A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy Read online

  The crinkle of paper reminded her that Lieutenant Gilbert Lessling’s last letter lay hidden close at hand. Reading the letter brought his face vividly to her and made praying for him easier. If she could see him so clearly, he surely must still be on this earth.

  At least that’s what she told herself. She sniffed again and, putting the hanky back in her pocket, smoothed the white apron over her sky blue dimity dress. Gilbert had said he liked her in blue. It brought out the blue of her eyes and made her hair look even more golden. Since Gilbert rarely spent a portion of his few words on compliments, she hoarded every one of them.

  “Miss Louisa, breakfast ready.”

  “I’m coming.” She cut a couple more branches and with a last sigh turned back to the house. Since her brother Zachary had come home, he forbade her volunteering on the ward at the hospital, so her day stretched long in front of her. Thinking of his stubbornness tightened her jaw. “I’ll have it out with him again. Just because we have three extra men here doesn’t mean I don’t have time for those poor miserable men at the hospital. Such selfishness. Mama would take a willow switch to him if she were here.”

  “You say sumpin’, Miss Louisa?” Abby looked up from forking ham slices onto a platter.

  “Just muttering.” Louisa set her basket on the bench and, picking up the full bucket of water, poured some into another. Then sticking the branches in water, she wiped her hands on her apron. “There, that’ll hold them until I get back to fill the vases. Let me take that in, and you bring the rest of the food.”

  She bumped the swinging door to the dining room open with her backside and entered the room where four recovering Confederate soldiers cut off their discussion as if blowing out a candle, even to the smoke still rising on the air.

  One more reason to want to tear into her brother. Before he came home, she’d been privy to whatever discussions had gone on in this house, and there’d been plenty. “Carry on, gentlemen. My ears aren’t that tender.” Instead of slamming the platter down, which was what she felt like doing, she set it gently and with a pleasant smile. The fury she would reserve for Zachary. Holy fury seemed appropriate at the moment.

  “And a fine good morning to you too, dear Louisa.” Zachary Highwood winked at her with his remaining eye, an act made even more a caricature by the scar that ran from above his eyebrow, under the black patch worn to cover the missing eye, and down to his jaw. Only a man made of pure dash could carry off such an act—and Zachary did. While she wanted to rant and rave, as usual he made her laugh.

  The sound released the other men from their frozen stances, and chuckles made their way around the table.

  “Now, that’s much better.” Aunt Sylvania, in a gray morning dress and a lace cap on her head, set the silver coffeepot in front of her place and took her seat. “Who would like to say the grace this morning?” She smiled at each of the men. “Sergeant Blackstone, it must be about your turn.”

  Louisa bowed her head, the desire to see the flush running up the good sergeant’s neck nearly irresistible. He had come so far in the last weeks that soon he would be ready for discharge. To this point at least, none of those missing a limb had been sent back to battle, not that they weren’t willing, if not ready.

  “Bless us oh Lord for these gifts we are about to receive, in thy precious name amen.” The words ran together in his mumbled haste.

  The amen echoed around the table, and they each reached for the platter nearest them to pass on to the next.

  Louisa, sitting next to her brother, who still liked to tease her about calling herself Missus Zachary Highwood, since that was the only way she could work at the hospital, delivered a quick kick to his ankle. That ought to get his attention. She’d learned the practice years earlier at the family table at Twin Oaks.

  If she hadn’t been watching, she would have missed his flinch. His chuckle said he knew what was bothering her.

  “No, you cannot return to work at the hospital.” He hid his remark behind the biscuit basket.

  “Whyever not?” She kept her smile in place and spoke through her teeth, another skill from long ago when they didn’t want their mother to know what was going on.

  “You know why not.” He did the same.

  “Zachary, dear, would you please pass the ham?” Aunt Sylvania arched an eyebrow.

