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

by Stephenia H. McGee

“Enter.”

  Ruth opened the door to the most masculine room in the house, done entirely in wood and leather and smelling of pipe smoke. She gave a small awkward curtsey.

  “Yes, Ruth. What is it?” Mr. Harper said over the top of his desk. She glanced at Miss Lydia’s father sitting across from him. Both men looked grim.

  “There’s a man downstairs wants to see you. Lucy done put him in the parlor.”

  “I will have to greet the guests later. He is much too early. Tell him he is welcome to the gardens or the grounds.” He waved his hand to dismiss her and looked down at the papers on his desk.

  She didn’t move. “Um, well, I don’t think he’s no guest for the ball.”

  Mr. Harper’s head snapped up. “Then who is he?”

  “Say’s he’s Lieutenant Monroe.”

  “And now the time has come,” Mr. Cox said softly.

  Mr. Harper circled the desk. “Mr. Cox, if you will excuse me, I am afraid we will need to continue this conversation at a later time.”

  The older man grunted and lifted his bulky frame from the chair. “I’ll go fetch Mrs. Cox and allow my daughter a little peace.” He winked at Ruth as he walked by, and she dropped her gaze to the ground.

  She took the long way around the house, and by the time she made it back to the parlor, Mr. Harper already had the doors pulled closed. She stepped closer but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Something rattled behind her, and Ruth stepped away from the door just as Lucy entered the foyer with a silver tray.

  “Here,” Ruth said. “Let me get that. I can serve them. You ain’t had no dinner yet.”

  Lucy eyed her suspiciously. “You ain’t either.”

  Ruth shrugged. “I done ate three biscuits this morning. I ain’t hungry. I can wait ’til supper.”

  Lucy’s brow creased, but she passed the tray to Ruth and left for the kitchen. Ruth struggled to balance it and open the door without spilling anything. She remembered Lucy’s past advice. Walk slowly and quietly. Do your job while trying to stay out of sight.

  “There’s contraband flocking behind those lines. Union troops are giving them refuge. Many places around here have already lost a large number of their work force.”

  Ruth slowly poured the tea, not daring to look at the man speaking. Contraband? Did he mean Negroes? Would they really find safety on the other side?

  “Another reason I have stayed,” Mr. Harper stated, lifting a sweet from the tray. “My presence here keeps order.”

  “I understand perfectly, Mr. Harper. It is a problem all have faced, yet they have chosen to serve the cause despite it.”

  Ruth poured Mr. Harper’s tea and peaked up at him from under her lashes. He stroked his chin. “I know the time has come. It is my duty to protect not only this plantation but the lands of my fellow Mississippians.”

  The soldier slapped his knee, and Ruth jumped, nearly spilling the cup. She set it down and retreated to the door. If she stood quietly here by the wall, would they notice her? She had to try.

  “I’m glad to hear it. We are in desperate need of good officers for the march on Corinth. You will be given your own men to lead.”

  “When will I need to report?”

  “They requested I bring you back with me.”

  Ruth tightened her hands at her sides. Would he leave now? What would Miss Lydia think if he didn’t go to her ball?

  Mr. Harper shook his head. “It cannot be done. I will need to set affairs in order before I go.”

  “Very well. But we cannot tarry long.” The soldier’s gaze shot over and locked on hers. Ruth dropped her eyes.

  “Ruth, you may be dismissed,” Mr. Harper said. “We can refill our own cups.”

  She curtsied and slipped out the door. Her stomach knotted. She’d lied to Lucy. She hadn’t eaten any biscuits this morning, and her worry only caused more complaint in her belly. No time for that now.

  Should she tell Miss Lydia first or the others? She’d promised to let Miss Lydia know if she heard anything. Ruth wavered at the bottom of the staircase, uncertain what she should do. Voices drifted down from above.

  “Now, dear, Lydia is doing a wonderful job. Mr. Harper seems very pleased with her efforts.”

  Mr. Cox. At least Miss Lydia’s father had a heart.

