by Naomi Finley
THE NEXT MORNING I WOKE to the warmth of a hand on my wrist, the pungent scent of horse dung, and straw poking through the fabric of my dress. I opened my eyes, recalling the previous night, and turned to look at Kip’s hand resting against my flesh.
During the night I had laid down but didn’t recall doing so. Upon stirring to the warmth of Kip’s hand, I’d expected to find him looking back at me, but he remained unmoving, his eyes closed. Colorless lips melded with his pale flesh, and his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He would recover. I set my jaw, refusing to believe any different. I wouldn’t lose another person I cared about. Until he recovered, I would give him shelter.
I thought of the room in the attic. “What good will it do me now?” I regarded the horse that hung his head over the stall to observe us. “We’d have to get him into the house and upstairs without the soldiers knowing.”
The horse nickered his evaluation.
“I agree,” I grumbled.
Hauling myself to my feet, I brushed and picked the straw from my clothing and hair. I considered the time as I listened to the pesky rooster’s crow. Through the barn planks, I spotted him perched on the fence post. I abhorred the bird. He was the nastiest critter I’d ever encountered, and now he stood between me and the house.
I exited the barn through the side door, scanning the perimeter before slipping outside. Closing the door behind me, I checked over my shoulder before turning and racing around the corner of the barn. I collided with someone. We grabbed onto each other to keep from reeling backward.
“For heaven’s sake, watch where you’re going,” a woman said, her tone heavy with displeasure.
I gasped, “Jane?”
She stepped back and gulped as she recognized me. “Mrs. Armstrong, my apologies.” But she had no sooner mumbled the apology before her brow narrowed, and she gave me a lengthy inspection. “Where are you headed in such a hurry? And looking such a mess. You look as though you slept in your clothes.”
“I did,” I said quickly. “I couldn’t sleep and read far into the night.” Inside, I winced at the lame explanation.
She eyed the dust marring my cornflower-blue dress and my hair. After a moment, she shook her head and said, “Well, you’d best go get cleaned up. Rita has sent me to fetch some eggs from the hen house. With Mrs. Hendricks taken to her bed, I will be helping with the soldiers until she is on her feet again.”
“Pippa is ill?”
“From what I understand, she hasn’t felt good for the last day or two.”
“But she didn’t mention feeling ill.”
“Most likely didn’t want to put any more pressure on your shoulders.” Her smile never moved beyond her lips as she swerved past me and continued on to the hen house.
I stood observing her until I was sure she wasn’t heading to the barn. I had no reason not to trust her. She had been a dedicated employee for years. But her stance on the war and her displeasure at her son’s choices gave me pause.
“You look a mess,” Whitney whispered in my ear, and I whirled to face her.
“So I’ve been told. How are things at the house?”
“They could be better. I think the last group of soldiers brought sickness with them. Pippa appears to be fighting an ailment along with three of the men.”
“Splendid. This is exactly what we need,” I said with exasperation. I sent one last look toward the hen house and tensed when I saw Jane watching us.
“Why are you so suspicious of her? You’ve always spoken fondly of her before.”
I turned back to Whitney. “Yes, but it appears this war is revealing people’s true colors.”
Sergeant Absher stepped out onto the back veranda, lit a cigar, then stood eyeing us.
“I need to make myself presentable and see to matters at the house. Can you see that Jones takes care of our little issue in the barn?”
Worry shone in her green eyes, but she nodded and headed toward the kitchen house. I figured it was a decoy move to keep the sergeant from becoming suspicious. Grateful, I walked across the work yard to the back steps.
“Good morning, Mrs. Armstrong.” The sergeant rested his elbows on the railing and peered down at me.
“How are you this morning?” I ascended the back steps.
“Better than some of the men.” He nudged his head toward the library window.
“Mrs. Tucker informed me that some have fallen ill.”
He eyed me in the same way Jane and Whitney had. “You look a bit weary yourself.”
