“I know that. It’s all right, Clay. God knows our hearts, and He will help us to do what is right.”
And then Rena was there, and the two mounted and left the homestead. Rena talked most of the way home, explaining how she was going to get some new books and take them to Melora and the children.
Clay said little until they pulled up and dismounted. “Let’s go see how your grandfather is,” he suggested.
They found Thomas Rocklin out in the scuppernong arbor watching a flock of sparrows fight over the crumbs he threw them. “When a man’s good for nothing but feeding a bunch of dumb birds, it’s pretty bad, isn’t it, Clay?”
“How do you feel today?”
“Well—I feel more like I do now than I did before I felt like this.” Thomas laughed at the puzzled expression on Rena’s face. “Figure that out, girl.” He looked bad to Clay—his face was pale and his tall frame shrunken. Clay knew his father had a bad stomach, and the doctors could find no definite cause. Now Thomas smiled up at his son. “Sit down and tell me the news. When do you have to go back to the regiment?”
“In four days,” Clay said. “Let me tell you about my pigs.…” In the midst of his story, the sound of wheels on the bricks came to them. Clay paused briefly, glancing up to see his wife, Ellen, in her wheelchair. Clay nodded at her, said hello, then kept on with his story.
Ellen sat there listening and then, to the shock of the three across from her, cried out, “I knew you’d been to see that woman! I knew it! And to take your own daughter with you on your nasty business!”
Clay and Thomas stood up, both of them trying to speak.
“Ellen, it was just a visit—,” Clay began, but Ellen flew into a rage, cursing him.
“Rena,” Clay said sharply, “go to the house. Your mother’s not well.”
Rena, who had turned quite pale, ran at once to the house. As she fled, she heard her mother screaming obscenities and her father asking her to listen to reason. She ran upstairs and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in a pillow. She began to weep, her body torn with great sobs. After a time, she heard her door open and looked up quickly to see her grandmother, who came to her at once.
Susanna Rocklin sat on the edge of the bed and took the girl into her arms, holding her tightly, stroking her hair. “I wish you hadn’t heard that, Rena.”
“I hate her!” Rena sobbed. “She’s so mean to Daddy!”
“You must not hate her, child. She’s all mixed up inside. Has been for a long time. I know it’s hard, but you must not let hate get a hold on you. That would only hurt you…and none of us—not your grandfather, nor I, nor your father—could stand that!” Susanna waited until the girl’s sobs ceased, then held her at arm’s length. “Ellen is a difficult person, Rena, but she is your mother. Promise me you’ll let Jesus love her through you. It’s the only way any of us can love those who misuse us.”
Rena wiped the tears that still streamed down her cheeks. “How can I do that, Grandmother?”
“I’ll try to tell you.…” And the two sat there, the older woman speaking quietly, Rena listening intently.
Outside in the grape arbor, Thomas shook his head, grateful that Ellen had finally wheeled herself off. “I’m proud of you, son,” he said, looking at Clay. “Not many men would hang around and take the kind of punishment that woman hands out.” Thomas reached out to do something he couldn’t have done at one time, something that only the grace of God in his life and in Clay’s life made possible: He put his arm around Clay’s shoulder and said, “You’re a fine son to me. I couldn’t have had better!”
Inside, Ellen sat in her room, watching the two men from her window. Her mind was filled with rage, and she muttered, “That woman—she won’t have him! I’ll see to that!” She wheeled herself around, got some paper from her desk, and began scribbling furiously. When the letter was finished, she put it into an envelope, sealed it carefully with wax, then made her way to the front porch.
A tall young black was working on the yard, and he looked up when he heard his named called. Dropping his spade, he went to the porch and removed his hat. “Yas, Miz Rocklin?”
“Highboy, take this letter into Richmond. Take it to the Crescent Hotel and give it to the man at the desk.” She handed him a coin. “That’s for you, but this is nobody’s business but mine, you understand?”
