Whispers of War

by Naomi Finley

  Murmurs rippled amongst them.

  “The decision is up to you. If you choose to leave, go with God. If you stand with Livingston, may He protect us all.”

  I exchanged a few orders with Jones as people departed. Some darted for the quarters; others stood in discussions, their gazes on us as though contemplating their chances.

  “Ben, will you join me inside?”

  In the study, I spun to face him, wiping sweaty palms on my skirt. “What are we to do? We have no idea when he will show up. It could be any moment, or months down the road.”

  “You do what you have done,” he said. “Enlisting our friends’ help and putting people on watch is all we can do for now.”

  I paced the floor. “But is it enough?” I stopped to look at him, worry and misery eating me up. “What if he harms the folks here? It could be a bloodbath. He is capable of such things,” I reminded him. “Whitney says he has taken on another alias. The man is a mastermind, and insane. He will stop at nothing to end this concept of a bloody curse. What if he enlists every supremacist vigilante from New York to here in his need for our end?”

  “Until then, we will secure the plantation and be on guard.” He opened the bottom drawer where my father had kept his pistol and holster, which he removed and strapped around his waist. Then he strode to me and kissed my forehead. “You aren’t alone.”

  I molded in to him. “But what if—”

  He rested hands on my shoulders. “You will drive yourself mad. We will place guards at the front and back of the house. No one will get in or out. Men will be stationed at the gates and by the river. I’ll enlist any willing black.” With that, he hurried from the room.

  That night, and the next week until Bowden’s return, we took up posts around the plantation, but Reuben never came, and anxiety pursued me with every sound or movement. I envisioned him like a hawk gliding overhead, waiting to pounce.

  April 11, 1861

  AS FORESEEN, A NATION DIVIDED influenced the broiling frictions of our country. Jefferson Davis had been elected as the interim president for the Confederate States of America. In the months following South Carolina’s secession from the Union, six other states seceded, forming the confederacy of states. The Kentucky self-taught lawyer Abraham Lincoln was inaugurated as the sixteenth president of the US.

  Months had passed since Bowden and I had attended the Charleston races—a record-setting, four-mile competition Albine, a South Carolina filly, won against the Virginia stallion, Planet. Governor Pickens had attended the races. He had also commanded all batteries on the seawall to prepare, in anticipation of a forty-eight-hour bombardment.

  Although the looming threat of war weighed profoundly on our minds, as it did many, the threat of Reuben McCoy waiting and plotting our undoing became paralyzing. Like a tornado, the news of his intent had swept me back to a time when he had plagued my nights and days. The expectation of his arrival, and the unpredictability of the crazed individual we were dealing with, riddled me with fear.

  Bowden had taken all precautions possible, but our country’s unraveling stability and the South’s enlisting of able-bodied men took precedence. Home guards formed, composed of older men and boys too young to join the Confederate cause. Clad in long, homespun gray coats, they policed Charleston streets and the countryside with the objective of maintaining the Negroes. Each day fathers and sons, with military skills or without, said their goodbyes and set out to aid the South Carolina militia.

  It was early afternoon when Bowden loaded our satchels into the carriage for an overnight trip to town. The next day, Ben, Knox, and Bowden would set out to join the other men.

  “Do you think it is wise to leave for the night?” I asked.

  “I hear your concern, but I can’t leave them in the warehouse another day.”

  His reference to two of Thames’ slaves left me pondering on the impossible task at hand. “With soldiers roaming the streets and the harbor heavily guarded, any chance of getting them out seems improbable.”

  “I concur, and I’ve been considering what I’m to do now.” He turned, and I noted the lines of weariness etching his face. “They have to remain in Charleston. We have no other choice.”

  “And put them where? We can’t risk having recognizable fugitives hiding at Livingston, and we don’t know who is watching us. Look how easily McCoy contrived the purchase of Rawlings. God rest his soul.”

  “I know.” He hung his head. “The fault lies with me for endangering all your parents and we have accomplished.”

