“No need to rush. I just wanted to bring this dress in for you to wear. I’ll just put it on the bed and leave it there for you.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, and held her breath until she heard the door close and Hazel had left the room.
Ready to be dressed now in this stranger’s house, Claire toweled off, and ventured out to examine the dress she had left laid out on the bed.
It was a solid brown dress—not particularly fashionable, but tasteful nonetheless. It had a high neckline and long sleeves. But most of all, it was clean. No mud. No blood.
Claire slipped it on over her head and held the extra material at the waist in her hand. Perhaps her hostess had a belt she could wear around her waist.
“Mrs. Ketchens,” Claire said, opening the door a crack.
Hazel immediately appeared at the door. “Much better,” she said.
“Do you have a belt of some type?” Claire asked, indicating the overly large fit at the waist of the dress.
Seeming to consider, Hazel went into the bedroom and opened a trunk. She handed her a dark green sash which Claire tied around her waist to take up the extra material.
Feeling civilized again, Claire followed Hazel into the kitchen.
Hazel had made a breakfast of eggs and biscuits. The food was fresh and so much better than hardtack. She told her so.
“We’ve been fortunate,” Hazel told her. “The Yankees have gone south and mostly skirted around Natchitoches.”
“How far are we from Natchitoches?” Claire asked, finishing her breakfast.
“We’re right on the edge of town. Is that where you’re headed?”
“I’m headed to my aunt’s house. She lives in Natchitoches.”
“What’s your aunt’s name? Perhaps I know her.”
“Becky Whitman.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. I do know her.”
Hope bloomed within Claire’s heart. She was so close to her aunt’s house which meant that her grandfather could find her. But the expression on Hazel’s face quickly faded her optimism.
“You haven’t heard?” she asked.
Claire shook her head slowly, pushed her plate back away from the edge of the table and braced herself.
“I’m afraid your Aunt Becky succumbed to illness last winter and passed into the next life.”
“What?” Claire swallowed the lump in her throat.
“She died.”
Claire shook her head. “How? Grandpa just got a letter from her a couple of months ago.”
“I’m not sure. She took ill. I don’t know the details. And you know how slow the mail is with the war.”
Claire couldn’t move. Her thoughts collided upon each other. Aunt Becky gone? How could that be?
“I’m sorry dear,” Hazel was saying.
“Thank you,” Claire said automatically. She was sorry for the loss of her aunt. Especially for Grandpa. Becky had been his last living child. He would be devastated.
“What about her home?”
“I heard tell it was taken over by a Yankee officer and his wife. You don’t want to go there.”
Daniel came to the door and called Hazel to come outside. Hazel left Claire to herself.
Claire washed her plate, dried it, and put it away.
Then she went into the sitting room and, perching on a chair, waited for her hostess to return.
What was she to do now? She was supposed to meet Grandpa at Aunt Becky’s. But Aunt Becky was dead and her house was occupied by the enemy. How would he find her?
She shouldn’t have left him in Grand Ecore. Something had to be done.
As she struggled to grasp a way out of her situation, Hazel returned from outside. She stood blocking the door, her hands on her hips.
“How did you come to be in possession of a Yankee horse?” she asked.
“A northern soldier gave it to me. He was trying to keep me safe.”
“Just gave you his horse. And his provisions. And his gun.” Hazel brought the gun out of her skirts, held it up.”
The hairs at the back of Claire’s neck bristled.
“Are you a horse thief or a traitor?” she asked.
“I’m neither. We were set up by Yankees in Grand Ecore. The soldier put me on the horse and told me to go. My grandfather told me to meet him at Aunt Becky’s house.”
“I sent Richard to town to fetch the marshal.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
“I find it difficult to trust a southerner who happens to be in possession of a horse that doesn’t belong to her. Especially a horse that belongs to the enemy.”
“I assure you it was happenstance. He was merely trying to defend my honor.”
“Is that so? It’s hard for me to imagine a Yankee defending anyone’s honor.”
“I’m sorry you don’t believe me, but that’s the way it happened.”
Claire bristled at the woman’s close-minded outlook on the Yankee soldier who had doubtlessly saved her life.
“We’ll see what the marshal says when he gets here. We can’t very well have a horse thief running around, now can we?”
“He gave it to me,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
“It’s out of my hands now.”
“I’ll just go,” Claire said, standing up. “I appreciate you letting me come in out of the rain, but I won’t impose on you anymore.”
“Oh, no, missy,” Hazel said, putting her hands on her ample hips. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Claire sank back into the chair. Her heart sank to her toes. She was a prisoner.
Again.
Chapter Fourteen
Jeffrey pulled himself up. His eyes stung from the smoke. He had to get away. Stumbling through the chaos, he followed the others who were running.
At least thirty people fought to escape the smoke. What must have been the entire community of Grand Ecore.
Once they were away from the worst of the smoke and embers, Jeffrey rubbed his eyes and looked around at the others who appeared to be equally disoriented.
