Daughter of Twin Oaks

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Why, yes, sir, there is. You know of Private Rumford, one of the men on my … ah, Ward B, sir. He’s the one who seems to have lost his grip on reality.”

  “Like many others, I’m afraid, but yes, I know to whom you are referrin’.” The general clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and leaned forward. “What about the private?”

  “Well, I thought, I mean, the garden at my aunt’s house helped me so much when I first came to Richmond.”

  He nodded, but one raised eyebrow let her know he wondered what she could be leading up to now.

  She rushed full tilt into her request. “You know the gardens out behind the hospital—they’ve gone to terrible wrack and ruin, and I …”

  The other eyebrow joined the first.

  Oh, now I’ve offended him. Mama, you told me to always watch my tongue, and now it is giving me nothing but difficulty. “Sorry, sir, I don’t mean to be critical but …” She took in a deep breath to try to forestall the feeling of a featherbrain bereft of feathers. “Oh, bother!” She scooted forward and leaned against her hands on the edge of his desk. “I believe workin’ in the garden would help bring Private Rumford back to reality and perhaps give some of the others who have lost so much a place to heal. Diggin’ in the dirt is good for the soul, my mama always said, and I know firsthand that she was right. Helpin’ things grow reminds us how God grows us, you see, I mean …” She shook her head. She should have stopped while she was ahead, whenever that was.

  The general nodded. “I see.” He steepled his fingers and studied her over the tips. “And who will oversee this project of yours?”

  Up to that point, flummoxed had been just a word in the dictionary. Now she knew how it felt. Featherbrained and flummoxed. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out, praying for any kind of inspiration to answer his question. Would he let her supervise? She gave an inward shake of her head. Reuben could do so very handily, but some of the soldiers might resent being governed by a black man, no matter how gentle his orders.

  The sun sprang from the horizon, in her mind, that is. “Why, Lieutenant Lessling could do that. Though he can’t get down on his knees yet to dig and plant, he could supervise.” She nodded and clasped her bottom lip between her teeth. “Why, yes, that’s the perfect answer. It might help him with his moroseness too, just like the private.”

  “Are you suggesting that Lieutenant Lessling is out of his mind?”

  “No, sir, of course not. I just thought that …” She looked up in time to be sure there was a twinkle in his blue eyes, which were no longer frosty.

  “Miz Highwood, forgive me. I couldn’t resist teasin’ you. It’s been far too long since I saw a comely young woman blush. I will give the order for the beds to be dug up this afternoon, and by tomorrow you can have your garden brigade busy out back. Do you have any seeds?”

  “I’ll find some.” Louisa got to her feet. “Thank you, sir. Reuben will bring some extra tools with him in the morning.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure the men will be fightin’ over who gets to help you first.”

  “Sir!” It would be a miracle if her bonnet didn’t catch fire from the heat flaming up her face.

  “Let me know if there is anything else I can do to be of service. Aide, show Miz Highwood out.”

  Louisa nodded once more and turned to follow the stiff-backed aide from the room. At the door she paused and looked back. “God bless you, General.”

  “And you.” He cleared his throat and nodded one more time before taking his seat again. The picture she carried with her up to the ward was of a man so burdened he could barely keep his head up. Think I’ll ask the ladies to pray for this man especially, she thought as she mounted the steps. Sometimes prayers mean more when there is a face attached to the prayer.

  Keeping her wonderful news to herself took more skill than she imagined. Every time she passed a window, she glanced back at the decrepit roses and the overgrown vines. An arbor sagged to one side, a victim of decay more insidious than the battle wounds suffered by her men.

  Zachary lay sleeping again, but one look at the unbandaged side of his face let her know it was the sleep of healing. The man two beds over was a different matter. He flayed at the mattress with both hands and feet until one of the nurses came with strips of old sheet and tied his limbs down so that he wouldn’t reopen the wounds so recently stitched closed.

  Louisa pulled a chair over beside him and, with a cloth and basin of cool water, began bathing his face. Ever present at her side when she was on the ward, Rumford stared at her hands as if fascinated. But when she turned to say something to him, he wore the same vacant stare as ever.

  “Would you like to help me?” She kept her voice gentle and soft so as to let the man in the bed behind her sleep. She extended the dampened cloth to the hovering man, but he never said a word nor showed that he heard her.

  But he has to be aware. Why else would he follow me around so? This question, like many of her others, had no answer.

  “W-will you read today?” one of the men asked from across the aisle.

  “Yes, of course.” She flashed him a smile and caught some movement from the corner of her eye. The shuffle-clunk of a man on crutches let her know who it was before her eyes did. The lieutenant stopped at the foot of the bed.

  “You want I should get the books?”

  “Yes, please.” What I really want you to do is read in my place. But she kept the words inside, not wanting to embarrass him. After all, not everyone loved reading aloud as she did. She took the basin over to her brother’s bed and set it on the floor underneath, out of the way of anyone’s feet. She’d help him wash as soon as he woke up. Glancing up, she saw her stool set in place and the two books on top of it, her Bible and Shakespeare. She’d thought of bringing Dickens but knew she’d get in trouble if she didn’t finish The Taming of the Shrew. By sticking to the comedies, she could bring a smile to some of the men and even raise laughter from some of the others. She’d already finished A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Merchant of Venice.

