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

  A breeze kicked up as she neared the hospital from the opposite direction. She looked up to see the high clouds of a few minutes earlier lowering and threading together. Rain might be in the offing. She hurried up the brick steps and pulled open the heavy front door. The miasma of pain and stench greeted her before she could take one step over the threshold. She’d been away from it just long enough to have forgotten how terrible it really was.

  “Why, Miz Highwood, how good to see you.” One of the doctors stopped on his way down the stairs. “We surely do miss you around here, but perhaps you are doing more good with the men you are caring for. I, for one, am grateful for the efforts of your family and friends, let me tell you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll have room for two new ones in the next couple of weeks, I think.” No matter how she wanted to return to her mission here, she would not whine and whimper. They expected her to be home caring for her husband and the others. “Is the general in?”

  “Up in his office.” The doctor indicated the third floor.

  “Thank you.” She felt like gagging as she mounted the steps. Someone screamed; others moaned. Things hadn’t changed a bit.

  The general’s adjutant sat at the desk in the hall. That hadn’t changed either, except that the young man in the uniform wasn’t someone she recognized. Bother. How long had the other been gone?

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. How can I be of service?”

  She glanced down to see a newly lettered nameplate. “Ah, yes, Mr. Bromley. My name is Louisa Highwood, and I would like to see the general for a few moments.”

  “And your business, ma’am?” He halted in a brief motion to stand.

  “I . . . ah . . . I need to see him on a matter of medications, for some of his men, those staying with us at my aunt’s house.” At the confused look he sent her, she knew he had no idea what she was talking about. “Just tell him Mrs. Highwood is here.” Surely he’ll see me. He can’t have forgotten.

  The young man returned instantly and held the door open for her. “The general will see you now.”

  Louisa walked through the door as the general came around the end of his desk, hand outstretched. “Good of you to see me, sir.”

  “Ah, child, if you only knew what delight your smiling face brings to this old heart of mine. We do miss you around here. We most certainly do.” While he spoke he pulled out a chair and ushered her to it. “Sit and let me just look at you.”

  She sat as he’d asked and folded her hands in her lap. Dust motes danced in the sun streaming in from the window, making her wonder if the storm had blown the other way or just held off. Finally, in place of squirming, she smiled and leaned slightly forward. “I have come to ask a favor of you.”

  “Anything I can do for you, just ask. I owe you so much for all your service here. But before you continue, first tell me how that husband of yours is doing.”

  “Just fine, General. He is able to get around well with one crutch and makes a joke out of stumping around on the peg he fashioned for his missing foot.” She didn’t tell him of the dark times when Zachary withdrew and refused to come out until he had “his demons under control,” as he put it. “He helps the others when he can and makes sure they all realize they are still in the army.”

  “We now have other homes opened up to us, thanks to your willingness to start the ball rolling. The men who convalesce in private homes do much better than those here. If only we had a hundred women like you.”

  Louisa could feel the heat surge up to her hairline. “Thank you, sir.” She took a deep breath and leaped in before he could say something else to embarrass her. “I heard my br—er—husband mention . . .” She looked up to catch a twinkle in his eye. Had he caught her gaffe?

  The surgeon general leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk in front of him. “That is all right, Miss Highwood.” The emphasis on the Miss let her know that he knew.

  “When did you figure out my little charade?”

  “Not long after you took your brother home with you. Someone, I don’t remember who, had known him from before. When we bragged about our Missus Louisa Highwood, he set us straight.” His face sobered. “You know I never would have let an unmarried young woman work here like you did.”

  “I know that. Living that lie was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” Louisa took her turn to lean forward. “But I had to do something more than sew and knit. I just had to.”

  “I understand. But if the favor is to come back here to help us, I would have to say no.”

  “I realize that, but that’s not it. Zachary mentioned morphine, and while I tried to get some at the apothecary, he said none was available. If one of my men needs morphine, I knew to come straight here for it.”

