A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I know that. But any day now we’ll have foals, and we can carry them in the wagon if it is too far. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Spring come soon,” Meshach reminded her.

  “Not soon enough.” Jesselynn laid aside her knitting and rubbed her upper arms. The cold damp was almost worse than the snow and blizzard. This cold ate right into one’s bones and belly.

  “You want I should take Roman and go lookin’ tomorrow?” Benjamin asked.

  “No, you stay here and let Daniel go.” She glanced over in time to see the younger man look down at the floor as if studying something of supreme importance. She knew since his beating that he rarely headed far from the cave by himself, but she hadn’t brought it up. They’d punished the culprits, but there were others as bad or worse. “How about if I go with you?” She surprised herself with her suggestion. She hadn’t left the cave for more than brief forays for days. She hated to be gone from the mares. Too much was riding on their progeny.

  Besides, like a cat, she hated to get wet. The look of gratitude he sent her warmed her heart even if her hands were freezing.

  “Best we wait till it dry out some.” Meshach offered his opinion, not looking up from the wood he was smoothing with a deer antler. “I found more pasture a mile or so across another ridge. Take horses there tomorrow.”

  Jesselynn nodded. Another reprieve.

  She checked the mares one last time before going to bed. Dulcie showed the beginning signs of coming birth. She shifted from one front foot to the other and turned her head to nip at her sides. “Easy girl, you’ve done this often enough to know what’s happening.” She laid a hand on the mare’s side and again on her flank and waited. Sure enough, a contraction rolled through, not hard yet but beginning.

  “You s’pose they remember from time to time like women do?” Strange to be having a conversation with Meshach about something so . . . so natural but not usually discussed between a man and a woman. But then, it was not so strange considering all they had been through. This would hopefully be a peaceful and easy time.

  “Don’ know. But dis mare, she be one fine mama. You go sleep. I call you.”

  Jesselynn yawned and leaned her forehead against the mare’s neck. “Don’t let me sleep through it.”

  “I won’t.” He settled himself in the corner of the stall. “You get de scissors and a strip of rawhide to tie off de cord. I catch dis baby”—he held up his cupped hands—“right here.”

  Jesselynn chuckled softly as she spread her quilt on the warm sand by the fire. One of the horses coughed, another shifted, and one filled the cave with the sharp scent of fresh droppings. All the others slept while the firelight flickered on the cave walls.

  If only they could stay here. This cave had become home. The next might not be near as nice. She could hear Dulcie shifting in the crackling leaves of her stall.

  Fear sneaked in, in spite of her best efforts. What if Dulcie had trouble birthing? What if the foal was breech? What ifs beat against her skull as she fell into a sleep made restless with nightmares.

  FEBRUARY 1863

  “What a beauty.” Jesselynn held up the burning brand so she could see better.

  “She is dat.” Meshach scrubbed the foal, still wet from the birthing sack, with a handful of clean leaves and a piece of soft deerskin. He’d already cleaned its nostrils and wiped its eyes and ears. The baby pulled her head away and tried to get her twiggy legs underneath her. Dulcie nosed her baby and licked her face. Back on her feet and hardly having broken a sweat, the mare drank some warm water with molasses in it and now was encouraging her daughter to get on her feet.

  Both Meshach and Jesselynn stayed back out of the way and watched the age-old process unfold. The baby’s legs did more folding than unfolding. Forelegs straight out in front of her, she bobbled from side to side, then pushed with her haunches and dug a trail in the floor with her nose. Shaking her head, she lay panting, then tried again. This time she made it halfway up before getting side heavy and crashing back down with a groan, if the little noise she made could be called that.

  Dulcie nosed her again, making soft mother sounds that were easy for even the humans to understand. Her daughter didn’t seem to speak the language yet. She lay flat out on her side panting.

  “Should we help her?”

  “Not yet. Just watch.”

  Suddenly the filly raised her head, rolled up on her belly, and threw herself to her feet, all four legs outstretched to brace her, nose down as if to get one more point of balance.