  Had she figured out their little trick? Louisa turned to the silent man on her other side. “Would you like me to cut your meat? Just this time, of course.” Trying to save face for those missing a hand until they got the hang of it had become her specialty. She kept her whisper low.

  His brief nod was her only answer. She had yet to get him to converse with her, but she didn’t let a tide of silence stop her.

  “The garden is beautiful this morning, Lieutenant Jones. Those pansies you transplanted yesterday were all smiling up at me.” While she chatted, she buttered a biscuit, spread honey on it, and cut up the slice of ham. “I surely do appreciate all the work you fellows are doing out there. Miss Julie next door is hoping y’all will come on over to her house and get at the weeds there. Shame how our gardens have nearly gone wild since the war. I’m hoping to get the potatoes and peas in the ground today. Wouldn’t fresh peas be the perfect thing?”

  She felt like a ninny running on like that, but she had learned that the tone of her voice and her ready smile accomplished far more than silences and frowns. These men needed a taste of home, and she aimed to supply it.

  With breakfast finished, they spent the next hour exercising injured muscles, retraining the remaining limbs, or applying new dressings, all the while listening to The Merchant of Venice being read by none other than Aunt Sylvania herself.

  “I have work to do here today, so I’ll not join you in the garden.” Zachary stopped at her shoulder as she gathered up her supplies. He’d grown adept at using one crutch now that he had fashioned a short peg to strap to the remaining stump of his right leg. Even though the stump came up raw at times, he refused to hop and hobble any longer.

  “I’ll be back.” She smiled brightly for the benefit of the others.

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Once she had the men teaming up to plant or dig, she headed back to the house, smiling at Reuben, who had set one of the men to stirring the sheets boiling over the outside fire. The laundry was never ending, just like the cooking and cleaning.

  “I’m on my way to church,” Aunt Sylvania said, pulling on her much-darned gloves. “I do wish you would come. There are never enough hands to roll bandages or sew uniforms.” She set her hat at the proper angle and picked up her basket.

  “Perhaps later.” They both knew those words were a fabrication. Louisa had chosen to attend the Friends Church, much to her aunt’s consternation. “Where is Zachary?”

  “At his desk.”

  “Have a good gossip while you work.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek, closing the front door behind her. As if caring for the men the way they did wasn’t enough. She stopped in the arched doorway to watch her brother laboriously writing a letter with his left hand. While his penmanship was at least legible now, she knew how he hated the ink blots that at times disfigured the pages. Who could he be writing to with such intensity?

  “The answer is no,” Zachary said before Louisa could even ask the question.

  “But, Zachary . . .” She clenched both hands and teeth.

  “It is bad enough that you are working like a fishwife here.” He set the quill down and capped the ink.

  “Who are you writing to?” Changing the subject might help.

  “A friend.”

  His short answer did more to arouse her curiosity than anything else.

  “Oh? Male or female?” She stopped behind him, trying to get a peek at the salutation. He covered it with his arm, leaning back nonchalantly as if the covering was not intentional.

  She knew differently.

  “Actually, dear wife, it’s none of your business.” The emphasis on wife warned her someone was behin
d her. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head for good measure.

  “I’d write it for you if you asked nicely.” Keeping a hand on his shoulder, she turned enough to see a strange man standing in the archway she’d so recently vacated. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “No.” Zachary answered for the man. “He came to see me. Could you bring us some lemonade, please, dear?” At the same time Zachary gestured to the chair by the desk. “Have a seat, soldier.”

  “Of course, darling. I’ll be right back.” He’d already drunk enough lemonade to float a ship was her thought as she left the room. Once out of sight, she paused long enough to hear one word—morphine.

  SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI

  “Sojers on de road.”

  “Blue or gray?” Jesselynn knew when they took this cave so near the Wire Road that there could be problems, but no other caves they’d seen had been so perfectly fitted for their needs.

  “Confederate.”

