But the question remained: Where was Channing?
“Damned if I know where he could have got off to,” Hollis muttered, in angry frustration. “I looked all around, but there’s not a clue.”
Virginia was trying to think of some reply to that when she suddenly remembered her mission in the barn. “Father sent me out to saddle his horse. I’d better get to it. Do you want me to do yours, too, Hollis?”
He grinned at her, his prey forgotten for the moment.’ That’d be nice, Sis. I figure Polly must be setting out our breakfast right about now.”
“You go ahead. I’ll take care of the horses and see you inside, shortly.”
Hollis left the barn, still shaking his head and muttering to himself over the strange disappearance of the “Yankee spy.”
As soon as her brother left, Virginia searched the barn from top to bottom. She found nothing. Channing had simply vanished, without a trace. She had to find him, but she couldn’t begin her real search until after her father and brothers left. Skillfully and quickly, she saddled their mounts, then headed back to the house. She didn’t want them waiting breakfast for her and delaying their departure.
The minute she entered the house, she heard laughing and talking from the dining room. They hadn’t waited breakfast after all. That was good.
“All fed, watered, saddled, and ready to ride,” she announced, as she entered the dining room.
“Good girl!” her father said, around a mouthful of pancakes.
“You didn’t see anything of that Yankee while you were out there?” This was Hollis, of course.
Virginia only shook her head. All the men rose, as Hampton jumped up to hold his sister’s chair for her. Then they all fell upon their food once more.
The talk at the table was mostly of the war—none of the gory details, which would have been unfit at table, or anywhere else, in the presence of ladies. Instead, their tales ran to humorous episodes, such as the Yankee who had shot himself in the foot to keep from facing Rebel forces in battle. There was the old woman and her young grandson who had held off a whole Yankee troupe with a couple of squirrel guns, threatening to blow daylight through their blue bellies, if they were to set foot in her yard. Then there was another wily plantation owner’s wife down in South Carolina, who had kept the Yankees off her land by purposely eating fruit she knew she was allergic to. She broke out in hives immediately and was a grotesque sight, when she met the Union soldiers at her front gate. She told them that they thought they had smallpox on the place, but they were welcome to use her house, just the same.
“One look at her put those Yanks in full retreat,” Rodney said, with a loud guffaw.
He hadn’t talked much at breakfast. It was clear to Virginia that he and his bride had spent their one night together making love. Agnes wore a blush during the entire meal, and she kept her eyes on her plate, when she wasn’t staring up adoringly at her husband. Virginia felt a strong kinship with Agnes this morning. Now they both knew the magic secret of love.
The third woman at the table, Melora Swan, had a glow about her, as well. Her night with the colonel had eased some of the worry lines from her face. She looked mellow and restored, this morning. From time to time, Virginia caught her mother gazing at her father with a tenderness that surprised the younger woman. It was difficult to imagine her parents indulging in the same emotions and passions that she and Channing had shared a short while ago.
Virginia noticed that the only other woman in the room seemed to be giving her significant glances, from time to time. Old Polly was serving this morning, something odd in itself. Usually, Polly’s work was done, once she cooked a meal. Juniper took over in the dining room, passing the silver platters around, like an efficient, silent ghost. Maybe Polly had chosen to serve breakfast because she wanted to spend more time with the Swan men before they rode off again. She had always been partial to the twins. They had been raised with her own boys. Still, Virginia herself was obviously the main focus of Polly’s attention this morning. It almost seemed that they shared some secret. What it might be, Virginia had no earthly idea, but she would certainly make a point of speaking with Polly privately, after the meal.
“I’ve packed each of you three new shirts,” Melora told her husband and sons. “And I had all your clothes washed and pressed, while you slept. Mercy, I’ve seen white trash dressed in cleaner clothes than you boys wore home!”
“This is war!” the colonel said. “Keeping tidy is not our main concern, my dear.”
“Well, I won’t have my sons’ health ruined by poor hygiene, and I hold you responsible, Jedediah.”
Virginia’s brothers exchanged amused glances and a few chuckles, but their mother silenced them with a stern look.
