A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Why did you leave me out of the watch?” No pleasantries, just go for the jugular.

  “Women don’t stand watch.”

  “Oh.” Of course, how could she be so stupid? What to say? “But—”

  “No,” he interrupted. His eyes narrowed. “Keeping women and children safe is part of my job, and I will do so.”

  “But I—”

  “You want to wear britches, that is your choice, but who stands watch is mine.” He didn’t have to finish. The “and you won’t be” rang loud and clear.

  If she’d thought there was any chance of them becoming friends, the look he gave her disabused her of that thought.

  “What are you so mad about? I did what I had to do. Even you could tell that.”

  His face looked like a slate wiped clean, so devoid of expression was he.

  “Is it just because I fooled you? Would you have let me bring my wagons had you known I was—am—a female?” She almost said a woman but changed her mind. He most likely thought her still a young girl. At twenty, she was way past marrying age, according to custom.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you finished?”

  Looks like it. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He turned and strode off, leaving her with her teeth clenched and her hands clamped into fists.

  The names she called him under her breath had plenty to do with his parentage, or lack thereof, along with a few choice epithets overheard on night watch. Being a woman in men’s clothing had offered her a different view of life in general and of women in particular. Her ears had burned at times.

  When she went into the fort to buy supplies, she went as Mr. Jesse Highwood. She’d taken Aunt Agatha’s advice and gone on as if nothing had happened. Sooner or later the gossip would die out. If only it could be sooner so she didn’t have to put up with the disapproving glances and muttered remonstrances from most of the women in the train, and a few of their husbands too.

  She laid her list on the counter and wandered down the aisles, looking at the harnesses, the boots, the woolen blankets. Warm as it was getting, woolen blankets weren’t needed for some time. When her turn came, she waited while the proprietor finished with the earlier customer and turned to her.

  “Hello, son, what can I get for you?”

  Jesselynn pushed her list forward. “All of that.”

  The man read the list, looked up at her, back down at the list. “Ah, this looks like a lot. You, ah . . .”

  Jesselynn dug in her pocket, pulled out her leather pouch, and plunked it down on the counter with a satisfying clink. “That should cover it.” Along with a lot more. What difference does it make if I’m a young man or young woman? If I hear one more time ‘Is your daddy here?’ I shall personally sock ’em with this rather than be polite.

  “Oh, and add on a dozen peppermint sticks and a packet of horehound drops.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll take two bags of oats on the back of the mule and pick up the other supplies tomorrow, if that would be all right.”

  “Fine, fine. Anythin’ else I can get for you?”

  Amazing how the clink of gold changed his attitude.

  Walking back to camp would be good for her. She’d let Daniel come in to pick up the rest. “Daniel is one of my range hands. He’ll be by tomorrow. He’s black. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  “None ‘tall.” He waited while she counted out his money, then tried to give her paper in return.

  “No, I pay in gold, I get silver in change.” She held out her hand.

  With a glare and a grunt, he took the paper back and laid out silver. “Paper’s just as good as gold here at the fort.”

  “But it might not be at the next supply station. I’m sure you understand.” She gave him stare for stare and strolled out of the store. “He ups the prices for us anyway, Roman. I hate doing business with thieves.” Jesselynn checked to make sure the bags were tied and balanced before setting out for the east gate and camp.

  Off to her left a platoon of what must be new recruits was drilling, the sergeant barking orders. An officer watched the proceedings from the shade of a porch, smoking a cigar and blowing smoke rings.

  “Hey, boy, you want to join the Union army? You look old enough.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Make a man outa you.” The officer waved his cigar and leaned against the porch post.

  Not much chance. “I’m goin’ to Oregon.”

  “You’re making a big mistake.” He blew another smoke ring.

  Jesselynn didn’t bother to answer. The sooner they left the area, the better.

  She didn’t rest easy again until they were two days west of the fort. In less than two weeks they’d be at Fort Laramie.

  Was it time for her to become a woman again—or not?

  Twelve days, and we’ll be at Fort Laramie. Two days of hard riding, and I could be home. Wolf didn’t have to close his eyes to see the pine-covered mountains, the clear running streams, and the tepees of his people. Home in Wyoming Territory. Could he force himself to go on to Oregon from Laramie? Instead of going home?

  Visions of a laughing Jesse Highwood, soaking wet, dogged him day and night. What was her real name?

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  Dearest Jesse.

  Louisa dipped her quill again and continued.

  How I wish you were here, but even more I wish we were all at Twin Oaks where we belong, not scattered about the country like now. I have strange news. When Zachary and I went to Washington for medical supplies, he disappeared, and we haven’t seen him since. That was over four weeks ago. I keep praying God is keeping him safe, but lately God seems to be saying no to my requests.

  She continued with a description of her trip and the happenings at the house, including a description of Aunt Sylvania reading to their soldiers and actually turning pink at their teasing. She told about the high life their sister was living with her lawyer husband in the Richmond capital.

  I’m just grateful I don’t have to be part of that, but Carrie Mae seems to enjoy herself. Who would have ever dreamed growing up that the three of us would be living such different lives? Please, please, I beg of you, write and let us know how you are. Regarding my lieutenant, as you referred to him, we still have no news. I am having a hard time believing the old saw “no news is good news” in this case. Surely if he were able, he would have written by now.