  The general shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I’d give my right arm for it myself. What little bit comes in is used on the frontlines. We resort to whiskey here—get the men as drunk as possible before surgery. There’s no morphine to be had south of the Mason and Dixon Line.”

  “I see.”

  “I wish I could help you. I wish I could help my men.” He shook his head. “Short of hijacking a Northern train, I fear . . .” He stared into her eyes. “Now, don’t you go getting any wild-headed ideas, young lady.”

  Louisa stared down at her lap. Calm down, heart. We must think this through before going off half-cocked. She raised her gaze back to the man behind the desk, using her eyelashes to their best advantage. Appearing young and innocent was not difficult. “No, sir, but I do have one more question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Ah . . .” She tried to cut off the dream. “Have you heard anything more about Lieutenant Lessling? Was his body found in that train wreck?”

  The general sighed and shook his head. “No, but then many were beyond identifying.”

  “And you are sure he was on that train?” Dare I even hope?

  “No, I cannot say for absolute truth he was on that train. But he never reached home. His sister wrote and asked about him, and we’ve not found him in any of our hospitals.”

  “Could he be a prisoner of war?” She could scarcely get the words out, the thought was so terrible. But better that than dead. At least that way there was a chance of seeing him again someday.

  The general came around the desk to take her hand. “My dear Miss Louisa, I cannot hold out false hope for you. Gilbert was a fine young man and an outstanding soldier. I’m sure that if he were alive, we would hear. Somehow, we would have heard.”

  Louisa turned from the compassion in his gaze to stare out the window. Sunbeams no longer danced. Instead, deepening gray filled the window. Was that thunder she heard?

  “I . . . I better go before I get soaked. Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome. Greet your brother for me.” He walked her to the door.

  She stopped before leaving. “But there is morphine available in the North, correct?”

  “I imagine. For those who have the money. Anything can be bought if one has the money and the resources.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “But don’t you go getting any farfetched ideas, young lady. You are too valuable for the Southern cause right where you are, helping our men to heal.”

  “Yes, sir. Good day.” She fetched a half curtsey and, after flashing him a smile, added, “You come on over for dinner one day and visit with your men. It would do them a world of good.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  She kept her feet to the ladylike walk her aunt would be so proud of and made her way down the stairs, out into the blustery wind.

  “If there is morphine to be found, I will find it.” Her vow met with a thunder roll. Lightning flashed a few seconds later as she bent against the wind to hurry home.

  “Dere’s mail.” Abby, nearly dancing with anticipation, met Louisa at the door.

  “From Jesselynn. Oh, praise be to God.” Louisa sat down on the stairs without even shedding her shawl. Opening the envelope, she unfolded the
thin sheet of paper and read swiftly.

  “Oh my, things aren’t what she’d planned. They are still living in a cave near Springfield, but they are all well. Here, let me read this part.

  ‘Christmas made me so homesick for Twin Oaks I thought I might fall weeping and melt into a puddle, nevermore to suffer like this. We fashioned gifts for Thaddeus and Sammy, but all I could think of was the festivities of home: the house decorated with cedar boughs; the tree lit with candles; our singing at the church and at home; Lucinda carrying in the Christmas goose, all roasted to crackling brown; and pecan pie. My mouth waters at the thought. But worst of all, no mother or father to wish us Merry Christmas.’ ”

  Louisa stopped reading to wipe the tears from her eyes with one finger. “Ah, me. We had such a merrier Christmas here.” She glanced up to the ceiling. “And at least we were warm and dry with enough to eat and a roof over our heads. Lord, forgive me for taking so many things for granted.”

  “Me too.” Abby used her apron to wipe her eyes. “Dem poor chilluns.”

  Louisa sniffed and returned to the letter.

