The Long Way Home (22 page)

She shrugged. ‘‘Well, we got him all skinned and hung. And just in time, looks like, since you brought in more. I reckon we’re going to be doing a lot of smoking, that’s for certain sure.’’

‘‘Keep those little boys breakin’ kindlin’.’’ Jane Ellen kept a straight face too. Mrs. Mac turned away, a cough covering her laughter.

‘‘Think I’ll go help Ophelia.’’ Mrs. Jones scurried into the cave like something was after her.

‘‘Jesselynn, I got me a feeling . . .’’Wolf took one step toward her.

‘‘Well, Mr. Wolf, he’s only a little bear.’’ Jesselynn rolled her lips together.

‘‘A bear. Meshach shot a bear?’’

‘‘No, sir.’’ She stuck her hands in her pockets and studied the design her boot toe sketched in the dirt.

‘‘Who shot the bear?’’ His voice deepened.

‘‘Me.’’ She shrugged and looked up at him from under her lashes.

His face wore that cut-granite look she knew meant trouble.

‘‘I had the rifle along, and the bear smelt the fish, I think, and Patch came charging to the rescue, and I shot the bear before he could finish off Patch, and so we’’—she indicated the women with a sweep of her hand—‘‘gutted him and Meshach hung him, and . . .’’ She felt impaled to the cave wall by his stare.

‘‘Supper ready,’’ Thaddeus called from the mouth of the cooking cave. ‘‘Wolf, you back.’’

‘‘The rest of you go on and eat. We’ll be there in a moment.’’

‘‘Should we wait grace?’’ Meshach shoved the stick he’d been carving through the tendons on the rear legs of one of the deer and threw it over his shoulder with a grunt. ‘‘I hang dis.’’

‘‘No, yes . . .’’ Wolf shook his head. ‘‘Show me the bear, Mrs. Torstead. Perhaps we should name you She Who Kills Bear.’’ He slung his arm over her shoulder, and they entered the cave. ‘‘Thank God, you are safe. Shooting a bear. And here I thought I left you safe in camp.’’

‘‘All I did was go fishing.’’

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN
Richmond, Virginia

Dear Jesselynn, Thaddeus, and all the others,

I am writing a quick letter so you can be aware of what is
going on here. I’m sure Carrie Mae has written to tell of her beautiful little daughter. They named her after our mother and Jefferson’s, Miriam Amelia. Carrie Mae had a fairly easy birthing, even though to hear her you’d think she was in labor for all of August instead of only hours. But little Miriam is precious, and I go to see her as often as I can. Would that it were more so, but we had a major crisis here. Aunt Sylvania suffered a minor apoplexy that scared us all, especially her. But she is recovering well, and we are all grateful. Our new kitten, named Bones by one of our guests, is
her delight.

I must tell you that I am concerned about Zachary. Please pray that he not turn his back on his Christian upbringing. I know Mama and Daddy are beseeching our Father before the throne, but I covet all earthly prayers too. He has become so cynical, I hardly recognize him any longer. Yet, every so often he’s as nice as can be.

I just don’t know what to do about him.

Our boys here at the house are sewing and knitting for those
still on the march.

I must tell you that Zachary and I are making another trip.
Each one stretches my faith as I pray for our Father’s protection,
both for us and for those at home.

Oh, sister, I want this despicable war over and done with, so we may get on with our lives. I want to go home, no matter how damaged Twin Oaks is. We received a letter from Lucinda saying the taxes are due. How can they levy taxes on those who have given
so much for the cause of the South? I struggle with this like the straw that broke this woman’s back. Zachary has said he will take care of it, but since he has said nothing further, I have my doubts there too. The thought of losing Twin Oaks is intolerable. My heart bleeds again and again, until I fear I shall have nothing left to give.
How much can our Lord expect of us? I know the answer—He has said we will never be tried beyond our strength. But, enough of my whining.

How are all of you? Where are you? I am so anxious for a letter from you. How big is Thaddeus now? I pray you tell him about us and our lives at Twin Oaks, so he knows whereof he came.

We all send our love and our prayers, as I know you pray for us. Someday we will all live together again at Twin Oaks in dear
Kentucky. Lord bless and keep you, my dear sister and brother.

I know I am including love from all the others here
.

A tear just missed blotting the page as she signed her name and let the ink dry while she addressed the envelope.