He struggled to piece together what had happened to him. He had been captured, but then through the commotion of the Yankee setting fire to everything in their path, he had managed to escape.
Claire had not been so fortunate. She probably hadn’t even known what had hit her. His eyes stung from tears and smoke.
He began to walk faster. He needed to get away. Anywhere.
Someone called his name.
He stumbled a little. Who would know him here?
He looked around and heard his name again.
There in the wagon. It was Grandpa!
The older man rode in a wagon full of people. Jeffrey jogged closer to the wagon, his gaze searching frantically for Claire.
He walked alongside the wagon. “I thought you were lost in the fire,” he said.
“There was a man who helped us escape.”
Us. Did he dare hope? “Claire?” he asked, the word barely audible, his heart in his throat.
“She got out,” Grandpa told him. “There was a soldier who gave her his horse.”
“A soldier? Yankee or Southern?”
“Yankee I think.”
“That’s unusual.”
Grandpa scrubbed his chin, shook his head. “Darnedest thing I’ve ever seen, but he saved her from the other Yankees.”
“Where did she go?”
“I told her to meet me at Becky Whitman’s house in Natchitoches.”
Relief flooded through his veins. Claire was not only safe, but he would be able to find her. “Let’s go get her,” he said.
Worry played about Grandpa’s brows. “That might be a problem. She doesn’t know the way.”
Jeffrey glanced around. It just became imperative that they search for Claire. “That’s not the only problem,” he said.
Grandpa made his way toward the back of the wagon, asked the driver to hold up, and slipped off the back with Jeffrey’s help. “What other p
roblem are we looking at?”
“God help her if the Yankees find her with that horse.”
Although Claire waited on pins and needles all afternoon for the marshal, he never showed up. Perhaps he had more important things to do than question a girl who happened to have a Yankee horse in her possession.
Daniel returned and continued to do chores. Claire wondered if the boy was related to Hazel. They looked nothing alike. The boy was tall and slim, dark-skinned. Hazel was short and heavy, her skin pale as snow.
Although Claire had found her kind earlier, it seemed that the kindness was merely a ruse.
“You need to wash that dress you wore in here and while you’re at it, you can wash that pile of clothes over there.” Hazel nodded toward a pile of clothes two feet high that she had gathered.
Claire did as she was directed. She took the washtub, the washboard, and the clothes out back and, after filling the tub with hot water, began scrubbing. She didn’t mind the work. She wasn’t accustomed to being idle. And it would keep Hazel’s attention from her while she tried to determine how to get herself out of this predicament.
While she scrubbed her own dress she had worn here, her eyes teared up. How would she ever find Grandpa, much less Jeffrey?
Her hands busy, she studied her surroundings. Daniel was only a few yards away, chopping wood. He glanced at her. Was he charged with keeping an eye on her?
It would be easy enough to walk away. The area was wooded here behind the house. Where would she go? Anyplace would be better than here.
She needed to take her horse with her, but she hadn’t seen the horse since Daniel had taken him away this morning.
Two hounds raced by and Claire lowered her gaze back to the soapy tub. A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the washboard. She would probably never see Romeo again. He would search for her, but it would be impossible for him to find her. She grieved for her lost companion.
And cursed the war. The war that took everything away from her. She knew she wasn’t alone in this, but found that to be of no comfort.
Men and their wars destroyed everything.
Would it never end?
She watched Daniel. The lad who never spoke.
Tonight, she decided.
Tonight, she would slip out of the house and locate her horse. It was her horse, after all. The soldier had given it to her.
She would slip out, find her horse, and be out of here.
In the meantime, she would do nothing to bring suspicion to herself.
She rinsed out the dress, hung it on a clothesline, and went to the next garment. It appeared to be one of Daniel’s shirts.
Twice she had to stop and replace the soapy water with fresh water from the well. Her hands began to ache. She had never done this much wash at one time. She had kept the clothes clean for her and Grandpa. She didn’t like to let chores build to an unmanageable amount like this
Daniel, in the meantime, chopped wood, and stacked it neatly by the back door.
When he finished that, he disappeared inside the house for a few minutes, then returned with a butter churn.
Claire slowed down and took her time with the clothes. It appeared that Hazel had a never ending supply of chores to be done.
She had enjoyed her bath, but if she’d known the payment, she would have declined the offer.
With the last sock washed and hung to dry, she emptied the washtub and returned it to its place.
The fireflies came out and lent a peacefulness to the evening.
Under other circumstances, it would have been a lovely evening.
She went around to the front door. Hesitated. Then knocked.
Hazel came to the door. “Come on in here,” she said. “It’s time for your supper.”
Claire’s stomach growled in response.
“You worked hard today,” Hazel said. “My old hands won’t let me do wash like I used to. I kindly appreciate your help.”
Feeling a twinge of guilt at her harsh thoughts toward the woman, Claire sat at the table and accepted the biscuit and jelly offered by the older woman. “Thank you.”
After she ate, Claire shored up her nerves. “What did you do with my horse?” she asked.
