Daughter of Twin Oaks (10 page)

Her favorite dream returned.

The shade of the oaks lining the long drive to Twin Oaks dappled their faces as she and John Follett strolled the length and back.

“I talked with your father.” John took her hand and tucked it around his bent elbow so he could press her closer to his side.

“I know.” Surely he could feel her heart thumping clear to her fingertips.

He stopped and, turning her to face him, took both of her hands. “I …” He cleared his throat and tried again.

She felt as if she were swimming in his eyes, stroking deeper to reach the fine soul she saw shining there. No suitor had ever made her feel like this.

“I love you, Jesselynn Highwood, and I want to marry you, the sooner the better.” He didn’t have to say before the war, but she knew what he meant. He squeezed her hands. “Tell me you feel the same.”

“I do.” Oh, how she longed to say those words in front of the minister.

He kissed her then, her first kiss, and the sweetness of it made her yearn for more. She nestled into his chest, both his arms around her. Such a safe place, like the nest she’d never known she searched for.

Turning her face up to his, she kissed him back, her parasol tipping over her shoulder and shielding them from any spying eyes. If Lucinda caught them …

“Jesselynn.” The voice no longer matched that of the man in her dreams.

“Jesselynn!” The hand on her shoulder brought her back from her euphoric dream. She sat upright and banged her head on the wagon bed.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Bluebellies crossin’ de river.”

Chapter Nine

On the banks of the Green River

September 24, 1862

“Hide the horses,” Jesselynn ordered.

“Did dat.” Ophelia sank back on her haunches, her eyes wide.

“Where’s Thaddeus?” Jesselynn rubbed the spot on her head as she crawled out and sat to pull her boots back on.

“Sleepin’.” Pointing to another pallet in the shade of a tree, Ophelia’s hand shook.

“Good.” Jesselynn dug under the mosquito net for her hat and clamped it back on her head, feeling as if she became a young man in that single motion. No more Jesselynn, who’d enjoyed being kissed under the oak trees. She was Jesse, younger son of Joshua Highwood, on a mission.

She could hear laughter, horses splashing, men calling orders. How far from the ford had she set up camp? She glanced up to see the sun way past the high point. It was later in the afternoon now. Would they dare cross the ford at dusk with Yankees in the area?

Of course the soldiers could be miles up the road by then. Or they could camp just on this side of the river.

“Go on as if nothing is wrong,” she whispered to Ophelia. “We have every right to be here, and as long as the horses are hidden …”

“But dey might cotch me.” Ophelia looked like a rabbit who wanted nothing but to bolt back down its hole.

“Not with me here.” She reached back in the wagon bed for the rifle they kept under the seat. A rifle and one pistol. Not much ammunition if they needed to frighten off a rover or two. Meshach wore the pistol tucked in his waistband.

She watched Roman, the mule, grazing in the sunlight, his long ears swiveling to keep track of the noises around him. When he raised his head, looking off to the north, she held her breath, only releasing it when the animal dropped back to cropping grass. A blue jay flew overhead, announcing its displeasure at the invasion of its territory.

The wait continued. Her mind raced through the things she should do if a blue-coated soldier rode into their camp. Shooting him would be stone-cold stupid, unless he tried to take a slave or a horse. Could she pull off her disguise as a young man? She’d already figured what to say about their traveling. Going to Uncle’s for a visit, that’s what. Was there a law against traveling?

She scrubbed her palms down the sides of her pants. Wet hands did not a sure shot make.

Silence felt like the kiss of heaven. She swallowed and patted Ophelia on the shoulder. “We’ll be all right now.” Birds twittered and flitted in the trees. A dog barked some distance away. All the normal sounds of woodland life carried on.

A bit later Benjamin and Meshach led the horses out of the woods and hobbled them again to graze. Roman nickered when his friends returned and fell to grazing again. Peace lay over the campsite.

Benjamin slipped out of the woods moments later. “Six, eight sojers on a patrol. Dey not lookin’ for trouble.”