  She stopped and set her pen down, struck by a new thought. What if he just didn’t care any longer? What if he had met someone new, or someone he knew before the army?

  She stoppered the ink bottle and rose to go look out the window.

  Her heart surged, and she let out a shriek. By the time she reached the front door, the others had come running.

  “What wrong?” Reuben caught his breath.

  “Nothing. Zachary is here!” She flung open the door to see her dear brother negotiating the three front steps.

  “Easy. Don’t knock me over.” He raised a cautious stump, hopped the final riser, and leaned against the porch post. “Now.” He spread his arms wide and welcomed her hug.

  “Ah, Marse Zachary, you done made it home again.” The emphasis on the last word made Zachary laugh, the pure joy of it rising to the newly budding leaves of the stately elm trees.

  “Yes, old man, I am home again, but this time there was no doubt as to if but only when. Coming the route I did was considerably slower than the train Louisa took.” He gave her a questioning glance, and she nodded.

  Yes, she had delivered the morphine to the surgeon general at the hospital and nearly cried at the look of gratitude in his eyes. While he admonished her to never do such a thing again, she knew she would. Her boys needed it.

  She hadn’t gone back to ask if they were out again; she knew the answer without the asking. Five pounds or so of morphine, even rationed, wouldn’t last long.

  Aunt Sylvania appeared in the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Ah, dear
boy, you have returned. Thank you, Lord above. I was beginning to think He’d called you home.”

  “Now, Aunty, I’m too mean to die yet. God doesn’t want me till I get old and gray and with no teeth to jaw at Him with.” He hugged his aunt, accepting all the pats from the help and the congratulations from the one remaining soldier who’d been in the house when he left.

  “Lots of new faces. That’s good, right?” He sank down into an easy chair and propped his crutch under his thigh so he could rest his leg on it.

  “Mostly.” Louisa took the chair nearest him, knowing they wouldn’t discuss the trip until they were alone.

  “You heard from the lieutenant?” he asked in a moment’s silence while Abby handed around the coffee cups and a platter of lemon cookies.

  “I musta knowed you was comin’ home. Baked dese just today.” Abby pushed the plate back at him so he could take more than two.

  To please her, Zachary bit into one and smiled wide, shaking his head at the same time. “You make the best lemon cookies in the whole world.”

  “Go on, now, you say dat to all de cooks.”

  “No, not at all. Yours are the best.” To prove it, he took a handful and set them on the table beside his saucer. “Now, then, tell me all the news.”

  For the next half hour, that’s just what they did. When he was all caught up and the coffeepot empty, Zachary sighed. “If y’all don’t mind, I could do with a lie down. You’ll wake me in time for supper?” He smiled at Louisa. “Then I reckon I’ll be really awake for another of our all hours’ chats.”

  Later that night the two of them retired to his room after the others had gone to bed. After telling his own tale at her insistence, Zachary turned to Louisa. “Now, tell me everything, and I mean everything, about your trip home.”

  Louisa complied, trying to remember every detail. When she finished, he nodded, fingertips templed, his elbows on the arms of the chair.

  “We need to go again.”

  “I know, but they know me there. Pretty hard to disguise limbs and a face like mine. If it hadn’t been for the Quakers, I’d be in prison or shot. I do have some good contacts now if we can dream up a way to do this.”

  “I’ll go.”

  “You and what brigade?”

  “Zachary, I made it home by myself.”

  “Yes, thanks to a Yankee army wife.”

  “There’s that too.” Louisa waited for him to continue and, when he didn’t, decided to ask her own questions. “Zachary, I have a favor to ask.” When he nodded, she continued. “Would you please ask whomever you can about Lieutenant Lessling? I must know what happened.”

  “But, Louisa, you know the report said that he died in that train explosion.”

  “I know about the report, but he might have lived through it. Others did.”

  “Yes, and to the best of our knowledge, they are all accounted for. When people are alive, they come forth to say so.”

  “Please.”

  He nodded. “If it will make you happy.”

  Two days later he sat her down on the chaise lounge on the verandah and took her hand in his.

  “You don’t have good news, do you?”

  “No. But there was finally proof. A watch bearing his father’s name was found at the site.”

  “So, he could be a—”

  “No, dearest Louisa, the watch was attached to . . .”

  Louisa covered her face with her hands. “No, don’t say it.”

  “I’m sorry, but you wanted to know for sure.”

  “Yes.” Pain struck, not only her heart but her entire being. Lieutenant Lessling was gone, forever and for sure. There would be no wedding, no life together. Her first love, her only love. She sat stone still, letting the tears flow. Finally she wiped them away, steel returning to jaw and spine.

  “When can I leave for another trip? I must do some good with my life.” She could hear the reckless tone of her voice. The look Zachary gave her said he had heard it too.

  “We’ll see, little sister. We’ll see.”

  “Now you sound just like Daddy.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He rubbed his leg, digging under the straps. “If only we had all listened to wisdom such as his, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . but that is water under the bridge. Now we must see it through.”

