Southern Legacy: Completed Version

by Jerri Hines

  The blockade had drained its inhabitants. Provisions needed for everyday life had become increasingly difficult to come by. Moreover, the comforts afforded the rich now came with a stiff price. A pair of gloves went for thirty dollars, a pair of slippers for fifty, and that was for articles of clothing that in the past would not have been fit for their servants.

  The blockade-runners had become the only ones to profit during this conflict. The once affluent and wealthy had learned how fast everything could change.

  The lovely, charming city had become a shell of what it once had been. The great fire of ’61 had blackened the streets. The residents had been unable to repair the damage, due to the lack of men and supplies. The war raged and silenced the church bells that once peeled throughout the streets.

  Facing the inevitable, Jo had concluded she needed to heed Mother Montgomery’s wish to go live in Charleston…at least for the summer. Derek wasted no time after Jo relented and had left earlier in the morning to inspect the logistics of the move.

  Derek always made an effort to be polite to Jo, if not somewhat brusque, but there was tension underneath the surface. Jo was keenly aware Derek had never forgiven her for the implied offense when he first returned to Magnolia Bluff. Jo realized he felt she had questioned his integrity. Consequently, she had not expected Derek’s support when Andrew insisted on telling him about the incident with Tome.

  “Times are hard enough. We need to rely on each other. We cannot keep a secret this sensitive. He is a part of our family and has a right to know.”

  At first, Derek seemed taken back by the tale, but in the end supported Jo in her decision to help the young Negro boy, despite the ramification it might mean to the family. “It is a shame. I greatly admire Mr. Whitney and understand his grief, but I also grasp why you could not turn your back on a child. We will endure any rumors that might arise.”

  Understanding suffused within Jo that Derek considered her empathy a weakness of being a woman, but it was an encouraging sign for the family. She remembered Miss Hazel telling her once that misfortunes will do one of two things: strengthen a family or split it.

  Jo wondered whether it had more to do with Jenna’s stance. Only the night before, Jenna declared, “I don’t question our cause and know it is just, but I can’t help but feel that slavery’s time needs to come to an end.”

  “I do not disagree with you, my dear,” Derek replied. “I doubt it will ever be the same after this conflict. We are fortunate here at Magnolia Bluff. The servants who have stayed are loyal and excellent. They are as much a fixture here as the family.”

  Jo realized that although Derek was raised on a plantation in Georgia, it was not as large or massive as the land owned by the family he had married into. He had become a great asset, not afraid of hard, physical labor.

  She had discovered that Derek had an inner strength that emerged since his return. Gone was the thought of him as a cripple. His left shirt sleeve may have been pinned up at the shoulder, but that was the only indication of his handicap.

  Not afraid to toil alongside the remaining Negros, Derek worked harder than ten men. The plantation had come to depend heavily on his guidance. He mended fences, tilled the garden, and saw to the livestock.

  With most of Andrew’s time and energy concentrated on the hospital in Charleston, Gardner had begun to come to Derek for direction on the care of the plantation. It was one less worry upon Andrew’s shoulders.

  For well over a century, the main cash crop on Magnolia Bluff had long been rice. They had not even attempted to plant the fields this year. There would be no cash crops. It would have been a useless venture. Instead, Derek’s focus was upon Magnolia Bluff maintaining its ability to be self-sufficient.

  The emphasis had turned to the other plantations under the Montgomery name to supply the needed cash crops; those grew cotton. Unfortunately, cotton had fared no better, commanding no price whatsoever. Derek reasoned that at least cotton could be stored and sold at a later time.

  Long before the war, Jo would have fallen on her knees, praying and weeping, at the magnitude of problems that faced Magnolia Bluff. She had learned to take one day at a time, not looking ahead…just surviving the day.

  Lost in her thoughts, Jo smiled over at her daughter, who made such a lovely picture with her grandmother. The little one reached up and touched Mother Montgomery’s face in the most gentle of fashions with her chubby hand.

  From the corner of her eye, movement caught her attention. Turning, Jo rose and walked over to the railing. Amos ran haphazardly across the back of the front lawn, flailing his hands over his head.