  Benjamin, at twenty years old, had seen war before when he’d accompanied Jesselynn’s father, Major Joshua Highwood, off to battle. Thanks to Benjamin’s fortitude, he had brought the major home to die. He’d become their scout, since he could move through a thicket like a puff of smoke and run for miles without dropping.

  “Many sojers. All on horses. With light cannon.”

  “Oh, Lord, if they attack the garrison at Springfield, what will happen to Aunt Agatha? Her house isn’t four blocks from the camp, since they took over the middle of the town.”

  “Plenty bluebellies dere. Many guns.” Meshach had often been looking for work and gotten to know the town pretty well. “Dey marchin’ all de time.”

  “Dey ask we want to join up.” Benjamin shook his head, the light of laughter in his eyes caught by the firelight. “I’se done wid de war.”

  “I wish we all were done ‘wid de war.’ ” Jesselynn couldn’t resist teasing him. She and Benjamin had grown up together. He had been a member of the household staff. When he went off to war with her father, sorrow struck her almost as badly as when her brothers had gone. The stories she’d heard of the ways some Southern planters mistreated their slaves bore no relation to the way her father had run Twin Oaks.

  So what do I do about Aunt Agatha? Jesselynn looked around the cave. The boys and Jane Ellen were sound asleep against the wall nearest the fire. The six horses were roped off in the rear of the cave. A long, low fire lay between a tunnel of racks full of drying venison, and a salted haunch hung just above the racks to smoke as a ham. Meshach had used vines to tie cut saplings and branches together into shelves for their few household things, and their foodstuffs were stored in the wooden boxes they’d brought from Twin Oaks. The wagon was hidden in a thicket up on the edge of the ridge. Pegs driven into cracks in the limestone walls held the harnesses and other tack.

  There was just no more room.

  And Aunt Agatha was an old woman, an opinionated old woman.

  “You want I should go see to the road again?” Benjamin hunkered down beside her.

  Jesselynn shook her head. “No sense to it. Since the mouth of our cave faces east, there’s no chance of someone seeing our light. Least not from the road. And a scout might just happen upon you. They’d shoot you for spyin’.”

  “Dey not catch me.” His tone carried no hint of bravado, just stated a simple fact.

  While Jesselynn believed him, she wasn’t about to take a chance. “Someone will have to go check on Aunt Agatha in the morning.” She had a pretty good idea who that someone was going to be.

  A snort from one of the horses woke her from a dream-riddled sleep that had caused her to miss out on any rest. She sat up, listening so hard her breathing seemed louder than a windstorm. Nothing. One of the men mumbled in his sleep. Someone else snored gently. Normal night sounds. Soundlessly she laid aside her quilt, picked up her boots from under the edge of her bedding, and, carrying them, made her way to the mouth of the cave. Overhead the stars hung close in an azure velvet sky, but off to the east, the sky had lightened only enough to be noticeable.

  She sucked in a breath of air not redolent with drying meat and horse dung and sat down on a rock to pull on her boots. Even the birds had yet to realize the new day was almost upon them. Quiet and solitude, two things that had been seriously lacking from her life for some time. She struck off to relieve herself and gather wood on the way back. They were having to range farther and farther for wood for the fires, since they’d now been in this cave nigh onto two months.

  Time they looked for another. They had to take the horses farther to pasture too. If only she dared start for Independence now while the roads were still firm. Once the spring rains began, they wouldn’t make anywhere near ten miles a day. But if they left now, they’d have to find someplace to live out there until the wagon trains heading west started forming up. From what she’d heard, caves like those around this area were next to nonexistent. About like their money.

  Besides, she couldn’t start until after the mares foaled and the babies grew strong enough to handle the trip.

  As the sky lightened, the birds took up their chorus. A cardinal sang his lovely aria, and a jay scolded her for trespassing. Off in the distance a dog barked. If an army the size Benjamin saw had passed through, the morning woods had little to say about it. Surely if Springfield was under attack, they would hear the guns, at least from up on the ridge.

