The Long Way Home (12 page)
Gratefully, Jesselynn switched her attention to her little brother. ‘‘Not anymore if you cannot be more considerate than that.’’ She reached up and dragged him off the horse.
‘‘Jane Ellen, would you please take him back?’’ She glanced over at Meshach. ‘‘And if you will give Sammy a ride, perhaps the young marse will learn better manners.’’
Meshach did as she suggested but without the smile that would ordinarily greet such a comment.
Sammy, sitting in front of his adopted father, crowed with delight. ‘‘Go, go.’’ With one arm around his son, Meshach walked his mount alongside the wagon, where Ophelia said something that made both man and boy wear matching smiles.
Jesselynn remounted. ‘‘Think I’ll go help with the herd.’’ She could feel her Aunt Agatha’s gaze drilling into her back, unspoken questions bombarding her like a flock of small birds chasing off an offending crow.
That night when they stopped for the evening camp, Aunt Agatha handed Jesselynn a cup of coffee and sat down on the wagon tongue beside her.
‘‘Now, are you going to tell me what transpired at the fort?’’
Jesselynn sipped at her coffee. ‘‘I stayed with Captain and Mrs. Jensen, had a real bath, and slept in a bed.’’
Agatha sighed. ‘‘Now that does sound like a long-lost privilege. No wonder you look so fresh. Just getting this dust off a body would be pure bliss.’’
How do I tell her?
‘‘So, what did he say?’’
‘‘Who say?’’
Agatha looked at Jesselynn as though she thought her niece had left her senses on the trail somewhere. ‘‘Mr. Wolf, that’s who you went looking for, right?’’
Jesselynn sat up straighter. ‘‘He asked us to go north with him instead of going on to Oregon.’’
Silence fell around them, as if everyone had quit breathing.
‘‘Why ever would he do that?’’ Agatha turned slowly to stare at Jesselynn. ‘‘What is it you are not telling me?’’
Jesselynn felt her stomach twist into a half hitch, then a double knot. ‘‘I agreed to marry him.’’
‘‘Marry him?’’ Aunt Agatha sucked in a breath that wheezed around the constriction of her throat. ‘‘Marry a half-breed?’’ Her voice deepened. ‘‘A man of color?’’ Thunder rumbling in the distance could not have reverberated more. ‘‘No one! No woman in our family has evah’’—her chest swelled. Her face mottled—‘‘evah had truck with a man of colah!’’
‘‘Taxes! Don’t they know there’s a war going on?’’ Zachary fumed.
Louisa was beginning to wish she’d never told her brother the news. What good did it do? He couldn’t go back to Twin Oaks. If he entered Kentucky he’d be shot as a spy. And what did they have to pay the taxes with? Nothing. Unless he had some money stashed away, and that she very much doubted.
‘‘I imagine they plan on financing the war with our tax money.’’ Seeing the look on his face, Louisa wished she’d kept her mouth shut. If that were true, it would be a short war considering the state of their finances.
‘‘We can’t lose Twin Oaks.’’ Zachary slumped in the chair as if all the air had gone out of him, or at least all the starch.
‘‘Surely they wouldn’t foreclose on someone who served in the army like you did, now wounded and not able to go home.’’ She rose and paced to the other side of the room, her steps more agitated as she strode. ‘‘And both Daddy and Adam killed. And the place burned to the ground by a Confederate officer.’’ She held up her hands to stop his objection. ‘‘I know we can’t prove Dunlivey did that, but we all know it, sure as summer brings mosquitoes.’’ She spun at the far wall and paced back again. ‘‘So what are we going to do?’’
‘‘
We
are going to do nothing.
I
am going to speak with our brother-in-law. Perhaps he can send a letter that will change their minds. He has high connections. He can use them for the family.’’ Zachary levered himself out of the chair. ‘‘First thing in the morning. As for now, wasn’t there some peach pie left over from supper? I think that would taste mighty fine.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘No ‘but’s’. Let me at least handle this.’’ He turned back after stumping to the doorway. ‘‘I think I will talk with Jefferson about a position with his firm. Surely they will realize their need to employ an ex-soldier who, while missing limbs, is every bit all right in his mind.’’
Louisa watched him leave the room. That surely did answer one of her questions, the one that asked how this recuperation time was affecting her brother. More questions buzzed in her mind like a nest of enraged hornets. How would he get to an office every day? What would he wear? Could he manage a job? And most of all, why hadn’t Jefferson offered him one earlier, or at least promised something for when Zachary felt ready?
