Of course Aunt Sylvania had thrown a fit at that move too. The church Louisa chose was definitely not fashionable. How would she ever meet a young man of the proper quality there? What would her dear Joshua say if he saw his youngest daughter attending a Quaker meetinghouse, of all things?
As they neared the brick edifice, the low moans that sounded like a flowing river hummed louder than the cicadas thrumming in the elm trees.
The smell met her at the door like a heavy curtain.
“Where you wants dis?” Reuben nodded to his basket.
“Right here in this closet. That way I can parcel things out.” She hung her bonnet on a hook and donned the white apron hanging beside it. At the same time, she scooped two bloodstained aprons out of another basket and, bundling them together, handed them to Reuben. Unbeknownst to Aunt Sylvania, Abby had been laundering the aprons since Louisa began her hospital service. Another secret she and the slaves kept between them. How would she ever be able to help with the soldiers if her aunt discovered their duplicity?
Reuben checked the water bucket and shuddered. “I gets fresh.”
Louisa nodded and smiled her gratitude. As he left for the pump out back, she checked the contents of both baskets. Hard-boiled eggs, already peeled for ease of eating, a packet of salt, biscuits slathered with butter and honey, a loaf of bread all sliced and buttered, sliced cheese to add to the bread, cookies, and a jar of chicken soup. Surely something here would help Private Rumford take more than two bites at a meal. No matter how she encouraged him, she got the feeling that all he wanted to do was die, if not from his wounds, then of starvation.
Reuben returned and she reached for his bucket, but a shake of his silvering head made her smile again. Lately he’d taken to staying with her while she took dippers of fresh water around to the men.
“Thank you, but I don’t want you gettin’ on the wrong side of Aunt.”
“Not you worry, Missy. Let’s get goin’ now.”
They stepped into the ward, and silence fell like a featherbed floating into place. Greetings bounced around the room, one patient passing the news of her arrival on to the next who might not see or hear.
“Good mornin’.” She began on the right side, taking turns each day so no one always received her assistance first. The man in the bed raised himself on one elbow.
“I was ’fraid you wasn’t comin’.” He scooted back to brace against the wall.
“Why? Am I late?” Her smile made the man in the next bed chuckle.
“I … I don’t know. The nights are so long, seems like mornin’ fergits to come.” He drank his fill and lay back. “Thankee, ma’am. Just seein’ you so purtylike makes the water taste pert near as good as the spring at home.”
“Hey, don’t spend all mornin’ with that worthless mountain castoff.” The laughter in the tone made others laugh, one to the point of coughing as if he might not stop.
“Now, y’all just wait your turn.” She spoke to the room and held the dipper for the man in the next bed. “How are you this mornin’?”
“Toler’ble.” He hawked to clear his throat and spat into a towel left by his head, a towel already spotted with red.
Louisa kept her smile intact and slipped him one of the slices of bread with cheese. “I’ll be back with more water soon as I can.” If only she could bring him something hot to drink, perhaps he could better fight the infection raging through his body. But he did look more alert today.
As she made her way around the room, smiles followed her like butterflies after blossoms. For those too sick to raise themselves up to drink, she put her arm behind them to give them support. Several men were unconscious, so other than laying a hand on their shoulders and breathing a prayer for healing, she passed them by. Later she would come by with a basin of warm water and wash hands and faces.
The man in bed seventeen was such. She studied the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing well at least. “Has he been awake at all?” The man in the next bed shook his head.
“Nary a sound outa him. Not even a groan. Doc says it’s the head wound.”
“Is he in a coma, then?”
The nod made her wince. “Do you know anything about him?”
“No’m, not a thing.” He eyed her basket. “I sure would appreciate some o’ that cheese you brought t’other day.”
“With bread, or would you rather have one of cook’s biscuits?”
“Mighty hard decidin’.” He closed his one eye, the other an empty socket with a scar that ran from his hairline to his chin. That early wound had healed, so he was sent back to the front. He wouldn’t be returning to battle again, not missing a leg.
When she held out the bread and cheese, he took it, his hand shaking so the bread almost fell to the floor. With a quick hand for his advancing years, Reuben handed the bread back without looking the man in the face.
“Here you goes, suh.”
When the soldier failed to say anything, Louisa frowned at him and smiled at Reuben. “Thank you. Some of us seem to have forgotten our manners.”
A hoot from the men around him made the culprit flush and stop chewing long enough to mumble, “Sorry. Thank you, boy.”
“His name is Reuben, and he is far too old and valuable to be a boy.” The ice in her voice cooled the air around them by several degrees. She waited, one slipper tapping the floor, counting the seconds.
It took more time than she’d liked, making her wonder if her strictness with these wounded men made any difference in the way they thought.
“Ah, Frank, give in.”
“Now, you dumb—” At the collective gasp, the remonstrator cut off the rest of his sentence, earning him a smile from their angel. While she was on the floor, they all knew she tolerated no swearing, crude language, or cruelty in general. Her method of punishment to those intrepid cursers changed many minds. She just ignored them, walking by as if they did not exist.
