Daughter of Twin Oaks

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Call him ornery.” Meshach dumped another armload of broken branches on the ground by the fire.

  Ophelia sat on a log and commenced to spoon milk into the baby’s mouth again. “Sho’ wish him mama learned him better.”

  Jesselynn shuddered at the memory of the dead mother. All alone like that and having a baby. Often she’d assisted her mother in caring for a newborn baby and the proud mother down in the slave quarters. Birthing babies was a natural part of life, even to losing some, but to die alone like that, knowing there was nothing to be done for the older child must have terrified the woman.

  She snagged Thaddeus, who was digging in the dirt at her feet, and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.

  He pushed back against her shoulder with both hands. “Down, Jesse. Me down.”

  She set him back on his feet, and he immediately plunked down to dig under the log again. When he had his mind on something, changing it was harder than stopping up a flooding creek.

  The sun was well past the center point and the camp eerily quiet when Jesselynn woke again. Where’s everyone? Surely they didn’t go off and leave me. The nicker of a horse nearby made her shake her head at her crazy thoughts. She sat up and looked around, brushing away a persistent fly while straining to hear a voice, any voice, or rather any of the voices that belonged to her people. She scrubbed her face with her fingertips and brushed her hair back. Only two weeks on the road, and already it was falling in her eyes. No wonder men had to have their hair cut so often. Braiding it back would be a dead giveaway.

  She smashed her hat onto her head, effectively solving the flopping hair problem, and stood, stretching out her body as she did so. She wasn’t sure which was worse, riding all night, sitting on the wagon seat, or sleeping on the hard ground. Glancing around the camp, she saw Daniel sleeping soundly and left him to it.

  Following the sound of another nicker, she found the horses hobbled in a small clearing, Ophelia lying asleep under a tree with the two boys curled against her like sleeping puppies, and Benjamin sleeping not far from her. As usual, Meshach was checking the horses’ hooves. Still yawning, she wandered over to him and leaned against the mare’s shoulder.

  “Meshach, don’t you ever sleep?”

  “Sho’nuff. I slept myself plenty right after breakfast. Benjamin, he watch den.” He picked up another of the filly’s hooves and dug out the packed dirt and rocks. A rock caught between the frog and the inner part of the hoof could lame a horse faster than anything. “Ahab got him a loose shoe. I ’specs I better reset dem before we leave.”

  “You need the forge?”

  “No, I just reset dem. Got plenty wear left.”

  They had the small hand-cranked forge with them that used to go to the track. While they had plenty of horseshoes, they didn’t have much charcoal. One more thing that needed doing.

  “What about the mule?”

  “He fine.”

  “Did Benjamin find out if there was a town near here?”

  “ ’Bout five miles. Not much more den a store or two.”

  “No train station?”

  “Didn’t ask dat.” He moved on to Domino, the younger stallion. “Stand still, you. I gots no time for you actin’ up.”

  “How’s Chess doin’?”

  “Good. Him chest healin’ good. I’s thinkin’ we might sell him soon as he’s able.”

  Jesselynn nodded. “Good idea.” She took hold of Domino’s halter. “You just want extra attention, don’t you?” She rubbed his ears and let him snuffle her neck. She inhaled the scent of horse. While her sister Carrie Mae might bewail the lack of Paris perfumes, she’d take honest horse aroma any day. That thought brought on another. How were her sisters managing with Aunt Sylvania? Jesselynn had visited Richmond and her aunt once and thought it enough to last for a lifetime—or two.

  So then why did you send them back there? The voice in her ear sounded vaguely familiar, like a cross between her mother and Lucinda with a dash of Jesselynn thrown in for reality’s sake.

  Instead of arguing with herself, she went to saddle up the mule.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Y’all go on and eat without me if I’m not here.”

  “You sho’ might need one of us.”

  Jesselynn hesitated. It most likely would be a good idea to have one of them along, but the thought of being alone for a couple of hours was tempting beyond measure. Surely she’d be back before dark. And who would bother a rough-looking boy on an old mule?

  Anyone needing a mule, that’s who! The thought made her shake her head. “I’ll take the pistol. It’s not fair waking up one of the boys. And, besides, the horses need rest and time to graze too.” She touched two fingers to the brim of her hat. “I’ll be fine.” She swung aboard the bareback mule and kicked him into a joint-cracking canter.

  His trot was worse. By the time they rode the five miles to town, even her teeth hurt from the pounding.

  “Grind you up for sausage,” she muttered as she slung the reins over his long ears and tied them to the hitching post in front of the store. Several other places of business lined the street, empty but for a brown-and-white dog sniffing horse droppings. She walked around him, more to get her legs moving than to check out her mount, and took the four steps to the shed-roofed front porch in two. Two men, who looked older than the gnarly oak that shaded the west side of the building, nodded to her. If they have three teeth between them, that would be sayin’ some, she thought.

  “Hey, boy, you a stranger here?”

  She kept herself from looking over her shoulder to see who the boy was they were talking to and nodded. “Yes, suh. Goin’ west.”

  “Where ya from?”

  She nodded over her shoulder. “Off thata way.” She bobbed her head again. “Good day.”

