Dreaming of her own bedtime already, Ruby returned to the kitchen and folded the wool they’d been cutting today. No sooner had she stacked the pieces than another knock sounded on the door. Strange.
When Ruby stepped into the hall, a loud banging behind her catapulted her heart into double time. She spun around to face the French doors leading to the garden. There, dripping wet, was Sean.
“What do you want?” She shouted through the glass.
“Emma forgot her gloves.” He shrugged. “Can you let me in, please? If you hadn’t noticed, it’s a wee bit humid out here.”
“Where’s Emma then?”
“Running late as usual. I sent her back with the umbrella. Told her I’d fetch her bloomin’ gloves and catch up to her.” Lightning split the sky behind him. “Come on, Ruby, don’t make me wait. If I catch pneumonia out here, it’ll be on your head.” His attempt at a smile screwed into a grimace instead. Sean would break the glass just to have his own way if he was in a black temper. Scowling, Ruby let him in and pointed to a patch of floor just inside the door. “Wait here while I go look for them.”
“As you wish!” He tipped his hat to her, sending a stream of rainwater splashing onto the rug.
Rolling her eyes, Ruby ducked back into the kitchen and lifted every fold of fabric until she found Emma’s gloves under the bolt. “Here you go, I found—”
He wasn’t where she had left him.
Her heart hammered against its cage. “Sean?” She walked down the hall, looking in the dining room, the library, the rear parlor, until she found him in the front parlor. Hands folded behind his back, he gazed up at an English landscape oil painting hanging above the sofa. He half-turned, and caught Ruby’s gaze in the mirror above the marble fireplace.
“You sure are livin’ like a queen in her castle.”
Ruby’s mouth went dry. She shook her head. “No, you’re mistaken. I am the lowly Irish maid. The queen is just not here.”
His eyes flashed, and she bit her tongue for its thoughtless remark. “That’s what Emma says. It’s quite a set-up.” He swiveled slowly around, as if calculating the worth of every item.
Ruby’s skin crawled. “Here are Emma’s gloves. Now go.”
“’Tis raining harder. Surely you wouldn’t turn me out just yet.”
She grabbed an umbrella from the hall stand and thrust it at him, wishing it was fitted with bayonet. “Take it. Emma can return it to me next week. She’ll be wondering where you got to.”
Sean stepped toward her and grabbed the end of the umbrella. “I don’t take orders from anyone. Not from skinny-necked lieutenants. Not from my sister. Not from you.”
Ruby flinched.
“Sure is a lovely place. And you’re a lovely woman.” His gaze raked her body, igniting fire in her veins. “And here we are all alone.”
“I told you, I’m not that kind of girl anymore.”
“Old habits are hard to break. At least, I hope they are, in your case.” He stepped closer, until he was near enough that she smelled whiskey on his breath, saw whiskers bristling from his jaw. In his eyes she saw every man who had ever violated her. Stolen her soul, piece by piece.
It would not happen again. Old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. “I am a new person now. And I’ll not be havin’ any of your vile talk. There’s the door, now go.”
“How about a tip first?”
“For what?”
“For not ravaging you right here on the floor, for starters. On account of I’m such a gentleman, I am.”
“You’ll not have a dime.”
“I’m not talking about a dime. I’m talking about something a little more valuable that the missus would never miss.”
“Help you steal from Mrs. Waverly?” Ruby was incredulous. “I’d never!”
Aiden cried out, and Ruby’s heart nearly stopped beating.
The devil’s grin slithered across Sean’s face. “Aye, the little bastard! I almost forgot you had him. Let’s see the wee babe. Though I doubt I’ll see any likeness of Matthew in him.” He shoved Ruby into the corner of the doorframe, and pain sliced the length of her back. He was on the staircase in a few long strides.
“Don’t you touch him!” Ruby screamed and clambered up the stairs after him, clawing at his ankles. He turned, gripped her wrists and twisted, until her hands went numb and released their catch. Then his muddy boot slammed squarely into her chest and sent her crashing against the walnut banister and down the stairs.