“As I told Mrs. Tucker, I couldn’t sleep. I worry about my husband and uncle. Each time a new group of soldiers shows up here, I wonder where they are and if they’re safe. Concern over their safety keeps me up at night.”
“Understandably so. But surely your bed must provide better sleep than bedding with the animals.”
“Pardon?” My blood chilled, but I tried to stifle my surprise.
He leaned forward and pulled a piece of straw from my hair, and held it out for me to examine.
My nerves thrummed, but I presented him with a light chuckle. “You caught me.” I held out my arms in surrender. “You see, when I was a young girl, I would often go missing, and my father would find me asleep with the animals.” The explanation sounded hollow.
He arched a brow. “You don’t say?”
“Indeed. I used to give my mammy and him quite a scare. Last night I retreated to the quiet of the barn and the solace of the animals. Imagine my surprise to awaken this morning.” I shook my head in feigned amusement.
A stern look shadowed his countenance. “Very well. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” I favored him with a smile before dashing inside.
I took the servant staircase, hurried to my chamber, and closed the door behind me. Heart striking in my throat, I leaned against the door and slid down to the floor. Glancing around the room, my eyes paused at the chair under the window where the shirt Bowden had worn the day before he’d left remained undisturbed. I had refused to let anyone wash it. Having it there gave me comfort and enabled me to daydream of his return. Almost a year after the commencement of the war, my husband’s scent had long faded from the room.
I COULDN’T RISK ATTRACTING ANY more suspicion, so I kept to the work yard and house, sending word to Jones to update me on Kipling’s condition. By the end of the week, whatever illness had befallen the soldiers and Pippa had dissipated, and no one else fell ill.
Kipling had yet to return to the land of the living, and I feared he never would.
Overhead the sky rumbled with a storm approaching from the north, and I closed the door to the kitchen house to ward off the wind.
“Sho’ luks lak et’s gwine to come down hard.” Mammy stood by the hearth, holding a ladle, her gaze fastened on the single window.
The scent of braising beef filled the room, and I glanced from her to the evening meal simmering in a cast-iron kettle. Lately my appetite had diminished, with the increased worry plaguing my days.
“The storm is the least of my worries.” I walked to the table and added a measure of cold butter to the pie crust.
“Mind you mix dat jus’ right, so et flakey.” Mammy crossed the room to oversee my work. “Dat woman Jane can’t cook a lick. Dat meat pie she baked last week had a crust as tough as boards.”
“Trust that you taught me well and let me make the pie.” I scowled at her. Tension had knotted the muscles in my neck and shoulders, and I’d awoken with a headache that never ceased.
“You bin in a mood all morning.” She returned my scowl.
I stopped mixing the pastry and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just some days I want to run and keep running.”
“Says a white gal,” Mammy said with a snort before marching to a nearby shelf and pulling down a jar of dried herbs.
I was in no mood for her sass and pivoted to level a glare at her. “You know what I mean.”
“And what, leave us?” She eyed the w
indow and said, in a hushed tone, “You fixing to sign Mister Kip’s death warrant yourself? Or have you forgotten ’bout dem soldiers crawling from evvy corner of dis place? You ain’t a quitter, angel gal, so don’t start now.”
I turned back to the dough and molded it into a ball while tears of frustration rose in my eyes. My despondency left me when the door flew open, sending a gust of wind through the room. I braced when Sailor dashed inside in a fit of tears and slammed the door behind him.
“Whatever is the matter?” I regarded him with concern.
He paced a moment or two before halting to regard me with pain-filled eyes.
I walked to him and squatted down. “Tell me what has you so upset.”
Using the back of his hand, he wiped the tears before flicking his tongue to catch the drippings from his nose. “Ain’t nothing.” He tried to square his shoulders.
“It doesn’t appear that way.” I took his hand in mine, and he looked at the dough coating my fingers. “You know you can always tell me what is troubling you.”
