“Since when do you care what a preacher does?” William scoffed softly.
“Since I have started to grow up,” Jayne said, giving William’s arm a poke with her finger in an attempt to lighten her comment.
William opened his mouth as if to say something more, but Jeremiah Bronson had arrived at their side. Jayne prayed the man had not overheard their comments as she looked away from his observant eyes.
“I do not wish to interrupt your conversation,” Jeremiah said. “But I would like to introduce you to my daughter who has come to live with me.”
“Daughter? Are you married?” William asked, his tone causing Jayne to gasp at such rudeness. William appeared aggravated as if someone had deceived him and that the thought troubled him.
An irritated look flashed in Jeremiah’s eyes as he lowered his daughter to the floor, but his voice was calm as he replied. “Yes, this is my daughter, and my wife . . .”
The little girl walked over to Jayne and smiled up at her. Her large golden-hazel eyes were almost identical to her father’s, but the look she gave Jayne was much friendlier than any she had received from the man.
“How do you do?” The child did a deep curtsy. “My name is Hope Bronson, and I am four years old. Do you have any children I can play with?”
“Well, yes I do, but David Moses is only a baby.” Jayne smiled down at the little girl, silently wondering why the Southern accent seemed so appealing coming from her.
“Oh.” Hope’s sigh of disappointment was deep, and she was silent before she replied. “Well, I like babies.”
After looking around the room, the child returned her gaze to Jayne’s. “Is your baby here, or is she with a nanny? Is she nice? My daddy says he knows just the right nanny for me.”
“My nephew, David Moses, is a he not a she, and he is with a friend of mine today. He doesn’t have a nanny,” Jane replied but silently wondered if that was how people saw her relationship with her nephew.
“If it is possible, Miss van Hoyton . . .” Jeremiah hesitated for a moment, glancing at William before he continued. “If it is possible, may I have a few moments of your time? There is something I would like to discuss with you.”
William stepped forward. “I had just asked Miss Jayne if she would like to take a stroll by the canal.”
“And I said it would be impolite to leave,” Jayne corrected him. “We are here to welcome the stranger.”
“Is that so?” Jeremiah murmured as he looked down at his daughter. “Hope, say goodbye to this nice lady. She is very busy right now, but we will talk to her during this week if she is available.”
“I am free every afternoon from noon until dinner,” Jayne answered quietly, wondering why Jeremiah needed to speak with her. “Possibly you and your daughter could join the family for dinner on Tuesday at six?”
“That would be perfect. Thank you.” He touched his forelock before scooping up his giggling daughter.
“Bye-bye, Miss Jayne! See you on Tuesday,” Hope shouted and waved over Jeremiah’s shoulder. As her father carried her out the door, her voice floated back, her words causing everyone to laugh as they listened. “Daddy, why is it called Tuesday when it’ll be dark out? Shouldn’t it be Tuesnight?”
Dear family,
My words are quickly written, and this letter is being placed into the hands of one that swears he will do all he can to get it to you. Clara gave the alarm last night at a reception for the Southern president, Davis. She arrived on the arm of Cousin Joel, who other than a mere nod of his head ignored me.
That I am still free and able to write this is only by God’s grace. Clara had not known I had stepped out onto the veranda behind her when she raised her voice. She did not realize the commotion caused by her proclamation gave me those precious moments to escape. While she tried to convince them of the validity of her claim, I was able to slip away, riding my unsaddled horse off into the night. The last words I heard were Joel’s, siding with my wife. The double-edged sword was present tonight, and it was not for my good.
I now am penniless with just the clothes on my back—a refugee like some many others. Under the Confederate Sequestration Act passed on August thirtieth, Unionists face confiscation of their property. The act permits authorities to confiscate all property owned by alien enemies residing in the Confederacy. I presume that because of Clara and Joel’s loyalty to their Southern kin, they will be able to live comfortably at least until the Union boys arrive.
Exactly where I am, I am not sure, but I softly sing, “Follow the Dripping Gourd” as I look for signs of welcoming houses with black hearths on their cabin quilts. The home I am in now must be left soon, for news of my escape has reached here. I will head in one direction while the owner goes in another. When this letter reaches you I do not know, but God willing, I will see you all one day.
Love from your wandering son, Jim
Chapter 14
“Oh, if it wasn’t for you, Father, I would change David Moses’s last name to Smith,” Jayne commented as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The betrayal of her brother by his own wife and Jayne’s cousin made her sick to her stomach. Clearly, Clara had taken sides, and the privileged name of van Hoyton meant more than her husband’s love, or his safety.
That her father’s nephew would betray Jim was almost unfathomable. Jayne could still hear Clara’s comments on Jim not being a blood relative to Joel. But father had raised Jim as his own! Didn’t that count for anything? Clearly it didn’t, not to Joel. Not to Clara. If it had mattered to either one of them, her brother would still have a wife and child. Each day, each month, and now each year that passed caused this knot of anxiety to settle in her stomach.
