Daughter of Twin Oaks

by Lauraine Snelling

  Jesselynn stopped near the whiskered man. “You use the ferry often?” she asked after exchanging greetings.

  “Mostly on market day. We bring over some and take some home.”

  “Umm. Always this busy?”

  “Nope, only market days or when the troops are movin’.” He laid his hand on his son’s head, and the boy stilled.

  “How much for one way?”

  “Depends. Jed charges more for someone he don’t like or if ’n he’s in a foul mood. Drink’ll do that to a man.”

  “Ah.” Does he ever run at night? She knew she’d better keep that question between her and Jed. When the horses and riders walked off the ramp, she saw the broad-shouldered man who manned the sweep oar used as a tiller pull a flat bottle from his back pocket and take a long swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he hollered something at one of his oarsmen, then stepped ashore and climbed the slope with long strides.

  “Be back soon.” He waved to those waiting and strode on up the street.

  Jesselynn watched him push open the doors to the saloon and disappear inside.

  Did she dare go in after him? The family pulled their mules over to the shade of an ancient oak tree, and they all sat down, the boy pillowing his head in his mother’s lap.

  “Might just as well make yourself comfortable.” The man indicated the cool of the shade with a sweep of his hand. “Might be a while. They’s no hurryin’ Jed.”

  Jesselynn debated. If she waited by the saloon door, perhaps she could talk with Jed alone on his way back to the ferry. She glanced at the six black men over on the plank ferry, which was built on floating logs. Several had curled up by their benches and fallen asleep. One, who appeared to be the leader, paced on the shore, carefully inspecting the rigging of the logs. Another played a Jew’s harp, its plaintive notes drifting on the still air.

  Laughter floated down the street from a group of children playing tag.

  Jesselynn glanced again at the waiting family. All appeared to be asleep except the mother, who sat knitting. In between stitches, she brushed the flies from the faces of her children.

  A memory of her mother doing much the same flashed into Jesselynn’s mind. They’d been on a picnic by the river and Louisa had fallen asleep just like the boy. Ah, Louisa, if only I dared write and tell you where I am. Surely Dunlivey wouldn’t go all the way to Richmond to ask his questions. How could he? He was in the army, wasn’t he? No longer free to go where he willed?

  She tried to bring up a picture of her two sisters sitting in the garden at Aunt Sylvania’s house and sipping afternoon lemonade under the magnolia tree. And what of Zachary? Had anyone heard anything of him?

  Nodding to the knitting woman, Jesselynn strode up the street in search of Jed. They had to cross tonight. She’d just reached the steps to the saloon when the swinging doors blew open, and Jed, another flat bottle in his hand, roared in laughter at something someone behind him called. If Jesselynn hadn’t stepped back, he would have barreled right over her.

  “Ah, sir. Mister Jed.”

  “Who’s callin’ me?”

  “I am.” Jesselynn stepped in front of him, her gaze traveling up an unbuttoned dirty shirt worn over a filthier woolen union suit. A small stick lodged in his beard, and dark eyes flashed under bushy caterpillar brows. She swallowed, then cocked her head at an angle and started again. “Ma daddy sent me to ask how much you’d charge to take over a wagon and team, along with a couple other horses.”

  “How many folk?”

  “Five grown and two little’uns.” She spat off to the side of her boot after he did it first.

  “When?”

  “After dark.”

  “You runnin’ from the law?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The army?”

  “No, sir. Just got to get to a funeral. Grandpappy died unexpected like.” The story came out before she even had time to think on it.

  “You wouldn’t lie to ol’ Jed, now, wouldja?” He took another slug from the bottle and held it out to Jesselynn, who shook her head.

  “Ma daddy would tan me good if ’n I came home with liquor on my breath.”

  Jed nodded and swigged again. He named his price.

  Jesselynn kept herself from flinching with the most supreme effort. After talking with the man at the ferry, she knew the price was doubled. But there would be more dangers at night, so she nodded. “I’ll tell him. You need to know what time f ’sure?”

