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

by Stephenia H. McGee

  She threw herself into his arms. He stumbled back a half step and then twirled her in a circle. “That a yes?”

  “Yes!” She buried her face in his neck and clung to him like she would never let him go again. Finally, he set her on her feet.

  Only when her shoes hit the ground did she hear the cheers around her. She blinked and looked around at all the people gathered. Their faces were alight with joy. Her gaze landed on Lydia. Her hands were clasped in front of her face, but they could not hide the huge smile that erupted from either side of her fingers.

  She pulled away from Noah and looked into his face. “Where’s we gonna live?”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “Anywhere you want.”

  She glanced again at Lydia and then back at Noah. “I can’t leave Ironwood.”

  Noah frowned. “I figured you was gonna say that. I’ll stay even if it means we never gonna be free. All that matters is that I’m with you.”

  “And who says you will not be free?” Lydia said, coming to stand at the top of the stairs. “There is much you missed while you were away, Noah. The people who call Ironwood home do it by choice.”

  Noah’s eyes darted to the faces of the people eating on the porch with the plantation’s lady as if seeing them for the first time. Confusion puckered his brow. Several of them nodded.

  “Miss Lydia done asked me to speak for the people. To help her as we work together to create a new Ironwood. One where’s the people earn they wages.”

  His gaze darted back to Lydia. “Truly, ma’am? You done this?”

  “I have.”

  He gave out a sudden whoop, swinging Ruth into his arms again. “Then I’ll build us a home right here!”

  Lydia’s eyes twinkled. “As long as you don’t mind me coming to visit.”

  He grinned. “You is welcome any time.”

  He looked down at Ruth nestled in his arms and slowly lowered his lips to hers. Heat erupted in her chest, and she clung to him, deepening the kiss and ignoring the cheers in the background. He was hers.

  He finally broke away, a glimmer in his eyes. “I’m thinking we is gonna need a wedding right soon.”

  Lydia clapped her hands like a child. “Yes! Oh, and it will be beautiful. We can do it right here in the garden. Boys! We will need to get these furrows out of the dirt and see if we can find some new flowers before they are all dead.”

  Ruth giggled. “It ain’t gonna be today!”

  “Tomorrow, then!” Noah said.

  Ruth shook her head. “You’ve gone mad! How we gonna do that? There’s too much that needs to be done—”

  Lydia waved her hand in the air, cutting Ruth off. “No. We’ll not wait for work to be done. Each day is a gift. Love while you can. Marry the man tomorrow.”

  Joy spread through Ruth’s heart. A bride! She nodded once. It was all the consent they needed. The small gathering cheered again, and Noah pulled her close.

  When his lips fell on hers, the rest of the world faded away.

  October 28, 1862

  Lydia tugged the corset tight around Ruth’s waist, the irony of the moment coaxing a giggle from her throat.

  “You ain’t gotta make it so tight!” Ruth fussed, tugging at the corset to try to create space between it and her ribs.

  “Oh, but I do. But don’t worry, I won’t lace it up as much as you always did.”

  Ruth tried to give a derisive snort, but it dissolved into laughter. “Don’t know how you managed to breathe in this thing.”

  “Now you see why I try to get away with not wearing one.”

  “Sure do.”

  Lydia tied the strings in place and picked up the gown from the bed. Ruth frowned at the garment for the third time. “That’s too fancy.”

  “Ha! It’s either this or my wedding gown. And if you think this ball gown is too fancy, you’d faint to see what my mother made for my wedding day.”

  Lydia looked down at material the color of fresh butter cream, almost on the verge of pale yellow. Ruth gazed at the mounds of fabric, a hint of longing peeking through her stubbornness.

  Lydia prodded the crack in Ruth’s defense. “Every bride should wear a gown on her wedding day.”

