She lay and watched as they came together and fluttered apart again, one leading up a sunbeam toward the oak tree and the other first following, then tagging and flitting away. They were playing hide-and-seek in the oak leaves when she threw back the quilt and dug under the pallet for her boots. The smell of boiling coffee drove everything but food from her mind.

An hour later, hat pulled low on her forehead, she rode the mule back toward the shoreline. Belatedly, she realized it was market day. Teams of horses, oxen, and mules with their wagons lined the streets in front of brick stores and businesses. Laughter drifted from the saloon, and a dog barked at a cat that ran under the porch of the millinery store. Farmers leaned against posts to discuss their crops and the latest war news while their wives chatted on the benches. Small children played under the benches and around their mothers’ feet.

Jesselynn noted several blue-clad soldiers, but they were busy shopping, not guarding or searching for anything—or anyone. At least it appeared that way.

She nudged the mule off Main Street and rode down an alley where a man was chopping firewood. He nodded as she passed by and, wiping the sweat from his brow, set another chunk of wood up on the chopping block. A boy called “hey” to her from where he was swatting a rug with a rug beater and sneezing at the dust he raised.

“Hey, yourself.” Jesselynn kept her voice in the low register and nudged the mule to keep on going no matter how inviting a hank of grass appeared.

When she reached the shoreline, she could see the ferry halfway out in the river taking a cargo across. She watched as the three oarsmen on either side pulled to keep the bow straight and the boat on course. A man with a long oar guided from the stern, if the flat ends could be called that. From what Jesselynn could see, they would load and unload from either end. The ferry didn’t look big enough to hold a wagon, let alone the team and the others, but the team aboard stayed hitched to their wagon. When the ferry grounded itself on the slope of the bank, planks slid off, and the team pulled the wagon off the ferry and up to the road.

It looked easy.

But would it be so simple at night?

Several horses and riders walked up the planks and the return trip began. As they neared the shore, one of the horses shifted restlessly and the rider standing holding the bridle flipped off his handkerchief and drew it over his quivering mount’s eyes.

Jesselynn resolved to take enough handkerchiefs for all the horses.
And maybe my hands too
. If the hands of her men shook as bad holding the horses as they had looking at the river, she knew they were in for a rough crossing. The men knew how to swim, but Ophelia’s shrieking was enough to scare Saint Peter. She’d just have to tell Meshach to keep her quiet. Ophelia listened to him as if he were Moses coming down from Mount Sinai.

Dismounting, she tied the mule to a tree and, hands in her pockets, ambled on over to the road when the ferry was still a few yards offshore. Another wagon waited with a farm family, heading home after a day in town, empty tow sacks folded in the back of the wagon bed and held in place by full ones that appeared to hold flour and beans and such. One of the barefooted boys sucked on a red-and-white peppermint stick, and a little girl perched on her mother’s hip, arms clasped around her neck.

Jesselynn stopped near the whiskered man. “You use the ferry often?” she asked after exchanging greetings.

“Mostly on market day. We bring over some and take some home.”

“Umm. Always this busy?”

“Nope, only market days or when the troops are movin’.” He laid his hand on his son’s head, and the boy stilled.

“How much for one way?”

“Depends. Jed charges more for someone he don’t like or if ’n he’s in a foul mood. Drink’ll do that to a man.”

“Ah.”
Does he ever run at night?
She knew she’d better keep that question between her and Jed. When the horses and riders walked off the ramp, she saw the broad-shouldered man who manned the sweep oar used as a tiller pull a flat bottle from his back pocket and take a long swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he hollered something at one of his oarsmen, then stepped ashore and climbed the slope with long strides.

“Be back soon.” He waved to those waiting and strode on up the street.

Jesselynn watched him push open the doors to the saloon and disappear inside.

Did she dare go in after him? The family pulled their mules over to the shade of an ancient oak tree, and they all sat down, the boy pillowing his head in his mother’s lap.

“Might just as well make yourself comfortable.” The man indicated the cool of the shade with a sweep of his hand. “Might be a while. They’s no hurryin’ Jed.”

Jesselynn debated. If she waited by the saloon door, perhaps she could talk with Jed alone on his way back to the ferry. She glanced at the six black men over on the plank ferry, which was built on floating logs. Several had curled up by their benches and fallen asleep. One, who appeared to be the leader, paced on the shore, carefully inspecting the rigging of the logs. Another played a Jew’s harp, its plaintive notes drifting on the still air.