  “I never said otherwise. I simply stated she needed to learn to maintain the presence befitting a lady.”

  She should go. The voices were getting closer. If they started down from the upper floor, they would see her here. She moved from the foot of the staircase and around the side near the closet underneath. Ruth glanced at the parlor door. Still closed.

  “You make a fine lady.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  Miss Lydia sounded tired. Ruth took a long breath. Knowing Mr. Harper would soon be leaving would make it worse. She wouldn’t tell her now. Let her have her ball and enjoy it, and let her husband tell her. It wasn’t Ruth’s place.

  She hurried out the back door as the three came down the staircase. The day was dark for mid-afternoon, and the air hung heavy with the threat of rain. When she opened the door to the kitchen, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread made her stomach growl.

  “Oh good. You is here. You can carry this other tray.” Lucy handed her a silver tray filled with bowls of potatoes, beans, and okra.

  “Wait,” Ruth said. “I needs to tell you something first.”

  Betsy opened the door for them. “No time. We need to get this on the table. Then you can talk.”

  Ruth huffed and followed Lucy out the door. Lucy began to whistle.

  “Since when do we got to start doing that again?” Ruth asked.

  “Since Mrs. Cox is here,” Lucy snapped and then returned to the cheery tune that contrasted with both Ruth’s mood and the dark clouds over head.

  They set the trays on the sideboards and began placing the bowls of food on the table. Ruth leaned in between Mr. and Mrs. Cox to put down a basket of hot rolls. She dared a glance at Miss Lydia. Apology shone from her eyes for barely a second before she lowered her gaze to the fine china in front of her.

  When they finished placing the food, Ruth and Lucy stood near the end of the buffet. Ruth’s stomach growled again. She pressed her palm against it and silently prayed it would stop. Lucy touched her elbow, and Ruth looked up to see a soft expression on her face. “You sound plenty hungry now. I got this. Go eat,” she whispered.

  Ruth gave her a small smile of gratitude and hurried to the kitchen before anyone else could stop her. She pushed open the door and scrambled inside. “Betsy! I have to tell you what…Oh.”

  Noah grinned at her from his seat at the table. “Ruth.” He dipped his chin.

  “Noah.”

  Betsy loaded vegetables on a plate and handed it to Ruth, motioning for her to sit across from Noah. “Sorry there ain’t no meat. Sent it all inside.”

  “That’s all right.” She sat and shoveled a large spoonful of peas into her mouth. Betsy could cook better than anyone.

  “You needing to tell me something?” Betsy asked.

  Ruth swallowed and looked up into their expectant eyes. “There was a soldier here. A lieutenant. He came to see Mr. Harper.”

  Betsy put her hand up to her throat and looked at Noah. They exchanged a glance, and she gave him a slight nod.

  “We done decided that if Mr. Harper left, there was some of us that are going try to get behind the Union lines. Word is they is close,” Noah said.

  “You really are leaving?” The last of her hope and foolish dreams vanished. “It’s not safe!” Ruth dropped her fork, appetite forgotten.

  “We got to take the chance. Think of it, Ruth. Freedom.” Noah’s eyes pleaded with her.

  “We can’t just leave.”

  Betsy walked around the table and placed her hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “Me and Lucy done talked ’bout it. We is too old to try to make that run. And too set in our ways. We gonna take our chances here. But you….” she let her voice trail
off, leaving the thought unfinished.

  Noah suddenly reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Come with me.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes. “I can’t.”

  “Come with me. I’ll take care of you. I swear I’ll protect you to my last breath.”

  Ruth hesitated, the lump in her throat growing thicker. How could she explain it to him? She had to stay here and take care of her fragile friend, despite everything. No, none of them would understand.

  “I….” What could she say? Her heart felt like it would pull apart within her.

  “Marry me. I’ll make you a good husband.” Noah gripped her hand harder.

  Her breath stopped. His eyes bored into hers. Somewhere from a great distance she heard Betsy gasp and clasp her hands, but the blood pounding in her ears muffled everything. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  Noah let go of her hand.

