The Rebel Wife

by Polites, Taylor M

  “No, I don’t understand. What is all this about? I’ve just lost my husband, and you tell me I am destitute and I have to go begging to you for money? How can you be so hard-hearted?” The tears are working their way up. But I cannot cry now, not yet.

  “You made your bed when you married Eli. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “You let Mama force me into marrying him!” I feel almost as if I am choking. That I cannot get any words out. “I didn’t want to! And now you want to punish me for his sins? I thought you were kin to me. I thought you were a friend.” I stand up, trembling. I can barely hold myself upright. The tears come. Tears of hot rage from my eyes, not weakness, like Judge would think.

  Judge stands and comes to me from behind the desk. “Now, now,” he says in a calmer voice. He reaches a hand out to my shoulder. He feels guilty, that is clear, and I cannot let the advantage go.

  “I don’t think I’m asking for anything outrageous. Just a little money so that I can go away for the summer. And with the sickness,” I say, a handkerchief to my face. Yes, the sickness, too. “I saw a woman collapse at the mill, covered in blood. And to be spoken to like this. To be followed—and by Buck! You act as if you hate me!”

  Judge lays a cold hand on my arm and I shudder away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I spoke too passionately. I thought you were—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Here, take some money.” He goes to his desk and pulls out some bills. “Here’s fifty dollars. More than enough to get you and your family up to Monte Sano. Why don’t you go up there with Bama? You’ll feel better once you’re away.”

  He looks at me as if he is truly concerned. “You’re tired,” he says. “You need to rest. Why don’t you go home, and I’ll have Greer come to see you.”

  “Ask Dr. Greer, Judge,” I say. “Ask him what it was like with Eli.”

  “I know all that already. I don’t need to ask Greer anything. You are beginning to get me worried. I’ll send Buck over to keep you company. I want you to be good friends now. The past is the past.”

  “No, I don’t want to see him. I need to get away from Albion. To get out of that house.”

  He walks me out of his office to the narrow stairs. The colored boy is sitting up on the bench, rubbing his eyes. He watches as Judge takes hold of me and walks me down each step. We are pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. I gather my skirts so I do not trip on them.

  “There is nothing wrong with the house. Or you. Or Henry. Or the servants. You are all fine. We will get you up to Monte Sano if that will make you happy. As soon as things are worked out down here, Buck and I will join you. Would you like that?”

  We reach the bottom step. He leads me outside into the heat and light.

  “Yes. I think Monte Sano would be the right place for now.”

  “That’s right,” he says, keeping his hand on my arm. “Now go on home, and I’ll send Greer over to you to give you something to calm your nerves.”

  The sunlight is almost blinding. Simon stands at the curb, waiting with the carriage reins in his hands. Judge gives a start when he sees Simon, then recovers himself. He hands me into the buggy without acknowledging Simon, even though Simon nods to him and says, “Sir.” I lean back against the seat, fanning myself, watching Simon as he mounts the horse.

  “Get some rest, Augusta,” Judge says through the slats of the carriage bonnet. “You’ll be up in Monte Sano before you know it.” The horse starts and the carriage pulls away. We round the square. I don’t need to look back. He will already be gone up to his office, scribbling notes for his Negro runner to take to the doctor and Bama. To go to Monte Sano. When we all know there is far more than fifty dollars somewhere.

  Simon turns the buggy onto Greene Street, and trees reach their long arms over us.

  “I’ll take the carriage to the back, ma’am?” Simon has read my mind. After the ugly things Judge said, I should avoid exposing myself.

  “Yes, Simon. Please.” We turn up Elm Street and then onto the narrow lane that divides the homes facing Pulaski Street from the ones on Greene Street. The dirt path leads to outbuildings—carriage houses and stables and servants’ quarters that mostly show neglect, with weatherworn clapboard where the paint has peeled, broken windows and shutters, or loose shingles. The gardens aren’t so much gardens as weed beds, untended flowers and hedges choked out by loosestrife and chickweed. We turn in to the back of my house, and Simon stops the carriage before the open stable doors. Big John sits in the shadows of the stable, polishing harnesses. He salutes us as Simon climbs down from the horse.