“That’s quite enough!” She spoke to the lot of them. “You boys, when you find a stream, bathe in it, wash your clothes. I want your solemn vow on that.”
They all nodded and murmured their promises, but Virginia heard Hollis whisper to Hampton, “If we can ever find a stream that ain’t running red with blood.”
Melora didn’t hear the remark, and Virginia was glad of that. The very thought made her feel ill.
Colonel Swan crossed his silver fork and knife at the top of his china plate, signaling that the meal was at an end. It was a simple move, an ordinary gesture that everyone at the table had witnessed a thousand times. But this morning was different. All eyes focused on that crossed cutlery for a moment. Then Virginia saw Agnes look up at Rodney with tears brimming. Her whole face looked as though it were about to crumble. Melora, too, turned to gaze at her husband. Her features remained placid, but there was a wild look of panic in her eyes.
“So soon?” she whispered to the colonel.
In a rare public show of affection, he covered his wife’s hand with his own. “It’s time, my dear. We’ve a long ride ahead of us today.” He glanced around the table and nodded. “You are excused.”
Everyone rose and left the room to prepare for their departure—everyone except Jedediah and Melora. They lingered, alone together, over the dregs of their coffee, sharing a few last words of private farewell.
Virginia left them to their privacy. In the hallway, she saw Rodney and Agnes huddled together. Her pregnant sister-in-law was weeping openly, while her husband tried to soothe her.
“I’ll be back soon, darlin’,” he assured her.
“When the baby comes?” she whimpered.
“Well now, I can’t promise that. But you’ll do fine. I know you will, sweetheart. And you’ll have Mama and Virginia here to help you. And old Maum Sugar, the midwife.”
“But I want you here, Rodney! How will I bear it without you?”
He cradled her gently and kissed her cheek. The sight of her big, gruff brother’s tenderness toward his wife almost brought tears to Virginia’s eyes. This was a side of Rodney she had never seen before.
“You’re stronger than you think, honey. I know you are. And just keep focusing on our future together. Once this war is over, we’ll be a real family. We’ll get our own place and raise a dozen children. We’ll be so happy, you and me. You love me, don’t you?”
“Oh, Rodney!” Agnes melted into his arms, weeping all the harder. “You know I do.”
Virginia moved on, not wanting to intrude on their tender farewell. She was heading out back when she ran into Polly. The woman motioned her into the pantry. Virginia followed without question.
Polly’s words were brief and to the point. “Brother Zebulon got something at his place that belongs to you. Soon as the master leaves, you come right out to the quarters, you hear?”
Virginia nodded. “I’ll be there.” She squeezed the woman’s hand, affectionately. “Thank you, Polly.”
The cook swished out of the pantry and on her way, as though nothing had passed between them. Virginia remained where she was for a few moments, allowing relief to wash over her, until she felt she could face the others without anyone realizing that something h
ad changed since breakfast.
Virginia went out and led the horses around front, instead of waiting for one of the grooms to perform the task. The sooner the men mounted up and rode out, the sooner she could go to Channing. She prayed that her mother and Agnes would not prolong their goodbyes, once the men left the house. Her prayers were answered. The women had said all they had to say in private. Now, both Melora and Agnes kept a stiff upper lip, as their husbands mounted their horses, waved their hats in one last farewell, and rode down the lane toward the swan pond.
The minute they were out of sight, Agnes fell into Melora’s arms, sobbing her heart out.
“I’ll not have this!” Melora said sternly. “Get hold of yourself, Agnes.”
“But he’s gone!” the girl wailed. “How can you be so calm?”
She held her daughter-in-law at arm’s length. “Because I know that the sooner they leave, the sooner they’ll come home to us again. You should hold that thought, Agnes. All this weeping and carrying on won’t bring Rodney back a minute sooner, and it’s liable to harm the baby. You need to concentrate all your efforts now on giving your husband a strong, healthy son.”
Virginia bristled when she heard those words. How could her own mother say such a thing? “Or a strong, healthy, beautiful daughter!” Virginia added, defiantly.