The room swayed. She struggled like a capsized ship in high seas to right herself. Her hand pressed against the pounding in her head and came away wet with blood. Her back cried out in pain.
But it was nothing to the cry of her son, growing louder now, more frantic. When her vision focused, the rest of the room fell away. Fear released itself in a hot trickle down her leg.
Sean suspended Aiden over the second floor railing by his feet, with nothing but air between the baby’s head and the main hall floor below. “What’s he worth to you?” Sean shouted over Aiden’s screaming.
“Everything!” She was sobbing now, pushing herself up to her feet, stumbling with her arms outstretched to the place where Aiden might drop.
“Then let’s have it.”
“Put him down!”
Sean let go of one foot, and the baby swung like a pendulum, choking on tears and mucus.
Ruby’s anguished scream echoed in the hall. “He is innocent!”
“But you aren’t. Or else he wouldn’t even be here.” He laughed. “Promise me.”
“P-Promise you what?”
“Everything.”
“Carry him down the stairs to me safely and I promise you, I promise you, what I have is yours. So help me if you harm a hair on his body, I will kill you myself.”
“I doubt that.” But he heaved Aiden up over the railing and carried him under one arm down the stairs. “You can have no idea how fun it is to watch you squirm.”
Ruby staggered toward him and snatched Aiden out of the madman’s arms. “Shhh, shhhhh, you’re all right now, Mama’s here, it’s all right.” His tiny shoulders hiccupped with sobs that mimicked her own, and his face was red and swollen. Ruby’s heart shattered as she squeezed his sweaty little body against her aching chest. If she had lost him …
“We can all be bought, Ruby. You’re no different. Now, if you please. You did promise.” He fingered the top button of her collar.
She jerked back. “I am not for sale.”
“Then what exactly did you promise me?”
When Sean finally disappeared back into the rain, it was with everything Ruby had earned and saved for Aiden’s future.
She was cast down, but not destroyed. Ruby’s price had already been paid—but not by Sean. For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.
Sean did not own her, and neither did her past. God did.
Ruby O’Flannery would never give up her body to another man again.
Atlanta, Georgia
Thursday, October 29, 1863
Damp morning air seeped through Caitlin’s tattered dress even as pine branches crackled in the kitchen fireplace. “I can do this,” she told herself, frail wisps of woodsmoke curling into the air around her.
Two refugees—a pretty, yet spoiled young woman a few years older than Caitlin, and a kind, warm lady about Caitlin’s mother’s age—had come knocking on the door in the last week, and Caitlin had welcomed them in, though it meant two more mouths to feed. Soon after they arrived, she had had no choice but to let Bess and Saul go. There were no more horses for Saul to care for, and barely any food to cook. If Caitlin could do the work herself, that would be only four bellies to fill instead of six.
I can do this.
The first want of the day was always coffee, and as they had none left, a substitute would have to suffice. It seemed as though every issue of the newspaper brought with it a new recipe:
&nbs
p; Rye, boiled, dried, and ground like coffee.
Irish potatoes peeled and sliced very thin, roasted and ground.
Sweet potatoes cut into chunks and dried in the sun, and ground.
Dandelion roots, washed, diced, and roasted until dry and dark brown, ground.
Ripe acorns, washed, parched until they open, roasted with bacon fat.
Okra seeds.
Corn.
Shelled peanuts, toasted or roasted until almost black, ground into powder.
Peanuts Caitlin had, as did most Atlanta housekeepers. Scooping a few handfuls onto the table, Caitlin sat on the stool and pressed the flat blade of a knife on the shells to crack them open.
When enough peanuts had been shelled, Caitlin placed a tray of them to roast on the grate over the fire and stood back. Her gaze skittered around the kitchen, making a mental note of their supplies. It did not take long, thanks to the thieves who had helped themselves to her supplies last night before Rascal’s toothless barking had scared them away. Besides peanuts, there was corn and cornmeal. Potatoes. Some rice. A little dried meat, not much. Some sorghum. Just three eggs left from the last time the yeoman farmers passed by. Caitlin had no idea if they’d ever be back. The poor white folks who lived outside of town used to roll through here regularly, selling corn, sorghum, and eggs out of their buckboard wagons. But ever since the Confederate government imposed a tax-in-kind on yeoman farmers and plantations alike, forcing them to hand over a portion of all they grew, the farmers had kept out of sight for the most part.
