A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy

by Lauraine Snelling

  The two-tone whistle came. She grabbed the wall to keep from falling when her knees started to buckle. Jerking herself upright, she took two steps outside to whistle back. It took her three attempts before she could work up enough spit to wet her lips and whistle.

  The rattle of iron chains preceded the arrival. Horses snorted. Meshach led one horse with a scarecrow on its back. Two other horses and Roman, their mule, carried two riders each. Leave it to Meshach to put the others ahead of his own need.

  Daniel slid off the back of one of the horses and came to stand in front of Jesselynn. “Dey de mens what beat me up.” The narrowing of his eyes as he spoke said more than his words.

  “One of dem’s Dunlivey’s partner.” Meshach helped the first of his charges down from the horse, a young woman who clutched Meshach’s jacket over her bare breasts. If there were welts on her back to match those on her legs, it was no wonder her eyes wore a wild-animal look.

  “You’re sure?”

  Meshach nodded. “I never forget dat face.”

  Jesselynn took in a deep breath as she saw the open sores on legs gone stick thin from lack of food and eyes of men too afraid to hope. None of them looked as if they could have gone a step farther.

  “Supper is ready.” Ophelia was dishing up plates as the new people straggled into the cave and sank down around the fire, holding their hands to the heat. Tears ran down the woman’s face.

  Looking at them, Jesselynn knew they couldn’t send them to that house in town without first getting them stronger. They definitely needed a bigger cave—now! It was a good thing Aunt Agatha hadn’t come home with them.

  With hardly a word, the newly freed slaves collapsed around the fire as soon as they finished eating. They didn’t ask for blankets. They didn’t ask for anything. They fell as if a giant puppeteer had cut their strings.

  As Jesselynn crawled into her quilt, so exhausted she could barely fold the top over her shoulders, she heard Ophelia crooning, this time a song of praise, and Meshach comforting her with a gentle rumbling voice. Between the two of them, they soothed Jesselynn into a deep sleep.

  Daniel and Benjamin took turns standing watch.

  “How are we going to feed all these mouths?” Jesselynn asked Meshach in the morning as they stood outside the cave. Their guests had yet to stir.

  “Go hunting. Cut wood for Marse Dummont for store supplies. Won’t be long before dey ready to travel again.”

  “And clothe them?” Jesselynn had already decided to cut up the blanket from Agatha to make shirts for the men. Their bare feet were crusted with chilblains, and some of the sores looked gangrenous to her. The cruelty of the slavers made her turn cold inside. How could one man treat another this way?

  “We share what God gived us.” His simple answer made her snap back.

  “Looks to me like we work backbreaking hard for every small thing that we have.”

  “We not like dem slavers.” Another simple answer, this one making guilt wash her face white.

  “Thank G-G—heavens for that.”

  “I do.”

  Jesselynn threw her hands in the air and let them drop. How was she to reason with this man?

  “Dey work when dey have de strength. Maybe weak now, but a day or two of belly being full and dey strength come back.”

  “I surely do hope so.”

  “Better to pray so.”

  Jesselynn had started back into the cave but spun around to point a finger in Meshach’s direction. “You go too far, Meshach, into what is not your business.”

  But Meshach only looked at her. With what? Pity? Jesselynn spun away again and strode on into the cave. Daniel had the horses out to water and graze already, and even the horses walking out hadn’t awakened the newcomers. Were they still alive, or had they died during the night?

  She knew the answer to that, since she’d already watched them breathe to make certain they needn’t dig more graves. Ophelia smiled at her, nodded a good morning, and handed her the long-handled wooden spoon to stir the mush laced with chopped bits of dried venison. The rabbit stew last night had disappeared within minutes.

  The boys woke up, and Jane Ellen took them outside for their morning duty, both staring openmouthed at the floor crowded with slumbering bodies. They kept quiet only by a strict glare from Jesselynn. Sammy had his thumb in his round mouth and stared back over Jane Ellen’s shoulder.

