by Beth White
Selah’s skin crawled too. She looked at Levi for corroboration.
After a pause, he said reluctantly, “I’m sorry, Selah, but I think that may be our best option. I don’t mind coming up too, to help in case of emergency. What’s needed here, though, isn’t strength, but dexterity and common sense.”
Until today, Selah wouldn’t have accredited her sister with either of those qualities, but she supposed she had little choice in the matter. She met Joelle’s gaze, all but willing her sister to change her mind. “Maybe we should just kill them all,” she blurted.
Joelle laughed. “You know we can’t do that. I’ve got a couple of veils at the cottage. I’ll go get them for Mose and me. We’ll cover up in several layers of clothes and gloves, and hope for the best.”
Finding herself outvoted on the subject, Selah backed off. She paced the dining room, studied the brushstrokes of the portrait of herself and her sisters with their mother, sat down, and jumped to her feet to begin prowling again. Levi had wandered into the parlor, and she could hear him plunking random notes on the piano.
Just when Selah thought her nerves could no longer stand the wait, Joelle returned, wearing an outlandish collection of clothing that included her own blouse, an old gardening jacket and boots, along with a pair of Wyatt’s breeches. Under her arm was a straw hat with her funeral veil dragging the ground.
ThomasAnne turned from the window and gasped. “Joelle! Remove those—those—men’s nether garments immediately!”
Joelle glanced at Selah. “I could, but I doubt you’d like that any better.” She reached for the button at her waist.
Predictably, ThomasAnne let out a scandalized shriek. Joelle grinned.
Levi’s head appeared around the doorway. “Is everyone all right in here? Ah. Very practical costume, Joelle. And here’s our other apian knight, set to vanquish the buzzing hordes.”
Mose walked in, squinting dubiously at the veil draped over his own hat. “I think I may jus’ take my chances with my bare face, if it’s all the same to you, Miss Jo.”
Joelle shrugged. “It’s your face.” She took a deep breath. “If you’re ready, let’s go and get this over with.”
Everyone trooped into the foyer, where Nathan waited with the big frame box and smoker. Selah had examined the cool-air smoker and found it to be a fairly simple contraption made out of a tin red pepper can, a smaller tobacco can, some copper piping, and a small leather bellows. Joelle was to handle the bees and slice the comb, while Mose dealt with the smoker. Levi and Nathan would accompany them as far as the top of the stairs and handle any unplanned emergencies.
Selah could only pray there would be no such emergencies.
She could only pray, period. She didn’t know what else to do.
Moving a large hive of bees down three flights of stairs turned out to be about as easy as Levi had expected it to be. Not impossible. But pretty close to it.
What he hadn’t expected was the atmosphere of unity and cooperation he found in working alongside a bookish Southern belle and two former slaves with as much reason to like each other as a fox and a bobcat tied by the tails inside a burlap sack.
Whatever his reservations, Levi found himself inching farther into the cupola so that he could get a better view of the proceedings. The bees, due perhaps to the intermittent puffs of smoke, perhaps to the quiet conversation between Joelle and Mose, remained calm and stayed close to the hive. By the time Joelle had cut most of the comb one slice at a time, transferring it to the frames—which Nathan attached and then slid into the box’s grooves—Levi was near enough to appreciate Joelle’s excitement when she captured the queen.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Joelle murmured, staring at the insect tumbling in the little net bag she’d created for the purpose.
“If you say so.” Resisting a strong urge to scratch, Levi backed up a step. He sure hoped her majesty didn’t get loose before she and her vassals relocated to the woods.
Within another few minutes—Levi supposed the whole process had taken less than half an hour—the last of the comb had been detached from the ceiling and rounded wall. Nathan gently closed the lid of the box, trapping the bees inside. The four of them looked at each other.
And then the window behind Levi shattered. A loud buzz whizzed past his head, accompanied by a sting at the top of his ear. Instinctively he ducked, clapped his hand to his head. He stared at his bloody hand. That was no bee—it was a bullet.
He’d been shot.
Another loud pop exploded from outside, and a second bullet smashed the glass on the opposite side of the cupola.
“Get down!” He yanked Joelle to the floor and crouched over her.
The other two men were already crawling for the stairs.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” All but shoving Joelle toward the stairs, he followed, blood dripping from his ear.
Then he realized there were smeared puddles of blood ahead of him. One of the others had been hit too. He kept going, hearing more gunfire behind and above him, windows shattering.
