Daughter of Twin Oaks

by Lauraine Snelling

  “As the oldest Highwood man, I forbid you to work in the hospital.” His eye narrowed and his words lashed.

  A soft word turneth away wrath. Her mother’s voice floated in her mind so clearly she was sure Zachary could hear it too.

  Soft word, my right foot. She took in a deep breath and sniffed back any inclination to tears. Never in her life had she been so close to bludgeoning someone with her soft shoe or whatever else she could pick up.

  “Zachary Highwood, you are being utterly cruel, both to me and those I can help.”

  Zachary shook his head and slumped against his pillows. “Ah, Louisa, I have seen such carnage and waste of good men that I cannot and will not ever try to tell you, but please, I just want to keep you from experiencing even a small part of that. Is it so wrong to try to keep the ones you love from harm?”

  Louisa felt the starch go out of her spine. She knelt on the floor and took his hand in hers. “Wrong, my dear brother, no, I suppose not, but perhaps more than a bit selfish.” She laid her cheek on his shoulder, where she could hear his heart beat. It would have been so easy for him to have died on the field and never returned to them.

  Silence, but for their beating hearts, quieted the striving in the room and let peace tiptoe in and make itself comfortable.

  “When we go home, things will be all right again.” She whispered the words she prayed so fervently. “Soon, soon we’ll go home, home to Twin Oaks.”

  A harsh sound, more groan or laugh she wasn’t sure, ripped from his chest. “Home to Twin Oaks! Don’t you know I cannot go home until the war is over?”

  She raised her head and looked at him, his face suffused with red heat. “Whyever not? Look at you. You cannot fight again.”

  “If a Confederate soldier crosses into Kentucky, no matter how severely wounded, he will be shot or hung as a spy. On sight.”

  Oh no, God, please, I want to go home, please. Her tears dripped silently down on the back of his hand.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A Missouri cave

  October 11, 1862

  Back and forth Jane Ellen rocked as dawn sent tentative fingers trembling into the cave.

  Jesselynn heard her crooning the same song she’d fallen asleep to, only now the girl’s voice was so hoarse the words were nearly unintelligible. All she wanted to do was pull the quilt over her head and go back to sleep, but something made her look over to Meshach as he stoked the fire. Sparks lit the air above him and the snapping wood sounded friendly. But the sorrow on his face and the way he looked at Jane Ellen answered questions before they were asked.

  “Ah no.” Jesselynn’s eyes and nose ran at the same time, and her heart felt like a giant hand was squeezing the life out of it. She glanced over at Ophelia to see her wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. The cave vibrated with the absence of coughing or gurgling, the last sounds she’d heard before she finally fell asleep.

  Ophelia took a gourd of water to Barnabas White, as they’d learned was the soldier’s name. Sergeant Barnabas White of Pine Bluff, Arkansas, serving in the Sixteenth Arkansas. He’d said the words with pride, whatever pride one can have flat on his back with a hole in his side and missing part of a leg.

  Both wounds were still clear of putridity, and that alone made Jesselynn hopeful. They all needed a big dose of hope with the girl rocking her dead brother. How could they help her?

  But the question deviling Jesselynn as she threw back the quilt and pulled on her boots was more basic than that. Why do I keep gettin’ more people to take care of? First Sammy, then Jane Ellen and John Mark, now the sergeant. Here we are somewhere in Missouri, where the fightin’ is worse than at home, and I get more people and a Union horse to feed and keep safe. She slammed her booted heel against the sandcovered rock beneath her and pulled on the other. Clapping her hat on her head, she headed for the cave entrance. At least she could be alone when nature called.

  “Jesse, I got to go.”

  When she looked over her shoulder, Thaddeus was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. As always, he had to go first thing. She wished she’d gotten away sooner; the crooning was digging into her like a drill into wood. And she didn’t want to wait a moment longer. That meant she’d have to carry her baby brother.

