Daughter of Twin Oaks

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I can’t believe I’m in a real house.”

  Louisa folded back the sheet over her brother and smoothed it into place. Her eyes burned at the relief she heard in his voice and the way his hand repeatedly smoothed the sheets.

  “Where’s Aunt Sylvania?”

  “Helpin’ the neighbors get their boys settled in. She’ll be home soon for supper.” She turned to see Private Rumford, dark hair falling in his eyes, sitting in the chair by the window where they had put him. Not looking out—just not looking. Tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow he will be out in the garden here, and I know that will make a difference. The thought of the lieutenant living in the house next door set her pulse to tripping.

  “And Carrie Mae, where is she?”

  “Off with her betrothed, I believe.” As if she were ever anywhere else. You’d think they were already married.

  “When’s the wedding to be?”

  Louisa thought for a moment. “Why, it’s only two weeks away. Where has the time gone?”

  Zach studied her for a long moment.

  She could feel it even though she resisted looking into his one good eye. Somehow she knew he was going to ask a question that either she wouldn’t like or would have no idea how to answer. She heard the front door opening and gave a sigh of relief. Saved by Aunt Sylvania. When she started to rise, Zach laid his hand on hers.

  “What are you going to do about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “The hospital. I don’t like the idea of you workin’ there.”

  “I don’t work there. I volunteer there.” She could feel her face begin to heat up, let alone her temper. “What difference does it make to you?”

  “Well, you …” He glanced over at the corporal and shook his head. “We’ll talk about this later.” Like hers, his accent broadened when he grew agitated.

  “Private, would you like to join us at the supper table?” Aunt Sylvania appeared in the doorway, smiling her welcome to their guest. “Cook is fixin’ plates for the others.” She crossed to Zachary’s bed. “Do you need help, nephew, or can you manage on your own?”

  “He needs …”

  “I can manage.” Zachary and Louisa spoke at the same time.

  “Well, which is it?”

  “If someone will help prop me up, I imagine it is time I continue learning to use my other hand.” He lifted his left hand. “Shame I didn’t learn to shoot with either hand like Adam did.”

  “Lot of good it did him.” Louisa was as surprised at her comment as the other two. Surely shooting with either or both hands hadn’t been instrumental in getting her older brother killed in action, but then it hadn’t saved him either. To carry the thought to a logical conclusion, cannonballs and artillery shells didn’t discriminate. She spun on her heel, her skirts swishing in the speed with which she left the room.

  More and more she was learning how much she resented the war—and the men who’d been so vainglorious about whipping the Yankees in two weeks. No wonder Jesselynn had taken the horses away from home. They’d need something to rebuild with when this massacre was over.

  Maybe she’d read the letters to Zachary after supper so he could know what all had transpired since he’d left home. Come to think of it, strange that he’d not questioned her about Twin Oaks. Of course, she’d told him about their daddy dying, so maybe that was all he wanted to know for now.

  Soon though, soon they could go home. Even if Zachary was badly crippled, he would find things to do at Twin Oaks. Surely he’d be able to manage getting around with crutches or maybe just one. And anyone could learn to use the opposite hand.

  Curious, she assigned herself the task at the supper table.

  “Whatever is the matter, child?” Aunt Sylvania stared at the gravy blob staining the white linen tablecloth.

  “I … I was trying to cut my meat with my left hand. The knife slipped.” Using her napkin, Louisa dabbed at the spreading blob.

  “Whyever for?” Sylvania sent Private Rumford a questioning glance, but he never looked her way. He did clean up his plate, however, without anyone prompting him. Since sometimes at the hospital she’d hand-fed him when he paid no attention to his food, Louisa felt a stir of pleasure.

  “Well, since Zach will have to learn to use his other hand, I … I wanted to see how difficult it would be. But I have two hands, so really it isn’t the same after all.” Her words came in a rush.

  Her aunt’s “tsk-tsk” sent a shot of stiffener up Louisa’s spine.

  “We can’t wait on him forever. Like he said, it’s time he began to try things on his own.”

