Daughter of Twin Oaks

by Lauraine Snelling

  Daniel shook his head.

  As they rode closer, they could see one eye was swollen shut, the cut on his head left a trail of dried blood down the side of his face, and he clutched one elbow to his side. One shirt sleeve hung by a thread.

  “What? Who?” Jesselynn could feel rage bubbling and snapping in her midsection.

  “Dey took de mule.” He swiped blood and dirt from under his nose with his good hand and looked down at his bare feet. “An’ my boots.”

  “They who?” Jesselynn dismounted and flinched at the close-up sight of his beaten body.

  “Dey was fixin’ to hang me for stealin’ de mule, but some other men come along, and dey run dem off.” He leaned against Meshach when he dismounted, and Meshach put his arm around the boy. “I tried to fight dem off, but one against three …” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “I’se sorry.”

  “I reckon you’re more important than the mule anytime.” Jesselynn gently pulled his arm away from his body, her lips tightening at the bruise on his side.

  “Dey kick me. I never hurt so bad in my life.” He dug in his pocket. “But dey din’t take de letter.” He thrust it into Jesselynn’s hand and swayed on his feet. “Sorry, I’se gonna be sick.”

  Meshach held the boy’s head with one hand and clamped the other around his waist until the retching finished.

  “Ah, dat hurts.” Daniel gasped.

  “Broken ribs?”

  “Cracked anyway.” Meshach led Daniel over to Ahab, who, nostrils flared wide, skittered away at the smell of blood.

  “Easy, son.” Jesselynn held the stallion steady while Meshach boosted Daniel up into the saddle, then mounted behind him. She patted Daniel on the knee. “We’ll get you right fixed up back at camp. Guess we better use some of that deer hide and make you a pair of moccasins to keep your feet warm.”

  “Thank you, Marse Jesse. You mighty good to dis black boy.”

  Jesselynn felt rage hot and sweet course through her as she followed the pair ahead. Who had taken the mule, and why did they beat Daniel so viciously? Pure meanness was all she could think of. Now, stealing the mule, that made sense, but beating someone half to death? And then stringing him up.

  A picture of Cavendar Dunlivey beating one of the slaves sprang into her mind. That was when her father ordered him off the place. But she could still see the look in Dunlivey’s eyes. He had enjoyed giving the whipping. Thinking back like that made her keep looking over her shoulder, her pistol at the ready.

  “We kin track dat mule.” Benjamin repeated his comment again. Supper finished, they were sitting around the fire before going to bed. “You know him hooves, Meshach. You shod ’im, after all. De right front, how it curve in? We go find dem and bring ’im back.”

  “No! There’ll be no talk of trackin’ the mule. Those men are killers. You want to end up like Daniel or worse?” Jesselynn nodded to the young man huddled under a quilt and whimpering in his sleep.

  “What de letter say?” Meshach used the deerhorn to smooth the piece of wood he’d been working on.

  “I forgot all about it.” Jesselynn dug in her pocket and pulled out the envelope. Slitting it open with her finger, she extracted the paper and, tipping it, leaned closer to the light.

  “‘Dear Zachary,

  “Welcome to Springfield, although I am sorry I was not at home to greet you. The sad news is that Hiram died early on in the war, and some worthless scalawag burned us out. They do that a lot around here. All our horses were already gone, and several slaves died in the fire. I am living with a friend here in town, but since neither one of us has a husband for support, I have not even a room for you to stay in. Please come to visit me when you can.’

  “She gives the directions and signed the letter, ‘Sincerely, Mrs. Hiram Highwood.’ “

  Jesselynn looked up to find Sergeant White studying her across the fire. “Zachary is my older brother.” She could feel her cheeks growing hot, surely from the fire.

  He nodded and went back to his whittling. “When you goin’?”

  “First thing in the mornin’.” Surely Aunt Agatha knows somewhere we can keep the horses over the winter. And maybe she’s heard from the girls.

  “I go wid you.” Meshach never looked up from his scraping.

  “No, I’ll be—” Jesselynn stopped when Meshach glanced over at the sleeper who came so close to leaving this life. “Thank you.”

