“Where is the home of Rachel Simmons?” They look at one another and then back at me. One of them nods in the direction of a small wood-frame house and tips his cap to me.
A pile of bricks serves as a step up to the open door of what is hardly more than a shanty. In the half-light, I can make out a few pieces of rude furniture on a gap-planked floor, a small hearth, and a rope bed in one corner. Rachel is on her knees, working to untie the ropes, with Little John standing beside her watching. The walls are lined with bundles of dried herbs and jars of powder like an apothecary.
“Rachel, I’m so glad you’re still here.”
“Miss Gus, ma’am,” she says as she stands up, brushing the dirt off her apron. “What are you doing here?” Little John looks at me, blinking and smiling.
“I’m sorry to bother you like this. I just—I wanted to give you something before you go. It’s not much. But maybe you can trade it for something.” I take the gold chain from my pocket and hold it out to her. She looks at it.
“Ma’am?” she says.
“Please, Rachel. Take it.”
She holds out her hand, and the chain pools into her pale yellow palm. The gold shines brightly in the dusky room. “You don’t need to give me this—”
“Yes, I do. I should have paid you something. Eli never would have let you leave empty-handed. And I want you to have this as well.” I pull the gun from my other pocket. The shiny Remington with inlaid horn of black and white on the grip.
Rachel takes it by the barrel and turns it to grasp it by the butt with her other hand. She looks at it. She smiles. Her eyes are gold-colored, with flecks of pale green and brown. They shimmer like the chain in her hand.
“I wish you the best of luck, Rachel. I know you’ll make your way out there.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” she says. “Thank you.” She steps forward in a rush and takes hold of me, hugging me so tight that I can feel her strength.
“Miss Gus, you have got to leave town, too. Right away,” she whispers into my ear, then leans back and looks me in the eye.
“I know.”
Rachel shakes her head. She puts the chain and gun in a small bundle tied with a bandanna. “Just take you and your boy and go. Emma, too. The sickness here is bad. You can’t see it, but it’s here. You shouldn’t even be in this part of town.”
“Eli died from it. I was with him. We were all with him. Maybe we can’t get it?”
“None of us touched it, ma’am. His blood. You didn’t, either. But don’t be fooled. It’s a slow creeper, this sickness. And it respects nobody. It ain’t going to stop until its work is done. This is God’s work, ma’am.”
“God’s work? How can you say such a thing?”
Rachel’s face loses all expression, but her eyes scintillate. “God’s work. That’s what I said. Just like in Pharaoh’s time, God sent ten plagues to punish Pharaoh for holding people in bondage. It’s our time now. God’s people know enough to run ahead of the plague. You should, too. The first plague was blood, ma’am. You know enough of your Bible to remember that. This is a sin that’s being paid.”
“Rachel, that’s all in the past.”
“Ain’t nothing in the past, Miss Gus. You look at Emma. You look at her hard and close, and you tell me slavery ain’t still a sin that has to be paid. You look at her.”
My tongue feels thick and dry in my mouth. The rivers and seas turned to blood. That’s what happened in the Bible.
“Don’t wait for nothing, ma’am. Just go.”
“Thank you, Rachel. I will.” Outside, I turn back to look at her once more. “Thank you, Rachel,” I say again.
She follows me into the light with the bundle under one arm, holding Little John’s hand. The men are staring at us. One of them calls across the street to Rachel. “You done already? Where’s your man at? We’ve got to get going.” They shift on their feet anxiously, looking around at the quiet shanties. They are eager to be gone.
She walks toward them. “He’ll be along directly. Don’t worry. He had one last thing to do,” she says.
Simon waves at Rachel, and she waves back as she stuffs the bundle into a half-empty wagon. He helps me into the carriage and leads the horse around. He keeps the horse moving slowly, then mounts the step with one foot as the other leg swings away. He climbs in beside me, takes the whip and touches the horse’s back, but pulls on the reins suddenly. Rachel is calling out to us.
“Miss Gus, wait!” She rushes up to the side of the carriage, waving a fist that has tiny strands of gold leaking from it. “I can’t take this, ma’am. I want you to take it back.” She is beside the carriage and takes my hand, forcing the chain into my gloved palm.
“Rachel, I insist.”
“No, ma’am. You need it as much as I do. I’m keeping the gun, though.” She smiles, though it fades quickly. “And ma’am. I’m sorry to say this. You can’t imagine how it hurts me, but John, my husband John, he’s been working for Mr. Heppert, too. I don’t know what he’s been doing for him, he won’t tell me, but I don’t think that you should trust him, ma’am. Mr. Heppert, that is. I don’t think you should trust him at all.”
My eyes meet Simon’s. We both look at Rachel.
“That’s all I know,” she says. “Honest, Simon. That’s all I know.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” I say as a chill comes over me. “Goodbye. And Godspeed.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” Simon says. “I’ll see you in Nashville.” He clucks to the horse. Rachel steps back from the carriage, and we ride away.
Simon urges the horse into a fast trot. His jaw is set and his lips are a grim line. We cross back over the tracks. The people have gone, mostly. Just a few are gathered outside the depot, but now the doors are wide open, and many of the windows are smashed in. Papers litter the street, tickets and blank forms trailing where the rioters must have tossed them as they ransacked the depot.