  “We shall see.”

  Louisa studied her aunt. Instead of looking worn-out as she’d been the few days before, the new responsibility seemed to be bringing the older woman back to her earlier energy. She, too, had cleaned up her plate, rather than picking at her food, which had become the norm. Pink had reclaimed its place on her cheeks, and the pallor of the past weeks seemed in retreat.

  “Perhaps you would like to read to the men tonight? They missed out on their chapters of Shakespeare since we were moving them at the time I usually read. I always read a psalm or two and a chapter from one of Paul’s letters.”

  “Why, I reckon I might just do that.” Sylvania nodded her approval at the tray of desserts Abby showed her. “See how my nephew is doing too, will you, please? Peach cobbler has always been his favorite dessert.”

  “I thought the peaches were gone.” Louisa shrugged at her aunt’s innocent look. Life had always been like that. Her brothers were treated like royalty by Aunt Sylvania, and the girls were made to mind. Surely that wasn’t fair, but then, as her mother had always said, “God didn’t promise life would be fair.”

  After supper, when she had Sylvania set up in the hallway to read so she could be heard in both rooms, Louisa wandered out on the front porch to catch any breeze that had come up. Not sure why she didn’t head for the garden as was her wont, she settled into the rocker, setting it into motion with the push of her foot.

  A young boy and a girl ran by laughing, the pong of their sticks on the hoops rolling in front of them adding to their merriment. A flycatcher called from swooping about the trees. A squirrel chattered in the elm directly in front of the house. She caught sight of him descending the tree in quick bursts of speed.

  The chair creaked its own song. Louisa sighed and leaned her head back against the cushion, remembering home … the slaves singing down in the quarters, and Jesselynn sitting on the veranda, busy with some kind of needlework.

  As you should be doing.

  The thought brought her foot to the floor. Wasting time like this! What in the world was the matter with her? And how come she kept thinking of home so much today anyway? But with Jesselynn gone, someone should be there to keep things running. After all, could the slaves—she had to remind herself that their people weren’t slaves any longer, thanks to the papers Jesselynn had given them—could their workers keep the place running without someone overseeing them?

  “Good evenin’.”

  The male voice so near brought her hand to her throat.

  “Why, land sakes, you need to sneak up on a body that way?”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you. I came to check on my men.” The lieutenant straightened his shoulders in spite of the crutches.

  “Oh.” Bringing her mind back from Twin Oaks took some doing. Now, if a man like this came calling there, he would be treated—Louisa cut off her thought. She was getting tired of her face flaming at the slightest provocation. The man in front of her was the lieutenant, coming to check on his men, not a potential suitor.

  A buggy pulled up at the street and the two laughing occupants stepped down, or rather, her sister was handed down by her adoring fiancé, who had learned to use his one arm to an advantage. No morose scarecrow he. As the two of them came up the walk, the lieutenant glanced their way, then gave Louisa one of his formal stares.

  “My men?”

 
“Ah yes.” Louisa started for the door when Carrie Mae, who had taken her eyes off her escort long enough to see her sister and the lieutenant, spoke.

  “Why, Louisa, I see you have comp’ny.” Carrie Mae’s soft Kentucky accent had turned entirely Virginian since their arrival.

  “Ah, n-no. The lieutenant is j-just here on business.” Since when had she taken up stuttering?

  Carrie Mae paused at the bottom of the steps. “Are you not going to introduce us?”

  Oh, sugarcane and cotton combined. Louisa thought two of her most vitriolic incantations, all the while keeping what she hoped was a smile on her face. She turned to Jefferson Steadly, Carrie Mae’s fiancé. “Pardon my manners, Mr. Steadly.”

  “Since we are about to become related, surely you could call me by my given name by now.”

  “All right.” Let’s just get this over with. “Jefferson, this is Lieutenant …” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his last name. Had she ever heard him called anything but the lieutenant?

  The lieutenant straightened and extended his right hand. “I’m Gilbert Lessling, First Lieutenant of the Second North Carolina Rifles.” He nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Highwood. Miz Highwood here has spoken of you often.”

