"Rebecca…"
"I know, Miss Allison. It reminds me of it, too."
Allison's lips quivered. She turned her head and watched the white fence trail by as the man urged the horses past the front of the mansion, past the stone paddocks, and on toward a smaller house that sat amid its own cathedral of trees.
"This is where you'll live," Glenn explained. "You'll find almost everything you'll need for the night—including food for your supper."
"Will you be wantin' us to do any work tonight, Major?" Flood asked.
"Not after the horses are put up. It's been a long trip. Just get settled, and I'll see you first thing tomorrow, Mr. Tompkins."
Madrigal giggled at Flood's being called "mister," but she quickly stopped when Rebecca's frown chastened her.
Glenn turned to Madrigal. "There's a water pump in the yard." He watched in amusement as Madrigal held up her skirts and jumped from the carriage. Without waiting to retrieve her bundle, she ran toward the pump.
The others were more sedate in getting down from the carriage. Flood went first, then the black woman with the baby. And finally Allison stepped down, smoothed her skirts, and turned to Glenn.
"Thank you, Major, for your kindness to us. We'll make certain that you won't ever regret taking us in."
He felt vaguely uncomfortable with her amethyst eyes looking at him with such sincerity. "There's a lot to do, ma'am, to keep this place running. It won't be an easy job, what with the tobacco to be harvested and dried, and the vegetables and fruits to be preserved for the winter."
"Will you be here for harvest season?" Allison asked.
"No. I leave in two days to rejoin my cavalry unit." He turned to Flood. "You'll find fodder in the barn for the horses and foals, Mr. Tompkins. Be sure to give these animals a rubdown before you feed them."
Flood's eyes widened as he motioned for her to take over the carriage. Seeing her distress, Allison quickly said, "I think I'll ride with you, Flood, if you don't mind. Maybe I can help you rub down the horses."
Glenn turned the reins over to Flood and strolled down the lane, past the scuppernong arbor, and walked into the house from the flagstone terrace.
"Be careful, Flood," Allison whispered. "Just give the horses a slight nudge with the reins and they'll head to the barn."
"Oh, Lordy, Allison. I'm so glad you're with me. I thought for a scared second I was gonna have to shut my peepers and go it blind."
Allison laughed. "You sound just like Madrigal."
"Well, I expect I feel better than she does. I didn't want to say anything in front of her, but we got us a problem. I think Madrigal's in the family way."
A worried Allison put her hand over to adjust the reins in Flood's hands while the horses continued to the barn. "I was afraid of that."
The stone-walled paddocks held only a few foals, loping and kicking up their heels in a last romp before they settled down for the night. They were beautiful, with glistening brown coats and straight, finely boned legs—the mark of excellent blood stock. And beyond the barn, golden fields of tobacco had already matured, with the plant tops cut off, giving strength to the few carefully selected leaves on each stalk.
Looking at the ventilated barns set in the middle of the fields, Allison knew that an arduous, backbreaking task awaited them. She would have been much more sure of herself if the fields had contained cotton instead.
"Tomorrow, Flood, you'll have to listen extra well to Major Meadors when he explains how to cut and cure the tobacco."
"You don't know how to do it, either, Allison?"
"Not really. I visited an uncle in Virginia one time. But the tobacco barns looked different in his fields. I guess the thing you'll have to make certain about is whether the tobacco is supposed to be sun-cured or fire-cured."
"Maybe you could talk to Major Meadors tomorrow, Allison."
"No, that wouldn't do at all, Flood. He thinks you're a man. And for the next two days, we don't dare tell him any different. The conversation will have to be man to man."
As the horses came to a stop before the barn, Allison climbed down and began to show Flood how to remove the harness reins from the animals. "You might ask him, though, if he has a book or pamphlet on tobacco. He wouldn't mind that. And then we could read it together."
Flood sighed. "Now if this was a mill…"
Allison felt sorry for Flood, looking so lost and dejected. "We'll manage, Flood. I know we will."