  Rosa emerged from the back of the house and ran to meet him. Amos doubled over for a moment to catch his breath. Grasping the large black man by the shoulders, Rosa leaned over and said something.

  Too far away to make out the words, Jo watched in confusion. Rosa glanced around in a nervous manner and then ushered Amos back the way he came. After one last look behind her, Rosa followed.

  “Mother Montgomery, can you watched the children for a moment? There seems to be a disturbance of some sort.”

  “Oh, my,” Mother Montgomery cried in a low voice, Madeline clutched to her chest. “Is it…is it the Yankees?”

  “No…no, my dear. I can assure you I would not be going out to greet the devils,” Jo calmed Mother Montgomery. “More than likely, it is nothing. I just saw Rosa head toward the barn. I hope it is not Ole Toby. Can’t afford to lose another draft mule. Amos said the old mule was looking peaked last night. Do you need Anna to help you with the children?”

  Obvious relief flooded the older woman’s face. She shook her head. “I will bring the children in for a nap.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly.” Without looking back, Jo scurried down the steps. She didn’t want to lose sight of Rosa, because she had lied to Mother Montgomery. Rosa hadn’t headed to the barn but along the path to the docks.

  Keeping up her pace behind Rosa, Jo focused on following her without being detected. Rosa turned off the trail, but made her way through the tall weeds along the riverbank. Terrified of running across a sleeping alligator, snake, or worse, Jo picked up her skirt and rushed through the undergrowth.

  Breathless, she paused. Rosa had slowed and moved alongside Amos. Inching closer, Jo saw what had brought the two out along the river’s edge. It was a man…a white man.

  Instinctively, she walked up to Rosa and stared down incredulously at the unconscious figure. Sprawled on the ground, he faced upward as if he had been rolled over. He had no hat; his unkempt beard hung down to his chest; his disheveled brown hair tangled. He was a big man, but his face was thin and his cheeks sunken.

  Covered in mud, he wore no uniform, but clothing of a working man. A once white shirt was tattered and torn; his pants ripped. He wore no shoes, but it wasn’t his appearance that had her trembling. No, it was the blood oozing over his shirt along his waistline.

  Groaning, his face contorted, writhing in pain. She eased ever so cautiously down to his side. All her instincts cried to run, leave him to his fate, but she did not. She reached out toward him.

  “Lordy! Miss Jo, don’t ya touch him.”

  Startled, Jo recoiled and clutched her hand to her bosom. Finally able to breathe again, she asked, “What happened? Do either of you know this man?”

  “No, Miss Jo,” Amos said. “I found him like this. Somethin’ awful done happened. But ain’t gonna worry ya none, not with Dr. Andrew and Master Derek gone. Went and got Rosa.”

  Glancing up, Jo saw the two exchanged nervous looks. Then she turned her attention back to the injured…dying man. The only semblance of life reflected was in his chest heaving heavily and the grunts of pain it took to make each labored breath.

  Mustering up her courage, she reached over and pulled up his shirt. Easy enough now to see a gaping wound: he had been stabbed.

  “Amos, did he say anything?”

  Jo looked around; her heart hammered loudly. Everyth
ing was quiet, but caution had to be taken. Andrew and Derek both had warned the women numerous times not to show hospitality to strangers. There were miscreants who preyed upon the weakened state of plantations. Could this man be one of a group?

  “Amos,” Jo repeated and then demanded, “Amos, what did this man say?”

  Most reluctantly, Amos stuttered, “He asked… for Dr. Andrew, Miss Jo…Dr. Andrew.”

  ****

  There had been no time to waste. Jo had Amos take the man to the sick cabin. She had her doubts that he would survive being moved even that short distance.

  Jo stood nervously over the bed. How could a man bleed so much and still be breathing? She rinsed out the towel and placed it back over the wound, but again the towel reddened as fast as she held it against it.

  “Hold it tight against it.”

  As she jerked her head around, she immediately breathed a sigh of relief—Andrew.

  Throwing his hat on the hardback chair, he rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to take control of the patient. Silently, he worked in the hot, sweltering room. He asked only for Jo to retrieve his medical bag on his horse.

