by Naomi Finley
A soldier stepped in to help, and we led him to a nearby chair. He dropped into the chair with a thump before removing a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“It was a pleasure, Mrs. Armstrong.” Tears gleamed in his eyes.
“Yes, it was.” I curtsied and dismissed myself.
“May I have the next dance?” A soldier approached on my right.
“Do you mind if I sit this one out?” I said, on the verge of tears. “I need some fresh air.”
“Of course.” He bowed and stepped back.
Not seeking to draw attention I kept my pace light, and only when I stepped into the corridor did I look back to observe for onlookers. Sighting no one, I hurried my steps, and at the back door, retrieved Mammy’s shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders before exiting the house.
On the back veranda, I observed the work yard for movement and found no sign. After one last look at the house, I descended the stairs and raced across the yard to the barn. At the side door, I surveyed the perimeter before darting inside.
The dim light of a lantern shone from the loft. I fumbled my way through the darkness to the ladder.
“Big John?” I placed a hand on a rung.
“Dat you, Missus?”
“It is. Shine the lantern over here so I can come up.”
Shuffling occurred overhead, and Big John’s shadow elongated over me as he came into view. I climbed the ladder, and when I reached the top he held out a hand and helped me up.
Kipling sat with his back against the wall, regarding me. “We meet again, my friend,” he said with a feeble wave.
“I’m glad you decided to join us.” I noticed the tray of food, barely touched, beside him. I placed a hand on Big John’s arm. “Why don’t you go eat, and let me sit with him for a while.”
“But don’t you got a celebration happening up at de big house?”
“Yes, but if you make it quick, I can be back before anyone misses me.”
“Yessum,” he said.
I took the lantern and held it while he climbed down before turning back to Kipling. I strode to his side and seated myself on the straw next to him, smoothing out the flounces of my gown.
“I’m glad to see the war hasn’t claimed all the pleasures of life,” Kipling said.
I waved a hand of dismissal at him as heat touched my cheeks. “Your flattery will do no good on me.”
He smiled, but weariness tugged at his face. “A vision nonetheless.”
“What happened to you? How did you end up here?”
“Soon after we took Port Royal, the army sent out a small patrol to gather supplies. We met a group of men and boys on the road, and they didn’t hesitate to open fire. I pulled my gun as one advanced toward me, but realizing he was but a boy, I hesitated, and he didn’t.” He shrugged. “Pain erupted in my chest, and my horse took off. I recall gripping its mane to stay upright in my saddle. I must have lost consciousness because the next thing I knew, I was lying face down on the riverbank, and the heavens were pouring down on me. I followed the river for days before infection set in.” He regarded the hole in his chest, which appeared to be healing. “How I ended up here, I’m uncertain. I somehow recognized your husband’s old plantation between periods of delusion, and I headed in this direction. I don’t recall anything after that night. From what Miss Rita and Big John have told me, you not only harbor a fugitive but a house full of Confederate soldiers.” He shook his head. “Leave it to you to place yourself in jeopardy by taking on the injustices of the world and the enemy.”
“They are hardly the enemy. They are Southerners like you and I. Has your time in the North caused you to forget your origins?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Never thought I would see the day when you and I stood on opposite sides.”
I lowered my gaze. “Nor I, but as you can expect, my heart is torn.”
“Yes, well, war doesn’t show mercy now, does it?” His eyes were blank.
I was afraid to ask him the question that had troubled me since I’d found him by the river, but I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “Bowden…did you see him?”
“Nah, and thank God for that,” he said. “That’s a choice I pray I never have to make.”
I swallowed hard. “You wouldn’t harm him, would you?”
“And make you hate me forever?” His eyes flashed before he lowered his gaze. “Not intentionally.”
“But what if you were forced to?” I pressed.
“What do you want me to say, Willow? It’s war. When you’re on a battlefield, you don’t have time to think. The stench of death is everywhere. Brothers killing brothers. It’s a sight I never thought I’d see.”
Heart fracturing, I covered my face with my hands as sobs racked my body. Last week my letter and care package to Bowden had been returned; days later, Whitney and Pippa’s had too.
“Please don’t cry.” The warmth of Kipling’s hand on my arm only made me weep that much harder.
He shuffled around, and his arms encompassed me. For the briefest of moments, I contemplated the inappropriateness of our embrace, but loneliness and yearning stopped me from pulling away.
“Not only do the Union blockades limit our supplies, but they have cut off mail service.” I rested my cheek on his naked chest, taking solace in the beating of his heart. “The letters we write are returned. I have written to Ben and Bowden numerous times, and only one letter has gotten through from him.”
“Lincoln has appointed Montgomery Blair as Postmaster General. He’s responsible for cutting off the mail service to all Southern states that seceded from the Union.”
I pulled back, indignation thumping in my chest. “And in doing so, he carves out the heart of the Confederate soldiers and their families.”
“Again, this is war. What did you expect to happen?” Kipling said bluntly.
I grimaced and swallowed the pain from his words.
