Daughter of Twin Oaks (19 page)

“Now, ’Phelia, God done took care of us till now. He can float us ’cross dat river jus’ like de Jordan.”

A sniffle was her only answer, but Jesselynn could tell the woman was calmer. Meshach’s gentle words put her in mind of the song she’d heard sung so often from the slave quarters.
“…my home is over Jordan. Deep river, Lord, I want to cross over into campground.”
She sighed. “Let’s get on with it. Meshach, you better say an extra prayer or two for all of us.” Turning away, she headed for the wagon. Sometimes the burden seemed beyond her strength to bear. Maybe letting the army have the horses so she could head on back home would be the best choice after all.

Stars provided enough light for them to make their way through the town and down to the ferry. The water lapping against the bulky craft sent the timbers to creaking and, along with the creak of the wagon, sounded loud in the stillness.

“Marse Jed?” Jesselynn kept her voice low but insistent. She waited, hearing a scuffling on the boat.

A light flared and lit the lantern. Jed seemed even bigger, if that were possible, in the glow of the lamp as he staggered down the plank to the riverbank. “You ready?”

“Yes, suh.”

“You got the money?” Jed swung the lamp up to look her in the face.

“Yes, suh.” Jesselynn ducked her head and dug in her pocket for the coins needed. She counted them into the shovel-sized palm. “That’s what you said.”

“I know.” He spun around and picking up the end of the plank, thudded it against the ferry planking. “Let’s go, boys. We got us a load.”

Men scrambled up from where they slept and took their oars. Several more planks were slid into place, and Jed gave orders from the ferry.

“Lead your horse on up here real easylike. They ever been ferried before?”

“Yes, suh.” Jesselynn climbed down from the wagon, hearing Ophelia moaning “Jesus” over and over. She took the mule’s reins under his chin and, clucking him forward, led the team up the ramp and forward on the low craft. With horses on either side, all facing forward, the men pulled in the planks, and Jed pushed off with his long pole. The stroke of six oars slicing the water in tandem and the sweep of the stern oar brought them out into the current. The prow of the ferry swung downstream with the current before righting and plowing forward.

Jesselynn felt the planking shuddering under her feet. The mule laid back his ears and stamped one front foot. Domino coughed until he broke wind, and the sailor nearest him made a rude remark that brought laughter from another.

Short chop broke over the prow, soaking Jesselynn’s boots. Ophelia moaned again, and Sammy set up a wail.

“Ohh.” Even Meshach groaned.

“Enough!” Jesselynn forced out the word in spite of the shaking that she attributed to the creaking craft. The far shore seemed to get farther away instead of closer.

Was the current carrying them downriver? She turned to look at Jed, who appeared more shadow than man at the stern. Was crossing at night against the law? Why had he blown out the lamp?

“Heave on, boys,” the order came, calm as a summer day.

“Oh, Jesus, sweet Jesus, we comin’ home,” Ophelia sobbed.

Jesselynn wished she had put a rag in Ophelia’s mouth before they’d left camp. Sammy hiccuped after crying. Must be hours that passed, the ferry held prisoner by the river.

“Pull, you worthless scum. You want a glug of rotgut at the shore, you pull now.”

“Oh, Lord, bring us safe to shore, please, precious Jesus.” Like Ophelia, Meshach murmured his prayer over and over.

The young stallion coughed again, pounding his front hooves on the planks.

“Whoa, son.” Benjamin could be heard above the creaking.

An expletive choked.

The raft shuddered from the impact and spun to face downriver.

“Easy! No!” A mighty splash drenched those nearest and then another.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Richmond, Virginia

If looks were spears, she’d have been run through more times than she could count.

Louisa focused her attention on the men kneeling in the dirt and those missing a limb who were learning to use shovels and rakes to clear out the dead wood of the rosebushes and encroaching vines. In spite of herself, her gaze repeatedly drifted toward the lieutenant. His orders had been to supervise, as if leaning on his crutches and glaring provided good supervision.

As the hours passed, she surreptitiously wiped the perspiration from her forehead and neck. When she caught him staring at her, she dropped the corner of her apron at the same instant she raised her chin. After all, she’d suggested working in the garden for the good of
his
men. As if all these were under
his
orders, anyway. They were from all different regiments, not just
his
. She nodded an answer to a question from one of the others.

As she was just about to stalk over and confront her nemesis, a shadow gave her shade. She turned enough to realize he stood right behind her, so close that if she took in a deep breath, she might touch him. While taking a step back might indicate defeat, she did so anyway. Sometimes retreating was the better part of valor.

At least she could breathe then.

“Goodness, do you always sneak up on a body that way?” She clenched her fists to keep them from offering calming pats to her tripping heart.