Laughter floated down the street from a group of children playing tag.

Jesselynn glanced again at the waiting family. All appeared to be asleep except the mother, who sat knitting. In between stitches, she brushed the flies from the faces of her children.

A memory of her mother doing much the same flashed into Jesselynn’s mind. They’d been on a picnic by the river and Louisa had fallen asleep just like the boy.
Ah, Louisa, if only I dared write and tell you where I am
. Surely Dunlivey wouldn’t go all the way to Richmond to ask his questions. How could he? He was in the army, wasn’t he? No longer free to go where he willed?

She tried to bring up a picture of her two sisters sitting in the garden at Aunt Sylvania’s house and sipping afternoon lemonade under the magnolia tree. And what of Zachary? Had anyone heard anything of him?

Nodding to the knitting woman, Jesselynn strode up the street in search of Jed. They
had
to cross tonight. She’d just reached the steps to the saloon when the swinging doors blew open, and Jed, another flat bottle in his hand, roared in laughter at something someone behind him called. If Jesselynn hadn’t stepped back, he would have barreled right over her.

“Ah, sir. Mister Jed.”

“Who’s callin’ me?”

“I am.” Jesselynn stepped in front of him, her gaze traveling up an unbuttoned dirty shirt worn over a filthier woolen union suit. A small stick lodged in his beard, and dark eyes flashed under bushy caterpillar brows. She swallowed, then cocked her head at an angle and started again. “Ma daddy sent me to ask how much you’d charge to take over a wagon and team, along with a couple other horses.”

“How many folk?”

“Five grown and two little’uns.” She spat off to the side of her boot after he did it first.

“When?”

“After dark.”

“You runnin’ from the law?”

“No, sir.”

“The army?”

“No, sir. Just got to get to a funeral. Grandpappy died unexpected like.” The story came out before she even had time to think on it.

“You wouldn’t lie to ol’ Jed, now, wouldja?” He took another slug from the bottle and held it out to Jesselynn, who shook her head.

“Ma daddy would tan me good if ’n I came home with liquor on my breath.”

Jed nodded and swigged again. He named his price.

Jesselynn kept herself from flinching with the most supreme effort. After talking with the man at the ferry, she knew the price was doubled. But there would be more dangers at night, so she nodded. “I’ll tell him. You need to know what time f ’sure?”

“Jus’ come.” Jed clapped her on the shoulder and strode off down to the ferry, leaving her with both a smarting shoulder and the desire to jig her way back to the camp. She had found a way across the river. Now to get her people ready for it.

Back in camp, the boys, both big and little, were sleeping soundly. Meshach sat under a tree with his Bible on his knees reading to Ophelia, who still rocked back and forth in her distress. Jesselynn stripped the saddle from the mule and, tying him to the long line, took off the bridle as well. She studied the horses grazing so peacefully. They looked too good, even though they had matted manes and tails and hadn’t seen a grooming brush since they left home.

“Is there some way you can make Ahab limp?” she asked after sitting down by Meshach.

“I ’spects so. Why?”

“I don’t know, just got me a feelin’.” Jesselynn turned to study the horses. Domino, the younger stallion, stood looking off to the west, ears pricked, the breeze blowing his tail. No matter how filthy, he showed Thoroughbred through and through.

“We’re takin’ the ferry tonight and … and if he was limping with head down, maybe … maybe he wouldn’t be so …”

“I kin make ’im limp.”

“But it won’t hurt him permanently?” She could hear the anxiousness in her own voice. She sucked in a breath. “What about the others?”

“If we harness the mare with the mule, get ol’ Ahab to limpin’ so I’m leadin’ ’im and Chess …” He thought a long moment. “I got some stuff to set Domino to coughing, so Benjamin can lead him. Then you drive the wagon, and Daniel can ride Sunshine and lead the filly. Shouldn’t nobody look twice at ’em dat away.”

“Don’ wanna go over dat der river.” Ophelia’s hoarse whisper made Jesselynn flinch.

“Won’t be any different than crossing the Tennessee. We took the ferry there too, remember? And others before that.”

“I ’member.” She shook her head slowly. “Not big like dis here one.”

“Okay, you stay in the back of the wagon with the babies, and all of you can cry all you want. I’ll tell the man you got the vapors or something. But we are crossing the Mississippi River tonight, and that’s that!” Jesselynn stood and glared down at the wide-eyed woman. “I told him we are goin’ to a funeral, so your weepin’ and wailin’ should be right appropriate.”