If Clara had not done what she had, Jim would be safe. They would be happily married and living together. In the South. She gasped at the realization. Jayne would not have that precious child. She would have never seen his first tooth, his first step, or heard his first real laugh.
Jayne ached with the feelings raging within her, the conflicting emotions at war within her heart. She prayed for her brother. She wanted him to return safely. But she wanted to pray that David Moses would not be taken away. One part of her felt it was wrong to do so, while in the depths of her heart, she prayed for a miracle that the child would know no other mother than herself. Then anger would flood her that she would never have such feelings for the child if Clara had been a loyal, loving wife.
Jayne marveled at her mother’s calmness despite this latest turn of events until she overheard her praying in the little grove of trees just beyond the barn.
“O, God, I don’t know what it is I am supposed to do with these emotions,” her mother groaned. “My heart is both filled with deep grief and severe anger. I want to do the right thing, but there is within me a desire for revenge. To mete out pain for pain or do much more, so both Clara and Joel will realize they have inflicted wounds that run much deeper than they could imagine. It is almost as if they’d planned together to systematically take turns attacking me and mine. I just want to scream as loud as I can to let all the anger out! How much strength do You think I have, Lord? Or how much more do You want me to turn to You rather than trying to handle this myself? I know that is Your desire, but how do I overcome the fear of letting go and trusting You to take care of it? Help me, Lord.”
Her mother’s words were an echo of her own thoughts, and Jayne quietly walked over and enveloped the grieving woman in her arms. As their tears of pain mingled, from somewhere deep within her, words of comfort came to mind from Psalm 103, “‘Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name . . . The Lord executeth righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed . . .’”
With trembling lips and a tear-streaked face, her mother quoted back, “‘He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniqui
ties . . . But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear Him and His righteousness unto children’s children.’”
“Oh, Mother,” Jayne whispered. “God knows our hearts, and He will do what only He can do. We must trust His promises to us.”
“But how do we go through each day with these questions and emotions?” her mother asked.
“‘Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.’” Jayne said quietly, silently marveling at the sudden shift in their relationship. Jayne now was offering comfort to the one whom she used to run to for comfort. Thank You, Lord, for giving me Your Words.
Chapter 15
1863
“I wish I could write to Jim using my new stationary.” Jayne sighed as she looked over the paper and envelopes before her. Jayne made sure her patriotism was publicly seen in her hair ribbons; in her red, white, and blue dress colors; and in the encouraging notes she wrote to local boys fighting far away. “It is such a shame to send it to someone here in the North, who agrees with the sentiments written there. I would love for everyone to see it!”
“Whatever are you talking about?” her father asked, his words interrupted by a hacking cough.
“Are you all right, Father?” Jayne asked, half rising from her chair by the writing table. “Shall I get you some water?”
“No, no,” He grumbled and reached out his hand for Jayne’s stationary. When he read the inscription, he laughed so hard his coughing started up again. When it finally subsided, he wiped his tearing but twinkling eyes and commented, “I do believe Jim would have enough trouble explaining the red, white, and blue border of his correspondence from the North without the addition of Secretary of the Treasury Mr. John A. Dix’s words, ‘If anyone attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot.’”
“Exactly how I feel, Father,” Jayne said before asking, “Who is this Mr. Dix?”
“My dear,” her father continued with a smile and a reminiscing look in his eyes. “You couldn’t ask for a better quote or a better man to get a quote from. Mr. Dix was commissioned in the army at fourteen, and we served together in the Battle of Lundy’s Lane during the War of 1812. I was wounded, but he remained in the service for six more years. In 1845, Dix was chosen as a member of the U.S. Senate and immediately became the leader in Washington, D.C. of the Barnburner Democrats. The Barnburners insisted on the abolition of slavery in the federal territories and aided in the formation of the antislavery Free-Soil Party. During the closing months of President James Buchanan’s administration, he appointed Dix as secretary of the treasury. Even now, Dix holds administrative posts in the Union army.”
Jayne, finishing her correspondence, went to fetch the newspaper. The local news was no longer prominent as the war headlines and information filled the pages. Once again President Lincoln’s words blazed across page one.
“Why are the men not going, Father?” Jayne cried as she lifted up the newspaper from the table. “The president first called for 75,000 men to enlist in April so that this insurrection would end. It is almost a year later, and he now asks for 300,000. Why does he have to ask? Why do they not just enlist to support our country’s future?”
“I do not understand why there is such need in the field,” Jayne's father commented sadly. “That such a number of young men should put themselves in harm’s way.”
“Father! We are defending the unity of our country and the freedom for the slaves! How can we not respond to such a request?”
“Those are the words of a young patriotic person. That is without a doubt.” Jayne's father smiled and patted her hand with his own war-scarred one. “I, too, was once that way but now . . . I know all those young men are fighting the good fight, but I am truly thankful this family only has one child in danger of losing his life. That you are a female is a blessing to me.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a blessing!” Jayne jerked her hand away and stood up. “Jim has a son who is almost two years old, and he has never seen him! If more people went to fight, this war could end sooner and he could come home! I want to defend my country! It’s not fair!”
