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

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Ruth nodded and darted out the door. Lydia plaited her hair and twisted its long lengths onto the back of her head. She adjusted the pins, hoping it wouldn’t be one of those days the heaviness of it gave her a headache. When she finished, she stared at her reflection for several moments. She looked the proper lady. A frown wrinkled her brow. But what did a lady do other than look proper and give directions? Charles, bless him, seemed to want to give her a life of leisure.

  Lydia descended the staircase and sat at the place already set for her at the table. She ate her breakfast alone. When she finished, Lucy cleared the dishes and Ruth followed Lydia from the dining room to begin her tour through the house. Lydia had thought through her speech while she ate and still could come up with little that sounded important, although she doubted Ruth would know the difference. Lydia stopped by the front door, it seeming to be the most appropriate place to begin.

  “Your main job is to assist me with whatever I am doing. If I go somewhere, you do too. If I am going to the garden to paint, you set it up. That kind of thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If I don’t need you for anything, then you can help the other girls with the household chores.” She turned to the left, Ruth on her heels. “The windows are washed once a week,” she said, pointing to the large parlor windows facing the front porch. “The rugs are beaten once a week as well, but you don’t have to do both on the same day.”

  They stepped out of the parlor and crossed the wide entry back into the dining room where her meal had already been cleared away by curiously fast and unseen hands. “You’ll need to help keep the silver polished. It’s here in these upper two drawers.” She pointed to the sideboard, its carved hunting dogs and scampering fox evidence of Charles’s love for the woods.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then there are those brass things up there that hold the curtains. A pride of Charles’s father, I’m afraid. They are a pain to get to but must be shined as well.”

  Ruth stood gaping up at the massive brass valances that encased the tops of the flowing green velvet curtains on both of the dining room windows. Lydia couldn’t blame her. A smile tugged on her lips as she remembered the first time she had seen them, when her new husband had pointed them out the morning after her wedding night. She had most likely had the same expression as Ruth. She’d never seen anything similar. Charles explained that his father had had them specially made for Ironwood.

  They stepped out onto the back porch. “There’s not much you’ll need to do back here. But, in case you need anything, the root vegetables and Betsy’s canned food goes out here in the potato room. The smoke house is this door next to it.” Lydia pointed to the large barn-like structure that was divided in half to both store and cure food. “Out that way…” she gestured behind the potato house, “are the barns where we keep the horses and store the cotton. Beyond that grove of trees over there, you’ll find the cabins where the rest of the coloreds live.”

  Ruth dug the toe of her still-stiff black shoe into the soft grass. “Is that where I’ll be stayin’? Permanently, I mean.”

  Lydia frowned. She thought she’d been clear in instructing Lucy on Ruth’s sleeping arrangements. “No, I’d rather you be here by the house. In case I need you.”

  A flicker of relief washed over the girl’s face, but she quickly hid it.

  Lydia glanced back to the kitchen. “As Lucy should have told you, you have a room in the quarters above the kitchen with her and Betsy.”

  Ruth nodded.

  Lydia paused a moment and let the sunshine wash over her. Her stomach felt unsteady this morning. It’d only been a few weeks into her marriage, but… perhaps a babe grew within her? She’d heard sickness often came with it. She pushed the thought aside. Birds twittered in the tree tops, and Lydia looked up to watch a sparrow chase its mate across the open sky. When she looked back down, she caught Ruth staring at her. The girl quickly dropped her eyes.

  Lydia ignored the feeling in her stomach and continued on with her purpose. “Well, that about covers it, I guess. After you help me dress each morning, replace the water in the basin and make up the bed clothes. I’ll let you know if we are going to town or whatever I’ll be doing for the day. Otherwise, you’ll help Betsy and Lucy do whatever is needed around the house. Just do as they tell you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ruth started to leave.

  “Oh. One other thing.”

  Ruth turned.

  “Charles does not allow work on Sundays other than the necessities. Most of your people attend the chapel, and you’re welcome to go if you want.”

