Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

  “I swear, on a stack of bibles,” Ceci crossed her heart.

  “All right then,” Hecubah relented. “I’ll take your word on that. No more socks. It’ll be something for our boys to celebrate.”

  ***

  Ceci was woken early by the sound of someone running past her room. She rose, pulled a robe over her nightdress and went to see what was happening. By the time she stepped out onto the landing, it was empty. She followed it all the way down to the west wing, before she noticed the door to her father’s bedroom was open. She looked in.

  His bed was strewn with clothes, whilst Hecubah hurriedly helped him pack a large valise. On the bed, beside it, was a holstered pistol.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, with a frown of concern.

  Her father glanced up. “Not now, Cecile. Go back to bed,” he dismissed her abruptly.

  “Please,” she insisted. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve just been informed that federal troops are moving up the Mississippi,” he continued to pack the choices Hecubah made into the valise, whilst he talked. “They’re about to attack Fort Jackson and Fort St Philip. If they break through, they’ll be in New Orleans.”

  “Celeste and the baby,” Ceci gasped.

  “Clay’s off fighting somewhere,” Hecubah added, handing a bundle of shirts to Ceci’s father. “She’s all on her own.”

  “I’m going for her now,” her father informed her. “I’m going to bring her back here, where’s she’s safe.”

  “Give me a minute,” Ceci responded recklessly. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, Cecile,” her father shook his head, “it’s too dangerous.” He drew the pistol, checked that it was loaded and threw it into the bag. “I’m taking Joshua and no one else.”

  “But Daddy,” Ceci argued.

  “No,” he barked. “And that’s final. Go back to your room.”

  “Go on, honey,” Hecubah waved her away. “There ain’t nothing you can do here.”

  Ceci returned to her room, threw on some clothes and re-emerged just in time to see her father going downstairs. She finally managed to catch up with him in the hall where Joshua was waiting by the open front door.

  “Please, be careful, Daddy,” she cried clutching his arm.

  He turned, looking dishevelled and unshaven. “Simon Robicheaux, the overseer, is in charge of the plantation,” he told her. “You be a good girl, and help Hecubah run the house. Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I expect to be back in five days. A week at the most” He paused distractedly, then stooped and kissed her. She felt his whiskers scrape her cheek, smelt a trace of yesterday’s cologne, before he turned and left.

  “He’s forgot his watch,” Hecubah had it in her hand. She followed him out, closing the door behind her.

  “Take care, Daddy,” Ceci breathed, raising her hand in a pointless wave.

  ***

  “He said five days,” Ceci recalled, as she and Hecubah picked at their breakfast. “A week at the most. It’s been ten days now and still no word.”

  Hecubah was about to answer, when they heard the front door open, then close.

  They jumped up, ran down the passage and into the hall, but it was only Joshua. He was alone. His head was bandaged and his left arm was in a sling. He grasped his battered old straw hat in his good hand.

  Ceci came to an abrupt halt. A chill swept through her. The spectacle suggested something too terrible to contemplate. She shrank against Hecubah, clutching her hand. For what seemed like an eternity, no one spoke. Then Ceci drew a deep breath and let it slowly out, into the thunderous silence. “Have they been hurt?” she asked. It was the best she could hope for.

  Joshua hung his head.

  Ceci winced, as Hecubah’s hand crushed hers. “All of them?” she heard herself say. “Dead. The baby too?”

  Joshua nodded.

  The very core of her being shuddered under the hammer blow. She felt her soul tear loose, crashing around inside her, like a bird frantically beating its wings against the bars of a cage. Until, all that remained was a void inhabited by some formless, nameless thing. A dark creature, born of pain and anguish, that assaulted the shattered bastions of her heart, seeking to dominate and enslave her. The moment she knew her family were dead, a part of her died with them.

  “What happened?” she asked, abandoning herself to despair.

  Joshua looked up. “New Orleans fell, without hardly a shot being fired,” he recounted. “The mayor surrendered the city a few days after the Yankee men arrived. It was a freak accident. A stray cannon shell. I was coming back to the buggy, when it was hit.”

  Hecubah’s hand went limp. She sagged against Ceci, slipping down to the floor. Ceci caught her, cradling her head in her lap. “Get help,” she shouted.

  Moments later, Joshua returned with two kitchen hands. Ceci had them carry Hecubah up to her room and lay her on her bed. Then she dismissed them, allowing Joshua to stay.

  “She’s always been so strong,” she confided, stroking Hecubah’s brow. “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

  “She loved your family,” Joshua told her. “It was her whole world.”

  Ceci glanced up across Hecubah’s prone figure. “Where are they now?” she asked flatly. “What happened to the bodies?”

  Joshua’s face creased in anguish. “As God is my witness, I couldn’t bring them home. The rail lines was cut. No boats running. Your daddy had friends in New Orleans. They took care of it. They’re buried in the cemetery there. It was a descent Christian funeral,” he assured her.

  “And Clay?” Ceci pressed him.

  Joshua shook his head. “They sent word out, but they ain’t bin able to find him. Some folks reckon he might have died in battle, but no one knows for sure.”