No matter. She would make do. Heaven knew she had done it before.
Let’s see, three eggs, four people. She could use one to make cornbread, and boil the remaining two, dividing them lengthwise to make sure each person received an equal portion. A grim smile curled her lips. It sounded like one of the story problems from Mr. Johnson’s An Elementary Arithmetic. If one Confederate soldier can whip 7 Yankees, how many soldiers can whip 49 Yankees?
A Confederate soldier captured 8 Yankees each day for 9 successive days; how many did he capture in all?
If a merchant sells salt to a soldier’s wife at $50 per bag when the going rate is $90 per bag, how much money would the merchant lose selling four bags to soldiers’ wives?
If two boiled eggs must feed three women and one child, what fraction should each person eat?
“Half an egg each.” It was not so unusual anymore. Jefferson Davis was quoted in the papers as saying that he could see no reason for not eating rats, for he thought they would be as good as squirrels. The idea made her ill as she hung a pot of water over the fire.
Outside, Rascal barked. When he grew more frantic, the back door of the house slammed, followed by footsteps running toward the kitchen.
“Miss McKae! There’s someone else at the door!”
No eggs in the cornbread then. Three boiled eggs divided by five. That would be … three-fifths each. Oh how she could use a real cup of coffee.
“Come, come!” Ana tugged on her skirt, and Caitlin followed her around the house to meet the new refugee on the porch.
As they rounded the corner, she wiped her hands on her apron and tucked her hair behind her ear. Pebbles punched through her thin soles as she walked. “May I help—”
The woman turned. “Hello, honey.”
“You!” Caitlin ran to embrace her. “Minnie Taylor, am I ever glad to see you! What brings you back to Atlanta?”
“The Western & Atlantic.” She smirked, her dimples popping into place. “ ‘Live while ye may, Yet happy pair; enjoy till I return, Short pleasures; for long woes are to succeed.’ ”
Caitlin shuddered as Minnie quoted Paradise Lost.
“Turns out Milton was right, honey. He just didn’t know he was talking about the Confederacy.” Her grey eyes drooped to the bundle at her feet. “I don’t suppose you’d have any room for a refugee like me?”
“Of course we do.” Caitlin squeezed Minnie’s shoulders. “But what about your home? Didn’t you have a plantation?”
“Appropriated for some federal officers during the siege of Chattanooga. All the slaves freed. Grandfather’s gone, too. Enlisted in the army to take my dead daddy’s place. There’s nothing for me there anymore. I couldn’t think of anyplace else to go.”
“I’ll take care of you now, Minnie.”
“No, honey. We’ll take care of each other, with God’s help.”
Caitlin nodded, though God had not bothered Himself much about her family before. The two women circled back around to the kitchen, Ana at their heels until she spotted a rabbit in the brush and decided to stalk that instead.
“Oh!” said Caitlin when she saw the peanuts nearly blackened over the fire. With a rag, she snatched the tray off the fire and set it on the table.
“Heaven help us, what are you fixin’ to feed us today?”
“Only the finest peanut coffee in the South.” Caitlin winked at Minnie as she scooped the charred peanuts into a wooden mortar and ground them with the pestle. She then poured the grounds into the percolator coffeepot and ladled hot water in over it. “We’ll let it brew while the eggs boil, then we’ll go in and you can meet the others.”
“The others?”
“Two more houseguests here, indefinitely, from the Chattanooga area as well. One is named Naomi Ford, and the other—”
“The other” burst into the kitchen then, smelling of rose hair oil and reeking of indignation. Her nearly white-blonde hair was arranged in three rolls of varied sizes over the top of her head, on each side of the part.
“Why, I’m simply ravenous! Where are your Negroes? If I were you I’d whip them up one side and down the other for making us wait for breakfast!”
