She hoped the hatred she felt showed in her eyes as she looked up at him in the glow of a lantern. "You filthy animal! You set us up, didn't you? You found out Myles had returned and that I was going to leave with him. So you went and got the sheriff."
His eyes danced with malicious fires, but he kept that pitiful, hurt look on his face. "Julie, I always knew this boy had a hold on you, that you worshiped him because he was your brother, but I had hoped he could not persuade you to desert your dear, dying mother...."
"Don't start your lies in front of these people," she screeched, knowing she sounded like a madwoman but not caring. To the sheriff, she said, "Virgil is evil. I've got to get away from him. And Myles will never hurt anyone again. All we want is to go in peace—"
"Why, Julie, I'm surprised at you," the sheriff drawled. "Sayin' such terrible things about your stepdaddy, and him such a fine man. And you know I can't let your brother go. He's got to stand trial for what he did. That's the law. Now you calm down and let your stepdaddy take you back to the house. If your mama is as bad off as I hear tell she is, then you ought to be ashamed of yourself for tryin' to run off. You go back there and do what you can to make her last moments peaceful."
He started to help her to her feet, but she twisted away, crying out for Myles.
"Sheriff, let her go to him," Virgil said with mock compassion. "That boy isn't going anywhere. He's out cold. She'll calm down in a moment."
The sheriff released her, and she crawled through the dirt to clutch at Myles and sob and plead with him to wake up... let her know he was not really hurt.
"Now, Sheriff," Virgil went on, quite calmly. "These are unfortunate circumstances. I mean, we're at war, and the boy's mother is dying, and he only came home to try and see her one more time. True, he committed a crime, but you and I both know if you take him into Savannah, a mob will form and storm the jail, and he'll be hung by morning. To them he not only murdered someone but also ran away to join the North. He's a traitor to the South."
"That's a lie," Julie cried. "He never joined the Yankee army. He told me he didn't, and Myles would never lie to me! He left to keep from being hanged for something he didn't do."
"Be quiet, Julie." Virgil shook his finger at her. "I'm trying to help your brother." Turning back to the sheriff, he said, "Now I should think the people around here would respect my position in the community, including you. Therefore, out of respect for my dear wife, who will soon depart this life, God rest her soul, I must ask that you not take Myles into Savannah."
The sheriff raised his eyebrows. "What in hell you talkin' about? You're the one who come to my office and told me where I could find him!"
"This is quite true; however, I have an alternate plan for his disposal, and I think you will agree with me that it will satisfy everyone. Take Myles to the Confederate Army and turn him in for what he is—a man who was disloyal to his countrymen and went north and joined the enemy. He is, in fact, an enemy of our great Confederacy, and deserves to be treated as such. He will be sent, no doubt, to Richmond, Virginia, and placed in Libby Prison."
Someone snickered, "Hell, from what I hear about the 'Black Hole,' he'd thank you for hangin' him instead of sendin' him there."
"Well..." the sheriff pulled thoughtfully at his chin. "I don't know. I should take him in, but like you say, he'd be lynched, for sure. This way, he'll be out of the way. There's prisoner swaps goin' on, I hear, but the North wouldn't have him if he's a deserter. They'd rather swap for a decent soldier who got caught fighting for their side, rather than the likes of this traitor. And Libby Prison is a fate worse'n death for some, I'm told."
Virgil smiled. "I'm glad you are an intelligent man. You are wise to keep up good relations with Rose Hill."
The sheriff snapped his fingers and two men stepped forward. "Take the prisoner to the Rebs and turn him over."
"No!" Julie clutched Myles more tightly as the men approached. "No, you won't take him. I won't let you—"
Sobbing and shrieking, she was pulled from him and thrust into Virgil's arms. He jerked her roughly toward the house. "Shut up, you little spitfire," he hissed in her ear. "Shut up, I say, or I'll make you suffer the agonies of the damned."
She continued to fight him, and he threw her to the ground in disgust and whipped around to call out to the sheriff and his men, "Wait up there. I've changed my mind. I think we'll just let you take him on into town and let the mob have him...."