  Ceci’s jaw tensed. She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done all you can,” she told him. “Thank you for that. Now get some rest, let those wounds heal.”

  Joshua rose, then paused. “I believe in the Lord God,” he told her, with profound sincerity. “I know your people are with him now, and that they are in a better place. Try to believe that, Miss Cecile, and maybe your wounds will heal too.”

  Ceci sat with Hecubah until she regained consciousness. They smiled at one another, until Hecubah’s smile faded. She reached up and laid a hand against Ceci’s cheek. “Don’t do It, child,” she murmured.

  Ceci flinched back. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I can see it in your eyes,” Hecubah sighed. “All the light’s gone out of them. Don’t put a rock where your heart should be. Don’t go looking for vengeance. It ain’t gonna bring no one back. You’ll only destroy yourself.”

  “You’re delirious,” Ceci dismissed her remarks. She lifted the hand from her cheek and lay it back on the bed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “You know that I do,” Hecubah insisted. “Come back to me, honey. I can’t bear to lose you too.”

  Ceci was in no mood to listen. “You need to rest,” she ignored her, rising to leave. “Try and sleep a little. Call me if you need anything.”

  Ceci returned downstairs, gripped by an insatiable restlessness. She prowled the house all day and into the night, staring endlessly into empty rooms, remembering the faces she would never see again. Drop by drop, the void within her began to fill with poison, nourishing the dark creature, that drove her tirelessly on, clouding her mind with anger and hatred.

  She had prayed so hard for one man’s safety, she’d never considered that fate could strike from another direction. Fate, be damned. It was the Union, Lincoln and this God forsaken war, that had destroyed her life and robbed her of her family. If she could have transformed herself into a weapon, there and then, she would have done so. She would have hurled herself into the heart
of the North and destroyed it all, in an instant. She wanted to act now. Strike a blow now. It was her total inability to do so that frustrated and enraged her. It was a cold rage, and yet it warmed her, because her heart was colder. It kept the creature alive within her, giving it the strength to control her actions.

  Eventually, she retired to her room, for the sake of the sleeping household, if nothing else. She didn’t undress, but lay down on top of the bed, staring listlessly into the shadows. At length, her eyes alighted on the picture of Trent, she kept by her bedside. She caught her breath and shivered. For a moment, all she could see was a Union soldier. The dark creature cried out from the utter depths of her despair, urging her to level all her anger at him. In that very instant, Ol’ Magic rose and cast it effortlessly down. Even her burning hatred of the Union could not destroy her love for him. She picked up the picture, touched it to her trembling lips and pressed it to her breast. Then she turned down the lamp and lay in the silent darkness, knowing, that somewhere out there, in the endless night, a tiny ember glowed, and nothing on earth would extinguish it.

  From that moment on, Ceci existed in a state of perpetual conflict. Torn between what she wanted most, and what she felt she had to do. From day to day, God alone knew which mood would prevail.

  Ceci was unaware of the passage of time. She didn’t know how long she’d lain there. Gradually, she became aware of a sound, a soft sobbing sound, that permeated the darkness. She turned her head to listen. It seemed to be coming down the hall, from Hecubah’s room.

  She rose, turned up the lamp and took it with her. She didn’t knock, but just walked in. As the lamplight banished the darkness from the room, she saw Hecubah sitting on the floor, at the foot of her bed. Her nightdress half on, half off, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders. She was a vision of desolation, of reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks. She shuddered and sobbed uncontrollably, as if nothing in the world would ever console her.

  Even though she couldn’t fathom the depth of Hecubah’s emotion, Ceci didn’t question it. She set the lamp down, knelt, and put her arms around her. She held her close, held her tight, until the sun rose over the bayou, but for her own grief, she shed not one tear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hecubah carried the tray into the morning room. She took a plate of food and a cup of coffee from it and placed them on the desk, in front of Ceci. She barely glanced up. Reaching forward, she pushed the plate aside with the back of her hand.

  Hecubah thrust her hands onto her hips. “How long you gonna go on, like this?” She demanded.

  “The plantation won’t run itself,” Ceci continued to write.

  “Simon Robicheaux can do that,” Hecubah informed her. “It’s his job, and you know it.”

  “There are accounts to balance,” Ceci gestured at the stack of papers in front of her. “Bills to pay.”

  “They can wait,” Hecubah would have none of it. “How long’s it bin since you wrote to Trent? A month, more?”

  Ceci paused to glance at his picture, perched on the corner of the desk, next to the one of her father and Celeste. “What’s the point?” she shrugged dismissively. “He don’t get my letters and I haven’t heard from him in ages. Besides,” she added tonelessly. “He don’t need my encouragement to kill southerners.”

  “There it is,” Hecubah slammed her fist onto the desk. The coffee cup danced in its saucer, making Ceci flinch. “Right there. That’s what I’m talking about,” she barked. “What have you become? What are you allowing yourself to be?” she demanded. “You know, as well as I do, Trent ain’t that kind of man. He’d have died, before he let harm come to your folks. Why, if he knew anything about it, he’d be here.” She jabbed her finger on the desk top. “He’d have deserted, on pain of death, and he’d be here, right now.”