  “Don’t.” I stepped forward and rested my hands on his chest. “It isn’t your fault. It could have happened to any of us. The pressure on our shoulders has been great.”

  He lowered his head to stare into my eyes. “As obscure as it may sound, the distraction gave me purpose—salvation if you may. But it has kept me from your embrace.” He lifted a finger and brushed my cheek. “Life without you and this place is one I can’t imagine.”

  Despite my melancholy, I forced a smile. “I don’t know how we’ll manage without you.”

  “Like you’ve always done.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me to him. “Unfortunately, we’ve delayed long enough in involving ourselves in the inevitable. We’re left with no choice. It’s a matter of home and country now. And all must do their part to defend our homes, lands, and families.”

  “Then let us go and tend to matters in town. And, afterward, allow ourselves the enjoyment of one last evening together. We can return at first light.”

  He placed a kiss on my lips. “Then say your goodbyes, and we will be on our way.”

  He released me, and I walked the path to the front veranda, where dear faces waited, and my eyes welled with tears at their smiles.

  “No tears, angel gal. We be jus’ fine. You enjoy some time wid de masa,” Mammy said with a toothy grin as I came to stand in front of her. Hand clasped with hers, Big John was stationed dutifully at her side. The sight brought renewed tears. Love had returned him to her side, and I hoped fate would not see it undone despite what was to come.

  “We will return swiftly,” I said.

  “And we stand guard till den.” He inclined his head.

  “And ef’n dem damn Northerners git to thinking of invading, well, only de Lard can help us den,” Mammy said matter-of-factly and squared her shoulders.

  Her bluntness had a surprisingly calm effect. She was right. Fearing something one had no control over almost felt worse than looking death in the eye.

  I moved down the line to Tillie. “As you know, I don’t require your assistance in town, so if it suits you, you can take to Pete’s cabin with the babe for the night.”

  Her eyes gleamed. “You sho’, Missus Willow?”

  “Yes.” I winked.

  “Thank you kindly.”

  Mary Grace waited with an arm around Evie’s shoulders. Noah, almost a young man, stood on her other side, standing nearly as tall as his mama. “Take care of each other,” I said. “Noah, you’re the man of the family, so I expect you to keep an eye out for your mama and sister.”

  He saluted me. “Yessum.”

  Goodbyes completed, I descended the stairs and walked to where Bowden waited, speaking to Ben. Ben opened his arms, and I walked into his loving embrace.

  He kissed the top of my head and gave me an extra squeeze before holding me at arm’s length. “You leave matters here to us.”

  “There have never been more capable hands.” I glanced at the people of Livingston.

  “Missus Willie.”

  Warmth wrapped my heart, and I turned to find Jimmy arriving. I smiled with delight.

  “I know et jus’ for a night, but I wanted to wish you a safe journey. And I reckon I see you when you git back.”

  “You can bet on it.” I patted his arm.

  Bowden spun to look down the lane at the sound of an approaching carriage. “It looks like Lucille,” he said.

  I circled our carriage to get a better look. I
grimaced. Lucille, indeed. What in heaven’s name did she want? The last time I’d endured her company had been the evening ball after the races. I’d spent the night avoiding her prying questions about Bowden’s and Ben’s negligence in assisting their countrymen.

  I heaved a sigh as her carriage rolled to a stop, and opened my mouth to question her, but she spoke before I could get a word out. “Do accept my apologies for coming unannounced.” She lowered her lashes, attempting to convey vulnerability, something that may work on her lovers, but it proved ineffective on me. “I come out of concern.”

  “Oh?” I raised a brow.

  “Yes. You see…” She drew out her words. “I do consider you one of my dearest friends.”

  Oh, lucky me. Shading my eyes with a hand to block the sun, I peered up at her, pondering how I could remove myself from her “dearest friends” list. I suspected I wasn’t alone. “You’re too kind,” I said.

  She sat twirling her parasol. “You must know what people are saying.”