He was armed with a pistol, but that would do no good against an assailant at a distance with a rifle. If the shooter had a Spencer repeating rifle—assuming there was only one—he had used five rounds, with two to go before he would have to stop and reload. Levi might have time to secure his own carbine from his horse and get the women to a safer location before any renewed attack.
Sure enough, the firing stopped, but Levi was beginning to feel lightheaded. He paused, panting. “Mose—Nathan, which one of you is hit?”
“It’s Mose,” Nathan replied from the floor of the attic. “He fainted. Looks like he was clipped in the head. Whoever that was, he a good shot.”
“We’re lucky he missed you and Joelle. Jo, you all right?”
“Yes.” Her breathing was ragged, but she sat up and removed the hat and veil. She surveyed Levi, her blue eyes dark with worry but not panic. These Daughtry women were made of stern stuff. “You’re bleeding.” She reached for him.
“It’s just a nick.” Levi slid past her and reached Mose, whose head wound bled freely but seemed to be only surface. Laying two fingers on the pulse point beneath the Negro’s ear, he found a strong heartbeat. Thank God. “You two see what you can do for Mose while I go down for my rifle.”
“Who was that?” Joelle demanded. “Nobody goes hunting in the middle of the day this close to someone’s house.”
Leaving her fuming, Levi hurried down the stairs. His heart pounded, anxiety and unanswered questions drumming through his head. He’d heard the women screaming from the ground floor and prayed they were safe. That was no hunter outside, but a sniper with a lethal aim. If that first bullet had hit him an inch or two to the left, he would be dead.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated the gory sight he must have presented with blood dripping from his ear onto his shirt and Mose’s blood all over the knees of his pants. Eyes wide with horror, Selah stood in the foyer clutching a sobbing ThomasAnne. Horatia, standing in the breezeway, emitted a strangled shriek as Levi got to the bottom of the stairs.
“Where’s Wyatt?” he asked Selah.
“He took the shotgun and went out the back door. Is Joelle all right?”
“She’s fine. Mose was hit. You ladies get under the stairs. I’m going for my rifle.”
“But you’re—”
“It’s nothing. Do what I said—get away from the windows!” As they moved to obey, Levi flattened himself against the doorframe and reached to turn the doorknob. When no further shots rang out, he picked up a bowl on a side table, opened the door, and tossed the bowl out. Nothing happened. Leaning into the doorway, he took a quick look across the collapsed porch. His horse stood quietly grazing, as if the volley of gunfire had never happened.
For several minutes Levi stood baffled, trying to ignore the pain in his ear, as he worked through what had just happened. Apparently the assailant had run out of ammunition or given up. Why? What had he hoped to accompli
sh? Had someone involved in the robberies discovered his identity and decided to eliminate him? That seemed unlikely, though not out of the question.
He stepped over the rotten boards in the porch and made his way to the horse. “You need some water, old fellow,” he said, running a hand down the horse’s withers and legs, double-checking for injury. He seemed perfectly fine. “I’ll send Wyatt back for you in a minute.” With a last pat on the horse’s neck, he unsheathed the rifle from its scabbard and took it with him back to the house. No sense taking any more chances.
He had to find Wyatt before the kid stumbled on the assailant’s lair without any backup.
The minute Levi turned his back, Selah deposited her weeping cousin under the stairs. “ThomasAnne, you’re going to be fine. The shots have stopped. But Mose is hurt, and I have to go check on him and Joelle.” She shook the unresponsive ThomasAnne. “Do you hear me?”
ThomasAnne wiped her streaming eyes. “You need to stay here until Mr. Riggins gets back. What if—Selah!”
But Selah had already bolted around the newel post to run up the stairs. At the sound of footsteps behind her, she turned her head to find Horatia in her wake.
“He my man,” Horatia said defiantly.
Selah nodded. As they reached the second floor, she followed the sound of a deep moan, overlaid by Joelle’s lighter voice, into the east bedroom.
There was blood everywhere, smeared across the floor all the way to the bed, where Mose lay gasping in pain. Joelle bent over him, pressing a cloth to his head, while Nathan stood watching with his back to the window, fists clenched in impotent frustration.
“Mose!” Horatia’s cry was guttural. She ran to her husband, firmly moving Joelle out of the way.