Simon’s face is tired. His jaw seems to sag and his eyes are haggard.
“John has been working for Judge. That is how Judge knew everything. He betrayed us,” I say.
“I don’t know. It may not have been a choice for him,” Simon responds. He doesn’t look at me.
“What else could he have been doing for Judge?”
Simon almost snorts. He gives his head a faint shake.
“You don’t think he was watching me?” I ask.
“Oh, he was watching you, and probably more than you.”
“Watching all of us? He was watching Eli.”
Simon’s hands clench and unclench on the reins. “Yes, ma’am. I suspect.”
“He’s looking for the money. He thinks I know where the money is.”
“I suspect. Yes.”
“Then they can’t have found the money if they’re still looking for it.”
“I think they’ve found it. So John is free to leave. He probably made some good money, too, to help them get on to Kansas.”
The streets are so quiet. Simon and I are the only ones foolish enough to be out. My skin tingles along my arms down to my fingertips. This dread I feel.
“How can you be sure they’ve found it?”
“Because we haven’t found it. It’s not in the house, and I don’t know where it could be. Judge must have it by now.”
We turn down Tulip Street. The cemetery is before us again. So many graves. The grave diggers are gone now. They’ve thrown the dead into a shallow hole and barely covered it before running away, too. Simon looks at the cemetery and at the row of houses on our right, their shoulders turned to us as if they don’t want to look at the cemetery, either. There is no one around. We must leave, like Rachel says. We should gather what we can and go. There is no hope. Not if Judge already has the money.
Simon sighs and shakes the reins. “The only place we haven’t searched is the mill,” he says. “Maybe Eli hid the money there. Maybe it’s still there.”
“Then we should go to the mill.”
“I’ll go tonight after
it gets dark. With the mill shut down, it should be easy. That’s the only thing I can figure.”
“I’m going with you, Simon,” I say, and I reach for his arm. “I want to go.”
He looks at me and shakes his head but doesn’t answer me. The money must be at the mill. If it’s not in the house and not at the mill, then Judge must have it. We will know tonight and then we will leave.
“How could John do such a thing?” I ask. “And for Judge? Rachel hates Judge.”
Simon snorts again and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. We are behind the carriage house, and he pulls back on the horse and puts on the brake. He turns to me, the reins clenched in a tight fist.
“Miss Gus, who do you think John’s loyalties are to? To you? To any white folks? No, ma’am. He’s got a boy and a wife, and he’s going to do whatever he needs to do to protect them. Even if that means doing Judge’s dirty work. He’s going to do what he needs to do.”
“Yes, of course. John must look out for his family. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I suspected it. I thought something strange was going on—even that day Judge came and told you about Eli’s will. I should have known then.”
He lets go of the reins, and they slip over the dashboard and trail in the dirt behind the horse.
“I should have known then. I didn’t think it was possible, either. I should have known in this world we’re in, anything is possible. We all act from fear and hate, Judge included. This place has been whipped and kicked to pieces, with all the people in it.”
He steps down from the carriage and heads into the barn, leaving me in my seat. He is frustrated and scared. We have waited too long to leave.
We will go to the mill tonight. I will go with Simon whether he likes it or not. We will find the money, and then we will leave. We must leave either way.
Twenty-one
CARPETBAGS ARE PACKED, AND Emma is making corncakes and boiling the last of the eggs. I know we will find the money. Simon agrees it will be better to travel in darkness as long as we can. We will go to my cousin Mary Lee in Winchester and from there we will see. Simon will go to Nashville. If we have the money, we will see where I go.
Dresses are everywhere. I can only take a few. Henry’s things do not take up much room. We will be back someday. I will miss this room. This house. There does not seem to be much order in the streets. The police have fled with no one to take their place. The house may be empty when we come back. The stories we heard about Athens during the war. We were all terrified. Women were violated and their homes set on fire right over their heads, everything stolen. But we will get out. Simon and I will get us out.
The door opens suddenly. Emma comes in with wide eyes. My God, she made me nearly jump out of my skin.
“It’s Mr. Judge and Mr. Buck, ma’am. They seem awfully excited.”
They have come.
Emma leaves without closing the door. My reflection in the washstand mirror is disheveled. My face is beaded with sweat and my hands are dirty. The water from the ewer is warm. What could they want here? Are they here for the money?
The case of bonds is on the floor near the door. I grab a fistful and fold them, putting them in my pocket. They are so large that the edges and half-cut coupons spill out of the pocket and rustle against my dress. Walking down the stairs makes them even louder.
Father and son. They are standing side by side near the front door, watching me. The light floods in behind them. Judge is huffing, looking into the parlor to see who else is around. He doubtless has something to say, but I am not in a mood to listen to his twisted truth. The bonds feel coarse and cheap between my fingers. They bulge from my pocket. My dowry, these were. My price.
“Leave it to Augusta to check her dress when the world collapses,” Judge snarls. He steps forward, and I look at him evenly without any welcome. Buck remains back, as if he is a spectator. “What’s the meaning of all this? Why are you still here?”
