by Naomi Finley
I sensed eyes on me and looked at the grinning soldier in the cot next to me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be ratting on ya. I want out of here as bad as you, and Clem is worse than a doting mother.”
“You can say that again.” I wiggled into my coat and hurried to button it.
“If all my hard work and endless hours of caring for you were in vain, I won’t be pleased,” Clementine’s disapproving voice called from behind me.
The soldier and I shared a look, and he chuckled before shaking his head. “Better you than me.”
I fixed my jaw and swung to face Clementine.
“It’s too soon for you to be bouncing around on a wagon seat.”
I knew she was right, but the need to see Knox safely home and to relish a moment or two with my wife would see my mission through. I donned my hat before inclining my head. “I thank you for your service. May we never meet again, and if so, may we find each other in good health.”
That drew a small smile from the girl. She tilted her nose up. “On that, we can agree.”
I rested a hand on her thin shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Clementine,” I said before swerving past her and marching toward the exit.
“It’s Clem,” she said after me.
I waved a hand in dismissal.
Outside, I found the wagon ready. Knox lay in the back, swaddled on a bed of furs, his eyes closed and appearing more haggard and paler in the sunlight than he’d looked in the dim light of the tent.
I straightened at Jack’s approach and saluted him. “Lieutenant Barry.”
“At ease, soldier,” he said.
I eyed the four soldiers standing in his shadow. He stepped aside and gestured at the men. “Private Palmer and these men will accompany you to the station.”
“Much obliged,” I said.
Jack approached the wagon and stood regarding Knox. I studied his face and caught a glimpse of the young man I had peeled off Parker in the work yard after he had attacked him because of the affections he held for Kimie.
As quick as Jack’s vulnerability surfaced, he shuffled it away, cleared his throat, and took a step back. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” I dipped my head in homage to my superior. “He is my friend.”
He offered a light smile and capped my shoulder. “Please send my love to Whitney, and if you see Kimie…” His voice drifted.
“I will.”
Pain radiated, and dizziness blurred my vision as I clambered into the wagon. I seated myself and gripped the reins as one of the soldiers climbed up next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the spinning. It would take more than a miracle to return home safely.
“You all right?” Jack said, looking up at me.
I looked down at him. “Never better. The faster we get to the station, the sooner I’ll relax.”
“God speed.” He tipped his hat. “And thank you.”
It was to him I owed the thanks, but I gave him one last nod and urged the team forward.
Willow
June 1862
THE EARLY MORNING CRACK OF distant cannons and gunfire propelled my heart into my throat, and I sat upright in bed, dazed and heavy with sleep. My mind struggled to sort reality from the beautiful dream I had been dreaming of traversing Paris’s streets with my husband and Callie. The veil between the dream world and the present faded as the next explosion of gunfire shot me back into the nightmare of the war. I kicked back the blankets and darted to the window; pressing my face against the pane, I strained to observe the horizon.
“I can’t see where it’s coming from,” I said into the darkness. I slipped on a night-robe, lit the lantern and, light in hand, raced from the chamber.
I collided with a groggy Whitney in the hallway, and we clutched each other to steady ourselves.
“That sounded closer than usual.” Concern reflected in her eyes as she glanced at the front window at the end of the corridor.
We darted for the staircase as Pippa raced from her chamber, and together we descended to the main floor.
“It sounds like it’s coming from the direction of Secessionville,” someone said from the parlor.
I shone the lantern into the parlor, where the soldiers who could pull themselves into a sitting position had their eyes on the horizon. Their expressions were anxious.
Mammy and Big John stood in the open front door. I hurried past them and stepped out onto the veranda as Jones and Jimmy raced around the house.
“Do you think they’ve attacked Secessionville?” I asked Jones, joining him and Jimmy as Tillie and Pete arrived with their son. The boy clutched his mother’s hand, whimpering, his eyes wide with fear.
“That would be my guess. Looks like they intend to attack Charleston by land.”
“But the marshes would make such an attack difficult and prolonged,” I said.
“Whatever is happening, it appears the war is on our doorstep.” Jones turned, his shaggy gray brows lowered with concern. “It’s best we prepare for any blue coats that creep over the horizon.”
“What are we to do now, Missus Willow?” Tillie said.
I shifted from Jones to address the folks gathering in the yard, fear in their faces. “We do as Jones said. If Union soldiers come here, they will imprison or kill the men inside without hesitation. Stay alert, and if you see any movement coming from the tree lines and marshes, you’re to inform us at once.”
“Yessum,” a chorus of voices replied.
“What about the attic space?” Whitney gripped my arm and said in a low voice. “We can hide the soldiers there.”
“It’s best the space remains our secret as long as necessary. Besides, the room isn’t meant to hold but three or four men. We have eight.”
“Then we choose which ones we hide.” As she voiced the words that had already played in my mind, I flinched. “What?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why am I always the monster?”
“You aren’t,” I said. “You say nothing I haven’t already considered. It just sounds harsher when spoken.”
Her hackles lowered. “War forces one to do the unthinkable.”
“If it comes to that, and it may not, we hide the officers.”
