The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1)

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Bamber made sure Charles stood in the proper location, assured the preacher was ready to perform the ceremony, and hurried to gather Charles’s bride. Charles couldn’t help but smile at the man’s joviality. He’d doted on his only daughter. Charles had to repeatedly assure him he would provide Lydia with a comfortable and secure life and would do all in his power to care for her every need. He’d not given the promise lightly.

  The small band situated to his left began playing the harpsichord and violin, and Charles shifted his attention to the door from which his bride-to-be would emerge.

  The door swung open to reveal a stunning beauty with creamy skin touched pink in the cheeks. She wore her dark hair piled high in a mass of curls. What would it feel like to loosen those tresses from their confines and feel their silkiness in his hands?

  She walked forward, clinging to her father’s arm, thick skirts swishing across the grass. Her eyes locked on his, and his lips curved. Had she guessed his thoughts? He steadied himself, careful not to allow too much of his feelings to show on his face. Bamber bowed and placed Lydia’s slender hand in his. Charles offered her an encouraging smile. She returned a shy one of her own and looked up at him through thick lashes.

  He repeated the minister’s words and watched her full lips repeat the promises that would bind them together for life. Soon she would be his alone, his lady to return to Ironwood, a delicate creature in whom he sensed a hidden strength that would match his own. A woman worthy of sharing his life’s work.

  “And now, may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. William Charles Harper!” the preacher announced as cheers erupted from the gathered neighbors.

  Charles drew his bride into his arms and placed a feather-light kiss upon her velvet lips. Her face flushed, and she quickly dropped her eyes as the whoops of the men grew louder. Charles chuckled and they walked down the aisle.

  Lydia’s mother swooped in like a flustered hen and directed them where to stand. “Mr. Harper, you stand here. Lydia, take your place next to him and your father and I will stand here. Oh, heavens. Where is your father?”

  Charles looked at the woman beside him, now his wife. “So, my dear, what did you think of the ceremony?”

  She blinked at him with bright eyes, the most interesting combination of blues and greens that reminded him of a restless ocean. “It was quite lovely.”

  He nodded, wanting to speak to her more, but before he could compose another thought, her mother bustled over and began shifting them around and packing family members close to them. Lydia flashed him an apologetic smile, and he momentarily forgot the closeness of strangers pressed against him.

  “One, two, and…”

  Pop

  The contraption made an awful racket, and Mr. Lloyd’s disheveled head emerged from underneath the black cloth at the back of the large box. “Excellent. Let us try a few more.”

  Capturing their image required the participants to remain perfectly still, a difficult undertaking for a large gathering and most especially for a new husband ready to be done with the task. Finally, Mr. Lloyd dismissed them.

  The crowd shifted, and Charles was swarmed with well-wishing and knowing smiles from older gentlemen. He did his duty and acknowledged their congratulations, ignoring the anxiousness in his belly to be done with the public presentation. When the immediate crowd finally fizzled, Charles took a breath and stepped away from them, eager to take his bride’s arm. He scanned the gathering, but his little white dove had disappeared.

  The guests milled around the yard, her mother twittering around among them like a hummingbird. Lydia leaned against the tree she’d climbed in her childhood, stifling her desire to shed her slippers and shimmy up to the thick limb just above her head. It would give her the perfect space to observe the ladies strutting around like peacocks, decked out in their brightly colored dresses and fluttering their eyelashes over the tops of lace fans.

  The important families of the county moved about in the gardens, the heady scent of newly bloomed roses and gardenias drifting on a slight breeze. They nibbled their noon meal refreshments. The clear sky overhead boasted neither the first cloud nor hint of rain. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day for her wedding.

  The ceremony must have been beautiful. She wished she could remember it. Instead, all she could recall were Mr. Harper’s twinkling eyes, his warm hands holding hers, and his smooth voice speaking words that drifted over her like a summer breeze. Then there were cheers, her mother’s smile tempered by tears, and a gentle kiss on her lips that made her head swim. Somehow she was posing for a portrait and drifting off into the gardens before she got a hold on herself and started thinking clearly.

  Then it all hit her, nearly taking her breath and birthing the need to separate from the press of people that drained her energy like a swarm of mosquitoes drawing blood.

  Despite what Mother would think, Lydia slipped away with practiced stealth and allowed herself the space to breathe again. Mother might not notice for a small time, since she buzzed about greeting guests and directing slaves. The reprieve probably wouldn’t last long enough for her to refill her reserves, but she would take what little she could get.

  Finally allowed a quiet moment, Lydia could appreciate Mother’s hard work. White cloth-draped tables topped with various treats dotted the lawn, the grass underneath perfectly trimmed. People laughed and talked as they walked along the garden paths, sat in Mother’s prized wrought iron furniture, or gathered under the shade of the large oaks at the back corner of the house, several pairs of colored hands having cleared away the benches from the ceremony. She scanned the moderate crowd looking for the one who stood just a little taller than the others, his thick wavy hair insisting on falling onto his forehead.

  “Shouldn’t the bride be amongst her guests?”

