Their son, Philip St. George Cooke Stuart, had been born the previous June and was almost a year old. Little Flora was not quite four.
Flora bent over Philip’s crib, and a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She felt her way to the sofa and fell on it. For a moment, she tried to properly sit up, but she felt so weak that she finally just lay down on it.
Philip fussed for a few minutes, but then he grew silent again and Flora was glad he had gone back to sleep. Little Flora was on her bed in the single bedroom, napping. Wearily Flora closed her eyes to rest, though she could never fall asleep during the day when she was alone with both of the children.
Ruby had refused to leave Fort Leavenworth, for she had a new man and she had sworn that they were to be married. Flora missed her terribly.
She fought the feelings of bitterness that she felt because of the war that had brought her husband to this place. She was cooped up in a tiny house in a strange city with two small children, and she had barely seen Jeb since they had arrived. Drawing a deep shaking breath, Flora thought, And this is only the beginning. He’ll leave any day, and I won’t know when he’ll ever come back. I won’t know if he’s well or if he…
She left the thought unfinished. But Flora was quite sure she would feel this same dread, for the war’s duration, as a burden on her heart. She knew this, but she fought hard not to dwell on it.
After a while, the dizziness subsided and Flora got up and went to Philip’s crib. He was still asleep, and no sound came from Little Flora in the bedroom. She thought of Jeb, of how God had been so good to her in her marriage. She was to this day still desperately in love with Jeb Stuart. She knew every angle and bone of his body. She knew every inflection of his voice. Her eyes knew in detail every inch of that cherished face. With the single-mindedness only found in women so desperately in love did she think of him.
As she made her slow way into the kitchen, she prayed. Lord Jesus, I need Your strength, and I need Your help. Please send someone to help me, Lord, someone who can help me with the children…someone who can be my friend.
And Lord, watch over Jeb, always.
Jeb dismounted and went into the house. He called out, “Flora!” and heard her answer faintly from the bedroom.
He found her lying on the bed, covered with two thick quilts in spite of the heat. She was pale and had purple shadows under her eyes.
“Flora, my darling, what’s wrong?”
“I’m—I guess I’m just tired,” she replied weakly.
He laid his big hand on her forehead, his touch as delicate as a woman’s. “No, you’re ill. You’re feverish. How long have you been sick?” Jeb had been gone for a day and a night, working with his new recruits, doing the mounds of paperwork required for a unit commander, meeting with his new officers.
Flora relented and said, “I started feeling a little unwell yesterday. I got up early and took care of the children, but I thought that I would just lie down and rest for a little while.”
Jeb said grimly, “This won’t do, Flora. I’m going to find someone to stay with you.”
“Who?” Flora asked. “And however can you find a woman, just like that? You’re so busy you don’t have time for such things.”
Jeb was stricken. The melancholy in his wife’s voice and her words wounded him as surely as if he had been stabbed. He had a tender heart as far as his wife and children were concerned. He stroked her hair and said quietly, “I’m going to leave you just for a little while. I promise you that the Lord will help me find someone to help you and take care of you.”
Flora managed to smile.
Jeb leaned over and kissed her and looked over at Little Flora, who lay beside her. She was asleep sucking her thumb. “There’s my princess,” he whispered and touched her silky hair. He straightened up and said, “I won’t be long, my dearest.”
“All right, Jeb. You’re right. I know that the Lord will help us.”
Stuart left the house, his mind racing and sorting through ideas. The problem was even more severe and immediate than he had let on to Flora. He had just received word that it was time for his regiment to report to Harpers Ferry, where he would be second-in command to Colonel Thomas J. Jackson, and he couldn’t think of a single person who could help him. He had to leave at dawn.
Finally he headed toward the fairgrounds. Many men from Richmond had enlisted in his command, and perhaps one of them would know of a suitable woman whom Jeb could hire as a maid and companion. Riding onto the fairgrounds, crowded with tents, he went straight to his headquarters.
