Columns of Cottonwood

by Sandra Robbins

  She frowned. “No. Why would you think I’d be upset?”

  His gaze traveled around the walls of the small cabin that had once housed slaves. “I know this isn’t where you imagined yourself living, and I will build us a better house. But the roof on Saul and Mamie’s cabin is the worst on the plantation. I wanted them to have something better first.”

  “I understand. Our house will come later.”

  He nodded. “Yes, our house.”

  The way he said the words sent tremors through her body. Savannah pulled her gaze away from him and reached for the iron skillet that hung on the wall. Her hands shook as she placed it on top of the stove and placed the pieces of ham she’d cut earlier in it.

  Dante rose from his chair and moved to stand behind her. As he peered over her shoulder, she could feel his breath on her neck, and it sent ripples up and down her back. “Um, this looks good. Ham and biscuits?”

  “Yes. I haven’t made the biscuits yet, but I made your favorite—fried peach pies.”

  He moved closer. “Who taught you how to cook?”

  She took a deep breath. “Mamie cooked for us in the big house. My mother didn’t know the first thing about the kitchen, but I stayed there a lot. All that I learned came from Mamie.”

  He chuckled. “Then I owe Mamie a great debt of gratitude.”

  “That’s almost the last of the ham we brought from Aunt Jane’s smokehouse, though. Do you think we’ll be able to butcher some hogs soon?”

  He stepped back to his chair and sat down. “I’ll see if I can buy a few from one of the farmers. By next year, though, we’ll be able to fill each family’s smokehouse.”

  Savannah glanced over her shoulder at him. “Mamie and I are already talking about the garden we’re going to plant in the spring. With the help of all the women, we should be able to grow enough vegetables to get us through next winter. We’ll have to take a look at the apple and peach orchards, though. They’ve been neglected for a long time.”

  Dante stared at her for a moment, and she thought she detected respect in his eyes. “You surprise me, Savannah.”

  She frowned. “How?”

  “You cook, you’re ready to butcher hogs, and you’re already planning next spring’s garden. I expect you’ll have us all out in the orchard pruning and doing whatever it takes to get those trees producing again. I wouldn’t have thought a beautiful woman who grew up the pampered daughter of a planter would do those things.”

  She snorted. “Then you have a lot to learn about me. I told you I wanted to bring Cottonwood back to what it was before the war, and I meant it.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Which reminds me, there is one more thing I’ve been meaning to mention.”

  “What?”

  Savannah took a deep breath. She had no idea how he would respond to her next suggestion. She wiped her hands on her apron and faced him. “I know you’ve been concerned about transporting our baled cotton next year to Willow Bend to load on the steamboats going to Mobile.”

  He nodded. “Yes. There doesn’t seem to be a good place to build a steamboat landing. The bluffs along the river on our land are too steep. It’ll take a lot of time to take the cotton to Willow Bend by wagon.”

  “I have an idea. What if we built a slide from the top of the bluff straight down to the water? There’s a good place at the bottom of the bluff near that canebrake you and the men cleaned out where the ship could dock. Some of the men could push the bales straight down to the ship, and others could be at the bottom to load it. That would eliminate the need to take it into Willow Bend.”

  “Savannah, I said a few minutes ago that you surprise me, but that’s not correct. You amaze me.”

  A quizzical expression lined his face, and she felt a pang of regret. He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. He must think her a silly woman to come up with such an idea.

  Her face burned. “It’s just a suggestion. If you don’t like it, I’m sure you’ll come up with something else.” She turned back to the stove.

  His hands touched her shoulders, and she froze in place. Turning her to face him, he smiled. “Not like it? I think it’s a brilliant idea. I didn’t realize what a keen mind you have.”

  Her uncertainty melted away, and she smiled back at him. “You really like the idea?”

  “I love it. Saul told me that even though you were a young girl you could have run the plantation after the war. I think if you had, things might be different.” He’d no sooner said it than his eyes clouded. “And you wouldn’t have had to marry me.”