  “Jus’ come.” Jed clapped her on the shoulder and strode off down to the ferry, leaving her with both a smarting shoulder and the desire to jig her way back to the camp. She had found a way across the river. Now to get her people ready for it.

  Back in camp, the boys, both big and little, were sleeping soundly. Meshach sat under a tree with his Bible on his knees reading to Ophelia, who still rocked back and forth in her distress. Jesselynn stripped the saddle from the mule and, tying him to the long line, took off the bridle as well. She studied the horses grazing so peacefully. They looked too good, even though they had matted manes and tails and hadn’t seen a grooming brush since they left home.

  “Is there some way you can make Ahab limp?” she asked after sitting down by Meshach.

  “I ’spects so. Why?”

  “I don’t know, just got me a feelin’.” Jesselynn turned to study the horses. Domino, the younger stallion, stood looking off to the west, ears pricked, the breeze blowing his tail. No matter how filthy, he showed Thoroughbred through and through.

  “We’re takin’ the ferry tonight and … and if he was limping with head down, maybe … maybe he wouldn’t be so …”

  “I kin make ’im limp.”

  “But it won’t hurt him permanently?” She could hear the anxiousness in her own voice. She sucked in a breath. “What about the others?”

  “If we harness the mare with the mule, get ol’ Ahab to limpin’ so I’m leadin’ ’im and Chess …” He thought a long moment. “I got some stuff to set Domino to coughing, so Benjamin can lead him. Then you drive the wagon, and Daniel can ride Sunshine and lead the filly. Shouldn’t nobody look twice at ’em dat away.”

  “Don’ wanna go over dat der river.” Ophelia’s hoarse whisper made Jesselynn flinch.

  “Won’t be any different than crossing the Tennessee. We took the ferry there too, remember? And others before that.”

  “I ’member.” She shook her head slowly. “Not big like dis here one.”

  “Okay, you stay in the back of the wagon with the babies, and all of you can cry all you want. I’ll tell the man you got the vapors or something. But we are crossing the Mississippi River tonight, and that’s that!” Jesselynn stood and glared down at the wide-eyed woman. “I told him we are goin’ to a funeral, so your weepin’ and wailin’ should be right appropriate.”

  “Now, ’Phelia, God done took care of us till now. He can float us ’cross dat river jus’ like de Jordan.”

  A sniffle was her only answer, but Jesselynn could tell the woman was calmer. Meshach’s gentle words put her in mind of the song she’d heard sung so often from the slave quarters. “…my home is over Jordan. Deep river, Lord, I want to cross over into campground.” She sighed. “Let’s get on with it. Meshach, you better say an extra prayer or two for all of us.” Turning away, she headed for the wagon. Sometimes the burden seemed beyond her strength to bear. Maybe letting the army have the horses so she could head on back home would be the best choice after all.

  Stars provided enough light for them to make their way through the town and down to the ferry. The water lapping against the bulky craft sent the timbers to creaking and, along with the creak of the wagon, sounded loud in the stillness.

  “Marse Jed?” Jesselynn kept her voice low but insistent. She waited, hearing a scuffling on the boat.

  A light flared and lit the lantern. Jed seemed even bigger, if that were possible, in the glow of the lamp as he staggered down the plank to the riverbank. “You ready?”

>   “Yes, suh.”

  “You got the money?” Jed swung the lamp up to look her in the face.

  “Yes, suh.” Jesselynn ducked her head and dug in her pocket for the coins needed. She counted them into the shovel-sized palm. “That’s what you said.”

  “I know.” He spun around and picking up the end of the plank, thudded it against the ferry planking. “Let’s go, boys. We got us a load.”

  Men scrambled up from where they slept and took their oars. Several more planks were slid into place, and Jed gave orders from the ferry.

  “Lead your horse on up here real easylike. They ever been ferried before?”