One of his newest officers, Lieutenant Clay Tremayne, was on his magnificent black stallion, drilling six mounted men on maneuvering commands. Jeb watched them for a while with satisfaction. Though his command was infantry, many of the men had fine horses, and it was perfectly acceptable to their commander. He would have mounted all of them if he could, for he had wanted a cavalry command above all things.
When they finished, Jeb called Tremayne to him and said, “You cut a fine figure on a horse, Lieutenant. And you’ve learned the orders very well. You drill them like an old hand.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said with pleasure. He was a fine-looking man, six feet tall with broad shoulders. His face was strong with a hard jaw and dark, intense eyes.
Jeb frowned and shifted on his feet. “By any chance, Lieutenant, do you recall that man who was talking about having such a large family? He’s from here, and his family has been here for a long time.”
Clay thought and finally answered, “I’m sorry, sir. I know many of the men are from Richmond, but I can’t recall exactly the one you’re speaking of. Colonel Stuart, is something wrong? Do you need me to find this man?”
“No, it’s a personal matter, nothing to do in particular with the man I’m thinking of,” he replied, worried. “It’s just that my wife is ill, and we have two small children. I really need to find a woman to come in and help her. It’s very important that I find one quickly, since we have to move out in the morning.”
Clay gave him a crooked smile. “Sir, I just happen to know of a woman—or a girl—who is an excellent nurse. I can personally assure you of that. And she is here.”
“Here?” Jeb repeated. “What do you mean? Here, at the fairgrounds?”
“Well, yes sir, she is. She’s…rather unorthodox. But as I said, I can personally vouch for her character. I’m sure she would be happy to help you and your wife.”
“Tell me more about her,” Jeb said, his eyes piercing as they drilled into Clay.
“She is with her grandfather, and they are peddlers. Their wagon is here, and they’ve been selling goods to the men. She’s young, only seventeen. And she wears, uh, breeches.”
“Breeches?” Jeb repeated blankly. “You mean men’s trousers?”
“Yes, sir. She’s from Louisiana, and—oh, I think you’ll understand better if you meet her, sir.”
“Take me to her,” Jeb ordered.
Clay led him to the north side of the crowded field, where a big wagon stood. Outside it a small man sat on a camp stool by a small campfire. The figure that knelt close to him, feeding small logs onto the fire, looked like a young boy. As Clay and Stuart drew near, she looked up, and then Jeb could clearly see the delicate features of a girl.
Clay bowed, rather formally. “Sir, I’d like for you to meet two good friends of mine. This is Jacob Steiner, and this is Miss Chantel Fortier. This is Colonel Stuart, my commanding officer.”
“I’m very happy to meet you,” Jacob Steiner said, bowing his head. He was a small elderly man, rather stooped.
“You’ve just arrived in Richmond, Mr. Steiner?”
“Yes, although we’ve been here several times before. I’ve been a peddler for many years, and I’ve been all over. But I am beginning to believe that in these coming perilous days, the Lord has led us here, to the South, for a purpose.”
“You’re a Christian man?”
Ja
cob Steiner smiled. “You’ve noticed I am Jewish, but yes, I am one of those rare converted Jews.”
Clay spoke up, “I have to tell you, Colonel, that Miss Chantel saved both of us.”
“Saved you in what way?” Stuart asked with interest. He studied the young woman dressed in a man’s trousers and shirt, with a floppy hat that covered most of her black hair. She had the strangest violet eyes. But in her gaze Jeb found kindness.
Jacob Steiner answered, “She found me sick on the side of the road and nursed me back to health. The same thing happened with Mr.—I mean, Lieutenant Tremayne. We found him wounded. My granddaughter is such a good nurse that he recovered very quickly.”
“She’s the best nurse I’ve ever known or heard of,” Clay said vehemently.
Jeb Stuart was a man who could assess a situation and make quick decisions. “Miss Chantel, I have a problem, and I need some help.”
Chantel asked him, “What sort of a problem, Colonel?”