Julie crawled over to clutch Virgil's leg. "You can't...." she pleaded desperately. "Oh, Virgil, don't, please—they'll kill him...
"Are you going to get up and go to that house and not give me any more trouble?" He leaned over, his breath hot and ragged on her tear-streaked face. "I can have him killed with the snap of a finger."
She reached out, her fingers clawing at the red clay, squeezing and mashing it. How she wished it were Virgil's soul, and she was tearing it from his evil body. To return with him meant submitting to him endlessly. Death would be sweeter. But at least she could try to escape later. For now, there was nothing to be done but save Myles's life at any cost.
"All right," she said finally, with cold resignation. Slowly she stood, lifting her chin in defiance as she faced the man she had come to hate with every drop of blood that flowed in her veins. "All right, Virgil. Tell them to take him to the prison in Richmond."
"Good!" He grinned, his face grotesquely yellow in the glow of the lanterns behind them. He turned and gave his orders, then grasped her about her waist and led her toward the house.
They continued walking. When they reached the slaves' quarters, Julie could see the dim glow of candles from within the shacks. "Sara..." she said in a dull voice. "What did you do with her? And Lionel?"
"Don't worry. They're all right. When they realized they had been discovered, they were only too glad to get out of there. I sent Lionel to his cabin and told Sara to get to the house to stay with your mother."
They reached the porch, and just then the wide doors were flung open. From within, the glowing lights illuminated Sara's large frame. She stood there, chest heaving and eyes wide, holding the doors open with arms outstretched above her head.
"What is wrong with you, Sara?" Virgil snapped. "Get back inside and calm yourself down, or I'll punish you severely for taking part in this little escapade tonight...."
Sara was gasping for breath, her eyes brimming with tears as she met Julie's questioning gaze. "She's gone. Your mama is gone—" she cried.
Julie did not weep. Lifting her head high, she moved forward as Sara stepped back to let her enter. With quick, sure steps, she hurried to the curving stairs. Behind her, Virgil was snapping at Sara to stop her sniveling and make the necessary funeral preparations.
Julie reached the second level and continued straight to her mother's room. The door was partially open, and she gave it a quick shove, then stepped inside.
Her mother lay there looking just as peaceful as when Julie had left her earlier, except that her eyes were open, staring blankly upward. There was a great roaring in Julie's ears as she went to the bedside and stared down, her heart heavy. She should close the eyes. But how? She had to do something about those staring yet unseeing eyes. Shuddering, she reached out with trembling fingers to draw the covers up and over her mother's face.
Still she did not cry. Tears were for sorrow, and how could she be sorry that her mother would not suffer at the hands of Virgil Oates? The lifeless body beneath the covers was far better off than she.
For her misery, she feared, had hardly begun.
Chapter 16
Sara knew what to do to ready Julie's mother for burial. First she summoned Lionel to find the washing board, a piece of wood shaped like a table top, on which the body would be prepared for burial. "The board will be wherever the last death was," Sara told Lionel, for it was community property, used by a family as it was needed, then put away to await the next death.
"That'd be the Peele family, over by the swamp. Mastah Durwoo
d, he passed on a few weeks ago. Ain't heard of nobody dying since."
"Well, go along and get it," Sara said wearily. To Julie, she said, "Knowing your mother, she wouldn't like to be washed on a board everybody else gets washed on, but they ain't time to make another. I reckon we should'a thought of that before it was too late."
"You are right, Sara. Mother would not want to be washed and dressed on a board used by just anyone. She was very prim about such things, you know."
Sara looked at the girl with the gray-shadowed eyes whose stringy hair hung limply about her gaunt face. "Miz Julie, it don't matter, child," she said compassionately, her heart going out to the girl. The good Lord was really heaping burdens on Julie's shoulders, and Sara wondered just how much more her mistress could carry. "You go lay down and get some sleep. Lionel's gonna stop by the church and ring the bell to let folks know. He done rung it out back. Ever'body'll start comin' at daylight. You gonna have to speak to 'em. I'll take care of your mama and have her all ready by the time they starts gettin' here. And I'll get some bakin' done. I can manage. You run along now."