  “Simon?” I say. He holds my hand as I step down onto the grass.

  “Yes, ma’am?” His voice is quiet.

  “He knows. He suspected something. I don’t think he suspects anymore, but he did.” The harness John is polishing makes an irregular jingling noise that sounds like pennies in a can.

  Simon’s eyes dart to John and back. “What did he say?” Simon whispers. John can’t possibly hear us.

  “He said I should fall back on my own resources. He thinks—or he thought—I have money hidden away. Do you think he meant the package?”

  Everything is quiet except for the jingle of the harness in John’s hands. Simon’s voice is grave, as it always is.

  “Perhaps. I don’t know. But we should assume he did and act accordingly.”

  “Act like what?”

  “Act like we have no idea about the package. And that all you are interested in is going to Monte Sano.”

  John has not looked up at us once. He sits with the side of his face to us and works slowly and methodically, rubbing down the long leather straps with oil and polishing the metal fittings. He must know that we are here.

  I lower my voice to a whisper, watching John. “I am interested in going much further than Monte Sano. But where could it be? You’ve searched everywhere, and it’s not at the mill.”

  Simon looks into the barn at John with the same impassive expression. “Maybe I didn’t look well enough,” he whispers. “Emma and Rachel were always around. I didn’t want to raise any questions. Ask me to pack up Eli’s things upstairs. Sort through his clothes. Then I’ll have a reason to spend more time in the house.”

  “Shh. Here comes Emma.”

  She rushes from the kitchen down the path by the carriage house. “Miss Gus,” she calls. “The doctor’s here to see you.”

  “How did he get here so quickly?” Judge must have runners with wings.

  Simon shakes his head and looks back at Emma. The harness stops jingling, and John looks up.

  Emma is breathing hard from hurrying. “He’s in the front parlor. I didn’t think you were home, but he said you would be soon. I don’t know how he knew.”

  “He was informed. Like Buck said, Judge knows everything.”

  Emma looks at me curiously. Simon frowns. I’m being too cryptic.

  “I’ll go to him. Simon, can you look through Mr. Branson’s things for me? It’s time we got that sorted out.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Simon says. He follows me and Emma into the house. The faint jingle of the harness begins again.

  Fifteen

  GREER’S FAT HAND, PALE and dotted with red freckles, holds my wrist. A thick finger presses into my vein. He looks at his watch while he counts under his breath.

  “How have you been feeling, Gus?” he asks as he drops my hand. “Judge seemed very concerned about you.” Amber sunlight streams through the parlor windows.

  “I’ve been fine. Very fine. It’s so good of you both to be so concerned about me. Everything here is fine.”

  “No more attacks? No episodes of neuralgia? You can’t be too careful, especially with your history.” Greer sits in a chair near mine. His black kit sits openmouthed on the small table between us. The sunlight burnishes his hair and shines golden off his liver-spotted forehead.

  “No, nothing at all.”

  “Even this afternoon? Judge said you seemed... not
yourself. Agitated and frightened.” Greer’s eye is skeptical. Damn Judge and his notes.

  “Yes, this afternoon. I suppose I was a little worried. But it’s nothing for you to bother about. You must be so busy with people who are truly sick. Not just ladies with nervous disorders.” I laugh dismissively. Greer keeps his eye on me.

  “There is no lack of ladies in Albion subject to some sort of nervous disorder, that is certain. And I take their cases as seriously as every other ailment I see. You are far from alone, and you should take your condition seriously, too.”

  “Oh, I do, Doctor, honestly. And I have Emma here to help me. I can assure you I’m perfectly well. Surely you have more important cases to attend to than mine.” The sun slants directly across me. Even in its weakness, it holds heat. I dab my handkerchief at the perspiration at my temples. Greer’s gaze of concern annoys me. I wish he would go.

  “I am very busy, Gus, but I was in the neighborhood when I got Judge’s note and thought I’d drop in and see how you were.”

  “Is someone sick?”

  “It’s this heat. It seems to be affecting everyone.”

  “Like Eli?”