Caitlin grit her teeth before responding. “I told you, I’ve let them go.”
“You what? You can’t free your slaves, it’s against the law!”
“They were never mine to begin with. We rented their time and service from their owner in Decatur. I’ve simply stopped employing them so I have more money for food.”
“They weren’t even your own slaves?” She threw up her hands, then laughed, shaking her head. “What kind of a home is this?”
“The kind that takes in a stranger without a Confederate shinplaster to her name.” Caitlin’s tone was sweet as sorghum. “Now. Your breakfast will be ready shortly. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee now, since you’re here, and then we can eat in the dining room soon.”
She sniffed. “Fine. What are we having?”
Caitlin glanced at Minnie and stifled a laugh. “For you? Three-fifths of a boiled egg, peanut coffee, and cornmeal crackers if I can just get around to making them.” She should not be so amused at the look of horror on the woman’s face.
“Why, I never! Do you know that where I come from, breakfast is no less than six courses? Melon, fried perch, chicken in cream gravy, poached eggs on toast, porterhouse steak with tomatoes and mayonnaise, oatmeal, corn muffins, sugared peaches! Tea, coffee, and chocolate!” She groaned, eyes closed, with a hand on her tightly laced corset.
“It’s a wonder you ever left such a place.” Caitlin poured coffee into a tin cup and handed it to her, an impish grin on her face.
“Well I wouldn’t expect the same fare here of course, not in these times, but I do declare I was hoping for a little more substance than this!”
“You’re getting three-fifths of a boiled egg, peanut coffee, and crackers. Enjoy.”
Minnie stepped forward, laughter in her grey eyes. “By the way, I’m Minerva Taylor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ll be staying here for a while, too.”
Caitlin and Minnie watched as Susan sampled the peanut coffee—and spit it out onto the floor, by way of Caitlin’s skirt.
“I’m Susan.” Eyebrows drawn together, she pressed the back of her hand to her pert little mouth until she recovered. “Susan Kent. Charmed, I’m sure.”
New York City
Monday, November 2, 1863
“Shhh, shhhh, Aiden, shhhhh.”
Ruby swayed with her baby on her hip, but of course it did nothing to soothe his swollen gums. “I’m sorry, Emma, he’s cutting a tooth. Our sewing lesson may be over for today.” She smiled apologetically. “I’ll be right back.”
“Poor little lad. Don’t be sorry; he can’t help it a wee bit, now can he?” Emma’s voice floated down the hall as Ruby headed to the kitchen, where a washcloth was steeping in cold orange tea—a suggestion from Vivian. She wrung out the cloth and handed it to Aiden to chew on.
He calmed, and Ruby breathed a sigh of relief. “Does that feel good, darlin’?” He nuzzled his head under her chin as she carried him back to meet Emma.
“You’re such a good mama, Ruby. I could never do it.”
“Yes, you could. God gives strength and grace for what you need, when you need it.”
“Aye, for you he does.”
“Not just for me. You—” She stopped cold. Was she hearing things? “Emma, is Sean coming for you again today?”
“No, lass. He’s comin’ for you.”
“What?” Ruby gasped. “I—I told him not to come back again.” She had done far more than that. She’d gone to the police station and asked them to patrol the brownstone periodically, in anticipation of Sean trying to break in. But the answer, thanks to her Irish accent, had been no. Your people curried no favor with us by beating uniformed officers to a pulp last summer.
“Sean told me you had an argument, he did. I’m sorry for it. But he wanted to apologize.”
Ruby’s pulse galloped. “No, no, I won’t be alone with him again. I’ll not have him in this house!”
Emma’s brow wrinkled. “’Twas that bad, was it? Well then never mind. I’ll stay with you. Just step outside on the steps, in full view of the street traffic, in broad daylight. He won’t rest until he’s said his piece, and you might as well hear him now with me than later when he’s been sloshing in his drink again.”
Ruby’s eyes narrowed with doubt.
“Trust me, he’ll come back again later without me if you don’t hear him now.”
Yankee in Atlanta Page 11
