“That’s a great idea, Rosh,” Morgan said gladly. “I hate having to picket horses out in the open. Let’s get to it.”
It took them more that two hours, but as they started working, they found themselves constructing an arbor that was almost as weatherproof as a snug log cabin.
They were still poking small evergreen branches in the cracks and holes when Meredith came out, nervously drying his hands on his dirty apron. “Mr. Morgan, you said you was from around these parts, didn’t you?”
“Yes, my farm is just about fifteen miles from here, due north. That town down there, Fredericksburg, is the nearest, so it’s sort of like my hometown,” Morgan replied. “Why?”
“Marse Robert had a bunch of officers to dinner, and Perry heard ’em talking. Seems like one of them heathern Yankee gen’rals over there tole the mayor of Fredericksburg that he was mad at ’em, ’cause some boys was snipin’ at ’em acrost the river, there. And ’cause they been millin’ flour and grain and manufacturing clothes and the like to give to bodies in rebellion ’gainst the US gov’ment. He demands they surrender the town, yes, suh.”
“Did he say what he was going to do if they didn’t? This Yankee general?” Morgan demanded.
“He said he was gonna blow up the town to pieces,” Meredith answered with disdain. “Shame on him is what I say. Ain’t no soldiers left in no town in Virginia. Bound to be a bunch of old folks and slaves and women and children down there. Anyways, Marse Robert says he’s not going to be able to take the town, ’cause something about the ground down there. But he’s not going to let the Yankees just dance in there and take it, neither. So he told the mayor that there was going to be fightin’ there, one way or t’other, and that they better ’vacuate.”
Morgan exclaimed, “Evacuate!” With distress Morgan stared toward the river, though he couldn’t see the town because they were on the far side of the hill. After long moments he said, “Thank you, Meredith, and thank Perry for letting me know.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Morgan, sure ’nough.” He turned and hurried back up the hill.
Morgan dropped his head and paced back and forth.
Quietly Rosh went down the row of horses, stroking their noses, murmuring endearments. As usual, Vulcan wouldn’t let Rosh touch him. He temperamentally shook his mane and backed up a step.
It was a full ten minutes before Morgan stopped pacing. He stared at the wagon, then at Calliope, the faithful sturdy mare that did most of the hard work around the farm. His face changed, hardened. He had come to a decision. “Rosh, listen to me,” he said. “I want you to go back to the farm just as fast as you can. Calliope’s going to have to rest, so double-team the wagon with Lalla and Esmerelda. Hitch up Antoinette and Bettina to the carriage. I know there are only four brood mares left, and they all four have foals, but the situation is getting desperate.”
He continued, “Get Amon to drive the carriage into town, to Mr. Benjamin Bledsoe’s house. Have him tell Mr. Bledsoe that they can come stay at the farm tonight, and then we can take them somewhere else farther behind the lines if they want, or they can stay at Rapidan Run.
“Then I want you and Santo to take the wagon into town. Go to Sally Selden’s, you know she’s a widow and has those two kids. Then go to Silas Cage’s house, you know where that is, don’t you? Good. His wife is there with their child, and I think her mother may be there, too. Then go by the general store and see if Bert and Maisie Patrick need somewhere to go, and then go to the saddler’s. I know Will Green probably still has his old mare, but I don’t know if he has anywhere to go. That’s—that’s all I can think of right now. But Rosh, if you’ve got room left, take any woman and her children. Now listen to me. You’re only going to have time to make one trip. Don’t come back to Fredericksburg. It’s going to be a war zone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was already three o’clock in the afternoon when Amon drove the carriage into Fredericksburg. Throngs of people were in the streets, but they were orderly. There was no panic, no shouting, no pushing or shoving. In fact, an unearthly quiet lay like an oppressive fog over the town. Everyone cast anxious glances to the thousands of fires across the river. Almost all the refugees were women with children and older people. They carried little bundles, usually a blanket tied up and containing clothing and more blankets and perhaps some prized possessions such as silver and jewelry. Sadly Amon thought that the thin women wouldn’t be able to carry the family silver very far. It was surprising how quickly two pounds could get unbearably heavy.