  He released his hold on her, and she felt chilled. The breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t have to marry you, Dante. I’m glad I did.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you really glad, Savannah?”

  She cupped his hand in both of hers. “You’re a good man, Dante, and I’m honored to be your wife.”

  He smiled. “No, I’m the one who is honored.” He turned away and disappeared into the bedroom. In a few minutes, he returned, his Bible in his hand. Without speaking, he sat at the kitchen table, opened it, and began to read.

  The ham in the skillet sizzled, and Savannah turned her attention back to the meal. She stole a glance every once in a while over her shoulder, but Dante didn’t look up. Something about the sight of him sitting there, studying God’s Word warmed her heart. Every day she found another reason to respect and like her husband. She wondered what he thought about her.

  ❧

  Dante tried to concentrate on the scripture, but he found it difficult. Savannah’s presence in the room distracted him. The words she’d spoken a few minutes earlier made it almost impossible to think about anything else except her.

  He glanced up and studied her as she put the last touches on their evening meal. He still couldn’t believe that she was his wife, but here she was. His prayers of thanks were offered each day for God blessing him in such a way. Maybe he should tell her how he felt—let her know how dear she was to him.

  A knock at the door startled him, and he jumped to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

  When he opened the door, Abraham, Saul and Mamie’s older son, stood on the porch. He held something covered with a cloth in one hand. Dante opened the door wider.

  “Abraham, come in.”

  The young man stepped into the room and grinned. His ebony skin glistened in the light from the oil lamp on the table. “Mamma sent me with these here biscuits for yore supper. She said Miss ’Vanna cookin’ ham.”

  Wiping her hands on a towel, Savannah laughed and stepped forward. “Mamie knows how much I like her biscuits. She’s a dear for sending these.” She took the pan and set it on the table. “Don’t leave, Abraham. I have something for all of you, too. Some of my fried peach pies.”

  Abraham’s eyes lit up. “Fried peach pies? I reckon we ain’t had none of them in a long time.”

  Dante chuckled. “Savannah and her aunt dried these peaches last year, but I imagine we’ll all be having peach pies next summer. Savannah told me that we have to get the orchards cleaned up and the trees pruned. Maybe there’ll be a bumper crop of apples and peaches to dry.”

  Abraham nodded. “That sounds good to me, Mistuh Dante. We’s gwine make Cottonwood like it used to be.”

  Savannah handed him the pies and smiled. “Yes we are, Abraham. Maybe even better. Dante tells me that we may soon have another person living with us. A young woman named Hattie. Is that right?”

  Abraham backed toward the door, a grin on his face. “Yas’m, I ’spects it won’t be long now.”

  Savannah reached around him and opened the door. “I’m glad. We’ll look forward to seeing her.”

  Dante studied Savannah as she closed the door behind Abraham and walked back to the stove. She hummed a tune under her breath. A sheen of perspiration covered her brow from standing over the hot stove, but Dante thought he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

  Two hours later, with the meal finished and the dishes washed, Savannah sat
in her rocking chair mending a pair of socks. Dante glanced up from the passage he’d just read in the Bible and let his gaze drift around the cabin once more. This wasn’t where he’d wanted to bring Savannah, but tonight, for some reason, he felt happy just to be here with his wife. He’d never known as much contentment as she’d brought into his life in the last few months.

  She glanced up from her sewing and smiled. Laying the socks aside, she rose and picked up Aunt Jane’s oil lamp from the table beside her. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  He closed his Bible and stood. “Let me get the quilts for my pallet before you go in the bedroom.”

  Savannah’s fingers grasped his arm. “No, Dante. There’s no need for that.”

  He turned to her, a frown on his face. “What do you mean?”

  She took a deep breath. “I think it’s time you stopped sleeping on the floor. There’s no need for that when we have a perfectly good bed.”