“My wife has fallen ill. We have two small children, and she’s simply not able to take care of them by herself right now. I need someone to come in and help with cleaning and cooking, but mostly to take care of my wife and children. Would you be interested in helping me, ma’am?”
Chantel glanced at Jacob. “If Grandpere agrees, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”
“Why, of course, Colonel,” Jacob said readily. “Chantel is a good person and has a healing touch, I believe. If you need her to stay at your home, I will go and check on her and your family each day to see to their needs.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jeb said with great relief. “And thank you, Miss Chantel. I will be glad to pay you a fair wage.”
“I don’t need money, me,” she said carelessly. “Grandpere gives me all the money I need.”
“I’m glad of that,” Jeb said, “but still I insist on paying you. I know this is very sudden, but I’m afraid that my command is ordered to move out in the morning. Would it be possible for you to come with me now, Miss Chantel, to meet my wife?”
“I will come,” she answered. “Just let me get a few things.”
She turned, but Jeb said, “Ma’am?”
“Yes?” she asked, turning back to him.
“I just wanted to tell you that you’re an answer to a prayer. I’m very worried about my wife, but now I feel that you’re going to be a very big help to her.”
Chantel said warmly, “I will help her, and I will take care of your little ones, Colonel Stuart. And may the good God bless you and your men as you go to fight.” Her gaze slid to Clay Tremayne.
Jeb noted that Clay smiled at her, but she merely turned and disappeared into the wagon.
Jeb opened the door to his home and motioned for Chantel to enter, following closely on her heels.
Flora was stretched out on the couch with Philip lying beside her. Little Flora was sitting on the floor, playing with a rag doll.
Jeb hurried to kneel by the sofa. He took Flora’s hand and kissed it. “Dear Flora, the Lord has blessed us. This is Miss Chantel Fortier. Miss Chantel, this is my wife, Flora.”
Flora said weakly, “I’m very glad to meet you, Chantel. I’m—I’m sorry I can’t get up to meet you properly.”
“No,” Chantel said firmly. “You’re sick, Miss Flora. That’s why I’m here. And for these two darlings, too.”
“This is Little Flora. She’s a little grubby right now, but she’s my angel. And this is our son, Philip.”
Chantel took off her hat, laid her pack down by the sofa, and said in a businesslike manner, “First, I give Little Flora a bath, and Philip a bath. And then I give you a bath, Miss Flora.”
Jeb laughed as he stood. “The best thing in the world for them. I’m already very glad that you’re here, Miss Chantel.”
“Oh, I am, too,” Flora agreed. “I haven’t felt like bathing the children. I haven’t even felt like cleaning up myself.”
Expertly Chantel picked Philip up and pressed her hand to his fat bottom. “First his cloths need changing, then baths. After that, I fix you something good to eat, Miss Flora, so you can get strong again.”
“That would be wonderful,” Flora said. “Jeb, are you going to be here tonight?”
“I am,” he said slowly. “But there’s something I have to talk to you about.”
Chantel held out her hand to Little Flora, who immediately grinned up at her and took it. Carrying Philip, she led the little girl into the bedroom and quietly closed the door.
Flora searched Jeb’s face, and then she sighed. “You’ve been called out, haven’t you? When must you leave?”
“At dawn.”
“Then,” Flora said quietly, “it is very good that the Lord has sent Chantel to us.”
Jeb knelt by her again and took her hand. “The Lord is good,” he said. “He will never forsake us. Not you, Flora, and not me. I know that, wherever I go now, He is with me.”
“Yes, He is,” Flora whispered, pressing his hand to her cheek. “And wherever you go, I will always be here, waiting for you to come home.”
PART TWO: CHANTEL & JACOB 1859 –1861
CHAPTER SEVEN
Chantel Fortier came out of a deep sleep as a sudden and blinding fear shot through her. Hands were touching her body. When her eyes flew open, she looked into the face of her stepfather, Rufus Bragg. Bragg had a brutal face, and he was leering at her and running his hands over her body. Chantel cried out, “You leave me alone!”