  Lydia startled. How did he sneak up without her noticing? “I was, uh, I was just looking for you.”

  Mr. Harper lifted an eyebrow. “Were you, now? Looks to me like you are hiding.”

  Lydia crossed her arms. “I am not hiding. I am taking in the scene, that’s all. And I’ll have you know I was looking for you. I can get a better view of the crowd from here.”

  He smiled and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I like knowing you were looking for me. And here I am.”

  Her heart stumbled over its next beat, and she chided herself for being unnerved by his touch.

  “You look stunning, my dear.”

  Heat crept into her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. My mother created an amazing dress.”

  He laughed. “As well as the woman in it.”

  She stepped out of his arm and turned to face him, unsure of how to respond. “You have not told me where you plan to spend the night. I assume we will be staying here at Cedarwycke?”

  He stepped close, his height causing her to lift her chin to meet his eyes. “No. We will return to Ironwood. I intend to carry my bride over the threshold of her new home on our wedding night.”

  She dropped her gaze to his polished boots, her nervous fingers winding through her skirts and lifting her hem. “Oh, of course.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “When do you intend to leave?”

  Mr. Harper scanned the crowd behind her then returned his gaze to her face, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t suppose your mother will let me whisk you away before your father has his speech, so I will have to resign myself to waiting just a bit longer.”

  Her mouth fell open, but she quickly snapped it shut. “We, uh, we probably need to get back to the party.” She spun on her heels and hurried across the grass. The man had undone what little bit of composure she’d fought so hard to maintain. How could he speak in such a manner?

  She spotted Daddy standing off to the edge of the back porch, sipping punch. Lydia made her way to him as quickly as she could get through the crowd, smiling and nodding at guests as she passed but not pausing long enough for them to engage her in conversation lest Daddy get away whil
e she tarried.

  His face lit up when their eyes met. She threw her arms around his neck. Daddy pulled her close for a moment, and then eased away from her grasp. “Come now, darling. We are in presence of company.” The light in his eyes belied his mild chiding. “Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

  “Mr. Harper says we will be leaving soon.”

  Daddy nodded. “Yes, he told me he wished not to be gone from his plantation for more than one night.”

  Lydia chewed her lip. “I am afraid, Daddy. I have never been a night away from Cedarwycke.”

  “I know. Your mother and I should have let you do more. I fear we sheltered you too much.” His eyes glistened. “You cannot blame us, though. You are the child we never thought we would have.”

  Lydia knew the story well. Her parents tried for years for a baby, but her mother’s womb remained closed. Long after they gave up hope, her mother found herself with child. The physician placed Mother on bed rest most of the time she was expecting, and Daddy had feared neither his wife nor his child would survive the birthing.

  Daddy squeezed her hand, pulling her from her thoughts. “Mr. Harper is a fine man. You know I would not allow my treasure to go to just anyone. I prayed many a night over this.” He gave a curt nod. “Yes, my child, I do believe God will bless this union.”

  Lydia ground her teeth. God wouldn’t be able to bless any union of hers, but she would never shatter her father’s heart by letting him know. She gave him the best smile she could muster. “Thank you, Daddy. I trust you have done what is best for me. You always do.”

  His eyes glistened. “Now, I see your poor mother is about to come to pieces, so I think you ought to get back to her.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  Lydia skirted a table laden with tarts and touched her mother’s elbow.

  “There you are! Where have you been?”

  “Talking to Daddy.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Very good then. So long as you weren’t hiding in that old tree.”

  Lydia opened her mouth to respond, but Mother didn’t give her the chance. “Your father is about to give his speech, and then we will all wish you off. The carriage is already loaded.”

  “Oh, Mother. I do not understand why we cannot stay here for a few more days. Didn’t Daddy stay at your father’s house after your wedding? When Mary Hanson married, they spent an entire week at Lone Pine. Why must I go tonight?”

  Mother waved her hand. “Enough with the questions. Your husband wishes you to go to Ironwood tonight. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he has made up his mind. Your father agreed to the arrangement, so you are just going to have to make the best of it.”

  Lydia’s insides twisted. Why would he want her away from everyone? What if all she knew of him was an act? What if, oh, Lord, what if he…?

  Lydia’s breath came too rapidly to properly deliver oxygen to her brain. Her mother gripped her elbow. “Lydia! Stop that this instant. I will not have you fainting.” Mother dragged her up the back steps and into the parlor.

  “Sally! Get me a basin of water and a cloth!”

  The girl scurried off and returned much quicker than should have been possible. She bathed Lydia’s brow and cheeks in the cool water. Mother frowned. “And after I spent all that time powdering your face.”

  As soon as Mother determined that she wouldn’t faint on the lawn, she hurried Lydia back onto the porch where her father and new husband were already waiting. As much as she wanted to savor her father’s parting words so she could hold them in her heart for the days ahead, she could barely grasp them amongst her galloping thoughts and the pulsing blood in her ears.

  Her family and neighbors cheered, and then all too soon Daddy kissed her cheek and assisted her into Mr. Harper’s large carriage. At the head of the black carriage stood two matched bays pawing the ground as if they were impatient to return their master home on swift hooves. An old driver opened the door with a sweeping bow, and Mr. Harper helped her climb inside. They waved to the crowd until they rounded the bend.