Amon had come in on the east–west River Road, and he had not met a single soul. It appeared that everyone was going north, perhaps to Falmouth, or south, toward Richmond. They were walking. He saw several single riders on horses, but not one cart or wagon or carriage. He supposed the ones who were fortunate enough to have those were long gone. As he passed, people looked up at him and inside the empty carriage, but no one said a word. They seemed to be numbed into silence. They were all white people. To Amon they looked hollow-eyed and haunted.
He went down Main Street, for the Bledsoes’ home was only one block over. He was passing the Club Coffee Shop when he heard a churlish shout that seemed to echo abrasively in the silence.
“Hey, you, boy! Here, boy!” He turned and saw the tall figure of Benjamin Bledsoe come running out of the coffee shop into the street and grab the horses’ harness. Antoinette and Esmerelda took great exception to this. They were cosseted mares who had never heard an angry shout in their lives, and they weren’t used to strangers. Both of them started violently, and Antoinette reared and knocked Bledsoe down into the filthy, stinking, freezing mud of the street.
I’m in for it now, Amon thought with dread. He jumped down, grabbed the crosspiece of the harness, and started talking soothingly to the nervous mares.
“What’s the matter with you? Help me up!” Bledsoe said, slipping as he tried to rise. Of course, Amon couldn’t attend to him for a few moments or the horses would have bolted. Bledsoe obviously knew this, but it didn’t help his temper any.
Finally Amon got the horses quieted, and he helped Bledsoe to rise. Immediately he said, “That’s Morgan Tremayne’s carriage. Are you stealing it, boy? Because I’ll have you hanged if you are!”
“No, sir,” Amon said patiently. He had known this was going to happen. “Mr. Tremayne sent word for me to come to town to get you and your family, Mr. Bledsoe.”
“Huh? He did? Oh. Quite right, too. What took you so long, you simpleton? It’s going to be dark soon,” he growled. “Help me up, up onto the seat. I’m not sitting in the carriage. I’m filthy. Hurry up, boy.”
Amon got him situated, climbed up, and they started down the street. Bledsoe neither looked at him nor said a word as they drove. He was occupied with trying to wipe off his shoes with his handkerchief.
When they arrived at the Bledsoe house, he jumped down himself and hurried into the house. Amon sat for a moment, stifling his anger. He had met the Bledsoe family before, when he had driven Morgan into town to take them on rides and picnics. Amon loved Morgan Tremayne and believed that he was the best man he had ever known except for his father, Caleb Tremayne, but he had never been able to understand how Morgan could be so blind about the Bledsoe family. As far as he was concerned, the Bledsoes and other people like them were perfect examples of why the phrase “white trash” had been invented.
Guess he’s so crazy ’bout Miss Leona that he’s done blinded his own self about these people. I thought he was through with that woman, but it ’pears now he’s not. Rosh said he thought about her first.
He climbed down and went to soothe Antoinette and Esmerelda some more. Esmerelda was a good-natured horse, normally very mannerly, but Antoinette was saucy and snobbish. She was still snorting and stamping impatiently.
Leona Bledsoe came out of the house and stamped down the brick walk. “Amon, where’s the wagon?” she demanded.
“Rosh and Santo are bringing it into town, to get some of Mr. Tremayne’s
friends.”
“What? Nonsense! Morgan cannot possibly have meant for us to leave town in just the carriage. What are we supposed to do with all of our furnishings, our paintings, our china and silver, our linens?” she snapped.
Obviously Amon could not answer that, so finally she said, “Oh, very well. Come with me and get our trunks now, when we see Rosh and Santo we’ll just tell them to come fetch our things.”
Amon said politely, “No, ma’am, I’m ’fraid the boys can’t do that. They got strict orders from Mr. Tremayne ’bout picking up some folks and taking them out to the farm.”
“Fine. Then they can just turn right back around and come back here,” she argued.
“No, ma’am. Mr. Tremayne said once we got everyone to the farm, on no ’count was we to come back to town.”
“Mr. Tremayne said this and that! What if I order you to come back and pack up this house!” she said, her dark eyes flashing.