  Well, why not? She was carrying everyone else. She stomped across the cave, swung him up to sit on her hip, and again headed for the outside. Death and tarnation. Only her mother’s training kept her from using some of the words her brothers had taught her. They’d had their mouths washed out with soap for using such language.

  “You mad?” Thaddeus patted her cheek.

  Jesselynn stopped in midstride. Mad? No, yes. Disappointed? For certain sure. Scared? More so than she wanted to admit. She looked at her little brother only to see a tear trickle down his cheek.

  “Ah, Thaddeus, it’s not your fault.” She hugged him and nuzzled his soft cheek, kissing away the tear at the same time. “Come on, Joshwa, let’s get this over with so we can eat, all right?”

  His smile beamed in spite of wet eyelashes. Throwing both arms around her neck, he whispered in her ear, “Joshwa loves Jesse.”

  Frost stenciled a spider’s web across their path and glittered the grasses. Jesselynn sucked in lungfuls of crisp air. For right now she could ignore the ordeal ahead in the cave and make her little brother laugh. The tears would come soon enough. How would she be acting if the dead boy were Thaddeus?

  Tears choked her throat and made her stumble. She swung him to the ground, but only after another hard squeeze. As soon as he finished, she pointed him back toward the cave.

  When she returned, Jane Ellen was still crooning and rocking. Jesselynn glanced at their patient, only to catch his gaze, as sorrowful as she knew was her own. Meshach and the others had taken the horses out to graze and water, and Ophelia moved like a puppet with tangled strings, trying so hard not to look at the misery to come.

  Meshach, you take care of this. You’ll have the right words. I have none. I’ll take care of the horses.

  Sammy fussed and demanded to be carried, so Ophelia held him on her hip while she stirred the pot of cornmeal mush. Thaddeus clutched his sister’s pant leg, his thumb in his mouth, sending surreptitious glances over at Jane Ellen.

  Jesselynn mixed some of the cornmeal into a gruel with the broth from the stewing venison and took it to Barnabas, as she referred to him in her mind. Sergeant White seemed so formal when caring for him.

  “You up for some real food?”

  “I think so.” He flinched when he moved, and sweat broke out on his forehead. “If you’d help me sit up a bit?”

  “You sure? Why don’t I just prop a saddle behind you or another quilt? The less you move around, the less chance you’ll start bleeding again.”

  “All right.” Taking a deep breath brought his hand to his side. “Whew, guess I dreamed I was all better or somethin’.”

  “You want a dose of that laudanum first?”

  “A bit in water I guess.” He held out a hand, shaking as though he had the palsy. “Sorry to be so helpless like this.”

  Jesselynn didn’t answer, just prepared the drink for him and held his head up so he could drink it. She too took great care to not look at Jane Ellen. Meshach, get on back here.

  After about half a cup of the gruel, the sergeant shook his head and collapsed back against the padded saddle Jesselynn had fixed and propped behind him. “Thank you.” His soft drawl made “you” into two syllables. Before she could turn around, he was asleep again.

  She studied the flat glass bottle she’d corked again so carefully. Maybe a swig of that would let her sleep through the hours ahead, and when she woke, everything would be fine again. Instead, she nestled the precious stuff down into Ophelia’s cooking box, where it was well padded.

  Who knew when they might need it once more?

  Jane Ellen coughed once, then picked up her singsong again, eyes closed, rocking and rocking.

  When they’d finished eating, Meshach lo
oked at Jesselynn with one raised eyebrow and a glance at the rocking girl. Jesselynn shrugged and nodded in that same direction.

  Meshach closed his eyes.

  She knew he was praying, and the thought sent a bolt of anger from head to foot. Don’t you know, man, that you’re wasting your time praying? There is no God! She clamped her fingers so tight her nails bit into her palms. She looked down and opened her hands to see red crescents where her nails had been. Or if there is, He doesn’t care. He lied.

