by Naomi Finley
I gulped, afraid to ask the question that had been governing my thoughts. “Is it as Captain Gillies said?”
“You refer to Northern militia?”
I nodded.
He shrugged. “If so, they are long gone.”
“And with what is unfolding in the harbor and your leaving, there is nothing we can do about it,” I said.
“I’m afraid not. Now I must leave, and all of the madness is left in your hands.” He rested hands on my upper arms and held my gaze.
“We will manage.” I offered reassurance while my insides roiled with uncertainty and fear. Reuben McCoy was out there, scheming, and with Ben and Bowden away, it would be up to Jones and me to manage and protect Livingston.
“I will have the carriage readied, and we will return home,” he said before brushing my lips with his.
As our carriage rode along I sat closer to Bowden, enjoying the warmth of his side as the battle in the harbor faded behind us. My ears continued to ring from the hours of explosions. The uncertainty of what was to come had stolen our thoughts, and we sat in silence. The scent of smoke never faded as we rode on toward Livingston, and when we were a few miles from home Bowden’s body tensed.
“Do you see that?” I looked to where he pointed. Smoke was rising above the trees.
My heart thudded. “Livingston!”
He lifted the reins to urge the team to greater speed, but paused at the sound of approaching horses. In one swift movement, Bowden grabbed the rifle under the seat.
Two riders came around the bend, and I quickly recognized Mr. Sterling and a neighboring farmer.
“Sterling, where does that smoke come from?” Bowden asked as the men reined in their horses.
The look in Mr. Sterling’s eyes confirmed our fears. “Your place. Northern militia attacked about the same time as the sky lit up in the direction of Charleston.”
“No!” I wailed.
Bowden didn’t wait to hear more. “Out of the way!” He slashed the reins, and the team charged forward, forcing the men to heel their horses to clear out of our path.
Please, God, no. The team’s manes and tails snapped in the wind of our passage.
“Dammit!” Bowden cursed.
I clutched the side of the carriage to avoid being launched overboard as we charged toward Livingston at a bone-jarring speed. An invisible weight compressed the air from my lungs. We should never have left. Never. I eyed Bowden askance, and the panic clear on his face made my heart beat harder. Images of what we would find upon our arrival swarmed my mind. Whisking away blinding tears, I forced down the bile burning my throat. Please, God, I’ll do anything you ask of me.
The next miles seemed to move at a painstaking crawl. As we reached the main gates, I glanced over my shoulder to find Mr. Sterling and the farmer on our heels. As our buggy charged up the lane, I fought to clear the relentless tears obscuring my vision.
“Good God!” Bowden leaned forward and whipped the reins harder.
A wail escaped me as I beheld the smoldering main house, still standing, but its windows shattered and the exterior scorched. Our chamber and the nursery located on the left side of the house sat exposed to the heavens.
Bowden slowed the team as we rounded the house to the work yard.
“No!” My agonized wail echoed off the ruined buildings as I viewed the rows of bodies covered in blankets.
“Willow,” someone called, and hands reached for me.
I sat numbly in my seat but turned my head to stare at the speaker. In my daze, I couldn’t make out their face or voice.
“Come,” they said.
My body moved, but I wasn’t sure if I’d been lifted from the carriage or advanced of my own accord.
Somewhere Bowden conversed with someone, but I couldn’t make out his words.
“Willow.” Hands shook me.
I turned my head, frantically trying to concentrate on the person’s face. “Magnus?” My vision cleared as I came to my senses. “What happened?”
Dried blood, soot, and grime marred his face. “They came out of nowhere.”
“Mary Grace and the children. Are they…” Fear snatched my words.
“We are fine.” Mary Grace rushed toward us and crushed me in her arms.
My legs buckled, and I clutched her for support. “Why? Who?” I muffled into her shoulder.
“It was as we feared. The McCoys advanced just before dawn.”
I stiffened at the reference before withdrawing from her arms. “McCoys?”
She bit down on her lip. “You need to see for yourself, or you will never believe me.” She took my hand and pulled me toward the lines of corpses.
