by Hines, Jerri
As she eased out the door, she made her way to the next door to the left. She had decided to crawl in beside her eldest to ensure he not walk into the nursery looking for her and wake his sister. When she looked into his room, there was no Percival.
The little hellion must have climbed into her bed. She sighed and walked into her room. Her heart stilled…he wasn’t in her bed.
“Miss Jo, donca worry none. He’s with Dr. Andrew.”
Jo whirled around to find her maid in the doorway. She shook her head. “He doesn’t need to bother his uncle. Can you…?” She paused. Something in Rosa’s nervous eyes told her that Percival wasn’t in his uncle’s room; for that matter, he wasn’t in the house. With an exasperated glare, she demanded, “Where is Percival?”
Rosa shifted from one foot to the other. Jo stared at her with fierce intensity. Rosa lowered her gaze. “Percy heard Dr. Andrew leaving the house, ma’am…”
“Oh, Good Lord! Rosa, tell me that he didn’t go out with Andrew! In the dead of the night…in the rain!” Jo’s voice rose to the point of hysterics. She knew…oh, Lord in Heaven, she knew exactly where he had taken her son…her son.
Immediately, she heard Madeline cry out. Jo gripped Rosa’s arm with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. “Stay with the baby. Do you hear me? Don’t leave her. I will be back.”
“But, Miss Jo, Dr. Andrew said he wouldn’t be long…”
Ignoring Rosa, she wanted only one answer. “Do you understand me? I swear, Rosa, I will…”
“I will stay. I promise, Miss Jo,” Rosa uttered in a low, cutting voice, pained from her arm being squeezed so tightly.
Releasing Rosa, Jo rushed down the stairs, pausing only to grab her cloak. Guided by the lights from the main house and the faint lights from her destination, she drudged along in the wind-swept rain through the mud and puddles along the path to the overseer’s home.
Stomping up the steps in her water-soaked slippers, she barreled through the door without so much as a knock. The wind took the door and slammed it hard against the wall. Throwing back her hood, wet hair strands plastered her face, framing the rage in her smoking eyes. “Where is he?”
“Mrs. Montgomery?” Gardner emerged out of the door at the far end of the hall.
Whipping around him, she flew down the corridor…her hand on the handle of the door when it flared open. Andrew stood aside to let her enter.
“Josephine, he is fine…”
“You had no right…no right at all!” Her eyes surveyed the small room and lit upon Percival. Sitting in the middle of the bed, he was surrounded by small soldier play figures. He looked up at her and smiled.
“Looky, Momma,” he squealed and held up a handful of the toys. Pointing to Mitchell lying in bed, he went on. “He gave them to me…said I could keep ’em.” Percival stood, and then unsteady, toppled over, falling on the injured man.
“Percival Wright!” Jo cried and grasped hold of him, jerking him up roughly. “Get off that bed this instant. You know better…”
“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Montgomery,” Mitchell’s deep voice said. “I asked him to join me. He has been quite entertaining. He is quite a remarkable young man. Inquisitive, bright, and obviously handsome. You have done a remarkable job. You must be proud.”
“I am,” she said curtly, wanting only to take her son back to the house, far away from this man. “Now, Percival, say good-bye. We need to return home. It’s not acceptable to be out this late…you need to be in bed.”
“Please, a few minutes more. Since you are here.” Mitchell swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I’m leaving. I wanted to thank you personally…”
Jo swept her son in her arms, not noticing for the moment that he had blocked her escape.
“Gavin,” Andrew began. “Don’t. I told you…”
“I know what you told me, Andrew, but she’s here now. Just a few moments. That is all.”
Not wanting to leave, Percival wiggled out of his mother’s arms and cried for his figures. Andrew immediately launched forward to pick up his nephew’s new toys.
Jo stepped back and stared at Mitchell. Her eyes shot through him like daggers.
Taking advantage of her silence, Mitchell went on. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life. I know…your reluctance in doing so, but the result was I lived and owe it to you. I will be eternally grateful.”