  After what seemed an eternity to Jo, Andrew stitched up the wound. Finally, the bleeding stopped.

  “It is fortunate I was returning to Magnolia Bluff today. I had only turned up the lane to the main house when Amos caught me.” Andrew sighed and rubbed the back of his strained neck. “You didn’t call attention to him, I hope.”

  “Of course not,” Jo answered defensively. “Only Rosa, Amos and…” She glanced over in the corner at Lonnie, who sat with a muddled expression. “Lonnie. Amos told the others that Lonnie got hurt in the cutting back the overgrowth to cover. I don’t think many of the other darkies will believe the story, but Mother Montgomery will.”

  “I doubt any of them will say anything. No one wants trouble and it is best for Mother and the girls to be unaware of his presence.” As he washed his hands in the bloody water, Andrew nodded his head. “I understand the stranger asked for me.”

  “That is what Amos said.” Jo nodded. “I assume he must know you are a doctor.”

  “It would be my assumption,” Andrew agreed. “The roads aren’t safe traveling alone these days. He must have gotten robbed and assaulted.”

  “That is what I was thinking.” She eased over to the bedside. “Is he going to live?” The man’s clothing was strewn over the floor. Nothing worth saving, Jo bent down to pick them up.

  Drying his hands, Andrew shrugged. “He is in God’s hands. I believe I have stopped the bleeding. He is lucky it didn’t hit any vital organs, but he has lost a lot of blood. Time…time will tell.”

  “I am going to take his clothes and burn them. I’m sure we have something in the house that will fit him when he recovers. I need to return. Madeline will need to be fed.” As Jo tucked the clothes in a bundle, a cigar case dropped to the floor from his pants pocket.

  She reached down and picked it up. Opened, she saw three cigars, but the fourth had a note wrapped around it. Her fingers untied the string that bound it to the cigar. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she read.

  The words and numbers blurred together. There were names of officers, suggested strategy of the leaders, and places of the Confederate defense in Charleston. The number of units stationed within the city and at the forts on the islands, the number of cannons, rifles, and ammunition that had arrived only in the last week…

  Her hands trembled. Looking up at Andrew, she uttered with deep hatred, “He is a spy.”

  ****

  “Send for the sheriff, militia, whoever it is that will deal with this….this man.” Jo’s voice rang sharp with a rising anger. Aghast, she caught her breath. “Get him out of here…now.”

  Andrew moved swiftly around the cot where the unconscious man laid and took the paper from Jo. Something in the way he glanced over the contents told Jo she was correct in her assumption. The man was a Union spy!

  “Well,” Andrew said in a long, drawn-out manner as he scrutinized the paper. “It does seem as though he may have infiltrated our lines, but it would be his death to move him. I won’t allow that.”

  “Allow that? You are not serious, Andrew. It is not a question. I want him gone. I thought he was a victim of a robbery along the roads. I will not be party…”

  “Calm yourself.” Andrew took her by her shoulders. “Whether or not he is the enemy, it changes nothing. It is my duty to care for him.”

  Jo wrenched herself away from his grip and backed up to the wall. Pointing at the man, she cried, “He is not my duty. Get him off the plantation.”

  Andrew shook his head slowly. “Jo, it’s impossible to move him. It would be a death sentence. I know you. It’s not what you want…to have a man’s death upon your hands.”

  “Do not think my empathy extends to Yankees! Moreover, don’t hold what I did for that poor black child against me. This is not the same thing! He…he is the enemy!”

  “You don’t know that. In his state, he can’t defend himself. If you call the authorities, he won’t get that chance. He will die before they get him back to Charleston in his condition. I ask only you wait…it may well be pointless. He may die anyway.”

  She shook her head vehemently and stared across the room, frowning. “They killed Wade!” Her lips trembled with the declaration, her hands clenched into a fist. “Wade’s dead because of those damn Yankees. Never has there been a finer man who walked the earth and he’s gone…gone because they killed him!”

  “No, Jo, this godforsaken war killed Wade. Can you not see there has been too much death? It is all around us. I refuse to add to it and won’t allow you to do so either.”

