Daughter of Twin Oaks (3 page)

“Come here, baby.” Jesselynn stepped forward and took him in her arms. Like a fledgling coming home to roost, Thaddeus buried his face in the softness of her neck. She propped him on her hip and patted his back with her other hand. “There now, you mustn’t treat Ophelia so. You hurt her feelings.” A sniff greeted her teasing voice. “Come, let’s have a smile.” She kissed his cheek and blew back a lock of soft golden hair. Would John’s and her child have looked like this—a cherub right off a Raphael painting? Jesselynn closed off the thought. John Follett was dead, like so many others. She thought of the discussions she’d overheard that afternoon between several of the young women. She agreed with them. There wouldn’t be many men of marrying age left in the South when this war was over.

Besides not being the world’s greatest beauty, she had an annoying habit of speaking her mind, something no southern gentleman tolerated well. She knew what she looked like. Skin that freckled when out in the sun, where she’d spent much of her time planting, hoeing, and, lately, harvesting the garden. Sometimes she helped in the fields when necessary. While John had said her hair was the color of honey fresh from a beehive and her slightly tilted eyes when laughing sparkled like dewdrops on spring green blades of grass, she had a hard time believing that now. The mirror told her that her hair looked more like straw and her eyes more gray than green of late. There hadn’t been much to laugh about for the last two years. Too, she’d been graced with a figure that lacked the prerequisites of womanhood. Instead of blossoming, it remained stick straight and nearly flat to boot. Her mother always said it was her chin that would get her in trouble—square and determined. She’d learned to not lead with it, thanks to her brothers. Boxing lessons had
not
been for the girls, but Jesselynn had watched and let her brothers practice enough on her that she learned the basics. Learning to shoot a rifle had come about the same way, but much to her brothers’ delight and consternation, she could outshoot both of them. Bagging a squirrel leaping from limb to limb brought her high accolades.

She buried her face in the little boy’s tummy and made splattery noises to hear him laugh. If only she could switch from tears to tickles as fast as he.

“You charm him like nobody else.” Ophelia now wore the relieved smile of someone who’d turned her charge over with gratitude. “He don’t know him daddy gone.”

“He didn’t know his daddy at all, more’s the pity.” Jesselynn tickled Thaddy’s tummy when he raised his shirt. And again. One thing with this one, once you started something, he kept it going long past anyone else’s desire. Jesselynn enjoyed the game as much as he. How could she take a child this young with her to Missouri?

It wasn’t as if they were going to load up the carriage and travel in comfort as they used to. Would Ophelia go along? She’d been trading flirty glances with Meshach, formerly second to Joseph down at the stables. Jesselynn had appointed him overseer of the fields and the hands who worked them. Though Meshach
could
manage the plantation while she was gone, he would have to go along with her to Missouri. There was no one else she trusted to keep them safe. And Ophelia would go anywhere if she thought it would give her time with Meshach.

Jesselynn gave the boy in her arms an extra squeeze and handed him back to his nursemaid. A headache had started at the base of her skull and was working its way around to the front. “Too much thinkin’,” Lucinda would say, but as far as Jesselynn could tell, thinking never hurt anyone. In fact, her father had spoken highly of it, for both men and women, including his wife, daughters, sons, and slaves. Why did every thought weave its way back to her father? And every time, tears followed the same thread.

She sniffed and dug for a handkerchief in the pocket of her black silk mourning dress. After blowing her nose, she forced a smile onto lips that would rather tremble and took in a deep breath. “Well now, Ophelia, let’s light the candles in the parlor, and after supper we can all gather there and I’ll read from the ‘Good Book,’ as Father called it. We will rejoice that he has gone home to be with his Lord and my mother. At least, we will try to rejoice.” She led the way into the kitchen, where one of Lucinda’s grandchildren was snapping beans.

“Henry, go on down to the quarters and tell everyone we will have a hymn-sing tonight after supper.”

“An’ don’ you dawdle.” Lucinda’s admonition made him pick up his feet even faster. “Supper be ready soon, and, Missy, you needs to rest up a spell. Ophelia come git you when we’s ready.”