  “But….” Betsy started to say something, but Ruth couldn’t hear it. She jumped to her feet and fled their stares. Her legs moved beneath her, taking her farther from the man she could no longer deny she loved. She ran until her lungs heaved and her sides hurt. She sank to the ground near the edge of the woods at the back of a cotton field, the stalks stripped of every tuft of white. Like gnarled fingers, they clawed at the gray sky, hiding her behind their impossible reach for freedom.

  Ruth wrapped her arms around herself and let the tears come.

  September 12, 1862

  Charles ran his hand down Lydia’s arm, and she suppressed a shiver. If she didn’t open her eyes, maybe she could delay this day a little longer.

  “I know you are awake.” Charles chuckled, playfully shaking her arm.

  “No. I’m still sleeping,” she whispered, cracking one eye to peer at him and then snapping it closed.

  “Oh. Forgive me. I was unaware my wife spoke in her sleep.”

  She giggled. “There is much you still have to learn about me.” She opened her eyes and slid her gaze over to him.

  Charles grew serious. “I plan to learn anything you are willing to share.”

  “I shall endeavor to share all with you, husband. It is the good that I have found from the bad, this love I have for you.”

  His jaw worked, and he cupped her chin in his hand. “I do not wish to leave you.”

  She pressed her face into his palm. “I know. And I also know you must. I have faith you will not be gone long. Surely the war has nearly run its course.”

  “So they keep saying. I pray it will be truth.”

  He rose from the bed and finished dressing. Lydia untangled herself from the bedclothes and wrapped her robe around her. “Soon I’ll have to start having a fire made at night. October is nearly on us, and the mornings will soon be getting colder,” she mused.

  Charles clasped her shoulders. “Autumn can be unpredictable, my love. We never know whether the Mississippi winds will blow hot or cold this time of year. But you can always think of me.” He winked. “Maybe that will help keep you warm.”

  She drew a sharp breath. “Mr. Harper! You shouldn’t say such things.”

  “Why not? See? It seems I have already caused your face to warm.”

  She looked up at him. “I will miss you terribly.”

  “And I you.” He pressed his lips to hers, and she leaned into him. Too soon he ended it and pulled back. “I fear I have tarried too long already. They wait for me.”

  She nodded. “I shall quickly dress and come down with you.”

  “No. It is better I do not have to ride off and leave you looking after me.” He kissed her again. “Besides, I want to remember you here, like this, with your hair falling down your back and your lips reddened by my kiss.”

  His husky voice caused a stir within her, and she gripped the rough wool of his new uniform jacket. Words would not escape past the lump in her throat.

  “I shall write you if I can, but know that every day I am thinking of you.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “And a prayer for you will always be on my lips.”

  He wiped her tear and kissed her forehead before striding from the room. Lydia watched him go and tried to fill her lungs with enough air to keep back her sobs. She must be strong. She must lead the people of this plantation. But not today.

  Lydia didn’t know how many hours had passed when someone knocked. She got up from the bed and pushed the hair from her face. She cracked open the door just enough to see Mother standing on the other side.

  Mother’s eyes went wide. “Lydia!”

  She cringed and opened the door wider, turning to let her mother follow her into the room. She sat on the bed to await Mother’s reprimand. She found the prospect of her mother’s scolding no longer filled her with as much dread as it once had.

  “You look a fright!” Mother gripped her chin and looked at her face. “Your eyes are swollen and red.”

  Lydia shrugged. “That usually happens when one cries.”

  Mother’s expression softened and she tucked a hair behind Lydia’s ear. “You have come to love him, then?”

  Lydia squeezed her eyes closed against fresh tears and nodded. Yes, she loved him. And with it came terrible pain brought on by the fear of losing him.

  “Oh, darling. I did not know.” Mother wrapped her arms around Lydia and gave her a small squeeze.

  Lydia leaned her head on Mother’s shoulder. “I fear he may never return.”

  “I wish I could tell you that of course he will, but we do not know what the future will bring. But, I can tell you this. Living in fear will only cripple you. You must pray and go on as if he will be returning at any time.”