As she looked at him standing before her, he did not resemble the man who almost died only a week before. Clean-shaven, the color had returned to his face. More so, his cheeks had filled in. Bare-chested, the dressing had been freshly changed. Wincing, he stepped toward her with effort.
“I did nothing more than I would have done for any poor soul. I can assure you had I known your mission, I might not have been so compassionate. Do not believe I will do so again. Now please excuse me.”
“No, one moment. It’s Josephine, isn’t it?” he said, using her given name. “As I said, I am leaving and will not be back. I can’t leave without at least trying. Cullen is a close friend. I can think of few I hold in more esteem than I do him so I won’t mince words. Come back with me.”
An awkward silence ensued. Still, Jo could not move. She glared at him with a hatred that stemmed from the fear of losing her precious son. She shook her head. “No…no!”
“Listen, please,” he begged. “I don’t have long, but surely you would want for your children to be safe. I can have you within Philadelphia within the week. You won’t have to worry about anything other than your children. Cullen has set…”
“Cullen left me,” she cried. “Mother of God! Do not play me for a fool! I know he has eyes on my son. We are not leaving!”
For a swift instant, she feared he would snatch her son and take him by force. Her chest swelled with indignation. “Magnolia Bluff is our home. My husband’s legacy to his son, his son!” she declared forcibly. “Our fate lies here. It is who we are. I will not betray my husband— ever! Whatever we have to endure, we will, but we will never…ever leave what Wade gave to us…sacrificed for us!”
Andrew drew Percival up and handed him over to Jo. “It was only an offer. I told him it was useless. He only wanted to see Percival,” he said in a low, soft voice. “Calm yourself. I will see you and Percival back to the house.”
“You are making a mistake,” Mitchell intervened, refusing to be ignored. “It is only going to get worse. We might not be able to get you to safety if you change your mind.”
With Percival in her arms, Jo walked purposely to the door, turning before she exited. Her voice was strong. “It is you who are mistaken if you believe that I frighten easily. We have already endured much and will endure whatever God has set forth. I certainly don’t need charity from a Yankee…any Yankee.”
Chapter Six
Without much ado, Lieutenant Cullen Smythe accepted his highly decorated promotion to captain. He gave a brief thought that his father would be proud, but other than that, he cared little for his decorations. His concentration lay on his command, the Itasca, and their mission. A consumed man, he lived for battle.
New Orleans had fallen swiftly, but Vicksburg had been a different matter. Heavier fortified and better defended, Vicksburg had only fallen after an extensive siege. Farragut’s fleet had supported the ground troops under the authority of General Ulysses S. Grant.
With this victory, the Mississippi River was under Union control. Another thrust in the heart of the Confederacy, cutting the western Confederate army off from the main troops and supplies. One more victory…one more day until the close of this damn war.
Rear Admiral Farragut had been recalled to Washington after Vicksburg fell, but Cullen expected him back soon enough. Most of his peers had taken leave when it had been offered and had gone to spend time at their respective homes, but Cullen had chosen only to take shore leave.
New Orleans had become a bitter disappointment. The people had been aggressive and hostile. When General Butler took command, he
met their bitterness and resentment with brute force, which served only to infuriate the masses greater.
Then, to make matters worse, General Butler had in essence declared war on the ladies of New Orleans. Driven by the unyielding spirit displayed by the inhabitants, Butler had declared in no uncertain terms that the women of the city were no better than prostitutes and were to be treated accordingly.
Butler’s men had taken it as permission to ravage the city. Butler had become known as Beast Butler. Although behind his back, he had, also, earned the nickname Spoons. The general, much to the defamation of the Union army, had a habit of stealing the silverware of the Southern homes in which he stayed. Last December, Butler had been removed from his command, replaced by General Nathaniel Banks.
