by Janet Dailey
Piano music drifted softly into the library. The lazy melody matched the August breeze that wandered through the open French doors and caused the candle flame to sway ever so slightly. Shadrach turned the page of Rollin's Ancient History and changed the tilt of the book to allow more light to fall on the printed words.
A whisper of movement came from outside the open doors. He paused to listen, but it didn't come again. The Negro dismissed it as the rustling of the evening breeze. He read another sentence, then heard it again—the sound, very light, very careful, a suggestion of stealth in it. Someone was out there. And it wasn't Master Will or Eliza.
Slowly and quietly, Shadrach closed the book and inched it down alongside him, pushing it between the arm of the chair and the seat cushion. He didn't know who was out there, but he didn't want some rebel to catch him looking at a book. There had been reprisals against Union sympathizers, now that the Union troops had withdrawn from the area. It was well known that Will Gordon was a staunch supporter of Ross. Add to that the fact his son and grandson had joined the Union army, and the Gordons were a prime target. Shadrach sensed there was trouble ahead, worse than in Georgia.
It could be it was outside this very minute.
"Psst. Uncle Shad," a voice whispered from the darkness.
Frowning, Shadrach rose from the chair and walked to the doors. He could see nothing but a sliver of moonlight filtering through the trees into the formal gardens.
"Ike?" he called back softly. "Is that you?"
"Yeah. I gotta talk to you."
Shadrach glanced at the library doors that stood open to the hall. From beyond them came the hiring strains of a waltz on the piano. "Stay there." He gestured to his unseen nephew, then walked quietly to the doors and pulled them together, leaving a small gap so he could hear Eliza if she summoned him.
He went back to the French doors and motioned for Ike to come inside. A dark figure stole from behind a bush and darted through the opening, crouching low. The minute he entered the library, Ike stepped sideways so he couldn't be seen from outside, a furtiveness in his every action and look.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm leaving for Kansas." Ike spoke low and quick. "They're recruiting coloreds into the Union army up there, and I'm going to join. I can't stay around here waiting for them to come free us. I have got to go fight . . . and help it come about. I wanted to tell Ma what I was doing, but . . . she wouldn't understand. She would no more think of leaving the Stuarts than she'd think of shaving all the hair off-her head. She acts like they're family. She's your sister. I thought . . . maybe you could explain to her where I'm going and why."
"Are you sure they're taking coloreds into the army?" Shadrach was skeptical.
"I'm sure. They're trying to raise a whole regiment. They're gonna give us guns, teach us how to shoot, and everything. They're even going to give us uniforms just like regular white soldiers."
"Where in Kansas?"
"Leavenworth. I figure if I travel at night and hide in the daytime, I can make it without being caught. I don't know how long it will take, but—" He stopped and eyed Shadrach warily. "Why?"
"Because I'm going with you." When had he decided that? Shadrach was as stunned as Ike to hear the words come out of his mouth. The idea was crazy. It was mad. They probably wouldn't make it, but . . . by God, he was going to try.
"Are you sure? I mean . . ." Ike stammered in confusion and surprise.
Shadrach suddenly noticed Eliza wasn't playing the piano anymore. He held up his hand to silence Ike and cocked his head toward the doors. He could hear two sets of footsteps. "Wait outside." He lowered his voice to a whisper, then moved swiftly to the doors. He stepped into the hall, partially closing the doors behind him as Eliza and Will walked arm in arm toward the staircase.
"Miss Eliza."
Both paused and turned. "Shadrach, I didn't realize you were still here," Eliza declared. "We won't be needing you anymore tonight. You—"
"Please. May I have a word with you, Miss Eliza?"
"Of course." She hesitated, then turned to Will. "I'll be along directly."
Smiling, Will nodded and continued to the stairs while she walked down the hall to join Shadrach. Reaching him, Eliza paused and glanced after her husband, watching as he negotiated the steps, moving slowly and stiffly.