Jesselynn nodded. Did she look as bad as she felt? She mounted the stairs to her room and collapsed on the rose-sprigged counterpane. White lace suspended by the four posters of the bed created a roof above her head. She’d tied the mosquito netting back this morning as she had every morning for years. All her life she’d gone to sleep in this room except for the times she’d been visiting a friend or relative. She’d never been farther than Lexington, twenty miles away, and that only for the races at Keeneland. Would life ever be the same again? She rolled her aching head from side to side. Stupid question. Of course, it never would. While today was bad, tomorrow would be even worse.

“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes …” Reverend Benson poured a handful of rich Kentucky soil in the shape of a cross on the pine box. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen.” He signaled the mourners, and together they turned and filed out of the iron-fenced family plot. A live oak, centuries old by the size of it, shaded the final resting place of Joshua Highwood, his wife Miriam, and the two children who died before the age of five. Two field workers remained and began shoveling the dirt back in on top of the box.

Jesselynn heard the thuds echo on the wooden cover. She would return in the evening with a spray of roses from the garden and dust grass seed on the mound so it wouldn’t be so harsh. The graveyard had become a place for rest and contemplation for many of the family members. Squirrels raced through the overhanging branches of the oak, pelting the ground with shells, while birds sang their courtship arias. A camellia bloomed in the spring, dropping pale pink petals over the graves. Through the benevolence of Mother Nature, helped along by the women of the Highwood family, the burying plot had become a place of peace in spite of the sadness.

Jesselynn looked back again. This too she would be leaving, her parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, along with various uncles and aunts and more cousins than she cared to count. Her family history.
Please God, don’t let anyone ransack this sacred place as they have others
. She breathed the prayer and clutched her Bible in trembling fingers. God promised to watch out for orphans, and now that’s what they were.

Coming out of her reverie, Jesselynn recalled her manners and stopped the preacher before he could climb into his buggy. “Won’t you stay for a cool drink and some of Lucinda’s lemon cookies, Reverend Benson?”

“Why, thank you, Miss Jesselynn, I most certainly would.” The white-haired cleric placed his Bible and prayer book on the seat of the buggy and turned to follow his hostess to the portico, where she gestured him to one of the rocking chairs. He settled himself with a sigh and pulled the clerical band away from his perspiring neck. “Thank the good Lord for shade, breeze, and a tall glass of lemonade of Lucinda’s secret recipe. I’ve sat here many a time and enjoyed all three.” He looked across the braided rug to the young woman in the opposite chair. “Your father sat in that chair, telling me of his dreams for his family and for Kentucky. What a loss for all of us.” He shook his head. “Such a waste.”

His gentle voice made Jesselynn fight the tears again. She had made it to this point of the day without a tear shower, but if he kept on like this, another wasn’t far away.

“What do you plan to do now?”

His question caught her up short. She couldn’t tell him they still had horses on the plantation, for someone might ask him, and he’d be obliged to tell them. She was sure he didn’t lie well, as neither did she. But she had to start practicing sometime, and now was as good a time as any.

“I-I’m not sure.” That part was certainly the truth. “I might go visit my aunt in Memphis.” Jesselynn cleared her throat. “She’s been ailin’.”

“Is that where Carrie Mae and Louisa are staying?”

“Ah, no. They’re with Aunt Sylvania in Richmond.” Truth again. Maybe that was the trick, mix truth and stories, so one couldn’t tell where one began or left off.

“You are fortunate to have family to turn to. I know these years have been terribly hard for you.”

“But no more than for all the others around here. The war is draining everyone, and as my father so frequently said, ‘It will get nothing but worse.’ If only heads like his had prevailed instead of those foolish hotheads who thought we would win the war in a matter of weeks.” Pictures floated through her mind of her brothers cheering the news of Fort Sumter being fired on, thinking war was glory and honor instead of death and destruction. While some of their friends and relatives were Union sympathizers, like her father, most of the young men she knew talked secession. She brought her attention back to the man beside her.

“Yes, even if God is on our side, war is—”

Jesselynn tossed her manners over the white-painted railing, interrupting with a decidedly unladylike snort. “You don’t really believe that drivel, do you?

“What is that, my dear?”

