Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

  “If I have so much to live for,” Ceci countered, “then I should be prepared to defend it.”

  “That’s Doucet talking,” Hecubah scowled. “Can’t you see, he’s using you? Trent begged you to stay safe at home. Why don’t you listen to him?”

  “Trent’s out there, fighting my people,” she reminded her.

  “He’s only doing what he has to do,” Hecubah flared.

  “So am I,” Ceci yelled back.

  “God almighty,” Hecubah wrung her hands in frustration. “If I had that hickory switch now. I’d whip your bottom raw.” At her wits end she lunged forward, grabbing Ceci roughly by the arm. “You ain’t going,” she told her. “I ain’t gonna let you go.”

  Acting out of blind instinct, Ceci broke free, the palm of her hand cracking down across the woman’s face. “I won’t tolerate that kind of behaviour from a slave,” she spat tersely.

  Hecubah staggered back, eyes wide, lips trembling, astounded by the blatant insult. In the next instant she surged forward, pushing her face into Ceci’s. “When I stepped into that room, all them years ago,” she told her, her eyes misty with tears. “And saw that unhappy, angry little girl, my heart went out to you. All I can see now, is that same unhappy, angry little girl.” She began to cry in earnest. “I’m so sorry your family was killed, but that don’t give you no call to do what you’re gonna do. All that’s out there is death and tears, and it breaks my heart to know that you’re gonna be right in the middle of it.” She grasped Ceci by the shoulders, tears flooding uncontrollably down her amber cheeks. “I raised you, just like you was my own baby,” she sobbed. “But I don’t know who you is now.” She stepped back, pushing Ceci away, tore the silver dollar from her throat and threw it on the bed. “I don’t wanna know who you is now.” She spared Ceci a last, withering, glance, then marched out of the room.

  Drained and exhausted, Ceci sank onto a chair, put her face in her hands and breathed deeply. She couldn’t believe she’d been capable of such cruelty. It was, she told herself, like the lies, a necessary evil. After all they’d meant to one another, it grieved her to part company with Hecubah in such an acrimonious fashion, but it was the only way. All she could hope for was, that one day, Hecubah would understand why she’d acted as she did and find it in her heart to forgive her.

  ***

  Ceci had little time to dwell on the incident. She had only a day to put her affairs in order, before she left for Washington.

  The rap of knuckles on wood, sharp and brief, made her glance up. Simon Robicheaux stood in the doorway of the day room. He was a tall, powerfully built man, with greying hair and a face burned brown by the sun. He wore a dark jacket and waistcoat, tan breeches and tall leather boots. In his hand, he held a white, wide brimmed felt hat. A shrewd man of few words and even temper, he knew the plantation better than anyone.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr Robicheaux,” Ceci invited him in, indicating the chair on the other side of the desk at which she sat.

  He crossed the room in a few strides, and sat down.

  “You have been overseer on this plantation for more than thirty years,” she recalled, pouring two glasses of Sazerac and offering him one. “My father trusted you implicitly, and so shall I.”

  He accepted the glass, taking a large swig, the merest nod acknowledging her statement.

  “I must leave tomorrow,” she informed him solemnly. The very idea of what she was embarking upon, chilled the marrow in her bones. She took a sip from her glass. It didn’t help. “I may be gone for quite some time,” she continued tonelessly. “I want you to run this plantation in my absence, not only for the benefit of the people here, but also in the cause of the South.”

  Robicheaux drank again, offering her another stoic nod. There was nothing in her request that was beyond his ability.

  Ceci opened a drawer in the desk, and produced a slim leather wallet. “In here are some documents that will empower you to act in my name.” She laid the wallet on the desk in front of him. “I wonder if you would do some personal things for me,” she added.

  “You have only to ask,” he told her.

  “These are Hecubah’s papers.” She placed a large white envelope on top of the wallet. “The death of my father means, that I can set her free.” Her heart sank. She averted her eyes, biting at her lip. She knew, that having uttered these words, she might never see her again. “If she chooses to stay here,” she forced herself to go on. “I want her to have the position of housekeeper, with a salary of fifty dollars a month, in gold,” she emphasised, “not Confederate currency.”

  Robicheaux listened, a puzzled frown beginning to crease his brow.

  “If she chooses to leave,” Ceci paused, running her tongue over her dry lips. “There’s a bank draught for a thousand dollars, in gold. Will you see that she gets it?”

  Robicheaux glanced down, his fingers pinching nervously at the brim of his hat.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked, noticing the man’s agitation.

  “There’s been some mighty wild rumours circulating,” he prevaricated.

  Ceci leaned back in her chair. “Rumours?”

  “You and Ms Hecubah was like kin,” he finally came to the point. “Now…” he broke off with a shrug.

  “Mr Robicheaux. I have a very dangerous journey to make,” she explained as best she could. “Hecubah has been like a mother to me. I know that she would try to follow me, and likely get herself killed doing it. I would rather she remained here, with a broken heart, alive, than out there, dead beside me.” She paused, her heart aching as she recalled the terrible exchange between her and her beloved Hecubah. “It will take a very great deal to stop her. I can only pray, that I have done enough.”