“Yas, Miz Rocklin. I do it right now, but you hafta tell Miz Susanna why I didn’t finish—”
“Go on! Take one of the saddle horses!”
Ellen watched as the tall slave hurried to the stable, then came out five minutes later. She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared, then smiled cruelly.
“We’ll see about Miss Melora Yancy!” There was a wild light in her eyes, and she talked to herself as she wheeled away, muttering and laughing in a disturbing way.
CHAPTER 20
A DANGEROUS ASSIGNMENT
The letter came in an innocent-looking envelope, addressed simply to Miss Frankie Aimes, Hartsworth, Richmond, Virginia.
As soon as Paul handed it to her, saying, “Letter for you, Frankie,” a stab of fear shot through her.
She took the envelope and remarked casually, “Wonder who it could be from?” She broke the wax seal, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and read it quickly:
My dear niece,
I have just come from your home, and my brother informed me that you are now in Virginia working as a photographer. Needless to say, this came as quite a surprise to me. As you know, I have been in England for the last eighteen months, traveling extensively, so I did not get the news that you had left home.
I will be passing through Lake City, a small town in Virginia, on May 20. Unfortunately I cannot spare the time to get to Hartsworth, or even to meet you in Richmond. If, however, you could come to Lake City, we could have a short visit, and I would like that very much. We have been out of touch, and if we could have just a brief time together, we could get caught up on all the news. I will be staying at the Elite Hotel and hope that you can find the time to come.
Oh yes, my friend Allan will be with me, and he asks me to give you his encouragement to come. He remembers you with affection, and I know you would like to see him again.
Your loving uncle,
James Miller
“My friend Allan,” Frankie thought quickly. That’s Allan Pinkerton. I’ll have to go!
She looked up at Paul, who was reading a letter of his own. “It’s from my Uncle James,” she said. “My father’s brother. He’s going to be passing through Lake City, and he’d like for me to come and see him.”
“Lake City? Well, that’s not far. When will he be there?”
“On the twentieth. That’s the day after tomorrow.”
Paul was interested, for Frankie had never spoken of her family. “Would you like to go?”
“Oh yes. I’ve always liked Uncle James. He’s a businessman and travels a lot, but it would be nice, if you can spare me.”
Bristol shrugged. “I’m not sure it’d be good for you to ride a horse that far. Might not be good for that wound. I’ll drive you over in the big carriage.”
“Oh no!” Frankie spoke impulsively. “I can drive a buggy.”
Bristol was surprised at her adamant refusal. “I don’t mind, Frankie.”
“I know, but…” She thought desperately, then blurted out, “I—I don’t think Miss Luci would like it.” She saw Paul’s jaw harden and knew that he was going to be stubborn. “And she’s right, I think,” she said quickly. “It’s one thing for us to travel together to get pictures, but this is personal. I think it would be better for me to go alone.”
Paul seemed about to argue; then he sighed. “You’re right, of course. I’ll have one of the stable hands drive you. Or, if you insist, you can go alone if you’re sure you’re up to it.”
“Oh, I’d enjoy the drive, Paul!” Relief ran through Frankie, and she said lightly, “Look, I can hold my arm up now so easy!” She held up her right hand
triumphantly. “See? It’s almost as good as new.”
Bristol was pleased. “Just do me a favor and don’t ever get shot again, Frankie. It’s too hard on an old man’s nerves.” He smiled at her. “I’ll pay your salary before we leave, and maybe toss in a bonus for a job well done.”
“Oh, don’t do that!” Frankie protested. She was wearing a pair of beechnut-dyed men’s trousers and a long-sleeved cotton shirt partly covered by a brown vest buttoned halfway up. Bristol noticed that she’d gained back the weight she had lost while recovering from her wound, and from the color in her cheeks, no one would have suspected that she had been ill.
She felt his eyes on her and reddened slightly, saying, “Well, I’ll only be gone overnight.”
“When you get back, we’ll go to Richmond. My parents have been invited to some sort of party at Colonel Chesnut’s. They want you to go with us.”
