by Anita Mills
“Maybe if you just sat down and talked, you could make him understand,” he offered sympathetically.
“Maybe you could ask him to give you a little time to get used to the notion.”
“You’re very kind, sir, but I’m not going to fight him over this. If I have to leave, I suppose now is as good a time as any. It’ll be harder to move next year with the baby. He’s got his heart set on it, and I’ll have to go. I promised to love, honor, and obey him, and he’s done his part. He’s the one that earns the living, you know.” Straightening up in her chair, she managed a smile. “I’m being silly, that’s all there is to it. I don’t feel right about it, but maybe it’s just the baby making me moody,”
“I was going to send Jesse his pants back when I got home.”
“Well, you’d better send them quick, or else you’ll have to put them in care of the Union Pacific railroad.”
“They might not hire him with that limp.”
“They’ll hire him. They’d be fools not to. I mean, he’s a hard worker, he’s as honest as they come, and his word is his bond. He says with the war over, they’ll be building tracks across the mountains to California. He says they’re hiring men who can’t even speak English, and the pay’s more than good. If that’s so, they ought to leap at the chance to get someone like Jesse. He’s the kind of man who’d give his life for you if you needed it.”
“I see.”
“And I’m just being silly,” she said again. “I know everything he’s saying is right, but for some reason I’m scared.”
“He told me about losing the first baby.”
“If that happens again, I don’t know what I’ll do.
If after all that labor, I don’t have a child to show for it, I don’t think I’ll want to do it again.”
“It probably won’t. Most babies manage to get themselves headed the right way.”
“I know.”
“That’s what’s got you worried, isn’t it?”
“That’s only part of it. The other part is leaving all these memories behind.”
“That’s the good thing about memories, Mrs. Taylor. They’re with you all your life.”
“You’re a kind man, Dr. Hardin, and your wife is a lucky woman. She may have money, but there’s more worth in a good heart than in gold. You’ve got that good heart—I can just tell it in the way you’ve let me run on about my worries, when you’re bound to have worries of your own.”
“Thank you. If I had my bag, I’d show you her picture, and you might change your mind. I’m still surprised she wanted to marry me. I didn’t have much to recommend me at the time—just a brand-new diploma from the Medical College of South Carolina.”
“That’s in Charleston, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She looked over the rim of her cup at him. “Well, at least that explains something.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“The new diploma. The way Danny and Jesse talked about you, I figured you were a whole lot older.”
“I’m twenty-eight, Mrs. Taylor—I’ll be twenty-nine in December. I’m not exactly wet behind my years, you know.”
“I’ll be twenty-four in September.”
“Now who’s the young chicken?”
“When I think of packing all my belongings up, I don’t feel all that young.”
“I came out of the army feeling a hundred years old,” he admitted. “It’ll be a relief to practice real medicine. I don’t care if I ever amputate anything again as long as I live.”
“But you’re a surgeon,” she reminded him.
“I spent an extra year at that, but I was trained in general medicine first. I used to think I’d be bored beyond endurance looking at sore throats and prescribing liniment for rheumatism. I don’t feel that way anymore. The way I feel now, I could go the rest of my life without cutting on anybody.”
“That’ll change. If you’ve got a gift for something, you can’t turn your back on it any more than you can stop breathing. But pretty soon you’ll be taking the temperature of that mush.”
“Huh?”
“It’s getting cold.”
“Oh, yeah.” Cutting off another bite of fried mush, he forked it into his mouth.
“Jesse’s home,” she announced, folding her napkin and laying it across her plate. As if by a theater cue, he threw open the back door and came in grinning. “You must’ve found it,” she decided.
“Last place I went,” her husband responded smugly. “They sold it to the Sprague woman for two loaves of bread and some honey. She said she bought it just to get them out of her yard.” Holding the leather bag up in his hand, Jesse looked to Spence. “This better be yours, Doc, ‘cause it’s got your name on it. I don’t think they took much of anything out of it, because it’s pretty heavy. Feels like there’s a load of bricks in here.”