  Jesselynn gave a sigh of delight and relief. Joseph used to say that the best ones were on their feet within an hour, and surely this one was. She’d need plenty of heart to make it to Oregon Territory. Or back to Twin Oaks if the war happened to be over in the next couple of months.

  Step by tottering step, the foal made it to her mother’s bag and found a teat to nurse. Her bitty brush of a tail ticked back and forth, marking perfect time like the metronome that used to keep Jesselynn in agony at the piano.

  “Glad that’s over.” She checked on Sunshine, who slept placidly in the corner after having observed the foal’s arrival. Then taking her journal out, she wrote the date and approximate time of the baby’s birth, along with any other information she could think of. Compared to the foaling stalls at Twin Oaks, this one was mighty rough, but it served the purpose. Now to keep the foal healthy, dry being the first order of need. And getting her dam enough water, hay, and grain—all necessary, but not all available. Closing the book, she recapped her ink bottle and wrapped the journal back in its oilskin cloth. Her father would be proud. Dulcie was one of his favorites. Just a shame she didn’t throw a colt.

  Thaddeus was ecstatic in the morning. Filly was his new word for the day, and if he said it once, he said it a thousand times. When he strayed into the stall, Meshach grabbed him by the back of the britches and hauled him out between the railings.

  “Stay out of there,” he reprimanded.

  Thaddeus nodded. From then on, he sat with his elbows on the lower rail and reached in to touch the filly whenever she came near enough. When she lay down for a snooze in the corner near him, he nearly climbed in to sleep with her. Instead, he stroked her neck and sang his own little song to the sleeping baby.

  “He a horseman through and through.” Meshach and Jesselynn sat nearby too, just in case Dulcie decided she didn’t want the boy baby petting her baby. But Dulcie slept in her corner, flat out, as hard as her offspring.

  “Now look, Thaddeus Joshua Highwood, you stay out of that stall, and I mean it. No reaching so far over the bars that you are more in than out.”

  His lower lip came out, his eyes slit. Jesselynn could tell she was in for a full-blown Highwood tantrum, so she did the same, including hands on hips. She stuck her face down into his. “And if you let out one scream, I am going to turn you over my knee and give you a walloping like you never had before. Hear me?” She didn’t shout, but they could have heard her across two ridges if it weren’t raining outside.

  Nose to nose, the two stood for a long second before Thaddeus had a remarkable change of mind and smiled sweetly.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes me not go in stall.”

  “Sammy neither?” She’d already discovered she had a devious small brother when one day she found Sammy getting him a biscuit he’d been told he couldn’t have.

  Again he shook his head.

  “Good. You want to play button, button?” At his nod, she pointed to the pile of small branches that needed breaking and stacking for kindling. “As soon as you finish your chores.” He started to stick his lip out, thought better of it, and began breaking sticks. Jesselynn looked up to see Ophelia laughing to herself. She shook her head and went back to her sewing. Jane Ellen sat against a log, drawing one of the deerskins back and forth across a ridged stone to soften the leather. She too hid a chuckle. Thaddeus had tried to boss her around more than once, just as he had th
e others. Little Highwood banty rooster.

  Sunshine foaled two nights later with a little longer on the delivery side but produced a strong colt for the labor. He was on his feet even faster than the filly, some pounds larger and heavier boned.

  “He goin’ be a fast one. Look at dem legs and chest. He take after him daddy for sure.”

  “Both of these are by Ahab. Shame we don’t have another bloodline.”

  “We got Domino. You watch. He throw good colts too. Breed him to the filly. That be good match.”

  Jesselynn watched the colt nursing for the second time. Including Chess, they now had eight horses and one mule. Quite a herd when you thought about it. Also quite a bunch to keep hidden—and fed.

  And with the sodden morass of the prairies, they wouldn’t be able to leave anytime soon. She’d have to buy more hay but not from the same farmer. What kind of an excuse could she use this time? New to the area worked before. Victim of a barn burning? Now that might be an idea. There had been plenty of fighting going on in the area. The memory of a well-filled, sweet-smelling hayloft in the barn at Twin Oaks stabbed at her.