  She held it up for Ruth to step into. The long layers of fabric that gathered on the floor when Lydia wore it grazed the carpet perfectly on Ruth’s taller frame. She wouldn’t need to worry with those silly hoops anyway. Lydia hooked the buttons down the back and guided Ruth to the mirror.

  A single bow nestled at her bosom, which was slightly fuller than Lydia’s own, filled out the gown beautifully. The smooth fabric draped down over her shoulders, finishing in delicate lace that danced along the crook of her elbow. The same lace lined the bottom of the bodice, dipping down in the front to accentuate her narrow waist.

  Lydia smiled. “It fits you beautifully. I say this ball gown is perfect for a wedding dress.”

  Ruth stared at her reflection with tears gathering in her eyes.

  “What? You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

  “It ain’t the dress. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. Oh, Lord, and I thought all them dresses you put me in were too much.” She shook her head. “But I thank you for being so kind to me.”

  Lydia wiped away a stray tear that slid down Ruth’s cheek. “What, then?” she said gently.

  “I just….” She drew a long breath to steady herself. “I just wish my family could be here today. That I had someone to share this with.”

  Lydia pulled her into a hug. “I wish you did too. I am so sorry. I know it is not the same, and we can never replace them, but we will be your family.”

  “You is. I wish you could have met my sister. I think she would have really liked you.”

  Lydia smiled.

  Ruth turned back to the mirror. “Now, what we gonna do with this wild hair?”

  Lydia plucked a comb from the vanity. “We are going to make it look beautiful. Now sit.”

  A half hour later they descended the stairs arm in arm, two women joined by fate and by nothing less than the hand of God.

  Oh, Charles. I wish you could see this.

  The steady ache for him never disappeared. She couldn’t count how many times prayers for his safe return settled on her lips. She mumbled them at all hours, the petition always on her heart.

  They stopped in front of the rear door. “Ready?”

  Ruth nodded, wrapping a light cotton shawl around her shoulders. The fickle Mississippi autumn had given them the gift of a mild day. Lydia opened the door to the back porch, and the sound of music drifted in. Someone had produced a guitar and played it with adept fingers. The people gathered around. There were no chairs to seat them, but they stood on either side of the yard, leaving a short path from the porch to the large oak under which stood Noah.

  Despite his best efforts, Tommy had not been able to find a preacher from Oakville willing to conduct their ceremony. By the grace of God alone, on his return home he’d come across a freed colored preacher headed north along with the colored Union troops he served. He’d agreed to stop at Ironwood to officiate. Ruth’s marriage would be legal by Union laws.

  The guitar played a soft tune, and the beautiful notes danced on the cool afternoon breeze. Ruth stepped past Lydia and onto the porch. Lydia followed her to the top of the steps and then paused to watch the ceremony. Noah’s face seemed it would nearly crack in two from the smile that split it.

  Dressed in simple but clean pants and jacket, his white shirt fell open at the neck, with its homespun cotton seeming whiter against his ebony skin. Ruth glided down the steps and across the ground that had been raked clean of stray leaves.

  She came to stand before the preacher, a wiry man with an honest face. “People of Ironwood Plantation,” he said “We are here to see these two married under God.”

  Cheers came from the onlookers, and Lydia smiled.

  “It was God who designed the marriage. He said that a man would leave his father
and mother and be joined to his own wife. That the two of them would be one. This day we here’ll witness the joinin’ of two souls in the holy bonds of marriage.”

  The people clapped and nodded their heads. A young man shouted an enthusiastic “amen” from somewhere to Lydia’s left. These people were little like the somber faces that had gathered around when she wed Charles. Where they had been reserved, these people were boisterous. They wore their joy like a badge of honor. Perhaps it was. Fought for and won.

  “Do you, Noah, take Ruth to be the wife at your side? The only woman in your bed and the mother of your children, if God chooses to bless you with ’em?”

  “Yes.”