  No, but I’m sure you are going to tell me, I fumed inwardly. “Is this why you’ve come calling?”

  She paid me no mind but glanced at Bowden, who stood some feet away, observing us. In a hushed tone, she rushed to spew her assumptions before they devoured her. “Some are speculating that your husband may be a Northern spy.”

  “You don’t say.” I anchored my fists on my hips. To say I was surprised would be a lie. As I’d assumed, Lucille’s feigned act of goodwill had been instigated by a need to get a closer look for herself.

  She gawked at me. “Well, are the rumors true?”

  “Are you oblivious, or complete fool?” I threw my hands in the air.

  “Pardon me?” She pulled back and placed a hand to her chest.

  I pointed in the direction of Charleston. “Anderson moved his troops to Fort Sumter. The militia occupies Fort Moultrie, Castle Pinckney, and the US Arsenal. Defenses are being constructed around the harbor where gunboats patrol the waters. And you question me about how my husband seeks to defend our home and land.” She blurred in my rising fury.

  “But everyday men are willingly leaving their lands and homes in the care of their womenfolk to aid in the Confederate cause.”

  “And our hired hands have already left to join. If you must know, my uncle and husband are set to leave in the morning.”

  “But why the delay?”

  I rubbed my temples. “I grow tired of your intrusive ways. Must you always spend your days interfering and gossiping about others?”

  She glared at me. “I’m offended by your hostility.”

  “And I’m offended that you spread rumors about the ones you call friends. Not to mention the time you wasted riding out here to investigate.”

  She gasped. “I did not. I-I came out of con—”

  “Save the falsehoods for someone that isn’t wise to your ways. I’ve tried with you; honestly, I have, but we are just two vastly different people,” I said. “I believe a time is coming when we women will need to stick together more than ever before, and I do not wish to make an enemy out of you, but you must keep your nose out of my affairs.”

  She appeared shaken and on the verge of tears. “So you believe it too?”

  “What?” I dropped my hands to stare at her in confusion.

  “That war is coming?”

  Oh, for the love of all that is holy! Breathe. “Look,” I said more gently, “it’s coming, regardless of whether we are ready or not.”

  Her face twisted with an unbecoming pout. “My husband believes, if it does come, it will be swift and over before we know it. But it doesn’t make all this talk of war any less terrifying. Why must we women deal with such things? Shouldn’t it be the menfolk’s duty to keep trying times at bay? Besides, they are the ones that got us into this mess.”

  And in her declaration, she presented a significant moment in our history. For once, Lucille and I agreed on something.

  The leaders responsible for our nation’s decisions had delivered war, rabid and snarling at our heels.

  Reuben—April 12, 1861, 4:25 a.m.

  THE DAWN WAS UPON US, and the sweet perfume of reckoning hung in the air. Inhaling a long, invigorating breath, I exhaled gray billows that were embraced by the fading mist of the night. I extinguished the cigar on my mount’s side. The beast stomped and whinnied in protest, heightening my anticipation of what I would soon unleash.

  I relished the screams I imagined, and the looks of terror as the people of Livingston scrambled for their lives. Death would charge the morning air as I released the Northern wolves on the unsuspecting folks nestled in their beds.

  Amelie’s betrayal had failed to hinder my plans, and I would deal with her soon enough. I stifled the ache that tried to twitch in my chest at that. We warned you, the voices pealed. A woman is the devil’s temptation.

  Silence. The voices had retreated, and I was grateful for it.

  I leaned over my mount, beholding from the ridge the sleeping plantation in all its vulnerability. Positioned at my flanks were Rufus and a posse of Northern militia thirsting for Southern blood. Chaos and destruction would unfold; blood would pool in the low country, from livestock to slaves. Once and for all, we would cleanse the earth of the Hendricks bloodline, end Olivia’s curse, and see Livingston in ruins. And in Charleston, men lay in wait, and it was with regret that I knew I wouldn’t behold the splendor as their mission ignited the skies.