  Ceci folded her hands in front of her. “I’m busy,” she sighed dispassionately. “I’ve no time for this.”

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah fumed. “No time. Is that right? You think you is the only one with a broken heart? You think you is the only one whose suffering?” She grabbed the picture of Ceci’s father. “You think throwing your life after theirs is gonna make a difference?”

  Ceci put her palms flat on the desk and stared balefully at her. “Someone has to pay.”

  Hecubah stood back, her eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah, that’s it. Now we’re getting there,” she grinned mirthlessly. “Someone’s gotta pay. Who’s that gonna be?” she goaded. “The Union? Lincoln? God? The only one I see paying is you. You keep eating into yourself this way, you gonna die. You gonna die bitter and alone.”

  Ceci refused to rise to the taunts. She merely lowered her eyes, without deigning to answer.

  Hecubah lunged forwards, thrusting a finger into her face. “You think you lost a lot,” she flared. “One day, you is gonna wake up and realise you got a whole lot more to lose, unless you get off that ugly road you’re on.” With that, she turned and stormed out.

  For a while, Hecubah saw fit to leave Ceci to her own devices, to let her stew, hoping she would come to her senses in time. Ceci hardly noticed her absence, preoccupied with the running of her late father’s estate, obsessed by dark and reckless thoughts.

  That morning, a maid came in, bearing a small silver tray. On it was a single calling card. Ceci picked it up and read it aloud. “Mr Henry Doucet.” The name seemed vaguely familiar.

  She instructed the maid to show him into the morning room. She rose from behind the desk, pausing only to glance at herself in the mirror. She saw the pale face, the gaunt features, the haggard expression and the black dress. She hadn’t yet been a bride and already she looked like a widow. She sighed indifferently. Tomorrow, she would have the mirror removed.

  Doucet was waiting, hat in hand. He bowed his head in greeting, as she entered the room. Now she remembered him, from the night of the ball. Tall, lean, sallow complexion. Ordinary to look at. She’d have passed him in the street without a second glance.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she enquired, inviting him to sit.

  “I read about your family, in the paper, recently,” he explained. “I was passing. I thought I would stop by and offer you my sincerest sympathies for your tragic loss.”

  Ceci wasn’t as gullible as she’d once been. Recent events had honed her mind and sharpened her wits. “While I appreciate your condolences,” she replied. “I doubt that it’s the only reason for your visit.”

  A thin smile parted his lips. “Very astute,” he approved. “I did right in coming here.” He paused and glanced around, to be certain they were alone. Then he leaned forward in his chair, speaking in a low voice. “As things stand now,” he advised her. “The outcome of the war is far from certain. I can offer you an opportunity to strike a blow for the South, and at the same time avenge the death of your family.”

  His words dripped, like venom, into her ears. The creature inside her stirred, howling for release. “How so?”

  He allowed himself another thin smile, noting her interest. “You recall, when we first met,” he continued. “I told you that my speciality was gathering intelligence.”

  “By that, you mean espionage,” Ceci interrupted. “You want me to be a spy.”

  Doucet sat back, clearly impressed by her insight.

  “Do you honestly expect me to open a salon in the North?” she continued. “Fraternise with inebriated young officers, and listen to their pillow talk?”

  “Such places do exist in the North,” he acknowledged. “As I know they do in the South. Those ladies perform a vital service to the cause, but I have something far more radical in mind.”

  “Which is?”

  He leaned forward again. “I intend to train an elite force of women, who will penetrate deep behind enemy lines. For any purpose,” he emphasised.

  His answer failed to impress her. “W
hat is it that this elite force of women can do that men can’t?” she enquired.

  “There still exists, in this country, despite the war, a code of conduct towards women,” he advised her. “A woman can go where a man can’t. She poses no threat. A man will confide in her, in ways he would never dream of doing with another man. No man, not even in his wildest imaginings, would ever believe her capable of doing, what I will train her to do.” He paused, studying her for a moment, assessing her potential. “I intend to exploit this advantage, for the good of our cause.”

  This was the chance she’d been waiting for. The chance to hit back. To avenge her dead father and her dead sister, but she remained cautious. “And if I choose to decline your offer?”

  He gestured vaguely. “Certainly, you are at liberty to do so. I have given you no sensitive information. I will merely take my leave of you and we will never meet again,” he finished, reaching for his hat.

  The creature inside her howled once more, and this time, she listened. “What’d I have to do?”

  Again, the thin smile. “Two weeks from today, at four o’clock in the afternoon, a launch will arrive at Jenson’s Warf. It will fly a blue flag with a white star.”

  “The Bonnie Blue flag,” Ceci recognised it.

  “Precisely,” Doucet nodded. “It will wait five minutes and then depart for a secret location. A hidden training camp. You will be gone for three months. Tell anyone you need to satisfy that you have volunteered to be a nurse in the field hospital at Opelousas. They are overwhelmed with casualties since the battle of Baton Rouge. You will say nothing else, to anyone, ever, especially when you return.” He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew an envelope, which he placed on the table between them. “In here are directions to Jenson’s Warf, train times, money, details of the plan, and what you may bring with you.”