A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy

by Lauraine Snelling

  They woke in the morning to a drift of snow halfway into the cave and to their own shivering, even though the fire had been kept going all night.

  “Now I wish we had those extra deer hides to stretch across that opening.” Jesselynn shook her head. “And to keep us warm.” To think she’d gone to sleep dreaming of selling the extra horses today and bringing home bacon and lard, even eggs and peppermint candy for the boys of all sizes. And coffee. How wonderful a cup of coffee would taste on a cold morning like this.

  The storm settled in and howled around the cave for the next two days. It let up, then returned with a vengeance. Meshach built a partial wall at the cave mouth to keep out the worst of the wind and cold. While they took most of the horses down to the creek to drink, Jesselynn chose to melt snow for the mares. She didn’t want them slipping and sliding going down the hill as the others had.

  She doled out the oats, wishing she had some for the others when Ahab nickered for a treat too.

  “Sorry, old son, but the mamas need this worse than you.”

  That’s something else she would buy—oats for the horses and hay if she could find some.

  On the good days, Daniel and Benjamin each brought in a deer, and Meshach stretched the hides over a bar at the top and hung another at the bottom so his swinging door could be pushed aside when they took the horses out.

  The cave instantly felt warmer, though darker.

  “Good thing we got de horses. Dey help keep us warm.”

  “I wonder how Aunt Agatha is. With that hole in her roof . . .” Jesselynn shook her head. “Stubborn old woman.” Runs in the family, giggled her inner voice. But the concern for Aunt Agatha wouldn’t leave her alone. She went to sleep with it and woke up with it.

  As soon as the snow stopped coming down and started melting, she decided to head for Springfield. They couldn’t take the wagon yet, but they could take the horses into the army encampment and offer to sell them to the Union soldiers. If the Confederates were in charge, she’d sell them there if they would pay her in gold.

  She gathered some of the dried venison for Aunt Agatha, along with the day’s catch of rabbits, but as she got ready, she thought more and more about the Confederates having taken Springfield. They would conscript the horses, pay her in Confederate dollars, and wish her well. She knew that as well as she knew her own name. Only the Yankees had gold.

  “Meshach, do you think the folks that own the barn we kept the wagon in would mind if we tied some horses there for a while?”

  “Dey not mind. Why?”

  “Can’t take them in if the Confederates are in power.”

  He nodded. “I take Roman, you ride Chess?”

  She nodded. No sense trying to go alone. “We can stop at Dummont’s and pick up supplies too.” Knowing they had a credit at the store took another load off her mind. She refused to let her mind play with the money they would get for the horses. Still seemed like blood money to her, but caring for her people was more important to her than mourning three men who took delight in destroying others. She had yet to ask Meshach what had actually happened that night, and most likely she never would.

  Sometimes there was safety in not knowing.

  White waves crested across the prairie, blown in drifts by a determined wind that even now tugged at their hats and tried to blow holes in their coats. Had it not been for the wind, the day would have been right balmy after the blizzards of the last days. She squinted against sun so bright off the snow, her eyes watered. Even the brim of her hat, pulled down low to shield her face, failed to protect her.

  The horses worked up a sweat before they’d gone more than a mile and were blowing hard after plowing through a section of belly-deep snow, too soft to have a crust. By the time they got to town, she and Meshach had to dismount and stamp their feet to get the circulation flowing again. The United States flag snapping in the wind over the fort let them know who was in charge. The Confederate attack had been repulsed, so they could take the horses right in.

  Snow had cleaned the town up, hiding the shell holes, trash, and dirt. White roofs with smoke coming from chimneys, capped fences, and a snowman here and there said Springfield had gone back to life as usual. The main streets were fast becoming mudholes as wagons and horses traversed the town.

  A sentry stopped them at the edge of the parade grounds.

  “Can you tell me where to find the quartermaster?”

  “What for?”

  “We have some horses for sale.” She nodded to the three on lead lines.