  The preacher nodded and turned to Ruth. “And Ruth, do you take Noah as your husband? The only man you give yourself to? To be the helper by his side?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you both promise to remember your vows, to hold each other up in times of struggle, to bind up wounds of sorrow when they come? Will y’all remain faithful in the times when joy overflows and in the times when trials threaten to overcome you?”

  They stared into each other’s eyes, and Lydia’s heart stirred with the fractured memories of her wedding day. She could not remember the words, but she’d never forget the promise in the honey-colored eyes that had bored into hers on that day.

  Lord, please bring him back to me. I will try with all my heart to be the true wife that he needs.

  “Then by these here witnesses and the powers granted to me by the United States Army and God Almighty, I declare Noah and Ruth to be husband and wife!”

  Noah swept Ruth into his arms and planted a solid kiss on her lips, tilting her back. When he finally righted her, she seemed flushed with joy. Lydia smiled, her heart feeling as if it swelled too much to be contained in her chest.

  Betsy came to the front of the crowd and presented Ruth with a new broom with its handle wrapped in ribbons. She placed it down in front of the couple and gave a nod. They grinned and clasped hands, leaping over it in a single stride. The people cheered their consent and swarmed around the couple.

  No rings were exchanged. Only this simple gesture that spoke their bond to the community. Bound together for the remainder of their days by their own choice and by the love in their hearts. Lydia prayed Ruth would find Noah to be the good man she expected he was and that his unwavering love would heal the broken places in Ruth like Charles’s love had done for her.

  She watched them with joy and held tight to her hope that joy would abide.

  The gravel crunched underneath boots that were now worn nearly thin. He’d lost count of how many days they’d traveled through the woods, surviving on what they could scavenge and the rare handout from kind strangers. Never had Charles known hunger, cold, or pain as he now did. And knowing it, he understood life more deeply.

  The sharp intake of breath drew his attention to the girl behind him. She’d been thin when he had first met her. Now she looked like she would blow away if the wind stirred. Her dress hung threadbare, and her cheeks sunk in. He would have to see that she was fed and well rested before she continued on her way.

  “This here’s your home?”

  “That it is. This is Ironwood.”

  She eyed him cautiously.

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “You just don’t seem like the type a man that’s got a place like this.”

  “I don’t?”

  She gave a small smile that told him she thought he might be a few marbles short of a full set. He turned to look back at the house as he approached, and a frown creased his brow. Wagon ruts furrowed the lawn. The front fields had shown signs of trampling, but he’d told himself he was reading too much into it. Now his heart began to quicken. He walked faster.

  Bridget hurried along behind him. “What’s wrong?”

  As they drew closer to the house, his fears thickened. Gunfire had torn hunks from the columns, and one of the front parlor windows was covered with a pitiful quilt, flapping against the slight breeze. He ground his teeth, suddenly afraid of what he would find within.

  “Looks like somethin’ bad done happened here.”

  Charles clenched his fist and stepped onto the front porch. The sound of cheers erupted from somewhere around the side of the house. They paused. Bridget looked at him and lifted her brows, but Charles couldn’t provide the answer she sought. He pushed open the front door.

  Home.

  His throat tightened. He’d thought he would never see it again. Had feared it wouldn’t be standing when he finally returned. Likely he would face severe punishment as a deserter. He would gladly take it for the peace of mind of knowing Ironwood remained. He would return to his duty soon enough.

  The sound of laughter drifted down the main hall. Whose, he could not be certain. He looked back at Bridget.

  “Perhaps you should remain here a moment until I can assess what has happened here.”

  She gave a small nod and sank down on the lowest step of the staircase, exhaustion evident in her features.

  Charles walked down the hall to find the rear door standing open. And there on the porch stood the light of Ironwood.

  Lydia.

  Relief flooded him, causing his heart to flop. Safe. She was safe. Her back was to him, long hair flowing freely down to the small of her back. Peace spread through him like a warm river, and he walked quietly through the door.

  Lydia watched the new couple and tried to swallow down the fear that threatened to consume her. Would she ever feel joy in the arms of her beloved husband again?

