Daughter of Twin Oaks (27 page)
Cave in southwestern Missouri
November 1862
The closer the sun slid to the horizon, the drier Jesselynn’s mouth grew.
Meshach arrived first, a deer carcass slung over his shoulders. Benjamin trailed him by several hundred yards, the deer on his shoulders heavy enough to make his slighter frame stagger with the weight.
When she shot Meshach a questioning look, he winked at her and whispered, “I offered to help, but …” His shrug said it all. He swung his burden to the ground.
Benjamin dropped his next to it with a
thwump
. The rise to the cave had him panting like a hound after a hunt. His deer sported two-prong antlers.
“Good, those horns can come in handy.” Sergeant White’s comment brought a wide smile, and Benjamin stood straighter. “And two hides. I see you brought me somethin’ I kin do.”
“Happy to help you, suh.” Benjamin’s beaming smile had pride written all over it. “Biggest deer I ever shot.”
“Onliest deer you ever shot.” Meshach clapped the younger manon the shoulder. “Let’s get dem hung, and you can skin ’em.” He looked around. “Where’s Daniel?”
“Not back yet.” Jesselynn hated saying words that immediately sucked the joy out of the moment.
“We better go lookin’ for ’im.”
“I was about to.”
Meshach saddled one of the mares and Ahab. He slammed his rifle into the scabbard laced to the saddle and swung aboard, the look on his face grim enough to scare Sammy, who clung to Thaddeus. Meshach held an impatient Ahab steady while looking at Sergeant White. “Keep watch.” He nodded to Benjamin. “Give him the rifle while you skin the deer.”
Jesselynn mounted the mare and followed Meshach up the hill, then once out of the hollow, they nudged the horses into an easy canter that ate up the miles. They rode halfway to Springfield before they saw Daniel limping toward them.
“What happened,” Jesselynn called, “the mule dump you?”
Daniel shook his head.
As they rode closer, they could see one eye was swollen shut, the cut on his head left a trail of dried blood down the side of his face, and he clutched one elbow to his side. One shirt sleeve hung by a thread.
“What? Who?” Jesselynn could feel rage bubbling and snapping in her midsection.
“Dey took de mule.” He swiped blood and dirt from under his nose with his good hand and looked down at his bare feet. “An’ my boots.”
“They who?” Jesselynn dismounted and flinched at the close-up sight of his beaten body.
“Dey was fixin’ to hang me for stealin’ de mule, but some other men come along, and dey run dem off.” He leaned against Meshach when he dismounted, and Meshach put his arm around the boy. “I tried to fight dem off, but one against three …” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “I’se sorry.”
“I reckon you’re more important than the mule anytime.” Jesselynn gently pulled his arm away from his body, her lips tightening at the bruise on his side.
“Dey kick me. I never hurt so bad in my life.” He dug in his pocket. “But dey din’t take de letter.” He thrust it into Jesselynn’s hand and swayed on his feet. “Sorry, I’se gonna be sick.”
Meshach held the boy’s head with one hand and clamped the other around his waist until the retching finished.
“Ah, dat hurts.” Daniel gasped.
“Broken ribs?”
“Cracked anyway.” Meshach led Daniel over to Ahab, who, nostrils flared wide, skittered away at the smell of blood.
“Easy, son.” Jesselynn held the stallion steady while Meshach boosted Daniel up into the saddle, then mounted behind him. She patted Daniel on the knee. “We’ll get you right fixed up back at camp. Guess we better use some of that deer hide and make you a pair of moccasins to keep your feet warm.”
“Thank you, Marse Jesse. You mighty good to dis black boy.”
Jesselynn felt rage hot and sweet course through her as she followed the pair ahead. Who had taken the mule, and why did they beat Daniel so viciously? Pure meanness was all she could think of. Now, stealing the mule, that made sense, but beating someone half to death? And then stringing him up.
A picture of Cavendar Dunlivey beating one of the slaves sprang into her mind. That was when her father ordered him off the place. But she could still see the look in Dunlivey’s eyes. He had enjoyed giving the whipping. Thinking back like that made her keep looking over her shoulder, her pistol at the ready.
“We kin track dat mule.” Benjamin repeated his comment again. Supper finished, they were sitting around the fire before going to bed. “You know him hooves, Meshach. You shod ’im, after all. De right front, how it curve in? We go find dem and bring ’im back.”
“No! There’ll be no talk of trackin’ the mule. Those men are killers. You want to end up like Daniel or worse?” Jesselynn nodded to the young man huddled under a quilt and whimpering in his sleep.
“What de letter say?” Meshach used the deerhorn to smooth the piece of wood he’d been working on.
“I forgot all about it.” Jesselynn dug in her pocket and pulled out the envelope. Slitting it open with her finger, she extracted the paper and, tipping it, leaned closer to the light.
“‘Dear Zachary,
“Welcome to Springfield, although I am sorry I was not at home to greet you. The sad news is that Hiram died early on in the war, and some worthless scalawag burned us out. They do that a lot around here. All our horses were already gone, and several slaves died in the fire. I am living with a friend here in town, but since neither one of us has a husband for support, I have not even a room for you to stay in. Please come to visit me when you can.’
“She gives the directions and signed the letter, ‘Sincerely, Mrs. Hiram Highwood.’ “
Jesselynn looked up to find Sergeant White studying her across the fire. “Zachary is my older brother.” She could feel her cheeks growing hot, surely from the fire.
He nodded and went back to his whittling. “When you goin’?”
“First thing in the mornin’.”