  The floor couldn’t open and swallow her soon enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Southeastern Missouri

  October 6, 1862

  So far, so good.

  Jesselynn looked back over the marshy river delta and shook her head. Thanks to Benjamin’s careful scouting, they’d missed burying the wagon in swamps and ponds more than once. The one diggingout they’d had to do was bad enough. But they were still safe, and considering the possibilities, that was a miracle in itself.

  “Found de Indian trace dat man tol’ me ’bout.” Meshach rode beside her as she guided the horses up the faint road.

  “Where?”

  “South of here. Not better’n dis but no worse.”

  “If only we dared go on up to the Wire Road. Heard tell there are even bridges across some creeks.” Jesselynn rubbed her forehead with one hand, wishing the headache that came with her monthlies would disappear, the cramps too. Maybe she should let Ophelia drive the wagon and she could sleep in the back with the boys.

  Thoughts of her mother handing her a hot brick wrapped in flannel and tucking her back in bed for a nap crossed her mind. A breeze fluttering the curtains at the window, clean crisp white sheets, a pillow, and when she woke up, she could curl up with a book if she wanted. The work of the plantation would go on around her, and …

  “Marse Jesse, you all right?”

  Jesselynn sighed. “I reckon. Show us the way to the trace. I can’t wait to get to Uncle Hiram’s, and if that way is faster and safer than this, I’m all for it.”

  Since they hadn’t seen any sign of habitation for the last two days, they had decided to travel in the daylight, hoping to make better time. With Meshach clearing brush with his machete at times, they still were able to keep moving. A campfire at the end of the day, hot food and coffee, and the dreams of home didn’t cause quite so much pain. She sat on a log and opened her journal, using the light from the fire to guide her.

  We made a good twenty miles today, the best in some time, but now the trail is thickening in again, the brush trying to reclaim the space. Finally Sammy is feeling good and he and Thaddy, or Joshwa, as he insists on being called, are near close as brothers. To think I even considered leaving him. If Mama knew the thoughts I’ve had, she would be so disappointed in me that I couldn’t bear the sorrow in her eyes. She would tell me to get down on my knees and ask the Lord’s forgiveness, but I cannot tell her that I have begun to wonder if there really is a God who would allow such terrible things to go on. She would say “God is love,” but all I seem to see and hear lately is pure hatred.

  She glanced up to see Ophelia scoop the two boys up and whirl them around, making their giggles bring a smile to her face. No, not all was hatred, at least not here in the safety of their camp.

  Ahab stopped grazing and, lifting his head, nickered, his ears pointing into the scrub oak. Meshach slapped his Bible closed and in one smooth motion stood with his rifle in hand. Jesselynn reached for the pistol she kept at her side.

  “Don’t shoot.” The voice sounded like a child’s cry.

  Jesselynn capped her ink bottle and set her journal down on the log, easing to her feet at the same time.

  “Come, show yo’self.” Meshach held the rifle at the ready.

  “We’uns was jus’ hopin’ fer some supper.” Only her tattered skirts let them know she was a girl. She clutched the hand of a stick-figure boy. They were both barefoot and shivering in the evening chill. While the days had stayed warm, the nights were a different matter.

  Ophelia set the boys down and swung the kettle back over the low flames. “Come on over here and git warmed up.”

  The two moved toward the fire as if walking on coals, so hesitant were they.

  “We don’ mean no harm.” The girl held out her empty hands. “Don’ got no gun nor nothin’.” The boy clung to her skirt, staring at the kettle as if he’d never seen anything so fine in his life.

  “My name is Jane Ellen, and this here is John Mark.”

  “Where are your folks?”

  “Daid. Shot by some soldiers in butternut uniforms. We was hidin’ in de cave where Mama kept food cool. We’uns went back too fur for anyone to find us. They took all our food and the cows and chickens.”

  Ophelia handed them each a bowl and spoon and stepped back. Before she could turn around, they’d scraped the bowls clean.

