Columns of Cottonwood

by Sandra Robbins

  He followed her and turned her toward him. “Tell the women to take plenty of quilts to keep warm. The nights are still cold.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to protect Cottonwood, Savannah. Just take care of yourself.”

  “You do the same, Dante.” Tears burned her eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”

  He slid his arms around her and drew her close. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared into her eyes. “I love you, Savannah.”

  After a moment, he released his hold on her and walked toward the sideboard. With a sigh she directed her gaze back to the stove and reached for the frying pan. When she looked over her shoulder, he pulled the pistol from the sideboard drawer.

  He walked back to the table and laid it down. “Take this and some ammunition with you. Shoot anybody who threatens you or any of the others.”

  The frying pan slipped from her shaking fingers and clattered as it struck the stove top. “S–shoot them?”

  His eyebrows arched. “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

  Fear knotted her stomach as she remembered when and why she’d learned to use a gun. This situation was no different from that one then “My father taught me in case we ever had to defend Cottonwood during the war.”

  His lips thinned. “Be careful, Savannah, but if you feel any of you are in danger, shoot to kill.”

  She stared into his eyes. “I will.”

  ❧

  Savannah didn’t think she’d ever been so cold in her life. Her stomach rumbled, and she shook her head in disgust. Nausea had kept her from eating all day, but now wasn’t the time to be thinking about food. She had to concentrate on something else and get her mind off her hunger.

  A cold wind blew through the woods where she and the women and their children hid. They’d been lucky to find a dry place where they could sit and huddle underneath the covers they’d brought. Time had passed slowly since they’d left home hours ago. They’d trudged deep into the forest before stopping. Now they sat silent, hoping that someone would soon come and tell them it was safe to go back home.

  Her thoughts turned to Dante, and she wondered where he was. She glanced over at Mamie, who sat on a fallen log, her back straight and her body unmoving. The other women sat silently with their children gathered close.

  Savannah pulled her quilt tighter and settled against a tree trunk. She touched the barrel of the gun that protruded from her coat pocket. Fatigue washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Blinking, she straightened. She couldn’t go to sleep. Dante expected her to protect everyone.

  She closed her eyes again and hovered on the brink of sleep. A rebel yell pierced the quiet night, and Savannah bolted upright. The other women sat up, but no one said a word. Savannah breathed a prayer of thanks that none of the children had awakened.

  Fear radiated from the small group as Savannah strained to hear any distant sounds. Another yell split the air. Then gunshots from the direction of Cottonwood blasted through the night. Savannah’s stomach roiled.

  The gunshots echoed through the forest for several minutes. Then a deadly calm descended, leaving a silence so eerie that the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. All kinds of thoughts ran through her mind. She could imagine the men from Cottonwood lying in the cabin clearing—all dead from trying to protect the place they called home.

  Savannah threw the quilt back and rose to her feet. She glanced around at the women, who huddled protectively near their children. “I’m going to walk to the edge of the forest and see if I can tell what’s going on. Don’t leave until I get back.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she hurried in the direction they’d come when they entered the forest. If she could just get to the edge, maybe she would be able to tell what had happened.

  The closer she came to the field beyond the woods, the slower her steps became. She stopped before stepping out into the open and gazed toward home. She couldn’t make out the cabins in the distance, but at least there were no fires that she could see.

  Pounding hoofbeats alerted her to a rider coming toward her. In the dark, she couldn’t tell who it was, but she hoped it was Dante coming to bring them back home. She pulled the gun from her pocket and stepped closer to the forest’s edge.

  Too late she realized she’d moved right into the path of the horse. She screamed, and the rider pulled back on the reins. The horse reared, his hoofs beating at the air as the rider attempted to get the animal under control. When the horse settled, the rider pulled his gun.

  “I hear you in there. Come on out before I start shooting.”

  Savannah flinched at the sound of Jonathan’s voice, and she stepped from behind the tree. Jonathan, a white hood covering his face, sat on his horse, which still pranced in place.

  “Jonathan, what are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Savannah?” The words sounded muffled under the hood.

  “Why have you turned into a killer and a traitor to your own people?”

  He laughed. “Traitor? You’re a fine one to talk. I loved you, Savannah, and you left me for a yellow coward who stole your land.”

  “You never loved me. You loved my family’s land.”

  He shook his head, and the hood swayed. “You’re wrong. I loved you, but I waited too long to tell you. You’d already deceived me and married that carpetbagger.”

  “Don’t talk about Dante like that.”

  “He’s no good for you, Savannah. He can’t have you.”

  She backed up a step. “What do you mean?”

  He pulled his gun from his holster. “You’re a traitor to your people. I’m going to kill you.”

  Fear gripped Savannah at the sight of the gun aimed at her. Before she had time to think, she raised her hand and fired. The first shot went over Jonathan’s head, and the horse reared up again. As he wrestled with the reins, she fired a second shot, and he dropped his gun and cried out in pain.

  Jonathan grabbed his leg and bent over the saddle. “You haven’t heard the last of me.” He jerked the reins and dug his heels into the horse’s side.