“That would be nice, Paul. I’ll look forward to it.”
All that afternoon and through most of the night, Frankie thought about the summons from Tyler. When she finally left early on the morning of the twentieth, it was with a mixture of relief and apprehension. She drove the team easily, glad to discover that her wound was no problem. She was also glad to discover that Marianne had been right when she had assured her the scars were small and would grow less noticeable with the passage of time.
Frankie stopped twice for a drink of cool water, then at noon pulled over under the shade of some large hickory trees beside a small creek. She watered the horses and ate the lunch that Blossom had packed for her—sandwiches, boiled eggs, and sweet rolls. The food made her drowsy, and when she leaned back against one of the huge trunks and closed her eyes, the humming of bees and the warm air put her to sleep. Waking with a start, she looked at the sun, noting with relief that she hadn’t slept too long.
Guess I’m not fully recovered yet, she thought, stretching and yawning. Can’t remember the last time I had to take naps in the middle of the day!
Shadows were growing long as she pulled into Lake City. She put the buggy up at the livery stable, instructing the stubby hostler to grain the horses well. She was glad that the streets were mostly unoccupied and the stores were closing up—no one would be around to notice or remember her. But when she entered the hotel lobby, she found the same thin man who’d rented her a room before behind the desk.
He watched with interest as she came up to the desk. “Hello. Back again, I see.”
“Yes. I need a room just for tonight.”
“Take 216,” he said, and as Frankie signed her name, she was struck with apprehension. It’s bad that he remembers me. We should have used another place, she thought. But she took the small suitcase she’d packed and went to the room, which was a carbon copy of the last one she’d had, right down to the bed, dresser, and one straight chair. It took only a few moments to unpack her things and place them in the drawer of the shaky dresser. She removed her vest and shirt and sluiced away the dust from the road, then put them back on. There was nothing to do for the next hour but sit in the chair beside the window and watch the street below.
Finally it was time for the meeting, so she lit the lamp, turned it down low, and left the room. The restaurant was fairly busy, but there was no sign of Tyler or Pinkerton. Frankie smiled when she spotted a large hand-printed sign over the back wall next to the kitchen door: IF You DON’T LIKE OUR GRUB, DON’T EAT HERE! She moved to a table, and when the waitress said, “We got buffalo fish and pork chops,” she chose the fish. The wait for her food was long, and she was tempted to ask if they had to go to the lake and catch the fish, but she refrained. No sense in saying something that the waitress probably would remember her for.
She drank buttermilk while she waited, watching the patrons carefully. None of them looked like spies…but then she shook her head. How would I know what a spy looks like?
Finally her meal came, and though the fish was greasy, it was flaky and crisp. Taking a bite, she found she was very hungry and so finished all on her plate, including some turnip greens that had been added. The waitress came to ask if she wanted some blackberry pie, and she sampled that, too, along with something that was called “coffee” but was actually made from ground and roasted acorns. Still, it was hot and black, and glancing back at the sign, Frankie smiled and drank half of the bitter liquid.
Finally she rose and paid the bill, then left the restaurant. She had thought Tyler and Pinkerton would be there by now. For a woman, there was nothing at all to do in town to pass time—not for a young unescorted single woman, anyway. A man could go into one of the three bars to drink and gamble, but Frankie knew that if she even walked down the street, she would be noticed—just what she didn’t want. So with a sigh she mounted the stairs and entered her room. Turning up the lamp, she pulled the chair close to it and began to read the Bible that Sol Levy had given her.
The evening was warm, and there was little breeze coming through the open window—although mosquitoes and flies had no trouble finding their way in. Frankie ignored the pests, reading steadily. She was fascinated by the Bible, amazed at how it spoke to her. Before and after her conversion, she had tried to read the scripture but had given up in despair. It wasn’t until Marianne had taught her how to begin, and she’d become caught up in the gospels—especially the Gospel of John—that she’d found she could enjoy reading the Bible.
