Far back in Libbie’s mind an alarm bell rang when Annabelle mentioned Ora Lee’s appearance and Asa James. It resurrected the memory of an incident that had occurred not long after Libbie arrived at the Grove. Another beautiful woman down at the quarters had been forever scarred in a late-night accident witnessed only by Asa James. When Libbie took an interest, Walker ordered her to mind her own business. Remembering it just now made her feel ill. “I’ll send Malachi down to the quarters right away,” she said. “Ora Lee can help me clean out the new room. We’ll get acquainted that way. If Betty’s willing to teach her, and if she’s all you say, I won’t mind giving her a little time to learn.”
“You won’t be sorry, Miss Libbie.”
No, Libbie thought. She didn’t think she would. “As soon as you know who else you want, let Malachi know. It’s going to be a rush to do it, but let’s try to get everyone moved up here before nightfall.” She paused, emphasizing the words as she said, “Whoever you want, Annabelle. You know the people down in the quarters. You make the choices.”
Libbie left the kitchen to go up to the house and change into work clothes. She’d just stepped onto the back porch when Annabelle called to her from the kitchen doorway. “God bless you, Miss Libbie.”
Annabelle wasn’t expecting a response, and Libbie didn’t have one. She didn’t want to think about Asa James and the young girl named Ora Lee. She had to think about cleaning out the spinning room in time to preside over supper, lest Walker be upset. She would wear the simple red gingham dress and tie her hair up with a kerchief. Perhaps she would even leave the hoops hanging in her closet so that she could actually do some real work for a change.
Intending to head into the front hall and up the main stairs to her room, she stopped just inside the back door. When she heard rumbling male voices spilling out into the wide hall—among them, she thought, that of Asa James—she backpedaled. Instead of taking the main stairs, she opted for the steep flight intended for the servants.
Red gingham. Kerchief. Spinning room. Broom. She repeated the words to herself as a litany until, finally, the specter of Asa James faded.
Maggie had sunk into a numb stupor when hurried footsteps sounding on the board porch just outside Dr. Feeny’s waiting room made her start and jump up to greet whoever it was. It was the sheriff. He’d donned some kind of uniform. Confederate, Maggie realized.
Sheriff Green had no opportunity to give more than a greeting before Dr. Feeny appeared in the doorway that led into his examination room.
Again, the clutching fear returned, as Maggie tried to interpret the doctor’s expression.
“It will take some time,” the doctor said, “but he’s going to be all right.”
Relief flooded in, and Maggie sank back onto the chair where she’d been sitting. Dr. Feeny greeted the sheriff before sending Bridget to fetch Dix again. “I’d like his help with transferring Mr. Devlin to one of the cots in the infirmary.” He nodded at Maggie. “If you’ll follow me.” And then to the sheriff, “We should only be a moment.”
Still trembling, Maggie followed Dr. Feeny into the examination room where Paddy lay, still as death, his face pale beneath the bruises beginning to show around both eyes, one of which was already swollen shut. Maggie pressed the back of one hand against her lips to keep from crying out in protest.
“They dislocated his shoulder,” Dr. Feeny said. “I’m not certain, but I think the collarbone on that side may have been fractured.” He paused. “I’ve put the shoulder back in place, but it’s going to have to be immobilized for at least a couple of weeks. From the bruising on his torso, he’s been kicked. I’m suspecting at least three fractured ribs—unfortunately, on the opposite side of the shoulder injury. He’s going to be in a lot of pain.”
Maggie nodded, hardly able to take in all the things Dr. Feeny suspected might be wrong. Paddy hadn’t moved since she’d come into the room. “He—how long—” Her voice wavered. Finally, she managed to croak out a question as to when he might wake up.
“Hopefully not until tomorrow. I gave him a hefty dose of laudanum. Sleep is the best thing for him right now.”
“He—he isn’t unconscious?”
Dr. Feeny shook his head. “He felt his injuries in all their infernal glory—until the laudanum took effect.”
Maggie frowned. “But he didn’t cry out.”
“Toughest little man I’ve ever seen,” Dr. Feeny said. “He was more worried about you than himself. I reassured him that you’re fine.”
