The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1)

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Bridget smiled, and her eyes drifted closed. Ruth stroked her hair and let the tears fall until her eyes ran dry.

  Ironwood Plantation

  March 17, 1862

  Light fell through the open curtains and pooled on the floor, bathing the huge room in warmth. Lydia stretched under the bedcovers and marveled at her new home. Before the light had fully touched the sky, her new husband had risen, dressed, and begun his day. He had promised to return for breakfast and then show her around the house and the grounds.

  She sat up in the feather bed, exceedingly grateful to be given a room of her own. Mother and Daddy had never shared a room, though she had heard some couples did. She slipped her toes from beneath the coverings and felt the thick green rug that covered the hardwood floor. Had he known her favorite color? Perhaps he’d made inquiries.

  She smiled at the amount of thought he must have put into readying the room. On the wall opposite her canopied bed wide enough for two stood a wooden armoire, larger than she’d ever seen and with more than enough room for her few dresses. She had a desk, a dressing table and mirror, a wash basin and screen, and more space in a single room than seemed practical.

  She looked down at her thin nightdress and remembered the night before. She inspected the sheets beneath her. Mother had said a bride was supposed to have a bit of blood on the bedclothes. Would he notice its absence? Her heart raced. She leapt from the bed and pulled the sheets free, hoping to wad them and send them to wash before he thought to inspect them.

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Mother had proven right. It was nothing at all like what horses do. He was gentler than she had expected even though she’d been little more than a stiff board. After their act was finished, he had immediately asked that she no longer call him Mr. Harper. He’d winked and said they knew one another well enough now to call each other by their given names.

  She had to appreciate the fact that his disposition was given to humor. Of course, she supposed he was correct, but at the same time she feared he would never really know her, her true self, at all. Lydia finished tugging the cotton coverings from the deep recess of the mattress and had them bundled in her arms when a quick knock sounded at the door.

  “Ma’am?”

  Lydia glanced around the room and decided to dump her armload beside the trunk sitting at the foot of the bed. “Yes?”

  “Can I come in, ma’am?” said the female voice on the other side of the door. Lydia looked down at her night dress and scanned the room for a robe. She didn’t see one.

  “I’m, um, not quite ready yet.” She hurried over to the armoire and flung open the door. An array of brightly-colored dresses clogged the space. Where had they all come from? She quickly shifted through them. Day dresses, ball gowns in every color, thick, heavy taffeta, and thin, smooth silks.

  “Ma’am?”

  “One moment!”

  She recognized none of the garments. Then she remembered she’d not even unpacked her trunk. Mother had said her husband planned on surprising her. Did he have the entire wardrobe fashioned for her?

  Another tap at the door.

  Robe. She needed a robe. She shifted through the clothes again. Nothing she could throw on in an instant.

  “Ma’am? You all right?”

  Lydia pursed her lips and padded over to the door to open it a crack. She looked into the wide face of a dark-skinned woman standing primly on the other side. The woman lowered into a slight curtsey, balancing a pile of fresh laundry in her hands. “Good mornin’, ma’am.”

  “Good morning.” Lydia stood there, unsure what to do next. Could she simply send the woman away?

  “Mightst I come in, ma’am? The master has sent me to assist you.”

  “With what?”

  The woman frowned. “With your dressing and readying for the day. He says I’m supposed to assist you until you find a girl of your own, seein’ as how you didn’t bring one.”

  Lydia grimaced and glanced down at her thin covering. “I’m sorry, uh…”

  “Lucy.”

  “Lucy. I’m Lydia.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I, well, I can’t seem to find a robe, and all I have is this nightdress.” She heaved a sigh, heat creeping up to her ears.

  Lucy shook her head. “You didn’t have someone dress you before?”

  Lydia clenched her teeth. They would think her a country farmer’s daughter for sure. She couldn’t possibly tell Lucy she often ran around without a corset or hoops, in simple dresses that allowed freedom of movement. That was what children did, and she was now a woman. She squared her shoulders and widened the door without another word.