  “Yes, suh.” Jesselynn climbed down from the wagon, hearing Ophelia moaning “Jesus” over and over. She took the mule’s reins under his chin and, clucking him forward, led the team up the ramp and forward on the low craft. With horses on either side, all facing forward, the men pulled in the planks, and Jed pushed off with his long pole. The stroke of six oars slicing the water in tandem and the sweep of the stern oar brought them out into the current. The prow of the ferry swung downstream with the current before righting and plowing forward.

  Jesselynn felt the planking shuddering under her feet. The mule laid back his ears and stamped one front foot. Domino coughed until he broke wind, and the sailor nearest him made a rude remark that brought laughter from another.

  Short chop broke over the prow, soaking Jesselynn’s boots. Ophelia moaned again, and Sammy set up a wail.

  “Ohh.” Even Meshach groaned.

  “Enough!” Jesselynn forced out the word in spite of the shaking that she attributed to the creaking craft. The far shore seemed to get farther away instead of closer.

  Was the current carrying them downriver? She turned to look at Jed, who appeared more shadow than man at the stern. Was crossing at night against the law? Why had he blown out the lamp?

  “Heave on, boys,” the order came, calm as a summer day.

  “Oh, Jesus, sweet Jesus, we comin’ home,” Ophelia sobbed.

  Jesselynn wished she had put a rag in Ophelia’s mouth before they’d left camp. Sammy hiccuped after crying. Must be hours that passed, the ferry held prisoner by the river.

  “Pull, you worthless scum. You want a glug of rotgut at the shore, you pull now.”

  “Oh, Lord, bring us safe to shore, please, precious Jesus.” Like Ophelia, Meshach murmured his prayer over and over.

  The young stallion coughed again, pounding his front hooves on the planks.

  “Whoa, son.” Benjamin could be heard above the creaking.

  An expletive choked.

  The raft shuddered from the impact and spun to face downriver.

  “Easy! No!” A mighty splash drenched those nearest and then another.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Richmond, Virginia

  If looks were spears, she’d have been run through more times than she could count.

  Louisa focused her attention on the men kneeling in the dirt and those missing a limb who were learning to use shovels and rakes to clear out the dead wood of the rosebushes and encroaching vines. In spite of herself, her gaze repeatedly drifted toward the lieutenant. His orders had been to supervise, as if leaning on his crutches and glaring provided good supervision.

  As the hours passed, she surreptitiously wiped the perspiration from her forehead and neck. When she caught him staring at her, she dropped the corner of her apron at the same instant she raised her chin. After all, she’d suggested working in the garden for the good of his men. As if all these were under his orders, anyway. They were from all different regiments, not just his. She nodded an answer to a question from one of the others.

  As she was just about to stalk over and confront her nemesis, a shadow gave her shade. She turned enough to realize he stood right behind her, so close that if she took in a deep breath, she might touch him. While taking a step back might indicate defeat, she did so anyway. Sometimes retreating was the better part of valor.

  At least she could breathe then.

  “Goodness, do you always sneak up on a body that way?” She clenched her fists to keep them from offering calming pats to her tripping heart.

  “I was not sneaking.” His lips barely moved, his jaw clamped so tight. Even so, he kept his voice low so that the others might not hear.

  Feeling loomed over, she took another step back. “Well, sir, since I am not one of your soldiers, I would appreciate a more civil tone.” Oh, fine, now you’ve gone and done it. He finally talks to you, and you scold like his mother.

  She watched as he forcibly gathered himself together, stood straighter, and adopted a polite expression that wouldn’t fool a year-old baby.

  “Pardon me, ma’am. I believe I have a right to know why you asked the surgeon to assign me to garden duty.”

  She straightened as he had, if it were possible for her to get any taller and straighter. Totally ignoring the memory she had of suggesting to the surgeon general that garden duty might be good for the lieutenant, she matched him glare for glare. “I asked if I could bring Private Rumford and some of the others out here because I thought that working in the soil might help them. My aunt says gardening is one of the best medicines God has given us, and I concur.” She didn’t add that such had been her salvation when her sister exiled her from Twin Oaks to Richmond. Before she took time to think, she stepped forward and pointed a soil-crusted finger at his chest. “And if you, Lieutenant Lessling, would unbend even a smidgen, it might help you too.”

