by Janet Dailey
"Not for certain."
She looked down at the ground. "Even if you did, I'm sure you are under orders not to reveal the location of Confederate troops. Such information could be useful to the Union army."
"It could."
"There is something I should tell you." Resolve lifted her chin.
"What's that?"
"My brother Kipp and his son Alex are both fighting on the side of the Union." With that confession made, Susannah looked to see his reaction. It was as if a shutter had come down, closing away his thoughts. "It's common knowledge in the Nation that my father was loyal to the Union."
"And where do you stand?"
"My sympathies are with the Union as well," she admitted, and tipped her chin a little higher. "I deliberately gave you the wrong impression last night by referring so quickly to my brother-in-law, Major Stuart. I saw you were rebels and I thought—"
He cut her off. "I can guess what you thought." There was something grim in his expression, but the steady regard of his eyes never wavered. "What makes you think you're safer now than you were last night?"
A brief ripple of alarm traveled through her, then vanished. "Because I trust you now," she said simply and truthfully.
He shook his head, a sudden grin splitting his mouth. "Is that answer supposed to appeal to my honor as an officer and a Southern gentleman? If it is, you've made a mistake, Susannah. Where you're concerned, I don't have one honorable thought in my mind." Reaching up, he rubbed his thumb over the curve of her cheek and mused, "Not a single, solitary one."
She trembled a little, but not from fear. "You don't frighten me."
He glanced up, capturing her gaze. "No? You frighten the hell out of me, Susannah." The line of his mouth softened as he lowered his hand, then turned, saying over his shoulder, "Be ready to leave in five minutes."
Reverend Cole halted the team in front of Oak Hill's columned mansion. Nothing stirred. It looked as empty as the fields they had passed. Worried, Susannah climbed down from the wagon without waiting for assistance.
Then the front door opened, and out stepped her mother, a little older than she remembered, a little thinner, but still tall and beautiful. Susannah picked up her skirts and ran to meet her.
"Susannah? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be back East."
"I came home." She hugged her.
Eliza drew back to look at her and lifted a trembling hand to smooth a tangle of curls back from Susannah's face. "You received my letter about your father. Lije said he would see that it got through the lines."
"It did. I—" Her glance was drawn to the front door as a fresh sense of loss swept over her. "I wish I had been home. I wish—"
"I know." Eliza gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, her own eyes misting over. A horse snorted, reminding them both they were not alone. "Now, who do I have to thank—" The sight of Reverend Cole patiently standing a few yards away stole the rest of her words as she drew in a sharp breath of surprise. "Nathan."
"Eliza." He came forward and folded his long fingers around her outstretched hands. "You look as lovely as ever."
"I can't believe this," she declared, then divided a questioning glance between the two of them. "How on earth did you two—"
"You mentioned in your letter Reverend Cole was at Fort Scott," Susannah explained.
"I tried to convince Susannah to wait until the Texas Road was safer to travel, but she was determined to come home, no matter the risk. And the good lieutenant here," he looked back to where Rans Lassiter stood loosely holding the reins to the dun horse, "was kind enough to escort us these last few miles."
"Mother," Susannah drew her forward. "I want you to meet Lieutenant Ransom Lassiter of the Texas Brigade. Lieutenant, this is my mother, Mrs. Eliza Gordon."
He pulled off his hat and took the hand Eliza offered with a slight bow. "A pleasure, Mrs. Gordon."
"You have my gratitude, Lieutenant Lassiter, for seeing my daughter safely to my door."
"And you have mine, Mrs. Gordon, for having such a lovely daughter. She made the ride to your home much too short." His casually drawled words couldn't mask his interest in Susannah. Eliza noticed the way his gaze lingered on her daughter, as well as the color rising in Susannah's cheeks. "You understand, Mrs. Gordon," he continued, his gaze still on Susannah and a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth, "it's been a long time since any of us have been in the company of a lady capable of blushing. It makes it easy to forgive her Yankee leanings and to regret the war that has hardened hearts and minds."
"Violence of any kind is always regrettable," Eliza replied.