Amon merely regarded her gravely. He was not a slave, and Leona Bledsoe knew it.
She looked at him with such rage that he thought she might strike him. But then the moment passed, she took a deep breath, and when she spoke again it was in a normal, if rather stiff, tone. “Very well. Come into the house and fetch the trunks. As soon as my father changes clothes and I can get my mother to stop screeching, we’ll leave.”
It was somewhat of an exaggeration. Mrs. Bledsoe was not exactly screeching, but her voice was so shrill that it made Amon grit his teeth with every word as he followed Leona up the stairs to the bedrooms. “Benjamin! What about Mama’s tapestry? I am not leaving this house until that tapestry is safely wrapped in oilcloth and put in the wagon!”
Mr. Bledsoe growled loudly, “Then I guess you are not leaving this house, Eileen!”
“Oh! OHHH! How can you say such a thing to me! I notice you’re taking your portrait. That was the first thing you packed! I’m not—”
Leona opened the door of her parents’ bedroom, stuck her head in, and said, “There is no wagon. Just the carriage. Are your trunks ready?” She turned to Amon and said, “Two trunks in here, and mine is in the bedroom just down the hall.”
Two fine brassbound trunks lay in the bedroom, both large and bulky—and heavy. Amon picked up one and headed downstairs, thinking wearily, Now she is a-screechin’, as behind him Mrs. Bledsoe started arguing with her husband and Leona about the wagon. It was stupid, of course, but Amon was just glad that she wasn’t arguing with him. At least Leona wasn’t stupid. When she was beaten she knew it, and she just cut her losses and moved on.
Amon returned and got Mrs. Bledsoe’s trunk and stacked it on top of Mr. Bledsoe’s on the back carriage rack and lashed them down. There wasn’t room for another trunk on the slender wooden board, so Amon was going to have to put the trunk inside.
He went back inside and found the family in the parlor, putting on their capes and gloves and hats. “Miss Leona, there’s no more room for your trunk on the back. I can put it inside, but it’s going to crowd you a bit.”
“What! Why can’t you lash it to the top?” she asked.
“It’s a cloth top, with light wood bows so’s you can fold it down,” he answered.
“But what about our big trunk, with the linens and silver?” Eileen wailed. “Benjamin, we cannot possibly leave that here! The Yankees, with the Bledsoe silver? No, no—”
“Be silent, woman!” he said with gritted teeth. “I would try to explain to you again, but it wouldn’t do a whit of good. Amon, go get Leona’s trunk and let’s go! It’s dark already. It looks like the rain is turning to sleet, and the Yankees are coming! So everyone just shut up and get in that carriage!”
Amon passed Rosh and Santo on the north side of town. He cringed a little as the boys called out to him, hoping the Bledsoes would not hear. “You got ’em Daddy? The Bledsoes? Who’s that up there with you?”
Amon gave up and pulled the carriage to a stop alongside the wagon. “I got the Bledsoes, and these is some ladies and two chilluns that’s half froze to death. I’ll introduce everyone proper when we all get home. Now you boys don’t argy-barge around. You fill up this here wagon and git on home.” The raindrops that were falling now were large and made slushy plops on Amon’s hat. The rain was beginning to freeze.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison and moved the wagon along.
Out of the corner of his eye, Amon had seen Mr. Bledsoe pop his head out of the carriage window, but he said nothing and almost instantly pulled his head inside again and closed the shutter.
Amon sighed with relief. He’d had just about enough of listening to Mr. Bledsoe call him boy, and Mrs. Bledsoe’s shrieks, and Miss Leona’s complaints. The volume on all three of them had gone up considerably when he had stopped to pick up the Archers.
When they left Fredericksburg, it was full dark, so Amon lit the carriage lanterns. Even though the rain was so steady they couldn’t light the way for him, somehow he found the yellow globes of light on each side comforting. He passed many people, still walking slowly out of town. Each time he did he felt a little stab of guilt, but he knew he couldn’t take all of them. How could he choose to take this lady or that limping old man and not the next one?