  As Jesselynn stirred the pot, she studied the tangled mass of limbs. Three of the men were the same deep black as Meshach, with kinky hair cut so short it appeared to have recently been shaved. The lighter-skinned male still wore signs of boyhood, his shoulders not much wider than his waist and long of leg and arm, as though he had yet to grow into them. His face in repose would be beautiful once the bruises healed. One eye was swollen shut, one ear cut and bloodied, and the side of his face had a long scrape that looked as if he’d been dragged along the ground.

  The woman definitely had white blood and, once her lashes healed, would be comely. It looked as if a whip had taken a chunk of flesh from beside her eye. So close she came to losing it. From what appeared to be blood on her shredded skirt, Jesselynn suspected the men had raped her more than once.

  If they weren’t already dead, I’d kill them myself. The thought made her stop stirring for a moment. She knew it was true. No one should ever be treated as these poor souls had been.

  One of the men opened his eyes and looked around. He rolled his head to the side as if he didn’t remember coming here during the night. He lifted his shackle-free hands and looked down at his feet. “Thank you, Jesus,” he whispered. “And you, Mi-Marse.” His brow wrinkled as if not sure which she was. “Kin I go outside?”

  “Yes, of course, but stay right near. We have to be cautious so we are not found out.”

  He pushed himself to his feet and staggered a bit before getting his balance, then limped outside, bracing himself on the wall with one hand. One by one the others followed except for the woman, who had yet to move. The men returned with Meshach herding them.

  “Breakfast ready?”

  “Yes. Call Jane Ellen and the boys.”

  “Dey wid Phelia down at de creek. Sammy hate him face washed.”

  “In that cold water, I don’t blame him.” Jesselynn filled wooden trenchers with the mush and the men dug in with their fingers. When she handed them each a hot biscuit, one stared at it as though he’d seen gold.

  “Thankee, suh.” The others chorused their appreciation, emptied their trenchers, and eyed the kettle.

  “As soon as the others eat, you can have the rest.” She chose to chew on a piece of dried venison. The sight of their hunger turned her off mush.

  While the family ate, she laid a hand on the sleeping woman’s cheek. Sure enough, she had a fever, and her breathing seemed labored. Jesselynn set Ophelia to boiling up some willow bark tea, and taking warm water and a cloth, she washed the woman’s face, shoulders, and arms. In one hand she found clenched a bit of meat from supper the night before.

  “What is her name?” She looked to the men who now seemed much more lively.

  “Sarah. Dey already have her befo’ me,” the light-skinned youth answered, and the others nodded.

  “Has she been sick long?”

  “Him kick her in belly. She lose baby.”

  Jesselynn didn’t want to know who him was. Once more she was grateful her men had done what they felt necessary.

  “When did that happen?”

  “Two, three days ago.” At least the boy knew that many numbers.

  “She too sick to walk, so we stay in one camp,” one of the other men added.

  Jesselynn and Ophelia exchanged glances and set to making things better for poor beaten Sarah. They fixed a pallet for her, bathed her, and dipped broth from a kettle simmering with the rabbits Daniel had caught in his snares. Her eyes fluttered open one moment, and a smile lit her face. She drank the broth and fell right back to sleep. They set Jane Ellen to tending the sick woman, an
d Jesselynn took the boys outside to play while the sun shone. The air crackled with cold, and frost still glittered near trees in the shade.

  “They bad sick?” Thaddeus shook his head. “Jesse, you fix.” He looked up at her with eyes full of trust as he took her hand. “Find catepiwar?”

  “Sorry, Thaddy—”

  “Joshwa,” he corrected her absently as he moved leaves around, looking for fuzzy caterpillars.

  “All right, Joshwa. The caterpillars have all gone to sleep for the winter in cocoons so they can become butterflies next summer.”

  “Butterflies?” He looked all around as if expecting them to flutter by.

  “No, not now. Next summer.”

  “Want butterflies.”

  “Sorry.” She chuckled at the look of intensity with which he glared at her. She shook her head. “I can’t help it. Many animals and insects go to sleep for the winter.”