“I don’t mean to cause you affliction, but you must know what is happening out there, and until this war is over, it’s going to get a lot harder.”
I picked at a piece of straw. “I’ve prided myself in being a strong person, but I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Well, in true Willow form, you’ve taken on too much.” Tenderness softened his assessment.
“We all must do our part,” I said. “I did what I thought was right.”
“And to keep yourself busy so your mind doesn’t dwell on what is happening out there. Am I right?”
“Yes, I’m no stranger to the pressure of running this place, but with our supplies limited—”
“Does the army not provide rations for the men?”
“They do, but the allotments are inadequate. I fear that our next crop will not get in the ground. And if it does, I worry how much we can get planted.”
“Surely your slaves and Jones can get the fields planted.” His brow furrowed.
“We don’t have the help we once did.” I briefly informed him of what had happened to our ships, and at Livingston the night Fort Sumter was attacked.
“My God,” he said when I had finished.
“All one can do is go about each day believing the next will provide some glimmer of hope,” I said before giving him a warm smile. “Like learning death wouldn’t claim you this time.”
“If it had, I would have haunted you from the other side,” he said with a wide grin.
“Once you are strong enough to move, we need to get you out of here.”
“The army has probably deemed me a deserter or prey to the Lowcountry predators.”
“Well, if one of those soldiers at the house finds out I’m hiding a Union soldier, they will execute us both.”
“I’m sorry for the trouble I brought to your door.”
“You are my friend, regardless of the uniform you wear. Your safety is worth the risk.” I pulled to my feet, and he grabbed my hand. I flinched as his finger stroked my flesh.
“My hallucinatio
ns were filled with your image. It was your face that pulled me through this. I had the craziest vision of you lying next to me and the warmth of your body as it sheltered my own.” His eyes revealed the love he held for me.
“The mind is a crazy thing.” I recollected the first night, when I’d stayed by his side. I evaded telling him that what he thought was a hallucination was, in fact, reality. “I will rest tonight after seeing for myself that you’re on the road to recovery.”
He released my hand, and we exchanged a few words before I returned to the house and the gaiety of the men.
THE DAY THE SERGEANT AND his men departed a sense of liberation enveloped the plantation. No news had arrived of a new shipment of soldiers, and we welcomed the leisure time that followed.
I gathered the last of the linens from the cots, and arms overflowing, I walked outside. Tillie jabbed a poker at the embers under the large steaming wash kettle.
“This is the last of them.” I placed the linens in a basket on the ground. “Where is Jane?” I glanced at Uriah, who was sweeping debris from the back veranda. “I asked her this morning to help you get these linens washed and hung.”
“Not sho’. Haven’t seen her since ’fore de soldiers left.”
I frowned and scoured the grounds. Jane hadn’t proven to be the helpful sort, and I wondered why she had remained employed by my family for so long. “We must all pull our weight around here. If you see her, please send her up to the house.”
“Yessum,” Tillie said.
I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I’m going to check on our little matter in the barn.”
So far, we’d kept Kipling out of sight, and only Big John and Tillie had been permitted to visit the barn. The fewer people in and out, the better, Jones had insisted.
“De li’l matter took a walk.”
“You can’t be serious!” I bristled.
She dropped a load of linens into the boiling water. “Took off toward de river soon after de soldiers rode outta here.”
“It’s good to see he is feeling better,” I grumbled under my breath. “Can you manage here while I go and tend to the matter?”
“Yessum,” she said with a hesitant nod. “But…”
“But what?”
“I reckon Mister Kip got tired of being cooped up in de barn. Et’s bin weeks…” Her voice drifted with the narrowing of my eyes.
“We will see about that.” Indignant, I spun on my heel and marched across the work yard in the direction of the river. Although I appreciated Tillie’s attempt to defend Kip’s risk of exposing himself and us, he’d receive a good tongue-lashing when I found him.
The usually invigorating sounds of Carolina chickadees singing and the river’s warbling current grated on my nerves as I approached the riverbank. From above, I regarded Kipling standing on the rocky bank below with his arms extended and his face tilted to the sky, letting the morning sun wash over him.
Rocks skidded and fell as I climbed down the bank, alerting him to my presence. He spun around with his hands positioned and ready to take on an attacker.
“It’s just me,” I said. “And you’re lucky it is. What were you thinking, exposing yourself?” I stormed toward him.
His eyes widened. “Your guests have left. I needed fresh air and to feel the sun on my flesh. One can only handle the dreariness of the barn and the smell of horses for so long.”
“I understand that, but it isn’t safe.” I surveyed our surroundings. “You never know who is watching. The Home Guards come out of nowhere.”
“I am aware of that. Have you forgotten they’re the ones that attacked my patrol on the road?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “How do you expect Southerners to act? Our plantations are looted by Federal troops. Beaufort citizens were forced to abandon their homes and the town. Now both Beaufort and Port Royal have been seized by the US Army. Not only do I have to worry about the Federals coming here, but also new Confederate soldiers or folks from neighboring plantations who could ride in here at any time. We must take all precautions. We’ve kept you hidden from most folks here on this plantation, and I intend to keep it that way until you’ve recovered enough to get you out.”