“I
was not
sneaking.” His lips barely moved, his jaw clamped so tight. Even so, he kept his voice low so that the others might not hear.

Feeling loomed over, she took another step back. “Well,
sir
, since I am not one of
your
soldiers, I would appreciate a more civil tone.”
Oh, fine, now you’ve gone and done it. He finally talks to you, and you scold like his mother
.

She watched as he forcibly gathered himself together, stood straighter, and adopted a polite expression that wouldn’t fool a year-old baby.

“Pardon me, ma’am. I believe I have a right to know why you asked the surgeon to assign me to garden duty.”

She straightened as he had, if it were possible for her to get any taller and straighter. Totally ignoring the memory she had of suggesting to the surgeon general that garden duty might be good for the lieutenant, she matched him glare for glare. “I asked if I could bring Private Rumford and some of the others out here because I thought that working in the soil might help them. My aunt says gardening is one of the best medicines God has given us, and I concur.” She didn’t add that such had been her salvation when her sister exiled her from Twin Oaks to Richmond. Before she took time to think, she stepped forward and pointed a soil-crusted finger at his chest. “And if
you
, Lieutenant Lessling, would unbend even a smidgen, it might help you too.”

She caught her breath at the narrowing of his eyes. For sure she had gone too far.
Oh, Lord, why can I no longer control my tongue? What is happening with me? My mother would turn over in her grave to hear her daughter attacking any person, let alone a young man like this
. And a wounded man, at that.

“I … I’m sorry. That was unbelievably rude of me. Please …” She looked down at her dirt-crusted hands and even dirtier apron. Shame can cause as much heat as pure embarrassment. She felt it flaming her face. “Please forgive me?” She glanced up from under her eyelashes in time to catch a hint of something in his eyes. Was it compassion she saw? By the time she named it, the look had fled, and one of such bleakness that it made her heart cry out for him took up residence instead.

“Forgiveness needs to go both ways, Mrs. Highwood. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been actin’. Such conduct befits neither an officer nor a gentleman.”

Could one drown in eyes so sad?

She gathered her ruffled feelings around her like a hen gathering chicks and allowed her lips to smile in what she hoped was a motherly fashion. Why could she treat all the other men like her brothers or cousins, but this man refused to be treated as such?

“Then may we be friends?” The words crept out before she had time to cut them off.

“Friends, yes.” He touched one finger to the fading scar on his forehead. “If your husband won’t mind.”

“But I—” This time she caught herself. “No, I reckon he won’t mind at all.”

“Miz Highwood, you think this here is dug deep enough?” one of her workers called out.

She turned to answer the soldier’s question and, throwing a smile over her shoulder to the lieutenant, made her way to inspect the holes being dug to transplant some of the overcrowded rosebushes.

“That will be fine.” She glanced over to where Rumford and Reuben had dug around the well-watered bushes to prepare them for lifting. As long as Reuben indicated exactly where to place the shovel and when to step on it, the young man leaning on the handle and staring into the distance was able to dig.

At further instructions he lifted the roses out of their holes as carefully as if he were lifting a baby. By the time they’d moved four bushes, watered them in, and pruned off a couple of broken branches, the orderly announced the noon meal.

“Now, doesn’t that look much better?” She stood with her crew gathered around her and surveyed the results of their labors. While there was still a lot to do, the newly planted roses gleamed against the rich soil, and the weeds were now piled off to the side instead of choking life from the bushes. A mass of tangled vines topped the weed pile.

“As my mother always said, ‘Termorrer is another day.’ “ Corporal Shaddock wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his good hand.

“So true, and thank y’all for helpin’ me out here.”

The snort from behind her could have come from only one voice. She ignored him, and together she and her crew made their way back to the ward, those on crutches hopping up the marble stairs, the seat of their pants mute evidence as to how they’d managed to work in the garden. Only the lieutenant bore no badges of honorable work, but he had been there, and he had asked her forgiveness. He’d even smiled at a joke one of the men made.

When she brought around the bowls of stew, she nearly dropped one when she reached her brother’s bed.

“You’re sitting up, and I can see part of your face.”

“Now, aren’t you the observant one?” His drawl sounded more familiar now that more bandages had been removed, and the teasing sparkle in his eye had not dimmed. “Looks like they’ll be calling me One-Eyed Jack, though.” He touched the bandaged side of his face with his fingertips. “Guess my right side took quite a beatin’.” Talking was still difficult with the jaw healing.

His teasing tone dropped on the last words as the sparkle flickered from his eye.

“But you’re alive.”

“Half of me anyway.”

“Soon as we get you out of here, I reckon you’ll be feelin’ some better with Aunt Sylvania fussin’ over you.”

He studied the bowl of stew she set beside him. “The food’ll be better. That I know.” He took the spoon she handed him and dug in, slopping some of the colorless liquid over the edge. “Shame I didn’t work on becoming ambidextrous like Adam did.”