  She thought he’d forgotten she was there until he looked up with anguish-filled eyes. “Louisa, I cannot lose you too.”

  “We shall see. After all, maybe the war will end next week.” But both of them knew she was only trying to put on a good face. Maybe the war would go on forever, or at least until every Southern male was dead.

  “I will never leave you.”

  I know that, but, God, you seem so far away. And so many no’s. Can I bear it?

  Surely it was the breeze that whispered, Yes.

  THE GREAT PLATTE RIVER ROAD

  MAY 1863

  Why did the land of the Oglala people have such a pull this time?

  Wolf had been pondering that question for miles, days, and weeks. Eyes squinted against the sun that set the land to shimmering, he studied the land ahead of them. Sod houses had sprung up in the last year like dirt boxes tossed out by a fretful child. Would the Oglala tolerate the white man taking over the land? Especially if the railroad cut its way across the prairies, as he’d heard it would.

  His thoughts shifted back to the wagon train plodding along behind him. Another fight the night before, this time between two families he’d have never thought would cause trouble. And Jesselynn Highwood again patched up the wounded. No wonder she—hard to remember that he was really a she—was so skilled at stitching up flesh. It still rankled that she’d fooled him for so long. Of course now that he knew Jesse was Jesselynn, he could see all the signs that should have told him that in the beginning—the way she cared for her little brother and her ease with cooking and things of the camp. Now that the word was out, he saw that she’d picked up her knitting and patching.

  The image of her with an arm around little Thaddeus, head tipped to listen to his story, ate at him. How could he have been so duped? If this was a day for studying on hindsight, he had plenty of studying to do.

  “Mr. Wolf!”

  And not enough time to do it.

  He turned in his saddle to watch young Billy Bronson come flying across the plain. Wolf waited, something he’d learned to do well.

  “Benjamin says there’s buffalo over the rise. Should we send out a hunting party?”

  “Get Benjamin and Daniel. Did he say how far away?”

  “Mile or two.”

  “Good. Tell your father to come out here. You can come too. I’ll lead the party.”

  Billy galloped off again.

  Within minutes they gathered on the north side of the rise. “Now listen to me and listen good. A bull buffalo can be one of God’s meanest critters, so don’t take any chances.” He looked right at Billy. “There will be no shootin’ for shootin’s sake. Each one will hone in on one buffalo. Shoot it, and get out of the way. Unlike bows and arrows, the sound of the rifle shots will spook the herd and send it into a stampede, hopefully away from the wagon train. We’re goin’ to ride up nice and easy, as if we were buffalo ourselves.” He glanced up to see Daniel and Benjamin swap smiles of pure excitement. “Any questions?”

  When they all shook their heads, he added, “Aim for the head. Between the eyes is best—lose less meat that way. Don’t shoot a cow with a calf either. But above all, be careful.”

  They walked the horses over the crest. He heard someone suck in a breath and knew it was awe and delight combined. While the herd was not nearly the size of those he remembered as a boy, the sight of hundreds of buffalo roaming across the plain thrilled a man’s heart.

  Slowly they eased toward the herd, stopping when the animals grew restless, then proceeding again. When they were close enough for clean shots, Wolf raised his hand and let it fall.

  Shots rang out and five animals sank to the g
round. The hunters hung back as the rest of the herd broke into a run, heading south away from the hunters as Wolf had hoped.

  “You want we should get another?” Benjamin trotted his horse up to Wolf.

  “No. This is plenty. Get more and the meat will spoil before we can dry it.” He rode up to one of the kills. “Make sure they’re dead and then slit the throats so they bleed out. Bronson, go on back to camp and have them circle the wagons for the night, then bring as many as you can to help butcher these beasts. We’ve not a moment to waste.”

  Working in pairs, they moved from carcass to carcass, bleeding them out, then gutting. Meshach showed up next, then the others as they could come. Working together, they stripped the hide off one, cut it in quarters, and, laying the meat on the hide, tied the legs together over a pole and slung ropes around it to carry it back to camp between two horses.

  A cheer went up when the first load of meat reached camp.

  “Bring in the stomachs and intestines too.”

  Benjamin nodded. The hearts and livers had gone with the first load. Every skillet in camp would be frying fresh liver for supper. By dark the only trace of the hunt left on the prairie was blood-soaked ground and the remains from the stomachs and intestines. Even the hooves and horns had gone to camp to be used however Wolf suggested.

  The hunters dragged in with the final load.

  Soon every cooking pot was bubbling with fresh meat, and every knife in the train was being used to slice thin strips off haunch and shoulder to hang to dry over the fires to be transferred to the sides of the wagons in the morning. The white canvases reflected the heat of the sun enough to continue the process started over the cook fires. Since Benjamin had been the one to spot the herd, one hide had gone to the Highwood wagons. Wolf gave his to Nate Lyons, and while the Jones brothers shouted they should have the third, he gave it to the Smiths, where he knew the hide would be valued for its warmth and tended carefully. Bronson kept one and gave the other to another family.

  “Would you care to join us for supper?” Aunt Agatha, as even he’d taken to calling her, asked Wolf when he walked past their wagon.