  “I will try my best.”

  Mother rose from the bed and guided her to the screen. “Get dressed, and I will do your hair.”

  When Lydia pulled on the bright pink dress meant to lift her mood, she couldn’t help but allow a small smile. Mother tried. In her way. She sat down, and Mother pulled the comb through the tangles of her hair, finally taming it enough to twist it into a coif that left a long piece hanging down over one shoulder.

  “I’ve asked your father if we could stay longer, but he’s afraid we’ve been gone from Cedarwycke too long already.”

  Lydia clasped Mother’s hand. “I thank you for asking. I have enjoyed you staying this last week.”

  Mother lifted her eyebrows. “Have you? Your father says I am too hard on you.”

  Lydia smiled. “I know you only try to help.”

  “I do. I have only ever wanted what is best for you. For you to be everything you have the potential to be. You have made a beautiful lady. Just as I always knew you would, even though you tried your best to convince me otherwise.”

  Lydia laughed, enjoying the rare moment of teasing. “I did try.”

  They enjoyed a long noon meal, and then Lydia waved to her parents and watched their carriage grow smaller and smaller until it drove completely out of sight. She sighed, turned back to the house, and found Ruth at the door watching her.

  “Ruth. I’m glad to see you.” She lifted her skirts and climbed the five brick steps up to the porch.

  “Miss Lydia, we needs to talk.” Her brow furrowed and Lydia’s chest tightened. She didn’t need any more bad news today. All she wanted to do was forget the sorrow that dug into her heart, if only for a few moments.

  “Let’s go for a ride, then.”

  Ruth shook her head. “No ma’am. We don’t need—”

  “Then let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll teach you how to make apple turnovers. We should have at least a few of those apples left.”

  Ruth’s features hardened. “No. They’s all gone.”

  “Did you try one? They are wonderful, aren’t they?”

  “No, ma’am. Them was only for the white folks.”

  “Oh.” Lydia blew out a long breath. “Ruth, I am sorry. I know these last few days have been….” She trailed off, not knowing what else to say. For all her words abo
ut things being different at Ironwood and their friendship meaning more than what others thought, she had slipped right back into the old ways with ease.

  “I understand.”

  Lydia clasped her hands in front of her and walked to the swing at the far corner of the porch. “Come, sit with me.”

  Ruth followed her but stood against the wall near the swing and would not sit. Not that she could blame her. Lydia had proved to be as two-faced as the twittering women she’d always loathed. And now here she sat—the very portrait of a hypocrite.

  “Miss Lydia, there’s going to be a lot of changes ’round here.” Ruth shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  Apprehension clawed at Lydia’s heart. “What do you mean?”

  Ruth looked as if she were trying to decide what she should say. Sighing, she finally shook her head and looked at Lydia with sad eyes. “There’s been talk you sympathize with the North.”

  Her brows knit. “Who says that?”

  “Tommy hears things when he goes to town. That’s what they is saying. Says you are too friendly with the Negros and don’t keep us in our proper place.”

  “Ha! I do not care what they say.” Lydia fell back against the slats of the swing, sending it into a slow arc.

  “Maybe you do, and maybe you don’t. But you needs to be careful.”

  “Careful of what?”

  “There’s men. They look for runaways in the woods.”

  “We don’t have any runaways.”

  Ruth dropped her gaze to the floor. “Maybe. But they also has been questioning white folks. Looking for anyone who might be helping ’em escape.”

  A chill traveled down Lydia’s spine. “I will let the foremen know to be on watch.”

  Ruth seemed to relax a little.

  “Now. Since that’s settled, let’s go work on some lessons. I was thinking I could help you with your writing skills.”

  Ruth gave her a sad smile. “No, ma’am. We can’t be doing things like that no more.”

  Lydia clenched her teeth. “Very well. I shall not visit you in your room anymore.”

  Ruth looked relieved, and it sent a pang into her heart.

  Lydia rose. Mother was right. She must remember who she was and her place at Ironwood. They would look to her. She would do whatever she must.