  He planted his fists on his hips and with legs spread looked so like his dead father that she caught her breath. He was Joshwa all right. They’d named him perfectly.

  “Here, let’s build a house with these sticks. Help me stack them for the walls, like a cabin.” She set the sticks on top of each other to form a log cabin. What she wouldn’t give for one right now. But to care for all these, it would have to be huge.

  Thaddy had the walls several sticks up when Sammy stepped right in the middle of it. With a howl, Thaddy shoved Sammy smack on his rear. Sammy responded with a louder howl. Meshach scooped both boys up under his arms and strode down the hill with them, threatening to dump them both in the ice-cold creek if they didn’t hush.

  Jesselynn got to her feet and dusted her hands off on her britches. They’d not heard any more artillery fire, so maybe the battle ended the day before. She could hear the boys still giggling. She’d have to talk with Thaddeus about his temper. Stopping, she counted out the days. Why, he had a birthday in a few weeks. He would be three. “Little Marse,” as Meshach called him, should have a present of some sort for his birthday. Her mind flipped back to Twin Oaks. Birthdays had always been important celebrations in their family. Lucinda would bake a three-layer frosted cake. Lighter than air were Lucinda’s cakes.

  Jesselynn’s mouth watered at the memory. Would she ever taste one of Lucinda’s lemon cakes again? She dusted her hands and returned to the cave for her writing materials. While everyone was busy elsewhere, now was a good time to answer the precious letters. They could take them to the post office next time she went to Aunt Agatha’s.

  By the time she finished, the sun rode close to its zenith and Ophelia was calling her name.

  “She gettin’ weaker not stronger.”

  Jesselynn knelt by the sick woman. “She lost too much blood, I imagine. Poor thing. Come now, Sarah, you must try to drink more broth.” She held a cup to the woman’s mouth and propped up her head with the other hand.

  Sarah drank three or four swallows, then tipped her head away.

  “No will to live.” Jane Ellen wrung out another cloth and laid it over the sick woman’s forehead.

  “I know. Can’t say as I blame her.”

  The men filed into the cave again as if they were still chained together and sat in a row by the fire. They’d given their names, but Jesselynn still had no idea who was who, other than the boy and Sarah.

  That night Meshach gathered the fugitives around him and laid out his plan. They would go to the house in Springfield in the night. There, others would take them north to freedom. “But first you get strong enough for de trip.”

  Jesselynn brought over the two shirts she’d made from the blanket. “Sorry, the other isn’t done yet. I have more piecing to do on it.”

  The biggest man, Moses, brushed the nap of the shirt with a reverent hand. “I neber had such a good shirt.”

  “Put it on.” She mimicked pulling it over her head. “That should help keep you warm. Now if only we had something for your feet.”

  Ophelia had given them all hot water to wash with and then bandaged the sores that needed it. With the new shirts on, they looked almost human again, instead of like refuse left by the roadside.

  “Marse Jesse?” The voice woke her in the middle of the night.

  “Yes?”

  “I think Sarah done gone home to be with the Lord.” Jane Ellen’s voice was muffled with tears. “I tried to keep her alive, Marse Jesse, I tried.”

  “I know. You did all you could.” After checking to make sure the woman had truly left this world, Jesselynn covered the black woman’s face with the blanket. Rage at the cruelty of it all boiled red before her eyes.

  Fighting tears herself, Jesselynn gathered Jane Ellen into her arms and rocked her until she slept. Glancing up, she saw one of the men watching her with a puzzled look.

  Ah, if you only knew the whole story. What did it matter if they suspected she was Miss instead of Marse?

  Did they bury those men? The ones they . . . Jesselynn slammed the door of her mind.

  “De Lawd giveth and de Lawd taketh away. Blessed be de name of de Lawd.” Meshach raised his voice on the last words at the gravesite of Sarah. They didn’t even have a last name for the poor woman, only an idea of how terribly she’d been treated during the final days of her life.

  Before she came to them.