“They probably thought medical books made for dry reading,” Spence answered, reaching for it. Releasing the brass hasps, he looked inside. ‘They rummaged through it, but I don’t guess they knew what to do with most of it.”
“Now you can show me that picture,” Laura reminded him. “When you’re done eating, I mean.”
“What picture?” Jesse asked.
“His wife.”
“And my little boy, Spence added, washing the mush down with the strange coffee. “We’ve got a son, and he’s in the photograph with her.”
“Jess, did you find any cream?” she remembered suddenly.
“There wasn’t any.” Dropping into a chair across from Spence, Jesse eyed the black bag again. “Good thing you had that brass nameplate on it, or I’d never have gotten it back. Mrs. Sprague was planning to put her sewing in it until I told her how you came to lose it.” Looking to Laura, he remembered, “We owe her bread, but she said she didn’t need the honey right now,” ‘
“That’s good, since we don’t have any.”
“That’s going to change. According to a flyer in the post office, the Union Pacific Railroad is paying five dollars a day to anybody willing to go up to the Nebraska Territory. That’s just for laying track, and there’s even more money in repairing what’s already been laid. I don’t know why that is, but that’s what the paper said.”
She sat very still for a moment, and Spence could almost feel the tension in the air. To divert her, he opened the cover of Universal Formulary to retrieve the picture. Handing it to her, he said proudly, “Here’s Lydia—and Joshua’s on her lap. He’ll be four next February.”
Both of the Taylors stared at the photograph, and then Laura said, gasping, “Why, she’s beautiful! Jess, isn’t Mrs. Hardin beautiful?”
“Yes, but she’s not one bit prettier than you, Laurie.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jess! She’s got a face like an angel—and you could just about get your hands around that waist.” Peering more closely at the boy on the woman’s lap, she observed, “He’s sure the spitting image of her, isn’t he?”
“They’ve both got Cullen Jamison’s eyes—Cullen’s Liddy’s father.”
“How you must miss them,” she murmured sympathetically. “It had to be hard to go off and leave her.”
“The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. We’d just been married two weeks when I left. Then two months later, she wrote me that Josh was on the way, and I realized we should’ve waited. It wasn’t fair of me to leave her like that, but I’d already been signed up to go.”
“War’s a terrible business,” she said softly. “A terrible, terrible business.”
“I wasn’t even there when he was born. In the three and one-half years he’s been alive, I’ve seen him twice.”
“That’s a shame. He looks like such a sweet child.”
“He’s been a handful for Liddy, I’m afraid.”
“He won’t be now. You’re on your way home, and they’ll both be glad to see you,” she predicted.
“Not half as glad as I’ll be
to see them. I’ve waited a long time to hold her and the boy.” Pushing away from the table, he told Jesse, “If you can spare the pants I’m wearing, I’ll send them back clean—or you can keep mine and call it even.”
“Yours are a lot better than mine, Doc.”
“By the time Mrs. Taylor gets them cleaned up, she’s more than earned the difference.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to get on down the road. I know you don’t have a horse to spare, but if you can get me into Salisbury, I’ll try to buy one.”
“I’ve already taken care of that, Doc,” Jesse said. “I asked around, and I got lucky—Webb Hulett said he had one he’d part with, so I took him up on it.”
“Jesse, what did you use for money? You didn’t take but five dollars in with you.”
“Didn’t need any. I told him he could have the mattress, bedstead, and chest out of Danny’s room when we leave. He said that was fine with him—and that’s how we left it.”
“Danny’s bedstead?” she echoed in disbelief. “You gave him Danny’s things?”
“Laurie, I’ll buy you another one when we need it. Right now, we don’t need it. I don’t aim to take anything I don’t have to with us.” Not daring to meet her eyes, he added, “I wrote the railroad, telling ‘em I’ll be taking the job. I said we could be in Omaha by the middle of June.”