"His rheumatism is acting up again," she murmured in concern. "I can't seem to convince him that he needs to take things slower at his age. Will doesn't like to be reminded he's getting older." When he disappeared from view, Eliza turned to face Shadrach, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Now what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. That stance, the crisp authority in her voice—she was the schoolteacher again, addressing one of her pupils. For a brief moment Shadrach felt the pull of nostalgia as memories of those few short months he'd spent in her classroom as a boy grew strong within him.
"There are many things I've wanted to say for a long time, Miss Eliza. But, first of all, I want to thank you for giving me the greatest gift a person can receive . . . an education. I know the risk you ran teaching a slave—"
"I have never thought of you as a slave, Shadrach," Eliza cut in. "I have always looked on you as a friend."
"I know you have. And I'm grateful for that. You always treated me like I had a mind and feelings and dreams. Not many have done that, except . . . maybe Reverend Cole."
"Just what is this all about, Shadrach?"
"It's about me . . . and my dreams. You've always been special to me, Miss Eliza. You opened up a whole new world to me. Maybe it isn't good to teach a slave, because he gets dissatisfied with his life. It starts him to thinking that he is as good as anybody else. He starts wanting things."
She drew back slightly. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying . . . that I'm leaving. Running away never made any sense to me before. But now, I'm running to something. They are recruiting colored soldiers in Kansas, and that's where I'm going—to join up."
"You can't." Shock, dread, fear, confusion—so many things went through her head that Eliza wasn't sure what her reaction was.
Shadrach smiled a little sadly. "After all you have done for me, I couldn't leave without telling you goodbye. It wouldn't have been right somehow. I would appreciate it if you would explain things to Master Will. He's been good to me, and I wouldn't want him to think that it was anything against him."
"When . . . when are you leaving?"
"We're going tonight."
"We?"
Shadrach hesitated. "I'm going with Ike." "Don't you know how dangerous it will be?" Eliza protested.
"Yes."
At that moment Eliza knew there was nothing she could say to dissuade him. Oddly enough, she didn't want to. It was crazy, but she felt proud of him. Shadrach was as much of a friend to her as the social barriers between a white woman and a black man would allow.
"You and Ike will need a pass." She walked briskly into the library. "Try to avoid the patrols if you can. I am not certain how much they will respect a pass . . . especially now." Hurriedly, she scratched one out, then folded the paper and handed it to him, for an instant letting their fingers touch. "Be careful, Shadrach."
"I will. Tell Phoebe I will look after Ike."
Eliza nodded. "You were the very best pupil I ever had. I will miss you greatly." When her eyes filled with tears, she felt self-conscious, then noticed that his, too, were moist. Suddenly it was all right.
"I will miss you, too, Miss Eliza. If the good Lord is willing, maybe someday you can come visit the school I'm going to have . . . when we're all free."
"I would like that."
Then Shadrach was gone, slipping out through the French doors. Eliza walked over to them. There, in the patch of moonlight, she could see two figures moving quickly toward the Negro quarters. It struck her as ironic that the first time Shadrach had come into her life, he had been outside a window. Now, the la
st time she saw him, he was outside a door— a door she had opened for him.
12
Two weeks and not a word. Eliza wondered if Shadrach had made it to Kansas. She tried to convince herself that he and Ike were all right. Otherwise, she would have heard something. To her relief Will had agreed to say nothing about Shadrach's absence. She had feared Will would want to post a notice that his slave had run away and offer a reward for his return. She should have known Will would understand.
"It's a beautiful day."
Eliza glanced at her husband. There was a look of contentment on his tired and drawn features. She was glad he had agreed to her suggestion that they sit in the garden after dinner, instead of returning directly to the fields. Here, amidst the deep shade of the trees, the south breeze blew strongly, giving an illusion of coolness to the sweltering heat of midday.
"It is hot." Eliza held the collar of her dress away from her neck, trying to give the air a chance to reach more of her skin.
"It's beautiful and hot," Will conceded, then breathed in deeply. "Can you smell the scent of peaches in the air? They should be ready to pick soon. I must check the orchard later this afternoon."