“One of them soldiers called me a n-nigger. Said that I was worse than a nigger. That I was a half-breed.” His small chest heaved with silent sobs. “Said, ‘Nigger, get over here and hand me my cane.’” When I didn’t do as he said because I didn’t know who he was talking to, he shouted, ‘Are you deaf, nigger?’” Sailor’s body shook, and again he broke into uncontrollable tears.
I gritted my teeth and thought of wringing the soldier’s neck for his treatment of the boy. How dare he! I wrapped an arm around Sailor’s shoulders and drew him close. “Shh, my love. Don’t pay any mind to the soldier. He must be an angry and frightened man.”
I had tried to shelter Sailor from the discrimination and enmity toward blacks in the world outside of Livingston, but he had endured prejudice amongst the quarter folks. “Who are my people?” he’d asked the week before, when I found him in a similar state over mistreatment from the other children. “If they don’t want me, where do I belong?”
Sailor’s body trembled, and he mumbled into the collar of my blouse, “He don’t seem frightened.”
I pulled him back to look at him. “Forget about the soldier. What do I always tell you?”
“That we all the same. And that God created us in his image.”
“Meaning?”
“That each of us is just as he planned.”
“That’s right. The soldier has poor manners, but you, my love, are a proper Southern gentleman who shows kindness, respect, and love to all of God’s creations.” I adjusted his shirt before using a finger to tilt his chin. “You take pride in who you are. You hear me?” He bobbed his head. “Good boy. And let no one tell you you are anything but that perfect creation.” I kissed his cheek before standing to regard him. “What were you doing inside the house, anyway? I told you, with the soldiers there, you need to stay away.”
“I was looking for her.” He nudged his head at Mammy. “Miss Rita told me she had something special for me and to come and find her today.” A hint of anger, mixed with confusion, crossed his sweet face, as though he blamed Mammy for his troubles.
“Land sakes, boy. I warn’t ’pecting you to go marching into de big house.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Come on over here and sit down. I got dat somepin’ special right here.” She waddled to the counter and removed a hidden piece of sugar cane.
Sailor dashed forward and dropped onto a chair at the table, eyeing her eagerly. “Where did you get that from?”
“Asked Mister Jones to git me a piece at de market on his recent trip to town. He paid a hefty price to purchase dis treat to satisfy your sweet tooth.”
I smiled at the exchange between the two. “If you can finish up here, I will head up to the house to make sure everything is running smoothly.”
“We be jus’ fine,” Mammy said without looking up. “Dis young man can sit wid me for a spell.”
I left them and walked toward the house. The wind slapped the fabric of my skirt and pulled wisps of hair from my pins. Movement on the back veranda drew my attention, and I spotted the sergeant seated with his boots resting on the railing. My hands knotted at my sides, and the desire to give him and the other soldiers a good tongue-lashing surged.
“Mrs. Armstrong?” Jones’s voice lifted over the wind’s whine.
I halted and turned to observe him striding across the work yard toward me. My gaze drifted back to the sergeant before I turned my back and waited for Jones’s approach.
He glanced over my shoulder at the house and grimaced. “He is always watching. Suspicious by nature, I assume.”
I fought the urge to share in his observation of the sergeant. “What is it you need?”
His gaze pulled to my face. “Big John sent me to inform you that Kipling is awake.”
My heart leaped at the news, but I restrained my happiness. “Please tell him when I think it’s safe, I will come. It may not be for some time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and left me.
I took a deep breath and summoned the courage to head back to the house. To my relief, the sergeant had disappeared. I looked around the grounds and didn’t spot him. I would not allow the man to intimidate me in my own home. The sooner he returned to his regiment, the better. I prayed for his swift recovery and set my mind to aiding God’s hands in making it so.
SEVERAL DAYS PASSED BEFORE I could seize an opportunity to slip to the barn unnoticed. Christmas day had drawn to a close, and twilight stretched across the plantation.
