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

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “What do you think? I think you look wonderful.”

  The excitement in Miss Lydia’s voice brought Ruth’s wayward thoughts to a halt. How could she betray her? Especially now?

  Ruth sighed. “I don’t know. Seems like too nice of a dress to get dirty beatin’ rugs.”

  The smile on Miss Lydia’s face faltered, replaced by something Ruth couldn’t quite name. Miss Lydia turned away. Ruth quickly cinched Miss Lydia’s corset and hooked the row of pearl buttons down the back of her black gown. She should say something. She didn’t know what.

  As soon as her fingers finished the last button, Miss Lydia waved her away. “You better go on now. Tell them I won’t be down for breakfast.”

  “But don’t you think you should….”

  “Just go!”

  Ruth clamped her mouth shut and strode from the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She straightened her shoulders and descended the main staircase, her eyes focusing on not tripping on the folds of fabric that gathered around her feet. No wonder they wore those crazy hoops to hold the skirts out. How could a person walk around all day, much less dance like they liked to do, with all this around her ankles?

  Her foot hit the last stair, and she heard a gasp. There stood Lucy with a rag in one hand, the look on her face completely stricken. Ruth dipped her chin and scurried off, nearly tripping before she made it to the safety of the back porch. Oh, how would she ever explain this? Lucy already didn’t like her.

  The morning air still carried the scent of long overdue rain, the damp earth smell reminding her of her childhood. She lifted the skirts to avoid soaking them on the wet grass. A movement to her left drew her attention. Noah stood by the edge of the garden, turning his hat in his hands. Their eyes met and Ruth felt her heart flutter. What would he think of her in such an outfit? The heat rose to her cheeks. Should she speak to him or quickly get back to her room?

  “Miss Ruth?”

  No escaping now. She swung her gaze fully on him and lowered her skirts below her ankles. “Hello, Noah.”

  He stood close, forcing her to raise her chin to look into his face. He smelled of fresh hay and cut oats.

  “I been worried ’bout you. What happened?”

  Ruth clenched her teeth. How much could she tell him? He must have read her thoughts.

  “You can trust me, Ruth. I know something happened. You came back astride a horse and clingin’ to the lady, who looked right mad with fear. The buggy’s gone, and well….” He left the ending open, hoping she would finish it for him.

  “We hit a rock or a hole or something, and the wagon wheel broke. Then that storm came in and frightened the horse, and the beast brought us back at a full run. I thought we would fall to our deaths tryin’ to hang onto that thing in the pouring rain.”

  He studied her. “Anything else?”

  She frowned. Someone should know, shouldn’t they? She shook her head. “Not here.”

  He glanced around at the empty garden and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the barn. “No one in here but us and the horses.”

  The smell of horseflesh brought back the fear that had gripped her stomach. “What ’bout Tommy?” she whispered. “Or little Johnny?”

  He shook his head. “Already gone to town.”

  “There was a man. A white man. We saw him coming out of one of the cabins.” She swallowed hard.

  Noah’s face tightened. “What did he look like?”

  “Long, greasy hair. Dark eyes.”

  “Yeah. I know who that is. Name’s Webb.”

  “Yes!”

  Noah clenched his fists at his sides. “He came ’round here not too long ago. I was saddling Mr. Harper’s stallion when he came asking for a job. I could tell right away he weren’t no good. Think Mr. Harper saw it too, but he done gave the man a job anyway.”

  Ruth wrapped her arms around her waist. “I knew what he was doing in there.”

  Noah looked like he might explode from the inside, so she hurried on. “Mrs. Harper gave him a tongue lashin’ and sent him on his way. We went to a meadow out in the woods for her to have her noon meal when the storm hit. The buggy wheel broke. We were unhooking the horse when he came out of the woods somewhere and grabbed ahold of me.

  “Something happened then. Mrs. Harper, she done snapped. She came after him with a broken wheel spoke like she was some kinda warrior. She hit him in the head, and he let go of me. Then he grabbed for her. I don’t think he shoulda done that. She’d gone mad by then. She stabbed him right in the eye and then pulled me up on that horse. We rode like the devil was on our heels back to the barn.”