"I hope you're right, Allison."
While the two women worked in the barn rubbing down the carriage horses, the other two were equally busy. Rebecca built a fire on the kitchen hearth of the cottage as the hungry Madrigal raced to the vegetable garden for fresh beans and tomatoes. And then, when the foals had been brought in from the paddock and they bellied up to the trough of oats mixed with sorghum, Rebecca's batter bread was baking in the beehive oven, a smaller version of the one at Rose Mallow.
Later, in the candlelight, when Morrow had been put to bed in one of the drawers taken from the bedroom chest, and the four exhausted women were sitting around the kitchen table, a peacefulness bound them to each other. They bowed their heads and held hands as they began their nightly ritual of thanksgiving.
"Lord, you have delivered us out of the wilderness," Allison prayed. "Give us strength for the tasks ahead. Amen."
The women rose, snuffed out the candle, and went to bed. They slept soundly for the first time in many days.
Inside the redbrick mansion, another ritual was taking place—and Glenn Meadors was conducting it—a meeting of the Sons of Liberty: Northerners and Westerners sympathetic to the Confederacy. The secret society, composed of 23,000 men divided into lodges, had spread from Missouri to Indiana, Kentucky, and Illinois, with a lodge in New York, as well.
"Gentlemen, I leave two days from now to join Shelby's cavalry in time for General Price's invasion of Arkansas. And we won't stop until we've wrested all of Missouri from Rosecrans. Once the flag flies in St. Louis, that will be your signal to show which side you're on."
"Have you heard what's happened to our lodge brother, the Belgian consul in St. Louis?"
"Rosecrans has arrested him for the second time—even after Lincoln ordered the general to release him."
"I find that hard to believe, especially since the man has resorted to no attack whatsoever on the Union."
"Rosecrans doesn't need a reason. He sees Confederate sympathizers behind every tree."
The six men laughed. Then they stood up as Glenn stood. The meeting was terminated.
"It's been a long day, gentlemen," Glenn said. "But the future seems a little brighter tonight, with Price headed toward Rosecrans."
The men shook hands. "Godspeed to you, Captain Meadors," one whispered. And in the dark of night they crept out of the house, one by one, mounted their horses, and galloped down the long fenced drive away from the redbrick mansion.
In the cottage, Allison awoke. She lifted her head and listened to the pounding of hoofbeats for a moment. After their disappearance, she placed her head on her pillow and went back to sleep.
That night, the rains began, slowly at first, delicately trickling down the large leaves of tobacco and settling the dust along the paths and lanes. In steady tempo, the drops upon the cottage roof became a musical sound—a fragile Chinese tune played upon a tin flute.
Farther west, along the banks of the Ohio River, the rain had changed into a deluge, with the added fury of sound and thunder. Lightning flashed, revealing a rider suddenly veering off from the main path and pulling up into a canebrake only moments before other riders galloped by.
The man's blue uniform, covered in the dusty legacy of the long road he'd just traveled, was now soaking wet. Water cascaded in rivulets from his wide-brimmed felt hat down his strong, severe face, but he didn't appear to notice. Like some stone statue in the middle of a town square, he sat immobile. Then, finally deeming it safe to move, he came to life again and left the canebrake behind.
&n
bsp; Major Rad Meadors, dark of eye, with hair as black as night, seldom smiled in the best of times. Heaven knows, he'd had little to smile about lately. The worry over the way the war was going had been compounded by his worry over the plantation he'd left behind.
God, how he missed the land—the smell of the tobacco leaves drying in the fields and the fragrant breath of the blue flowers covering the meadows. He reached down and patted Bourbon Red, the sire of the only foals he'd been able to keep—the last of the bloodline.
"One day soon we'll go home, old boy," he promised. He looked toward the southeast where angry clouds had gathered in a dark funnel. Bluegrass Meadors was in that same direction.
As Bourbon Red broke into a gallop, Major Rad Meadors, of the U.S. Cavalry, prayed that his brother, Glenn, had been able to find someone suitable to work the farm until the war was over.