  “ ‘Forgive me, dearest sister, for sounding so gloomy, but I have one more thing to say, and then I shall write of livelier things. I have decided that if God does indeed exist, He no longer can stomach what men are doing to one another and has withdrawn from the affairs of men. I will no longer pray or read that book of His, because doing so is a waste of precious time.’ ”

  Louisa shut her eyes. “Ah, Abby, we must pray for her. Pray without ceasing. One thing that has always been a comfort to me is that my brothers and sisters have all accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior, and no matter how far apart we are in this life, we shall be together again in heaven. I know Mama and Daddy are waiting for us, and that one day we shall all go home.”

  “And in heaven, dere is no white nor black, no slave nor free, but we shall stand before de Lawd, all his chilluns together.” Abby blew her nose. “Is dere more?”

  “A little.” Louisa took up the paper again.

  “ ‘Greet my dear brother and sister. I am grateful to know you are all safe. Thaddeus is growing faster than we can keep him in clothes, and Sammy too. Jane Ellen has taken over the care of those two, and I believe caring for someone else is bringing her back to herself. We all send our love. I am sorry this letter has been so dreary, but I cannot talk of these things with the others. Please forgive me.

  Your loving sister,

  Jesselynn

  P.S. I almost signed this Jesse, but I have to have one place where I can be Jesselynn, a woman, daughter, sister, and friend. JH

  P.P.S. I should just tear this up and not mail it, but paper is too precious for such waste. JH’ ”

  Louisa folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “The war. Always the war.”

  “I best get to fixin’ de supper. Reuben done bought a chicken at de market. He say meat gettin’ scarcer ever day.”

  Louisa knew that feeding the extra men was causing distress with her aunt’s finances, but what else could they do? “Then we’ll have to make it stretch for two meals. Add lots of vegetables and extra dumplin’s. That bread I smell will have to fill up any holes.” She pushed herself to her feet and hung her shawl on the coat-tree by the newel post. “Let me change my clothes, and I’ll be down to help.”

  As she climbed the stairs, her mind roamed back to her discussion with the general at the hospital. Lord, what do we do? Oh, Father, please take care of my dear confused sister. Bring her back to you so she can be comforted. Please, Lord, let us all make it through this terrible war and get back together. God had done miracles before, but would He do this one?

  SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI

  “I should have made her come.”

  “How? Tie her up?” Meshach clucked the horses to a faster pace. Darkness hugged them round about.

  Jesselynn felt at any turn they might meet something terrible, like those three renegades with the chained slaves. People kill for horses, to protect themselves, or to avenge another. Some kill for pure pleasure, like Dunlivey. Everything evil she measured against the Dunlivey scale. Would killing the slave runners make Meshach and the others murderers? How would they live with that? Or was killing different for men? She knew now that she would kill to protect her family. And she would have killed to protect Twin Oaks. She knew that for certain. She withdrew into the hood created by the blanket Aunt Agatha had pressed upon her. In payment for her stubbornness perhaps? So many things to think about. Had the war loosed some evil monster across the land that gave people the right, or the need, or the desire to kill? Or was the monster always buried beneath the surface, waiting for the opportunity to raise its filthy head and be loosed?

  Had Meshach ever killed anyone before? That thought made her slant a look his way, but the dark was so profound she saw only a blurred hulk. Yet she was close enough to him on the wagon seat to feel his warmth through the blanket.

  Was killing animals for their food and clothing making it possible for him to kill another human being?

  Suddenly she thought of the wood they had brought to town. The wagon was light again, the wood gone. “What happened to the wood?”

  “Left in de barn.”

  “Why? Do you know those people well?”

  “Good ‘nough. Dey need wood.”

  “Did they pay you?”

  “No, suh.”

  Leave it alone. Jesselynn ignored the voice of reason. “But why them?”

  “Dey be Quakers.”