  There was far too little laughter on the ward.

  She smiled her thanks to the lieutenant and settled herself on the high stool. “Today we will begin with Psalm 91, for I think we all need to be reminded how closely God holds us.” She found her place and began. “ ‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.’ “ Louisa continued reading to the end of the psalm. From there she went on to Psalm 139, and then to Paul’s prayer to the Ephesians: “ ‘That he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height.’

  “And that is my prayer for each of you.” She kept her finger in the place and read the passage again, finishing with, “ ‘And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God.’ “

  “Amen.” Another man echoed the first.

  “You read so purty.”

  “Thank you. God’s words make me want to keep reading them over and over. We need to hear again and again how much He loves us.” She glanced around at all her men. “In spite of all this.”

  The lieutenant had returned to his window vigil while she read and now kept his back to her. The urge to go to him almost made her slide off the stool, but she righted herself and set her Bible on the bed nearest her.

  “Read some more—please.”

  “Which, the Bible or Shakespeare?”

  “Don’t matter. I jus’ like to hear the words.”

  “Shakespeare.”

  The men called their preferences in voices tired and hoarse and pleading.

  She found her place and began again, sneaking occasional peeks to
the still, lean form propped on crutches. He never turned when she finished, not even when she gathered her things to leave a while later.

  “Good-bye, dear wife,” her brother whispered, holding her hand for a long moment.

  “The general says we can bring you home as soon as the doctor releases you.”

  “Is Aunt Sylvania in agreement?”

  “Of course, dear boy.”

  “You sound just like her.”

  “I meant to.”

  He flinched as he shifted on the bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes. But I won’t wake you.” He’d already scolded her for letting him sleep so long.

  “As you wish.” He paused for a moment. “Are the peaches ripe?”

  “All gone, I’m afraid. I’ll bring some preserves tomorrow.” Her gaze strayed back to the form at the window.

  “Well, will ya lookee that.” One of the other men who watched out a window turned to the others. “There’s someone diggin’ up the rose bed.”

  “You promise.” Zachary still clutched her fingers. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to see better if they take some of the bandages off.”

  Please, God, that he’ll be able to see out of both eyes. She gently withdrew her fingers and stepped back. “Peach preserves, I promise. And biscuits.”

  As she and Reuben walked the streets to home, she could hear a train whistle in the distance. That meant new wounded in the morning. Perhaps Zach would be released sooner than they expected.

  “Louisa, it came.” Carrie Mae waved an envelope in the air when Louisa reached the front portico.

  “Who is it from?”

  “Jesselynn—our sister—you won’t believe it. She left Twin Oaks to go to Uncle Hiram’s in Missouri.”

  Louisa snatched the letter and sank down on the wooden glider, barely able to open the envelope her fingers shook so badly. She withdrew the paper, tears burning at the sight of the dear handwriting. She read it once, glanced up at some children running by, laughing and calling as they went, and then read the letter again. Jesselynn was somewhere between Midway, Kentucky, and Springfield, Missouri, with horses, and no one was taking care of Twin Oaks.

  “She had to keep her promise.”

  “I know.” Carrie Mae studied the toe of her black slipper. “Daddy wasn’t in his right mind, or he would never have asked that of her.”

  “But without the horses …”

  “The land will always be there. Zachary can go home and plant the land.”

  Louisa set the glider to moving, the squeak of it comforting in the twilight.

  “At least we know God is watching out for her when we can’t.”

  “Thank the Lord for that.” Carrie Mae let her head fall against the glider back. “Wait until I tell Jefferson this latest news. He won’t believe it.”

  “Won’t believe what?” Louisa recognized a look of concern when she saw it.

  “That a woman of our family would do such a crazy thing.”

  “Then he doesn’t understand the value of Twin Oaks horseflesh and the burden of a vow.” Louisa rose and headed for the door. “I need to wash up before supper.” She opened the door and turned back to her sister. “How does Aunt Sylvania seem today?”

  “Better. I think the good news helped. She worries more than she lets on—the wedding and all.”

  “Really.” Mounting the stairs to her room, Louisa trailed a hand on the banister. Glad it’s her marryin’ Jefferson and not me.

  The lieutenant met her at the door in the morning, his jaw clenched so tight the outline of the bone showed through his skin. “And just what is it you think you’re doin’, Miz Highwood?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On the banks of the Mississippi River

  October 2, 1862

  “Hush now!” Jesselynn knew her voice sounded sharp, but she was past caring.

  “Big river,” Meshach said from slightly behind her.

  “It’s not like we have to swim it. Back aways they said there were ferries, depending on where we want to cross. They say General Grant owns this stretch, so we’re safe from the Confederates.”

  “Bluebellies want horses worse.”