  Noah grabbed her and squeezed her against his broad chest. She let her face bury into his muscles, his grip so tight she feared she might lose her breath, and yet she did not want to draw away. Finally, he eased her to arm’s length away from him.

  “We needs to send some men to look for him.”

  “What if he’s dead?”

  Noah ran a hand over his close-cut hair. “Need to know that, too. Don’t worry. We’ll find him. I’ll let you know when I do.”

  “Thank you, Noah. You been nothing but kind to me. You is a good friend.”

  His eyes softened. “I think you know I want to be more.”

  Ruth swallowed the lump in her throat. “I gotta get to Betsy. She’ll be worried ’bout me.” She hurried from the barn as quick as her skirts would let her. She entered the kitchen and leaned against the door.

  “Well, now. This ain’t something I expected.” Betsy wiped her hands on her apron and raised her eyebrows at Ruth.

  “Me neither.”

  Betsy laughed. “Come here, child. You can help me with this pie crust. Blackberry tarts are Mrs. Harper’s favorite, and Johnny done brought me a whole bucket full.”

  “She said she won’t come down for no breakfast.”

  “Well, we’ll see ’bout that.”

  Ruth slipped on a large apron and tied it behind her back. She washed her hands and dried them on a clean towel before taking her place next to Betsy.

  “Just work it like this here,” she said, pulling and shaping the dough. “It starts out tough and wanting to keep itself bound up, but if you just keep gently pulling and stretching it, soon ’nough it’ll relax and become workable.”

  Ruth put her hands into the dough and pulled it the way Betsy showed her. They worked quietly together until they’d prepared several round sections of smooth, flat dough ready for filling.

  “Oh, Betsy, I don’t know what to do,” Ruth said, breaking the silence.

  “Well, can’t say I’ll always have the right words to tell you, but my ears are always open if you want to talk.”

  Ruth spooned a sweet mixture of blackberries into the center of the dough and folded it over, pinching the edges together, and thought of how much she should tell Betsy. She’d already told Noah. She didn’t want to turn into a gossip.

  “Well, I’m worried ’bout Mrs. Harper. There was a man come up on us in the woods. Gave us a fright. She seems very shaken up ’bout it.”

  “That why you stayed the night in her room?”

  Ruth pressed her lips together and dipped her chin. Would they be angry at her? She’d crossed another of those invisible lines of propriety that no one spoke of yet everyone lived by.

  “That’s good. I’m glad you was there for her.”

  Ruth tilted her head. “Really?”

  “Sure ’nuff. Even white ladies need comfort sometimes. They just don’t like to show it.”

  Ruth gave a short laugh. “That’s the truth.”

  They placed the treats in the oven and settled down on the bench. Betsy looked at her for a long time, emotions playing on her face. It seemed like she had something important to say, so Ruth waited patiently until she finally spoke.

  “I had a daughter. She looked so much like you.”

  Ruth’s breath caught. The room, the dresses, the way Betsy had immediately taken to her. It all made sense. “What happened t
o her?”

  “She died of the same sickness that took Mr. Harper’s parents ten years back. She wasn’t but a girl getting close to her growing up years. So much life left.”

  Ruth placed a gentle hand on Betsy’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  Betsy sniffled. “She wanted to change the world, my Sophie. She said she would show them white people that we is just as smart as them. Show them we feels the same things, hopes for the same things, and loves the same way. She wanted them to see that people were people no matter their color.”

  Ruth’s eyes widened.

  Betsy shook her head. “I done told her that talk was dangerous. Would get us in trouble. The place I came from, that was true. But then I started to see that maybe it could be different here at Ironwood. The Harpers have always been plenty kind to us. Still, I wouldn’t let her speak her mind. We argued a lot ’bout it. Then suddenly, my passionate little girl bent on changing the world was gone. And she done left a hole of hopelessness in her place.”