Then he came upon an old lady who was standing up very straight but was walking with a noticeable limp. She used a walking stick with her right. A young woman had her arm entwined with hers and was holding the hand of a young boy, who was holding the hand of a very small girl. None of them, even the children, looked behind as the carriage neared. But as he drew up with them, the little girl looked up at the lanterns, pointed, and smiled. The young woman saw her and smiled back at the child.
It was the only smile Amon had seen on that dark day, and his heart melted. He jerked the reins, shouted, “Hup,” to the horses, and brought them to a sudden stop. Jumping down, he came to stand in front of the two ladies. Doffing his hat, he bowed as if they were in a drawing room. “How d’ye do, ma’am, miss. My name is Amon, and this here is Mr. Morgan Tremayne’s carriage. I’m taking some folks out to our farm. Would you ladies need me to take you someplace? Or if you’ve a mind, we’d welcome you at Rapidan Run.”
The older woman, whose face was drawn in pain, and the pretty younger woman just stared at him. The boy was looking up at him in bewilderment, and the little girl’s mouth was a round O.
Behind him, he heard the shutter crash, and the Bledsoes all started talking at once. Loudly. Rolling his eyes, he said, “Please don’t pay no mind to these folks. They’re just upset with the ’vacuation and all. I’m afraid there won’t be room in the carriage, but if you do need a ride or would like to visit us for a while, I b’lieve I can make room for you up on the driver’s seat.”
The two women exchanged glances, and the older lady said with great dignity, “God bless you, sir. We have nowhere to go, and if you could take us in for a day or two, we would be most grateful.”
The younger woman asked doubtfully, “Are you sure we can all get on that seat?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure,” Amon said firmly. “Your boy can squeeze up right next to me, and if you can hold the little girl in your lap, we’ll make it just fine.”
Behind him he heard Bledsoe roar, “Boy, you don’t even know what kind of people they are! And I strongly protest. My wife and daughter are getting chilled while you stand there and chat with strangers!”
In a low voice, Amon said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, miss.”
The younger woman smiled at him. He thought that she had the purest, sweetest smile he had ever seen, except for maybe the little girl’s. “I don’t know what you mean, Amon. I didn’t hear anything at all. Now, if you would be so kind as to help my mother-in-law up, we’ll be on our way.”
It took them over three hours to reach Rapidan Run. Along the river, a single rider could make it to Fredericksburg in an hour. But the River Road ran south, looping around the Wilderness and then east, so it was about five miles farther. Amon had to go very slowly, because the night wa
s as black as a coal mine, and the road was muddy and slippery.
The young lady introduced everyone. The older lady was her mother-in-law, Mrs. Archer. She was Connie Archer, and her ten-year-old son’s name was Sully. The little girl was Georgie. Amon liked Connie Archer immediately, because she spoke to him like Morgan Tremayne did, as equals with no hint of the strain that white people showed even when they were kind. Mrs. Archer said very little, but Amon thought that may be because she was obviously in pain. Every time the carriage went over even the slightest bump, she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes tightly.
Finally they drove up the path to Rapidan Run and then the drive that led straight to the back door. Every window in the house was lit, the kitchen windows were bright, and Amon could smell fresh bread baking. He thought that perhaps a homecoming had never been so welcoming.
Jolie stood at the back door waiting.
Amon helped the Archers down first, which enraged Benjamin Bledsoe, but Amon was long past caring. In just a little while, he could go into his own house, have a cup of hot cider, sit at his own fire, and forget about the Bledsoes.
Poor Jolie, he thought as he handed down Mrs. Bledsoe and Leona. Wouldn’t be surprised if she and Ketura don’t come to my house looking for shelter themselves.
Jolie didn’t waste any time with social convention. She immediately took Mrs. Archer’s arm and called, “Please, everyone just come in. Follow me.”
The Archers went in first, and behind them Mrs. Bledsoe harrumphed, “Dreadful manners that child has.”
They went into the house and down the hall, but as they came to the foot of the stairs, Leona said, “Jolie? That is who you are, isn’t it? I would prefer to be shown to my room immediately, and I’m sure my parents would, too. We’ve had quite a trying day.”
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