Jones stood next to Bowden, who crouched next to a body and peeled back the blanket. I frowned at the familiarity of the deformed face. It couldn’t be. I glanced at Mary Grace, and she swallowed hard and bobbed her head. But how?
“It appears the bastard never died after all,” Bowden said.
I gawked from him to the face and the distinguishing markings on the forehead. My hand rose to my throat. Rufus McCoy.
“Angel gal?”
I twisted, and a sob lodged in my throat as I saw Mammy grip the sides of her skirt and bound down the back steps. I rushed toward her, not stopping until we clutched each other in an embrace.
“Mammy. Oh, Mammy.” The strength of her embrace kept me from crumpling to my knees. “You’re alive.”
“Yes, gal. I all right.” She pulled me back and cupped my cheek. There was a profound sadness in her eyes. “Can’t say de same for others.”
My breath caught as I thought of who may lie under the blankets. “Where is Ben?”
“At de hospital, taking care of de wounded.”
I glanced around at the weary folks sorting through the wreckage and ashes of outbuildings and cabins for survivors. My heart struck harder, and without looking at her, I said, “Sailor?”
“He fine. De chillum and de ’oman folkses dat made et to de river are all fine.”
“And Jimmy?”
“He at de sick hospital.” Her voice hitched, and I turned to look at her.
“Providing my uncle aid?”
She gripped my arm, tears welling in her eyes. “No, angel gal. He hurt real bad.”
Pulling my arm free, I stumbled back, shaking my head. “No.”
The concerned faces before me vanished in a river of tears, and without another word, I turned and fled. Pulse roaring in my ears, I pumped my legs faster. Pain radiated in my chest by the time the sick hospital came into view. Wounded quarter folk and Jones’s men lay on makeshift beds constructed of blankets spread out on the ground. Kimie looked up at me as I slowed my pace. Blood stained her apron, and she lifted bloodied fingers to smooth back her blond locks. Tears of devastation glittered in her blue eyes. Whitney knelt beside an injured woman offering her water, and our eyes met as I grasped the magnitude of the destruction that had befallen Livingston in my absence.
“Willow,” Ben said, and I followed the sound of his voice to find him standing on the hospital stoop. Face tense, he waved me forward. As I met him on the stoop, he put his arm around my waist, and I leaned on him for support.
“Is he…” Fear captured my voice.
“He is alive, but barely. If he makes it through the night—”
“No.” I shook my head. “It can’t be.” I collapsed against his shoulder, sobbing, my fingers grabbing at his shirt. “This is all my fault.”
“You are not to blame,” he consoled me. “The McCoys are.”
“He warned me,” Bowden said, his voice grave and vacant.
Lifting my head, I located him through my tears. Face ashen, he stood observing the sea of injured people. “Who?” I said, my voice rasping.
“Gray. The dreams. The visions. All warnings.” Gripping the sides of his head, he dropped to his knees and released a guttural wail.
I rushed to his side and tenderly clasped his head against my waist. Turning, he buried his fac
e into the fabric of my dress and wept like I’d never seen him do before.
ENTERING THE SICK HOSPITAL, I looked to the cot by the window and recognized the face of Gray’s pa, who had chosen to remain at Livingston after Bowden had sold his plantation. Nausea roiled in my gut. He lay unconscious, his breathing shallow. As I turned my gaze to the other cot in the room, my body shook, and I fought back a cry as I saw Jimmy’s bloody form. My feet rooted to the planks, but the gentle urging of Bowden’s hand on the small of my back pushed me forward.
The warmth of his hand faded as he left me and went to kneel beside Gray’s pa. “Hello, old friend,” he said, his voice thick as he took the man’s hand.
A sob caught in my chest, and I turned back to Jimmy. He lay shirtless, a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his torso. Elsewhere, flesh wounds had been left by a blade. His breathing was ragged, and I knew that he held on to but a glimmer of life. I knelt beside him and slipped my fingers under his hand, lying at his side.