The sheriff had been standing in the doorway listening. “I wish you’d let me question him before you put him under,” he said.
Dr. Feeny didn’t hide his indignance at the implication that he’d done something wrong. “And I wish you’d come running the minute Miss Malone’s team charged past the jail. It had to be obvious there was something wrong.”
“As it happens,” the sheriff retorted, “I was not at the jail this evening.” He pointed to the braid on one sleeve of his gray jacket. “As you can see, there’s to be a change in the office of the county sheriff.”
“Then why isn’t whoever is taking your place here with you?” Dr. Feeny asked.
“I’ll be sure my replacement is fully apprised of the situation,” the sheriff said. “As soon as I know what the situation is.” He turned pointedly to Maggie. “Miss Malone? All I know is that when I was returning to Littleton from Wildwood Grove just now, it was obvious something terrible had taken place on your farm—and equally obvious that there was no one there. Barnabas Irving saw me ride into town and hurried over to tell me about seeing you race by with the team.” He glanced over at the doctor. “I did not so much as get off my horse, but came here immediately.”
Bridget returned with Dix. Dr. Feeny ordered her to sit with Maggie again, while Dix helped him move Paddy. “I’ve a couple of cots in the infirmary,” he said to Maggie. “And I’ll expect you to occupy one tonight. You’ve had a shock, and you need rest almost as much as Paddy. Sally will let you know when supper is ready, and I’ll expect you to eat in the house with Bridget and me.” Next, he spoke to the sheriff. “I’ll thank you to wait until we’ve returned from transferring Paddy to speak further with Miss Malone. I may be able to offer helpful information for your investigation. Paddy was quite talkative until I administered the laudanum.”
The sheriff cocked an eyebrow. “And?”
“And we’ll speak of it after Miss Malone has a moment to gather her thoughts.” Without another word, Dr. Feeny and Dix left the waiting room. The sheriff stepped back outside, where Maggie could hear him pacing back and forth beneath the overhang, clearly unhappy at being ordered about by Dr. Feeny.
After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Feeny emerged from the infirmary, crossed to the waiting room door, and summoned the sheriff back inside. “Paddy’s resting. Dix will stay with him until we’re finished here.”
Clearing his throat, the sheriff directed his first question at Dr. Feeny. “You said you talked to Mr. Devlin while you were tending him?”
The doctor nodded. “He didn’t recognize anyone. Said he thought they were outsiders. Rebels, he said.”
The sheriff grunted. “How could he possibly know that?”
“One said something about making General Price proud,” the doctor said. “And a couple of them had accents. Deep South.”
“Not soldiers,” the sheriff said. “True soldiers would never attack the defenseless in such a cowardly manner. Bushwhackers, more than likely.” He shook his head. “I’d hoped all that nonsense would stay upriver where it started.” With a sigh, he pulled up a chair and sat opposite Maggie. “Tell me everything you can remember—and I do mean everything. Every detail. Something you think unimportant could be just the thing that helps us find them.” He looked away for a moment. Cleared his throat. “They didn’t… um… hurt you, did they?”
“As you can see, I’m fine.”
“Of course.” The sheriff hesitated. “I merely wanted to make certain
that no outrage was committed against you… personally.”
It took a moment for Maggie to comprehend the meaning. When she did, she felt her face flush bright red. “No.” Just the thought renewed her fierce regret that she had only managed to wound one of the six men. “I wasn’t even there at first. I’d taken Kerry-boy and gone hunting.”
She thought of the lone rabbit she’d dropped just over the hill. The dead cow. The mayhem inside the house. And finally, the burlap bag tied to one of the men’s saddle horns. Chickens. She swore softly.
“Ma’am?”
“My chickens,” Maggie said. “One of those sons of—one of them had a burlap bag tied to the saddle horn. I just realized it was probably full of chickens.”
“You were going to tell me exactly what happened. You’d gone hunting?”
With a nod, Maggie recounted everything she could remember about the incident, beginning with Kerry-boy sounding the alarm.
“And you’re certain that you didn’t recognize anyone. A voice? A limp? Anything at all?”