Chapter 25
Allison paced up and down while she waited for Flood to return from her interview with Major Meadors. The rain had not let up. On this late August day in Kentucky, the rains announced a new season just as surely as the June rains along the Chattahoochee had christened the beginning of summer.
But a lifetime had elapsed—a way of life had vanished forever in the space of those three short months. Allison was no longer the woman she'd been that day at the memorial service for her husband. A new creature, tempered by hardship, now inhabited the same body. Her dreams were gone, dying a little at a time on the rail line from Marietta to Louisville—a trip into hell as certain as the one Dante had taken into his Inferno.
Now, through a stroke of luck, she had emerged from that hell with the other three women, and for that she was grateful.
While she watched, Flood began walking down the path. Allison released the lace curtain at the cottage window and walked out to meet her on the small porch that only partially sheltered her from the rain.
Eagerly, Allison said, "Well, Flood, how did the interview go?"
"As well as could be expected, I suppose. At least it's over with."
"He didn't question your…manhood?"
"No, I don’t think so. He was in a hurry, really, to get the interview behind him. Because of the rain, the major's decided to leave early this afternoon, rather than wait until tomorrow."
"Did you find out about the tobacco?"
"Yes. It's supposed to be sun-dried. We'll have to start cutting as soon as the sun comes out and soaks up the rain."
As Flood followed Allison inside, she pulled out a small ledger from her pocket. "He gave me this when I asked for something on growin' tobacco. It's one of the journals he kept. Said it might come in useful, with the record of everything—when he planted, when he harvested, and where he got some more seed when they lost the plants to hail one year. And the major said there're others in the library if this one doesn't have everything in it we need."
"That's wonderful, Flood." Allison took the proffered journal and placed it on the desk in the parlor. She would begin reading it that very afternoon once the women had gathered together for a meeting. The chores needed to be divided up so that no one would have more than she could do.
"Where's Madrigal?" Flood asked.
"She's eating her breakfast," Allison responded. "I didn't say anything about her sleeping late. She seemed so tired and I knew we couldn't do much today because of the rain."
"Madrigal will take advantage of your sympathy if you're not careful, Allison. Half the time she was late gettin' to work at the mill. In the family way or not, she's gonna have to pull her own weight around here. There's too much to do. And I for one don't have the remotest idea where to start."
"But you have the major's instructions." Allison's voice sounded certain. Yet her look was questioning.
"Well, such as they are."
"What do you mean?"
"He's not like Mr. Roche, spellin' everything out. Seems he's more interested in gettin' back to the fightin' than worryin' about the plantation."
It wasn't long after that conversation when the two saw Glenn Meadors, dressed in civilian clothes, walk past the cottage and head toward the barn. Within a few short minutes, a horse galloped down the drive. The rider didn't look back.
"The major isn't wearing his uniform," Flood said. "Isn't that strange?"
"Perhaps he doesn't want to get it soaking wet."
"Or maybe he's decided not to broadcast the fact that he's headed back to the fightin'."
Allison frowned at Flood's words. "Are you suggesting that the major might be afraid of meeting up with some Rebels along the way?"
She couldn't see a major in the Union army being cowardly. There had to be some other reason for his leaving in a clandestine manner. It must have something to do with the whispers on the terrace the previous evening and the sound of the riders on horseback leaving Bluegrass Meadors in the dead of night.
"I'm not suggestin' anything. I just think it's strange, that's all," Flood replied.
"Well, I'm glad he wasn't wearin' a Union uniform," Madrigal said, joining in the conversation as she came to sit on the settee in the parlor. "Otherwise, I might have been tempted to shoot him myself."
"That's not very charitable of you, Madrigal, especially since he was the one to rescue us."Allison suddenly turned from the window. "Rebecca," she called out. "It's time the four of us had our meeting."
Wiping her hands on her apron, Rebecca came into the parlor and took a seat on the small bench near the fireplace. Then, Allison and the other two looked to Flood to begin.