Cullen supposed it was to be expected when one conquers a proud, stubborn people. If he allowed, the thought that these were his own people would gnaw at his very soul. Cullen had to remind himself of his commander’s words. Farragut had declared that in all their actions we are compelled to do this in defense of our people and the honor of our flag. He believed in those words and held to them.
The war had become a bloodbath. At times, the reason for the conflict seemed a distant notion of a wrong against another. Now, the reason meant little. The moment they took up arms against one another, there had been no turning back. All that mattered was that the North was victorious at all cost.
Before the war, Cullen remembered the enormous antislavery sentiment in the North, but there had also been a strong anti-Negro attitude. Now, it had become plain that the white Northerners, although against slavery, had no wish to deal with the prospect of what freeing the slaves would mean. The politicians and their constituencies did not want an influx of ex-slaves into their towns and cities.
The North had not anticipated the massive slave escapes and with the flood of black refugees, there had been no plans about how to care for these newfound freedmen. Many escapees found themselves in worse physical conditions than they had known on the plantations.
They were herded into camps and set up in tents with rations in exchange for work. The blacks were put to work in much the way Southern troops used them: building fortifications, digging latrines, and cleaning the camps. Blacks frequently complained that their Union supervisors treated them worse than their former masters and overseers. In truth, many Union soldiers resented having to serve in the war, especially those who were draftees, and they blamed the blacks for their predicament.
No, Cullen reconciled, there would be much to be overcome after this war. First, though, it had to come to an end. The frustrating part was it seemed never-ending. Supplies to the South had to be low and morale had to be even lower. Yet, they fought on.
Like caged animals, the Rebels fought at Vicksburg, yielding only after a stranglehold on the city. After the fall of Vicksburg, Grant had a better understanding of the heart of the South, especially after making two frontal assaults on the city.
Losing heavy casualties, Grant backed off, deciding on a siege to cut off their supplies. The Rebs held out over forty days before they finally surrendered. With the victory came the realization that there would be only one way to end this rebellion. The heart and soul of the South had to be cut out by whatever means available.
Never a day went by without an overwhelming sadness washing through Cullen. Wade’s death had cut him deeper than he wanted to admit to anyone, especially himself. His father’s letter bothered him more than his father would ever know:
I feel deeply the loss of your cousin. He demonstrated the honor and dignity that they esteem to in the South. I know that his death must weigh heavily upon you. You were close to him and even though the war had come between you both, the loss will be felt greatly. Take heart, my son.
His father understood little of his feelings. The war had changed him. Would Father be proud of his son if he knew his son hated a dead man?
His frustration…aggravation…and concern grew with the last letter from Hugh.
There is much that has happened since the last I wrote. I found I was unable to do so until Gavin had recovered sufficiently. Cullen, he almost died. Claiborne is so headstrong he would not listen to me when I said I wanted Gavin pulled after Heyward left. Claiborne insisted Gavin at least try to see whether he could obtain any vital information before he gave up his cover. Gavin agreed, but was almost killed for his efforts.
It happened when Gavin was walking along King Street after making note of all the information he had collected. He was accosted by a group of ruffians led by one you know well, Buck Haynes.
Gavin had been betrayed by one of his own men. It seems that Buck had been searching for a way back into the militia in Charleston. Buck caught wind of Gavin’s mission.
Jonas had introduced Gavin to an old friend, Sterling Lester, who worked down at the docks. He saw the supplies loaded up for the forts and listened to the men talk. Gavin was able to gather exactly what was going in and out…from blockade-runners and the railroad. Unfortunately, as good as the information was that Sterling supplied, he had a fatal flaw—his drinking. It loosened his tongue.
Buck got hold of Sterling…by the time Buck was done, Sterling had no tongue. I doubt Sterling held back any information he had. Thank goodness he knew nothing of our operation except for Gavin and Jonas.
When Buck ambushed Gavin, he stabbed Gavin in the struggle. Despite being severely injured, Gavin was able to escape up the river to MB, where by some twist of fate, he was saved by Josephine. She found him along the riverbank where he had swum ashore.
