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

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “This here is our shared space.” Lucy nodded toward a door to the left. “Me and Betsy share that room there. Your room’s back here. It ain’t been used in a long while, but it’ll do.” Lucy opened a door and led Ruth into a nice-sized room with whitewashed walls, a single person bed, a chest of drawers, and another rug on the floor.

  Ruth’s hand went to her throat. Surely they didn’t mean for her to stay here? She turned questioning eyes to Lucy. Lucy shrugged. “Likes I said, ain’t been used in a long while. Linens will need to be washed, but we got some fresh ones you can put on until them’s clean.”

  “I’ll be using this room just tonight and tomorrow whilst I rest,” she said, mostly to herself. “But where will I go after?”

  Lucy frowned. “What you mumbling about? I done told you. This here is your room.”

  It couldn’t be. “How many others do I share it with?” She could make a pallet on the floor. She had no intention of ousting another from their bed even if it were only for one night.

  Lucy put her hands on her hips. “What?” She shook her head. “You ain’t listening.” She narrowed her eyes at Ruth. “Is you missing some of your sense? I heard of folks like that. Ain’t quite right in the head. It’s all right if you is, Lord loves all, but I just needs to know.”

  Indignation brought Ruth out of her stupor. She drew herself to her full height and looked Lucy in the eyes. “I’m not soft in the head!”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows.

  Ruth wrapped her arms around herself and let her gaze fall. “I just never thought I’d have a place like this.”

  Lucy face softened slightly. “Well, Mrs. Harper says you gonna stay here with us, and you is to be her new maid. This room here is where you’ll stay.”

  Ruth let a small seed of hope bloom in her chest.

  Lucy shook her head. “Unless, of course, Mr. Harper has other plans.”

  The seed shriveled and died.

  Natchez, Mississippi

  April 26, 1862

  Charles’s cousin slapped him on the shoulder, sending his mug of ale sloshing over the rim and into his dinner.

  “So,” Matthew Daniels said above the din of the other patrons filling the dining room at the inn, “I heard that bride of yours made quite a spectacle in the center of town.”

  Charles ran a hand through his hair and raised his eyebrows. “And what sort of gossip have you been dabbling in, old boy?” Lydia seemed more the type to keep her head down and avoid attention. Still, she was an exceedingly beautiful woman, and he had left her too long at Ironwood already with his trip to Natchez. Had he allowed her too much freedom? Especially with the war pressing ever closer?

  “My brother just rode in this morning. Told me all about how the new Mrs. Harper bought a slave right off the street.”

  Charles let out a low whistle and leaned back in his chair, his pork and cornbread forgotten. “Male or female?”

  Matthew wrinkled his broad forehead. “Female.”

  The woman was full of surprises. “I told her she needed a maid, but I was planning on getting her one when I got the opportunity. Hasn’t been much need for dressing girls at Ironwood.”

  Matthew settled his large frame on the bench beside Charles. Although five years Charles’s junior, his cousin stood a head taller than most men, and with Matthew’s near-white blond hair, he was never hard to find in a crowd.

  “Yes, sir, he said a man came into town driving a ragged bunch through the street,” Matthew said, settling in. He gave Charles a serious look. “Most likely stolen stock.”

  “And my wife walked up to purchase one?” Charles’s eyebrows drew together. Stolen property was bound to have an owner coming after it.

  Matthew waved to a curvy serving girl and ordered his dinner. When she scurried off, he returned his attention to Charles. “From what I heard tell, the man was beating the disrespectful Negro and it got out of hand. Out of nowhere, this lady comes running into the street demanding he stop. The lady paid for her and took her to a carriage. My brother noticed your symbol on the side and figured it must have been your new bride.”

  The eldest Daniels brother had not made it to Charles’s wedding, as he had been in Virginia at the time, so it made sense he would not have recognized Lydia straight away, though there was a small possibility he’d been mistaken.

  “Well, imagine that,” Charles said. “I’m sure she’s got the whole town’s tongues wagging.” He’d have to have a word with Lydia upon his return.

  The serving girl returned with Matthew’s food, and he winked at her. “How about you bring me some of that red eye, too.” He turned to Charles. “One for you?”

  Charles shook his head. Hard liquor soured in his stomach, so he had long since learned to ignore it, opting only for small portions of milder drinks. The girl once again hurried off.

  “When are you going to quit flirting with serving girls and find yourself a wife?” Charles jabbed Matthew in the ribs with his elbow.

  Matthew grinned around a big forkful of food. “Look who is lecturing me on the appeals of bachelorhood.”

  Charles lifted his mug and directed it at Matthew. “As you recall, I found myself a wife.”

  Matthew laughed. “You certainly did. But seems to me I’ve still got plenty of time.”

  If Matthew had been the eldest son, Charles’s uncle would have seen him wed by now. But as the youngest of four boys, Matthew had had far too little responsibility in his life. Uncle was always too preoccupied with the elder sons to worry much with the wild youth. Charles had taken it upon himself to mentor his cousin as best as he could.

  Charles returned to his meal. He’d only gotten in two forkfuls when a man who’d had one too many cups bellowed over the crowd of men and soldiers with an evening pass from their nearby training camp.