  Jesselynn made herself stay at the service, for politeness if nothing else. While Jane Ellen had tears running down her cheeks, none of the others had had time to much care about the deceased. Was death becoming such a commonplace thing that she couldn’t even summon up sadness? All the regret stemmed from not being able to save her.

  “We’ll go tonight,” Meshach said as they walked back up the slope to the cave.

  “I’ll come too. That way if we are stopped, I can say I’m taking my slaves in to work on my aunt’s house. No one can argue with that, and that’s what we will do if followed.” For a change, Meshach didn’t argue with her. She had hoped he would see the reason in her plan.

  He’d spent the day breaking two of the new horses to the harness so they could leave the Thoroughbreds safe in the cave. Neither of the mares should be working now, and they surely didn’t want to use the stallions. The filly was getting big and heavy enough to train, but Jesselynn hated to break her to harness before the saddle. Chess and Roman had a kicking contest while out to pasture. They’d have to learn to get along, that was all.

  “I loaded the wagon with wood too. Best we take some tools along if we be workin’ on de house.” His raised eyebrow told her he was teasing her.

  “Good idea. I reckon we’ll look right proper.”

  By afternoon the temperature was dropping again after two fairly warm days. Jesselynn took the two remaining deer hides and wrapped the men’s feet. Daniel had given the younger man his deerskin shirt, saying he could always make another. They shot deer aplenty.

  The shirt he now wore of Meshach’s looked like a tent on his slender frame.

  Thaddeus pointed at Daniel and giggled, setting Sammy off, which made Jane Ellen smile and the freed slaves actually laugh. Never had the cave heard such ringing laughter.

  Jesselynn wished she could laugh. Lately it seemed that as tears had dried up, so had her laughter, blowing away like puffs of a dandelion. What if they were caught? Would her story hold up? Of course it would. It sounded perfectly plausible. But what if someone acted suspicious? Could she trust these men to carry out the deception if needed?

  She was getting plenty of practice in shutting off disturbing questions. As her mother always said, “One step at a time.” Of course she had added something like “God only lights the way ahead one step at a time.” But Jesselynn was trying to ignore that last part.

  Frost was already coating the ground when they hitched up the team and started off. The two-hour trip to town seemed to go on forever because they couldn’t see the landmarks. A sickle moon hung low in the west by the time the lights of Springfield came into view. Many houses were dark already, either the folks gone to bed or the
house damaged too badly in the battle to use.

  Since the Quaker house was close to the edge of town, Jesselynn halted the wagon under an oak tree that would have been good shade in the summer. Tonight its naked branches rattled in the rising wind.

  “Now follow me like I said.” Meshach spoke softly. Within seconds they all disappeared into an alley running along the backs of the houses. Jesselynn gave them a few minutes head start and then drove her wagon on up the street, turning at the corner to pass the Quaker house. As she drew even with the barn, Meshach climbed back aboard the wagon, and they continued on until they reached Dummont’s store. Quickly they unloaded the wood, stacking it behind the building. Jesselynn stuck a note into the doorframe telling who left the wood, and they headed back out of town.

  They’d driven for some time before Jesselynn said, “Now I feel I can breathe again.” She slapped the reins, and the horses picked up a fast trot. If they loped, the wagon might fall apart for sure. By the time they arrived back at the ridge, the moon had set and clouds hid the stars.

  “Snow.” Meshach shivered as he unhooked the traces. “No one be able to track dem back to here, and dey not know de way.”

  Jesselynn knew he meant if someone forced the black men to talk, they wouldn’t be able to tell where they’d been. For all they knew they’d been north or east of Springfield, from the roundabout way they entered town. And snow would cover any trails that had built up around the camp. Now if only they could figure out what to do with all the extra horses until they could be sold. Even with putting them farther back in the cave, feeding and watering them took more effort.

  But selling them would bring in the money they so desperately needed, and the Union army was always looking for horses. Now they could keep Chess longer.

  “God do provide,” Meshach said with a grin and a pat on her shoulder. Jesselynn tried to ignore him, but his joy was as catching as a yawn. She caught herself whistling under her breath as she went about her chores.