  I’ve got to quit thinking about the past. True words, but not so easily put into practice. Once the door opened, other memories stepped through. The big house, her mother braiding her hair, her father sitting at his desk with cigar smoke curling around his head. All four of the children playing croquet, riding Ahab for morning workouts, the smell of the cookhouse when Lucinda had supper cooking.

  Her eyes misted and she sniffed. “God, I hate the war.” Clenching her teeth and feeling the rage that shot clear to her fingertips chased the memories back behind closed doors. She locked those doors in her mind and tried to make wise decisions regarding those in her care. Hay for the mares, pasture for the rest of the horses, a new cave to call home until they could head west. And what to do about Aunt Agatha?

  Ophelia gave her a wide berth, sensing that Jesselynn bordered on breaking into rage or tears—she wasn’t sure which. Any more than Jesselynn herself was. Even the little boys stayed away from her, Thaddeus standing with his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, staring at her, then averting his eyes when she glanced his way.

  She sewed with a vengeance, stabbing the needle into the fabric as if her life depended on finishing the pair of pants in an hour. Jane Ellen alternately sat beside her, her fingers busy with softening the hide, her smile offering comfort, or she took the boys to the mouth of the cave to dig in the dirt.

  The problem with sewing was it left her mind free to wander in the maze.

  Three days later they were no closer to moving.

  “Rode ev’ry ridge and holler within five miles of here. Many caves but all too small.” Benjamin stood near the fire to dry off. Even his deerskin jacket was soaked clear through.

  Jesselynn stared at the jacket. If she oiled it, the rain would run off. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? “When your shirt is dry, let’s rub some grease in it. You won’t get so wet that way.”

  Benjamin looked at her as if she’d walked off and left her mind behind.

  “Dat mean we look farther.” Meshach looked up from the rabbit skins he was pulling over the stretchers he’d made from stiff branches. Soon he’d have enough skins tanned for someone to sew another garment. Ophelia needed something warmer, as did Meshach himself.

  “I’m goin’ to town.” Jesselynn made the announcement the next morning.

  “In de rain?” Meshach dropped an armload of wood on the pile.

  “It looks to be lettin’ up.” She stuck her head out far enough to see lightening in the east and even overhead. Surely the drizzle would let up. At least it wasn’t pouring. The feeling that she would explode if she had to spend one more day in the dark cave had only intensified. “I’ll ride Chess and take Roman to pack some things home, er back.” She hated calling the cave home. She waved a hand to cut off Meshach’s offer to go along. “No. This way I can bring back four sacks of grain on Roman. Ophelia, what do you need? Or want?”

  Ophelia looked at her, questions wrinkling her broad brow.

  “I know. We need to save every cent we have for the trip west, but . . .” Somehow, maybe if she spent some of the hoard, she thought she might feel better. So many things they needed—clothes, lamps, even candles would be a wonderfully welcome addition to the dark cave.

  “We gonna need horseshoes before we go to Independence.” Meshach held up his knife, the blade so shortened by sharpening it could hardly be called a knife any longer. “And this. Goin’ have to tar de wagon too. And grease de wheels. I sets de rims before we go.”

  “We need the wagon for most of those things, though.”

  “I know. We just got to think of dem.”

  So many things they had taken for granted at home. Beeswax for candles or tallow. Even though they’d had fat deer here, all the tallow had been used for frying. Shame they hadn’t shot a bear. Bear grease worked wonders for boots and waterproofing things. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of steaming tea. The coffee was gone again, even though Ophelia had toasted oats and ground them with the coffee beans to make them last longer.

  Sammy had a runny nose and a cough, so maybe horehound syrup could stop that.

  “We need salt and cornmeal.” Since they’d had molasses, the mush had disappeared more readily. While she’d bought the molasses for the mares, they had all enjoyed it.

  Jesselynn strode to push back the deer-hide door and check the weather. Sure enough, there was a patch of blue sky up above, but the sun was still under the clouds.