“The Spirit of God will teach you, Frankie,” Marianne had said. “You couldn’t understand the Bible before you were saved because only those who are born of the Spirit can understand and accept what is written there. Those who are lost have nothing in them to help them understand, but when you were saved, God put His Spirit in you. And the Spirit acts as a kind of interpreter for us. Pray as you read, and you’ll find that God will speak to you and help you understand His words.”
That had happened, and as Frankie read on, she was made more and more aware that the Christian life was basically knowing Jesus. Other things were important, but the joy in her came from the absolute certainty that somehow Jesus Christ was in her. She never heard voices, but there was a strong sense that she was not alone—and that was a wonderful thing!
Finally she grew sleepy and put the Bible down, then stretched out on the bed and drifted off to sleep. She came awake instantly when a faint knocking came at her door. Coming off the bed, she went to the door. “Who is it?”
“Your uncle James.”
Frankie unlocked the door, and at once Tyler stepped inside. He was wearing the same suit she’d seen him wear before, and he still carried the cane, though he seemed not to need it. The yellow lamplight fell on him, and he was smiling. “I’m glad to see you, Frankie,” he said quietly.
Frankie answered his smile and put her hand out. When he took it eagerly, she said, “I’m glad to see you, too, Tyler. Come and sit down.” She saw that his limp was very slight as he moved. “You’re walking better all the time.”
“Oh yes, but not enough to march with a full pack.” He sat down on the chair, and she came to sit on the bed. “Now how are you? Does the wound trouble you?”
“No, it’s almost well. If it had been a little lower, I don’t think I’d be here.”
“I was worried sick when I didn’t hear from you for so long!” Tyler blurted out. “When I got your letter, of course, you were out of danger, but it made me feel so helpless, knowing you’d been through that and all I’d done was sit around here! I almost came to Hartsworth to see how you were.”
“That would have been a mistake.”
“Sure, but when a fellow’s not thinking straight, he’s apt to make mistakes.” He studied her carefully, then nodded his approval. “You look good. Now tell me all about it.”
Frankie told the story. When she finished, Tyler said, “Sounds like Paul Bristol is a handy sort of fellow to have around, especially when you get shot.” He asked with a rather casual air, “How do you two get along?”
“Why, well enough, I suppose.”
Tyler shifted a little, seeming to hunt for words. “Well, he’s kind of a different man than most of the Rocklins, I guess. He always seemed caught up in things the rest of us didn’t really understand, his art and all. We always wondered why he never joined the war or married.”
“He’s engaged to a young woman now. Luci DeSpain.”
“Is that right? I hadn’t heard that it was official. What’s she like?”
“Very rich and beautiful.”
Tyler grinned suddenly. “Better than marrying a girl who’s poor and ugly!”
“You idiot!” Frankie laughed. She found herself very much at ease with Tyler, and for half an hour they talked, mostly about Tyler’s family. Finally he said, “Well, I guess you were pretty shocked to get my letter.”
“Yes. Especially the part about Pinkerton being here. Where is he?”
“Actually, he’s not coming.” Tyler shrugged. “It would be pretty dangerous, of course. But an agent came this morning with a set of instructions straight from him. Right now he’s with McClellan and the Army of the Potomac.”
“What does he want us to do?”
“If you’ll turn your back, I’ll fish it out and read it to you. I’m carrying it under my clothes.”
Frankie turned her head away, amused. As he struggled to get the packet from beneath his shirt, she said, “You weren’t so modest when I was nursing you.”
“I didn’t have any choice. Ah, here it is.” She turned back to him and saw him pulling a paper from an oilcloth pouch. He began to read, and Frankie listened to the message carefully. It outlined a highly complicated plan that called for the two of them to gather detailed information on the location and strength of Confederate troops and to pass it along to couriers. There were signs and countersigns and all sorts of precautions involved, and Frankie lost track of most of it. When Tyler finished, he replaced the paper in the pouch, saying, “Sounds like he wants more than we can deliver.”
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