  “Then you’d want to see Cap’n Maddock. He’s in charge.” The man pointed to a two-story house that had been commandeered by the army. A platoon of soldiers, rifles on their shoulders, marched back and forth across the field at the command of a hard-voiced officer. Smoke rose from chimneys of sod and wood buildings alike. To the side was a corral and low barn, the stables. And a line of wash flapping in the wind proclaimed the presence of the laundry.

  Jesselynn nodded and turned to her right. Trotting up the block, she saw enlisted men shoveling snow from walks, women in heavy wool shawls with market baskets on their arms, and a plethora of horses and riders coming and going, many of them to and from the big house. She handed Meshach the lead rein and flipped Chess’s reins over the hitching rail to the side of the iron-fenced yard.

  Two enlisted men, buttons gleaming gold in the sunlight, stood on either side of the fan-lighted front door.

  “I came to see Captain Maddock. I have some horses to show him.”

  “Second floor on your right. The private then will see you up.”

  “Thank you.” She entered the interior, dim after the brightness outside, and stood for a moment to let her eyes grow accustomed.

  “Your name, boy?” The cherry-cheeked man behind the desk in the entry barked at her. He didn’t look old enough to shave yet, let alone wear a uniform.

  “Jesse Highwood, suh. I come to see Captain Maddock.”

  “State your business.”

  “I have three horses to sell.”

  “Only three?”

  “Yes, suh.” She felt like saluting and resisted the temptation to give any further information. Benjamin had reminded her of that before they left the cave.

  “Jones, take him up.”

  She straightened her shoulders and sucked in a breath of courage as he opened the dark walnut door.

  “Young man to see you about some horses, sir.”

  “Show him in.”

  When Jesselynn stood before the desk, she removed her hat and clutched it in front of her. The officer finished what he was writing and looked up at her. “You have horses for sale?”

  “Yes, suh. Three.”

  “Where’d you get them?”

  “Found ’em loose in the woods.”

  “You didn’t rustle them, did you?”

  “No, suh!” Again she clamped her lips against embroidering her story. After all, they had found them in the woods, hard used like the blacks.

  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars for each one if they prove up sound.”

  She shook her head. “No, suh, mah daddy tan mah hide if I sells them so cheap.”

  “A hundred twenty-five.”

  Another shake of her head. “Hundred fifty. In gold.”

  “I can’t go that high. Hundred forty, and that’s my last offer, unless you’ll take a hundred sixty a head, in paper?”

  Jesselynn didn’t have to debate on that. “Gold.”

  “In gold it is.” He turned to the young man standing just inside the door. “Jones, go out and check to make sure these animals are sound.”

  “I wouldn’t bring you a lame horse.”

  “Others have tried.” He pulled out a drawer, drew out a bag that clanked when he set it on the desk top, and began filling out a requisition form. “Name?”

  She gave him the information he asked for—and nothing extra.

  “Can you read or write?”

  “Yes, suh.”

&
nbsp; “Good, then sign here.”

  Jesselynn read quickly through the form and signed her name at the bottom. Jones reentered the room as she finished.

  “A bit on the thin side, sir, but no limping, no obvious problems.”

  “Good. Because if I find out one isn’t sound . . .” He let a silence stretch. “Why, then we come after the seller.”

  “Yes, suh.” Oh, how she ached to tell him what to do with his gold, but they needed it too badly. Those three horses were the fare for their journey west and feed for both man and beast in the cave. While the officer didn’t look as if he’d ever missed a meal, she now knew what real hunger felt like.

  She counted carefully along with him as he set the gold out in stacks of fives. Eight stacks plus two, four hundred and twenty dollars. At least he didn’t try to short her. She hadn’t seen so much money at one time in far too long.

  “If you find any more horses loose in the woods, come see me again. You drive a hard bargain, young man. Your daddy should be proud of you.”

  “Thank you, suh.” She took the two leather pouches of gold, wishing she had brought the saddlebags up to hold it.

  “Sure you wouldn’t just as soon have some of that in paper?”

  “No, suh.”