“But you do help, my dear.” Jayne's mother, sitting nearby, tried to calm her. “You sew clothes for the soldiers and their families, roll bandages, and write such encouraging messages to all the local boys who are fighting. That is doing your share.”
“I want to defend my country, not mend its britches!” Jayne cried as she ran from the room. As she left, Jayne heard her father sigh as he thanked God again for Jayne being a female and thus keeping her safe from the horrors of war.
Hours later, David Moses stirred in his bed, and Jayne’s thoughts were chaotic as the pair of scissors in her right hand shook. She looked down at the child until he settled back into a deep sleep as she contemplated her next actions. Memories of her now fugitive brother flashed through her mind. That he may never meet his precious son was too much for her to bear. She could no longer take the strain of not knowing where her brother was and how he was faring. David Moses needed to know his father, and Jayne was determined to somehow find him and bring him home. Not being part of solution to end this war angered her. President Lincoln’s call for 300,000 men strengthened her resolve and ended her hesitation.
Grasping a handful of her flowing locks that cascaded down below her waist, Jayne opened the scissors to encircle the red-golden tresses right above her ear. A shudder ran through her as with one swift movement the click of the scissors’ two sharp edges met each other and the wavy tendrils fell to the floor. Her tears mingled with the chopped locks as she persevered with her preparation to join the war effort.
Her decision to masquerade as a young man could not be reversed now, and she prayed her parents would forgive her. When she finished, Jayne stared critically in the mirror at the startling change in her appearance. Spikes of uneven hair stuck up in strange places, but Jayne was not sure the butchered haircut gave her enough of a boyish look to fool the soldiers. Slipping out of her clothes, she then donned a pair of britches she’d snitched from one of the twins and one of her father’s old shirts. Another glance at her reflection made her hopeful that the masquerade might work. The baggy attire hid any feminine curves of her slim body, and taking a handful of soot from the fireplace, she dirtied her face, covering the smoothness of her complexion. Though Jayne was close to twenty years old, she now looked like an adolescent boy, but hopefully not too young.
For all the good it did. She stared down at her feet. She still had another hurdle to overcome. None of the men in this household had shoes that were any good for her tiny feet. Even if they had fit, most only owned one pair, and she couldn’t have taken them. Though she occasionally ran around barefooted, she could not go to war without shoes. For a moment her shoulders slumped as her eyes filled with tears of frustrated disappointment. To be hampered by the lack of footwear!
About to throw herself across her bed, she remembered the church had recently received a barrel of men’s boots from Mr. Robins. The container had fallen off the dock in Kingston, and the shoe leather had gotten moldy because no one had thought of opening the barrel and drying them. A little mold would never hurt anyone, Jayne thought, her tears drying quickly. She desperately needed the footwear. She also reasoned that since she was going to fight for the Union it would be all right for her to borrow one pair of boots. She felt the prick of her conscience. First the britches and the shirt, now shoes. Forgive me, Lord, for what I am doing isn’t borrowing.
Before the thought she was stealing could settle in her mind, Jayne breathed a kiss on the sleeping child and climbed out her bedroom window. She took her quilt as a bedroll and tucked it under her arm. Afraid a light might draw attention, Jayne stumbled down the path toward the church.
Her plan was simple and failproof—stop by the empty church and go through the barrel until she found two boots that fi
t. After that, all she had to do was go down to the locks and look for a barge headed for Kingston. Most barges took on young kids to lead the mule along the towpath, and Jayne figured it would be perfect practice on being a boy for a week or two before presenting herself to a recruiter in Kingston where she best not be recognized. Jayne arrived at the church and pushed hard against the huge white door. The heavy door stuck on the bottom, and no amount of pushing was going to open it, unless one gave it a kick. She groaned as she remembered the longtime joke the elders told almost every Sunday. “Better to go to church kickin’ and screamin’ than carried inside in silence!”
Thankful the minister lived nowhere within hearing distance, Jayne hauled her right leg back, and with the ball of her foot, she kicked as hard as she could. The door popped open. Letting out a yelp at the sharp pain radiating up from her foot, Jayne stood and massaged the throbbing extremity. Did God’s forgiveness extend to breaking into His house?
Still without a light, she stumbled into the large barrel that was in the narthex, placed there by a barge owner who was afraid the church’s roof wouldn’t stay up with him inside. Jayne offered up a prayer of thanksgiving that the barrel’s lid had been removed and she had free access to the various sized footwear.
“Why didn’t they tie the laces together?” Jayne grumbled as she came to the realization that she would have to examine every individual shoe to find two that not only matched in style but were the same size. She prayed that the colors would match as she only had the pale moonlight streaming through the door to see by.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jayne finally dug down far enough to find two brogans that fit her small feet, once she got some thick stockings. No, that’s socks, she reminded herself as she quickly tied the shoelaces into a bow and flung them across her shoulders. She grabbed her bundle and turned toward the door. A brisk walk barefoot wouldn’t hurt, and when she got a lock or two farther up the canal, the necessary articles could be—
Secret Way to the Heart Page 15