  “I get de horses for you.” Meshach headed out to where Daniel was grazing the horses. Benjamin was off hunting.

  Jesselynn tucked the fresh rabbit and a bundle of dried venison into her saddlebags. Even if Aunt Agatha lived in a decent house now, they might appreciate fresh meat.

  “Me go?” Thaddeus clung to her leg.

  “No, not this time. Someday.” She looked around, trying to think if they had anything else to trade at the store. She ignored his sad look and sat down to replace her moccasins with boots. Lacing them, she broke a lace. “Ophelia, could you please hand me a rawhide string?” She pulled out the remaining shoelace and, reaching to the side, dropped it in Thaddeus’s hand. “Now you can tie something together.”

  The frown turned to a grin. “Tie Sammy.”

  “No.” But Jesselynn had to smile. How like a little boy. She reached over, took the string, and tied it around his wrist. “Now you go play, or you can stack kindling.”

  By the time she left, the sun had managed to break through the cloud cover. But if she’d thought it muddy at the cave, when she saw the streets of Springfield, she almost wished for the cave again. Mud-weighted wagon wheels, mud-covered horses. She felt as though gray mud weighed down her shoulders. The burden was getting to be too much.

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  “Aunt Sylvania, don’t we have a relative in Washington?”

  “Why, yes, your cousin Arlington Logan, twice removed on my mother’s side. Why, I haven’t heard about him in years. He was studyin’ to be a doctor, as I recall.”

  Louisa felt her heart pick up the pace. So which side of the war is he on? “A doctor?” She set the baby sweater she was knitting in her lap. Fine yellow yarn was such a treat after all the natural wool for men’s socks.

  “He must be . . . let’s see . . .” Sylvania closed her eyes to remember better. “Why, he must be in his early forties by now. I think he married into the Weintraubs of Washington. I didn’t have much contact with him after his mother passed away. Fine woman, his mother.”

  Louisa kept perfectly still, not wanting to interrupt her aunt’s memories. Something in it might be important. She heard the front door open and close. Zachary must be home again. He’d been at a meeting, the likes of which he’d refused to share with her, no matter how hard she had badgered him.

  “Good evening, Aunt. Sorry I am so late.”

  Louisa glared at him, receiving a raised eyeb
row in return. He bent and kissed his aunt’s cheek.

  “Yes, dear boy, I am glad to see you home.” Sylvania patted his hand. “You remember talk of your cousin Arlington up in Washington?”

  Louisa laid down the baby sweater and picked up a sock to continue her knitting as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  “A bit. What brought him to mind?”

  “Ah, might you like a cup of tea? Abby baked some of her lemon cookies just for you. Shame you weren’t here for supper to make her happy.” Louisa hoped the barb might distract him.

  Like his father before him, once on a scent, he refused to be distracted. “Arlington, hmm.”

  “Louisa was asking if we didn’t have relatives in Washington. Mercy me, I think we have relatives clear across the South, not that Washington is any longer a part of the South.” She shook her head. “This war, such a horror.”

  Zachary turned toward his sister so he could question her with his good eye.

  Louisa watched him from under her lashes, keeping her head down enough that he couldn’t see. Her needles sang a tune of speed. “Drat!” She stopped, leaned closer to the lamplight, and took out three stitches to pick up one that had dropped.

  “Louisa.”

  “In a moment. You don’t want some soldier to get a blister because of a knot in his stocking heel, do you?”

  “No, of course not.” Zachary sat in the chair that seemed to have become his in the weeks he’d been ambulatory. He rubbed his leg where the leather straps and buckles sometimes dug into his flesh. “Do we have any more lamb’s wool?”

  “Not that I know of, dear. I’ll ask Abby,” Aunt Sylvania replied, returning to her knitting. The cry for warm woolen stockings was great in the damp and cold of the winter, and most women toted their knitting with them to pick up at any free moment.

  Louisa could smell the cigar smoke from several of the men gathered out on the back veranda smoking and most likely discussing either the war events or their dreams of home. She wished her brother would go join them. She glanced at him again. He seemed to be settling in for the duration.