"No!" Julie said sharply, straightening. "I will help dress my mother, Sara." She looked at Lionel and snapped, "Go to the barn, or wherever you can find a door, and rip it down and set it up in my mother's room. She'll be prepared there."
Lionel looked at Sara, who nodded, conveying the message with her eyes that there was no point in arguing with the girl once her mind was made up.
"You heat some water, and I will go up and find something suitable to dress her in. We'll need help, of course. Get some of the women in to start on the baking. I want more than pies and cakes. I want hens dressed and roasted. I want a hog slaughtered and cooked over the pit. Lionel will ride into Savannah and get the finest coffin available from Mr. William Culpepper, the undertaker."
Sara sighed, her heart going out to the tiny young woman who was making such an effort to be strong. "Miz Julie, you sure you want all these fixin's? I mean, the way things are with Mastah Virgil and all... and Mastah Myles being captured... wouldn't it be best to just get it all over with as quick as we can?"
Julie slammed both palms on the kitchen table, her face reddening as she cried, "My mother made Rose Hill into the most prosperous plantation in all of Savannah, Sara. Before the damned war came to eat away at her success, she was a proud, refined woman. And that is the kind of funeral she will have, with all the respect given to her that she deserves."
"Yes'm. Whatever you say. I'll bet if we'd gotten away last night, Mastah Virgil would've just dumped her in a hole in the ground without a word said over her by no man of God, even. Maybe it was meant to happen this way, so she'd get a decent burial, but it sure is sad about Mastah Myles, and you havin' to stay here—"
"Oh, I'm not staying here," Julie looked at her incredulously, "and neither are you and Lionel. We will bury my mother tomorrow, after proper respects have been shown to her by the people of Savannah, and then we are leaving. Lionel will again load a wagon and hide it deeper in the woods this time, and no one will stop us from leaving."
Sara looked about fearfully, as though at any moment she expected to see Virgil appear from wherever he was eavesdropping.
"You needn't look so scared, Sara. Virgil has gone to get the parson. He's playing the role of the bereaved husband."
"But how you gonna leave, Miz Julie? He ain't gonna let you...."
Let me, indeed! Julie fumed. Oh, she was sick of having other people and other influences dominate her life. She was going to plunge ahead and face whatever lay ahead. For the first time, she felt she knew the same emotion as Derek when he took that step from the plank into the shark-infested waters. She was not as strong as he—few men could even hold claim to that—but she could make up for lack of size with her womanly attributes. And while she was not plunging into dangerous seas with her hands tied behind her back, many perils lay ahead. If she were cunning enough, she could handle them, just as she was almost confident now that Derek had survived.
A smile touched her lips. She felt it. There was a stirring deep within that told her somehow, by God, Derek Arnhardt lived! Would he one day help her? He had to!
Sara asked hesitantly, "Miz Julie, you all right? You looks funny to me...."
The smile spread into a wide grin. "Sara, I'm fine. You leave everything to me. Mother is dead now, and I don't intend to remain in this house one night after she is in the ground. This," she said tremulously, "I swear on my mother's soul!"
"He ain't gonna let you leave," Sara exploded, fear etched on her face. "That's one mean man, and he ain't gonna let you go, I tells you. You see what he had done to Mastah Myles—had him sent off to that prison up in Virginny—"
"Follow my instructions, please, and don't argue. We'll bury Mother tomorrow afternoon. Tell Lionel to have the grave dug. I want her placed to the right of my father. That's a sunny spot, too...."
Julie shook her head. Exhaustion was creeping into every bone, every pore. "I'm going to find something to dress her in."
"She's got buryin' clothes," Sara said quickly. Julie turned to look at her, puzzled, and the older woman hurried to explain. "You've been kept from some of the sad parts of life, child, and you may not know it, but folks keeps buryin' clothes put back—nice things they have made special to be buried in. I know where your momma's are. I'll fetch 'em after we get her washed."
Julie hurried through the still house, noticing that someone had gone around and stopped all the clocks to mark the hour of her mother's death. She frowned when she saw that the mirrors had been covered with sheets. This was a superstition she did not believe in: that the spirit of the departed still lurks about, and if it sees itself in a mirror, it will be hindered from going on to another life in the hereafter. Julie sighed. If others believed in such notions, and it made them feel better, so be it.