“The trains aren’t running, Judge. We are preparing to leave with the carriage to meet Bama.”
“I know the trains aren’t running! You could have left before now! Bama Buchanan is already in Huntsville. The army is moving in. The governor has declared a military quarantine. You won’t be able to go anywhere in your carriage. My God, Gus, what a simpleton you can be.” His face is red and his voice is high. He holds his cane in his hand and shakes it at me as he speaks. Buck has not moved. He watches with dark, nervous eyes.
“Did your informer tell you that?” I look steadily into Judge’s ice-blue eyes. He blanches and takes a step back. I am not afraid of him. I know who he is.
“What do you mean? Jeff Sprague told me before he took his family to Stevenson. You should be in Huntsville with Bama. Don’t you know there are people dying in this town? Jesus Christ, we’re all three of us lucky we’re not dead.” His face starts to color again.
“But we’re not. We’re here. And if what you say is true, we can’t go anywhere.”
The stiff paper rustles in my pocket, and Judge’s eyes follow the sound and then move swiftly back to my face. He knows about the money. His glance says that he is looking for it. And the list. The list of men Eli was bribing. That would be more important to Judge than the money. Simon said they had the money, but maybe they don’t have it. Judge’s accusations and the high pitch of his voice. He is looking for that list. Perhaps he thinks the paper in my pocket is the money. He must wonder what it is.
“There are still ways out,” he says. He wants me to leave Albion. “I can cable the governor. I will see what we can do.” His voice is hard. He looks back at Buck, who nods agreement. His eyes dart to the papers in my pocket.
“How can they put the whole town under quarantine?” I ask. “After Dr. Greer said we were all safe. Was that another lie?”
“Greer is dead, Augusta,” Judge says. “So anything he might have said can at this point be ignored.”
My God, Greer is dead. Dead like Jennie’s husband.
“Yes.” Judge’s voice is like a brass bell. “In the early-morning hours, he died. His wife died a few hours before him. Now do you take me seriously?”
“And for what?” I say to myself.
“What? What do you mean for what?”
“All those lies just to keep the mill open. We should all have been gone from here long ago.”
“May I remind you that you were particularly interested in the continued operation of the mill. If he did it for anyone, he did it for you. The blood is on your hands.” He is venomous, like a white snake.
“No, that’s not true,” I say. “You wanted this. You made this happen.”
“It is on your hands,” he hisses again. His eyes move back to my pocket. “What is that?” He points with his cane. “Where did you get that money? What did you do with the money I gave you?”
The bonds. They crackle as I pull them slowly out of my pocket. “These?” I ask. “These are old bonds. Don’t you recognize them?”
“Confederate bonds?” He steps forward, his hand out.
“Yes, I found a case of them. In Pa’s old trunk. There are thousands of dollars. All in that trunk in the attic.”
Judge’s eyes narrow, and his cheeks go red. “In this house?” he asks. He is lying. His voice has a forced edge. He insists on playing this pantomime.
“Yes, upstairs. They were Mama’s bonds, but I didn’t bring them into the house. Mama gave them to you, didn’t she? To sell to Eli. Did you sell them to him?”
Judge takes another step forward and tears the bonds from my hands. He shuffles through them, his eyes roving over the faded text printed on cheap paper with cheap ink. He looks at the denominations and the dates. He shakes his head. “Filth. Wasted filth.” He throws them on the floor at my feet, and they scatter like leaves across the carpet.
“You didn’t always think they were filth, did you?”
His eyes are blazing blue fire. His face turns dark red.
“I think Eli must
have compensated you quite well for them. More than they were worth. I always wondered how you held on to your land while we lost ours. What else did you give him, Judge, to save your fortune? What else did you bribe him with to save yourself?”
I hear a snap, like someone breaking a piece of wood. Or was it the sound of Judge’s cane as he passed it from his right hand to his left? His eyes are raging, and he snorts from his nose in disgust. I look at him steadily as he takes a step toward me. I cannot think what he intends. He couldn’t mean to strike me. But his right hand goes up in the air, and I watch it as if everything has slowed and the hand must be moving swiftly. I can count the seconds as it falls down upon me, against my face. He hits me so hard against my cheek that I am thrown off my feet and back against the stairs.
Everything is black except for the feel of that slap, that hand on me. My head bangs against the carpeted steps, and it is dark. Just a brief second of darkness, and then my senses come back and there is an ache on my head and my face is throbbing. The outline of his hand stings on my cheek. He is over me, threatening me with his cane. Spittle flies from his mouth.
“Enough of this, girl. Enough of this attitude from you. You’d better learn your place. Now tell me where your servants are.” He is glowering at me, and I am afraid he will hit me again. I shake my head and he growls. He reaches out with his right hand and takes my face with it, holding me tightly under the chin and forcing me to look at him. His eyes are ice blue and so full of hate that I cannot speak. He is so close that his poisonous breath fills my nostrils.
“Answer me, girl,” he hisses, shaking my head with his hand. “Where are your servants?”
“Emma—” I begin, but he shakes me again.
The Rebel Wife Page 24