Halfway through the meeting, an impatient Madrigal said, "How much money did the major give you?"
Flood hesitated. "None. He said we would be self-sufficient until he got back."
Rebecca spoke up. "You mean he didn't leave as much as a shin plaster?"
At Flood's silence, Madrigal grew angry. "Well, I don't expect to work my fingers to the bone without bein' paid for it."
"He'll pay us for our work when he comes home," Flood reiterated.
Allison, just as appalled as the others, attempted to reconcile them all. "Perhaps it's not so bad as it sounds. I'm sure he didn't mean to be miserly with us. And we have to remember that even if we get absolutely nothing, we're better off here than in the prison in Louisville."
Allison's comment calmed the others, and Flood was grateful to her. Still, she wished that Allison had been along at the interview.
The decisions that day formed the routine of the four women for the next several weeks. When the rains stopped, they took to their assigned chores. Apples and pears were gathered from the orchards. Vegetables were stripped from the garden, and herbs picked and dried.
During the time of canning and preserving, the women moved into the kitchen of the main house, as well, with Allison supervising in both kitchens while Madrigal and Rebecca stirred ingredients in the black kettles over hot coals.
Each day, Allison grew stronger and her child became more active, crawling through the cottage and pulling herself up on the furniture. And each night, by candlelight, Allison read the journals belonging to Rad Meadors. His handwriting became familiar to her, his words at odds with the man who had hired them. Outwardly, he'd appeared callous to the land, but his words revealed a different man—one who loved the land and what it stood for. There was a gentleness underlying the unemotional entries of the journal, and Allison began to look forward to each evening when the chores were done and she could take up one of the journals to educate herself in the running of the plantation.
She had not stopped with the first one, but had taken others from the library, as well. And in the process, the journals unknowingly had served another purpose—to bind her to the man, himself.
One early afternoon, when Allison sat on the front porch of the cottage and finished feeding the baby, she gazed at Rebecca, who was busy stringing beans. An idea had come to Allison the previous night when she'd read Rad Meadors's comments concerning his herd of cattle, which no longer existed.
"We need a milk c
ow, Rebecca."
The black woman looked up from her work. "You thinkin' of Morrow?"
"Yes. And the tobacco. Flood and I have to begin the harvesting no later than Wednesday. According to the major's journal, the leaves are ready. That means I'll be away from Morrow nearly all day."
"But we got no money."
"I still have the gold eagle—Jonathan's wedding gift to me."
"You said you'd never part with it. Remember?"
"I said a lot of things in the past, but times are different now. We need a cow, and Mr. Freemont has a number of them. I saw them grazing as we passed his place. I expect he'll be happy to sell me one."
"But you heard the major. That man hates Rebels. He wouldn't give you the time of day, Miss Allison. Much less a prize milk cow."
"Well, it won't hurt to try. I think I'll hitch up the horse to the carriage and ride over there this afternoon."
"Then somebody needs to go with you."
"I'll take Morrow with me. The rest of you need to stay and finish your chores."
Allison had her way. Carefully, she dressed in the clean calico dress and brushed her hair. It had grown, curling and waving into ringlets on her head. She picked up the onyx tuck-comb and anchored it to the top of her head, although there was no need for it except as decoration. Wrapping the dark shawl around her shoulders, she picked up the basket that Morrow had outgrown, placed her in it, anyway, and walked down to the stables.
In a slow trot, the horse pulled the carriage down the drive. Allison noticed that the paint on sections of the fence was beginning to peel. She filed that observation in the back of her head. Once the tobacco was harvested and sold, and the canning finished, they needed to start on the fence. Or perhaps it would be better to wait until after the winter.
As she traveled down the road to Royal Freemont's house, Allison stopped the carriage for a moment and looked back at the redbrick mansion she'd left. Framed by the tall trees, their leaves beginning to turn a golden yellow, almost like the tobacco leaves, the house became a symbol of what she'd lost.
The Roswell Women Page 18