  They had no trouble finding the house in the morning, but Jesselynn about choked when she saw the place. Disrepair hung over the house like a rent and rotten garment. Windows, doors, and porch all sagged, as did the gate to what used to be a picket fence. By the steps, one lone pink rose struggled to reach the sun. The nearby houses didn’t look any better.

  Meshach held the horses while Jesselynn went up to knock on the door. She waited and knocked again before she heard someone coming. The person fumbled with a lock on the inside, then peered around the barely open door.

  “What do you want?”

  The voice Jesselynn recognized, but the face bore only faint resemblance to the one she remembered. Once round with a habitual smile, this face had skin hanging off prominent bones and blue eyes that pierced rather than sparkled.

  “Aunt Agatha?”

  The door would have closed but for Jesselynn’s quick thinking to put her foot into the opening. “Aunt Agatha, I know you were expectin’ Zachary, but I’m Jesse, er, Jesselynn.”

  The woman behind the door gave her a once up-and-down look. “Young man, this is not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny. I had to become Jesse to get us here safely. I promised my father—”

  “And who is your father?” She might be living in dismal surroundings, but the starch had never left her tone.

  “Major Joshua Highwood, deceased. My oldest brother, Adam, died in the war, and we have not heard a thing about Zachary. Mother Miriam died in childbirth, and I have little Thaddeus with me—er, back at the camp. I sent Louisa and Carrie Mae back to Richmond, where I thought they would be safe. Twin Oaks is—”

  “Well, I’ll be switched.” The caricature opened the door a mite farther. “When and where was your daddy born?”

  “Born in 1815 in the same bed he died in at Twin Oaks in Midway, Kentucky.”

  “Well, I’ll be a—come right on in, child.” A surprisingly strong hand reached out and yanked her inside to a hall that looked about even with the outside. She peered closely into Jesselynn’s eyes. “Well, you certainly have the look of the Highwoods, but with those clothes …” Her nose wrinkled on the last word. “We’d better look through things and see if we can find something more appropriate to a young woman of what? Nineteen, or is it twenty by now?” All the while she talked, she dragged Jesselynn down the hall by the arm. “Leastwise you can have a bath.”

  Trying to stop her was like trying to harness a hurricane.

  “Aunt Agatha, Aunt Agatha, wait.” Jesselynn clamped a hand on the doorframe to bring the procession to a halt.

  “Now what?” Agatha turned to look at her niece, only to shudder. “Britches! I can’t believe a niece of mine is wearin’ britches!”

  At the moment, that niece was wishing she’d never come.

  Jesselynn disengaged her aunt’s stranglehold on her arm. “I have to stay dressed like this to keep me and the horses and my people safe. A woman in skirts would be fair game to any polecat out lookin’ for sport. You know that.”

  “I declare, such talk. What would your dear mother say?”

  My dear mother would be right glad her daughter was alive and in one piece. “And, Aunt Agatha, you must not breathe a word about who I am to anyone. You understand that? Not anyone.”

  “Why, land sakes, child, who would put two and two together anyway? I—”

  “You have to promise me or I’ll take my people and just fade into the backwoods where no one would know or care who I was.” Jesselynn stood straight and leaned forward just the least bit. “It could mean lif
e or death.”

  Agatha sagged, both inside and out. “Yes, I promise.”

  “Good. Let me go get Meshach. Is there somewhere we can tie the horses out of sight?”

  “Why, why I guess in the shed out back. But isn’t he one of your slaves?”

  Jesselynn stopped in midstride. “No longer. I set him and the others free.”

  “Oh, why … ah … um.”

  Jesselynn turned back around so she could watch her aunt’s face. “What happened to all your slaves, Aunt Agatha?”

  “I sold them that didn’t die in the fire. Other than the land, which will most likely go for taxes, that’s all I had left. After all …”

  Jesselynn held up a hand to stop the flow. “I’ll go put the horses away.”

  “I mean, he can sit out on the back stoop, and …”

  Jesselynn closed the door behind her. Obviously she and Aunt Agatha were about half a continent apart on the slavery issue. Maybe it was a good thing that they wouldn’t be staying with her. What about the woman she lives with? Where does she stand? And more importantly, who does she know?