  Lydia watched her home disappear behind the trees and tried to focus her thoughts away from the tightness in her stomach.

  “Are you well, Mrs. Harper?”

  “What? Oh.” Lydia placed a hand at the base of her throat. “Forgive me, I am not yet used to the title.”

  He chuckled. “Of course. But I do like the way it sounds.”

  Lydia smiled, the excitement and humor in his voice quieting her discomfort. He did seem to be a good man. Sweet, generous, and quick to laugh.

  “How long will it take us to return to your plantation?”

  “Two hours or so if we keep at a good trot. This drought keeps the roads compacted, so we should have easy travels.”

  Two hours. All that remained until her marriage vows became real and her new life began. Lord help her. Only two hours left of the only life she’d ever known.

  Mr. Harper did his best to engage her in conversation, and she tried to calm the rolling in her stomach and answer his questions, though she feared she did a deplorable job of holding up her end. The time passed all too quickly, and they arrived in front of a house she guessed to be at least twice the size of her childhood home. It had grown too dark to see it properly. Mr. Harper leapt from the carriage and offered his hand to help her step down. She slipped her gloved fingers into his large palm and placed her foot on the ground.

  A cheer erupted, and her free hand flew to her mouth. She scolded herself. Too many times today she’d acted like a skittish young girl. Mr. Harper would have no respect for her at all. She’d been so focused on stepping down from the unusually tall carriage without falling that she had not even noticed the group gathered in the dancing lamplight on the massive front porch.

  Curses. She kept forgetting her promise to herself not to let this man get to her. She must keep her guard up. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much later when the newness wore off, and he no longer put on an act to placate her.

  A stream of dark faces spilled from the front door and down the steps, each one smiling and nodding, several hands clapping. Lydia offered a tight smile and looked to Mr. Harper for an explanation.

  He leaned close to her ear. “They are excited to meet the new lady of the house. They’ve not had one since my mother died ten years back. I believe they feared I might never wed.”

  Lydia lifted a hand to the people and inclined her head. She’d known Mr. Harper lived alone at Ironwood, his parents both having died of influenza not long after its completion, but she’d not been aware of his people’s obvious admiration of him. This gathering did not seem required, but rather brought about by their own free will. Mr. Harper appeared both surprised and pleased at their presence. Interesting.

  While she stood untangling her thoughts, Mr. Harper swept her off her feet and into his arms as if she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

  He kissed her briefly on the mouth, dropping her traitorous heart to her stomach and drawing more cheers from the porch. The servants parted the way for their master and cleared from the front door. Mr. Harper carried her inside and placed her gently on the hardwood floor.

  “Welcome to Ironwood, my lady.”

  The lands of Cedar Hall Plantation

  “You hear that?” Ruth whispered.

  Bridget stirred next to her. “Huh?” Her groggy voice indicated she’d not yet regained full use of her senses.

  “Shhhh. I heard somethin’.”

  Bridget sat up, sleep falling off her. They sat quietly, barely breathing. Nothing but the sounds of birds twittering in the early predawn light filled the air.

  Bridget shrugged. “You probably just heard a squirrel.”

  “Didn’t sound like no squirrel.”

  “So what did it sound like?”

  Voices. Men. But, she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t want to rake Bridget’s already raw nerves. She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  Bridget stood and brushed the dried leaves from her ski
rt. “We better be getting on back. The fire shoulda died down by now. We needs to see what’s got to be done.”

  Ruth ran her hand over her matted hair. “I been thinking about that. Do you really think we should go back?”

  Bridget’s eyes widened. “What you mean?”

  “I mean we the ones that started that fire. If they figure that out, what do you thinks going to happen to us?”

  Bridget crossed her arms over her large bosom. “And what you think gonna happen to us if we become runaways?”

  Ruth heaved a sigh. “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s what you meant.”

  “No, I….”

  “Hush!”

  Ruth stilled, gooseflesh rising on her arms. She’d heard it too. The voices again. Closer this time.

  The sisters dropped to their knees. “That sounds like men. What should we do?”

  Bridget’s gaze darted around the thick underbrush among which they’d spent the remainder of the night. “I don’t know,” she said. “We can’t be called runaways. We ain’t left our lands. Maybe they’re looking for everyone after the fire.”

  She rose to her feet and stepped out from behind the tree.

  “No!” Ruth whispered. “You don’t know that.”

  “Over there!” Someone shouted. “I see a Negro hiding by that tree!”

  Ruth grabbed Bridget’s arm. “Run! Them ain’t none of our people. We need to get back to the big house.”

  They dashed through the trees, ducking in and out of low hanging limbs, briars shredding their already pitiful skirts. The underbrush thinned, and Ruth could see a clearing up ahead. “Come on! I think I see an opening. We’re almost there.”

  Suddenly Bridget screeched, her hand jerked from Ruth’s. A dirty man with greasy hair snatched Bridget up against his chest, holding her tight. “I got ’em boys!”