"You are supposed to be relaxing, not thinking about work," she chided.
"Oh? And what were you thinking about so seriously a moment ago? I saw that worried little frown." Behind the teasing light in his eyes, there was a desire for an answer to his question.
"Susannah." For the life of her, Eliza didn't know why she mentioned their daughter instead of Shadrach, although Susannah had been on her mind a great deal of late. "It has been a long time since we heard from her. I try not to worry. I know she is safer in the East. I only hope we have convinced her to remain there until this war ends. But you know how headstrong she can be at times."
"Just like her mother."
"Will," she said in quick protest.
"It's true." Smiling, Will reached across the iron bench and took her hand, linking their fingers together. "You are an unbelievably headstrong woman, Eliza. You always have been. I remember the time you absolutely refused to leave Gordon Glen . . . and the trail you didn't have to walk, but you did. I remember the teacher who always tried to pretend she was prim and proper. Then I would catch her wading in the creek with the children—no shoes, no stockings, and her skirts up. You haven't changed, Eliza."
"I haven't waded in a creek in years," she retorted in a half-hearted denial.
"Look at you now. The mistress of Oak Hill sitting with her skirts up to her knees letting the breeze blow up her legs."
Made suddenly and self-consciously aware of the sensation of air on her legs, Eliza looked down at the material bunched in her lap, the strip of broderie anglaise that edged her drawers, ending just below her kneecaps, and the white bareness of her legs below that. "It's hot," she offered in her own defense, then looked at Will, and laughed. "Perhaps I haven't changed."
"I hope you never do. I love you just the way you are."
"And I love you, Will Gordon." She clasped his hand a little tighter and felt the answering pressure. She leaned over and kissed him, their lips moving familiarly against each other and clinging for a tender moment before Eliza drew back. After twenty years their passion might not be as intense, but she knew their love was stronger. And that, after all, was what mattered.
"It feels good to sit here with you," he stated.
"For me, too."
She was glad now she hadn't told him about the milk cows that had been stolen from the pasture sometime in the night. She almost had at dinner, but Will had looked so tired she decided not to bother him with it. After all, there wasn't anything he could do about it. They were gone, no doubt stolen by Confederate troops in the area. Before he had gone over to the Union side, Kipp had complained often about the lack of adequate food, warm clothes, and ammunition in the Southern army. Eliza wasn't surprised that the rebels had begun foraging on their own. By now, those cows had probably been butchered, cooked, and eaten, which was a shame; they were good milk cows.
No, she didn't regret her decision not to tell Will. There was time enough to do it later. Right now this peace and quiet was what he needed.
"Miz 'Liza? We's gots the dishes all done." The call came from the house, the voice belonging to Lucy, the maid Eliza had placed in charge of the house staff.
Sighing, Eliza realized how much she had come to rely on Shadrach. Now that he wasn't here to direct the staff, no one seemed to know what to do next.
"I will be right there." Reluctantly, she untwined her fingers from Will's and nipped her skirt and petticoat over her knees. When she stood up, he started to rise, too, but fell back, wincing and pressing a hand to his left shoulder. "I wish we could go to the oil springs at New Spring Place," Eliza murmured. "Your rheumatism always seems better after you've bathed in that green oil."
"Maybe after the harvest is over." Again Will made a move to stand up. "No, you stay here and finish your cider." Eliza glanced at the half-full glass in his left hand.
"All right." Will settled back against the bench.
Although surprised by his ready agreement, she didn't question it. She was glad he was taking advantage of these few minutes to rest. He did it too seldom.
As Eliza walked away, Will watched her, a tall willow of a woman with curly hair and gold-flecked eyes. How strange that in his mind he could still see her so clearly—the way she had been when he first saw her, alarmed but not afraid. He couldn't remember a time when she had ever been afraid.