  Tears burned at the back of Ruth’s throat. “I’m so sorry.” It was all she could think to say.

  Betsy cupped Ruth’s cheek in her hand. “And then God drops you in our lives. I see the same spark in you that I saw in her. And I see you making changes ’round here already, even if you don’t know it. Keep at it. This war will bring many changes, too. Of that I’m right certain.”

  Ruth offered a half smile. “I worry ’bout what it’ll mean for us.”

  “So do I, child.” She patted Ruth on the shoulder. “It’s time to pull them tarts from the oven.” Betsy opened the oven door and a sweet smell filled the kitchen. Ruth’s stomach growled.

  “You eats one and take some out to the barn for little Johnny and the others. I’d say Johnny deserves one or two of ’em for all his hard work picking. Then go see if you can coax Mrs. Harper out of her room with one.”

  Ruth doubted the treat would do any good, but she wrapped a few tarts in a napkin and walked back to the barn. The air had grown thick and hot, already stifling enough to cause a sheen of sweat to pop up on her brow. The morning grew late, and Ruth could not believe how much of the day she’d already wasted without doing much of anything.

  She found Tommy and Noah standing close together talking in low tones. She called to Noah and waved to the men. They stopped talking as she approached.

  “Betsy made blackberry tarts.” She peeled back the edge of the napkin and allowed the sweet smells to escape. She expected smiles of delight, but both men’s faces were serious.

  “Ruth, I been talking with Tommy.”

  Her heart fluttered. She glanced at Tommy. Did he know, too? Heavens, what had she started?

  “Tommy says he saw a man walkin’ the edge of the road on his way back from town. White man with long, dirty hair hanging past his shoulders. He had a hat low on his head, so Tommy didn’t see his face. But, when the wagon got close, the man looked back at him and then ran into the woods.”

  That had to be Webb. Not dead after all, as Miss Lydia had so feared. She looked at Tommy. He nodded. “Yep. Thought it was strange the way he ran off. When I got back here and Noah said he was going to go looking for a man that had bothered you and Mr. Harper’s wife, I figured that might be him. I wouldn’t worry ’bout it too much, though. If that fellow smarted off to Mrs. Harper, I’m sure Mr. Harper will have plenty ’nough to say to him ’bout it.”

  Noah and Ruth exchanged a look. She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure he will, Tommy. Thank you.” She handed over one of her napkins. “Be sure Johnny gets one of these, all right?”

  Noah grinned and took her offering.

  She said her goodbyes and made her way back to the house as casually as she could manage so as not to raise suspicion. She checked the hall. No sign of Lucy. Good. She couldn’t handle the questions the woman was sure to throw at her. She took the back staircase and knocked softly on Lydia’s door.

  “I do not wish to be disturbed at this time,” the muffled voice said through the door.

  Ruth took a deep breath. “It’s me.” She hoped that would make a difference. But would it? She shouldn’t read too much into what had happened last night.

  The door flew open. Miss Lydia looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. She stepped back from the door, holding it open for Ruth. Ruth walked in, and when the door clicked, she turned. “I got news.”

  Miss Lydia sank down onto her dressing chair. She closed her eyes and nodded once for Ruth to continue.

  “Tommy saw that man walking down the road. When Webb saw the wagon, he ran off into the woods. He ain’t dead.”

  Miss Lydia’s shoulders drooped. She slowly inhaled. “I thought I’d killed him.”

  Ruth rubbed her gently on the back. “I know. But you didn’t. And he’s gone now.”

  Miss Lydia chewed her lip. “Gone doesn’t give him justice.”

  If only such a thing were easy to grab. Ruth sighed. “Mr. Harper’ll be back soon. I don’t think that horrible man would dare come back here now.”

  “I suppose you are right. Still. I cannot stand to know what has happened here. I must tell Charles. I must protect Ironwood.”

  She said it with such fierceness, with such wildness in her eyes, that Ruth got an uneasy feeling. Not knowing what to say, she turned the subject. “Betsy done made you some blackberry tarts. Ain’t they your favorite?”