Her mother ignored her words, but Agnes turned on her. “It is going to be a son!” she exclaimed. “That’s what Rodney wants, and that’s what I’m giving him.”
Virginia turned and left the veranda. It was on the tip of her tongue to say to Agnes, “Did you ever think that your father might have wanted a son, too?” Discretion won out, over annoyance. She hurried away, toward the swan pond. She smiled when she saw that the old cob was still there with his mate. Virginia tarried there long enough to see her mother and Agnes go into the house. Then she ran back up the path and headed toward the slave quarters, toward Zebulon’s cabin—toward Channing.
She knocked softly at the rough board door. No one answered, but it opened immediately with a squeaking of rusty hinges.
“Got to put some goose grease on those pesky things.” Brother Zebulon glared at the hinges, then smiled at Virginia. “Come in, child. And wipe that worry often your pretty face. He be fine.”
Channing didn’t look fine when Virginia saw him. He was stretched out on Zebulon’s cornshuck mattress, seemingly unconscious, looking pale and sickly.
“What happened?”
“He been shot.”
“I know that. But he seemed much better than this earlier.”
“He wouldn’t of been for long. That ball in his arm was fixing to fester, sure as thunder. I had to get it out. Polly, she fixed him up a right strong dose of roots and such to cut the pain. He didn’t suffer none while I was working on him, but could be old Polly poisoned him.”
“Did no such a thing!” Polly hissed from the doorway. “He be right as rain when he wakes up. He just getting the rest he needs that he didn’t get none of during the night.”
Virginia blushed. Did Polly know? To cover her embarrassment at that thought, and because she really meant it, she said, “Thank you both. I was so afraid he’d been found.”
“He was,” Polly said, “by me. I saw you coming out of the barn way too early for white folks to be up to anything ordinary. I was out by the woodpile fetching kindling, since that no-account Ludlow didn’t haul none in last night to fire up the cookstove for breakfast. After you went back to the big house, I figured I better go to the barn and have me a look-see. And there was Mister Channing, fast asleep, looking real feverish. I called Zebulon, and we got him moved right quick.”
“Thank the Lord!” Virginia breathed, thinking again what might have happened if Hollis had found him instead. She no longer cared that Polly knew she and Channing had been together. All that mattered was that Channing was safe and would recover under the ministering hands of the two slaves.
“You gonna marry him now, Miss Virginia?”
“I already have, Polly, at least in my heart and soul.”
“Well, it’s high time you did it in the sight of God too. First thing, when he’s strong enough, Brother Zebulon’s gonna take care of that. Might not be much more than a broomstick jumpin’, but I reckon if that’s good enough for us folks, it’s good enough for you.”
Virginia smiled at the thought of her polished and sophisticated Channing jumping a broomstick in the common slave manner of marriage. “I’m sure it will be good enough for us. Thank you both again.”
Channing was vaguely aware of voices nearby. From time to time, he could make out a word or two, but nothing seemed to fit together. He felt that Virginia was there, somewhere near. Repeatedly, he tried to speak her name. Repeatedly, he failed. Something had made his tongue thick and foul tasting. His head seemed to be three times its normal size, with his brain rattling around inside, useless. All he could do was lie still and keep breathing. He told himself that the sooner he recovered from whatever was ailing him, the sooner he could be with Virginia again. He put all his effort into focusing on that one thought.
But soon the dreams began. Terrible, horrifying nightmares about smoke and flames. He was falling, out of control. He heard people screaming and begging for God’s help. He tossed on the bed, until strong hands clamped his arms to hold him still.
“Got to save her,” he muttered. “Can’t let her die. Her husband … her kids! It’ll be all right, ma’am. Let me get Christine out, then I’ll come back for you.”
Channing’s words were plain now, all too plain. Who was Christine? Virginia wondered. What could Channing be raving about?
“It’s the potion I give him,” Polly explained. “It oft times makes a body crazy in the head for a spell. He be fine soon.”
Suddenly, Channing yelled, “The airplane’s on fire!”
“What?” All three of them said the word at once. None of them understood.