  The light of understanding, banished the frown from Robicheaux’s face.

  Ceci produced a second envelope and placed it on top of the first. “You know the girl, Tilly?”

  “I know her,” he confirmed.

  “I have freed her also,” Ceci told him. “I want you to ask Hecubah to find her an education, and then an occupation on which she can live comfortably for the rest of her life. I would have freed them all,” she confided. “Despite Mr Lincoln’s proclamation, but that would have aroused too much suspicion.”

  She fell silent, staring at the desktop, preoccupied with what lay ahead of her. Robicheaux took it as a sign that the meeting was over. He rose, tossed back the remainder of his drink, returned the glass to the table, and gathered up the documents with a single sweep of his hand. He made to leave, then turned back. “God go with you, Miss Cecile,” he remarked vehemently. “We’ll all be looking for you every day.”

  “If,” Ceci began. “If I,” she almost choked on the thought. “If I should fail to return…”

  “I shall run this plantation,” he anticipated her, “to the best of my ability. To the day, I die.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she sighed with relief. “You are very gallant.”

  He inclined his head to her, and began to withdraw.

  “Oh, Mr Robicheaux,” she stopped him half-way between the desk and the door. Leaving her chair, she crossed the room to face him, stretching out her clenched fist.

  Instinctively, he opened his hand beneath it. Ceci dropped a drilled silver dollar into his palm, the gold chain, that had newly been threaded through it, dangling between his fingers.

  “Would you please give this back to Hecubah for me?” she asked. “Tell her. Tell her, she won it fair and square.”

  ***

  That night, Ceci checked that she had packed everything she needed. Then waited, sleepless, for the sun to rise. She felt strangely calm, at peace for the first time in months. She couldn’t account for it, but she was glad of it.

  As the first light of dawn began to suffuse the night sky, she rose, picked up her bag and
made her way softly down the back stairs. The house was still, deathly quiet, as if it mourned her departure. All the life seemed to have fled out of it.

  She passed through the empty kitchen and on to the side door she had chosen to leave by. She unlocked it and stepped outside. There, she paused, gazing out across the garden, the cypresses and cottonwoods, to the bayou beyond. This was all she’d ever known. All her hopes and dreams had been born here. All her joys, her sorrows, her love and her heartache. Although she knew a part of her would never leave here. She wondered if she would ever see it again.

  She closed the door. It clicked shut with an aire of finality. She realised that all the world stood before her, and that she had little understanding of it. All she could rely on now were her wits and her training. She hoped that it would be enough.

  Hecubah had been right. She’d warned her that one day she’d wake up to discover that she’d a whole lot more to lose. This was that day.

  Chapter Twenty One

  For the time being, Ceci had no option but to put the past behind her so that she could concentrate on what lay ahead. She began her journey in Louisiana and continued through Mississippi, Tennessee, and on to Richmond, Virginia, the capital city of the Confederacy. The further north she went, the more evidence she saw of the terrible devastation the war had wrought on southern towns and cities. Burned houses, ruined crops and deserted plantations. While thousands of dispossessed people, black and white, clogged the roads in search of safety and shelter. There were even times when the train had to be diverted to avoid sections of rail that had been destroyed.

  It was many days of arduous and exhausting travel. She had brought some food with her. Not enough for the entire journey, but she was able to buy more whenever they came to a station, which she ate on the train. Every so often it would stop for an hour to take on wood and water, allowing the passengers to alight, stretch their legs, find something to eat and relieve themselves. Most towns had hotels where a traveller could rent a comfortable room for the night before resuming their journey. Ceci had something of a schedule to keep, and preferred to remain on the train. Sometimes travelling all night, snatching a few hours of sleep, whenever she could.

  The railroad cars were packed with both civilians and soldiers, all of whom were required to carry travel passes. These had to be shown to the conductor whenever they crossed a border, or to the commanding officer of any picket line they had to pass through. Doucet had supplied her with both Confederate and Union passes. The federal documents had been forged by experts, and her passage was never questioned. Which amused her somewhat, considering the passes had been intended to deter spies and saboteurs. She kept herself to herself, rarely engaging in conversation with other passengers. Never saying anything that would give them cause to remember her.

  Delays were inevitable. Since conscription had come into force, thousands of new recruits had swelled the ranks of the Confederate army. From the windows of her railroad car, she saw whole regiments waiting to embark for the front line at every depot she passed through. She’d read that, at the beginning of the war, there had been a good deal of confusion over the colour of uniforms, making it difficult to tell which side a man was on. Finally, the Confederacy had settled on grey, and that’s what she saw now, oceans of grey uniforms. Although on some occasions, she noticed that many men had no uniforms, some didn’t even possess shoes. Since the Union had gained control of the Mississippi, it had become increasingly difficult to ship supplies to the troops. It was a worrying sign.

  After more than a week of continuous travel, she arrived in Richmond, Virginia. According to the plan Doucet had given her, she stopped for the day, rented a hotel room, bathed, changed her clothes and got a good night’s sleep. In the morning, she boarded the train to Alexandria, and Fort Jackson.