Like a hornet, she felt like stinging someone, anyone who crossed her path at the moment. If Zachary were working, how could they go on another mission?
Before going to sleep, she sat down to write Lucinda a message reassuring her that Zachary would find a way to meet the tax obligation. She only wished she felt as positive as she sounded. She’d thought earlier about the silver and other valuables buried in the rose garden. Jesselynn had written, in a roundabout way that took some deciphering, about the family treasures buried. She wanted Louisa to know about it for when the war ended. But in case someone intercepted the mail and read the letter, Louisa could think of no way to tell Lucinda to dig up and sell what she needed. And knowing Lucinda, she would starve first. So Louisa simply filled her in on the news, closing with . . .
Carrie Mae looks to be having twins. She is so large, but perhaps it only seems that way because she is typically so slender. We all wish you could be here to care for her and the baby and thus continue family traditions. Thank you for all the work you and Joseph are doing to keep Twin Oaks going. Someday, when the war is over, we will come home, and we will all be together again.
With love and God’s blessing, I remain
Again she signed her name, this time including Zachary and Aunt Sylvania.
Louisa brushed the quill back and forth under her chin. Ah, if only she could get on a train and, no matter how roundabout the trip, return to Midway, and home to Twin Oaks. To walk again between the two ancient oaks at the end of the drive and on up to the big house. There was no way she could picture the house burned, with only the brick chimneys standing, as their neighbor had written. Or no horses grazing the pastures, or no rolling sweeps of tobacco fields.
After sealing the envelope Louisa knelt by her bed and opened her Bible to Psalm 91.
Ah, Lord, I know we are safe and secure under your mighty wings, but so many of our boys believed that and were killed anyway. Not that I’m not looking forward to heaven and your presence, you understand, but the agony has gone on and continues. And now Zachary disavowing his faith. O Father, do not let him go. Please hold him under your wings and in your camp with angels round about
. She read more about fiery darts not assailing and not even snakes or young lions. She closed her eyes and repeated the words from memory, branding them into her soul for when she needed them.
The next day, as soon as Louisa had her men working at their assignments for the day, she took her writing case out under the magnolia tree. Shaking the ink, she set the square corked bottle back in its holder, dipped the quill, and started the first of at least two letters for the day.
Dear Mrs.
She stopped and forced her brain to remember the name of the young man who had died under their care. How she hated writing letters like this.
. . . Benson,
My name is Louisa Highwood, and I had the honor of knowing your son, Adam. He was brought to our house for care, but we were unable to quench the fever. He died praising you and his Lord.
His last words indicated what a fine young man you raised. He said, ‘‘Mother, I did what you asked. I did my best.’’ I am so sorry, Mrs. Benson, that our best was not good enough to save your son.
Please know that he is in a far better place. The look on his face as he died made me sure of that. With this letter I am enclosing his personal effects.
Sincerely,
She signed her name and wiped away a wet spot from her tears. At least she had not smudged the ink.
Hearing a strange sound, she looked around her. Aunt Sylvania was reading from the local newspaper about how many Union prisoners had been exchanged for Confederate ones. Psalms would come next, and Shakespeare would be last. Yesterday one of the men had spoken the part of Petruchio that he’d memorized long before from
The Taming of the Shrew
.
After a few minutes Louisa heard the noise again. She turned to look under the peony bushes. Surely it sounded like a kitten. But seeing nothing, she returned to her letter writing.
In the letter to Jesselynn she told about her trip to Washington with Zachary, glossing over the frightening parts and trying to make her sister laugh about the dead possum.
I am concerned about our brother though, dear sister. He confesses to no longer believing in our God and Savior, and at times a black cloud hovers over him that makes me fear for his soul. One minute he can be nice and the next nasty. I sometimes feel I am walking on eggshells with him. Please keep him and us in your prayers, as we do you. Your journey sounds exciting, and I am grateful you found a good wagon train. How I will bear having you on one side of this country and us on the other is more than I can comprehend.
There now, I am getting maudlin and I promised myself not to do that. Right now you would get a laugh here, for Aunt Sylvania is reading
The Taming of the Shrew,
and one of our guests is playing Petruchio from memory. I keep looking around for a kitten that seems to be crying, but perhaps it is a mockingbird.
Give Thaddeus a hug and plenty of kisses from all of us. He will be half grown before I see him, so tall I will not even know who he is
.