It was as though the news knocked the wind out of her. She sank back into her chair, saying nothing. But her eyes did the talking for her. The gold flecks all but disappeared, leaving them a bleak brown. As much as he felt her distress, Spence knew he couldn’t help her, that the matter was between them. He pushed away from the table.
“I’m obliged to both of you,” he said, rising. “Jesse, if you’ll write me—just put it in care of Jamison’s Landing in Crawford County, Georgia—I’ll see you’re paid for the horse. Just tell me how much and where to send it, and I’ll see you get the money.”
“The hell you will, Doc. No, sir, I wouldn’t take your money if I was broke, which I’m not,” Jesse declared flatly. “I owe you a lot more than a horse, anyway. That chestnut tied to the tree out front answers to Trader, and he’s all saddled up and ready to go. Webb said he’s a little skittish, but once he gets used to you, he’ll settle down. So go on—I don’t want to hear about any money.”
“You’re sure I can’t pay you something? It’s a long way from here to Omaha.”
“Not a cent. I’d be real insulted if you tried.”
“Thanks.”
As Spence headed for the small bedroom, he heard Laura Taylor ask, “Jesse, how could you sell Danny’s things?”
“I did it for you, Laurie,” the man answered. “You’ve got to let go of the ghosts in this house. If I don’t get you out of here, this is all we’ll ever have. And we can’t take much with us—it’ll be about all we can do to get out there in thirty days.”
“You might’ve said something to me before you told them we’d be there then.”
“I know, but I knew if I gave you a lot of time to think about it, you’d think of a dozen reasons why we ought to stay here.”
“But what about the house? We can’t just leave it empty, Jess.”
“It’s not worth much, but I’ve got a notion where I can find a buyer. I know you don’t see it this way, Laurie, and I’m sorry.”
“But—”
“I’m willing to work hard for you, and I’m promising you right now that if you don’t kick up a fit about going, I’ll build you that house Danny and I drew up the plans for. Only I’m going to make it a lot better. You won’t be living in four little rooms, Laurie. You’re going to have polished floors and papered walls, fancy rugs, and anything else you want. I’m giving you my word on it.”
“Jess, I—”
“And don’t you go telling me you don’t need those things. If a man can’t take care of his wife and kid better than this, he doesn’t deserve to have ‘em.”
Spence couldn’t hear her reply, but he could see both sides. She had roots halfway to China, and Taylor had dreams of being somebody. He pulled the wrinkled bedclothes up and laid the pillow on them, looked around to see if he’d forgotten anything, then realized he didn’t have anything to leave. He dug into his pocket and brought out his money.
As he came back out to say his good-byes, he discovered why he hadn’t heard her. She had her head down on the table, and while he couldn’t see her face, he was pretty sure she wept. He looked at Jesse, a silent question on his lips, and the man nodded.
“Well, I’ll be going,” Spence said awkwardly. “I just want both of you to know if there’s ever any-’ thing I can do for either of you, just let me know.”
She looked up at that. ‘I guess we’ll be somewhere west of Omaha, Dr. Hardin. If you get out that way, be sure to ask around, and somebody will probably know where to find us. If we’ve got another bed by then, we’ll put you up; if not, we’ll at least feed you.”
“Thanks.”
“She means it, Doc—so do I.”
The chestnut tried to back away as Spence stepped into the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle. “Trader, huh?” Spence said softly, leaning forward to smooth the glossy mane against the long neck. “Well, boy, we’re on our way home.” As he turned the animal toward the road, he wondered what Laura Taylor would say when she found the five dollars he’d left her. Looking over his shoulder at the dilapidated farmhouse, he shook his head. He didn’t know why he felt so sorry for her, when reason told him that she’d be better off almost anywhere else.
Central Georgia: May 18, 1865
The chestnut had made good time, covering more than two hundred miles in a little more than two days, and for the first time in well over a year, Spence was almost home. As his eyes took in the Georgia countryside, his heart raced in anticipation of seeing Lydia and the boy. He promised himself it’d be a long time, if ever, before he’d leave Crawford County again.
