Daughter of Twin Oaks (4 page)

Chapter Three

“My father told you never to set foot on this place again.”

Dunlivey shook his head, his smile sinister in its beauty. “Yer
father
ain’t here no more, Missy, and I come to get what is rightfully mine.”

If only he was as handsome inside as out
. The thought made her choke. All she could see now was evil. Jesselynn kept her hands away from protecting her middle with a burst of anger that she refused to let show. That was what he wanted, to see her cringe. She clamped her teeth together to keep the words she wanted to scream at him inside until she could speak civilly. Dunlivey had abused the slaves, stolen from her father, and then asked for her hand in marriage, claiming it was his right, since he had done so much to keep the plantation running. He knew every inch of the land.

She raised her chin, tightening her backbone at the same time. “If you don’t leave now, you may never leave.”

She heard a gasp from behind her while at the same time she felt Meshach move a step closer. She knew he carried the rifle at his side.

“Think yer better’n anyone else, that’s what,” Dunlivey said in a threatening voice. “But now I got you. Givin’ succor to the enemy, you was.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned slightly forward in the saddle. “I aim to get me those horses, Missy, and I aim to get you right along with them.” His words hissed worse than a water moccasin. “Those slaves you try so hard to protect will work for me again, I promise you. Or they goes down the river. Bring in good money, they will.”

“You want I should shoot him now?” The click of a hammer drawn back sounded loud as a rifle crack in the stillness. One of the other slaves whimpered.

“No, then we’d have to bury him, and I don’t want to soil our hands handling varmints like him.” She watched as the fury built within the man and exploded.

Yanking his horse back, he screamed at her, froth erupting in spittle that bathed his mount. “I’ll get you, all a’you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I reckon it just may be that if you don’t turn and head on back the way you came. Next time we catch you on Twin Oaks land, there won’t be any talkin’ first.”

“Next time, Missy, I won’t be alone. This time was a warnin’ outa the goodness of my heart.”

“I sincerely doubt your body contains such an organ.” She beckoned Meshach, who raised the gun. “If you’ve forgotten, we’re all trained to shoot.” She nodded to her slave. “Make sure you hit him in the heart so we can keep the horse.”

Dunlivey’s glare was so filled with hate, she almost stepped back. She wanted to run and hide, but she kept her place.

He spun his horse, applied spurs, and tore down the curving drive. “The South needs those horses of yourn, so now you can be shot as traitors.” His diatribe trailed behind him.

Jesselynn blinked at his final scream that seemed to echo through the trees. Traitors. Was that what they were, simply for trying to keep something that would ensure their livelihood when this terrible calamity was finally over?
Who’d believe it?

“Dat man be the hate-fullest man I ever knowed,” Lucinda said with a huff. “Never in my life be so glad to see someone daid.”

“That’s not the Christian way,” Jesselynn said, turning with a gentle smile. “At least that’s what Mother would have said.”

“Yo’ daddy shoulda shot him long time ago.” Meshach shook his head. “Some men born mean and jus’ get meaner. He one.” With dusk faded to night, Meshach could disappear into the darkness as long as he didn’t smile. “He might could have a accident ’tween here and town.”

“No. There’ll be no killin’ around here. This war has done enough of that.” Jesselynn turned and entered the house. “We have some figurin’ to do. Dunlivey will
not
get our horses.”
If only I had done what Daddy said back in the beginning, we’d have all the horses left, not just the few. Why, oh why, did I listen to those brothers of mine “The war’ll be over in three weeks. The South can’t be beaten. God is on our side.”
“Ha!”

But who am I to take the horses out of here? A woman traveling with five Thoroughbreds? Fine bet that I’d get anywhere. Entire plantations have been lost on bets less than that. Oh, God, what am I to do?

After putting Thaddy to bed, she returned to her father’s study, positioning the lamp so she could work at his desk. Though she’d been managing the plantation since her mother died and the men were at war, deciding to leave it was the most difficult decision she’d ever had to make.

“Oh, Lord, who should stay Who will keep them safe Who should go with us Should I take them all?” While waiting for answers, she penned another letter to her sisters, describing the funeral and ordering them to stay where they were. There was nothing they could do at Twin Oaks. She didn’t tell them her fears for their home. Other great houses had been burned to the ground, and no one knew for sure who was responsible. The South said it was the northern soldiers who burned and looted and vice versa. She had a feeling the burnings were more the work of scum like Dunlivey. He wore the uniform of the South. Why hadn’t he been ordered elsewhere like her father and brothers?

They could only hope Zachary was still alive, since there had been no word of his death. She shuddered at the thought of Zach being confined in a Yankee prison. The rumors they’d heard were near impossible to believe.

“Remember,” she wrote, “our God is in His heavens and taking care of us here, no matter how terrible things are. All He asks is that we love and trust Him. I trust Him to care for you and for all of us here, and to bring us back together again soon.” After signing the letter, she studied the words while the ink dried, wondering if she’d written the last more for herself than for them.

The lamp was flickering by the time she’d gotten through the thank-you letters from the funeral. As she stuffed the last one in the envelope, tears threatened to overflow her burning eyes.

“Daddy, why? What am I to do?”

Lucinda pushed open the door, shaking her head. “Missy, you git yourself on up to bed. De roosters be crowin’ befo’ you close yo’ eyes.” She laid a hand on her young mistress’s shoulder. “Things always look better in de mornin’.”

Jesselynn shook her head. “I don’t see how. I really don’t see how.” Nevertheless, she blew out the kerosene lamp and followed Lucinda and her candle out the door and up the stairs, neither one of them needing the light, they’d trod these familiar halls and stairs so many times.