“I surely do hope not.”
But they always need horses
.

“Think I try fo’ a mess a fish.” Meshach slouched against the wagon wheel.

“Did you sleep?”

“Enough. Benjamin better sleep now. Daniel too.”

Ophelia set about scrubbing vegetables for the rabbit stew, the savor of the cooking rabbit already tantalizing Jesselynn’s taste buds. She dug in the sack for a carrot, since she had slept through dinner, and supper wouldn’t be until near dark.

Carrot in hand, she took out her father’s journals and flipped to the blank pages. After all the years he’d kept a journal, she had decided to follow suit when he went off to war, and she had kept them up until their flight. But now there would be no account of food put by or crops harvested unless Lucinda or Joseph thought to keep records at home. Hers was about their journey. She sharpened a quill and shook the ink bottle. Soon she’d need to make ink.

Jesselynn snugged her back against a tree trunk and, with journal on her knees, set to her task. After filling in the date, she swiftly described their travels through the nights, the patrols they’d avoided, the money they spent, and now the condition of the mares, who would soon need grain.

She watched them grazing so peacefully, then went back to her journal. If they had brought everything they might need, they would have had three wagons, not one. She fingered the Bible she kept in the leather satchel with the journals. Tonight she would read to them all before supper. She couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough in the morning. How long would it take her to get used to staying awake all night and sleeping during the day? And feel rested?

She woke with a crick in her neck and the ink bottle unstoppered. The sun glowed red on the tree trunks as it sank toward the hilltop. Rubbing her neck, she stuck the cork back in the ink, mentally scolding herself for being so lax. She looked around the campsite and saw Thaddy playing in a pile of leaves, Meshach cleaning a harness, and Ophelia stirring the cooking pot.

Her stomach rumbled as the fragrance of the stew drifted past. Pushing herself to her feet took more energy than she thought possible, but once she had stretched and yawned, she could bend over to pick up her satchel and stow it back in the wagon. Scratching a mosquito bite on her neck, she wandered over to where Thaddy played with a carved wooden horse in the dirt and leaves.

Meshach had been busy.

“See horse?” He held his toy up for her admiration. “Good horse.”

“That he is. You been eatin’ dirt?”

He shook his head, but his mouth showed otherwise.

“Come on, let’s go to the river and wash.”

“Play in water?” He boosted himself to his feet, rear first, horse clutched in one fist. With the other he reached for her hand and together they strolled toward the water. The trip took longer than usual as Thaddeus admired three sticks and two patches of leaves, giggled in a flickering shadow, inspected a burl on an oak tree, insisted they walk around the
other
side of a tree, and found two rocks that went in his pocket.

Carrying him would have been ten times faster, but not as entertaining. Thanks to her sharp eyes, they watched ants carrying crumbs back to their soil home and a beetle digging for whatever beetles dig for.

When he sat in the water, she let him splash while she took off her boots. How wonderful a swim would feel. But if it washed the walnut dye out of her hair, she’d have to boil more husks to make new, and that took too long for this evening’s entertainment.

Gold still streaked the river that looked more like a big creek with wide beaches and gilded the outlines of the trees on the far side. Fording this so they needn’t go into town would be easy. The water didn’t appear to be up to the horses’ bellies even. They’d have to pitch or tar the wagon bed before they got to a river where they had to swim the horses. So many things to think of.

She rubbed her forehead. Most likely she’d slept a cramp into her neck, which caused the headache, not the thinking.

She studied the far shore. Upriver some cows stood drinking in the shallows, so obviously there was a farm there. Downriver all she could see were trees, some still green, others touched with fall paint. How far had the Union soldiers gone before camping? Or had they headed north to Louisville? If only she had any idea what was happening with the war.

“Jesse, look.”

She glanced down to see Thaddy, water running down his arm, holding up something shiny. Bending over, she grasped his waving hand. A gold button, once closing an army uniform, lay in his palm.