It was not long before Lionel brought a door he had removed from inside the barn and Sara came with a kettle of hot water. Julie watched as they lifted her mother, still covered by a sheet, from the bed and placed her cold, stiffening body upon the wooden slab. When Lionel left to see to the grave digging, they removed the sheet and began washing the body.
"I can't stand them eyes staring," Sara declared suddenly. "Get some coins."
"Coins?" Julie blinked. Sara nodded, and Julie went to her mother's jewelry chest, where a little money was always kept. She brought the coins to Sara, then watched as Sara closed the sightless eyes and placed the coins on top to keep them shut.
Sara found the burying dress, a severely styled garment of gray linen, void of ornaments, with a high neck and long cuffed sleeves. Together they struggled to put the clothing on the body, then Julie labored to brush her mother's hair and fashion it at the nape of her neck in a neatly braided bun.
There was a noise in the hall, then Lionel was calling up to say that Mr. Culpepper had arrived with the coffin. "We're ready," Julie said, a lump in her throat. So far she was handling herself well, keeping one thought burning in her mind through all the sorrow that mingled there: keep moving—it will all be over soon.
Mr. Culpepper entered, a tall, spindly man with a hooked nose and beady eyes. He wrapped long, bony fingers together and spoke in a voice that sounded as though it were echoing in a tomb. "You have prepared the deceased?" he asked.
Julie nodded, then stepped back as he and Lionel carried in the plain wooden coffin and set it on the floor, then gingerly lifted her mother's body from the washing board and placed it inside.
Sara went to her mistress's wardrobe and brought back packets of crushed rose petals that had been used to make her lingerie smell sweet. These she placed along the sides of the casket. Mr. Culpepper folded Julie's mother's hands across her chest, then motioned to Lionel that he was ready to take her downstairs.
"I told Annie Bell to fix up the parlor," Sara said as she and Julie followed the procession down the stairs.
They entered the room, and Mr. Culpepper and Lionel took the coffin to the sp
ot beneath the heavily-draped window where two straight-back chairs waited to hold it. At each end of the coffin, Sara lit candles and placed them so their illumination would cast a peaceful glow on her dead mistress's face.
Lionel left to return to the grave digging, and Sara went to oversee the goings-on in the kitchen. Julie excused herself to go to her room and change into a proper dress. She was crossing the foyer when the front doors opened, and she found herself staring into Virgil's sparkling eyes. He had brought the parson, who quickly stepped forward to clasp her hand warmly and offer his sympathies.
Thanking him, Julie said she wanted the service that afternoon. "Of course," he murmured. "We will send runners to spread the word. Is three o'clock agreeable?"
"Yes. Three will be fine. The servants have their instructions. Now, if you will excuse me—
Virgil stepped forward. "Julie, I would like a word with you."
She turned frosty eyes on him that made him stop in his tracks. "I have nothing to say to you, Virgil. This house is in mourning. Excuse me." She was aware of the puzzled glance the parson gave her but hurried on her way.
By mid-morning, the circular drive in front of the mansion house was crowded with buggies and wagons. Grooms wandered about the lawn talking with each other, while their masters remained inside to pay their respects and attend the afternoon funeral services. It was a cold day, and the sky was gray and overcast, with a hint of rain. Julie peered out and wished she had set the time for the service even earlier, for darkness would come sooner than usual with the threatening weather bearing down upon them.
The house smelled of fresh-baked goods and hot vegetables. People had brought food in covered dishes, and the dining room table was laden with it. Sara and the other house servants were kept busy bringing tea and coffee and constantly washing dishes.
The atmosphere in the parlor was somber, and Julie gave Virgil a glance of contempt each time she entered the room. He sat in a chair next to the casket, playing the role of the bereaved husband. Once she nearly gagged when she heard him murmur to a solicitous neighbor, "If it weren't for Julie, I could not have made it through these weeks. She has been the light of my life. She's so much like her mother, God rest her soul...."
This Rebel Heart Page 24