  Twisting in my saddle, I observed the gleaming eyes of the men next to me, each eager to dirty his hands on his terms, not governed by military protocols. We had recruited them from taverns, farms, and roadsides as we rode south toward the conclusion that had warmed my gut for far too long. I had delivered them a new religion. The tenet that below lay one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the South, who traded their raw goods across the ocean, employing all tactics to circumvent the North while cultivating the belief in the South that Northerners were an affliction that needed extracting. The tensions overtaking the country had played out brilliantly, and like children eating from my hand, the wolves fed.

  “Ripe for the picking. Our time has come, brother.” Rufus clapped my back.

  I pulled away from his touch. Yours will be the final blood to spill. I masked the thought even as I savored it. My focus remained on the manipulation of my plan—strategies I’d spent far too long constructing, while patiently waiting to execute them at the appropriate time. The Northern militia would take the fall, and no one would be the wiser.

  My brother directed his frenzied gaze at me before rotating in his saddle to address the men.

  “Remember, the slave girl is mine. You can’t miss her. She’s the exotic-looking mulatto with curves and breasts that will seize your manhood with one look. If you see her, bring her to me. As for the rest, do as you will.”

  Grins flashed.

  They will curse the day they drew breath.

  We will pluck the bodies of the woman’s loved ones from their graves and leave them scattered amongst the rubble, the voices crowed.

  I hadn’t considered that. Brilliant. I smiled. The desecration would be the ultimate blade in Willow’s heart. First I would behold her face as she observed the collapse of her beloved Livingston. Then I would slit her man’s throat and savor the thrashing of his body as he fought to live, and the departure of his spirit from this world. “Then she will meet her fate,” I said.

  “I too want to see the wench die. She has always been much too high and mighty on herself.” Rufus straightened in his saddle in preparation. “Shall we?”

  I dipped my head in response.

  A cannon thundered in the distance. Startled, I craned my neck in the direction of Charleston, visible on the horizon. Color painted the sky.

  Oblivious, Rufus struck the air with a fist and released a war cry, drowning out whatever was occurring in Charleston. “Revenge is ours!” he screamed, and charged.

  Twenty-two militiamen followed him.

 
I whipped the reins and raced toward my impending salvation.

  Mary Grace—Thirty minutes before

  THE SYMPHONY OF KATYDIDS AND crickets ceased as dawn drew near. Croaking bullfrogs and the boisterous harmonies of Carolina wrens and robins took center stage. Sitting in the rocker on the back terrace, I sat reflecting on the conversation between Mama and me last night.

  She had kept her back to me as she roamed the house, turning down lanterns and preparing to retire for the night.

  “Mama, please.” I stalked behind her. “You must understand. I’ll be forever grateful to the Hendrickses, and, like you, I hold them dear in my heart. I honor the sanctuary Livingston has provided for you and me. But I hold no love for this place. It has taken much from me, and most of all…my freedom. No matter how hard Willow’s parents before her, and she and Masa Bowden try, they can never eradicate the lamentations and suffering of the hundreds of slaves whose lives started and ended in bondage to this place.”

  “You got a lot of hate brewing in your belly, gal.” Without glancing in my direction, she waved a hand in dismissal. Disapproval soured her tone, and her stubbornness took charge of all sense. The spirit that had kept Mama alive often became the very trait that made her obstinate and grueling to deal with.

  Trembling inside, as I often did when trying to make her see reason, I refused to allow her anxiety and fear—or mine of crossing her—prevent me from speaking what was in my heart. “Not hate. Passion,” I said. “Olivia Hendricks gave me my freedom, and I intend to accept that gift.”

  “I knowed Mr. Barlow take you from me soon as he started hanging ’round de place. Should have run him off a long time ago.” Glaring, she whisked past me and marched down the corridor to the library. “Ef et warn’t for de good deir arrival bring to Missus Willow, I wish dem back to England where dey come.”