  Can you hear me, Lord? How much longer will you tarry? All I ask is for some news. Please, just let me know he’s still alive—

  Someone touched her elbow, cutting her prayer short. She drew a breath. Erase the emotions. Put on the smile they will want to see. She began to turn to greet whomever had come late to the wedding. Be the lady they…

  The world skid to a halt, and all air left her lungs.

  Charles.

  He was alive!

  Air slammed into her chest and released as a squeal.

  “Charles!”

  She threw her arms around his neck, covering his rough cheek with kisses. “Oh, Charles! You’re home!”

  He wrapped her tight against him, his body too thin. His heart pounded in rhythm with hers, a desperate call to echoed love. She ran her hands over his back and then pushed away from him cupping his face in her hands. Was he really here?

  Please don’t let it be another dream.

  She couldn’t stand for it to be another vivid dream that disappeared into the mists. He felt real beneath her touch, his face rough with weeks of growth.

  “Have you truly come home to me?” she whispered.

  “Yes, lady of my heart. I have come home to you.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. “How long?”

  He gave a gentle smile, and she knew he could not stay long. But he was here, and her prayer had been answered. So many prayers answered.

  He drew her tight against him and lightly brushed her lips with his. “Did you miss me, Mrs. Harper?” he asked, his light words belied by the thick emotion in his voice.

  “Indeed, Mr. Harper, I fear I did.”

  “Oh?” He placed a feather-light kiss on her mouth, his warm breath sending tingles down her spine.

  “Indeed.” She pressed into him and kissed him as if she might never see him again. Somewhere in the distance, she heard giggles and a few cheers. Charles drew her against him, and if her heart were not soaring, she might have feared she would be crushed underneath the grip with which he held her.

  Finally he pulled back, laughing. “My dear, I do believe we have an audience.”

  “I do not care,” she said with a heavy breath.

  “Oh, my dear one, how I love you so.”

  “And I you, husband.” She buried her face in his chest and let the tangle of tears of joy and tears of relief soak his filthy shirt.

  He stroked her hair unt
il she could regain control of her emotions. She straightened herself, drawing away from Charles only enough to see the people, remaining pressed against his side, his arm tight around her waist. The people watched her intently, their gazes shifting between her and Charles. How would they respond? Would they rejoice in his return or fear he would undo what she’d fought to bring upon Ironwood?

  Her gaze locked on Ruth.

  Ruth smiled and gave a slight nod.

  Lydia lifted her chin. “People of Ironwood! My dear husband has returned to us whole!”

  They shouted their happiness for her, and she glanced at him, relishing the mixture of confusion and joy on his face. There would be much to explain.

  “I have made many changes, Charles. There are some things you and I will need to discuss.”

  He gave a nod. “Indeed. There are changes I must make here as well. Though it seems I happened upon some manner of celebration.”

  Lydia beamed. “Oh, you’ve come just in time to enjoy refreshments in honor of Noah and Ruth’s wedding.”

  Charles chuckled. “Well, I am pleased I didn’t miss the refreshments. You and I will have time for discussions after I’ve had a chance to remember the taste of Betsy’s fine cooking.”

  She giggled and pressed herself closer to his side as he lifted a hand to the people.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot.” Charles turned from the crowd and looked down into her face. “I’ve brought someone home with me.”

  Lydia tilted her head. “A solider in need of our care?”

  He chuckled. “In a manner of speaking.” His eyes danced with amusement.

  “Be clear, husband.”

  He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his eyes speaking more to her than words would ever be able to convey.

  “I was wounded during the battle and—”

  “You are wounded! Where? Let me see!”

  She lifted the hem of his shirt, which he quickly pushed back down. “My dear!” He chuckled. “Do not fret. I am well.”

  She frowned at him. “I shall see this wound.”

  He grew serious. “And I will show it to you. But you have not yet let me finish.”