By the time she and Reuben had circled the room, one of the doctors arrived, along with an assistant who helped change the dressings. While they started at one end, she waved good-bye to her helper and started at the other end, this time with a basin of warm water, washcloth, soap, and a towel. Those who could wash their own hands and faces did. The others received her gentle touch with sighs of appreciation.
“I heard you know how to shave a feller,” one of her men said, raising both his hands swathed in bandages.
“I do, but it will be some time before I can get back.”
“No problem, Miz Highwood. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
She smiled at his gentle joke. “Not today, but soon.”
“Home? You think they might send me home?”
“That’d be my surmise, but the doctor there has the last say.” No one without usable hands would be sent back to the fighting, that she knew for certain, and from the looks of him, this young man, a boy really, would be going home soon. They needed his bed for those much worse off than he. Her gaze wandered over to the man who had yet to regain consciousness. The doctor would be seeing him next.
What was there about him that drew her? She ignored the puzzlement and eased her way to stand by the foot of his bed.
“How are you today, Miz Highwood?” The physician stopped beside her, studying her face. “Child, how long since you’ve taken a day off?”
“Oh, last week, I think.” She shot him a piercing look. “How about you?”
“Last week. Must have been last week.” His smile and headshaking said he knew they were both lying. He patted her shoulder and turned to the patient, who showed no signs of impatience at the wait, unlike some of the others.
Louisa screwed up her courage. “Do you know anything about him?”
Dr. Fremont shook his head. “No, he had no identification and hasn’t been able to answer questions. I was hoping he would be conscious by now, but then maybe this is better. At least he isn’t feeling any pain, and with those wounds, the pain would be severe.” He picked up the man’s h
and and checked the pulse. “His heart is strong. He’s goin’ to need that.”
Louisa studied the man in the bed, what she could see of him. She promised herself to come back later because, conscious or not, warm water on his hands and face would feel good. And getting the blood washed off him would make her feel good. Knowing that the doctor would not tend his patient until she left the bedside, she returned to her errands of mercy, and the next time she looked up, the doctor and his assistant had left the ward.
With all of her men washed and some sleeping again, she searched out the razor she’d hidden away behind some boxes and filled her pan with hot water again. The razor needed stropping to get an edge back on it, but she hadn’t found a suitable leather strap at Aunt Sylvania’s. Short of asking Reuben to buy one for her, she’d made do up until now.
“I know this is dull, so if you’d rather wait …” She shrugged and raised her eyebrows as she spoke.
“Ah, she at least won’t cut your throat and might get the worst off,” the man in the next bed advised. “I could do it but …” He pointed to his bandaged eye.
“That’s all right. I trusts her.” The man lay back and raised his chin.
Louisa used the cloth to rub the soap so she could lather his face. The act brought back a vision of her father standing in front of a mirror in his bedroom, the brush in his hand full of lather, the razor glinting in the early morning sunlight. Her nose wrinkled at the memory. The soap had smelled nothing like this, and a rag didn’t lather like the brush that fit in the mug designed just for that purpose.
Father, where are you? And where is Zachary? Is someone helping Zachary this morning?
She bent to her task, the rasp of the razor against the whiskers sounding loud, as if all the men were waiting with held-in breath to see if she would draw blood. With the razor she was using, it wasn’t a case of if, but when.
By the time she’d finished, she had said “I’m sorry” so often that each new protestation brought chuckles that swelled to laughter from those around. If they only knew how good it made her feel to hear them laugh, even if it was at her expense.
She wiped off the remaining lather, shook her head at the leftover stubble, and stepped back.
“Looks to me like a rat been chewin’ on ’im.” One of the men who’d graduated to crutches offered his opinion from the foot of the bed.
“Thank you, Sergeant Arthur. Next time you can do the honors.”
“Next time I’ll make sure that razor got an edge on it. Give it here, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Now, why didn’t you say that before?” Louisa picked up her pan of soapy water, draping the towel over her arm.
“You didn’t ask.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed on past him. “Tomorrow you’re in charge of shavin’.”
“Miz Highwood, you gonna read to us again?” The question came from another who could no longer see.
“Yes, that I am. Right now, as a matter of fact.” She knew that if she didn’t sit down fairly soon, she might just fall down.
By the time she headed for home in the evening dusk, her back ached, her feet felt like she’d walked miles, which she had, and the man in bed seventeen still hadn’t awakened.
Chapter Eleven
Western Kentucky
September 25, 1862
“Jesse, me go home.”
Jesselynn picked up her little brother and hugged him close. “I know. I want to go home too.”
Thaddeus patted her cheeks with both of his hands. “Then go.” He turned to grin up at Meshach. “We goin’ home.” The smile lit up his face, and he laid his cheek against his sister’s. “Go home now.”
Jesselynn first tried to swallow the boulder blocking her throat, then at least swallow around it. Home, where the hip bath can be filled with hot lavender-scented water, and I can soak for a week, then sleep in my own soft bed until I feel like waking up. Where Lucinda or one of the others will bring me coffee or tea in bed if I so desire, where the doves will coo in the tree outside my window and I can hear the horses whinny on their way to the track.