“That God is on our side? This is war, Reverend Benson. God is on neither side. He is stepping back to let us destroy each other, and when we’re finished, He will need another flood to wash the blood away—the blood that brothers fighting brothers shed.” She clenched her fingers over the curved arms of the rocker. “This is no holy war, Reverend.” She turned at Lucinda’s throat clearing. Looking at her old mammy’s face, she knew she’d overstepped the bounds of propriety.

“Excuse me.” Jesselynn pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and rose to her feet. “Please make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Ah … pardon me. I-I’m not myself.” She took three steps before Reverend Benson made it to his feet.

“I’m sure if you feel that way, there is no more use for me here.” He clapped his hat on his head and thundered down the three steps. “Good thing your mother and father weren’t here to listen to such sacrilege. All our brave boys fightin’ for our very existence.” He glared at her one more time. “I do pray you will come to your senses, Miss Jesselynn.”

Whatever had gotten into her? Ignoring the sense that she should make things right, she entered the study and closed the door, willing herself to calm down. She could feel her heart racing, pumping blood to her face so that hours spent in the sun couldn’t have made it hotter. She took several deep breaths, bracing her hands on the flat surface of her father’s desk. Well, so much for propriety. She’d practiced lying, gone on a political tirade, and deeply offended her pastor, all in a few short minutes.

She was glad he left. The thought of facing him again made her cheeks burn hotter. What would her mother say to this?

“Missy Jesselynn!”

She raised her head. The call came again. She could tell by the panic in the tone that the child calling her needed her
now
. She spun around and hurried to the back steps.

“Missy Jess, Yankees comin’ up the drive. Dey’s gonna murder us all.” The child’s eyes rolled white in his round black face.

“Nonsense. You run to the stables and make sure the horses are hidden. Go now!”

The little boy took off as if the Union soldiers rode right on his heels.

Jesselynn took a deep breath to compose herself and walked back to the front portico. Sure enough, a group of horsemen were riding up the drive. Even if she hadn’t been warned, from this distance she could see they wore uniforms of blue.

Chapter Two

“Lucinda, go make more lemonade.”

“Yessum.”

Jesselynn looked around to find Meshach striding through the door as Lucinda hurried back to the kitchen. She knew the smile she gave her black field overseer went no further than barely turned-up lips, but she knew too that he understood. Or else he wouldn’t be backing her up like this.

She whispered without moving her lips, “The horses?”

“Safe.”

Her heart settled back to only double time. The Union soldiers trotted up the circular drive and stopped their horses ten feet from the portico steps.
At least this man has the manners to not ride all over the lawn
. The last officer to come calling hadn’t been so courteous.

“Evening, ma’am.” The officer in charge tipped his hat. “I’m Captain James Dorsey of the United States Army, and there have been rumors that you might have more horses to sell to the Union army.” He patted the shoulder of the sorrel Thoroughbred under him. “I appreciate Roanoke here. He comes from Twin Oaks, I believe.”

Jesselynn cocked an eyebrow. “Sell, sir? I don’t recall evah receivin’ the money promised when
that
group was taken.” She deliberately deepened her accent, speaking more slowly, giving herself more time to think.

The man had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know a requisition was turned in.”

“Seems, then, there was a break somewhere in the line between requisition and payment. I could surely use the money that officer promised.” She nodded to the black bands circling the white pillars. “As you can see, we are in mournin’ over the death of my father, so if there is nothin’ else?”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He repeats himself. He must be uncomfortable. My mother would offer them lemonade and cookies. But then my mother is dancing on the clouds of heaven with my father, and I’m the one left here
.

“Would you and your men care for some lemonade?” she said and heard Meshach suck in a breath behind her. “I trust y’all would find these chairs more comfortable than your saddles.” She indicated the rocking chairs and padded lounges grouped so invitingly off to either side of the front door.

The captain tipped his hat again. “That we would, and we appreciate your hospitality.” He nodded to the officer mounted to his left.

“Dismount!” The crisp command cut through the settling dusk. Doves cooing in the magnolia trees by the house set up a startled cry, and a flurry of wing flapping spoke of their agitation.