  His eyes grew wide, and he swallowed. “Do you understand what you’re saying, Savannah?”

  She nodded. “You told me to let you know when I wanted you to be my husband in every sense of the word, and that time has come.”

  He reached out and trailed his fingers down Savannah’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful, Savannah, and I want to be your husband. First, though, I must be honest with you and tell you that I have loved you since the day you almost ran me down with that buggy. I know I can’t expect you to love me, so you may wish to take back what you’ve just said. I never want you to feel pressured by me.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she gazed into his face. “But I do love you, Dante. I have for a long time. All I want is to be with you for the rest of my life.”

  His arms circled her and pulled her against him. “That’s all I want, too.”

  She stretched on her tiptoes toward him, and their lips met in the kiss that sealed their marriage vows.

  ❧

  Savannah stared out the window as the first rays of morning light spread across the yard. Lucifer, her favorite rooster, crowed from the henhouse, and it sent a thrill through her. She’d always loved that early morning sound.

  Walking to the stove, she picked up the coffeepot and filled Dante’s cup. She set the pot back on the stove and caressed Dante’s shoulder before she sat down at the kitchen table. The beginning of a new day always excited her, but today it was more. They were beginning a new life together. His eyes sparkled as he gazed at her and talked about what he’d planned for the morning.

  “We’ve cleared the land and marked off the spot for Saul and Mamie’s house. I’m going into Willow Bend to order the first building supplies. Do you want to come along?”

  Savannah took a sip of her coffee and thought about his invitation. “I’d like that. Maybe I could go by Sarah Morgan’s house and visit with her while you’re getting what you need. She hasn’t been in church for the past few weeks. Her son Seth has been sick.”

  Dante pushed up from the table. “I like Sarah. She’s treated me better than anybody else in Willow Bend.”

  “She’s a good friend of mine and would never do anything to hurt me.”

  He regarded her with a playful stare. “Are you saying that the way the good people around here treat me is painful to you?”

  She made a face at him, stood, and began to stack their dishes. “Of course. I want everyone to know you and like you as I do.”

  She turned to place the dishes in the dry sink, but he caught her by the arm. “You said last night you love me. Do you really?”

  She laughed and swatted at his arm. “How many times are you going to make me say it?”

  His grip tightened. “Savannah, I still can’t believe. . .” He stopped at the sound of horses galloping to a stop in front of their cabin.

  “Hello in the house!”

  Dante released her, walked to the window, and peered out. “It’s Sheriff Newton and several men.”

  Savannah grabbed her shawl and followed Dante to the front porch. Stopping behind him, she stared at the men who faced them and flinched inwardly at the ragtag bunch who rode with the sheriff. She’d known most of them all her life, and they were nothing but drunkards and troublemakers. Just the type of men she’d expect their sheriff to have as friends.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Newton,” Dante said. “Kind of early to come visiting, isn’t it?”

  The sheriff spit a wad of tobacco to the ground, wiped his hand across his handlebar mustache, and pushed his hat up on his head. “This ain’t no social visit. I just need to know where you were last night.”

  “I was right here with my wife.”

  The sheriff’s gaze drifted to Savannah. “That right, Miss Carmichael? Was he here?”

  Savannah stepped closer to Dante. “Yes, Sheriff, he was. And my name is Mrs. Rinaldi.”

  He glanced over at one of the men, who snickered, and then looked back to her. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You did marry this carpetbagger, didn’t you?”

  Savannah could feel Dante tense, and she touched his arm. “State your business here, please.”

  The man leaned forward and rested his arm on the saddle. “Somebody rode through that Crossroads shantytown last night and shot it up right good. Probably the work of outsiders. So that’s what made me think of Mr. Rinaldi first.”

  Dante took a step forward. “Was anybody hurt?”

  “Some killed. A few hurt. No great loss. They’re just a bunch of ex-slaves.”