Polly nodded, knowingly. “It be them roots, all right. They just got him off his head for a time. Don’t you worry none, Miss Virginia.”
That was easy for Polly to say. Virginia was half out of her mind with worry. Channing’s whole face was twisted with anguish. He opened his eyes once and glanced wildly about, seeing nothing, only adding to Virginia’s fears. Maybe Polly had blinded him with her strong potion.
Virginia determined not to leave Channing’s side, until the crisis passed. But just then the plantation bell started ringing raucously. Used only for emergencies—fire, accident, or to announce a death—the sound of the bell went through the stuffy room like a shock wave.
“You best get up to the big house right now, Miss Virginia,” Polly urged. “We keep watch over Mister Channing. But it sound like your ma needs you.”
Virginia leaned down and kissed Channing’s burning brow before she hurried out. “Call me if there’s any change,” she told Polly and Zebulon.
Up at the house, chaos reigned. Virginia found her mother wringing her hands in the library, while Agnes writhed on the couch.
“It’s the baby!” Melora exclaimed. “Go fetch Maum Sugar, quickly!”
“But she’s not due yet.”
“Babies come in their own time. And it seems this one is demanding to be born, here and now. Move, Virginia! Get Sugar!”
“Rodney-y-y! Come back!” Agnes’s anguished wails followed Virginia down the hall.
Virginia went flying out the back door, screaming for Sugar. Her cries roused all the slaves who weren’t in the fields. Soon, she was followed by a ragtag army of children, a pack of hounds, and most of the house and yard servants. She found the midwife in one of the cabins, cleaning up after the delivery of a small caramel-colored boy who looked amazingly like Virginia’s brother, Jed. But this was no time for speculation.
“We need you up at the house, Maum Sugar. Miss Agnes is in labor. You have to come right now!”
“Lord, lord!” Sugar groaned, hefting her ungainly weight up
from the birthing stool. “It don’t rain but it pours. First, the old cat has kittens, then Xena drops her first sucker, now Miss Agnes. Must be the phase of the moon. Tell your ma, I be there directly, Miss Virginia.”
“But Miss Agnes need you now!”
“When’d her pains commence?”
Virginia thought quickly. She hadn’t asked, but she knew how long she had been at Zebulon’s cabin. “Less than an hour-ago.”
Sugar cackled. “Miss Agnes, she got a long time to go yet. Ain’t no hurry. I be finished here right shortly.”
“But what do we do until you get there? She’s screaming, Maum Sugar. She sounds like she’s going to die.”
“She ain’t gone die, don’t you worry none. Tell Miz Melora to give her a sip of your daddy’s brandy. That’ll calm her some, till I get to the house.”
Virginia glanced one last time at the new little slave. Yes, he most definitely looked like Jed. Then she turned and fled the cabin. Her entourage was waiting outside, calling out questions concerning both births. Virginia brushed past them and hurried on her way.
Agnes was alternately screaming and moaning, by the time Virginia returned to the library. Several of the house servants hovered about, bringing sheets to put under Agnes on the library couch, hauling in steaming kettles of water, plumping pillows.
“Give her brandy!” Virginia gasped, as she raced through the door. “Maum Sugar says brandy will help.”
“Where is Sugar?” Melora Swan demanded.
“Coming! Coming soon.” Virginia was still trying to catch her breath. “She just delivered a baby down in the quarters.”
“Whose baby?” Melora asked, calculating that it had been almost nine months to the day since she caught young Jed behind the smokehouse with pretty, light-skinned Xena.
Virginia tried to think. She had been concentrating on the baby, not the mother. “I don’t know. One of Polly’s granddaughters, I think. She lives in the cabin next to Sugar’s, on the far side.”
Melora nodded. So, it was Xena. A bizarre twist of fate that two of her sons should father children born on the same day. But Agnes was screaming again, louder than ever. She put aside thoughts of her son Jed’s transgressions and went to the spirits chest for the brandy. She looked at the bottle. There wasn’t much left, and the only other bottle on the place was one she was saving to celebrate her husband’s return from the war.
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