Chapter Seventeen
Gordonsville, Kentucky
It can’t be him. It can’t be.
Jesselynn took the stairs to the store in a rush, checking herself before bursting through the door. Don’t call attention to yourself. Take it easy. Thank God those two old men are gone. She pushed the door open to the sound of the bell tinkling above her and crossed the store to stand behind a woman wearing a dark shawl and chatting at the counter with the proprietor.
“Land sakes, you’d think they would know better, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am, I agree.” He tied a string around her brown paper parcel. “Will there be anything else?”
Jesselynn almost grabbed the packet by the string and the woman by the arm and threw them out the door. What if indeed that man in the saloon was Dunlivey and he walked in here right this minute? What could she do?
She shifted from one foot to the other and cleared her throat.
The woman turned, gave her a dirty look, then shaking her head, picked up her package. “Thank you, Mister Charbonneau, and greet your dear wife for me. I do hope she is feelin’ better soon.”
Oh, please, just hurry and leave. Jesselynn could feel someone drilling holes in her back. Surely he was right behind her. But she knew no one had come in after her; the bell hung silent. But knowing and feeling had nothing to do with each other right now. Maybe she should have just left the order and headed out.
“I will do that. Thank you, and good day, Missus Levinger. I’ll let you know when your order arrives.”
Fine, good, now go.
The woman started to turn, checked herself, and leaned back across the counter. “You heard about …” Her voice dropped to a whisper that even Jesselynn couldn’t hear, not that she wanted to. Sweat drizzled down her back.
The woman was shaking her head again. “Well, I better get on home and get some supper on the table.”
Yes, your family is starving and your house is burning.
Missus Levinger gave her a baleful stare as if she’d been listening in on Jesselynn’s thoughts, sniffed, and sailed out the doorway.
“Kin I help you? Oh yes, the young man with the order. I surely do hope there was no one on the casualty list that you knew.” While he talked, he set her supplies on the counter and motioned to the white tow sack. “I saw that you rode in, so this will be easier for you to carry.”
“Thank you.” She kept from looking over her shoulder through sheer muscle-cramping determination. Digging her ten-dollar gold piece out of her pocket, she laid it on the counter.
“That’ll be one dollar and seventeen cents, please.” He took the coin and, turning to the cash register, pulled out Confederate dollars and change.
“Could I have that all in silver or gold, please?”
He looked at her over the tops of his glasses, raised an eyebrow, and went back for the change. “If you want a job, young man, you could come work for me anytime. You’ve got a head on those young shoulders of yours.” He counted the change into her hand.
“Thank you kindly.” Jesselynn shoved her money in her front pocket and took up the sack. Peeking inside, she glanced up at him again. “I didn’t ask for any peppermint sticks.”
“I know, but little ones like peppermint ’bout as good as horehound, and once they’re feelin’ better, this’ll help.”
“How’d …?”
He tapped his head. “Just suspicioned. And your face says ’tis so. Call that my gift to you for bringin’ me a gold piece.”
“Thanks again.” She took her sack, waved once on the way to the door, and stepped outside. This time she didn’t dare just walk off. What if he was standing outside the saloon? But while the piano tune and laughter dressed in alcohol floated out the half door, all the men remained inside.
She didn’t run the mule until she was far enough out of town to not be noticed. She didn’t want to quit running him until they reached camp, but her father’s training soaked through her fear-induced haze, and she tightened her reins enough to bring him to a walk. Once he caught his breath, they could trot again. Checking over her shoulder for about the fiftieth time still revealed only an empty road. Had it really been him? Was Cavendar Dunlivey following her, or did he happen to get stationed farther west? Could God be so cruel as to let that happen?
Ideas and fears tumbled around in her head just as her stomach was doing at the mule’s gut-splitting gait. Surely she must have been hearing things. But no one else in the whole world could sound more like a braying jackass than Dunlivey, especially when he was drunk or whipping someone. That’s why her father caught him. He could hear the man laughing and went to see what was so funny.