A breeze fluttered the white curtains at her window and the mosquito netting that had been let down to curtain her bed. Using the light from the moon, she undressed and slid between the sheets, grateful for the cooling breezes of approaching fall.

“Father, in your Word you promise to be a father to the fatherless and a husband to the widow. I need the guidance of a father and the wisdom to know what to do. You say you will both guard and guide. All of these people here depend on me—for everything. And I have nothing. I couldn’t sell the plantation if I wanted to until we prove whether Zach is dead or alive. Besides there is no one to buy it anyway.”

“Get the horses out.”
She could hear her father’s voice as if he were in the room with her. And she had promised. Was a promise made on a deathbed really a vow? After all, she was just a girl. Well, eighteen and once betrothed might be considered basis for womanhood. Others her age were married and had children by now.

“Get the horses out.”
She flipped over on her other side. “
How
do I get the horses out?”

There was no answer but the breeze billowing the curtains and the call of the nighthawk foraging for insects.

“Britches, that’s what I need!”

Dawn had barely stained the horizon lavender when she threw back the covers and brushed aside the netting. She dug in the back of the chifforobe and pulled out the trousers she used to wear when exercising the racehorses. Some more digging yielded the long-sleeved white shirt. But she knew she’d outgrown her boots. Donning the pants and shirt, she stood in front of her mirror. From her neck down, she’d pass as male. But her hair.

Scooping it up she pinned the rich mass on top of her head. A hat. Without making a sound, a skill she’d learned years earlier when exiting by the live oak, she strode down the hall to Zach’s room. Surely between her two brothers’ gear, there was a hat that would cover her hair. Or one of her father’s would do.

She located the tan felt hat hanging in her father’s closet. The odor of pipe smoke and shaving soap brought back every memory of her father. She crushed the hat to her breast and fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Hadn’t she already cried enough?

But no matter. The tears overflowed her lashes and rained down her cheeks, spotting the tan felt like raindrops. She buried her sobs in the bed pillows lest anyone hear and come seeking to help.

There
was
no one to help.

No one. The responsibility was all hers.

God, where are you You were here when Mother died. Why have you deserted me now?

Birds broke the dawn hush with their morning gossip. A rooster crowed. Another answered. A horse whinnied.

Jesselynn leaped to her feet. Was it one of their horses, or was someone coming? She dashed to the window, but the long curved road remained empty.

She grabbed a handkerchief from her father’s dresser drawer and wiped her eyes and nose. Ignoring the desire to let the tears flow unchecked, she sniffed and looked in the mirror. Repinning her hair, she set the hat in place, but every time she tried to pull it snug, a loop of hair drooped from the confining band.

“Fiddlesticks!” She whipped the hat off her head and jerked out the pins, letting the curls tumble down her back.

She stared in the mirror. Could she do it? While her sisters were truly lovely, she knew her hair was her best feature. Thick and glossy with curls that were the envy of both her sisters and her cousins. She glared at a chin that could only be called stubborn and eyes that still wore the red marks of her tears. At least she no longer had the milky skin so prized by ladies. Her face, neck, and arms had picked up a golden hue from working in the sun, even while wearing a hat. At least the freckles had run together to a tone of tan.

“It has to come off.”

“Missy Jess, dat you in dere?”

Jesselynn rolled her eyes. Leave it to Lucinda. She glanced down at her shirt and britches. Might as well get the caterwauling over with. Touching her forehead in a one-finger salute, she strode to the door and jerked it open. “Get the scissors.”

“What you aimin’ to do?” Lucinda looked her up and down, shaking her head and moaning, “What yo’ mama think?” over and over.

Jesselynn paused. What if someone came calling and she had no hair? She’d give the whole plan away and someone sure as shooting would notify the authorities. Cutting her hair would have to be one of the last things she did before leaving.

“I’ll change right away. Just trying to make some plans,” she said, pulling off the shirt and pants and tossing them on her bed. She knew better than to let Lucinda know ahead of time what would be happening. While the older woman would try to cover her feelings, her sniffs and sad eyes would announce clearly that something bad was about to happen. The speed with which news traveled from the big house to the slave quarters was nothing short of miraculous as far as Jesselynn was concerned. She donned her dress and let Lucinda button it up.

“Breakfast ready half hour,” Lucinda said.

“Good, that’ll give me time to check on things at the barn. Let Thaddy sleep as long as he can. Yesterday was mighty hard on him, and I don’t want him sick again if we can help it.”

“Yessum.”

“And, Lucinda, I think it is time to bury the silver.”

“I ’specs so.” The tips of her knotted kerchief fluttered as she shook her head. “I been feared dis was comin’.”

“Well, at least we had things nice for Daddy’s funeral.” Jesselynn swallowed her tears again. All she had to do was say his name or think it and her eyes burned clear back of her nose. She choked back a sigh too. Pretty soon she and Lucinda would be crying on each other’s shoulders again if they kept this up.

“Dem Yankees take ever bit dey see.”

“If what I’ve been hearing is true, it’s not just the bluebellies that have been raiding the plantations. Thieves are thieves no matter what color the uniform. Dig the holes in the rose garden like we decided, and make them plenty deep enough so no saber can find them.”

“Yessum. I takes care dat.”

“Good. We’ll eat as soon as I get back. Bake up those two hams hanging out in the coolhouse too, please.”

“Dem’s de last.”

“I know.” Jesselynn headed for the stairs, tying her straw hat under her chin as she went. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” The sun had already burned the mists off the hollows when she reached the stable doors. Meshach had Ahab, their oldest stallion and son of the foundation of the Twin Oaks stud, crosstied in the hard-packed aisle so he could be cleaned of the mud from the hiding place.

“Leave him dirty. In fact, take him back and get him filthy, him and all the others. We need to disguise them somehow.”