  Then why did you wait for Meshach to come? The thought sent her on a headlong flight out of the cave. She ran through the brush with hands in front of her face, shoving away the branches that snagged at her clothing, tried to trip her, and ripped off her hat. Then, breath heaving, the cold air burning her lungs, she finally leaned against the trunk of an ancient oak. “I will not cry!” She shouted the vow to the few dried leaves that clung to the branches, stark fingers pointing to a sky feathered with strings of clouds. It should be raining.

  They had to bury the body. Would Meshach be able to take the boy from his sister’s arms?

  The unearthly scream that rent the air sent the chills racing from her heels to her hair and raising those on the back of her neck. Taking in a deep breath she started back the way she had come.

  Her hat waited for her, still snagged on the branch that had poked a hole in the crown. She crammed it back on her head, using it to push the hair back out of her eyes. She needed to cut her hair again. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, on brushing the branches from her face, on wiping the tears from her cheeks kept her from thinking about the cave and what was happening there.

  Meshach met her at the entrance. “De boys diggin’ de grave.”

  Don’t think. Don’t feel. She nodded.

  Thaddeus ran out of the cave and threw himself against her legs. “John Mark dead.” He raised a tearstained face to look at her. “No play no more.” He raised his arms to be picked up.

  Jesselynn started to tell him no but instead reached down and hoisted him to her hip. “I know.” Get in there and hold Jane Ellen. But no matter how hard she told herself to go, she could not take one step inside the cave. She could not look upon that poor girl, see that still face.

  “We’s done.” Benjamin joined them in the sunshine.

  “You want to read?” Meshach held the Bible out to her.

  Jesselynn shook her head. “You do it.”

  Meshach studied her face for a long moment; she could feel it without looking up.

  “Yessuh.”

  Ophelia brought Sammy out first and handed him to Benjamin, then went back in the cave to return with the body, now wrapped in one of their quilts.

  Don’t throw away the quilt like that, we’re going to be needing it worse than he.

  Ophelia handed the bundle to Meshach and returned to the cave, this time leading out Jane Ellen. The girl walked stifflike, as if she’d been dunked in a vat of heavy starch and it froze up her joints. Her blue eyes were washed of all life and feeling.

  All through the simple service, she never said a word nor wept a tear.

  Jesselynn studied the tree branches that shaded the grave. When Meshach finished his prayer, the final leaf broke off and drifted down to settle on the quilt. Even the birds kept silence. Ophelia took Jane Ellen by the hand and led her back to the cave, Sammy resting on her hip. Jesselynn set Thaddeus down.

  “You walk now. You’re gettin’ too heavy to carry.”

  He clutched her hand and, instead of walking with his sister, turned back. “ ’Bye, John Mark.”

  Jesselynn rolled her eyes upward to give the tears no place to form. She sniffed once and tugged on her brother’s hand. Thaddeus walked with her as far as the cave entrance, then plunked himself down.

  “Play here. Bring Sammy.”

  “You stay right here, then.”

  He nodded, searching for a stick to dig with, crackling the leaves as he dug around.

  Jesselynn knew she should go in and help care for Barnabas. She could hear the plunk of dirt clods back at the grave. From inside the cave, the only sound was Sammy telling Ophelia something only he could understand.

  “I’m goin’ ridin’.”

  Thaddeus looked up at that. “Me go?”

  “No, you stay here.” She caught a glimpse of the hurt in his eyes as she swung away. “Benjamin, when you’re done there, make sure Thaddeus stays put. You can help work that hide, and Daniel, slice off more of that venison so we can get it all dried before it spoils.” She knew she sounded gruff. At the moment she didn’t care. If she didn’t get out of there, she was afraid she’d be wailing against the tree.

  She reentered the cave only long enough to get a bridle and dashed out before Ophelia’s song could bring her down. Deep river all right and there was nothing on the other side, no matter what the song said. No home, no Father God waiting, no joyous day.

  She bridled and swung aboard Ahab, setting him into an even canter in spite of the trees. Only some small semblance of good sense kept her from urging him to a dead run, as she could have on the track at home.

