Chapter Ten
Someone in one of the neighboring houses was sure to be awake to hear them go but they would only think Doc was heading out to one of his patients in the countryside. So long as they didn’t see the little colored boy everything would be all right.
“Where to, Doc?” he asked as they moved past the edge of town.
“Cottonwood Creek Plantation,” Doc said as calmly as though he were not naming the worst possible location.
He turned to stare at the old man. “You’re just going to drive right up to Bolter Jackson’s place bold as brass.”
“Not being an idiot, I have no such plans,” Doc assured him, putting an arm around the boy who had fallen asleep and was leaning against his side. “We will leave the buggy at the Harris farm and slip into the woods to Cottonwood from there.”
“Like thieves in the night,” Caleb said bitterly.
“You can wait with the horses,” Doc said, “with your leg you’d be no good at getting through those boggy woods.”
Caleb’s mouth tightened. He’d not be left behind while an old man and a boy went off in the dead of night by themselves. He guessed he’d get around as well as either of them.
Cottonwood Creek Plantation was a good ways out of town down by the river where the soil was good for growing cotton and wet enough that tall, shady cottonwoods grew in abundance.. Up until the war began, Bolter had made a good profit from his crops, and Caleb figured he was probably getting by and feeding his people considering that even though Federals were blocking the ports and the cotton couldn’t be sent to market across the waters, Mexico was providing a back door to the confederacy, allowing goods to move in and out in the Matamoros area.
The Harris farm was a modest property, a struggling neighbor to the elegant Jackson property. Nellie and Hank Harris, a young couple who had moved to Texas from Indiana, farmed the place themselves and barely managed to keep themselves fed. Their place was a sore thumb to Bolter who had tried to buy them out and Caleb had heard matters were edgy between neighbors and likely to get worse if they were helping Doc get into the quarters.
He sure hoped Doc knew what he was doing. He doubted it, but he could still hope. Doc seemed to know where he was going. He directed young Ezra to push open the door to a ramshackle barn and told Caleb to drive the buggy within that shelter.
Skinny, sun-burned Hank Harris, still buttoning his shirt, met them in the darkness and unhitched the horses and put them in stalls next to his own heavy-bodied plow horse.
“Hank! I can’t believe . . .” Caleb started a reprimand, but Doc interrupted him.
“None of that, son. The less Hank knows the better.”
That was true enough. Caleb avoided speaking further to this reckless young man.
Doc led the way into the thicket back of the barn, Ezra following at his heels. Caleb picked up his cane and stomped after them, ignoring the throbbing in his injured leg.
They were approaching the big plantation house with its imposing pillars and porches from the rear and they hadn’t far to go. No wonder Bolter wanted the little Harris farm; it was practically in his back yard.
He saw candlelight flickering in one of the high windows in back and supposed someone was sitting up late. Certainly it was well past bedtime.
Of course they weren’t headed for the big house, but for the slave quarters, modest cabins and bunkhouses set considerably back from the owner’s home. Caleb expected young Ezra to lead the way, but Doc didn’t seem to need a guide. Caleb guessed that he’d made more than an occasional visit to this place even though the owner forbade the white doctor to treat his slaves.
Silent as they were, Caleb once again had the feeling of being overheard. Certainly these shabby little buildings with their thin walls and dirt floors could be penetrated by the slightest sound and yet nobody stirred. This was obviously a conspiracy in which everybody here in the slave quarters took part.
Hetty met then at the open door of the cabin on the far end. She took them in at a glance, but called no names. “He’s right poorly,” she said.
Caleb waited outside since there didn’t seem to be much he could do but take up limited floor space inside, but as he watched Doc go in, he saw a tiny child lying on ragged quilts in one corner, a young woman bending over him.
The tableau was so familiar, sick child and anxious mother, that he almost forgot they were black slaves and therefore different from him and those he loved.
It wasn’t particularly early when Betsy, washed and dressed for the day, went out to the cookshack. Usually both Caleb and Doc were up before her and even Lavinia, with a child to wake her up, was no late sleeper.
But this morning she seemed to have the kitchen to herself so she set to work slicing bacon, assuming that Caleb was already out doing the chores and Doc, after a late night, was probably sleeping in for once in his life. She’d been almost certain she’d heard him moving around and guessed he’d been summoned by a patient.
This was a life to which she was accustomed since both her parents frequently took night calls.
By the time the bacon was sizzling appetizingly in the skillet, she was putting together the ingredients for hotcakes when Lavinia came yawning into the room, holding Evan by the hand.
“Where’s Doc?” she asked. “I knocked intending to tell him he was a sleepyhead, but he wasn’t in his room.”
Frowning, Betsy left her cooking long enough to go knock on the door of the lean-to. “Caleb?” she called, then again a little more loudly, “Caleb!”
No answer. The two women looked at each other. “They must be outside,” Betsy said, though normally Caleb, who saw to the care of the cow and chickens, helped with breakfast before doing those chores.
“I heard sounds in the night,” Lavinia worried aloud. “But if Doc had to go out in the country on a call, it’s not unusual for him to spend the night, especially if the patient’s not doing well.”