  Right there she resolved to tell her aunt as little as possible. Their safety might depend on that.

  “Have you received any letters from home or from Richmond?” Jesselynn and her aunt were now sitting in the parlor drinking tea. Meshach had gone off to the livery to see about a job as a blacksmith.

  “Forgive me, child, I have. They went right out of my mind.” She set her teacup down and pushed herself up with both hands on the arms of the chair. The sound of her knees popping and creaking could be heard clear across the room, let alone to the next chair.

  “Aunt Agatha, let me. Just tell me where to find them.”

  “I should say not. I’m not too decrepit to do for myself. Got to keep moving after all. Why, that’s what’s wrong with Lettie, poor dear. She just gives up at times.”

  Jesselynn had learned about Lettie Copsewald while they were making the tea. She’d been having one of her bad spells and, after retreating to her bed, asked to not be disturbed lest the headache return.

  “After she takes her bit of laudanum,” Aunt Agatha confided, “she sleeps like a baby and wakes up the next morning feelin’ more like herself again.”

  Aunt Agatha returned to the dim and dusty parlor where she had insisted they take tea and handed Jesselynn two letters, both from Richmond.

  “Thank you.” She kept her sigh to herself. What was happening at Twin Oaks? Lucinda had promised to write. Taking the sheet of paper from the envelope, she started to read, only to look up in guilt. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners?”

  “You go right ahead. I’ll just enjoy my tea while you catch up on the news. Oh, and that one on the top just came yesterday.”

  By the end of the few minutes it took, Jesselynn knew that Carrie Mae was engaged to be married, Louisa volunteered at the hospital, and Zachary was alive. That last she learned in the more recent letter. She put the letters down in her lap and fought the tears that threatened to break loose.

  Zachary is alive. She wanted to dance and shout, but a glance at her aunt with her chin on her chest helped calm her to only a quick squeezing of her fists. No matter how badly he is wounded, he can go home to Twin Oaks and start over. I’ll take the horses home in the spring, and life will begin again.

  She ignored the voice that reminded her the war might not be over by then.

  She read the letters again to savor every word and nuance. What had Louisa meant about her work in the hospital? Surely they didn’t let young unmarried women take care of the wounded men. She read the paragraphs again. Certainly sounded like that was just what she was doing.

  Whatever was Aunt Sylvania thinking of to let Louisa do such a thing?

  The thought “let Louisa” made her eyebrows rise. How could she expect Aunt Sylvania to do what she had been unable to accomplish herself? She folded the letters and slid them back into their envelopes. The clink of her cup in the saucer brought Aunt Agatha upright.

  “Isn’t that good news?” She picked up her cup and wrinkled her nose when the tea she sipped was cold. “I must have slept a bit. Forgive my bad manners, please. When Lettie is unwell, I have a difficult time sleeping.”

  Jesselynn refrained from asking why and handed the letters back to her aunt. “Thank you for sharing them with me. I wrote the other day to tell them we were here safely.” She heard a discreet rap at the back door. “I’d better be going. That is sure to be Meshach.” She paused. “Is there anyone you know of, Aunt, who would let me keep the horses hidden on their farm until we can go home again?”

  Agatha shook her head. “No one I would trust. I’m sorry, my dear.”

  Jesselynn said her good-byes, promising to return often, but not telling her aunt where they were camped. “If you need me, leave a letter at the post office, and whoever comes in to town will get it.”

  “Go with God, child. I just wish I could do more.”

  Jesselynn ignored the first part of the sentence and shook her head over the last. “I wish I could help you more.” She looked around at the dilapidated house. “Perhaps we could come in one day and do some fixin’ up, though. If it wouldn’t offend Miss Lettie?”

  “We shall see.” Aunt Agatha stepped back from the horses and stared up at Meshach. “You take good care of her now, you hear?”

  “Yessum, I hears.” Meshach gentled Ahab and grinned when Agatha tsked at Jesselynn mounted astride.