  “You see that, boys? This here fellow don’t seem like he’s supporting our cause!” He thrust his chin out to an older man sitting at a small table by himself, his rigid back to the fire.

  Hisses came from the men in the room, and then everything turned quiet, all eyes landing on the man at the table with his hat pulled low over his eyes.

  “We don’t want any Yankee sympathizers dining with us tonight. So maybe you best be on your way!”

  The tension in the room thickened. Charles had witnessed this scene in some form or another several times before. There were many of the older generation that wanted to maintain their connection to the markets offered in the North. New England had factories that needed the South’s tobacco and cotton, and many established Southerners didn’t want to see war destroy all they’d built. Charles tended to agree but kept his opinions to himself. The war had raged on for the past year, and thus far he’d gone to great lengths to avoid it.

  The older man rose from his seat and let his gaze drift over the crowd. The serving girls had disappeared from their midst, likely hiding somewhere out of the way. “You boys are hot on your liquor and your foolish dreams of glory.” His voice was touched with an accent Charles could not place.

  The boisterous man pointed a bony finger at his opponent. “You would rather we stand by while they destroy our way of life, deny states’ rights, and take our property from us?”

  The older man stood quietly for a moment, his gaze locked on the one who challenged him. “And who are you to determine that men, women, and children are nothing but your property?”

  Several men rose from their seats. Matthew moved to stand, but Charles put a staying hand on his arm. Without warning, the younger man swung his fist. The older man moved like one of much fewer years and ducked under the fist meant to silence him. He jumped to the side, his coattails swinging around him, causing the other man to stumble. Charles and Matthew gained their feet at the same time and covered the distance of the room as two other men grabbed hold of the old man and held him still.

  The loudmouth regained his balance and let a fist fly into the restrained man’s stomach and the older man doubled over in pain.r />
  Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Matthew pushed through the throng, Charles following in the wake his cousin’s massive size provided. The loud one balled his fist to release another blow, but instead of connecting with the helpless man’s abdomen, the punch landed solidly in Matthew’s palm with a thud.

  Matthew stood between the two men and glared down at the one whose fist he gripped in his hand. “This doesn’t exactly seem like the fair way to go about it, does it now?”

  The man winced and frowned up at Matthew. “You on the Union side too?”

  Matthew flashed his wide grin. “Nope. Signed up to serve in the Confederate army this very morning. But you see, my momma taught me that here in the South, we are gentlemen.” He looked around at the men gathered around them. “I’m guessing all you fine Southern boys had mommas that taught you the same thing.”

  Some of the men nodded, their gazes dropping to the floor. The two men gripping their captive dropped their hands, releasing the older gentleman. He straightened, tugging on the sides of his coat.

  Charles slipped in behind the Union sympathizer and placed a hand under his elbow. He kept his voice low and calm and leaned in next to the man’s ear. “I’ve a feeling these men won’t be stayed long. My cousin has a way with words, but I’m afraid even he won’t be able to hold off their war fever for long. I suggest we make our exit.”

  The man gave a brief nod.

  Charles stepped backward, the man stepping with him as if they were performing some unrehearsed dance.

  Matthew still held the men’s attention. “And, my fine southern gentlemen, we know it’s not proper to hold an outnumbered man while you beat him, now, is it?”

  The men grumbled. Charles turned and stepped to the edge of the crowd, skirting around to the back kitchen where he hoped the inn had a rear door. Matthew’s gaze flickered to Charles, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Charles had often envied his cousin’s ability to command men so easily, but tonight he was grateful for it.

  Matthew released his grip and flung down the smaller man’s fist, his voice filling the room. “Southern pride runs deep. We will win this war because we are gentlemen of honor! Gentlemen who will fight to save their families and their homes from any threat that comes our way!”

  The men erupted into cheers, thrusting their mugs into the air and sending ale and liquor over the hardwood floor. Charles slipped between them and into the heat of the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the old man still followed.

  “What’s happening?” The young serving girl that had brought his dinner gripped his elbow.

  The owner stepped up to Charles with questions in his eyes. “I’ve seen too many fights under my roof this last year. I’ve lost much of my property.” The thin man’s voice was strained.

  The man behind Charles spoke. “Do not worry, friend. I believe the tide has turned this eve. If you would be so kind as to show me the door, I will remove myself and give you no further cause to fret.”

  The owner swallowed and nodded, relief flooding his reddened face. “Through there.” He pointed to a door at the rear of the kitchen. “There’s a small garden out back. Behind it is a gate that will lead you into the alley. Turn left, and you will be back out on the main street.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said.

  The two men slipped out into the spice garden. When the gate closed behind them and they were left standing alone in the dark, the old man let out a great whoosh of air. “Sir, I must thank you and your large companion. I fear what would have become of me otherwise.”

  Charles nodded. “What they intended was not honorable.”

  The man studied him, his features shadowed under the meager light of the moon. “And what is your name, man of honor?”

  “I am William Charles Harper of Ironwood.”

  The man inclined his head. “Major General Franz Kerchner of the United States Army. I am in your debt, sir.”