At the rattle of sabers and jingling harness, a black-and-tan hound came growling around the corner of the pillared white house with teeth bared, the hackles raised on the back of his neck.

Jesselynn felt like doing the same but kept her best company smile in place. She could barely hear the ratcheting song of the cicadas above the beating of her heart.

Meshach crossed the porch in silent strides and, murmuring to the dog, took him back behind the house. Within seconds the man was back, always standing to the rear of Jesselynn but an imposing presence nonetheless.

Jesselynn knew he would do everything in his power to protect her should there be any aggression on the part of the Union soldiers. All five of them, spurs and sabers clanking, strode up the two wide steps and took a seat.

Her face a mask of resentment, Lucinda passed around a tray of glasses, already sweating from the September heat. Ophelia followed her with a plate of cookies left over from the funeral.

Neither of the women responded to the polite thank-yous from the blue-coated men.

“I appreciate your hospitality, ma’am, but I have to ask again. Do you have any horses remaining here at Twin Oaks?”

Such audacity when this is Confederate country
. She glanced toward the horses being held by one of her own slaves. “Those were the last, other than a team of mules we use in the fields and to pull our wagon. Would you take everything that helps to keep us alive?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t want to do that, but I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I send a couple of my men to search the stables and barns?”

Jesselynn smiled sweetly. “Why no, sir, we wouldn’t mind that one little bit. But this time, please leave the hens alone. Took them three weeks to start layin’ again after your last visit.”

A snort from one of the men made her smile more widely. “Other than that, we have nothin’ left to hide.”

“You understand, this is not my …” The captain stopped and nodded to three enlisted men. “And don’t disturb anyone or anything not connected to the horses.”

A considerate Yankee. Now, if that isn’t an oxymoron
. In spite of all that had gone on, Jesselynn still enjoyed using a new word when she could. Now was a good opportunity. As the three left the portico, she nodded for Lucinda to pass the tray again. “Please, help yourselves. Not many bl—” She cut off the term “bluebellies” and reframed her sentence. “I reckon not many of those from the North have an opportunity to taste Lucinda’s secret recipe for lemonade.”

The captain’s eyes twinkled, but he answered gravely. “Then we are all the more grateful that you would share this with us.” He lifted his glass.

Lucinda harrumphed behind Jesselynn’s chair. Without looking, Jesselynn knew the expression on the woman’s face was anything but pleasant. The thin cry of a restless child floated down from the open upstairs window.

“Excuse me, please. My little brother has had a terribly hard day, and I must go to him.” Jesselynn stood as she spoke, causing the Union officers to rise also. Again she was surprised at their manners. The patrol who came before had shown none.

“Please, Miss Highwood, accept our condolences on the death of your father. And of course you must see to your brother.”

Jesselynn almost choked on her smile. If it hadn’t been for the war, her father would still be alive, along with her brothers. And this man had the gall to offer condolences? “Well, I reckon I must say thank you, sir. I’ll return as soon as I can. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Mama, if you only knew what your training is costing me
. With a glance at her two slaves that conveyed an order to not only remain where they were but to behave properly, she left the porch in a swirl of skirts. While she no longer wore hoops due to the war, she had donned extra petticoats that morning, so she was closer to fashionable dressing than at any time in the past year.

After all, an old maid like herself didn’t need to dress in her finest, as if there were such gowns available any longer. She’d dyed two of her dresses black when her mother died and kept them for mourning. She had already put them to repeated use what with all the funerals in the vicinity.

“Thank you, Thaddy, for getting me away from them,” she muttered as she swiftly climbed the curving walnut staircase to the second floor.

“Lynnie.” His cry came more pitifully. He had yet to be able to say her full name.

She pushed the door to his room all the way open and crossed the woven reed rug to lift him from his net-draped crib. “Hush now, baby, I’m here.”

He sniffled into her neck and stuck his thumb back in his mouth. “Eat supper?” He sniffed again.

She patted his back and swayed from side to side, calming him with the rocking motion. “Not yet, but soon.” She stroked the soft golden hair from his sweaty forehead and kissed his flushed cheek. Crossing to the basin, she held him with one arm and poured tepid water into the bowl from the matching pitcher painted with pink roses. Then dipping a cloth and squeezing it dry, she wiped his face around the hand attached to the thumb in his mouth.