“You need a man, girl,” Bragg said, grinning like a sly snake. He grabbed the top of the lightweight shirt that Chantel wore.
She had been sitting up late with her mother and was exhausted, so she had simply gotten into bed without undressing.
“I know how to make women feel good,” Bragg snickered. He gripped the top of the thin shirt and tore it.
Chantel struck out with both hands, fingers extended like claws, and raked Bragg’s face. He cursed and lost his grip on her. As he did, Chantel rolled to the other side of the bed and jumped up into the corner. She was trapped in the room, and Bragg was laughing at her.
“I like a woman with spirit,” he growled, moving slowly around the bed.
Chantel whirled and picked up the sawed-off shotgun that was leaning on the wall beside her bed. She had put it there for just a time like this, for this wasn’t the first time her stepfather had put his hands on her. She drew back the twin hammers, and the deadly metallic clicking stopped Bragg in his tracks.
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing, “You wouldn’t have the nerve to shoot me, little girl.”
“Get out of here or I’ll give you both barrels!” She was deathly afraid but determined. “You leave me alone, or I swear I’ll kill you, Bragg.”
For a moment, he looked uncertain, but then he laughed in his ugly hyena bray. “You got some spit, Chantel. As soon as your ma dies, I’m gonna marry up with you.”
“I would never marry you! Never!”
“You ain’t but fifteen, and the law says you got to do what I say when your momma dies. Everything she has will be mine—and that means you, too. So you will marry me, too, little girl.” He crossed his arms and nodded as if she had agreed with him. “I’m gonna have you, Chantel. You just make up your mind to that.” With one last leer, he turned abruptly and left the room.
Chantel was so shaken she thought that her legs wouldn’t support her. She sat down on the bed, trembling in every nerve. Bragg had been after her for over a year, since her mother had been sick. He found excuses to touch her, and he made crude remarks. The fear that had driven Chantel to fight him off turned into a sick emptiness deep inside her. Still she trembled, but now with a treacherous, nauseous weakness. With an effort, she leaned the shotgun back against the wall; then she fell on the bed and began to weep. Her body shook, but she muffled her sobs, for her mother was in the next room.
Finally the storm of weeping ceased. Chantel took a deep shuddering breath. She stood up and retrieved the shotgun. The weight of the gun gave he
r some courage.
He’ll get me…He’ll never stop coming at me, no!
Moving to the window, she gazed out at the bayou. The moon cast its silver image on the still dark waters, and the hoarse grunt of a bull gator broke the silence.
Chantel leaned over and put one hand against the wall and began to pray. I can’t leave ma mere, good God. So You keep him from me, yes!
Chantel’s spirit was crying out for her mother, who was dying. She knew that her stepfather was evil and would never leave her alone. She’d never understood why her mother had married Bragg after her first husband, Chantel’s father, had died. The thick hatred she bore for her stepfather was like a sickening sour taste in her mouth.
Chantel knew nothing about the law, but she suspected that Bragg might be right. When ma mere dies, he’ll take me. The thought caused a wave of fear, as sharp as the knife she always carried. She lay on the bed, grasping her knife in its leather sheaf in one sweaty hand and holding the shotgun with the other. Chantel waited for the dawn.
At daybreak, just as the sun was coming up, Chantel heard the sound of Bragg riding away and felt a welcome relief. She rose quickly, still fully dressed, for she had been wakeful all night, expecting Bragg to come back into her bedroom at any moment. Hurriedly she went into the kitchen and fixed a broth of turtle soup for her mother.
Carefully she set a tray with the broth and some hot ginger tea. After staring at it for a moment, she turned and ran outside, then returned with a piece of honeysuckle vine and laid it across the plain tray to make it look as pretty as she could. She then took the tray into her mother’s room.
Even though her mother had been very ill for more than a year, still Chantel received a small shock when she saw her for the first time every day. She was so pale and thin! Her eyes were sunken, and her color was pale. Chantel forced herself to smile. “I have something good for you, Mere. You’ll like it.”
“I’m not very hungry, child.”
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