  She caught her breath at the narrowing of his eyes. For sure she had gone too far. Oh, Lord, why can I no longer control my tongue? What is happening with me? My mother would turn over in her grave to hear her daughter attacking any person, let alone a young man like this. And a wounded man, at that.

  “I … I’m sorry. That was unbelievably rude of me. Please …” She looked down at her dirt-crusted hands and even dirtier apron. Shame can cause as much heat as pure embarrassment. She felt it flaming her face. “Please forgive me?” She glanced up from under her eyelashes in time to catch a hint of something in his eyes. Was it compassion she saw? By the time she named it, the look had fled, and one of such bleakness that it made her heart cry out for him took up residence instead.

  “Forgiveness needs to go both ways, Mrs. Highwood. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been actin’. Such conduct befits neither an officer nor a gentleman.”

  Could one drown in eyes so sad?

  She gathered her ruffled feelings around her like a hen gathering chicks and allowed her lips to smile in what she hoped was a motherly fashion. Why could she treat all the other men like her brothers or cousins, but this man refused to be treated as such?

  “Then may we be friends?” The words crept out before she had time to cut them off.

  “Friends, yes.” He touched one finger to the fading scar on his forehead. “If your husband won’t mind.”

  “But I—” This time she caught herself. “No, I reckon he won’t mind at all.”

  “Miz Highwood, you think this here is dug deep enough?” one of her workers called out.

  She turned to answer the soldier’s question and, throwing a smile over her shoulder to the lieutenant, made her way to inspect the holes being dug to transplant some of the overcrowded rosebushes.

  “That will be fine.” She glanced over to where Rumford and Reuben had dug around the well-watered bushes to prepare them for lifting. As long as Reuben indicated exactly where to place the shovel and when to step on it, the young man leaning on the handle and staring into the distance was able to dig.

  At further instructions he lifted the roses out of their holes as carefully as if he were lifting a baby. By the time they’d moved four bushes, watered them in, and pruned off a couple of broken branches, the orderly announced the noon meal.

  “Now, doesn’t that look much better?” She stood with her crew gathered around her and surveyed the results of their labors. While there was still a lot to do, the newly planted
roses gleamed against the rich soil, and the weeds were now piled off to the side instead of choking life from the bushes. A mass of tangled vines topped the weed pile.

  “As my mother always said, ‘Termorrer is another day.’ “ Corporal Shaddock wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his good hand.

  “So true, and thank y’all for helpin’ me out here.”

  The snort from behind her could have come from only one voice. She ignored him, and together she and her crew made their way back to the ward, those on crutches hopping up the marble stairs, the seat of their pants mute evidence as to how they’d managed to work in the garden. Only the lieutenant bore no badges of honorable work, but he had been there, and he had asked her forgiveness. He’d even smiled at a joke one of the men made.

  When she brought around the bowls of stew, she nearly dropped one when she reached her brother’s bed.

  “You’re sitting up, and I can see part of your face.”

  “Now, aren’t you the observant one?” His drawl sounded more familiar now that more bandages had been removed, and the teasing sparkle in his eye had not dimmed. “Looks like they’ll be calling me One-Eyed Jack, though.” He touched the bandaged side of his face with his fingertips. “Guess my right side took quite a beatin’.” Talking was still difficult with the jaw healing.

  His teasing tone dropped on the last words as the sparkle flickered from his eye.

  “But you’re alive.”

  “Half of me anyway.”

  “Soon as we get you out of here, I reckon you’ll be feelin’ some better with Aunt Sylvania fussin’ over you.”

  He studied the bowl of stew she set beside him. “The food’ll be better. That I know.” He took the spoon she handed him and dug in, slopping some of the colorless liquid over the edge. “Shame I didn’t work on becoming ambidextrous like Adam did.”

  “Learnin’ to use the other hand is never easy.” She kept herself from reminding him he was fortunate to have one good hand. Some didn’t.