With the letter ready to send, she blew out the lamp and climbed into bed. Any day now and she and Zachary would be on the road.

‘‘We’ll do a grieving mother and father this time, using a coffin again and that false-bottomed buggy. I’ve had a foot carved to fit in a boot so it won’t be so obvious I’ve lost mine.’’ Zachary had made plans for another trip to the North.

‘‘Where will we be going?’’

‘‘Washington.’’

Louisa flinched inside. She still had nightmares about the time Zachary was missing. All alone in that hotel, not knowing if he were alive or dead, captured or shot for treason.

She hadn’t heard from her friend Mrs. Hinklen, who’d come south to retrieve her husband’s body. He’d died of injuries during one of the battles. Talking with her had made Louisa realize that Northern women and Southern women suffered the same thing in losing their men to the war. Mrs. Hinklen hated the war as much as Louisa.

But her husband had done his duty, just as had Louisa’s father and brothers.

If only it were over, and they could all go home.

‘‘Zachary, have you heard anything regarding the taxes on Twin Oaks?’’ The question popped out before she had time to think it through.

The look he gave her said quite clearly that she should stay out of men’s affairs. She’d learned to read that look well.

‘‘You know what?’’ She leaned forward, staring him right in the eye. ‘‘Twin Oaks is my home too, and I have every right to inquire about it.’’ She made each word distinct and forced herself to not draw back.

‘‘You know, dear sister . . .’’

She refused to flinch at the sarcasm.

‘‘You are sounding more like Jesselynn every day. Mother would chide you for becoming so unfeminine.’’

Louisa stared him right back. ‘‘Be that as it may, dear brother . . .’’ Two could play at that game. ‘‘But if I waited around for men to do for me, we would starve here, along with our guests.’’ She kept her voice low so their guests wouldn’t hear them.
And considering you have not contributed one dollar to the upkeep of this house, you do not have a lot you can say
. Surely they were paying him for working in the law office, but he had never mentioned how much or when. Another very unchristian thought flitted through her head, made a hairpin turn, and returned to roost.

What was he doing with his money? Had he paid the taxes? Had he even written a letter in response to the one Lucinda had sent them? When he said he would deal with it, she had trusted him to do so. No longer was she so certain that was wise.

Lord, if I can’t trust my own brother, whom can I trust?
But she knew the answer there too. As her mother always said,
‘‘In God alone do I put my trust.’’

Now the real question.
Do I?
She heard herself arguing, or rather remonstrating, with herself as if she were another person standing back and eavesdropping on a conversation.

‘‘You will be ready?’’ Zachary’s question stopped her internal discussion. His voice had softened.

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Making you look old enough will be difficult.’’

A compliment. Zachary had paid her a compliment. Veiled or not, one had to take compliments when offered.

‘‘Thank you, dear, I will manage.’’ Now how would she tell Carrie Mae that she would be gone?

‘‘But where are you going? I need you here.’’ Carrie Mae stared at her sister as if she had left a portion of her mind at home.

‘‘Carrie Mae Highwood, er, Steadly, some of us have more important things to do than wait on you hand and foot.’’

Carrie Mae slumped as though she’d been slugged in her still-tender midsection. Tears sprung from her eyes like downspouts after a rainstorm.

Even though Louisa knew Carrie Mae could put on tears as easily as she put on a shawl, she felt as if she’d tried to drown a kitten.

‘‘I’m sorry, dear, but I must do this. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and—’’

‘‘It’s that dumb old war again, I just know it. I am so sick and tired of hearing about the war I could throw up.’’ The baby let out a wail. ‘‘Now see what you’ve done.’’

Louisa hid a smile. While she wasn’t the one who’d been shouting, she knew her sister well enough to know who would get the blame. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’ Louisa walked through the archway and picked her niece up from the basket where she slept. ‘‘There now, sugar, you don’t need to cry. How long since you fed her?’’

‘‘Two hours or so. She’s like a little pig, eating constantly. That’s all I do, feed the baby, change the baby, feed the baby. I feel like an old milk cow.’’ Carrie Mae threw herself down on the sofa.

Louisa nuzzled the now quiet infant. ‘‘Ah, you precious little one, if only your grandmother were alive to see you. She loved babies so.’’ She looked up to see her sister mop away tears. At the bereft look on Carrie Mae’s face, Louisa knew they were thinking the same thing. Some days, even after these years she’d been gone, the ache to see their mother again cut clear to the heart.