  Miss Lydia shrugged, and the fire in her eyes returned to a haunted vacancy. “I do not want any.” She pulled a tight smile across her face. “Thank you for coming to tell me the news, but I do think I may need to rest now.”

  Ruth held back a sigh and pulled the door closed behind her, worrying that the woman left inside was not the same one who had twice come to her rescue.

  Jackson, Mississippi

  June 21, 1862

  Union Navy in Vicksburg!

  Charles scanned the paper and handed the boy a coin. The Union still held Corinth, he read. Confederates had failed to hold it, and the Feds continued to gain strength in Mississippi. For now, Governor Pettus and his legislature sustained their work here in Jackson, and it became a hot seat for war activity. A good reason for him to be here.

  Charles moved among the throng of young men joining the cause that burned in their breasts. Some of them were nothing but boys. Charles felt the same burn, but the pleading in Lydia’s eyes had stayed him thus far, though he knew it could not last much longer. When he returned home, he would have to discuss his duty with her and pray she understood. He feared his sweet bride tried to ignore all that happened outside of Ironwood. For his part, he had encouraged it. He did not wish to see her worried by things she could not control.

  Charles found the door he searched for and stepped inside. People bustled around, many complaining over the outrageous prices: $3.50 for a sack of sugar! He worked his way through the desperate patrons of the general goods store and found the office in the back. Charles tapped on the doorframe, drawing the attention of the clerk seated behind his desk. The man straightened his glasses and gestured for Charles to enter.

  “Mr. Harper, I presume?”

  Charles gave a small bow. “Indeed. And you are Mr. Smith?”

  The thin man rose from his ledgers and offered his hand. Charles gave it one pump and settled into the seat the man gestured to.

  “I received your letter. And as I stated in my response, there is little need for cotton now. The Union has the river blockaded. We can get very little out, and even then, materials must go on armed ships.”

  “I am aware. I have already made arrangements for my shipping. My concern was with sales here in Jackson. What are your interests in my supplying your store with cotton and tobacco?”

  The man rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Those things we have. It’s sugar, leather, and flour we need.”

  Charles frowned. “What about corn?”

  Mr. Smith brightened. “Yes, I would be interested in corn.”

  Charles had little enough of it, mostly g
rown for their own table and to feed the livestock, but he’d make sales wherever he could get them.

  “I will be paid in gold or silver.”

  The man shook his head fervently. “I cannot give you that. We are working on the Confederate dollar now. But do not worry Mr. Harper, it is as good as gold.”

  “I am afraid not. There has yet to be any stability shown in it, and I shall not risk my livelihood upon it.”

  It took some convincing and a price much lower than he wanted, but when they finally shook hands on a deal, Charles felt a flood of relief. He stepped back out into the heat of the day and continued down the street.

  Men were gathered outside the capitol building, cheering and straining forward to hear the words of a speaker standing on the steps. Charles stepped into the crowd, his shoulders brushing uncomfortably close to others whose bodies carried the smells of standing too long in the heavy heat.

  “Join, men! Join and save your families and your homes from the oppression that the North would lay upon us. You’ve heard the Vice President! We are founded on opposite ideas. Our livelihood is set upon the truth that the Negro is not equal to the white man. Fight to maintain our right to keep him in his natural state of subordination!”

  Charles narrowed his eyes. Was not the true issue states’ rights? He looked around at the men nodding in agreement. Uneasiness settled in his stomach. He turned and walked back through the crowd, suddenly more anxious to return home.

  He crossed State Street and climbed the steps to the Bowman House. His boots clicked across the polished wood floors as he passed under the large chandelier hanging in the foyer.

  “Mr. Harper!”

  Charles turned to see the clerk waving him over to the large carved desk he stood behind.

  “Yes?”

  “You have received a telegram.” The plump man shifted through a stack of papers on his desk. “Ah, here it is.” He passed the paper over the desk.

  Mr. Harper stop Ruth sends word she worries for Mrs. Harper stop Believes her very ill stop