“Daniel took it to the marshal,” she said. “As evidence.”
Claire’s stomach dropped. She truly was stranded here. With no horse.
Jeffrey and Grandpa stood in downtown Natchitoches watching the people rush about here and there. There were some things war didn’t change.
They had been to Aunt Becky’s house, but Claire had never shown up. Jeffrey had secured them a room at the inn off Main Stress and Aunt Becky had strict instructions to send word the minute Claire showed up on her doorstep.
Natchitoches had been fortunate. The Yankees had spared burning it. The town of Grand Ecore had been burned to the ground.
Jeffrey’s attention was drawn to an auction near the river. The man was selling everything from tables, to a barrel of apples, to a horse.
A horse?
“Didn’t you tell me a soldier put Claire on a horse and sent her away? A Yankee soldier?”
“That’s right,” Grandpa said, following Jeffrey’s gaze.
As the auctioneer had the horse brought forward, the two men moved closer to join those taking part in the auction.
The horse had full Yankee saddle bags and saddle.
It was odd, even for southerners to have access to a horse that they were willing to sell. Unless…
Jeffrey held up his hand once the bidding commenced.
After a few rounds, the auctioneer declared Jeffrey the winner.
“How are you gonna pay for that?” Grandpa asked.
“I’ll figure it out,” Jeffrey said, moving to the front of the crowd to claim his horse.
Grandpa’s eyes widened when Jeffrey pulled out Federal money to pay for the horse. The auctioneer, who took the money, also had a surprised expression, but likely didn’t want to risk the money disappearing.
“Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” the auctioneer said.
“Ha,” Jeffrey responded, as he took the horse’s reins and led him away from the crowd.
Once they had enough privacy to speak freely, Grandpa turned to Jeffrey. “You planning on going someplace?”
“You never know.”
Jeffrey dug through the saddlebags, finding the typical hardtack, etc. Then, in one bag that obviously wasn’t Federal issued, he found a book.
A copy of Jane Eyre.
Both Jeffrey and Grandpa recognized the book. Claire had carried it with her since the house burned.
“This was the horse,” Jeffrey said.
“But where is Claire?”
“I don’t know. But someone took her horse. And we have to find her.”
Hazel insisted that Claire take the guest bedroom. Still wearing the brown dress Claire slipped beneath the blankets. The bed felt heavenly after sleeping on the ground last night.
It was unfortunate that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.
Once the house was quiet, she slipped out of bed, fully dressed, and tiptoed through the kitchen to the front door.
Ever so slowly turned the knob and opened the door.
Daniel was on his feet in an instant, blocking her exit.
She attempted to walk around him, but he moved with her
“Let me pass,” she hissed.
“Miss Hazel said no. You must stay.”
“You can’t keep me here,” Claire said. “I’m not a prisoner.”
The boy shrugged. “Looks like you might be.”
Claire pushed past him, but he took her arm and pulled her back into the house. “You should sleep,” he said. “Whatever you do, you do not want to wake Miss Hazel.”
Claire didn’t care if Hazel got her sleep or not.
“Do you mind if I sit here for a moment?” she asked, gesturing to the front porch where Daniel sat guarding the door.
He studied her a moment, then slid a
chair over for her to sit in.
“Is Hazel your mother, or grandmother?” Claire asked.
“Nah. She just takes care of me.”
“How did you end up here?”
“My mother died and my father couldn’t take care of me. He took me to the church when I was five and asked if anybody would take me.”
“Hazel took you?”
“Yeah. I’ve been living here ever since. I guess about seven years.”
“That’s a long time. What happened to your father?”
“He went out west.”
“Do you hear from him?”
“Nah. I don’t even know if he’s alive anymore.”
“That’s a sad story.”
Daniel shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Does she treat you right? Hazel?”
“She feeds me and I do the work.”
“What about school?”
“I ain’t never been to school.”
“Really? Do you read and write?”
“Hazel said I don’t need to know how.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“It’s ok. When I’m old enough, I’m going out west, too.”
“Does Hazel know this?”
“We don’t really talk.” He kept his eyes downcast.
An owl hooted in the tree above them. Claire shivered. And was reminded why she didn’t want to be in the woods alone, especially without a horse and gun.
Daniel was basically a servant. Hazel kept him here to do her chores and paid him in food. Uneducated, he didn’t know any better.
“Where’s my horse?” she asked.
“I took it to the auction.”
“Auction?”
“Yeah, there’s some folks in town who sell stuff you don’t want.”
“So, who gets the money?”
“Miss Hazel gets it, I think. Or at least some of it. I heard them talking about how they only give half to the seller.”
“They should get a lot of money for a good horse.”
“I’m sure they will. We don’t have no horses like that around here.”
“She could have just kept it.”
“She ain’t got no use for a horse.”
“Or you could have left with it.”
“I may not be worth much, ma’am, but I ain’t no thief.
“Daniel,” she said. Waited until he looked up at her. “Who’s horse do you think that was?”
Hearts Under Fire Page 15