Pippa had insisted on serving the soldiers a proper Christmas feast. Fattened and mirthful from the Christmas goose, with stuffing made of apples, chestnuts, onions, and plum pudding, they retreated with us womenfolk to the parlor. Pippa, looking ever beautiful, in a rose-colored silk gown, seated herself at the piano, and the nostalgic sound of “Silent Night” filled the room. The men’s chatter ceased, and Whitney positioned herself at Pippa’s right and began to sing. I leaned into the doorframe and let the tranquility flow over me. The men, with whiskey snifters in hand, gathered around the piano and joined Whitney in song. As our voices melded, so did our hearts in the pining for our loved ones. That day we never spoke of the war and the hardship our nation endured.
When the song ended, Pippa took on requests from the men, and soon they shuffled the cots out of the way and asked Whitney and I to dance, to which we obliged.
Pippa looked on with a grander smile as Whitney and I whirled around the room from one soldier’s arms to another. Determined to enjoy the evening and not let my thoughts carry me to troublesome worries, I doted my attention upon each soldier.
Over my dance partner’s shoulder I regarded Whitney as she belted out laughter, seemingly amused by the young private who stood chin height to her.
“You don’t say.” She whirled around the room, a vision in a pale green gown.
Soldiers stood to the side of the room, chatting and looking on with merriment. I smiled, discovering joy in their happiness.
The soldier dancing with me paused, and I almost lost my footing when he released me and turned to face Sergeant Absher.
“May I?” Sergeant Absher said.
“Of course.” He bowed, but before stepping away he looked at me with gleaming blue eyes. “Thank you, ma’am. The dance was most enjoyable.”
I curtsied. “The pleasure is all mine.”
His eyes glimmered with appreciation as he took a broad sweep, observing from the hem of the ruby gown Bowden had purchased for the last Christmas banquet to the ruby-clustered necklace resting between my breasts. “You are a sight, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” I inclined my head.
He swept a hand over his gleaming silver mane and handed his cane to the soldier before taking my hand. A wince came from him, and I noted the struggle in his face as he tried to support his weight. Determination set his jaw, and he moved me around the room at an awkward and stiff pace.
I fixed a smile. “Have you enjoyed yo
urself this evening?”
“Indeed,” he said with a grunt, as a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
“Tell me, sergeant, is there a wife who waits at home?”
He tensed, and the briefest glint of pain shone in his eyes before he pushed it away. “No, ma’am. My wife died twelve years ago.”
“Oh,” I said, wishing I could retrieve my question. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s quite all right.” A sadness reflected in his visage, and he regarded me with intensity. “My Clara was a woman you couldn’t forget. She had a way of getting under your skin.”
I sensed his need to talk about her and offered a light laugh before saying, “Us women do that from time to time.”
The reserve in his demeanor shifted, and he said, with more pleasantry than I had ever witnessed in the man, “She was a little thing with more spirit than one man could handle. When she set her mind there was no stopping her. She would stand up to anyone that tried to cross her.” The pleasantness of his light chuckle and the tenderness alight in his eyes waltzed on my heart.
“You don’t say.” My smile deepened. “A woman after my own heart, I might add.”
A trace of a smile touched his lips. “Yes, you remind me of her in ways. I didn’t know how to deal with it at first; I was so taken back. It was like I was thrown into the past, and all the memories and loneliness vented.”
“I’m sorry to have caused you distress.”
“On the contrary,” he said, coming to a sudden stop. “Clara always said I had an unapproachable manner and that I was lucky she didn’t discourage easily with the number of times I rejected her attention. The woman showed her determination to win my heart, and after five years I finally saw what was before me all the time.” His gaze contained a far-off look. “We spent eight wonderful years together, and she made me a better man.” His vulnerability retreated, and gruffness took front and center as he regarded me. “I thank you for the dance; for a few moments, I could imagine what it would be like to hold my Clara once more.” No longer fighting to hide the pain, he leaned heavily on me.