Strange how her mind could flip back to things like that in spite of the jolting trot. She kicked the mule into a canter, which wasn’t a whole lot better. When she saw dark patches showing on his neck and shoulders, she pulled him down to a walk again. What could they do? No way on earth would she drive or ride through that town again. Benjamin would have to scout out a way around it, that’s all.
When she rode into camp, she still felt like eyes were drilling her back. She flung herself off the mule’s back and tossed the reins over his head.
“Where’s Meshach?”
Ophelia turned from stirring a pot over the fire. “Gone to water de horses.”
“Benjamin?”
“Wid him. Daniel fetchin’ wood. Babies sleepin’.” Her eyes grew rounder with each word.
Jesselynn plunked down the sack of supplies and swung back aboard the mule. “Thanks.”
She trotted down the trail to the creek, ducking under the oak branches to keep from being slapped off.
“Hey, you back sooner den I guessed.” Meshach’s smile turned to a frown when she drew closer. “What wrong?”
“I think I heard Dunlivey laugh.”
At the look of confusion he shot her, she continued. “I was walking from the store to the railroad station to check the casualty lists and had to go by the saloon. I heard men laughing, and one sounded just like Dunlivey. Who else in the entire world would laugh like that?”
“I don’ know. He laugh mighty strange.”
“I swear it was him.” She slid off the mule and leaned against his shoulder. “We can’t go through Gordonsville.”
Meshach scratched his head. “Might be good idea to make certain.” He studied Benjamin, who held the long lines so the horses could graze. “Send him in.”
“They wouldn’t let him in.”
“He can look through de window, hang outside and see him come out.”
“You think that’s better than just heading out?”
Do I want to know or not? What difference does it make? She caught her breath in shock at the thought that whipped through her mind. We could wait for him to come out and shoot him.
“No, let’s just get on the way again. Let Benjamin find us a way around town. There must be a back road somewhere.” She led the mule down to the stream bank and let him have only a couple of swallows. “Sorry, boy, you’ll get more later when you cool off.”
Benjamin left shortly thereafter and returned later than she had hoped. All the while her mind played out scenes involving Dunlivey—his finding them, or getting killed in a skirmish, or baying on their trail like an old coonhound.
“Jesse?” Thaddy leaned against her knee when she sat by the fire. “What?”
He climbed up in her lap with her belated help. Turning, he put his palms on either side of her face and looked deep into her eyes. “You mad?”
She shook her head. “
’Phelia been cryin’.”
“Oh.”
He patted her cheeks. “Joshwa good boy.”
“Umm.” Where was Benjamin? He should have been back by now.
“Jesse!” He clapped his hands on her cheeks.
“Ouch!” She sat him on the ground with more than a gentle thump. “Thaddeus Joshua Highwood, you don’t do things like that.” Her cheeks smarted
from the blows. “Whatever got into you?” Wagging her finger in front of his nose, she added, “Naughty boy.”
“I not naughty.” Hands on his hips, he met her glare with one of his own. “Me talkin’ to you.”
Jerked out of her stewing, Jesselynn swung between the desire to give him a swat on the rear or grab him and squeeze him tight. A little fighting rooster. That’s what he was. And it was her job to protect him better than she had before. She had almost lost him. She snagged one arm around him and snugged him up between her knees, the better to give him smacking kisses on both cheeks and a tickle on his belly.
“More,” he insisted in between giggles.
Jesselynn did as he asked, trying to keep one ear clear for a returning horseman. Oh, Lord, what if I sent him out to get caught? By Dunlivey?
“We got to give dis baby a name.” Ophelia stopped walking the sick child.
“I guess.”
Thaddeus leaned back in Jesselynn’s arms. “He Sammy.”
“Sammy? How do you know?” Jesselynn stared at her baby brother.
Thaddeus shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Why call him Sammy?”
“Dat’s his name.”