  Ruth’s face broke into the first smile Lydia had seen. “Truly?”

  Lydia dipped her chin and dismissed Ruth, then returned to the house, pondering the look of joy on the girl’s face. Had it appeared because she’d mentioned church or the ease of labor on Sundays?

  She took a seat in the parlor to watch for Charles and decided it must be the day of rest. Church was much too stoic to garner such a response. They sang hymns, fanned away the heat while listening to the drone of the sermon, and then shared idle chatter outside the doors before returning home for dinner. Never once had Lydia felt elation over the idea of attending a church service. But then, perhaps her feelings came from her lack of understanding about God. He could do all things, yet chose not to. If He saw all things, why would He allow evil to happen? Why wouldn’t He be there to protect the innocent?

  Lydia shook her head. Enough. That was a door that must remained closed, since no good could come from opening it. She had a good life here. Why worry about such things?

  She didn’t have the time anyway. The dust cloud alerted her to Charles’ return before she even saw the horses. She gathered her skirts and called for preparations to be made for her husband’s arrival. The carriage came to a stop just as Lydia opened the front door and positioned herself on the porch to greet him.

  The carriage door swung open, and when Charles’ eyes found Lydia, a smile spread across his face. Lydia pretended she didn’t feel the fluttering in her stomach and offered him a small smile in return. He strode quickly onto the steps and halted just in front of her, close enough that she could smell the soap he’d used for shaving, and she had to lift her chin to look into his face.

  “Hello, husband. I hope your travels have been well.”

  Something akin to amusement lit his eyes. “Come, I am tired from my trip. Let’s go into the parlor, and we shall talk.”

  Lydia pulled her lip through her teeth and followed him as he strode through the door Lucy held open. Thankfully, Ruth was nowhere to be seen.

  “Lucy, would you bring some tea to the parlor for Mr. Harper?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman nodded and hurried off. Lydia drew a deep breath and smoothed her skirts, then followed Charles into the parlor.

  She waited for him to speak, trying to figure out the best way to begin her tale.

  “I believe these rugs have grown drab. I never replaced them, since they were my mother’s, but I do believe it is time for some changes around here.”

  Lydia nodded, unsure how else to respond. Charles looked at her with raised brows. The unexpected topic unraveled her thoughts. “Um, yes, perhaps I can look into that.”

  He smiled. Lucy returned with a silver tray and delicate tea set balanced in her hands and set it on the table without any of the cups rattling. Lydia often marveled at how a woman of her size moved with such grace. Lucy dipped her head and retreated from the room, drawing the pocket doors closed behind her.

  “Would you care to sit?” Lydia asked.

  Charles pinned her with the look that told her she’d been caught. She recognized it as the same one that often fell upon Mother’s face whenever she found Lydia in a tree or doing something else a lady oughtn’t.

  “So, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  Lydia chewed her lip and thought about a response. Suddenly, Charles laughed and pulled her into an embrace. He held
her a moment, and the breath she hadn’t been aware she had been holding escaped from her lungs.

  She inhaled his scent, a sweet mixture of pine and soap. He spoke against the top of her head. “I already heard all about how my wife strode up to a slave driver in the middle of town, bargained like a man, and left with a hot-headed female.”

  Lydia pushed back from him, studying his honey-colored eyes. “Are you angry with me?”

  He shook his head. “Surprised, yes. Angry, no. I’ve been telling you to get yourself a helper. I should have known you would do it differently than any other lady.”

  He smiled at her, running the pad of his thumb over her jaw. “But that’s just one of the many things I love about you. However, you need to be aware she’s most likely stolen. There may be someone looking for her. Do you know where she came from?”

  Yes. “No. She didn’t say.” She inwardly winced. Why must she lie? Did she fear losing Ruth otherwise?

  He kissed her on the forehead. “I have much I need to attend to, but I would like to go for a ride with you. Why don’t you go change into a riding habit, and we will enjoy some time together shortly.”