“Jimmy, it’s me, Willow.” My voice was tattered. “You will be just fine. I’ll see to it.” I stroked his hair. Tears streamed down my cheeks and tickled my neck before soaking into my blouse. “You’re too stubborn to die,” I said with a laugh, blinking off tears. His eyes fluttered open, and my breath caught, but they quickly closed, as though his subconscious had reacted to me. “I need you. More than you will ever know.” I closed my eyes and laid my cheek on his chest, finding comfort in the beat of his heart. “Ruby, Saul, Mercy, we all need you,” I whispered.
A shadow fell over me, and I opened my eyes to find Ben standing at the foot of the bed. I pushed to my feet and walked a few feet away, and he followed.
“He can’t die,” I said in a low voice, my lips quivering. “He mustn’t. He is like a father to me in all the ways that matter. He loved me and taught me things my own could not.” Misery and fear wrenched at my heart, and thoughts of hurting him didn’t enter my mind until too late. Catching myself, I gasped, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—”
“Do not apologize for speaking the truth.” I saw compassion and understanding in his eyes. “His love for you radiates, as does yours for him. Regardless of your parentage, Miss Rita and James raised you and stood in when we could not. My brother’s and my failures will always haunt me, but there is no time for regrets of the past. I’ve done all I can for him. The rest lies in God’s hands. Both men need a miracle.” He looked wearily from one cot to the other.
As Bowden joined us, I said, “You all are supposed to leave today. I can’t possibly manage—”
“We have no choice but to leave. We will send word of what occurred here, and hope they will grant us a few days.” He strode to the door and called out to Kimie. When she entered, he gripped her shoulder. “Are you capable of caring for the wounded in our absence?”
“I-I…” She looked from Ben to him.
“The next best person to a trained doctor,” Ben said.
Her expression uncertain, she gulped and then squared her shoulders. “I’ll see to them.”
“Good.” He released her. “Willow will ensure that any capable womenfolk are put into position to help you.”
I had yet to realize the gravity of the lives lost at Livingston. My pulse quickened. When I did, could I face the knowing? What of the bodies scattered across the work yard requiring burials? My gaze turned to the window, and the injured spread across the lawn. So many hurt and needing attention.
“But what am I to do?” I gawked at Bowden, dumbfounded. As I thought of the impossible task ahead, my panic mounted. Recalling the damage I’d observed upon our arrival, I pointed at the window. “Destruction is everywhere: our ships, the warehouse; the main house is partly destroyed; the kitchen house and smokehouse are gone. How can I possibly make Livingston functional again with no menfolk around? I can’t do this. It’s too much.” Concealing my face in my hands, I let sobs rack my body.
“Come.” Bowden took my hand and led me outside.
We left the quarters and strolled along the path leading to the family cemetery and the ponds.
“I know it is a lot to ask of you,” he said. “Too much, really. But you will have Jones, and after we assess our losses we will know exactly what we are up against. Unfortunately, in the current times, many are forced to do things we don’t want to. Not only the men who have enlisted, but the women left behind to run our lands.”
I took a deep breath to relieve the tightness in my chest. Although my heart remained heavy, the numbness over what had occurred was slowly evaporating with the determination to put everything in order. Bowden needed me to be strong. The people of Livingston needed me. I couldn’t possibly crumble now. “I know,” I said as we stepped from the tree line and the graveyard came into view.
I froze. “No, no, no!”
“What is it…” Bowden’s words faded as he too beheld the sight. “My God!” Bowden raced forward, hauling me behind him.
At the edge of the cemetery, I dropped to my knees and gawked in horror. The fence had been demolished, gravestones uprooted, and the graves of my son, mother, father, and grandparents trampled. The McCoys had sought to desecrate their very memory.
A part of my soul fractured, and with a forlorn wail I fell forward, pulling at the grass and dirt. Why? Had we not suffered enough?
Bowden knelt and wrapped me in his arms, and I lifted my head and looked at him. Silent tears stained his cheeks. Had I cursed my husband in our union? Why was God bent on unleashing pain on my family? Had I brought misery and suffering to Livingston? I collapsed against Bowden, sensing the galloping of his heart, and his trembling body.