  She knew she’d been rude, but the sun was racing for the horizon, and she had to get back so Meshach wouldn’t worry. After telling the man behind the counter what she would need, she studied the jars of candy. Perhaps some horehound drops would help Thaddy’s cough.

  Her grandmother used to keep a jarful for that very purpose. She added that to her list.

  “They post a newspaper anywheres around here?”

  The man nodded. “Only a day late too. Comes in on the train.”

  “Mind if I go read the casualty list while you get things together?”

  “Not a’tall.” But he paused, studying her through slightly squinted eyes.

  “Don’t worry, I kin pay.” She pulled the gold piece from her pocket and held it up for him to see.

  “Can’t be too careful these days. Confederate dollars drop faster’n a pound of lead. Now is there anything else you might be needin’?”

  “I’ll be back.” She strolled out the door like she had a month of Sundays to spend as she wished, greeted the two holding down the rockers and headed for the train station. Strains of “Dixieland” floated out the saloon door as she passed, and the smell of frying chicken from the hotel made her lick her lips and wish for some. The news had to be old already according to the folks around Gordonsville, since no one else was standing on the dock reading the paper. The name of the town could be found on either end of the station in fading white letters on an equally faded black sign.

  She stuck her hands in her pockets and studied the paper tacked to the wall.

  “General Buell Liberates Louisville” was one headline, but most of the page was taken up with Lincoln’s proposed Emancipation Proclamation. She finally allowed herself to read the dead or missing-inaction lists, not breathing until she was positive Zachary Highwood was not listed. Thinking that the man had her order ready by now, she headed back for the general store.

  A burst of laughter from the saloon struck her like a fist in the midsection.

  Surely no one else on the entire earth laughed like that. Only Cavendar Dunlivey.

  Horror tasted like blood on her tongue.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Richmond, Virginia

&nbs
p; “I can explain.” She dropped her voice.

  “I’m sure you can, but let me guess. You got bored at Aunt Sylvania’s, and since you’ve always taken care of the wounded, be it bird, beast, or human, you decided to help out here at the military hospital. Only they would never let a young unmarried girl in the door to visit even, let alone care for the sick and dying, so you figured you needed a husband.”

  She nodded and looked at him from under her eyelashes. Was that a laugh she heard in his voice?

  “But why me?”

  “Because they say if you are going to tell a lie, keep as close to the truth as possible. So I just kept my name and added Mrs. Zachary in front of it.” Her whisper was meant for his ears alone.

  “So they call you Miz Highwood or Miss Louisa, which?”

  “Don’t you think you should take a nap or somethin’? You’re lookin’ mighty weary.”

  “It’s wakin’ up to find I have a wife that is wearyin’.”

  “You won’t tell anyone, please?”

  “Not unless that glowerin’ lieutenant over there decides to beat me to death with his crutches.”

  “Zachary Highwood, why I never …” The heat rushed up her neck and over her face so fast it nigh to set her hair on fire.

  “I know that, dear Louisa. Now why don’t you get me a drink of that fresh water you went for, and I’ll go back to sleep like a good boy—er, husband.” He clenched her hand for a moment, then groaned. “Never try to yawn with a broken jaw. It hurts like …”

  She could tell how bad by the way his hand shook. “I’ll be right back.”

  But when she returned with the bucket and dipper, he was sound asleep.

  After offering another drink to the men who were awake, Louisa returned to the closet where she kept her things and let the shock of Zachary being here roll over her. Her brother was alive. After the years of prayers and tears, here he was, in her hospital and on her ward, no less. The mercies of the almighty God were far beyond imaginable. If this didn’t qualify as a miracle, what would? Now, if only she could let Jesselynn know right today. Since the war began, letters took so long to get anywhere, and she hadn’t heard from home in far too long. Up to this last month, her sister had been a faithful correspondent.

  But she could tell Carrie Mae and Aunt Sylvania, and maybe when Zachary was well enough, they could all go home to Twin Oaks. Well, not Carrie Mae, since she would be living in Richmond with her newly wedded husband.

  Her thought flickered to the walking rack of bones with the title of lieutenant. He might be handsome with some meat on his frame and a smile on that dour face. He stumped back and forth in front of the window like a sleek painter she’d seen caged once. All she’d thought of was opening the gate and letting the big tawny cat go free.

  If only I could give the lieutenant back his leg and let him go free again.

  That thought sent her scurrying back out with her copy of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The tall stool was already set up for her, compliments of the lieutenant, she was sure. Since she’d started reading every afternoon, the men had taken to reminding her of it, just in case she forgot.

  She glanced at her brother, who lay sleeping again as though he’d never been awake. I could leave first to go home to tell the news. The thought held certain possibilities. But when she looked up from finding her place, the eager looks on the faces of her wounded men drove the idea straight out of her mind.

  She began with the words of Oberon:

  “‘I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

  Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows … ’”

  A cup of cool water appeared at her side when her voice began to creak. She glanced up to smile at the man who leaned on his crutches. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. At least I didn’t spill it all.”