  Lydia smiled. “I would like that.” Though she didn’t deserve it. She stared after him as he walked away, leaving the tea untouched. How had she found such good fortune? It would seem that despite her doubts, Father had truly chosen a wonderful man. If only she could keep herself from ruining it.

  Charles straightened his jacket and strode from the rear door. Did she not know what she did to him? Looking at her flushed face and the way she played with her full lower lip between her teeth quickened his heart and started a flame in his chest. Then, when she’d looked up at him through those thick lashes, he could scarcely concentrate on her words. He’d had to leave the room before he gave into the temptation of scooping her up in his arms and delivering her upstairs. His trip to Natchez had come much too soon after his wedding, but it couldn’t be helped. His dealings with the shipping company and securing safe passage for his cotton were imperative.

  Charles entered the barn just as the stable boy tossed hay to a pair of matched geldings that were tired from their hurried trip home. “Good morning, Johnny.”

  The boy spun on his heel, a wide grin splitting his face. “Good mornin’, mista Harper. You’s have a good trip?”

  “It served its purpose. Did you take good care of everything while I was away?”

  The boy nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir. I kept Draco’s foot soaked in the healin’ salts and kept him stabled. The hoof is strong as ever now. He’s anxious to be out again.”

  Charles smiled. “Very good. I knew I could trust him to you.”

  Johnny beamed.

  “How about you get him saddled for me? I need to make some rounds, and when I return, I’ll also need Mrs. Harper’s mare saddled.”

  “Right away, sir.” The boy bounded off to gather the tack, and within a few moments Charles set out for the fields, keeping the stallion reined in at a brisk walk. Draco flared his nostrils and snorted.

  Charles chuckled. “You smell those mares you’ve been denied, eh, boy?”

  The great stallion bobbed his head, tossing his mane in the air. Charles had to hold tight onto the reins to be sure the horse remembered who was in charge.

  He allowed the horse to trot and came to the field to inspect the planting process. “How are we looking, Mr. Peck?” he asked as he settled the anxious stallion next to the foreman’s roan mount.

  “Looking quite well, Mr. Harper. Seems this drought won’t hurt us near as much as I feared. The ground is fertile and planting’s been going well.”

  Charles nodded and looked over the neatly tilled rows.

  Mr. Peck removed his hat and ran a hand over his head. “I’ve been hearing talk that the North will soon be moving into Mississippi.” He cast a quick side glance at Charles but kept his focus straight ahead, talking in low tones.

  “It is as I fear. Though I am holding to hope they will let us be.”

  Mr. Peck nodded but did not look convinced. “If all remains well,” he returned his voice to normal volume, “we should have a good crop this year.”

  Charles smoothed his hand along the horse’s slick neck, giving him a gentle pat. “Let us hope, then, that all remains as it is for at least long enough to get our shipments out. I have the feeling we are going to need a good year in the face of several lousy ones to come. It is best we prepare now.”

  Mr. Peck dipped his chin. The man had been with Charles since he’d first taken over Ironwood. Mr. Peck had worked as a youth under his father at Charles’s uncle’s plantation. When Peck’s father had died, Uncle had sent the man with a strong recommendation. Mr. Peck had proven his worth time and again and could be trusted with the truth of what could soon come upon them. Charles tried to push aside his feelings of foreboding and focus on today.

  “Very well, Mr. Peck. Keep up the good work.” Charles inclined his head and allowed Draco the forward movement he’d been pawing to receive. He rode through several more fields, and, after feeling satisfied that all continued smoothly in his absence with little needing his attention, he gave in to the horse’s need to have free rein.

  Although conventional wisdom warned him against letting a horse run headlong in the barn’s direction, they both needed a touch of freedom. He told himself that Draco alone felt the need to quickly return to the house. He squeezed his legs and released tension from the bit. The horse immediately jumped forward, his muscled hindquarters launching them through the air and into a fast gallop.