“Learnin’ to use the other hand is never easy.” She kept herself from reminding him he was fortunate to have one good hand. Some didn’t.

“I think you should be able to take him home in two or three days,” the doctor said when he made his late afternoon rounds. “Unless we get another battery of wounded, that is, and need his bed. How did”—he nodded toward Rumford—“do outside?”

“I set him to working with Reuben, my aunt’s gardener, and he followed all Reuben’s orders without a grumble.”

“With no visible response, you mean?”

“Well, he
did
do as asked.”

The doctor nodded. “You’re right. Thank you, my dear, for all your efforts on behalf of these men. If I had ten more like you, the care here would improve dramatically.”

“Doctor?” one of the orderlies called from the door.

“Yes?”

“Train just pulled in full of wounded.”

“So much for two or three days. I hate to ask this, but can your aunt or anyone else take in some of these men?”

“I’m sure, but I’ll ask.” Louisa untied her apron as she headed for the doorway. “We’ll be back with a wagon as soon as we can.”

She nearly tripped over her skirts in the rush up the front steps to Aunt Sylvania’s house. She paused only long enough to catch her breath, knowing that a scolding about propriety would set her aunt in a less-than-generous fashion. But then, she
had
asked what more she could do for the “dear boys,” as she referred to the soldiers. Only, up until now, the dear boys had not been needing one of her lovely rooms.

“Aunt, where are you?” Louisa paused for a moment to know where to search.

“In here.” The answer came from the back of the house.

Louisa found her aunt watching Abby arrange flowers in the pantry.

“You’re home early.” Weariness rode Sylvania’s face and left her hands shaking.

“I know. I need to get back. The doctor said we could bring Zachary home if we had a place for him.” Louisa breathed another calming breath. “But we couldn’t take him upstairs very easily.”

“Then we will have to move a bed into the parlor.” Sylvania rose from her chair. “Come, Abby, call Prissy to help you.”

“Ah, while we are moving one bed, could we do two—or maybe three?”

Sylvania studied her niece over her glasses rims. “What did you have in mind? Bringing in the whole hospital?”

Louisa ignored the sarcasm and shook her head. “A train pulled in with a load of wounded. The doctor asked if I knew anyone who would be willing to help with the men who are so much better, that’s all.”
Please, God, let her decide to help
.

“I see.” Sylvania turned to Reuben. “Go next door and ask for Miss Julie’s Sady. She can run notes around while you and the girls get the parlor ready. We can lay a pallet or two in the dining room if need be.”

Louisa breathed a sigh of relief. Why had she been so afraid to ask this of her aunt? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been knitting socks and sewing uniforms for their soldiers like the rest of the women. She just hadn’t approved of her niece working at the hospital. After all, women nurses were considered little above the prostitutes, of whose existence Louisa was not supposed to even know. Her brothers had called them various other names, but she had eavesdropped often enough to learn things not discussed around womenfolk.

Thanks to her brothers, both she and Jesselynn knew many things young women were not supposed to know. Carrie Mae, however, had never cared to follow her sisters. Instead, she had become an expert musician, and her singing, as well as her piano playing, had entertained them all, including the surrounding neighbors.

Suddenly, homesickness for Twin Oaks bathed her like a pouring rain.
Please, God, let the war end soon. I want to go home
. Taking time to count the numerous pleas of this sort she’d sent heavenward would be a waste of precious seconds.

They had two beds set up by the time Sylvania’s notes were ready to be carried around. Reuben listened to his instructions, nodded, and slipped out the door as Abby and Louisa smoothed the clean sheets into place and folded a blanket at the end of each bed. The weather was still far too warm to put two blankets on, let alone winter quilts. By the time they’d folded the quilts up for pallets and made up two in the parlor, Reuben returned.

“We’s got two yeses, two maybes, and one not to home.” He handed the papers back to Sylvania. “Asked Widow Penrod if we could borry her horse and wagon, so soon’s I git dat, we be off.” He smiled at Louisa. “Dat brudder of yours be home before supper.”

“I already told Cook to make enough supper for four more.” Aunt Sylvania sat in her chair and picked up her fan. “Lawsy, this is unseasonable weather. No wonder those men in the hospital are so miserable.”

Louisa didn’t tell her about the garden efforts, figuring that the borrowed garden tools would be back before they were missed. At the same time she wondered who their guests would be. The thought of the lieutenant flitted through her mind, but as if it were a yellow jacket, she brushed the thought away.

She’d just started out the door toward the wagon when another thought buzzed by her. This one made her stop and blink. How would she keep these men from realizing she was not the wife of Zachary Highwood but his little sister instead?

Oh, Lord, now what have I gotten myself into?