Andrew cared for him, but not before Buck rode up with a Charleston militia. Josephine saved them all by insisting the militia leave before searching the grounds. But I would be misleading you if I did not state she holds little love for anything connected to us Yankees. She has taken Wade’s death hard and seems only interested in maintaining his legacy.
I saw her the night I went to retrieve Gavin. Andrew had brought Percival down at Gavin’s request. It was good to see the boy. I brought him some soldier figures. It should ease your mind to know that he is growing tall and seems quite happy. I was able to hide outside the window before Josephine burst into the room quite upset, for Andrew had not informed her that he had borrowed her son for a little while.
Gavin used the opportunity to try to talk her into withdrawing back to Philadelphia. She steadfastly refused. But take heart, we are keeping an eye on your son, who, I will state, is a miniature version of yourself.
I have heard of your recent exploits and promotion. Congratulations…
Anger burned inside him. How dare she! Was she not free now? No longer bound by her ring and yet she stayed…refused to leave! Keeping his son within the boundaries where a war raged…with Buck loose to wreak havoc! No, he would take no more. He wrote back clearly and without reservation.
Take Percival out! Take him out now…with or without Josephine!
* * * *
“Momma! Duke loves being home!”
In the crisp November wind, Jo smiled at the sight of her son running around the front lawn. Holding a sleeping Madeline in her arms, she breathed in deeply. It was good to be back at Magnolia Bluff.
She swore if she never set foot in Charleston again, it would be too soon. Lord have mercy on my soul! She couldn’t have taken much more of the city. The infamous charm and warmth of the inhabitants had been replaced with fear and paranoia.
There was no more festive entertaining. The focus now centered on surviving and helping the cause. Many a day was spent volunteering at the hospital, visiting a neighbor in need or comforting a family who had lost a loved one in this dreadful conflict. A stifling, overwhelming melancholy enveloped the city.
Occasionally, Jo glimpsed the old Charleston when she walked along the Battery with the children, sat on the piazza enjoying the cool ocean air, or attended church at St. Michael’s.
There had been moments to celebrate. Shortly after Madeline’s first birthday, Jenna deli
vered a healthy son, Eugene Samuel. Never had Jo seen such joy from Derek and found herself envious of the little family, but reprimanded herself greatly. She realized any happiness snatched during this time should be held to as long as possible, much like this moment… returning to Magnolia Bluff.
Jo shook off the guilt she felt by escaping Charleston. She had become so homesick for the plantation. All the horrible news coming from the battlefields had become wearisome and depressing. She had no desire to ever look at a newspaper again. On the lips of every person she had greeted was one sad story after another.
Moreover, most of the benevolent friends seemed to think that Wade’s death was a badge of honor that she should wear proudly. If she was told once more her sacrifice had been needed, she would scream. She had sacrificed enough. She had lost her husband and found herself quite selfish in not wanting to lose more.
Despite the defiance that still ran throughout the city, Jo couldn’t deny most felt the South was living on the edge of defeat. The poor souls wanted only to find a semblance of meaning to the price that was being paid for this war. Even in victory, it seemed the South suffered defeat, as was the case at the Battle of Chancellorsville. The city fell into mourning with the loss of General Stonewall Jackson.
Derek had declared that with Stonewall Jackson’s death, the South was dealt a severe blow. The man had been a brilliant commander and leader. Afterwards, the news from the war seemed to be followed by one defeat after another, first Gettysburg and then news came that Vicksburg fell.
So many soldiers dying. Death…death…death. It was all around her. She could take no more.
“Master Percival’s happy to be back.”
Jo glanced over at Rosa, who had walked to her side. “I believe we all are.”
“I’m just happy we arrived safe and sound. Ain’t safe, I’ll tell ya, to be on those roads, Miss Jo. Mark my words,” Rosa stated soundly. “Now let me take that little one and put her down in her bed.”