She hid her smarting eyes in Thaddy’s shoulder and rocked from one foot to the other, crooning under her breath. Home… oh, Lord, I want to go home. A shudder started in her heels and worked its way up until she clenched her teeth. All she had to do was tell Meshach to turn the horses around and head back to Twin Oaks. She clamped her teeth shut and her arms around Thaddeus. The words bubbled in her head and up her throat. Home, let’s go home.
“Ow! Jesse, you hurtin’ me.” The boy leaned back and stared into his sister’s eyes. He patted her cheek again. “You cryin’?”
She shook her head and, setting him down, rubbed the corner of her eye. “Just got a speck of dirt in my eye, that’s all. You go on and help Ophelia find firewood so we can have breakfast.”
“Home?”
“Someday.” The look of such utter sadness that he sent her before he trudged off behind Ophelia made her swallow hard again. Like their father, Thaddeus could say more with one glance than most people could with their mouths in an hour.
Home, she thought as she settled down to sleep some time later. Home…sometimes I wonder if I ever even lived there or if I made it all up.
“Thaddeus. Thaddeus!”
The sound of Ophelia calling brought Jesselynn awake long before she was ready.
“Thaddeus!” Meshach had joined her.
Jesselynn rolled out of bed and slid into her boots in a motion getting smooth with practice. She grabbed her hat on the way out from under the wagon and jogged to the edge of the woods, listening for another shout.
If Thaddy is lost, I’ll never forgive myself. What happened? “What happened?” Jesselynn grabbed a sobbing Ophelia by the arm as soon as she found her.
“I was … I was … oh, Marse Jesse, he be gone. Thaddy be gone. Dey snatch him away.”
“Who? What?” Jesselynn gave the keening woman a shake. “Tell me, Ophelia! Tell me what happened.” She could hear the others calling in the woods.
“How long ago?”
Ophelia shrugged. “I … he was right beside me, then gone. Lawsy, our boy be lost. Oh, Lawd, help us find ’im. Please, Lawd.”
“Thaddeus Joshua Highwood, come out wherever you are.” He can’t be lost. He must think we are playing a game. But no matter how hard she listened, he didn’t answer.
Meshach made his way through the woods and stopped beside her. “Dis brush be so thick, he could fall in a hole, be anywhere.”
Jesselynn felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart. Not Thaddy, not her baby brother. For all she knew, her only brother. Why had she slept so long? Turning brimming eyes upward, she shook her head. “Not Thaddeus.”
“We find ’im. He not get far.”
“He got farther than we can see, didn’t he? What was Ophelia doing? Taking care of Thaddy is the most important thing she does.”
“She know dat.”
“Could someone have snatched him?”
Meshach shook his head. “Can’t see how. Who? Why? No one know we here.”
Dunlivey. The name exploded in her head. Dunlivey. He would take Thaddy knowing that nothing could hurt her more. But if he’d been there, he’d have taken them all. No, that couldn’t be it.
“We just got to find ’im.”
Jesselynn swallowed hard and sucked in a deep breath. Fainting wouldn’t help, that was for sure, but she felt so light-headed right now, she could float off into the woods. She leaned against a tree trunk. She could hear the others calling his name. They sounded so far away. Surely he couldn’t get that far.
“Thaddeus, the game is over. Come out now!” Her voice didn’t carry beyond her nose. She took another breath and tried again. God, I’ll do anything you ask. Just keep him safe. Bring him back. Please God, please let us find him.
“Tha-dde-us!” Better. Taking more air in, she screamed his name.
Meshach walked not ten feet from her, alternating with
her, calling the child’s name.
“Shh.” Jesselynn froze. Was her mind playing tricks on her?
“What?” Meshach leaped to her side.
“Shh. Listen.” Benjamin called Thaddy’s name some distance away. Jesselynn froze, wished she could stop her heart. It was making too much noise. She held her breath. Could that be him?
She looked at Meshach, who nodded back. He pointed off to their left.
Together they pushed through the brush, stopping every couple of feet to call and listen.
The child’s crying sounded clearer.
“Thaddeus?”
“Jesse.”
“Call again, baby.”
“Jesse.”
They changed their angle and pushed on. Meshach grabbed her arm before she slid down the embankment. At the bottom lay a badly injured horse with Thaddeus stroking his neck.
“Horse hurt bad.”
“Yes, darlin’, I can see that.” She turned to Meshach. “You got your gun?”
He nodded. “Thank you, Lord, you takes care of our boy.”
Together they made their way down the slope and, when the horse started to thrash, stopped. Jesselynn hunkered down and slipped into her gentle crooning.
“Thaddeus, baby, you come on away from there now. Come to me, baby.”
“Make horse better?” Thaddeus stood. The horse tried to raise his head and knocked the boy over.
“Easy, Thaddy, come on now.” But Thaddeus squatted back down by the horse’s head and began stroking his nose again.
“Good horse. Be good, nice …”
If Jesselynn didn’t know better, she’d have thought it was herself sitting by the downed animal, singing the song that quieted. The horse settled back, a rumble coming from his throat.
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