  The tone of his voice caught in her throat. Despair, disappointment, disillusionment, all words to describe the pain she could hear and see when he let her. Or accidentally when his blackness grew too dark to see or think or do anything but feel. She drank the water and handed the cup back to him, wishing she could do something other than read for him and the others caught in that same black hole.

  “Go on, please, can you read longer?”

  “Yes, of course.” She smiled at the young private who shaved once a week whether he needed it or not. The smile on his face helped her forget that he’d lost one eye and most of the sight in the other.

  Louisa continued her reading:

  “‘Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,

  With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine,

  There sleeps Titania sometimes of the night…’”

  When she closed the book, the private pleaded, “One chapter from the Good Book too, please?”

  “Surely.”

  “Good, that comforts me more than about anything.” The scars around his eyes puckered with his smile as he leaned his chin on his knees. He always sat on the floor a foot or so from her stool where she could lay her hand on his head when she moved on. One of the men had teased him about being more devoted than the spaniel he had at home until one of the other soldiers had warned him off. Neil had become a favorite around the ward because of his good spirits in spite of his wounds.

  Corporal Shaddock handed over her Bible. “First chapter of John, please.”

  “But we read that yesterday.”

  “I know, but I’m tryin’ to memorize it. My ma said if you memorize the Word and keep it in your heart, God will bring it to yer ’membrance when you need it. So if you read it, and I talk it with you, maybe it’ll go faster.”

  Louisa glanced around the room and, at the shrugs of the others, began. “ ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ “

  When she finished, the only sound to be heard was the mutterings of a man trapped in delirium. Ready to stand and go home for the evening, she smiled at each of the men looking her way.

  Ask them if they’d mind if you prayed. She cocked her head as if that would help her hear better. I can’t do that, I …

  Ask them.

  She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a brief moment.

  “You all right, Miz Highwood?” Neil touched her hand gently.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” She took in a breath, hoping it would stop the quivering going on in her chest. It didn’t.

  She cleared her throat. Then again. “Ah, would y’all mind if we said a prayer?” The words burst from her mouth like Thoroughbreds out of the starting gate.

  A snort from a man several beds down caught her attention. “Prayin’ don’t do no good.”

  “Does so. I’m alive, aren’t I? I prayed for someone to come for me, and they did, and I’m alive.” Neil flung his hands wide, bumping her skirt-covered leg in the motion. “ ’Scuse me, please.” He looked up at her, his one eye pleading for her agreement.

  “Of course.” How easy it would be to wrap her arms around him and play at being the mother he missed so sorely. “Those of you who want to pray, join with me. The rest of you can put your pillows over your ears.”

  Several chuckles greeted her reply.

  She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Some shufflings, throats being cleared, and then the room again grew silent. “God in heaven, Father of us all, we’re all here through no fault of our own. These men fought for what they believed and now bear the scars. Jesus, thou bore our sins and wear our scars. Please, we beg of you, come into this room and lay thy healing hands on each man here. Give them strength to go on with their lives, to seek thy purpose. Father, help us all to know how wide and high and long and deep thy love is for us, for thy Word says we are precious in thy sight, our Rock and our Redeemer. In the name of Jesus, in whom we put our trust, we pray. Amen.”

  “That was plumb beautiful.” Neil ducked his head to wipe a tear. “Thank you.”

  Other thank-yous came from around the ward as she took her books back to her closet. She glance
d over to the window where the lieutenant kept his vigil. His jaw was clamped so tight the skin shone white over the bone.

  “Time to go home, Missy.” Reuben stood just inside the doorway.

  “Yes, it is.” What can I do to help you? she silently asked the lieutenant. She tried to smile at the face that had turned, but her lips wouldn’t stop quivering. She waved instead, took up her basket with dirty aprons and empty napkins, and slipped out the door.

  It took her better than a block to get the memory of his eyes out of her mind. Then remembering her joyful news, she burst out, “Reuben, I have wonderful news.”

  “What dat?”

  “Zachary is alive, and he’s in my ward.”

  “Don’t make such jokes wit an old man, Missy. Tain’t nice.”

  “I’m not joking. You know the man I told you about who lay unconscious for the whole week? Why, he woke up, and he’s Zachary. My brother is alive!” She felt like whirling around in a circle and shouting for the entire town to hear.

  “Praise de Lord for dat.”

  “Maybe as soon as he can get around good enough, we could go home.”

  “I wouldn’t say dat to Missy Sylvania. She get right upset, she would.”

  “I know.” Louisa took one skip and smiled at her companion. “And to think he’s been there all week, and we didn’t know.” A couple steps later, she added, “But there was something about him. I came home thinking that two times at least. Something that seemed familiar, but all I could see was bandages.”

  “Miss Sylvania always like dat boy. She be right happy.” He held open the door and motioned her through.

  “Aunt Sylvania, Carrie Mae, where are you? I have wonderful news.”

  “She was here when I left.” Reuben shook his head, confusion clouding his faded eyes. “Not tell dis ol’ darkie she going somewhere.”

  Motioning Reuben to take her basket back to the kitchen, she climbed the stairs, one hand trailing on the carved walnut banister. Where could Aunt Sylvania be? Ah, if only I could tell Jesselynn the wonderful news too.