“He’s too little to talk.”
“He Sammy.” This was said with the utmost assurance that he was correct and why on earth was his sister disputing his word?
You are so much like your father, I can’t begin to believe it. “Sammy it is, then,” Jesselynn agreed.
“Sammy is a fine name,” said Meshach, flicking another curl of wood from his whittling into the fire.
All right, so you have a wait ahead. Get busy with your knitting. Wanting to argue with the voice in her head but knowing it was useless, she got to her feet and strolled over to the wagon. Digging down into a carpetbag of her own things, she retrieved her ball of yarn stuck on two knitting needles. When she got back to the fire, Ophelia sat on the log rocking Sammy, and Thaddy had climbed up in Meshach’s lap.
“Tell me a story.”
“Please.” Jesselynn added without really thinking about it. No matter if they lived in the wilds of whatever, he needed to learn good manners. Every southern gentleman had good manners, and if he was to be the patriarch of Twin Oaks someday, he needed to know how to behave.
Zachary, where are you? You need to come teach your little brother how to be a man.
“All right,” Meshach said to Thaddy, hugging him close. “Long time ago der lived a boy by name of David. David took care of his father’s sheep way out in de fields. He kep’ dem safe from de wolf—”
“What’s a wolf?” Thaddeus asked the question around the thumb and forefinger triangle that fit so perfectly in his mouth.
“Like a big ol’ hound dog, only gray and lives wild in de woods.”
“Like the woods here?”
“No, far away in Bible lands.”
Jesselynn put down her knitting, the better to listen. Surely that was a horse she heard. Or was it more than one? She tried to block out Meshach’s voice so she could hear better. One of the horses whinnied.
Another answered from not too far off.
Meshach stopped his storytelling. “Shush, listen,” he whispered.
“Hey, is Benjamin.”
Jesselynn let out a breath she had no idea she’d been holding. When she stood, she took a step forward to help settle her head, which felt as if it were floating off into the clouds. “What took you so long?”
Benjamin kicked his feet free of the stirrups and swung to the ground. “I found a way.”
“Good.”
“An’ …”
Her breath caught in her throat. “And?”
“An’ it be him. Cavendar Dunlivey be playin cards in de saloon.”
Chapter Eighteen
Richmond, Virginia
“Aunt Sylvania?” Louisa stuck her head into the sewing room. No one there, but she could tell they’d been busy sewing the wedding finery. Laces and ivory satin pieces draped the chair and hung over the three-paneled screen. A bodice fit perfectly on the dress form with a swath of lace pinned to one shoulder. Bits of thread and scraps of fabric littered the floor like the leaves that were falling from the trees in the yard.
She carefully shut the door and walked down the hall to her aunt’s room. As usual the door was closed. She tapped once and waited. Nothing. Turning the handle gently in case her aunt was napping, she pushed the door open enough to peek in. The bed was made up with every pillow and bolster in place.
She pushed the door open a bit more and scanned the remainder of the room. Everything appeared neatly in place, including her aunt’s wire-rimmed glasses sitting atop her Bible that lay in its usual place on the whatnot table beside the rocking chair.
She closed the door again and went into her own room to hang up her shawl and wash her hands. After tucking stray locks of hair back in the bun at the base of her head, she rubbed rose water and glycerin lotion into her hands and left the sanctuary of her room behind. How good it would feel to lie back on the chaise lounge and let the knots relax out of her lower back and shoulders. To pick up her book of poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and dream of the love she knew God had waiting for her somewhere. While she refused to be paraded on the marriage block like Carrie Mae, she knew that someday her prince would come.
He didn’t need any armor or a snowy white horse. Or a crown either. The thought of a tall, terribly thin man galloped through her mind and kept on going, crutches tied behind his saddle. That thought reminded her of her brother.
She had to share the good news.
“She out in de garden,” Reuben said when he met her descending the stairs. “I was comin’ fo’ you.”