  “Dey need more.” Meshach filled the bowls again. “Y’all better slow down or you be sick.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Dey might like hot water to wash.”

  Benjamin threw more wood on the fire, poured water into another pan, and set it in the coals. “I git some more.”

  “We ain’t had hot food for I don’ know how long. I caught us a squirrel in a snare, but it weren’t easy to eat without cookin’.” When Ophelia handed her a cup of hot coffee, the girl cupped her hands around the heat and sniffed the aroma, her eyes closed in delight.

  Sammy and Thaddeus edged closer to the boy, who used his fingers to scrape the bowl clean. They stared at each other, then back at the boy.

  John Mark looked up at them, then edged closer to his sister, if that were possible, clutching the bowl to his chest as if they would snatch it away. Just as Ophelia reached for the two little boys, the shivering boy on the ground vomited his supper all over both himself and his sister.

  “Pew.” Thaddeus stepped back, Sammy with him. “Stinky.”

  “Don’t you no nevermind,” Jane Ellen said, comforting her little brother, while trying to shake the gluey mess off her already filthy skirt. “You got any bread or biscuit he might have?”

  Ophelia dug in the box where she kept leftovers and handed a biscuit to the boy. “Now you eat dat nice an’ slow, you hear?”

  At the same time, Meshach poured a cup of warm water and gave that to the child. “Here you go, easy now. Maybe soak yo’ biscuit in de water and chew real slow.”

  The boy flinched away when Meshach extended a hand to help brush him off. “ ’Phelia, surely you got some soap and water fo’ dese two young’uns.” His gentle voice and warm smile did more to stop the two from shivering than anything else.

  “We don’ gots no other clothes.” Jane Ellen stiffened her back and raised her chin, daring them to clean her up.

  “No, I ’spose not. But we do.” Meshach rocked back on his heels. “Y’all go behind de wagon and strip off dem things, and ’Phelia bring you hot water and soap to wash in. You feel better den.”

  “I’ll get them something to wear.” Jesselynn tucked her pistol in the back of her pants and headed for the wagon. Sure enough, here they hardly had enough to keep body and soul together for those she had with her and now they had two more. Three more mouths to feed than she had counted on, pl
us one more horse. And only one five-dollar gold piece left along with two nickels. How could they earn some money to augment what they had?

  How long would it take them to get to Uncle Hiram’s anyway?

  She paused with one foot in the wagon. Was that gunfire?

  “Douse the fire! Now!”

  But Meshach was ahead of her. Steam billowed up from the soaking ashes.

  Within moments, the men brought in the horses and hid them in a thicket with the others standing to clamp a hand over a horse’s muzzle in case they started to whinny. Ophelia had the boys tucked down in the wagon, the two guests hunkering under the wagon bed.

  Jesselynn stroked Ahab’s shoulder and kept a hand on his muzzle. “Easy, old son,” she whispered. “You gotta keep quiet. Easy.” All the while she strained to hear anything else. Surely there hadn’t been enough shots fired to show an ambush or an attack. Wouldn’t they have heard something earlier if there was a military patrol around?

  But they had gotten lax. No one had been on guard or scouting. Never again, she promised herself. No matter how safe we feel, someone stands guard.

  Rifle fire crackled again, sounding farther away. How many shots? She tried to count them so she’d know how many men. Were they regular troops or the marauder they’d been hearing about?

  But according to what I heard in town, there are no regular troops this far south. Unless the Confederates have come up from Arkansas.

  But no matter how hard they listened, they heard only the night sounds that had come up again in the forest around them. An owl hooted. A coyote yipped and was answered by another. If the wild animals felt safe enough to resume their hunting and foraging, there could be no better alarm system.

  She let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and led Ahab out of the thicket. Moonlight washed the wagon in silver and glistened white on the pairs of eyes peeking over the wagon sides.

  “Dey’s gone?” Ophelia’s whisper carried on the gentle breeze.

  “I guess.” Ahab nudged her in the back, so Jesselynn handed his lead rope to Meshach to tie them out again. “I’ll take first watch. The rest of you get to sleep.”