“H-how do we go on?” I sobbed into his shoulder.
“We must.” His hard voice made me look at his face. There was a cold glint in his eyes.
I gulped. “Please don’t leave. I can’t bear it. I can’t.”
“I have no choice.” He hauled me to my feet and turned me in the direction of the house.
All of me wanted to curl up and die and leave the cruelty of a world I wasn’t designed for. I wanted to rewind the past days—we would never have gone to Charleston, and perhaps we could have prevented the desolation that had befallen Livingston. In doing so, the slaves hidden in the warehouse would have perished in the fire.
Wait. I stopped in my tracks and turned to him.
“The men that set fire to our ships and the warehouse—do you think it was the McCoys?”
“I believe it’s impossible to have been anyone else.” He clasped my hand and continued toward the house.
“But how can you be certain?”
“Because amongst the bodies are men clad in states’ militia uniforms,” he said.
“Missus Willow, Masa Bowden.” Mammy’s voice drew our attention to her hurrying toward us. Big John, supporting his weight with a makeshift cane, hobbled behind her. As they got near, I noticed the bandages covering his hands and the way he wheezed.
“You all right?” I asked.
“Nothing time won’t heal,” he said with a bow of his head.
“He tried to save de house, and ’bout killed himself in de process.” Mammy scowled up at him, and he grinned, finding amusement in her feistiness.
“Miss Rita, I need you to take my wife up to the house and give her something to calm her nerves.”
“No.” I pulled from him. “I will not be set aside as though I’m too weak to handle what needs doing. I—”
He pulled me to him and placed a finger to my lips, stilling my words. “Look at me,” he said gruffly. I looked at him. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re capable of? You’re capable of more than even you realize. I’m counting on you while I’m away. The people need you more than ever before. I fear the trials will be many, but together we must stand united and see this to an end.”
“But what if you don’t come back?” My voice trembled at the thought. “What if none of you do? Am I to have a graveyard of loved ones?”
“Missus Willow, you mu
stn’t think lak dat. None of de misfortunes and losses dat befell dis place or your family got anything to do wid you.” Mammy touched my shoulder. I pulled from Bowden to face her. “Life ain’t fair. Why, et downright unjust at times, but we got to keep moving anyhow. Now come along and do as Masa says. You won’t do anyone any good if you don’t keep a sound mind.” She took my arm and escorted me across the work yard. I glanced over my shoulder at my husband, who stood staring blankly after me.
Turning back, I considered what lay ahead, and worry gnawed into my fear. Would we survive what was to come?
Drifter
MY LIDS OPENED, AND I gritted my teeth at the pain ricocheting through my skull. Touching the damp bandage compressing my head, I frowned as the recollection of how I’d obtained the injury deserted me. Parched, my tongue thick, I licked my lips to relieve the burn of cracked skin. My hollow stomach gurgled, demanding food. Blankets soaked in sweat clung to me like a second skin, and my nostrils rebelled at the smell of my body.
Senses tuning to the musky, woodsy scent enveloping me, my gaze went to the animal pelts hanging from the plank walls of what appeared to be a one-room cabin. The door was ajar. A table sat next to an open fire where an iron skillet sizzled.
Where am I? Struggling to a sitting position, I grimaced at the ache of bruised ribs. I sensed my lack of clothing, but before I could locate any the doorway darkened. I regarded the mountainous man with silver plaits and an unruly beard who lingered on the front stoop, with a blade in one hand and a slab of meat in the other, appearing freshly carved from an animal’s carcass. Blood dripped over his fingers and onto the dirt floor.
My heart beat harder. The weakness in my limbs and the awareness of my nakedness seized me with vulnerability. In a panic, I glanced around for my trousers or something resembling clothing.
“You return to the land of the living.” His voice was gruff, but not unfriendly. He strode into the cabin and tossed the meat into the skillet before wiping his hands on buckskin trousers.