  She watched Jonathan disappear into the night before she collapsed against a tree. Tears ran down her face. She looked at the gun in her hand and replaced it in her coat pocket.

  After a few moments, she turned to reenter the forest, but a light across the open field caught her attention. The flickering flame bounced up and down. It had to be a lantern, and whoever was holding it was running.

  She pulled the gun out, stepped behind a tree, and stared as the light came closer. A yellow glow from the flame reflected off the face of Dante, and she cried out in relief.

  “Dante!”

  Savannah ran toward him and threw herself into his arms. His arms encircled her and pulled her close. “Savannah. Are you all right? I heard gunshots.” His voice trembled.

  She pulled away from him and stared up into his face. “I had to see what was going on. Jonathan found me.”

  He set the lantern on the ground and held her at arm’s length. “Are you certain it was Boyer?”

  “I recognized his voice. He hates me for marrying you and wanted to kill me. So I shot him first.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “I think I just hit him in the leg. But tell me what happened.”

  He picked up the lantern. “We were able to hold them off. I think we wounded a few. So I’ve come to take all of you home.”

  “Good. Let’s go get the women and children. They’re so cold.”

  Savannah turned to head back the way she’d come, but Dante grabbed her arm. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “I’m sorry your friends have turned against you because of me, Savannah.”

  The sad look on his face told her he meant what he said. She shook her head. “The friends who really count have accepted you. Jonathan’s still fighting the war, and I can’t do anything about that.”

  Dante took a deep brea
th. “Then let’s go bring our people home.”

  She smiled and led the way into the forest. The thought of how she’d thrown herself into Dante’s arms returned, and her skin grew warm. She’d never known anyone who had the power to calm her fears like he could. Her heart filled with love for him. Now they needed to build their life together without worrying about protecting their land.

  Sixteen

  Dante walked to the bedroom door and looked in on Savannah. After all the excitement of the night before, he’d let her sleep this morning. She’d been exhausted when they got home, and he’d thought she’d go right to bed. She’d surprised him, though, by saying that she had to eat something first. He could hardly believe all she consumed before finally falling into bed.

  Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember seeing her eat anything earlier yesterday. He’d never seen her that hungry before.

  He stepped back into the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee and opened his Bible. The quiet in the early morning hours provided the best time for reading and studying God’s Word. He opened the book and found himself transported to another time and place where a young man faced a giant with a sling.

  From time to time he took a sip from the cup and had just drained the last drop when he heard Savannah stirring in the bedroom. He started to get up and pour himself another cup of coffee, but he froze at the sound of running footsteps. Savannah, still in her gown and her long hair falling on her shoulders, dashed by him and out the cabin door.

  Surprised at her hasty departure, he set the cup on the table, walked to the front door, and peered outside. He couldn’t see her, but he could hear her beside the cabin and knew she was in the process of losing everything she’d eaten the night before.

  At a loss about what to do to help her, he glanced into the cabin. The quilt she’d taken to the woods the night before lay draped over a chair. He grabbed it and went outside. When he stepped around the corner, his heart pricked at the sight of her leaning against the cabin.

  He draped the quilt around her, and she looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Thanks.”

  Her pallor frightened him. The cheeks that were usually rosy were pale this morning, and her eyes drooped at the corners. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “I’m better now.” She pushed into a standing position but lurched toward him.

  Surprised, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back into the cabin. When they got to the bedroom, he laid her on the bed and covered her up. “Last night really didn’t agree with you. I think you should stay in bed today.”

  She pushed up on her elbows. “I’m fine now, Dante. I have too much to do to stay in bed.”

  He restrained her. “You heard me. You’re to stay in bed until you’re feeling better. Now is there anything I can get you? Some coffee maybe?”

  Her face screwed into a grimace. “The thought of coffee makes me sick. Maybe I’ll feel like eating something later.”

  He stared down at her for a moment. “I have to go into town and tell the sheriff what happened last night. I’ll ask Mamie to look in on you.”

  Savannah shook her head. “No, she’s had too much happen in the last few days. I’ll be fine. By the time you get back, I should be up and feeling better.”

  He hesitated. He didn’t want to leave, but the sheriff needed to be informed about what had happened. “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll come back as quickly as possible.”

  “I’m sure. Now go on.”

  Dante turned to the door, but he glanced back at her once more. She’d already closed her eyes.

  He didn’t like leaving her alone when she was ill. All kinds of thoughts tumbled through his head. She might need something and be unable to call out. Or she could get up, faint, and hit her head on something. She could lie there for hours before anybody came to check on her. No matter what she said, he was going to ask Mamie to look in on her in a few hours.

  If anything happened to her, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  ❧

  The sheriff leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on his desk, and pulled a knife from his pocket. Opening it, he began to clean under his fingernails. He didn’t look up at Dante. “How do you know it was Jonathan Boyer? Did you see him?”

  Dante tried to control his growing anger at the sheriff. Ever since he’d arrived and told his story of the raid at Cottonwood, the man had come up with excuses why Dante couldn’t possibly be sure of the identity of the men behind the masks.