Maggie shook her head. “The horses were—poor. Bays, mostly—but—” She paused, trying to remember. Something about the horses. “When the last one reined his horse about… there was white… almost as if someone had splashed it with whitewash on the off side.” She frowned. “Only the neck—I think.” She frowned. “Maybe a splotch on its flanks. I’m not sure.”
“Anything else? What about hair color? Did they have beards or mustaches?”
“I—I’m sorry. I was too—it all happened so fast. Some had beards, I think. But it’s—it’s just a blur.”
“Were they white?”
“Yes. At least two of them probably have bite marks or slashes on their hands or arms from Kerry-boy. From the way one of them yelped, I think I might have hit him. Well enough to make him drop his weapon, at least. But it probably isn’t serious. He grabbed the gun back up before he ran.” She looked away for a moment, murmuring, “Uncle Paddy wanted me to get Da’s pistol out.” She glanced toward the doorway that led into Dr. Feeny’s examination room again. “We were going to do some practice shooting with it tomorrow.” Her voice wavered. Pressing her lips together, Maggie willed her tears away. Anger flared up, and she fanned the flames, not only with the memory of Paddy’s still form lying in the middle of the corral, but also with images of the dead cow… her rocking chair sailing out the back door of the house… Mam’s cream pitcher, shattered… flames licking at the floor just beyond the hearth. And suddenly, the memory of Walker Blair talking to Paddy over the garden fence. She blurted it out. “Walker Blair might know something.”
The sheriff seemed to stiffen. He cleared his throat. “Now, ma’am. That’s a mighty serious accusation.”
Maggie lifted her chin. “He and Uncle Paddy had what seemed to be a very serious conversation across the garden fence one morning not long ago.” She paused. She’d been about to mention how Paddy had started carrying his old musket with him everywhere he went not long after that, but the sheriff’s new uniform made her hold back. That and the knowledge that he’d just said he’d been “visiting” at Wildwood Grove. She chose her next words carefully. “I’m not accusing him of anything. I only wonder if he might have knowledge of resentments brewing. Things he might have mentioned to Uncle Paddy—by way of being neighborly.”
The sheriff took a deep breath. He nodded and got back to his feet. “All right, then. I’ll ride out to the Grove first thing in the morning and see if Walker—uh, Mr. Blair—might know anything.” He put his hat back on, pausing at the door just long enough to say, “I am very sorry for what you’ve endured, Miss Malone. It is an unfortunate reality that men of low moral character often take advantage of troubled times.” With a little jerk on the brim of his hat by way of a salute, the sheriff took his leave.
Chapter 5
The sound of someone muttering her name brought Maggie back to the land of the living. She jerked awake and glanced outside. Gray light. She hadn’t thought she would sleep at all, and here she’d slept the night away. She hadn’t even heard Dr. Feeny coming and going. A hoarse voice spoke her name again. Paddy had opened his eyes and was looking over at her. She sat up. He grimaced and tried to raise his head.
Rising to her feet, she stepped to Paddy’s cot and put her hand on his forearm. “Don’t try to get up. Dr. Feeny wants to keep you here for a few days, but you’re going to be all right.”
Paddy frowned. Cleared his throat and croaked one word. “You?”
“I’m fine. I—we—Kerry-boy and I chased them off.”
Paddy gave a soft grunt. “Amazing. You.”
“I’m not,” she protested. “I only managed to get two shots off. They got away.”
He grimaced. “The place?”
“We’ll have it back to normal in no time,” Maggie lied. Paddy didn’t need to hear about the dead cow. He didn’t need to worry over the churned-up garden or the missing chickens or the scorched floorboards. For a long while, Maggie thought he might have fallen back to sleep, but when she took a step toward the door with the intention of going to the well for water, he stirred.
“Jack. Seamus,” he croaked. “Get them home.” He took another shuddering breath. “I’m useless,” he said. “You… alone… not safe.”
“Don’t you be worrying over me or anything else.” Maggie forced confidence into her voice. “Dix saw to Banner and Babe. They’re rested and well fed. Kerry-boy and I will be heading home soon.”