  Lucy stepped past her, and then stopped at the bed. “Where’s your bedclothes, ma’am?”

  Lydia paled. “I removed them.”

  Lucy frowned, but lowered the fresh sheets on to the bed, then walked over to the white pitcher and removed it from the basin. “I done brought up a bucket of warmed water. I’m going to go fill the pitcher so’s you can wash up.”

  She bustled out and closed the door behind her with a soft click. Lydia scurried over to the wad of sheets. She stared at them. Would they be shown to Charles? Did men still do such things? Before she could contemplate a way to handle the dilemma, Lucy opened the door and walked over to the basin, pouring the water inside. “If you want to be washin’ yourself, I’ll get your clothes out for the day.”

  She couldn’t choose her own things? Lydia frowned but didn’t argue. Life would be different here. She might as well make the best of it. She eyed the dressing screen and slipped behind it, removing her nightdress. She peaked around and saw Lucy digging in the trunk with her back turned.

  Lydia quickly washed herself and dried her damp skin with the towel hanging off the side of the basin table.

  Lucy draped a pair of stockings, drawers, and a chemise over the top of the screen, and Lydia quickly dressed. She stepped out from behind the privacy shield and allowed Lucy to help her into a corset, hoop slip, petticoat, and pale pink dress.

  “Now I’m goin’ to do your hair.”

  Lydia nodded, swallowing the lump that gathered in her throat.

  A knock sounded at the door. Before she could answer, it swung open. Charles stepped in, a large smile on his face. “Good morning!”

  She smiled shyly at him, resenting the heat that crept into her cheeks upon remembrance of the night past.

  “All finished, ma’am. Send for me if you needs anything else.” Lucy gathered the discarded bed linens and Lydia’s nightgown and hurried from the room. Lydia let out a long breath of relief.

  One crisis averted, Lydia turned in the small vanity seat to regard her new husband. His gaze drifted to the stripped bed, but his expression revealed nothing.

  “Are you ready to go down to the dining room?”

  Lydia rose from her seat. “I am.”

  “After we eat I shall show you the house.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “And afterward, would you care to go for a ride?”

  Lydia brightened. “I would.”

  Charles lifted his eyebrows. “Good. Then I shall show you the reaches of the plantation. Perhaps we might even enjoy a noon meal out of doors.”

  He offered his arm, and Lydia looped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Something tingled down her spine, but she chose to ignore it.

  Somewhere in the woods of Mississippi

  Ruth kneaded the sore muscles in her neck. Her stomach complained at not having any food for the last two days, but she had more important things to worry her than hunger. More times than she could remember, she’d looked back to the end of the line to check on Bridget. Seven others separated her from her sister. She didn’t know where they came from. She’d didn’t even care to ask. What did it matter where they’d come from when all that mattered was where they were all going?

  The two closest to Bridget took turns helping her walk, shouldering her weight. If not for the kind woman and the young boy o
f about twelve years that kept her sister moving, Ruth feared Bridget might have been left behind. Bridget stumbled along, her drawn face evidence she could no longer muster the sad smile she’d tried to offer Ruth throughout the long day of walking.

  They’d started early in the morning, when the sky began to gray with the coming light, and hadn’t stopped for even the most basic necessities. They’d stayed out of sight, passing through fields and down a lonely road. Ruth hadn’t seen the first soul. Not that she expected help to come from any strangers they might pass. The sun began its daily descent, and Ruth longed to stop placing one foot in front of the other if only for a few moments.

  Finally, when the procession slowed to the point of stumbling over themselves, despite how many times Byram cracked his whip at their gaunt bodies, he reined in his horse and moved them into a clearing. He wrapped his thick fingers around Ruth’s wrist and dragged her to a large pine, tying her end of the rope securely to it. She sank to her knees, her body too weak to continue to stand.

  A moment later he returned to the tree again, securing the other end of the rope around the tree, leaving the captives bound to it and bunched underneath. When he disappeared into the woods, Ruth scooted as close to Bridget as she could get.