“But Caleb wouldn’t go with him,” Betsy protested.
“I’ll go out and look,” Lavinia said, “though I’m sure they’ll laugh that we’re so concerned about two grown men.”
Betsy turned the bacon to keep it from burning, but didn’t go back to mixing the hotcakes. Instead she kept an eye on Evan, who without his mother’s watchfulness might get into seven different kinds of trouble.
Finally she put the bacon on a plate and went to pick up Evan, intending to take him with her while she went to look for his mother, but Lavinia came bustling in the door before she could make a move.
“Cow’s not been milked nor fed,” she said, “and the buggy and both horses are gone.” She went over and flung open the door to Caleb’s lean-to. From where she stood, Betsy could clearly see the bedclothes tumbled to the floor.
“Surely they wouldn’t have both left without telling us,” she said.
The cow was bawling by the time Betsy got out to milk her. Her last such experience had been back when she was a young girl, helping Mama with her work on the farm, but she managed to perform credibly. At least enough milk was tugged from the cow to give her relief and to provide the milk Evan would need to supplement his meals for the day.
That was the only task absolutely necessary of accomplishment before she went looking for Doc and Caleb. Lavinia tried to talk her out of it, saying she’d only stir up unnecessary trouble and no doubt they’d be back soon.
The other woman’s face was pale with strain and Betsy knew that Lavinia, already fretting about the lack of letters from Forrest, was more fearful than she wanted to let on.
Determinedly placing her bonnet on her head, Betsy set out to walk to the little store which was the center of their budding community. The one thing she couldn’t do was just sit and wait to hear from the two men.
Hetty and Doc nodded congratulations to each other as the morning light shone into the shabby little cabin where their small patient still breathed with the air of partners who had come close to achieving a miracle.
Caleb peered blearily at the two of them from the corner where he was huddled with the boy Ezra sprawled asleep at his side. He had been more of a watcher than a participant as the child was bathed in cold water to bring down his fever and medicines administered at regular intervals, both Hetty and Doc alert at his bedside at all times.
“I believe he’ll do,” Hetty whispered to the weary mother who had kept her own vigil and patted the thin shoulders as tears began to run down the dark face.
She looked around. “It’s daylight,” she continued to whisper. “You and Caleb better skedaddle.”
She was right. First light meant the beginning of the working day for these people. Caleb managed to get to his feet and reached for his cane. Last thing they needed was for Bolter Jackson to find them in his own slave quarters.
With Hetty urging them, they stumbled outside where those beginning to stir from their cabins avoided meeting their eyes. They didn’t want to see them there anymore than Caleb wanted to be seen.
Leaning heavily on his cane, he headed for the cover of the woods, than stopped to find Doc standing unmoving in front of the cabin. He looked a hundred years old and dead a decade, Caleb thought with a pang. He managed to get back to the older man, then with his cane in his left hand, he supported his companion on his right, not sure who was holding who up as they staggered into the woods.
“You can’t keep doing this old man,” he scolded angrily as they moved over fallen wood and through the tangled growth of young trees and searching vines. The woods smelled musty and damp this near the river and something rotted nearby.
It took twice the time it had taken last night to cover the same area, even though now there was enough light to see where he was stepping. Doc moved mechanically, guided by Caleb, and without help he would have sprawled down on the ground.
Hank met them halfway through and took over the burden of assisting Doc. “Child still alive?” he asked almost as though afraid to hear the answer
Caleb wasn’t surprised. From the way Doc looked, you’d think last night had been a defeat instead of a victory. “He’s better,” he said gruffly. “Doc says he’ll be all right.”
“Poor little fellow. Been delicate since he was born,” Hank said.
Caleb thought of the face of the mother, the glad tears running down her face. He barely remembered his own parents, both had died in a Comanche raid, but he figured his mother would have looked the same when he was sick.
He had the distinctly odd thought that mothers weren’t so different. Black or white, they loved their children.
Hank and his wife gave them breakfast. Caleb was hungry and ate heartily of the hot biscuits and gravy, but Doc only drank two cups of coffee.
He slumped half asleep while they journeyed home, the team lively in the early morning air after their night’s sleep in the Harris barn. Caleb, younger and stronger in spite of his injury, didn’t feel too bad after breakfast and coffee and was just thankful they’d both emerged from the night alive.
“You have a right to your rest, Doc,” he said softly, “You saved that baby’s life. But I guess you’re used to that, it’s what you do.”
Doc slumbered on.
Betsy didn’t quite dare ask directly if anybody had heard from either Doc or Caleb. She was not so much afraid of the answer as that she might give away something Doc might rather not have known, such as the fact that he was treating slaves on one of the neighboring plantations.
But she purchased several small items, including a spool of thread, from the limited supply of goods currently available at the little store that belonged to Forrest and a partner. His partner, an older man, took care of business by himself while Forrest was away.
Business these days was mostly in trade. Payment might be in chickens, fruit or vegetables, or even eggs and milk. All those things came in handy when feeding a family in these hard times.