  “Ex-slaves?” Savannah gasped. “You’re the law, and you’re supposed to be protecting everyone.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “But then I remember how you treated all the freed slaves after the war. You’re a disgrace to your office.”

  The sheriff’s face turned crimson, and he pointed a finger at Savannah. “Now just a minute.”

  Dante held up a hand. “You’ve gotten the answer to your question about my whereabouts last night. Now I suggest you ride on and look for whoever did this horrible deed.”

  The sheriff glared at the couple for a moment before he whirled his horse and nodded to the men. “Let’s get out of here. I smell a yellow-bellied abolitionist.”

  Savannah and Dante watched as they rode away. When they’d disappeared, Savannah turned to Dante. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh Dante, some of Cottonwood’s people are still living there. We need to find out what happened.”

  He reached for her hand and guided her back inside. “I’ll get Henry Walton to ride over there with me. I think it might be safer for the other men to stay here today. I’ll come back as soon as I know anything.”

  He grabbed his coat from the peg by the door and rushed out. Savannah sank down in the kitchen chair and buried her face in her hands. The sheriff’s words rang in her mind, but she knew that he spoke only what so many people in the area thought. The war had left some wounds that it might take years to heal. She wondered if it would happen in her lifetime.

  Eleven

  The Crossroads settlement looked nothing like Dante remembered from the day he’d escorted the families from there to Cottonwood. No children played along the dirt paths that snaked between the shacks, and he couldn’t see any groups of young people. Instead, deadly silence covered the area.

  Dante reined his horse to a stop and climbed down. He stood in the middle of the road and looked around in disbelief. Wisps of smoke curled upward from the remains of several hovels along the edge of the settlement. He counted five others that, although they still stood, had sustained damage from fire.

  Henry dismounted and glanced around. “It looks deserted. Where is everybody?”

  Dante shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Henry held the reins of his horse out to Dante. “I’ll see if I can find anybody.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I think you’d better stay here. I ’spect most white men ain’t welcome ’round here today. I lived with t
hem, so I think they’ll talk to me.”

  Dante took the reins of Henry’s horse. “All right.”

  Henry nodded and disappeared along the path that led inside the community. A cold wind blew from the river at the edge of the settlement and whipped about Dante’s legs. He looked at the makeshift homes the people lived in and wondered how they kept warm.

  The residents of Cottonwood might be living in former slave quarters, but he had made sure that each family had what they needed to keep warm this winter. He doubted if the people at the Crossroads were similarly equipped, and now some of them had lost what little they did have.

  The longer Henry stayed gone, the colder Dante became. He tied the horses to a tree beside the road and paced up and down in an attempt to keep warm. Crossing his arms, he hugged himself and wished he could be with Savannah in their warm cabin.

  As always, thoughts of her made his heart pump faster. She’d said she loved him, but did she? Was she mistaking her grateful feelings to be back at Cottonwood for love? Doubt drifted into his mind. He wanted to believe her, but uncertainty remained. Even though he’d been thrilled to hear her words, he had to be careful. The community still considered him an outsider, and Savannah might very well harbor some of those same feelings. Only time would tell.

  Dante glanced at the deserted settlement again and wondered where everyone had gone. He began pacing again, lost in thought. After what seemed an eternity, Henry reappeared. A sad look lined his face.

  Dante met him at the end of the path. “Did you find anybody?”

  Henry nodded. “Yes. They’re all in a field back of here, burying the dead.”

  “Do they need help?”

  “Yeah, they do, but they’re mighty upset right now. Don’t hardly want to see nobody.”

  Dante took a deep breath. “How many died?”

  Henry’s forehead wrinkled, and his chin quivered. “Ten. Two entire families that lived in those huts that burned to the ground.”

  Dante shook his head in disbelief. “But how did this happen?”

  “They said a rebel yell woke them up in the middle of the night. Six men on horses were outside. They had on hoods and held torches. They set fire to some of the houses, and when the people ran out, they shot ’em down.”