She deliberately kept the ‘‘if ’’ out of the sentence. Surely God would not be so cruel as to keep them apart forever. She signed her name, added the others, and prepared her letters for mailing.
The cry came again. This time it was so close at hand she put down her case and began to crawl on her hands and knees, the better to peek under the low-lying bushes.
‘‘Oh, look.’’ She parted the spirea boughs to reveal a ginger kitten, so small it could fit in her palm, hiding in the shadows.
‘‘What is it?’’ One of the men stood and crossed to look down. ‘‘A kitten! Looks about six to eight weeks or so. How’d it get in here?’’
‘‘There are lots of places something so tiny could squeeze under our fence.’’ Louisa reached to pick up the kitten, but it backed away, hissing like it were grown rather than teacup sized. One tiny paw struck, scratching her finger.
‘‘Ouch! You little rascal.’’ She grabbed the animal before it could strike again and cupped it in her hands.
‘‘You want I should dispose of it?’’ The man beside her kept his voice to a whisper.
‘‘No, I think not. We all need a baby around. He’ll calm down, you’ll see.’’
Louisa had to promise to scour the neighborhood looking for its owner before Aunt Sylvania agreed they could keep the kitten.
‘‘Might help keep the mice at bay. Sure is a feisty little thing.’’ Sylvania shook her head. ‘‘I don’t cotton much to cats, but if no one claims it . . .’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I reckon it is yours.’’
While the kitten started out sleeping that night in a box in the pantry, it ended up with one of the soldiers sleeping on a pallet on the floor.
The next afternoon when Louisa petted the purring kitten on her lap, she lifted the sleepy, limp golden body and looked into the kitten’s face. ‘‘I sure wonder why God brought you to us just at this time.’’ She rubbed the kitten’s pink nose with her own. ‘‘Bet He has something real important for you to do, hmm?’’ The little kitten yawned, his pink tongue curling, showing all the barbs that helped keep his short coat so shiny. ‘‘But you don’t care, do you? Give you a nice lap, gentle hands, and you’ll purr anyone to peace.’’
But the feeling wouldn’t go away. Something was coming.
C
HAPTER
T
EN
West of Fort Laramie
The burn ignited in Jesselynn’s middle.
Thaddeus started to cry. Sammy added a wail.
Ophelia threw her apron over her head. ‘‘Lawd, have mercy.’’
Meshach gathered the sobbing Sammy into one arm and his rocking wife into the other. ‘‘Shush now, both of you.’’
Thaddeus threw himself against Jesselynn’s knees.
Why is it that everyone feels they can tell me exactly what to do?
Jesselynn held Thaddeus close, patting his back while she studied on her aunt’s words. She could feel the older woman’s flaming-iron gaze burning into the top of her bent head.
Lord, right now I need wisdom beyond Solomon’s. And I need a good answer right now
. She wanted to stalk off into the darkness. She wanted to scream at her aunt. She wanted others to share the joy that she felt inside.
‘‘Gray Wolf Torstead is a fine man.’’ There, that was peaceable rather than incendiary.
‘‘That is not what we are talking about!’’ The lash of the whip could not crack more fiercely.
Jesselynn set Thaddeus gently away from her, waiting until Jane Ellen took the little boy into her lap. Ordering her reluctant body to obey, she rose to her feet, as if locking each joint as she stood so that her body would hold her upright.
‘‘Aunt Agatha, I know my mama and daddy would agree with you, but they are dead and gone—’’
When Agatha started to interrupt, Jesselynn held up a re- straining hand. ‘‘Please allow me to have my say.’’ Agatha clamped her arms across her heaving bosom. Jesselynn nodded and continued, her voice as calm as if discussing the weather. ‘‘We left the South, and the war, to seek a new life. Part of that new life is to no longer judge men and women by the color of their skin.’’ She paused, letting her words sink in, but continued with her answer when Agatha appeared about to interrupt again. ‘‘I am going to say this only once. Wolf and I will be married at the fort. I want your blessing, but I don’t
need
it.’’ She turned to the rest of the folks gathered around the fire. ‘‘You are all invited, both to the wedding and to continue north with us, if you would like to. If any of you would rather wait and go on with another train heading west, that is up to you. You have about three days to decide before we make it back to the fort, unless another train comes along in the meantime.’’ However, since she’d not seen a westward bound wagon train on her journey back to the fort, that was unlikely.