“I’m leaving today,” he said.
“Today?” I dropped my arms. “You’re hardly fit to return to the battlefield.”
“I’ll manage. I’ll head out under the cover of night.” He took my hands in his. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me, and I won’t put you in anymore danger.” His eyes roved over my face. “Thank you, Willow. Not only for your help but for your friendship.”
“You will always have my friendship,” I said. “If you’re to leave, you won’t do it on foot. I will see you get back to Point Royal.”
I turned to leave, and he held onto my hand. “No.” The intensity in his voice carried, and he lowered his tone. “I won’t allow you—”
“You don’t really have a choice. I will deliver you to Point Royal. And that’s that.” I pulled free of his grip and strode to the foot of the knoll before looking back. “We leave when darkness falls and the plantation settles. Until then, can you please make yourself scarce?”
He closed the distance between us in three strides. “Fine. We will do this your way.” He grinned down at me. “Maybe I’m the fortunate one, and Bowden is the unlucky bastard.”
I scowled at him. “What are you referring to?”
“You’re a lot of woman to manage, and imperious as they come.”
I balled my hands on my hips. “Well, I’ll have you know—”
He chuckled, and I sensed I’d played right into his hands.
“Oh, you.” I waved a hand in dismissal before turning to scale the bank. “I have little patience for your teasing.”
His merriment continued as he darted ahead to offer me a hand up. I dug in my heels and swatted his hand away. “You’re impossible.”
I reached the top and, without waiting, swerved to walk back to the plantation.
A rustling noise snatched my attention, and I froze.
“What is it?” he said.
With an eerie sensation that we were being watched, I scoured the trees lining the pathway. At a flash of movement, Kipling sprinted forward. Someone let out a squeal, and I homed in on a person as they took off running. My heart clenched as I recognized the red-flowered head rag. Jane. Had she been spying on us? If so, why? I charged after Kipling as he bounded through the trees.
He caught up and seized her by the back of the collar, pulling her to a halt.
“Get off of me.” She swatted at him, her eyes alight with terror.
He spun her around and eyed me as I reached them. “She from around here?”
“Unhand me this instant.” Defiance shone in her eyes. “I’m not one of the slaves to be handled in such a manner.”
He glanced to me for instruction.
“Jane and her husband are staying with us. They managed our townhouse in Charleston until the fire took it.”
He released her and stepped back. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with sincerity. “Wasn’t sure who was spying on us.”
She glowered at him before turning her displeasure on me. “You welcome the enemy into your home and offer him protection?”
I gawked at her, my heart thudding with mounting panic.
Jane gestured at Kipling but kept her gaze trained on me. “The day I caught you coming from the barn, disheveled and looking like you had bedded with the animals, I had my suspicions you were hiding something. Tried to follow you the night you left the celebration up at the house to sneak down to the barn, but Uriah interfered, and I never got to see for myself what lured you there. Then just this morning, I caught Tillie entering the barn with a satchel and leaving empty-handed soon after. Imagine my surprise when I slipped in and hid in the shadows to overhear Mr. Jones having a conversation with him.” She nudged her head at Kipling without so much as a sideways glance. “Didn’t take overhearing but a few w
ords to know that this here man is a Federal soldier.”
“He is my friend.” My defense sounded futile to my own ears.
“That may have well been before war broke out. And Union soldiers encroached on South Carolina soil,” she said with an upturn of her chin.
“Jane, please…what if this was your son?”
“Leave my boy out of this.”
I ignored her and pressed forward with my plea. “What if the war persists and Lincoln is forced to allow blacks to enlist? Your son could very well be him.” I motioned at Kipling, who stood gawking from me to Jane.
She crossed her arms and looked away, but I sensed her mind was scrambling.
“You’ve been employed by my family—”
“It does not matter. I can’t condone your actions. Keeping your secret to hide a Union soldier is something I can’t turn a blind eye to.”
“Am I missing something here?” Kipling said. Jane turned to look at him, and he directed his words to her. “The Union fights to free you from slavery.”
She squared her shoulders. “As I stated, I’m not one of Mrs. Armstrong’s slaves. I am a free woman. Born free.”
His brow furrowed. “Am I to believe that because you have never felt the chains of bondage, you’ve chosen to disregard the injustices the blacks suffer by turning a blind eye?” He tossed the idiocy of her claim back in her face, and she winced.
“I care about the conservation of the South. My granddaddy was a freed man and overseer to one of the most prestigious families of South Carolina, as was Father. He taught me to see myself as removed from the Africans brought to work our lands.”
“Unbelievable.” Kipling’s face reddened. “How can you in good conscience dismiss what is happening in this country to your own kind?”
“I am free…” she stammered.
“You may be free, but that ensures nothing. You are as black as any slave. You are denied rights and regarded as the minority by the whites,” he said with exasperation. “Surely such injustice doesn’t sit well with you?”