“To choose what life is more important than the next…” Pippa rubbed the chill from her arms while looking back at the house, where soldiers incapable of joining us pressed anxious faces against the windowpanes. “Are we now to play God? If my husband lay inside, he would not be considered worthy of saving.”
“Your husband would be saved before mine,” Whitney said, no judgment in her voice, merely awareness. “At least yours is a doctor, and the army needs all the medical help they can get. Knox is a recruit with no army training.”
“Let’s hope we are spared from making such a grim decision.” I touched Pippa’s arm.
“You heard Mrs. Armstrong,” Jones bellowed. “Regardless of what approaches, we all must eat and prepare for the day at hand. Keep your eyes open.”
Quarter folks wandered off with their heads tucked together in conversation.
“Should have run when we had a chance,” a quarter woman said to her man, twenty years or so her senior.
“My legs ain’t what dey used to be, woman. I reckon I die here. All my people lay in dat dere graveyard anyhow…” Their voices faded as they rounded the corner of the house.
As I walked back inside, I considered their words and the despondency in their souls. Hope and faith in a better tomorrow had been the one thing I had clung to, but for them, did tomorrow hold something more promising?
By midmorning, the battle that had awakened the plantation had settled, and the countryside lay quiet in the aftermath of whatever had taken place.
Days later, Mr. Sterling arrived and informed us that the Union had attacked the village of Secessionville in hopes of capturing Charleston, but the Confederates had been victorious.
“One could assume they will turn their strategies to capturing Charleston from the sea.” Mr. Sterli
ng sat next to me on the front veranda.
I leaned in to refill his glass with whiskey. “Is there any news of General Johnston and his men?”
He fumbled with the dusty hat resting on his knee. “General Johnston was wounded in the Battle of Fair Oaks, and General Robert E. Lee was his replacement. Last I heard, Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had moved on to defend Richmond against the Army of the Potomac.”
“I never thought I’d see the day when I relied on the newspapers and vague reports from traveling peddlers to track my husband’s whereabouts.”
“Yes, well, that is the world we live in,” he said, glancing to the fields, empty of workers. “Your small number of slaves can’t make running this place easy.”
“And too many slaves would make me worry about how I could provide for us all.”
“Making this place a wayside station can’t be easy.”
I studied the wagon carrying recovered soldiers down the lane, accompanied by the volunteers sent with horses to retrieve them. “I’ve wondered if we should continue. Perhaps I acted hastily when making the decision. We need more food and supplies, but the army sends less with each shipment of soldiers.”
He drained his glass and stood. “I need to be on my way, but perhaps you should consider writing and requesting more rations. They can’t expect you to provide that which you don’t have.” He pulled his hat down over sparse gray hair.
I rose and walked him to his horse. “As always, I enjoyed your company, and thanks for the information you bring. Your service in keeping folks informed can be devastating in one way, while it keeps our hopes alive in another.”
He swung onto his horse. “We all must do what we can.”
“Be careful out there.” I peered up at him.
He smiled fondly, tipped his hat, and wished me a good day before galloping off after the wagon of soldiers.
THE FABRIC OF MY DRESS clung to my flesh in the heat of the afternoon. Jones and I trudged through the cotton fields, inspecting the crop.
“Our harvest will be significantly lower this year, and we must focus on trading and selling our crops locally.” He anchored his hands on his waist, stopping to view the fallow fields on the border of our property.
“Last year was less than profitable. And with the army now providing insufficient rations and medicine, I gave notice that we won’t be able to continue our care for the soldiers.” I rubbed the ache in the nape of my neck.
“Which puts us in jeopardy of having our livestock and what little we have left seized.” He dropped his hands, and we circled back toward the house.
“Jones?” I asked after several minutes had passed.
“What’s on your mind?”
“What will you do after the war? That’s if it ever ends.”
“Don’t rightfully know. It all depends on what is left when it’s over. And I reckon it also comes down to what you and Mr. Armstrong decide to do. When this is over we will be faced with a new world, despite who wins.”
“Indeed. Although I agree with the need for change, I wonder what it will mean for our country. If the Confederates win, I fear the repercussions for the blacks and how much harder their lives will become. If Lincoln wins…”
The sound of an approaching wagon drew our gazes to the lane. Next to the driver, who appeared to be an older man with hunched shoulders, sat another man. I squinted to get a better view but couldn’t make out who approached.
“Shall we go and see who they may be?” I looked up at Jones, who eyed the visitors in his usual dubious manner.
“It doesn’t look like soldiers. And, whoever it is, they don’t appear to be in a hurry,” he said and quickened his pace to the house. I hurried after him.
As we drew near, my heart sped up. A soft cry escaped me. “Bowden…” Yes, it was him. “It’s Bowden.” My legs found renewed strength, and gathering the sides of my dress, I dashed past Jones in a full sprint.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said, and it may have been my own happiness tainting my perception, but I believe I detected relief and joy in his voice.
I reached the front yard as the driver pulled the wagon to a halt.
“Lard be praised, et Masa Bowden.” Mammy waddled out onto the veranda, accompanied by Whitney and Pippa.
Quarter and house folk entered the front yard to see what all the fuss was about.
“Et’s Masa Bowden, all right,” Pete said.