Was it Union or Confederate? And how had it come to be here?

#8220;My button.” Thaddy grasped her rolled-up pant leg and pulled himself upright, reaching for the treasure.

“All right. But keep it out of your mouth, you hear?” He nodded and closed his fingers over the button.

“Mine.”

“Put it in your pocket, then, so you don’t lose it.” She watched while he did so, then looked out again to the riverbanks.

A rifle shot popped in the distance and then another. Someone hunting or—

The barrage that followed answered her
or
. The shots came from the northwest and far enough away to keep her from running to hide, but if there were both gray and blue ahead of them, perhaps they’d best stay right where they were.

The volleys continued, a bugle blew, then silence fell. One more shot erupted, and that was it. She waited, but even as the sky shifted from fire to ember gray and the evening star peeked out, only the sound of birds gossiping off to sleep broke the stillness. A fish jumped and smacked the water on return.

“Come an’ eat.” Meshach spoke from off her right shoulder.

She hadn’t heard him arrive. She looked down to find Thaddeus covered with mud from the hole he’d been digging in the bank.

“Oh, Thaddy.” She shook her head, grabbed him up, and, holding his arms, soused him up and down in the water to wash the mud off. His giggle brought smiles to both her and Meshach. “Now we’ll have to get you in dry clothes again.”

“So, do we stay or go?” The question had been chewed on by each of them, with everyone but Jesselynn saying go. The thought of running into either patrol made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. They could lose everything.

“I take Roman and go scout.” Benjamin leaned forward. “No one sees us.”

“All right.” She shook her head, wishing she felt braver. Here in this copse and small meadow with the river at their door, she felt safe for some inexplicable reason. The other side of the river spelled danger.

While they waited, she helped Meshach check on the horses, digging dirt and a rock or two out of their hooves and inspecting for any harness galls, all the while listening for Benjamin’s signal. When it came, the sigh of relief originated in her toes and worked its way upward.

“No sign of sojers. Road clear.” He swung off Roman and joined them in the firelight. “I followed a road some an’ see signs a patrol go dat way.” He pointed to the north. “But de road we take is clear.”

“Good.” She stood and dusted off the back of her pants. “Let’s go, then.”

Within minutes they had Ahab and one of the mares harnessed together, Jesse riding Domino, the younger stallion, and Meshach driving the wagon. As they headed out, she glanced back to the clearing, seeing the glint of the river through the tree trunks. Was it wrong to want to hang on to a moment of peace?

When they reached the ford, she waited on the bank for the wagon to go ahead. Glancing upriver, there appeared to be a log floating in the middle.

“Meshach, you see that log?” She raised her voice to be heard over the splashing horse hooves. Water was past their knees and heading for belly-deep. Would the wagon have to float?

“I sees it. Come on across.” The horses were pulling the wagon into shallow water. Jesselynn nudged Domino into the river. He snorted and tossed his head but at the pressure of her legs continued forward, ears flicking to catch her encouraging words. He snorted again as they drew level with the log.

What she’d thought was a log. Where the face should have been, only a black hole gaped at the sky, and the gray-clad soldier floated on past. Jesselynn kicked her horse forward, her stomach fighting the urge to erupt.

Chapter Ten

Richmond, Virginia

“But I have to go back to the hospital. The men need me.”

“It’s just not proper for a young girl like you to be working in that … that place, and you not even married. I don’t see how the doctors ever let you in the door.” Aunt Sylvania had said these words far too many times before for Louisa to pay a great deal of attention. Nor would she tell her aunt that the doctors and officers understood her to be a widow and several years older than her actual age. They knew her as Mrs. Zachary Highwood. Adopting the name of her missing brother had seemed like a good idea at the time.

And it still was. Getting a wedding ring hadn’t been difficult, since she’d taken her mother’s out of the strongbox at home. She kept it on a chain around her neck until after she left the house.