  “How dare you tell me to remain silent and harbor a spy!”

  A long, deep sigh escaped Andrew. He glanced back over at the man, who fidgeted uncomfortably. Sweat poured off his brow. Grimacing, the wounded man clutched his side. Andrew rushed over and jerked the man’s hands back from the injured area.

  “Find me a rope,” Andrew demanded from Lonnie. “We are going to have to restrain him so he won’t open back up his wound.”

  Andrew watched Lonnie run out the door and then turned to Jo. “Help me. He is going to…”

  Jo shook her head. “I told you…”

  “I know him,” Andrew abruptly announced, holding the patient’s arm down by his side. He looked up at Jo. “From my time in Philadelphia…you may as well. He is Gavin Mitchell. Jo, he is a friend of Cullen’s.”

  Taken back, she said nothing. Cullen…for so long she had refused to think of him. He had deserted her…taken the side of the enemy. Finally, she said in a voice that could barely be heard in the small cabin, “Why…why would he come here?”

  “How can I say? He visited before the war with Cullen. As you said before, he knows I am a doctor…he had nowhere else to turn.”

  Anguish suffused within her. What am I to do? She had not time to contemplate the dilemma. Lonnie raced inside, empty-handed. “They’re coming, Dr. Andrew!”

  “Who, Lonnie?” Andrew asked, unable to leave Mitchell’s side.

  “Soldiers…Confederate soldiers are at the main house,” Lonnie uttered, out of breath. “What’s we going to do?”

  Jo looked out the dirty window. Oh, Good Lord, it was a whole unit! She looked back at Andrew. She had no choice. She walked out.

  ****

  Jo stood in the doorway for a moment. The sight she must have presented to the men. The front of her dress was drenched in blood; her hands, sticky and coated with the same liquid. She didn’t care. She was in no mood to be hospitable…no matter whether it was the militia.

  Lonnie hadn’t been wrong. It was a unit of soldiers. From the looks of the weary men, they had been drudging through the swamps.

  Immediately, she recognized the leader, Lucas McCoy. He was dressed in a ragtag Confederate uniform, as were most of the men. Their britches had holes in them; boots with the soles worn clean through; their uniform coats, faded and pat
ched.

  The sun bore down in the cloudless sky. Jo marched out toward them with her skirt swinging in the wake of her gait. She gave no mind to the men who reined in their horses around her.

  “Good day, Mr. McCoy. What brings you out this day?” She tossed her head back. Bone-tired, she hadn’t the patience to deal with this man…this abomination who helped Harry Lee kill Gillie…for that was what he had done, surely as if he choked the life out of her himself.

  “It’s Captain McCoy, Mrs. Montgomery,” he answered solemnly, nodding his head slightly. “I hate to impose on you at this time, but we have been searching for a renegade. We fear we may have a spy in our midst. We have tracked him down to the river and have since lost him.”

  “And this has to do with me?” she asked with a venom that cut with contempt. “I can assure you I don’t make a practice of taking in renegades, Captain. Now, if there is anything else you need?”

  “I believe you don’t understand my request, Mrs. Montgomery. We need to search your plantation. As I said, the trail ends…”

  Fuming, her eyes flared at him. “You will do no such thing!” She lashed out at him, scarcely hiding the contempt she felt for the man. “I won’t have my home turned upside down because you lost your prisoner or whatever he was. Why, so that you can find someone else to try to hang without a trial? No, Mr.…Captain. You will do no such thing. I give you my word that no one is here.”

  “I believe what Captain McCoy is asking, dear cousin, is what have you been doing since you are drenched in blood and I myself stabbed the spy in the gut? Could it be you are sheltering a spy at Magnolia Bluff?”

  The skin on her nape prickled as if evil breathed on her neck. Her heart lurched with fear. Breaking through the crowd of men, Buck Haynes rode up beside McCoy. His appearance had changed. His dirty hair fell down to his shoulders; his unkempt beard looked as though a bird had nested in it. Skinnier, his worn clothes hung loose about him, but his eyes…his eyes still held the same gleam of depravity.