  Outside at the horses, she handed Meshach one of the bags and put the other in her saddlebag, at the same time looking around to see if anyone was watching them. People had been killed for a lot less than what they now carried.

  Stopping at the store, they bought two sacks of oats, coffee, sugar, peppermint sticks, and a dozen eggs to go along with the bacon.

  “We’ll have to come back with the wagon for the rest we need.”

  “Be glad to deliver if you’d like.” Mr. Dummont gave her the change from one ten-dollar gold piece.

  “Thanks, but I need to visit Aunt Agatha.” She handed him another gold piece. “Hold this for her account.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “We might have to walk partway, with all this load.” She swung atop Chess, and they headed for Aunt Agatha’s house, twin sacks of coffee and tea, along with cheese and other frivolities she knew were needed. Sharing the bounty was half the fun. “Meshach, do you want to give the Quakers one of these gold pieces, or maybe two?”

  “Dat be right good of you.” His smile made the snow glitter dim.

  She planned on giving each of the men a gold piece but not right now. If someone stopped them and they had a ten-dollar gold piece, they’d be thrown in jail for robbery or worse. When they put the horses in the shed at Aunt Agatha’s, she gave Meshach two coins.

  The first thing she noticed was that no smoke rose from the chimney. Had Agatha run out of wood? No, the stack by the back door attested to that. Where could she be? After a perfunctory knock, she and Meshach entered a room nearly as cold as the outside.

  “Aunt Agatha!” Calling her name, they searched every room. No one there, alive or dead. Where could she be now?

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

  “I gets it, Miss Louisa.” Abby came trotting from the kitchen.

  Louisa jumped the last step of the walnut stairs and crossed to the front door. “Thanks, but I’m right here.” Who could be calling at this time of the morning? Swinging the door open, she broke into a delighted grin. “Why, Carrie Mae, you don’t have to ring the bell. You used to live here.”

  “I know, but Jefferson likes me to be proper, so I’m practicin’ every chance I get.” The two sisters exchanged hugs and entered the parlor arm in arm. While Carrie Mae was the youngest of the three sisters, she looked older due to her deep green velvet traveling suit, including her hat with a matching feather that swept over one shoulder.

  “Don’t you look lovely.” Louisa ignored a slight twinge of jealousy and stepped back to admire her sister’s outfit. “Jefferson must be doing well.”

  “Oh, he is the best husband.” Carrie Mae clasped her gloved hands to her bosom. “He works so hard but never is too tired to attend a rout or dinner or even a ball. I wish you would come with us sometime.” She leaned forward with a wide smile. “Why, we were even invited to Mary Chestnut’s for tea. Such stimulatin’ conversation.”

  Louisa smiled and patted her sister’s shoulder. “You know things like that have never been my style.” Let alone I have no gowns to wear to formal do’s, no shoes, nor . . . She left off the self-pity and guided her sister to a chair. “Now, which would you like—tea or coffee?”

  “Oh, tea, thank you. Where’s Aunt Sylvania?”

  “Gone to church to help the ladies.” Louisa hurried down the hall to the kitchen to order refreshments. On the way, she glanced in a mirror and made a face. Her hair needed pinning up, and she wore one of her older house dresses. Forcing men to move limbs that had near frozen in place didn’t take a fashion plate. “Could you make tea, please, Abby, and I do hope there are some of your good molasses cookies left.” She’d used them as bribes for the men.

  “I fixes somethin’. Lawsy sakes, she sure do look purty.”

  “That she does. I wonder if she and Jefferson”—Louisa put a twist on her brother-in-law’s name—“would take one of our wounded soldiers into their home?” She knew the question was catty. Jefferson believed he was doing his part for the South by helping in the legislature, and he demanded that his wife look and act the part of a successful lawyer’s wife.

  Carrie Mae had always loved dressing up.

  Hurrying back down the hall, Louisa remembered the letter. “Oh, sister, I have a wonderful surprise for you. Be right back.”

  “What is it?”