  Jesselynn waved one last time as they trotted down the rutted street. “Let’s stop at the post office. Might be a letter from home.”

  All the way there she told him the news from Richmond and got a lump in her throat again at the sheen of tears in the big man’s eyes at the good news.

  “I’m right glad to hear that,” he said. “Thank you, Lord above, for takin’ keer of our boy.”

  Jesselynn rolled her eyes. Leave it to Meshach; he just didn’t understand. Zachary making it through was luck, pure and simple.

  “I have a letter here for Miss Jesselynn Highwood. Would she be any relation to you?” the woman behind the counter asked.

  “Ah yes. That’s my sister. I’ll take it to her.” Jesselynn took the envelope and studied the unfamiliar handwriting. “Thank you.” She stuffed the envelope into her pocket and followed an elderly lady out the door. As she’d made the men promise to do, she glanced around but saw no one that seemed interested in her or what she was doing.

  But once on the horses, she felt shivers run up her spine. Lucinda used to call it “someone walkin’ on mah grave.”

  Before mounting she looked again, but everything around them seemed to fit.

  “What wrong?” Meshach asked in an undertone.

  “I don’t know. Just feels like someone is watchin’ me.”

  “Don’ see nobody.”

  “I know. Me neither. Let’s get outa here.”

  Once out of town, she opened the letter. A blank page stared back at her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Missouri cave

  “Why would someone send a blank page?”

  “I don’ know.”

  If Jesselynn had asked the question once in the last three days, she’d asked it a hundred times. While they had posted lookouts around the clock, no one had seen anything or anyone suspicious. They grazed the horses both morning and afternoon, and Meshach went hunting early every morning, returning with rabbits from the snares he set, another deer, and a couple of ducks. Those at the cave kept the fire going to cure the meat and worked at tanning the hides. Daniel wore his new moccasins, a gift from Sergeant White, with pride.

  Barnabas, as he asked to be called, took one of the tanned rabbit pelts and created a pad for the stump of his leg, so he could begin to wear the peg that he and Meshach designed. While he couldn’t wear it long or put all of his weight on it, the peg leg helped his balance.

  “What if we carved me a foot and put a boot on it, then it would look more like a real leg.”
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  “We kin try.” Meshach studied the piece of wood in his hand. “Carvin’ it ain’t the problem. It’d be mighty stiff.” With two fingers, he hung on to one end of the foot-long piece and bobbed it up and down. “Look, see how a foot walks. Needs to bend at de ankle.” He leaned over and stroked the hair back from Jane Ellen’s forehead.

  Jesselynn often wondered how a man’s hand so big and strong enough to shoe horses and all the other chores Meshach accomplished with such ease could still be so gentle with their silent girl. Walking Jane Ellen had become Jesselynn’s job, and as long as she held the hand that was becoming more clawlike daily and led her around, Jane Ellen walked. Otherwise she sat—and stared into nothing. They took turns feeding her, the boys chattered to her as if she were indeed listening, and Ophelia combed her hair and sang to her.

  If Jesselynn allowed herself to think beyond the moment, she wondered if the young girl would just fade away and one morning they would wake up to find her cold and stiff, instead of warm and silent.

  “What about a wire hinge or even a wooden one?” Barnabas took the wood from Meshach and outlined a hinge on the end of the wood. “Then notch up into the wooden leg.”

  “So, how you keep it from floppin’ down when you walk?”

  “Oh.” The two went back to their carving and pondering.

  Jesselynn took her sewing outside to sit in the sunshine. Sammy needed clothes for the winter, so she cut up one of her father’s shirts and fashioned a shift for the black baby. She figured to make him a vest out of the rabbit pelts as soon as they were ready. The way Thaddeus was growing, she’d need material, or hides, to sew new pants for him too.

  Ophelia had been down to the swamp and brought back cattail leaves for making baskets, along with stalks and roots for cooking. When she had a few minutes, she would sit down to weave again. “Babies sleepin’.” She brought her work out into the sun to sit near Jesselynn.

  A crow flew overhead, his raucous call causing Jesselynn to look up. A blue jay joined in the warning announcement.