"But sometimes unavoidable," he interposed.
Eliza lifted an eyebrow. "Men tend to believe that."
He laughed in his throat, his head dipping a moment. "It is obvious your daughter gets her spirit, as well as her beauty, from you, Mrs. Gordon."
"I hope her manners aren't as poor as mine have suddenly become. Please, you and your men come in. Let me fix you something to eat—"
He held up a hand to stave off her words. "As much as I would like to accept your invitation, we have to be going. It might not be a good idea for my men to discover your Yankee sympathies. And they might if we stayed. Besides, we have neglected our duties long enough as it is."
His glance flicked to Susannah as she struggled to hide her dismay. She hadn't expected the time for goodbyes to come so quickly, or the ache of regret to be so poignant.
Try as she might, Susannah was hard-pressed to explain her attraction to the rebel officer, but she couldn't deny its existence. She remembered the way Rans had kissed her that morning—and the way she had kissed him back—and suddenly she wanted to throw herself into his arms once again.
Instead, she waited patiently while he took his leave first from her mother, then from Reverend Cole.
"You and your men will be in our prayers," Nathan told him.
"We will need them, Reverend," Rans said, a wry slant to his mouth. His attention swung at last to Susannah, his gray eyes darkening a shade. "Keep a place reserved for me on your dance card, Miss Gordon."
"If you wish." She inclined her head in careful agreement.
"I wish." His look implied far more than simple confirmation. Nodding to her, he touched his hat, then prepared to mount.
"Lieutenant." She stopped him. "Will you give Lije a message for me?"
"If I can. There's no guarantee our paths will cross," he told her.
"Of course, but—if you do see him, tell him I saw a young woman he knows. Diane. She's at Fort Scott, with her father."
"I'll give him the message." He climbed into the saddle and signaled his men to move out.
As he swung his horse toward his men, he began whistling. After a few seconds Susannah recognized the song and its opening lyric, "Oh, Susannah, oh, don't you cry for me." She released a short laugh and pressed a hand to her mouth as tears sprang into her eyes.
Rust brown leaves swirled around the legs of the Confederate horses and mixed with the dust churned up by the shuffling hooves. The brooming November wind swept it all back, pelting the trio who watched the departing rebel patrol.
"Come. Let's go inside." Eliza's arm curved around Susannah's shoulders. Reluctantly, she submitted to its gentle pressure and turned toward the house, her heart heavy with a sadness she didn't want to explore. "The lieutenant seemed quite taken with you."
"It isn't likely I'll ever see him again though, is it?" Susannah voiced the thought that kept drumming in her head.
"Only God and time will tell," Eliza replied with a slight sigh.
A cautious Lucy held the front door open for them, her glance continually darting after the rebel patrol. Susannah looked back one last time at the collection of riders. They were halfway up the lane, trailed by a low cloud of rolling dust and tumbling leaves and framed by the arching branches of winter-bare trees. She thought she saw Rans riding at the head of the company, but they were too far away to be sure.
Inside the house, Susannah paused and loosened her grip on the wool shawl, letting it slide down about her shoulders. As she turned to say something to Reverend Cole, her glance fell on the shotgun propped against the wall by the door.
"Lucy, go put the kettle on for tea," Eliza instructed. "And tell Ebediah to see to Reverend Cole's wagon and team. They will—"
"Mother, what is this?" Susannah indicated the shotgun by the door.
Unruffled by the demanding tone, Eliza replied, "That's your father's shotgun, of course." She walked over and picked it up, then proceeded to unload with an expertise that had Susannah gaping. "Surely you haven't been in the East so long that you fail to recognize a shotgun."
"I know what it is, Mother," Susannah said, recovering. "But what is it doing by the door? And when did you learn how to handle a gun?"
"Shortly after your father died I had our neighbor old Mr. Johnson show me." She tucked the shells in her apron pocket. "I had no choice. With all the marauders about, my workers were too afraid to go into the fields to harvest the few crops we were able to raise—unless I stood guard with this." She indicated the shotgun she cradled quite naturally under her arm, its muzzle pointed at the floor.