Louisa smiled gently at her aunt, whose chin had a tendency to quiver in righteous indignation. Out of the three girls of her family, only one did as any proper young lady would. Carrie Mae sought and found a fine young man to marry. No matter that he was missing part of an arm. His old family heritage more than made up for that, and being a successful lawyer had nothing to do with how many arms he had. In fact, his loss made him a more sympathetic character in the courtroom.

Louisa knew all this and understood Aunt Sylvania’s concern, but … that was the word.
But
. What about the suffering right down the street?
What if Father were to come to my hospital and there was no one there to give him a drink, read to him, or write letters home if he couldn’t use his hand? Or Zachary?
She already knew that Adam was beyond her care. She hoped he and their mother were enjoying each other’s company and looking out for those left here on earth.

“Louisa, you are not listening to me.” The spoon clattering onto the saucer let Louisa know that she had missed something important. When had she gotten so adept at appearing to be listening when her mind roamed off elsewhere?

“I’m sorry, Aunt. What was that you said?”

Sylvania sniffed, setting the ribbons on her morning cap to fluttering. She
tsked
with more force than necessary, another indication of her rising indignation.

Louisa laid her fork down on her plate and gave her aunt her full attention. Excuses would not help. Life here was so different than at Twin Oaks. Why, oh why, had Jesselynn sentenced her to so-called safety with Aunt Sylvania? Until she’d found a place at the hospital, the boredom of society in Richmond had more than once brought her to tears. As the capital of the Confederacy, Richmond held more balls and concerts and soirees than she ever planned to attend in a lifetime. Playing at dressing up and attracting beaus those years at home were vastly different than reality. Such a waste of time. She kept herself from shaking her head just in time.

“I …” Sylvania paused, beetling her brows at her niece. “I believe it is time for us to have a small soiree. I hear young James Scribner has returned from the war, and I believe you and he would …” She paused again and lifted one eyebrow.

Louisa forced a smile, making sure that both sides of her mouth lifted and, along with a nod, encouraged her aunt to continue.
Oh, Lord, no, please not another one. Now I have an idea what the slaves felt like on the auction block, but at least no one has checked my teeth
. “Are you sure you have time for that, what with gettin’ ready for the weddin’ and all?”

Long-suffering looked at home on Sylvania’s time-spotted and wrinkled face. “I will manage. Your happiness is of utmost importance to me.” Another sniff followed, and this time the bit of cambric touched the tip of her rabbity nose.

Louisa used every bit of training her mother had instilled in her. Her eyebrow stayed where it belonged. “Thank you, Aunt, I’m sure it is.” Why can’t Carrie Mae get up early enough to distract her? Thoughts of what she would like to do to her sleeping sister took her mind off on another trail.

“More biscuit, Missy?” The soft voice at her shoulder made Louisa turn with a smile. Abby, her woolly hair covered with a white kerchief, held out a basket covered with a white napkin, the fragrance going before it.

“Thank you, I will. These are even better than Lucinda’s at home, but I know you will never tell her I said that.”

“No’m.” The smile that caused dimples in her ebony cheeks made Abby chuckle too. “I knows Lucinda be one fine cook.”

“Yes.” Louisa took a golden brown biscuit and set it on her plate.
If only I could take some of those with me, they might tempt Sergeant Wilson’s appetite
. But she knew if she asked, her aunt would launch again into her oft delivered speech on the unsuitability of her niece working at the hospital. Louisa had it memorized—
well
memorized.

“Message, madam.” Reuben, who used to be the butler but now was more man of all trades, set a silver salver, worn bare in spots, on the table in front of his mistress.

“Oh, now what?” Sylvania set her coffee cup down only the least bit harder than necessary, showing that her displeasure had not totally abated.

Louisa used the distraction to lay her napkin on her plate and push back her chair. “Thank you, Abby, I must hurry.” She spoke low enough that Aunt Sylvania wouldn’t hear. She kept her pace sedate as “befitted a young woman of breeding”—her aunt’s words—until she reached the hall, then flew up the stairs.