  “No, Gus. Not at all. Nothing like Eli. Where did you get such an idea? Judge said you had some story about a fever.” Greer almost glowers at me, as if I have been diagnosing cases and playing doctor across the county.

  “There was a woman. At the mill at Three Forks. She seemed... she seemed to be sick like Eli was.”

  “That infernal mill. I’m sorry. I’m sick of hearing about it. Enough of it. I’m headed out there tomorrow with the mayor and aldermen for an inspection. This story of yours has caught on. You didn’t hear it from anyone?”

  “No, Doctor. Why do they want to do an inspection?” The hair bristles on my neck and a cold chill moves down my spine. The charm is in my pocket. I feel it through my dress.

  “It’s an absurdity, to be perfectly honest.” Greer huffs and leans forward with his hands on his knees. He looks out the window, almost directly into the sunlight. “A complete absurdity. Whenever politicians are involved, things end by being mucked up. There is a lot of talk about sickness out at the mill.”

  “I saw it!” I lean forward, and Greer leans back, almost affronted.

  “We’re in the midst of some terribly hot weather, Gus. When it gets hot, people become ill. There’s nothing unusual about that.” He shakes his head. He is perspiring, too. It glistens in his long red whiskers.

  “Of course,” I say. “Of course.” A puff of air stirs the thin curtains. The mantel clock ticks. Greer looks at the floor and then at his open kit. He pulls it toward him, looking inside as if he is looking for something he has forgotten.

  “Did you—Dr. Greer, did you end up investing in the mill?” I ask the question as carelessly as I can.

  Greer keeps his eyes on the case. “Yes, a little bit. Just to stick my toes in the water, you know.” He snaps the case shut.

  “Are there many other investors—besides you and Judge, I mean?”

  “I’m not sure what it matters.”

  “I’m an investor, now, too. And these things are new to me—I don’t understand them at all. Eli never explained them to me. I thought you might be able to help me.” I fold my hands in my lap.

  He is embarrassed or perhaps surprised. “Well, of course,” he says, taking his eyes from his kit to look at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Please, you didn’t offend me. It’s only with Hill gone—and Mama and now Eli. I just don’t know who will take care of these things. And Mike. What will become of him?”

  “Augusta,” he says, and he lays a thick, sweaty hand over mine. His whiskers wag at me. “Judge will handle it all. Don’t you worry. He’s going to take care of everything.”

  “I know he will. But he’s not so young anymore, either. And if he...” I leave it hanging.

  “He’s got a lot more years in him, for sure. You’re worrying yourself too much, is all, Gus. No wonder you have these nervous attacks. You worry yourself. Now, look, when Eli started the mill, both Judge and I took a piece. So there’s nobody who cares more about that mill than me and Judge.” He hesitates. He is waiting for me to agree. “Excepting yourself.”

  I smile gratefully. “I know. Thank you. I just wish that Hill were here.”

  Greer gives a heavy sigh and casts his eyes down. His hand rests on my arm. The heat makes it difficult to even speak. “Your pa was a fine man. You know that. Hill was, too. He was such a good soldier. A real Spartan. One of the finest I knew during the war.”

  I nod and smile. Those memories of Hill. Like my thoughts of Buck. Who were we then? Simon was at the Battle of Nashville. Imagine him being so close to Hill without even knowing it—but on different sides.

  “What did they fight for, after all?” I say it aloud without thinking.

  Greer puffs up, ready for a speech. He pulls his hand away. “They fought for us. For you. He made Albion proud. And would have made your pa proud. He did honor to the name of Sedlaw.”

  Would Pa have been proud? Or wanted the war the way Judge wanted it? They were so different. Sworn enemies. Would Pa have encouraged Hill to fight?

  “At Murfreesboro he led the charge through those frozen fields again and again. It was the New Year and bitter, bitter cold. Right into the guns of the enemy, he charged. Right across those fields and into the woods, where the Yankees sat waiting. The lines were torn up. All those boys. But he never shrank back. He was brave, your brother. Like Buck. The both of them, wild and fearless.”