  The city was of enormous strategic importance to both factions, being on the southern side of the Potomac, only a few miles from Washington, the capital of the United States. It had fallen to the North, early in the war, and was guarded by a strong federal garrison, which controlled all the traffic on the river, as well as all the bridges across it.

  It was like entering a foreign country. The language and the customs were the same, but now the uniforms were blue. She noticed, in sharp contrast to what she witnessed further south, that all the men here were well equipped. It was here that she saw her first negro soldier. She recalled the concerns of the man in her father’s day room, some years before. Lincoln had emancipated the slaves and was now recruiting thousands of black troops to throw against the Confederacy. The sight of a black man was nothing new to her, but to see one in uniform was quite a different matter. In the South, many viewed coloured people as simple, childlike creatures, without the intelligence to make useful decisions. Here, as soldiers, they represented a formidable fighting force, motivated, no doubt, by the grudge they bore towards the South. They had left as slaves. They intended to return as conquerors.

  Ceci left the train and walked the rest of the way, reaching the Long Bridge in the early afternoon. As a key crossing into Washington, it was heavily defended against a rebel assault. For miles around, all the land had been torn up, buildings demolished, fences pulled down and trees felled to provide space for artillery emplacements and trench works. Besides several large forts in the area, there was also a detachment of cavalry, which guarded the bridge twenty-four hours a day. Security was tight.

  Ceci knew something that Doucet could never have taught her. By the time she’d turned sixteen, she was already well aware that a pretty girl, especially around older men, usually had no trouble in getting her own way. She considered battle weary soldiers, far from home, to be even easier prey, and she was right. A coy smile and the flutter of her eyelashes, proved to be more effective than the forged travel pass. Ultimately, the officer of the guard escorted her personally across the bridge, carrying her bag for her. She considered it her first victory over the Union.

  At last, she stood on the outskirts of Washington city. Only now did she deviate from the plan. Following the directions the officer had given her, she trudged the extra miles to the White House. It was a personal pilgrimage. Something she had promised herself she would do as soon as she got here.

  As she looked across the grounds at the imposing edifice, she felt the dark creature stir within her. This was the home of Abraham Lincoln, the seat of government in the United States, and the object of all her hatred. She ground her teeth and clenched her fists. If she could have torn it down with her bare hands she would have done so, there and then. For now, she contented herself with the thought that if she played her part well, one day, the only flag flying from the mast outside would be the Southern Cross.

  It was getting late, and the Douglas house was still some miles away. Turning her back on the impressive building, she set off across town ready to initiate the first part of her plan.

  The size of the city didn’t impress her. She’d been to Lafayette, New Orleans and Baton Rouge. One big city was much like another, crowded, noisy and dirty. She continued walking, until she found the address she was looking for. The Douglas residence was a fine town house, standing in its own grounds. Somewhat grand for a minor official, but Ceci already knew that Josiah was living precariously beyond his means.

  She paused for a moment, a sense of trepidation stealing over her. The success of her assignment relied on her being able to gain access to this house. If anything went wrong now, the plan would fail, which could cost her her life. It was her first real test of nerve. She drew a deep breath, her hand tightening on the handle of her bag.

  Then, as instructed, she made her way around to the back door and knocked. She waited for a tense moment, before the door was opened by the housekeeper, Florina Winthrop, an aging spinster with little or no idea how to do her job.

  The information Doucet had supplied, informed her that Florina was a distant relative of Josiah’s who had
fallen on hard times. He’d taken her in, more as a favour than practical help. She seemed pleased to see Ceci, even more so when she’d offered her cover story. She told her that she was experienced in running a house, which wasn’t all lies. Hecubah had taught her the basic skills required of a married woman to run her own household. It wasn’t much, but it was a lot more than Florina knew.

  In the weeks that followed she seemed happy to leave Ceci mostly to her own devices, gradually relying on her meagre ability to cover what she lacked. Absent minded and prone to vacillation, Ceci found it easy to manipulate her to her own ends.

  The cook occupied a room adjacent to the kitchen, in the basement. The two other maids that worked in the house, had to share a room in the servant’s quarters on the ground floor. Ceci got a small box room all to herself. Doucet had seen to that. Privacy was of paramount importance.

  She soon discovered that although the hours were long, her duties were relatively light, allowing her plenty of time to eavesdrop. Despite any misgivings she might have had about Doucet, she couldn’t help but admire his ability. His meticulous groundwork and attention to detail had allowed her to enter the Douglas household, unchallenged and virtually unnoticed. As time passed, they paid little more attention to her than they did the furniture, allowing her considerable freedom of movement.

  The Douglas’s were a small family. There was Josiah and his wife, Lydia, and their two daughters. Constance, sixteen, bright and inquisitive, full of energy and questions, and Amelia, twenty-two. Like Ceci, she had succumbed to the caresses of her young man, but without someone like Hecubah to help her she now bore the evidence of her encounter. Her father had banished her to the upper floors of the house, to hide her shame from the neighbours, where she now lived in virtual isolation. They reminded Ceci a little, of how her family had once been. She both envied and hated them for having what she’d lost.