  “You all right?” she whispered.

  Bridget nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I wanna go home.”

  Ruth gripped her hand, feeling her sister’s cold, clammy skin despite the muggy air. Tightness gripped her chest, making each breath hard to bring in. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna get out of this. I know it. And then we’ll head north. I hear there’s free Negros up there.”

  Bridget gave her a sad smile. “Promise me you’ll run for it if you can. Run north as far as you can go and live a free life for both of us.”

  Ruth gripped Bridget’s fingers tighter. “We’re both goin’. We can make it.”

  Bridget sighed and lifted her face to the canopy of thin needles overhead. “Promise me.”

  A sob threatened to escape Ruth’s throat. She shook her head. The others eyed them. Ruth knew there would be no fight from this bunch. Though kind, they weren’t the type to run. Didn’t they see? If they didn’t try, they might not survive.

  Byram stomped back to their huddled forms, silencing their conversation. He pulled a knife from his behind his back and examined the way the sun glinted off the blade. His wicked lips parted revealing his yellowed smile. He pointed the blade at Bridget.

  “Soon as I get that tent up, you’ll be joining me.”

  The monster! Ruth strained against her bindings, the rough fibers tearing into her still raw wrists. He deserved no less than to find the fires of the pit. She spat at him. The spittle landed just shy of his worn boots.

  Byram laughed. “And when I’m done with that pretty sister of yours, maybe you’ll be next. You’re not quite as nice to look at, but you still got all the right parts.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. The others lowered their gazes, looking at swollen feet and the ground underneath them. She’d have no help from them. If she and Bridget were going to survive, it’d be by her own devices.

  Ruth rose to her feet and stepped in front of Bridget as much as her bindings would allow her. “You leave her alone.”

  Byram’s heavy brows pulled together and the muscles in his jaw twitched. “You don’t get to say what I will and won’t be doing.”

  Ruth crossed her arms to conceal her trembling hands, but pushed as much fierceness into her stare as she could muster.

  Byram growled and stepped closer to her. Ruth forced herself to hold his fearsome gaze. Before she could react, his arm swung and the back of his meaty hand smacked across her face, snapping her head around. She blinked away the sting of tears and regained her defiant position. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

  Byram grinned. “So, you’re a tough one, huh? Well let’s just see how tough you really are.” He balled his fist and slammed it into her stomach. The breath left Ruth’s lungs, and her body immediately crumpled around the pain radiating in her belly. She groaned and fought to regain her footing, stumbling but once again regaining her stance. She leveled her eyes on him.

  Surprise flickered across Byram’s face, quickly replaced by burning fury. Ruth ground her teeth and held his gaze. “Let her alone. She’s no use to you now, anyway. She’s too weak.” She hesitated, and then straightened her shoulders. “I’ll go with you instead.”

  Bridget gasped from behind her, but Ruth kept her gaze on Byram. Maybe if she could convince him she’d be willing, she could get him to release her from the ropes and she could figure out a way to escape.

  Byram lifted his eyebrows. “So now you’re eager for your turn, eh? Don’t you worry, you’ll be getting it soon enough.”

  He stepped closer and placed a meaty hand on her shoulder, then let it slide down the front of her dress and over her small curves of womanhood. Ruth fought to keep down the bile that rose in her throat and stood still under his touch. When his hand reached lower, she rammed her knee into the place between his legs where men were most tender.

  He yowled and jumped back, spewing a string of curses. She watched in horror as he bent over double. He’d never give her the opportunity to escape now. What had she done?

  Ruth glanced at Bridget, her sister’s eyes wide. “Look what you did! He’s gonna be madder than ever now,” Bridget hissed.

  Ruth’s heart fluttered as Byram stood upright again, his breathing labored. In one stride he towered over her. Ruth fought a hard battle with the fear raging in her chest but couldn’t contain it.