Surely Aunt Agatha knows somewhere we can keep the horses over the winter. And maybe she’s heard from the girls
.
“I go wid you.” Meshach never looked up from his scraping.
“No, I’ll be—” Jesselynn stopped when Meshach glanced over at the sleeper who came so close to leaving this life. “Thank you.”
They had no trouble finding the house in the morning, but Jesselynn about choked when she saw the place. Disrepair hung over the house like a rent and rotten garment. Windows, doors, and porch all sagged, as did the gate to what used to be a picket fence. By the steps, one lone pink rose struggled to reach the sun. The nearby houses didn’t look any better.
Meshach held the horses while Jesselynn went up to knock on the door. She waited and knocked again before she heard someone coming. The person fumbled with a lock on the inside, then peered around the barely open door.
“What do you want?”
The voice Jesselynn recognized, but the face bore only faint resemblance to the one she remembered. Once round with a habitual smile, this face had skin hanging off prominent bones and blue eyes that pierced rather than sparkled.
“Aunt Agatha?”
The door would have closed but for Jesselynn’s quick thinking to put her foot into the opening. “Aunt Agatha, I know you were expectin’ Zachary, but I’m Jesse, er, Jesselynn.”
The woman behind the door gave her a once up-and-down look. “Young man, this is not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I had to become Jesse to get us here safely. I promised my father—”
“And who is your father?” She might be living in dismal surroundings, but the starch had never left her tone.
“Major Joshua Highwood, deceased. My oldest brother, Adam, died in the war, and we have not heard a thing about Zachary. Mother Miriam died in childbirth, and I have little Thaddeus with me—er, back at the camp. I sent Louisa and Carrie Mae back to Richmond, where I thought they would be safe. Twin Oaks is—”
“Well, I’ll be switched.” The caricature opened the door a mite farther. “When and where was your daddy born?”
“Born in 1815 in the same bed he died in at Twin Oaks in Midway, Kentucky.”
“Well, I’ll be a—come right on in, child.” A surprisingly strong hand reached out and yanked her inside to a hall that looked about even with the outside. She peered closely into Jesselynn’s eyes. “Well, you certainly have the look of the Highwoods, but with those clothes …” Her nose wrinkled on the last word. “We’d better look through things and see if we can find something more appropriate to a young woman of what? Nineteen, or is it twenty by now?” All the while she talked, she dragged Jesselynn down the hall by the arm. “Leastwise you can have a bath.”
Trying to stop her was like trying to harness a hurricane.
“Aunt Agatha, Aunt Agatha, wait.” Jesselynn clamped a hand on the doorframe to bring the procession to a halt.
“Now what?” Agatha turned to look at her niece, only to shudder. “Britches! I can’t believe a niece of mine is wearin’ britches!”
At the moment,
that
niece was wishing she’d never come.
Jesselynn disengaged her aunt’s stranglehold on her arm. “I have to stay dressed like this to keep me and the horses and my people safe. A woman in skirts would be fair game to any polecat out lookin’ for sport. You know that.”
“I declare, such talk. What would your dear mother say?”
My dear mother would be right glad her daughter was alive and in one piece
. “And, Aunt Agatha, you must not breathe a word about who I am to anyone. You understand that? Not anyone.”
“Why, land sakes, child, who would put two and two together anyway? I—”
“You have to promise me or I’ll take my people and just fade into the backwoods where no one would know or care who I was.” Jesselynn stood straight and leaned forward just the least bit. “It could mean life or death.”
Agatha sagged, both inside and out. “Yes, I promise.”
“Good. Let me go get Meshach. Is there somewhere we can tie the horses out of sight?”
“Why, why I guess in the shed out back. But isn’t he one of your slaves?”
Jesselynn stopped in midstride. “No longer. I set him and the others free.”
“Oh, why … ah … um.”
Jesselynn turned back around so she could watch her aunt’s face. “What happened to all your slaves, Aunt Agatha?”
“I sold them that didn’t die in the fire. Other than the land, which will most likely go for taxes, that’s all I had left. After all …”
Jesselynn held up a hand to stop the flow. “I’ll go put the horses away.”
“I mean, he can sit out on the back stoop, and …”
Jesselynn closed the door behind her. Obviously she and Aunt Agatha were about half a continent apart on the slavery issue. Maybe it was a good thing that they wouldn’t be staying with her.
What about the woman she lives with? Where does she stand? And more importantly, who does she know?
Right there she resolved to tell her aunt as little as possible. Their safety might depend on that.
“Have you received any letters from home or from Richmond?” Jesselynn and her aunt were now sitting in the parlor drinking tea. Meshach had gone off to the livery to see about a job as a blacksmith.
“Forgive me, child, I have. They went right out of my mind.” She set her teacup down and pushed herself up with both hands on the arms of the chair. The sound of her knees popping and creaking could be heard clear across the room, let alone to the next chair.
“Aunt Agatha, let me. Just tell me where to find them.”
“I should say not. I’m not too decrepit to do for myself. Got to keep moving after all. Why, that’s what’s wrong with Lettie, poor dear. She just gives up at times.”
Jesselynn had learned about Lettie Copsewald while they were making the tea. She’d been having one of her bad spells and, after retreating to her bed, asked to not be disturbed lest the headache return.
“After she takes her bit of laudanum,” Aunt Agatha confided, “she sleeps like a baby and wakes up the next morning feelin’ more like herself again.”
Aunt Agatha returned to the dim and dusty parlor where she had insisted they take tea and handed Jesselynn two letters, both from Richmond.