  Dante inhaled and tried once more. “I didn’t see him, but my wife recognized his voice. She’s known him all her life.”

  The sheriff laughed. “Scared women think they hear a lot of things in the dark. It could have been anybody who sounded like him.”

  “No. He threatened her and said things only Boyer knew.”

  “Well, tell you what I’ll do. First chance I get, I’ll ride out to Oak Hill and question Mr. Boyer. After all, he ain’t goin’ nowhere. He wouldn’t leave his plantation.”

  Dante walked around the desk and shoved the sheriff’s feet to the floor. He bent over until their noses almost touched. “Now I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. First chance I get, like maybe this afternoon, I’m going to ride over to Selma and talk to the federal officials there. I’m sure they’ll be interested in a sheriff who allows murderers to roam the countryside, killing freed slaves and terrorizing landowners.”

  The sheriff tried to push up, but the back legs of the chair slipped out from under him, and he tipped backward. His face red with rage, he struggled to get to his feet. “Don’t threaten me, you carpetbagger.”

  Dante looked down at him and grimaced. “You disgust me. You’re supposed to protect the people of this county, and you take the side of the lawbreakers. You deserve everything you’re about to get.”

  Dante strode from the room and slammed the door behind him. He shook with anger. How that man ever attained the office of sheriff was beyond Dante. The man was an insult to the office of law enforcer.

  After a moment, he took a deep breath and headed toward the general store. Maybe he could find something that would make Savannah feel better.

  A bell over the door tinkled when Dante stepped into the store. Mr. Perkins, the owner, stood at a counter rearranging bolts of cloth. He glanced up and smiled. “Mr. Rinaldi, come in. How’re things out your way today?”

  “Not so good, I’m afraid. Cottonwood was raided last night.”

  The man’s eyes grew wide. “Anybody hurt?”

  “Not any of our people, but a few of our visitors may have been hit. I wonder if anybody’s come to see Dr. Spencer today with a gunshot wound.”

  Mr. Perkins shook his head. “I don’t know. Doc hasn’t been in here. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” The man pushed one last bolt of cloth into place and stepped back to eye the display. He turned toward the door as the bell tinkled again. “Come in, Mrs. Thompson.”

  Dante glanced over his shoulder to see Martha Thompson entering. He wondered what gossip she was peddling this morning. He tried to smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Thompson. It’s good to see you again.”

  “You, too, Mr. Rinaldi.” She walked over to the counter and picked up a bolt of the material Mr. Perkins had just arranged and laid it on a table behind her. “Now don’t you worry about me, Mr. Perkins. You help Mr. Rinaldi, and I’ll just make myself at home while I look at this bolt at the bottom of the stack.”

  Mr. Perkins’s eyebrows arched, and he motioned for Dante to follow him. “If you need anything, let me know.” He turned to Dante. “Now what can I help you with?”

  “I’m looking for something for my wife.”

  “Like a present?”

  Dante shook his head. “No, she isn’t feeling well. I thought I might be able to get some tonic.”

  Mr. Perkins pointed to a shelf that contained medicine bottles. Dante peered at the labels—some marked tonics, others elixirs. “I don’t know which one.”

 
“What are her symptoms?”

  Dante searched his mind and realized that Savannah hadn’t felt well in several weeks. Although she hadn’t complained, he understood now that she was sick. Fear welled up in him. What if it was something serious? Perhaps he should rush home and bring her back to see Dr. Spencer.

  “She tires very easily, doesn’t have much energy. She’s very pale, and her appetite is gone. This morning she lost everything she’d eaten last night.” Reciting the symptoms scared him even more, and he turned to Mr. Perkins. “Do you think it could be something serious?”

  Before he could answer, a shrill laugh pierced his ears. He turned to see Martha Thompson shaking her head and laughing as if she’d just heard the funniest joke of her life. “Oh you men,” she cackled. “You’re about as useless as a sick hound dog.”

  Dante frowned and walked toward her. “What’s so funny?”

  She roared with laughter again. “You are. And you call yourself a husband.”

  Dante glanced back at Mr. Perkins, who appeared to be as mystified as he. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thompson, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at the tears that streaked her face. “I ain’t even a doctor, and I know exactly what’s wrong with your wife ’cause I’ve had the same symptoms five times now.”

  Dante stared at the woman, who looked healthy. If Savannah and Mrs. Thompson shared the same disease, it must not be fatal. “Then would you mind telling me what it is?”

  Martha grinned. “Nothing that nine months won’t take care of.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking. . . ?” His voice trailed off as the meaning of her words dawned on him. “Are you saying. . . ?”

  Martha smile and nodded. “Congratulations, Mr. Rinaldi.”

  Dante glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Perkins. “I—I think I’d better go. I’ll come back later.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Dante rushed from the store and ran to the hitching post where he’d left his horse. Untying the reins, he jumped into the saddle and turned his horse toward Cottonwood. Once outside of town, he nudged the horse into a gallop.