Absently, Will glanced at the house, studying the white-columned veranda and the neat layers of red brick—brick made right here in their own kiln. The house sat on the crown of a hill, surrounded by towering trees. Lately, the house reminded him more and more of Gordon Glen, his old home back in what was now Georgia. Everything did: the gardens; the row of Negro cabins tucked in the grove of trees; the layout of the buildings; the orchards; the fields of cotton, corn, and indigo; the pastures of cattle; even the clay red soil of the land. The only thing lacking was the sight of peacocks strutting over the lawn. Maybe the next time he went to see John Ross, he would buy a couple of peahens and a cock. No, he couldn't do that. John Ross had left. Gone east, into exile.
He wanted to get up, but he felt too heavy, too tired to move. Then he heard the distant tinkling of music. Was that Eliza playing the piano? It had to be. The tune sounded like his favorite nocturne, the one she always played for him. Smiling, he leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes.
The glass of cider slipped from his loose fingers and fell, crashing against the bench leg and spraying cider onto the grass.
"Will? Will, wake up." Marveling that he could sleep so soundly on the hard iron bench, Eliza gave his shoulder a shake. At her touch, he slumped sideways. "Will," she murmured in vague alarm and bent over him, her hands clasping his wrist. She couldn't find a pulse. "Dear God, no." The first sob rose in her throat. She pressed a fist to her mouth to force it back, but it came through. And more followed. "No, no, no, no," Eliza sobbed over and over again as grief drove her to her knees.
That was the way the housemaid Lucy found her, kneeling beside him and weeping softly, her head resting on his legs, her hands clutching at him. Uncertain, Lucy ventured closer, not wanting to believe what her eyes told her.
"Miz Eliza, Master Will—is he—" She couldn't say the word. He looked too peaceful.
Slowly, very slowly, Eliza pulled herself away from him and rose to her feet, struggling against the heaviness that weighted her heart and her body. She kept her back to the woman, needing to keep her pain private a little longer.
"Will is dead." The words came from that deep cavern of emptiness she felt inside. Eliza made no attempt to wipe the tears from her face as she stared at the gentle man who had been her husband, her lover, and her dearest friend. "Tell Shadrach—" She stopped, remembering that Shadrach had left. Suddenly, her mind was crowded with the hundred things that had to be done, things Shadrach would have se
en to if he were still there. Now it was left to her. "Old Tom should be at the stables. Have him get someone to help carry Will into the house."
Lucy hurried away. Alone again, Eliza realized this was the last private moment she would have with her husband. She bent down and kissed him for the final time. "I love you, Will Gordon," she whispered tightly. "Always and forever."
Two days after Will's death, Lije and The Blade arrived at Oak Hill. A heavy stillness enveloped the house and grounds as if the summer wind had ceased its blowing out of respect for the owner's passing. The black cloth draped around the front door told Lije more clearly than the message they'd received that his grandfather would never again step out of the house to welcome him.
When one of the Negro maids admitted them, Lije found himself missing Shadrach's familiar presence in the house. He hadn't been at all surprised to learn Ike had run off to join the Union's new colored regiment, to the utter shame of his father, Deuteronomy. But Shadrach—Lije still couldn't visualize that slender Negro donning a uniform and taking up arms.
"You came." The relieved words came from his mother as she crossed the great hall to meet them, reaching out a hand to each of them, her dark eyes haunted with grief. "I didn't know if—I wasn't sure—" Her voice threatened to break and Temple stopped, her mouth trembling in a forced smile. "You are both all right? You're both safe."
"We're fine," The Blade assured her.
"I couldn't stand it if anything should happen to you. Not now, not after losing my father," she declared stiffly.
"I know." He gathered her close. For a moment, she allowed herself to accept the solace he offered. Then she drew back. "There was no warning. No warning at all. He was sitting alone in the garden. He was fine when Eliza left him."
"Where is Eliza?" Lije asked.
"She's in the parlor with him."
Lije started for the parlor, then noticed a very subdued Sorrel standing by the archway, pressed close to the wall. Guiltily, he realized he had never given a thought to his younger sister. His concern had been solely for his mother and Eliza. That changed when he saw the hurt and confusion in her expression.