"Do you know how to shoot it?" Susannah continued to regard her mother with amazement.
"I know how to shoot it. That isn't to say I could hit what I aimed at—unless it was very, very close."
Susannah looked to Reverend Cole to see if he found this news as startling as she did. He smiled, his eyes a-twinkle. "Perhaps your mother can instruct you in the use of your derringer."
"A derringer?" Eliza's expression mirrored Susannah's previous incredulity. "What are you doing with such a thing?"
"It's for protection," Susannah began defensively, only to stop when she heard Reverend Cole chuckle. A moment later all three of them were laughing.
"If we don't laugh at what we have become, then we must cry at the dire situation we find ourselves in," Eliza finally said as she led them all into the parlor. "Sometimes I wish that we had packed up and gone North at the outbreak of the war when so many other families fled the area. But Will wouldn't hear of it. Soldiers had forced him from his home once, years ago, then ransacked and looted it before destroying it. I know he couldn't bear the thought that history would repeat itself here at Oak Hill. It's why I can't bring myself to leave, even now, after all that's happened."
"Is it so bad, Mother?" Susannah frowned, troubled by the note of despair she had detected.
"Marauders have driven off all the livestock, save for one old mule and a milk cow that I hid away in that little glade by the creek. They have trampled or burned most of the crops. The few stores we have left, I put in the old root cellar. So far they haven't discovered its existence, but I expect it's only a matter of time before they do." She sighed and cast her gaze over the parlor. "The silver and tea service, all the small things of value in the house, I buried behind the stables."
Reverend Cole nodded in approval. "A wise precaution, Eliza."
"You said marauders. Do you mean the rebels have done this?" Susannah couldn't help thinking of Rans.
"Rebels, jayhawkers, the lawless rabble that has no loyalty to either side—they have all done damage here in the Nation." Eliza went on to tell them of raids on neighboring homes, beatings of Northern sympathizers, and the acts of reprisal committed by Union soldiers during their brief sojourn in the Nation, the robbings and the killings.
Susannah thought of her sister and asked, "What about Temple?"
"Her circumstances are not much better. She, too, has lost livestock and crops, though she does enjoy the protection of The Blade's name." She paused and looked at Susannah, a quiet anguish in her eyes. "As happy as I am to see you, I wish you had remained in the East, far from all the fighting here."
"I couldn't let you stay here alone, Mother," Susannah said, aware that she was only beginning to understand how protected she had been from the brutality of war. She would understand even more in the coming weeks and months.
Reverend Cole remained at Oak Hill for two more nights; then he continued on, intent on distributing what remained of the food and supplies in his wagon to the numerous destitute families in the area.
In late November the warm autumn weather ended, and the cold and freezing rains of winter moved across the Cherokee Nation. The weather matched the apprehension and gloom that claimed the countryside and all its occupants.
During December word filtered into the Nation of a major battle across the border in Arkansas at a place called Prairie Grove. The initial reports claimed that a combined Confederate force of eight thousand men had attacked a Union force of only six thousand southwest of Fayetteville. Federal reinforcements arrived in the middle of the day-long battle to thwart the hopes of a rebel victory. With yet more fresh Union troops expected to reach the battle site in the morning, the Confederate army slipped away in the night, leaving its camp-fires kindled to fool the enemy.
Susannah wasn't able to learn whether any of the Texas Brigade took part in the fighting, or whether her brother Kipp's regiment was there.
On Christmas Day Temple arrived at Oak Hill to bring them the news that both Lije and The Blade had emerged from the battle unharmed. She had learned—she wouldn't say how—that they were somewhere south of the Arkansas River. Susannah rejoiced with her and privately wondered whether Rans Lassiter was also safe, and whether he had given Lije her message about Diane. With head bowed, she listened to Reverend Cole's prayer for an end to the fighting and offered a fervent "Amen" when he concluded.