  She checked Daniel’s snare line, tied two dead rabbits to her belt, and kept on walking. How were they to get enough money for the journey? Selling Chess would break Thaddy’s heart, but the horse was fully recovered now from his gunshot wound and would bring them over a hundred dollars, maybe even as much as a hundred fifty. She’d hoped to use him to help pull the wagon and ease up on the mares awhile, then sell him in Independence.

  Picking up wood as she went, she circled back to the cave, dragging a couple of big branches she’d lashed together and overlaid with other wood on the top. The downed tree she’d located would make up quite a stack of firewood.

  Meshach met her at the cave’s entrance. “You all right?”

  “Just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.” She dropped her load. “I found a downed tree that looks to be good and dry but not yet rotted.” She pointed to the southeast. “Over there. I can locate it again.”

  Not that the woods were impenetrable. Up on the ridges lay prairie with the trees in the hollows and along the creeks and lakes. At this time of year, instead of green, the land wore an orange garment of grasses, dead clinging leaves, and underbrush. The rising sun gilded the edges and lightened the tree trunks on the eastern face, darkening the bark on the other. Staring south she thought about Sergeant Barnabas White, the Confederate soldier they’d nursed back to health so he could return to his home in Arkansas. He was minus part of a leg but hale otherwise.

  He’d promised to write. But there’d been no letters from Arkansas, so it was a good thing she’d not given her heart away a second time. The first time seemed so long ago, in another lifetime, another world. Now thoughts of John Follett were more a friendly haze than a heart-tearing ache.

  The morning seemed ripe for reflection.

  “I take de horses for to drink and to graze.” Meshach stretched, the muscles bulging under the fabric of his shirt. “Den go to town. Check on work and Miss Agatha?”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Got me biscuits and dried deer. Be enough.” He patted his pocket.

  Jesselynn untied the two rabbits from her belt. “I checked the snares.” She held them up by their ears. “You take these in to Aunt Agatha. I’ll gut them first. Bring back the skins.” Relief that Meshach had volunteered to go to town made her want to tap her feet and whistle a tune. While she set about dressing the rabbits, Meshach went into the cave and returned with two horses. Ahab, their oldest Thoroughbred stallion, snorted and pranced in the brisk air. No matter how matted and dirty they kept him, when he stood at attention like this, there was no doubt of his lineage.
/>   Jesselynn sighed. Good breeding showed no matter what. Within moments Meshach had all six horses attached to a long line so that one man could lead them and set off down the hill to the creek.

  Silence settled around Jesselynn again. She swiftly gutted the two rabbits and, tying their back feet together, hung them over a tree limb to keep them out of the dirt. The entrails she threw off into a thicket for the wild critters to eat. No sense wasting them.

  The children were still sleeping, but Ophelia had cornmeal sizzling in a skillet over the coals. She’d made up the mush the night before and set it to cool in a pan, then sliced it for frying. From the looks of it, she’d mixed in meat of some kind. The other pan held the four smaller fish. Daniel and Benjamin were just cleaning their plates.

  “Looks good. We haven’t had fried mush for too long.”

  “Din’t have no cornmeal.” Ophelia used her apron as a potholder and pulled one of the frying pans back to cooler coals. “You ready for eatin’?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Benjamin and Daniel cuffed each other on the way out of the cave, their laughter echoing a friendly sound, like home.

  “Jesse?” The sleepy voice came from the pallets. “I got to go.”

  “I’ll take you.” Jane Ellen rolled to her feet, shook out her shift, and reached down for Thaddeus’s hand. Since her brother had died from bad lungs and she’d finally returned to the real world from wandering lost somewhere in her mind, she pretty much took care of the two boys. Their antics seemed to help her through her grieving.

  “I want Jesse.”

  “Come here, baby, and give me a hug, then you go on with Jane Ellen. I’ve already been outside, and I’m fixin’ to eat right about now.”