Not many shoppers were about this morning, of course, though Betsy greeted one woman who looked familiar, only realizing as she stepped on through the spare little store that she bore a family resemblance to one of her mother’s friends back in her Lavender. What she was seeing was a family likeness.
She lingered over her choice of thread, listening to the men playing checkers in their ambling conversation. These old men who spent their day drinking coffee and playing or watching the play of their friends, were gossip central in Lavender these days. She heard them discuss the latest war news, weeks old sometimes before it traveled to distant Texas and, glancing in her direction, lowered their voices to talk about more local happenings. Everybody knew she was a Stephens and that Forrest was on one side and Doc on another.
She’d seen them shake their heads over Doc, who didn’t seem to know which side he should be on. She’d heard them tell tales of how old Doc had saved a child or young mother’s life, or eased the pain of the old in passing. They just didn’t understand Doc, they concluded.
Finally Betsy gave up. Nobody was going to talk when she was around. She’d go home and, hopefully, find the two men safely returned.
Chapter Eleven
Lilacs bloomed and spread their glorious scent as he pulled the team to a halt and got out to help Doc get down. It felt good to be helping somebody else for a change instead of having to accept assistance and he was gentle with the old man who was so exhausted he could hardly walk.
Doc had barely put his boots down on the ground when he heard a yell and the sound of running feet. Betsy, all tumbled gold curls and pink dress, came running down the street, calling gladly to them. She rushed at them both, trying to grasp Doc and Caleb in one huge hug. “We were so worried,” she said. “But you’re safe! You’re safe!”
Lavinia came running out, dragging her son with her. She shrieked joyfully at the sight of them and laughed as Betsy gave Caleb a second hearty hug, then stood back. “We thought something awful had happened!”
The lovely face so close to his own was beyond resisting. Not even bothering to try, he reached down to kiss her square on full red lips and, glory be, she kissed him back.
“Right out in public,” he heard Doc say.
“Oh, my!” Lavinia echoed. “Isn’t this romantic.”
He barely took in the presence of those others. Even little Evan, tugging impatiently at his pants’ leg barely made an impression.
All there was in the world was him and Betsy and even though she’d stepped hastily away, refusing to meet his eyes and her face pink as a peony, the blood raced within him. She’d actually cared when she thought he was in danger. She’d not just been worried about Doc, but about him as well. She had cared that something might have happened to him. And she’d kissed him back.
“Emergency,” said Doc, “and Caleb thought he’d better go along and help. Sorry to worry you.”
Doc tried to take a step, wavered and would have fallen if Caleb hadn’t caught him. “He’s just worn out,” he explained hastily. “Didn’t get a wink of sleep.”
Lavinia fell into place beside Doc, helping to support him as he went up the steps into the main house while Caleb limped wearily toward the cookshack and his own little sleeping room.
He stepped across the threshold and listened as Betsy continued to scold him for worrying them. “We didn’t know what to think,” she said, “and we didn’t . . .”
Her voice trailed away and he frowned looking back to the empty doorway where she’d been standing only an instant before. She had vanished.
It was impossible. She’d been there only seconds before. He ran out, looked everywhere, raced around the cookshack, then around the whole house, calling her name until the neighbors came to see what was wrong.
He searched the rest of the day, unable to rest or eat. When Doc awakened late in the day, looking considerably refreshed, Caleb told him what had happened.
Doc patted his shoulder. “She’s gone back, son. It’s happened again.”
Caleb was bewildered. Either he or Doc, one of them, was losing his mind. Maybe both o
f them. “Why would she leave right then?” He meant, of course, why would she leave when they were just beginning to discover their feelings for each other.
“I’m sure it wasn’t by choice,” Doc said in his gentle old voice. “I got the idea she doesn’t have much control over her comings and goings.”
Totally puzzled, Caleb frowned. “This doesn’t make any sense, Doc.”
Doc patted the cushion at his side, urging him to be seated. “This may take a while,” he said, “I need to tell you about some of my theories about time as a dimension. You see, our Betsy has this unusual talent. She can walk in time.”
Betsy stumbled and almost fell as she entered the kitchen. She had been following Caleb a second before, giving him a well deserved lecture on the courtesies owed to household members when she’d tripped from one world to another.
“Betsy!” a familiar voice exclaimed and she looked up to see Dottie staring at her. “Thank Heaven you’re all right.”
What rotten timing! Not that she wasn’t always glad to see Dottie, friend and housekeeper, but she and Caleb had just been about to . . .about to. . . . She allowed the thought to trail off, the feel of his kiss still on her lips.
Knowing her history of wandering in time, nobody in the family had been terribly worried about her absence. Particularly not considering she’d been only gone a few hours.
That was the part Betsy found heard to believe, even though she knew from previous experiences that time moved differently on the outside than it did here in Lavender.
But she’d been gone for long days in her own experience and so much had happened. Everything about the way she thought and felt had changed.
Dottie’s screech had brought everyone running. Dad was out with a patient, but Mom, smelling of medicines, hugged her gladly and murmured something about wishing she wouldn’t go running off this way.
Lavender Blue: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series) Page 8