  Exhilaration spread in his chest, and Charles moved in rhythm with the beautiful beast beneath him. They flew across the open land, drawing startled gazes as he approached the field hands. Realizing they would think something amiss, Charles pulled in the reluctant horse and lowered his speed to a casual canter.

  Lydia’s gray mare stood saddled and tied to the hitching post in the front of the barn when Draco pranced into the yard. Charles tied Draco securely beside her and allowed the two to touch muzzles. He smoothed his hair and stepped into his father’s beloved home, finding his bride in the parlor, a book open in her lap.

  “Are you ready, my dear?”

  She looked up from her reading, a hint of pleasure turning her lips into a slight bow. “I’ve sent Ruth to collect a traveling meal for us.”

  Charles nodded and offered his arm, and they walked together through the rear door just as a caramel-colored young woman exited from the kitchen with a large bundle in her arms. The girl glanced around somewhat nervously and then puckered her lips. She blew, but no sound came out. Charles lifted his eyebrows and turned his questioning gaze to his wife, but her focus was locked on the new house girl.

  The girl attempted to whistle again, then frowned, straightened her shoulders and took a determined step. Her eyes locked onto Charles before going wide. She wavered only for a moment before confidently coming forward. She paused at the bottom of the step and attempted an awkward curtsey. Charles pressed his lips together to contain his amusement.

  “Mr. Harper, this is Ruth. She’s… new at house duties.” Lydia waved her hand in the air. “But she is a fast learner. I am confident she will do very well.”

  Charles allowed a smile. “Welcome to Ironwood, Ruth. I hope you find your new home comfortable.”

  Surprise flickered across her face, but she quickly smoothed her features and gave an impassive nod. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  Lydia hurried forward and took the basket from Ruth. “Thank you, Ruth. I will be out with Mr. Harper for a while. You may continue with your duties.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said and scurried back to the kitchen.

  Lydia looked at Charles with uncertain eyes. Did she fear his reprimand? How could one woman be so independent and yet seem so fearful? Had he given her cause? He must remember women were more delicate than men.

  He smiled. “I believe you did well. The girl seems bright and willing.”

  Lydia let
out a breath. “Yes, I feel she will do well. We get along nicely.”

  Charles chuckled. She spoke as if she’d introduced him to a visiting neighbor. He offered his arm and decided not to question it, lest she clam up. His innocent wife seemed to know little about the ways of the world. He would not taint it for her. If she was happy and liked her new girl, then he was pleased as well. And, if the girl had another owner come for her…well, he would deal with that if the time came.

  They strolled to the stable and up to the waiting horses. Lydia gathered her long skirts over her arm, and Charles locked his fingers together, offering his assistance. She placed a small booted foot into his hands.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  She bent her knee, and in one movement, she jumped and he lifted. She slid gracefully into the saddle, the gentle mare remaining still as she adjusted her skirts modestly around her legs. She crooked one leg into the lower pommel and smiled down at him.

  “It still amazes me a lady can ride with both legs on one side of her horse,” he said, sliding his hand up the smooth stocking over her calf and gently placing her other foot in the stirrup. He heard her draw in a sharp breath. He allowed himself the touch for a moment longer, pretending the keeper needed adjustment.

  “Is the length correct?” he asked, looking up into her flushed face.

  “Yes. As I have not grown any since last I rode, it is still in the correct position.” A hint of amusement to her tone belied her steady gaze.

  “Very good then. Let us be off.” He winked at her and swung into his own saddle. Johnny handed him the reins and tied the saddle pack filled with their foodstuffs to the rear of Draco’s saddle.

  They rode in companionable silence until Charles guided Draco off the road and into the edge of the woods. The sound of hoof beats behind him silenced. He turned to look at his wife. She sat stiffly, suspicion lighting her eyes.

  “Are you coming, dear?”

  Her delicate eyebrows pulled together. “Why are we going into the woods?”