But the year ended with another Union foray into the Nation. Federal troops briefly reoccupied Fort Gibson, crossed the Arkansas River, and attacked and burned the Confederate stronghold of Fort Davis, driving the rebels deeper into the Choctaw Nation.
Again the Union force didn't stay to guard the area. It withdrew to its winter headquarters at Fayetteville, Arkansas. With the Yankees in northern Arkansas and the Confederates wintering at Camp Staration in the Choctaw Nation, the Cherokee Nation was left unprotected.
The sharp cold stung her face the instant Susannah stepped out of the detached kitchen into the cold February morning. She glanced up at the high blue sky and the bright sun that had failed to raise the frigid temperature more than a few degrees. She shivered and pulled the wool scarf up to cover her nose and mouth.
The crunch of heavy footsteps on the frozen ground came from her right as Ebediah trudged toward the kitchen, steam rising from the pail of fresh milk he carried. He had on the heavy winter coat that had been her father's, but he still looked half-frozen. Susannah made a mental note to speak to her mother about having one of the younger workers milk the cow in this cold weather. Ebediah was too old; he looked too fragile.
Privately, she wished her mother would give all the slaves their freedom. But as her mother had reasoned, with the war still raging, they would have nowhere to go, no food to eat, and little chance for survival.
How would any of them survive? Susannah wondered. Two eggs were all that had been collected that morning. With no corn to feed them, the hens had stopped laying, yet she knew she should be grateful they still had any chickens.
As she turned toward the house, Susannah heard the distinctive pounding of hoofbeats like a distant rumble of thunder. She paused and looked toward the road beyond the fallow field, her heart lifting just a little at the sight of the band of riders. But no one rode a zebra dun. She felt the first glimmer of alarm.
Taking no chances, Susannah called to Ebediah, "There are riders coming. Dump that milk on the ground. If they find out we have a cow, they'll search until they find it."
He hesitated no more than a heartbeat before he tipped the bucket and emptied the warm milk onto the cold ground. Susannah ran into the house to spread the alarm.
But Eliza had already spotted the riders from the dining room window. She met Susannah at the bottom of the staircase. "They're coming up the lane now. Come with me. We haven't much time."
She ran up the steps straight to her bedroom. "In the bottom drawer of that chiffonier is an old petticoat Bring it to me."
"Why? What do you want with an old petticoat?" Susannah asked as she knelt down to retrieve it from the drawer. When she lifted it out, she was surprised at its weight. "This is heavy. How much lead have you sewn into the hem to weigh it down?"
"Not lead, my dear." Eliza placed a hand on Susannah's shoulder to steady herself as she stepped into the petticoat "Four hundred dollars in gold. I took it out of your father's strongbox and sewed it into this old petticoat for safekeeping. You'll have to tie it tight or it will fall right off."
"Gold." Susannah pulled the strings tight, smiling in admiration of her mother's cleverness.
"I left a few dollars in the strongbox so they would find something." Eliza shook her skirts out to cover the petticoat. "Now let us hope our visitors are not the sort who molest women."
Just as they finished, the stamp and snort of horses could be heard in the drive directly in front of the house. "They're outside." Susannah looked at her mother.
Eliza smiled a nervous smile and squared her shoulders. "Let's go greet them."
When they reached the stairs, the front door burst open and a dozen shabbily clad men poured into the house, brandishing pistols and rifles. Eliza froze, for an instant transported back to that long-ago day at Gordon Glen when Union soldiers had swarmed into the house.
"What is the meaning of this?" Susannah demanded.
Recovering, Eliza lent her voice to her daughter's. "Who do you think you are, barging into my home?" She saw the ruffians falter and turn their startled, unshaven faces up to stare at them. "Did you not see the brass knocker on the door? It was put there to be used."
"Oh yeah?" One of them swaggered. "Maybe we wasn't sure you'd open the door to us."
"Who are you?" Susannah swept her gaze over the motley group. One wore a Union army jacket, and another had a Confederate forage cap. "What regiment are you with?"
"What regiment?" one of them repeated and guffawed. "Why, I guess you could say we're with our own regiment."