  She wished he wouldn’t say such things. She’d just about get her confidence up, and he’d douse it with a few words of common sense. “So we stay away from Grant too. Let’s find us a hiding place, and I’ll go looking for ferry owners in the morning.” She didn’t mention the possibility of a guard on the ferry, nor the fact that she was hoping to get them ferried over after dark. Once on the other side, they could disappear into the Missouri woods and rest a bit. She studied the river, the currents changing the face of the water even in the starlight. With only a sliver moon, they would be even less visible.

  Ignoring the whimpering of Ophelia and the little boys, she fingered the dwindling supply of coins in her pocket. She had to save what she could to get them to Springfield and Uncle Hiram’s. At their last stop she’d heard of fighting going on in Missouri too, fierce fighting. Only by refusing to let herself think about what lay ahead could she keep from turning tail and heading back to Twin Oaks. If her father had known what the trip would entail, would he have exacted her promise anyway?

  For one brief moment she allowed herself to remember life as it had been before the war. Twin Oaks had sheltered them through all the seasons. She could picture winter and the mares dropping their foals; sowing tobacco seed in special beds; starting other plants; then pegging tobacco; setting out tomatoes and petunias, grateful for the rains that came when needed. She closed her eyes to see the kitchen, separate from the house, but full of harvest smells.

  Her stomach grumbled her back to the present. Would they be able to be home in time to plant tobacco seeds? She’d instructed Joseph to save seed from the best plants in case there were none available to purchase, or they had no money. Since there’d be no yearlings to sell this year, the tobacco had to do well. Surely by now all the stalks were hanging in the drying barn, each hooked over the rods and spread apart just enough to allow air to circulate freely. Drying tobacco had its own pungent aroma, nothing like that of pipe or smoke. To her it smelled like hard money. How many hogsheads could they fill?

  “Marse Jesse.” Benjamin’s soft voice interrupted her reverie, cutting off the ache to be at home tending to the tobacco and putting food by for the winter. “I found us a place.”

  “Good.” The sigh caught her by surprise. “Let’s go.” You better toughen up, or you’ll be squalling like Ophelia and the babies. If you’re going to wear the britches of a man, you’d better act like one. She spun on her heel, then back at the wagon untied Sunshine’s reins and swung aboard.

  She woke to the sun warming her and two yellow butterflies dancing above her pallet. She lay and watched as they came together and fluttered apart again, one leading up a sunbeam toward the oak tree and the other first following, then tagging and flitting away. They were playing hide-and-seek in the oak leaves when she threw back the quilt and dug under the pallet for her boots. The smell of boiling coffee drove everything but food from her mind.

  An hour later, hat pulled low on her forehead, she rode the mule back toward the shoreline. Belatedly, she realized it was market day. Teams of horses, oxen, and mules with their wagons lined the streets in front of brick stores and businesses. Laughter drifted from the saloon, and a dog barked at a cat that ran under the porch of the millinery store. Farmers leaned against posts to discuss their crops and the latest war news while their wives chatted on the benches. Small children played under the benches and around their mothers’ feet.

  Jesselynn noted several blue-clad soldiers, but they were busy shopping, not guarding or searching for anything—or anyone. At least it appeared that way.

  She nudged the mule off Main Street and rode down an alley where a man was chopping firewood. He nodded as she passed by and, wiping the sweat from his brow, set another chunk of wood up on the chopping block. A boy called “hey” to her from whe
re he was swatting a rug with a rug beater and sneezing at the dust he raised.

  “Hey, yourself.” Jesselynn kept her voice in the low register and nudged the mule to keep on going no matter how inviting a hank of grass appeared.

  When she reached the shoreline, she could see the ferry halfway out in the river taking a cargo across. She watched as the three oarsmen on either side pulled to keep the bow straight and the boat on course. A man with a long oar guided from the stern, if the flat ends could be called that. From what Jesselynn could see, they would load and unload from either end. The ferry didn’t look big enough to hold a wagon, let alone the team and the others, but the team aboard stayed hitched to their wagon. When the ferry grounded itself on the slope of the bank, planks slid off, and the team pulled the wagon off the ferry and up to the road.

  It looked easy.

  But would it be so simple at night?

  Several horses and riders walked up the planks and the return trip began. As they neared the shore, one of the horses shifted restlessly and the rider standing holding the bridle flipped off his handkerchief and drew it over his quivering mount’s eyes.

  Jesselynn resolved to take enough handkerchiefs for all the horses. And maybe my hands too. If the hands of her men shook as bad holding the horses as they had looking at the river, she knew they were in for a rough crossing. The men knew how to swim, but Ophelia’s shrieking was enough to scare Saint Peter. She’d just have to tell Meshach to keep her quiet. Ophelia listened to him as if he were Moses coming down from Mount Sinai.

  Dismounting, she tied the mule to a tree and, hands in her pockets, ambled on over to the road when the ferry was still a few yards offshore. Another wagon waited with a farm family, heading home after a day in town, empty tow sacks folded in the back of the wagon bed and held in place by full ones that appeared to hold flour and beans and such. One of the barefooted boys sucked on a red-and-white peppermint stick, and a little girl perched on her mother’s hip, arms clasped around her neck.