“Thank you. Have Abby bring out some lemonade, would you, please?”
“Surely will do dat.” He motioned her to go down the hallway first and followed close behind. “She lookin’ a mite peaked. Dis cheer her.”
But when Louisa opened the French doors and stepped out onto the slate patio, her aunt didn’t look sad. She was sound asleep. Something must be wrong, this is so unlike her. She hesitated, taking her aunt’s wrist and counting her pulse, something she’d learned from one of the assistants at the hospital. If Aunt Sylvania was coming down with something, perhaps she should just call the doctor, not that he had much time for house calls with all the wounded he tended at his house too. The military weren’t the only ones wounded in this war.
Come to think of it, Aunt had been a bit pale lately. Was she moving more slowly too? Louisa tried to think back over the last weeks. When did she first notice a difference? Or maybe it was just the unseasonably warm weather.
So instead of saying anything, she sat down on the other chaise lounge, just as she’d wished to do upstairs, only now she could look over the garden. The roses still bloomed, scenting the air with a perfume all their own, from sweet to spicy and layers in between.
A fat bumblebee trundled from blossom to blossom, tasting the chrysanthemums and the fading petunias, then arising with pollen yellowing his legs. A pot of gardenias lent their heavy scent and glowed in the dimming light like pure beeswax candles. She stroked one of the blossoms, then leaned over to inhale their perfume. The creamy flowers against their dark glossy leaves always showed their best at this time of day.
When Abby brought out the tray, Louisa pointed to the table and touched her finger to her lips, glancing at the sleeping woman to signify silence.
Abby nodded, set the tray down with barely a tinkle of the filled glasses, and tiptoed back into the summer kitchen set off from the house. The peace of the garden seeped into Louisa’s bones and calmed her as nothing else ever did. Doves cooing in the magnolia branches above the brick wall added one more layer to the contentment. No wonder God created a garden to wander in of an evening.
When she first came to Richmond, she had spent hours digging in the garden, transplanting daisies and irises, trimming the spent roses and tying up the honeysuckle that did all in its power t
o disguise the fence and overrun the plum tree. Taming the honeysuckle had helped keep the tears of homesickness at bay. Or else the salt of her tears had dampened its rampant growth. Either way, the garden had been her salvation until she answered the call to service at the hospital.
The irony of one of her aunt’s friends helping her get on there had been lost on Aunt Sylvania. After hours of hand wringing, feigned sick headaches, and outright threats, she had finally given in. However, she had no idea what Louisa really did there, and the less said of it the better.
Studying the garden gave her mind a bit of an itch. If working in this one had helped her so much, what could it do for her broken soldier, Private Rumford? His body was gaining health by the day, but his mind—who knew where it wandered? There were gardens out behind the hospital in terrible disrepair. What if she took him and others like him out to restore the garden? Her gaze narrowed on the garden shed. There were enough tools in there to equip a platoon of garden lovers, and if they weren’t that when they began, the garden itself would bring them to that feeling with time. And maybe, just maybe, would take them out of the shadowland that kept them prisoner.
She started to rise to check on the contents of the garden shed when her aunt harrumphed and sat up.
“Land sakes, child, what are you doing sneaking up on me like that? I just closed my eyes for a moment and—”
“Now, Aunt Sylvania, I just sat down here to enjoy the garden with you. And see, Abby brought us some lemonade.” She got up and carried the tray over. “Here, have a sip while I tell you our most wonderful news.” She carefully kept from looking at her aunt’s face, so flushed now that perhaps she was running a fever. Instead, she set the tray down and took her own glass, holding it against her cheek as she sat back down. “My, doesn’t that feel wonderfully cooling. Is it always this warm even when almost October?” She refrained from saying Kentucky would be cooler, because the last time she’d mentioned home, she’d received one of those looks.
“News? What news?” Sylvania took a sip of her lemonade and settled her glasses back on her nose, the better to stare over them at her niece.
Daughter of Twin Oaks Page 16