  Byram raised a fist over her head and brought it down with such force that she staggered, blackness edging in around her vision. She blinked rapidly but couldn’t free herself from the dizziness. Ruth’s knees buckled, and she slipped to the ground.

  Somewhere far off, a familiar voice called to her. She tried to remember who it belonged to. She forced her eyes to open and focus. Byram grabbed hold of Bridget’s arm and hauled her away from the others. “No!” Ruth croaked, lifting a heavy arm to stop him. She tried to gain her feet, but the rising tide of darkness sucked her into its depths.

  Her bed felt too hard. Had she rolled off and onto the floor? “Momma?”

  Why was her throat raw? Ruth swallowed hard and opened her eyes into thin slits. The bright light caused her to become aware of a steady pounding in the back of her head. She moaned and rolled to her back. Rough ground scratched through her thin dress. She closed her eyes and told herself to go back to sleep. When she woke again, she’d be in her own bed, and the nightmare would be over.

  Birds twittered overhead, and a slight breeze lifted the heaviness of the air. Something scurried over her leg, and her eyes popped open. Massive limbs spread their shade over her, bits of sunlight tumbling down through the bright green needles. Confusion furrowed her brow until the memories flooded her. She bolted upright and immediately regretted it. Her head swam and caused a queasy feeling in the pit of her empty stomach. She clenched her eyes tight and focused on steady breathing until the feeling subsided. She opened her lids slowly to allow them to adjust to the light.

  Around her, the others slept, curled and huddled together in awkward positions against their restraints. Her pulse quickened.

  No Bridget.

  Ruth searched the area for Byram but didn’t see him anywhere. If he’d pitched the tent last night, it had already been stowed away this morning. Where, then, was her sister?

  She’d just begun to try to rip her hands free of the rope when he stepped out of the woods carrying a short shovel. Their eyes met, and he glared at her. The tiny bit of stale moisture remaining in Ruth’s mouth evaporated. Without a word he strode over to the sleeping group and started kicking at them with his boot.

  “Get up you lazy lot of weaklings! You ain’t worth this here trouble.”

  The people startled awake, scrambling away from him as much as they could. The young boy that had helped Bridget yelped whe
n Byram landed a swift kick to his back.

  They rose to their feet, eyes wide and white in their dark faces. Ruth stood and studied the hulking man as he cut the rope free of the tree.

  “Where’s my sister?”

  He ignored her, yanking on the rope and sending the people stumbling. He dragged them a short distance through the woods to the road where his horse stood hitched to a wagon. He tied them to it and dug around in the back until he lifted free a long coil of leather. When did he get a wagon? She ground her teeth. If she’d been strong enough to stay awake, she could have escaped while he went after it. She pulled herself up on her toes, praying Bridget slept in the back of the wagon.

  Empty, save a few supplies.

  Ruth drew a ragged breath and willed her aching heart to ease. Wherever Bridget was, Byram looked like he planned on leaving her.

  “I said where is my sister?” Ruth hissed through her clenched teeth.

  Byram turned on his heel and unwound the coil of leather, sending the whip flying through the air and striking her skin with a loud crack. She cried out and gripped her arm, feeling warm blood slip through her fingers.

  “Silence! All of you.” Byram bellowed and swung up into the wagon, snapping the reins and sending the horse jumping forward. The wagon lurched and yanked them with it.

  Ruth turned to look at the old woman behind her, silently pleading for any sort of answer. The old woman regarded her with compassionate eyes brimming with unshed tears and slowly shook her head. Ruth’s heart threatened to rend itself into shreds as she left the last of her family somewhere in the forsaken woods of Mississippi.

  Oakville, Mississippi

  April 25, 1862

  Lydia contemplated her life during the last several weeks as she swayed with the gentle movement of the carriage. As April drew to a close, she had found that married life offered more independence than she had expected. Charles let her move about freely, going into Oakville whenever she wished and filling her days as she saw fit. For as long as the sweet newness of marriage lasted, she would enjoy the freedom it brought.