Louisa crossed the polished floor to sit beside her sister. ‘‘I’d stay home if I could.’’

‘‘I know that. Forgive my childish tantrum. I . . . I just didn’t realize babies took so much time, and I’m tired clear to the bone. Jefferson suggested a wet nurse, and now I’m beginning to think I made a mistake in refusing him.’’ She glanced at her daughter, who was now engaged in conversation with her aunt. She watched in silence. ‘‘You are so good with her.’’

Louisa turned to look at her sister. ‘‘So are you.’’

‘‘I get impatient.’’

‘‘I didn’t have to get up with her every two hours during the night. Why don’t you feed her and go take a nap? I’ll stay awhile.’’

‘‘No, I’d rather visit with you.’’ When the baby screwed up her face, Carrie Mae picked up a blanket to throw over her shoulder and unbuttoned her waist. ‘‘Can Elise get you anything?’’

‘‘No thanks.’’ Louisa watched as Carrie Mae set her daughter to nursing, all the while smiling and whispering to the baby.

‘‘Lucinda would say she’s sweet as sugar and pretty as a rose.’’

‘‘I know. I always thought I would have my babies at Twin Oaks. Funny, I never thought I would have to go with my husband wherever he lived. Just never entered my mind.’’ She smiled at Louisa. ‘‘Life certainly is different than we dreamed, isn’t it?’’

Back at Aunt Sylvania’s, working on her disguise, Louisa kept thinking about Carrie Mae’s comment. Sometimes the only thing that kept her going was the thought that God knew what was happening and was not surprised. No matter how severely her world was torn apart, He was still in control.
Lord, help me to remember that, no matter what
.

Louisa reminded herself that God was in control when she and Zachary climbed into their rather odoriferous buggy.

She reminded herself again when the Union officer studied their papers. One of her prayers had been answered. He wasn’t the same man who had passed them through on the earlier trip.

Union uniforms painted Washington blue. From the troops camped to the south of the city to the officers who took part in the life of the capital, one could not step out the door without seeing uniforms.

As Zachary and Louisa drove to a house in the northern outskirts, heads turned away at the putrid effluence of their coffin. Riding with the foul odor so long had deadened their sensitivities, so they could look suitably grief stricken. Pepper in her handkerchief helped as before. Red eyes only added to her appearance of age.

‘‘Zachary, dear, I keep getting the feeling someone is watching us.’’ Louisa had hesitated to say anything, for due to the stench, many watched them.

‘‘I think not. I’ve been observing carefully.’’ Zachary tied the reins to the whip handle, and using the armrest and his crutch, carefully lowered himself to the ground.

‘‘Don’t go lookin’ around like you are frightened or some such.’’ He barely moved his lips while giving instructions.

‘‘I know.’’ She climbed from her side of the buggy and followed her brother up the walk. Staying at a hotel had been hard enough but with strangers would be worse.

Zachary knocked at the door that had missed a few paint jobs, as had the porch. A curtain dropped back into place, the only indication someone was home. Within moments the door opened, and a man in a black coat and trousers invited them in.

‘‘Were you followed?’’ His first words sent ripples chilling up Louisa’s back.

‘‘No, at least not that I could detect. Why would anyone follow me?’’

‘‘Just bein’ careful. We have the box ready to transfer. I will take your buggy inside my barn and do so while the two of you have a bite to eat. Then you must be on your way again.’’

Without even a night’s sleep? Louisa wished her brother would look at her so she could question him. But he ignored her, keeping his attention on their host.

‘‘That will be fine. Perhaps you have a place my wife could rest and wash a bit?’’

‘‘Of course, follow me.’’

Louisa did as asked and was shown into a bedroom with a pitcher of water set on the commode. When their host left the room, she sank gratefully down on the bed and removed her hat. After using the necessary, she washed her hands and face, brushed her hair, and wound it back in a bun. Lying down on the bed, she closed her eyes, sinking into the softness of the feather bed. The night before had been spent at an inn where the only available bed had been boards with a thin pallet. Her shoulder still ached.

‘‘Mrs. Highwood, are you ready?’’ The voice came far too soon, but Louisa answered yes. She rose, tucked stray wisps of hair into the bun, donned her hat, and after straightening the bed, left the room.