  “Oh.” And that is my answer? After all, I didn’t cut the wood, but . . . Like the sun coming up right now in the west, the truth hit her. Quakers were often part of the underground for carrying escaped slaves north to freedom. She started to ask another question but clamped her lips before the words passed them. If they freed those captive slaves tonight, they would most likely go to that house. The wood was Meshach’s way of helping out.

  “Meshach, did you ever think of leaving Twin Oaks, of running away?”

  “Thought about it, but dat my home. Marse was good to me. Teached me to read and write, teached me a trade, and let me keep my own money. I owe him.”

  “But now?”

  “Now I make sure him daughter and son be safe. Den I farm my own land, land I homestead so it be free like me.”

  His voice rang in the darkness, so sure, so proud. Not the Meshach she had known all her life, but a man who understood the difference between slave and free and would never go back.

  No wonder he wants to free those poor wretches in irons. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, someone need take care of de others.”

  Meshach whistled their signal, and as soon as it was returned, he drove the wagon into the thicket and unhitched the horses to lead them out the other side. Jesselynn gathered up the stores Agatha had pressed upon them and followed him down the steep slope to the cave.

  The three black men, none of them smiling now, took one of the rifles and the pistol and the cold chisel to break the chains if they didn’t get a key, then disappeared out the mouth of the cave. Ophelia ran after them for one more hug and kiss from Meshach, then returned to the fire to sit rocking with her arms around her middle. With the children already asleep, Jesselynn stoked a small part of the fire higher so she could have light to sew. She didn’t try to make conversation.

  Ophelia knew as well as she what the men planned to do—and the danger inherent in the scheme. At any word she might shatter into sobbing little bits and slip down onto the sandy floor.

  After a while her mutterings penetrated Jesselynn’s own chambers of fear and horror.

  “Lawd, Lawd. Jesus, Son of God, have mercy. Lawd, Lawd.” She repeated the words without seeming to even draw a breath.

  Jesselynn gritted her teeth. The singsong seeped into her bones and reverberated there, ringing clear like a crystal glass struck by a spoon. Rising and falling, now intelligible, now not. If they brought her comfort, Jesselynn didn’t see it. She wante
d to scream at the woman to stop.

  She wanted to run after the men and plead with them to come back.

  She kept on stitching.

  Once she went and stood at the mouth of the cave, listening, straining to hear over hollows and ridges to a camp somewhere south. It was not so far away that they’d taken the horses, but it was out of hearing range. She should have forced Meshach to take the traders in to the law in Springfield. That was the proper thing to do.

  But trafficking in slaves wasn’t illegal in Missouri. All the scum had to say was they caught these runaways and were taking them back to their masters. They might even have papers to show that they were hunting certain escaped slaves. And besides, how would she force Meshach to do anything?

  She rubbed her arms to warm them and returned to the fire, trying to ignore Ophelia’s haunting song without end.

  She caught herself nodding off after stoking the fire more times than she cared to count, so she decided to skin and cut up the rabbits she’d forgotten to take to Aunt Agatha and set them to frying. The fragrance of sizzling meat overlaid the smell of horse droppings. Even though Daniel cleaned the cave floor every day, the smell could still get a bit strong.

  One of the horses snorted. Jesselynn leaped to her feet and ducked under the rope to clamp a hand over Ahab’s quivering nostrils. If there was someone out there and they heard a horse whinny, sure to heaven they’d come looking. She looked longingly at the rifle leaning against the wall of the cave.

  “’Phelia.” She tried again, hissing louder, not wanting her voice to carry beyond the fire. “’Phelia, hush and get the gun.”

  Ophelia rocked again, then rose and drifted across the sand to pick up the rifle. She held it barrel down and brought it to Jesselynn.

  “Here, you guard the horses. Do not let Ahab whinny. He’s heard something.” Shifting places, she took the rifle and ran to the mouth of the cave, hugging the shadowed wall. Not that much of the firelight showed beyond the slight bend anyway. But shadows would show with so little light. She stopped just inside the overhang, holding her breath to hear anything untoward.