Coming out of her room, she nearly bumped into Carrie Mae, yawning and stretching as she crossed the hall.

“Goodness, need you be in such a rush?” Carrie Mae patted back another yawn with a delicate hand. Her hair, much the same rich color as Louisa’s but curly instead of straight, looked charmingly tousled instead of sleep flattened. Sleepy eyed, she gazed at her sister. “I suppose you’re all done with breakfast too and off to the hospital?”

“How did you ever guess?” Louisa patted her sister’s cheek, feeling years older and wiser. “How was the cotillion last night?”

“Last night? I barely got to bed before the sun rose.” Carrie Mae yawned again. “Excuse me, oh, did Aunt mention the soiree? It is about time we returned some of the invitations, you know.”

Louisa shuddered. “If she drags out one more—”

“Now, sister dear, meeting the right people is important. You know that well as anyone. What would Daddy say?”

“Daddy would say what our Lord said—a cup of water for the thirsty, bandages for the wounded, and given as soon as possible.” She smiled at her sister, who was already shaking her head.

“I have rolled enough bandages for the entire Army of the Potomac. You think I do nothing all day. Why”—she held out a needleroughened finger—“see how often I’ve stuck myself, yet that uniform still looks like it belongs on a slave rather than a Confederate soldier.”

“If you could sew as well as you play the piano, there would be more uniforms maybe, but think how many hearts are lifted by your music.” Louisa leaned over and kissed her sister on the cheek. “How is Mr. Steadly?” Jefferson Steadly had asked Carrie Mae to be his wife after a minimal courtship, having declared himself so smitten by her he couldn’t wait.

“Oh, Louisa, I only wish for you the happiness that I’ve found. I believe he loves me like Daddy loved Mama.”

“Then that is our wish come true for you.” Louisa squeezed her sister’s hand. “I must hurry. I have much to do.”

“Don’t forget …”

The rest of the sentence was lost in the rustling of her skirts descending the stairs. Unbidden, a thought of the scarecrow on crutches, as the men called Lieutenant Lessling, passed through her mind.
Hmm, he’ll hardly even talk to me. I wonder why
.

She picked up the basket that contained her Bible, a copy of Shakespeare’s comedies, paper, quill and ink, and a packet of lemon drops for
her men
; then setting it on the entry table, she paused at the mirror to tie her bonnet. Once she had left the house without one, and the weeks of sniffing reminders weren’t worth repeating the mistake.

“Here, Missy.” Abby slipped a napkin-wrapped packet into the basket. “You must eat befo’ you fades away.”

Louisa raised an eyebrow in question.

“Not to worry. Dey’s extra for de gentlemens.” Abby ducked to hide a grin. “I fix a basket for dat Reuben to carry too.” She stepped back a step. “But I not does it again ’less you promise me to eat yo’self.”

Louisa fought the tears that burned at the back of her throat. “Thank you. I know our Father sees in secret.”

“He better keeps the secret too.” With that Abby headed to the back of the house, throwing a conspirator’s smile over her shoulder as she pushed against the door leading to the outside kitchen.

“You ready, Missy?” Reuben held open the door, a much larger basket at his feet.

Knowing she had extra gifts to take lent speed to Louisa’s slippers as they traversed the blocks to the two-story brick building that housed more suffering than the residents of the once fine but now aging houses in this part of the city cared to know.

Louisa couldn’t understand how so many could go about their business as if the yard lined with wounded soldiers on pallets didn’t exist. In fact, she had heard two matrons complaining one day that the screams heard from the hospital were just not to be tolerated.

It was all Louisa could do to keep from screaming at the two of them herself.

But in spite of those few, most women supported the war, rolling bandages, sewing uniforms, taking recuperating soldiers into their homes so they could be tended, knitting wool socks, and collecting what medicines and medicinal herbs they could for the soldiers’ relief. Some contributed by earning money for supplies. The Ladies Aid at the church Louisa had chosen to attend did all of that and more.