  He gave a slight bow and quickly turned on his heel. Charles watched him disappear into the night until he could no longer distinguish man from shadow.

  Ironwood

  April 27, 1862

  The soft knock came early in the morning. Lydia expected it and had been awake since the first rays of the sun’s light touched the earth. Charles would soon return home, and she could only guess at his reaction to her behavior. Today would be Ruth’s first day in the house. She must be certain she spoke with Charles before anyone else could tell him or he saw Ruth himself.

  Lydia tried not to second guess her impulsive decision. “You may enter.”

  “Good mornin’, ma’am,” Ruth said, stepping just over the threshold but no farther.

  “Good morning, Ruth.” Lydia turned from her place at the window. “I trust you had a good rest?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And your arm?”

  She touched the clean bandage briefly and dropped her hand. “Fine.”

  “Good. Today I’d like to show you around the house, and we can discuss what your duties will be.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lydia lifted her arms over her head and stretched. Ruth turned her eyes to the floor. Lydia watched her a moment, wondering about her thoughts. She’d probably never seen a lady in her nightdress before. “Ruth, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and fetch me a pitcher of warm water. Then you can help me lace up my corset.”

  Ruth tugged her mouth to one side and furrowed her brow. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back with that water.” She turned and hurried out the door.

  “Ruth?”

  She returned, poking her head in. “Yes?”

  “You might want to take that with you.” Lydia pointed across the room to the white pitcher sitting on the wash basin. “Betsy should have some water on the stove. And tell Lucy to come back up with you. She can show you how to lace a corset.”

  Relief washed over Ruth’s face. She grabbed the pitcher, holding it gently against her chest, and hurried from the room.

  Lydia sighed. What a strange girl. Full of fire one moment and fear the next. Lydia looked out past the front lawn and over the vast fields spreading as far as she could see from her second-story window. The rich earth lay furrowed, ready for the cotton seeds that would soon be planted. Dark-skinned people mingled among the rows, a few guiding plows. A foreman on horseback rode by, occasionally stopping to talk with one of the field hands. Lydia pulled the window open to let in the fresh air, the cool breeze refreshing and carrying with it the delicate scents of nature.

  A soft peck on the door called her attention. “Come in.”

  Ruth entered, carefully carrying the pitcher. Lucy following closely on her heels and watched as Lydia’s new help emptied the water into the basin. Lydia stepped behind the screen and quickly washed and put on her undergarments. When she emerged, Ruth held out the corset and Lucy waited by the vanity, comb in hand. The two slaves exchanged a look, and then Ruth stepped forward, wrapping the corset around Lydia’s waist.

  Ruth fumbled with the lacing, tugging and grunting. Lydia tried to remain still, though it did eventually become necessary to hold on to the bed post to keep her footing. Finally, Lucy came up to help.

  “You gotta thread this little ribbon here, see? Then cross it over. That way when you pull on them two ends, it pulls the two edges together, making it tight.”

  Ruth let out a soft humph. Despite herself, Lydia giggled.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. We didn’t mean no offense,” Lucy quickly said. Lydia could see her face in the vanity mirror in front of her. Lucy shot Ruth a disapproving look, but Lydia couldn’t see Ruth’s response since she was positioned directly behind her.

  “Oh, gracious.” Lydia shook her head, trying to hide her feelings of awkwardness. It wouldn’t do for them to see her flustered over such a silly thing. “I know these things are ridiculous. Nonetheless, it’s what is expected.” Lydia straightened herself, once again resuming her role as lady of the house. Thankfully, Ruth seeme
d to know even less about what was expected than Lydia. The thought brought a wave of relief. Maybe with Ruth she wouldn’t always have to be on guard against proving herself to be the country bumpkin they probably thought her to be.

  Ruth pulled on the strings, and Lydia tightened her grip on the bedpost until the two women had everything tied. When they finished, Lucy opened the armoire. “What dress do you want, ma’am?”

  Lydia thought a moment. She would just be showing Ruth around the house today, so nothing special. But, then again, Charles would soon be home, and considering her news she might want to look her best. “Let’s choose the soft green one.”

  Lucy nodded and pulled the garment free. Lydia held her arms up, and Lucy slid the garment over her head and fastened the buttons. Ruth’s gaze followed Lucy’s movements paying close attention as Lucy tugged the hemline over Lydia’s hoops.

  Lydia sat at the vanity while Lucy combed her hair with nimble fingers. Lucy swiftly used the tool to pull through the tangled mess with little compassion for Lydia’s scalp. If Lydia didn’t stop her, she might not have any hair left to comb.

  “I can finish up. Lucy, you may go now. After breakfast, I will show Ruth around the house, and then when we are finished, she can help you with the chores.”

  Lucy looked quickly at Ruth with an expression Lydia couldn’t quite place washing over her features before it was hidden behind a polite smile. “Yes ’um,” she mumbled and closed the door behind her.

  Lydia looked over at Ruth, who stared at the new shoes on her feet. She couldn’t think of anything else a maid needed to do in the morning. No chance the girl knew how to do her hair.

  “Have you eaten?”

  Ruth’s head snapped up. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’m starving. Run down and tell Betsy I’m on my way for breakfast.”