  Greer looks through the windows to Greene Street and beyond it to those battlefields that are scarred into his mind. The wound from the grapeshot throbs, a red slash across his pale face, almost pulsing with the blood from each beat of his heart. After a moment his cheeks sag, and his eyes become vacant. So odd, the way we find it so difficult to keep our minds in the present.

  “Gus,” he says, “I’m going to give you a mild dose to calm you, and then I’ll have to be on my way.” He opens his kit again and pulls out a small blue bottle like the one upstairs. The blue glass winks at me in the fading light. “I can leave this with you if you need it.” He smiles.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Maybe a small dose. Something to help me through. But I must talk to Simon. The money. A small dose I can manage. And another bottle. If we travel, laudanum might be hard to come by. “No, I shouldn’t.”

  “Now, Gus, I insist. We can’t have you wrecking your health with all this worry. And in this heat. You should think of going away for a while. Is Emma nearby?” He moves to the parlor door and calls for her. “Emma! A glass of water for Miss Gus.”

  He comes back to stand over me, holding the blue bottle. The sunlight flashes on it in his hand as he gestures in wide circles. A flash of white, then blue. Bright white, then blue.

  “I don’t have to tell you how to administer this, but you know you should be careful with it. It’s perfectly safe in the right doses. And just the cure you need right now. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Just a small dose, then. To calm me.”

  “That’s better. That’s a good girl.”

  Emma brings the glass to Greer, her eyes downcast. She doesn’t look at me, but she sees the bottle in his hand. A drop. Two. Thin opalescent ribbons that spread through the clear water. Though the perfume is faint, it penetrates, bittersweet. Greer holds the glass to my lips. “That’s right. Just a small dose to calm you.”

  I take it in my hands and drink. Yes, the bitterness. I can taste it. I wait a moment. The medicine does its job quickly.

  “Can you help Miss Gus upstairs, Emma?” Greer asks. He snaps his case shut. “I’ll check in on you tomorrow, my dear. And don’t fret about the mill. I’ll handle everything there.”

  “Oh, Miss Gus,” Emma says. I want to laugh at her expression. I don’t know why it strikes me as funny. I laugh softly. Under my breath. I think I am laughing.

  “Goodbye, Doctor,” I call after G
reer. He is outside now. Isn’t he? He’s gone out the door, vanished. Away down the street to those sick people. All sick from this heat. Sweating themselves away. Sweating God knows what.

  Emma takes me by the arm and helps me out of the chair. She has to gather my skirts up so I don’t step on them as we go up the stairs. Like when Eli was sick and I ripped out my hem. Poor Eli.

  “It’s like Jesus in the garden, Emma,” I say. “Jesus in Gethsemane.” Emma nods and I laugh again. “He sweat out blood in Gethsemane. He knew something terrible was happening to him. That it was going to happen.” Emma hushes me like a child. I can’t help laughing again.

  There’s Simon at Eli’s door, like some kind of specter.

  “Is it like that for you, Simon? Like Jesus in Gethsemane—always knowing something terrible will happen?” I smile at him. “Did you find the money, Simon?”

  Simon isn’t laughing. He doesn’t think it’s funny. Emma looks at him and then at me, him and then me. With those sad eyes of hers. Poor Emma. She always has such sad eyes. Those babies of hers, lost. Like Hill was lost. Poor Hill, taken away in his prime, fighting like a wild man on those frozen fields of Nashville. Like my poor child.

  The wallpaper is pretty. Pink ribbons and roses, climbing up the wall together.

  I am in bed and I do not even know how I got here. Two of the little blue bottles are next to me. A richness of this medicine. Should I take more? My mind works. In spite of the draught. I cannot stop thinking of Hill. If he were here, I would not feel so alone. If he were here, none of this ever would have happened. Dying on that frozen field, alone like me. He would not have let this happen.

  My fingers feel numb. And my feet. Is it working? Should I take more? If Hill were here. His face, so handsome. Fair, where Mike and I have dark hair and eyes. The winter was so cold when we saw him last. He must have been so cold out there in the camps, on the battlefields. But he would fight. It was his duty. The Cause. What cause?