A cry of delight erupted.
I hurried to greet Bowden, but as I drew near, I noticed how he slumped forward, cradling his middle as he stepped onto the wagon spokes to climb down.
“Bowden?” I put my hands up to assist him.
“Here, Missus, let me help.” Pete raced toward us and offered his assistance.
When Bowden’s feet touched the ground, he pushed our hands away and said in a weighted voice, “I’m all right.” But he didn’t seem all right. He gripped the wagon to steady himself.
“Are you injured?” I asked.
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” He looked past me to Big John, who stood waiting for instruction. “Big John, my friend, I need your help…” His words drifted as Whitney walked toward us as if in a trance, with her gaze trained on the bed of the wagon.
“Is that Knox?” Her voice sounded hollow with fear.
“I’m afraid so. He’s alive, but I don’t know for how much longer. He’s in dire need of rest and care.”
Whitney let out a soft moan and elbowed past us in her urgency to get to her husband.
“Pete,” Bowden said with a grunt, placing a hand to his middle. “You will need two strong men to move the brute.”
“Dere ain’t none left, Masa. Jus’ ol’ folk, Parker, and me.”
“Mind who you’re calling old. We got all the help we need.” Jones joined us and strode to the back of the wagon.
Whitney had climbed up into the wagon and moved to cradle her husband’s head in her lap. “Knox…it’s me. I’m here.” Silent tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she stroked his hair. I fought back tears. “Everything will be all right. Big John will see you’re cared for. You will be up and tormenting everyone before you know it.” Her shoulders shook and I heard faint sobs.
Pete and Jones lifted him from the wagon, and Big John and Parker stepped in to assist.
“Take him to the library. The army has agreed they would improve the mens’ rations when possible, but we aren’t expecting a new shipment of soldiers until the end of the week,” I said as they shuffled past me. I turned to Bowden. “Come, let’s get you inside. You look ready to collapse. Pippa, can you help me?”
She swept forward in her usual graceful way, and Bowden set his stubbornness aside and slung an arm around each of our shoulders. My concern mounted as he clenched his jaw to stifle the pain as we moved toward the veranda. Once inside, he dropped his arms and brushed us away as though annoyed at his weakness.
“Thank you, ladies,” he said, glancing over my head into the parlor. His brow furrowed, and he shuffled to the threshold. He paused and clutched the frame for balance while eyeing the empty cots inside. “It smells of sickness in here.” His voice lacked emotion.
Pippa looked at me and nodded before taking her leave.
I walked to my husband’s side. He stood staring blankly into the parlor as though his mind had transported him somewhere else. “Bowden?” I touched his arm, and he jumped. My hand slid to my throat at the haunted look in his eyes.
He swiped a trembling hand over his face and shook his head as if to dislodge whatever had occupied his mind, and turned to me with a tender, fixed smile. “I’ve longed to see you again,” he said softly. “You look more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you.”
I smoothed back the tendrils escaping my combs, all too aware of the dust that coated my dress and face. “I think the war has tainted your memory.”
His smile deepened, but I saw the underlying fatigue. “It may have in some ways, but not my love for you.” He leaned back a
gainst the doorframe and held out a hand. “Does a wife not have any affection for her husband?”
I stepped into his arms and rested my cheek on his shoulder. I wanted to absorb his warmth and love, but fearful of hurting him I placed my hands gently on his lower back.
“I’ve missed you terribly,” he said into my hair, inhaling deeply. “I’ve missed your smell, the softness of your body, and the warmth of your embrace.” His voice fractured with rising passion.
Tears welled in my eyes, and I thanked God for his safe return. I leaned back to look into his face before gazing longingly at his lips. He lowered his head and kissed me, softly at first and then with a fierceness that made my body tremble. Our embrace tightened, and I removed his hat, letting it fall to the floor before tangling my fingers in his hair. I ached to be loved and caressed by him.
Someone cleared their throat, and we broke our embrace. Heat washed over me when I spun to discover Mammy standing with an old blanket draped over her arm, looking at us with a toothy grin. I moved in to Bowden’s side, and he clasped my hand.
“We happy to have you home, Masa.”
“As I am to be here. Although I wish it was under different circumstances.” He glanced down the corridor to the library as Pete and Jones exited the room.
“Yes, and my John will do all he can to help Mister Tucker. Now et bes’ we git you upstairs and cleaned up,” she said. “Mister Jones, you and Pete, here, help de masa upstairs. Tillie and Missus Hendricks are preparing de water for your bath. We git you cleaned up and tend to whatever is happening dere.” She pointed at him, and I looked to his middle, where fresh blood speckled his cream cotton shirt.
“Nothing that won’t heal,” he said. “It’s a heap better than it was.”
“Well, et ain’t ’bout to. Not wid you and angel gal carrying on lak I saw when I come up. Come now.” She wiggled a crooked finger at us. Again heat swept over me, and Peter snickered before Mammy scowled at him. Growing solemn, he dropped his head. She strode forward with purpose. “We will git you bathed and in bed. Big John will see to what ails ya.” She glanced at Jones and Pete. “Well, come on now. Don’t delay. Git him upstairs.”