“Daddy home?”

“No, dear, Daddy’s gone.”

“To war?”

“No.” Tears clutched her throat and watered her eyes. “Daddy’s gone to heaven to be with Mama and Jesus.” Sometimes she wished he didn’t talk so well. Or that he was older and could understand. How do you explain death to a baby little more than two years old? Especially one who had now lost both his parents and never knew his mother at all. She set him down on the changing table and checked his diaper. “Good boy. You are still dry. How about tryin’ the pot?”

Anything to keep from going back down to the portico.

“Good boy.” She praised him when she heard the tinkle in the chamber pot and, after dressing him again, could think of no real reason to not join the officers down below. Other than that she didn’t want to. She refused to think of them as guests. At least her mother had not had to deal with army officers on conscription forays.
But you would have known how to behave and would have charmed them so that they would have forgotten all about the horses. Oh, Lord, please help me. We can’t lose the rest of the breeding stock or Twin Oaks stud will be no more
.

Sometimes she wondered if the Lord really cared about the carnage going on, let alone the horses. As her father had said in the beginning, this was a fight between brothers, not between warring nations. Sometimes she wished she’d been able to leave as her sisters had, to get away from making decisions here, to get away to safety. Which was the reason she had sent both Louisa and Carrie Mae to Richmond to be with their aunt Sylvania—to keep them safe from marauding soldiers.

She carried Thaddeus down the back stairs and left him playing on the kitchen floor with Lucinda’s two grandchildren. She’d rather stay and play with them and the kittens than go back to being the hostess. She stepped through the front door as the three enlisted men returned from the stables.

“Nothing there, sir.” One saluted as he spoke. “Except for the two mules like she said and a milk cow.”

“Please don’t take the cow. My little brother needs the milk.” She tried to keep a note of panic from her voice.

“We aren’t in the habit of leaving women and children destitute.” The captain rose to his feet. He set his glass back on the tray Lucinda held and nodded his thanks. “Sergeant,” he said, giving a silent order.

“Mount up!” The command cut through the air, all official once more.

Captain Dorsey set his blue felt hat back on his head and touched two fingers to the brim. “Ma’am, sorry to inconvenience you regarding the horses. But just in case you happen to find any running loose, we will be on the watch.”

Was that a twinkle she caught in his eye or a trick of the light? Jesselynn didn’t take time to ponder the thought. “I’m sure you will be, and if there were any horses running loose, why, Captain, what a surprise that would be to all of us.”
As if we’d let our horses run loose!

The men mounted, and the captain tipped his hat again. “Good evening, Miss Highwood, and I am indeed sorry about the death of your father. From everything I hear of him, he was a fine man.”

Jesselynn swallowed hard. The tears she’d kept reined in all day now threatened to break loose. “Yes, sir, he was.” She watched the straight-shouldered, blue-clad backs as they trotted their horses down the long drive. Speaking of fine men, she had a feeling she’d just met one. If only he’d worn gray instead of blue.

She shook her head and turned back to the house. As soon as they’d had supper, she needed to finish the letter to Uncle Hiram and begin the thank-you notes to those who’d left gifts today. How soon could she possibly leave? Who would she take? Who would stay? And who would protect those who remained behind?

She’d just sat down to the table when one of the young hands skidded through the door.

“Rider comin’, Missy.”

“Friend or …”

“Sojer, I thinks.”

Jesselynn dropped her napkin on the table. “Blue or gray?”

“Too dark.” But the boy shook his head. “Bad ’un, I specs.”

“Benny, what do you mean?”

Quiet as a shadow, Meshach took his place behind her as soon as she stepped on the porch.

The horse’s front feet nearly clattered on the first step as the rider yanked his mount to a stop.

“So, they didn’t find ’em, did they?”

The sneering voice of their ex-overseer sent shivers chasing up her spine.

“I was watchin’.”

“Find what?” The thought of Second Lieutenant Cavendar Dunlivey of the Confederate army keeping a watch on Twin Oaks made her want to take out a gun herself.