Of course Aunt Sylvania had thrown a fit at that move too. The church Louisa chose was definitely not fashionable. How would she ever meet a young man of the proper quality there? What would her dear Joshua say if he saw his youngest daughter attending a Quaker meetinghouse, of all things?

As they neared the brick edifice, the low moans that sounded like a flowing river hummed louder than the cicadas thrumming in the elm trees.

The smell met her at the door like a heavy curtain.

“Where you wants dis?” Reuben nodded to his basket.

“Right here in this closet. That way I can parcel things out.” She hung her bonnet on a hook and donned the white apron hanging beside it. At the same time, she scooped two bloodstained aprons out of another basket and, bundling them together, handed them to Reuben. Unbeknownst to Aunt Sylvania, Abby had been laundering the aprons since Louisa began her hospital service. Another secret she and the slaves kept between them. How would she ever be able to help with the soldiers if her aunt discovered their duplicity?

Reuben checked the water bucket and shuddered. “I gets fresh.”

Louisa nodded and smiled her gratitude. As he left for the pump out back, she checked the contents of both baskets. Hard-boiled eggs, already peeled for ease of eating, a packet of salt, biscuits slathered with butter and honey, a loaf of bread all sliced and buttered, sliced cheese to add to the bread, cookies, and a jar of chicken soup. Surely something here would help Private Rumford take more than two bites at a meal. No matter how she encouraged him, she got the feeling that all he wanted to do was die, if not from his wounds, then of starvation.

Reuben returned and she reached for his bucket, but a shake of his silvering head made her smile again. Lately he’d taken to staying with her while she took dippers of fresh water around to the men.

“Thank you, but I don’t want you gettin’ on the wrong side of Aunt.”

“Not you worry, Missy. Let’s get goin’ now.”

They stepped into the ward, and silence fell like a featherbed floating into place. Greetings bounced around the room, one patient passing the news of her arrival on to the next who might not see or hear.

“Good mornin’.” She began on the right side, taking turns each day so no one always received her assistance first. The man in the bed raised himself on one elbow.

“I was ’fraid you wasn’t comin’.” He scooted back to brace against the wall.

“Why? Am I late?” Her smile made the man in the next bed chuckle.

“I … I don’t know. The nights are so long, seems like mornin’ fergits to come.” He drank his fill and lay back. “Thankee, ma’am. Just seein’ you so purtylike makes the water taste pert near as good as the spring at home.”

“Hey, don’t spend all mornin’ with that worthless mountain castoff.” The laughter in the tone made others laugh, one to the point of coughing as if he might not stop.

“Now, y’all just wait your turn.” She spoke to the room and held the dipper for the man in the next bed. “How are you this mornin’?”

“Toler’ble.” He hawked to clear his throat and spat into a towel left by his head, a towel already spotted with red.

Louisa kept her smile intact and slipped him one of the slices of bread with cheese. “I’ll be back with more water soon as I can.” If only she could bring him something hot to drink, perhaps he could better fight the infection raging through his body. But he did look more alert today.

As she made her way around the room, smiles followed her like butterflies after blossoms. For those too sick to raise themselves up to drink, she put her arm behind them to give them support. Several men were unconscious, so other than laying a hand on their shoulders and breathing a prayer for healing, she passed them by. Later she would come by with a basin of warm water and wash hands and faces.

The man in bed seventeen was such. She studied the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing well at least. “Has he been awake at all?” The man in the next bed shook his head.

“Nary a sound outa him. Not even a groan. Doc says it’s the head wound.”

“Is he in a coma, then?”

The nod made her wince. “Do you know anything about him?”

“No’m, not a thing.” He eyed her basket. “I sure would appreciate some o’ that cheese you brought t’other day.”

“With bread, or would you rather have one of cook’s biscuits?”

“Mighty hard decidin’.” He closed his one eye, the other an empty socket with a scar that ran from his hairline to his chin. That early wound had healed, so he was sent back to the front. He wouldn’t be returning to battle again, not missing a leg.