Jamison’s Landing was less than a mile down the Flint River now, just around the next big bend. Closing his eyes briefly, he could envision the big white house, the wide veranda that stretched across the front, the green-shuttered windows that seemed to blend into the trees dotting a sweeping expanse of lush lawn. He’d never been particularly fond of Cullen Jamison’s magnificent mansion, but now it was like the Promised Land, beckoning him home.
Yeah, there it was up ahead. Sitting on a tree-covered knoll, it rose from that red Georgia dirt to preside like a queen over the languorous countryside. Even on days when the landing itself was filled with bales of raw cotton ready to be loaded, there had been a somnolent quality to the place, as though life had slowed to a sleepy pace, and the low, rumbling songs sung by Cullen’s slaves were its lullabies.
But the river landing was bare now, bereft of bales and slaves, and the only sounds cutting through heavy, humid air were the lapping of water against wood and the strident cawing of two crows. There was an otherworldliness to the place.
Spence’s gaze traveled up the worn pathway to the fork in it, one to the main plantation house, the other to the buildings beyond. His eyes sought the house, and he suddenly realized something was terribly wrong.
What had appeared so majestic at a distance was anything but that up close. A derelict shell of its former self, its broken windowpanes, fractured lattices, and dangling shutters no longer hidden by the curtain of trees, it loomed silent and forbidding over an empty world. The almost decadent opulence of Cullen Jamison’s grand home had given way to a pervasive decay in months, not years. Spence stared in disbelief, his mind denying the scene before his eyes. It couldn’t be, but it was. As numbness faded, his thoughts raced, seeking some explanation.
Lydia and her family had been forced from the house, either by Yankee soldiers or by rebellious slaves, the latter thought the more unbearable. Whatever had happened, it had been cataclysmic enough to scatter nearly a hundred inhabitants, leaving none to tell
the tale. He didn’t even sense another soul.
Union soldiers would have burned the place down, but there was no sign of fire. And if the Landing’s slaves had ransacked it, where was everything? French-made carpets, Austrian crystal chandeliers, Venetian wallpapers—none of those things would have meant anything to them. Even if they’d killed every white and all the house Negroes, too, they’d still be here, if for no other reason than they had nowhere else to go.
And yet he couldn’t quite discount what Lydia had written him more than six months ago. With every able-bodied white man off to the war, the Negroes have become a lazy, insolent lot. The way some of them look at me chills my blood to the bone. Josh and I sleep behind a locked door, and I keep Papa’s hunting gun with me at night.
He’d sent Ross Donnelly to her for that very reason. But with the war over, had Ross left for England? While that seemed plausible enough, what about the rest of them? Maybe Lydia and Joshua had fled to Macon, but surely she would have written Spence from there. And what about the old Negro woman who’d raised her? Auntie Fan, Liddy’d called her.
As far as he knew, the Jamisons didn’t have much family anywhere. Cullen had come from Arkansas by himself years before, and by virtue of being an only child, Sally Winslowe Jamison had been an heiress. Lydia had been their only issue. Not much to choose from there. Except he’d heard Liddy say her mother had a cousin, a distant cousin actually, in Macon. Was it Stevens? Stephenson? Eliza Stephenson maybe. He was pretty sure Liddy had said the woman’s name was Stephenson. If he went into Macon, he could find that out. All of Cullen’s family had died off, except for some distant relations in Arkansas.
Spence reined in just short of the porte cochere at the west side of the house and dismounted. He crossed the deserted porch to press the latch on the unlocked doors. The heavy panels creaked inward, sending a wedge of sunlight across the empty foyer floor, casting his shadow almost to the ceiling. As he walked, the echo of his boots reverberated off the high white walls. Above him, an ornate plaster circle surrounded the bare spot where the elaborate hundred-candle chandelier had hung.