Paddy protested. “Not alone.”
“Well, of course not alone. I’m not an idgit, to be venturing out there alone in the wake of bushwhackers. Sally’s to sit with you, and Dr. Feeny and Dix will go with me to reconnoiter. After we see what’s to be seen, we’ll make a plan.”
For a moment she thought Paddy had fallen back to sleep, but then he said he had something important for her to do. He told her in bursts of language and then made her repeat it. “Four boards from the knothole beneath the front window. A key, wrapped in a rag. Next, pry up the board beneath the rag rug I made. Another board with a knothole in it. And bring you the black metal box.”
Paddy nodded. “Put it in the bag. Leather. By the door.”
“I’ll see to it,” Maggie promised, “and bring it to you.”
The deep creases across Paddy’s forehead relaxed. Maggie looked up as Dr. Feeny entered the clinic by way of the back door. “Here’s Dr. Feeny now, come to check on you.” She bent to kiss the old man’s weathered cheek. “I’ll give you a full accounting by this afternoon—and, hopefully, news that the sheriff has identified the varmints responsible and set out after them.”
Doubt sounded in the tone of Paddy’s grunted response—doubt that Maggie was inclined to share, especially now that Sheriff Green had donned a uniform. But Paddy didn’t need to worry about any of that. He just needed to heal. While he healed, Maggie would take care of everything.
It was mid-morning by the time Dr. Feeny and Dix were ready to accompany Maggie back to the farm. While he was doing his best to appear relaxed, Maggie noticed that the doctor kept his grip firm on the rifle cradled in his arms and his gaze fixed on the horizon. Kerry-boy and Dix rode behind them in the wagon bed.
When movement rustled a stand of tall grass just ahead of them, Dr. Feeny took aim. Dix grabbed a handful of Kerry-boy’s fur, forcing him to stay in the wagon. A massive hog stepped out of the tangle of grass into the road, and Maggie laughed with relief. “It’s only Hermione,” she said. “She’s Uncle Paddy’s prize sow.” She shifted in the seat, looking past Hermione and into the tall grass. “She had a dozen shoats. I wonder where they are.” Had the rest of the bushwhackers had burlap bags, too? A man could easily carry a shoat that way.
Dix nodded at Hermione. “She mean?”
Maggie shook her head. “Practically a pet.”
“Then you just hold up a minute and I’ll load her in the back.”
Maggie was doubtful. Hermione probably weighed nearly three hundred pounds.
Maggie pulled the wagon alongside Hermione. Dix jumped down and dropped the tailgate. Leaning over the sow, he clasped his hands beneath her belly and hoisted her into the wagon bed. She barely had time to squeal a protest before he had the tailgate back in place.
With a sharp bark and a snarl, Kerry-boy jumped down and tore off in the direction of home. At Maggie’s side, Dr. Feeny again readied the rifle. Dix rummaged in the toolbox they’d brought along to make repairs easy, and when Maggie glanced back, he was standing tall, a hammer clenched in his fist.
Three riders came into view. Maggie recognized Sheriff Green’s white horse. Or was it former Sheriff Green by now? She kept the team moving, pulling them up only when the sheriff and the other two riders—who proved to be Walker Blair and a man Maggie recognized but whose name she couldn’t recall—got within earshot.
“What happened back there,” Mr. Blair said before the sheriff could speak, “is unconscionable.” He removed his hat and nodded at Maggie. “May I offer the services of some of my boys to help you put things to right?”
At mention of “boys” Maggie thought slaves, and then she realized who the other man was. Asa James, Blair’s plantation overseer. Was Blair offering to send slaves onto her place? Newly aware of Dix’s presence in the wagon bed behind her and feeling self-conscious and strangely rankled by the man’s genteel tone of voice, Maggie said, “Thank you, but we’ll see to things.” She shifted her attention to the sheriff. “Did you find anything to suggest who they were?”
Green shook his head. “That doesn’t mean we won’t.” He glanced over at Mr. Blair. “We’re on our way into Littleton right now to settle the matter of who’s to take over the office now that I’m serving with the Wildwood Guard.”
Daughter of the Regiment Page 5