  Each day they stayed at the cave made life together worse. Jane Ellen crumbled into the corner, never speaking, never eating unless someone fed her. If she slept, it was with her eyes open, for every time Jesselynn looked at her, she was staring into nothing.

  “Give her time,” Meshach said.

  Sammy burned his finger on a stick in the fire. Thaddeus whined from morning until he fell asleep at night. He even whimpered in his dreams, setting Jesselynn’s teeth on edge even more than they already were.

  The only good thing was that Sergeant White grew stronger each day.

  “Thanks to all of you,” he said in response to her morning question of “How you doin’?”

  Meshach brought him a crutch carved out of a slender maple trunk and padded with part of the deer hide. “You wants another?”

  “No, thank you.” Barnabas sat leaning against the quilt-padded log. He fingered the stout piece of wood. “One of these days I’ll carve me a peg, when the stump is all healed. Saw one one day attached with a leather harness. Maybe if I start on it now, I’ll have it ready.”

  “Den I’ll find you a good piece of hickory. Coulda made the crutch outa hickory too, but dis little tree looked so perfect-like.”

  “It is perfect, and I thank you. Perhaps we can get me standing up tomorrow and see how I do.”

  Two days later he hobbled out to the already loaded wagon, Meshach and Jesselynn on either side of him ready to grab him if he started to fall. When they boosted him up in the wagon bed, he fell back against the box they’d padded for his backrest. Sweat dripped down his cheeks and ran off the end of his nose. Two red spots stood out like brush fires on his face gone stark white at the effort.

  Lastly they led out Jane Ellen and settled her in beside the sergeant. If they stood her up, she stood. If they set her down, she sat. Even the two boys tumbling about her lap brought no reaction.

  Two weeks later they arrived in the Springfield area. Leaving the rest of them down in a hollow, Jesselynn rode the mule into town and up to a store. Fingering her remaining coins, she approached the counter.

  “Help you, son?” The aproned man behind the counter turned from filling a bag with coffee beans.

  “Yes, suh, I’s lookin’ for the farm of Hiram Highwood. He’s my uncle.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” The man shook his head. “I knowed Hiram for a long time. Good man. Hope you ain’t come too far. Hiram was one of the early casualties of the war.”

  Jesselynn kept from stepping back with a superhuman effort. “And Aunt Agatha?”

  “Not sure where she went to. Farm got burnt to the ground, long about a year ago now.” He leaned forward.

  “You all right, young man? You look whiter’n a sheet on washday.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Richmond, Virginia

  Her sister’s wedding day dawned, and all she wanted
to do was stay in bed.

  “Louisa, are you up yet?” The knock came softly on her door.

  “No, and neither are the birds.”

  “I couldn’t sleep any longer.” Carrie Mae peeked around the slowly opening door. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” Louisa patted the bed beside her. “Just don’t expect any brilliant conversation.” When Carrie Mae drew closer, Louisa sat up. “You’ve been crying.”

  Carrie Mae sniffed. “I know. All I can think is that I want Mama and Daddy here for my wedding. It’s not fair.” She flung herself on the covers and great sobs heaved her shoulders. “And … and it … sh-should be at … at T-Twin Oaks.”

  “I know.” Louisa patted her sister’s shoulder, tears now streaming down her own face. And here she’d wondered at times if Carrie Mae even thought of home. “We can be grateful that Aunt Sylvania didn’t say you had to wait a whole year for proper mourning.”

  “I … I know.” Carrie Mae used the bed sheet to mop her eyes. “I don’t think I could have borne it.”

  The silence stretched, punctuated by occasional sniffs on both their parts.

  This is the last time we share a bed like this, the last time for all the girl talks we’ve had through the years. Since the two of them were closer in age than the others, only a year apart, often they had banded together, playing tricks on Jesselynn and tormenting their older brothers. Until the brothers grew up and went away to school and the tutor remained for the girls. Until the war.

  Louisa sighed. Should she? “I have a question to ask you.”

  Carrie Mae rolled up on her side, head propped on one hand. “What?”

  “Well, this is kind of personal.”