  Louisa ignored the question and dashed up the stairs to her room. The letter from Jesselynn lay in her writing case, along with a partially written answer. Letter in hand, she danced down the stairs again, waving the envelope gaily.

  “A letter? From whom?” Light dawned. “From Jesselynn. Oh, don’t tease me. Read it, or better yet, let me read it myself.”

  Louisa handed her the envelope and took her own chair, the better to watch her sister’s expressive face. Just as they had for each one she’d read the letter to, tears sprang instantly to her sister’s eyes.

  “Oh no. I had no idea things were so bad. I . . . I guess I thought they were safe in town or something.” She returned to her reading. “Ah, and I have so much. Louisa, I feel guilty for . . . for . . .”

  “For being safe and warm and . . .”

  “And our Christmas was wonderful. Jefferson’s family spoiled me rotten.” She laid the letter in her lap. “Is there nothin’ we can do?”

  “Pray for her. Oh, Carrie Mae, we must pray for the things she needs but more so for the rescue of her soul.”

  “God will never let her go.”

  “I know.” But Louisa also knew of soldiers who died cursing the Lord they had worshiped as boys.

  Carrie Mae put the letter back in the envelope. “I will write to her tonight.” She thought a moment. “No, we have a dinner to attend tonight. But I will pray for her, and I will write tomorrow. Where do we send the letter?”

  “To the post office in Springfield. She got our other letters there.”

  During the silence, Louisa glanced around the room. The pallets for two of their recovering men lay stacked against one wall. Their extra clothing was folded in a neat pile on a chair. A pipe and tobacco pouch resided on a whatnot table. While the men were very neat, still there was always what could be called clutter around.

  There had been no clutter at Carrie Mae’s home, a flat downtown near the courthouse.

  “I see you still have your soldiers here.” Carrie Mae pulled off her gloves and laid them in her reticule.

  “Yes, as soon as one is ready to go home, we’d have two to take his place, had we room for them. One thing we don’t lack is wounded soldiers.” Did she dare to tell her of the idea that had been brewing since she saw the general at the hospital?

  She didn’t. “So tell me the news.”

&nbs
p; Carrie Mae studied her hands clasped in her lap, then looked up to send her sister a smile of pure joy. “The best news of all, short of the war ending, is that I am in the family way.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.” Louisa fell to her knees at her sister’s side, taking her hands. “That truly is the most marvelous news. When will the baby be born?”

  “August, near as we can figure.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “No. Whatever for? I’ve been askin’ some of the other wives about a midwife, though. I always thought when I had a baby, Mama and Lucinda would be there to care for me. And Daddy would be walkin’ the floor with my husband.”

  “Most likely passing the whiskey and telling tall tales in Daddy’s office.” Louisa sat back on her heels. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “So far. Just some queasiness in the mornin’.” Carrie Mae took Louisa’s hands in hers and rubbed the backs with her thumbs. “Ah, Louisa, I want Jesselynn here. I want to tell her my good news, and the three of us can sew baby things together. She would knit me a sweater. You know her knitting is so much better than mine.”

  “And a hat and booties. Soakers and a little dress so cunning . . .” Louisa fought the lump that clogged her throat and caused her eyes to burn. She sniffed and blinked. “There could be a miracle, you know, and the war end so she can come home.”

  “But her last letter said they are headin’ west.” Carrie Mae shook her head slowly, as though hope had died. “We’re never goin’ to see them again. I just know it.” Tears trembled on her lashes; then one meandered down her cheek. “Some days I miss Mama so bad I could just . . .”

  They sniffed together, and Louisa pulled a handkerchief out of her apron pocket. She dried her sister’s eyes before wiping her own.

  “But we go on.”

  Carrie Mae looked deep into her sister’s eyes, as if searching for something. Louisa knew not what. Carrie Mae clenched her lower lip between her teeth. A whisper came, faint and drenched in fear. “Mama died in childbirth.”

  “Oh, baby sister.” Louisa gathered Carrie Mae into her arms. “You are young and strong and healthy, just right for child bearing. You will do real fine, and then we’ll have a baby to fuss over.”