“I didn’t know what to do.” Joelle lifted a hand to push her hair out of her face, rendering her appearance, if possible, even more frightening. “He’s bleeding so much—”
“Head wounds does that.” Horatia lifted the cloth away to quickly examine the gash in Mose’s head. “You’ve stopped the bleeding. He’ll be fine, once we wash and treat it with herbs.” She glanced over her shoulder, smiling at Joelle’s uncomprehending disbelief. “Really, Miss Joelle, you saved his life.”
“We need clean water, don’t we?” asked Selah.
“Yes, but you can’t go to the well—”
“I’ll go.” Nathan was already out the door.
Selah knelt beside Horatia, who continued to stroke her husband’s ashy face. He had fainted from the pain and lay quietly, an occasional twitch drawing his body tight. “We’ll call the doctor in,” Selah said, laying a hand on Horatia’s.
“Thank you.” Horatia’s voice was tight.
“It’s the least we can do. This wouldn’t have happened if y’all hadn’t come to help.”
“It’s not that.” Horatia turned her hand to grasp Selah’s. “I’m glad we came. Mose and me, we talked about what you said, and you right. We neighbors. Jesus said a neighbor be anybody needs help. I’m just wondering why it’s easier to forgive and help you and your family than my own daughter.”
Bereft of words, Selah squeezed the coffee-colored hand in hers.
“It hurts to be rejected in favor of someone else. Especially by your family.” Joelle’s quiet words sank hard into Selah’s chest.
Sitting back on her heels, Selah stared at her sister. What on earth did she mean?
Apparently Horatia misunderstood. Something like despair suffused her face. “I ain’t reject Charmion. I’s just trying to help her. I know she love that boy. I even know he a good provider,” she added grudgingly. “But he also as black as a moonless night. Nathan Vincent was born on a boat from Africa, you can hear it in his accent. Now before you go arguing with me about what difference that make, now that we’re free, let me tell you something. When I was a girl, even as a slave I choose my man real careful—and your mama, she love me, so she protect me and help me.”
“She . . . helped you?” asked Selah. “Helped you do what?”
“She know the darker a Negro’s skin, the harder his life gon’ be. It’s just the way of the world. I wanted light-skinned babies ’cause I want them to have every advantage I didn’t have.”
Selah looked from Horatia to Mose, bewildered. “But you love Mose! Are you saying you married him because his skin was paler than yours?”
“Of course I love Mose. But they was others I could’ve had. Your mama arranged for him to be close to me, so I could fluff my feathers in a timely manner. Men—they take the bait so easy.” Horatia rolled her eyes.
“But, Horatia, Charmion chose Nathan and they’re married! They’re already expecting a baby—”
“I know that!” Horatia’s eyes glistened with something that in a lesser woman might have been tears. “And that makes me—” She threw an arm across her bosom in a wholly uncharacteristic defensive posture. “Ah, it makes me ill and full of joy at the same time, so’s I don’t know myself no more.”
Dense silence overtook the cold, once-grand room that Selah had slept in hundreds of nights, sometimes to dream of handsome suitors, sometimes in later years to sorrow over losses—but always with a prayer for God’s protection and guidance. She couldn’t fathom his purposes in today’s circumstances. She felt neither safe nor wise.
Joelle suddenly let out a harsh sigh. “I’m going to the linen closet to look for some clean bandages. I’ll be right back.”
Selah watched her go. “Horatia, I think none of us really know for sure how to navigate this life, especially me. But I do know one thing. We’ve got to stick together, and we’ve got to trust God’s Word to be true, or we’re all going under.”
Horatia took Selah’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “You so much like your mama sometimes, it takes my breath.”
“What? No, I—”
“Yes. You are.” Horatia smiled and let her go with a brusque wave of the hand. “Now go out to the herb garden and bring me some yarrow. We gonna get this man back on his feet, chokin’ us all with that dad-blame pipe.”
Seventeen
LEVI CAME UPON WYATT, shotgun propped against his thigh, squatting at the base of a big oak tree situated some three hundred yards from the east side of the main house and angled to the right of the old kitchen. The boy was staring at something in his palm.
“Wyatt!” Levi called as he approached. “What have you got there?”
Wyatt stood up, showing Levi the spent shell casing in his hand.
Levi examined it. It was from a .56-56 bullet, ammunition for a Spencer rifle—one of the standard weapons issued to Union troops. One thing he knew for sure—it had been recently fired. He’d expected to spend hours looking for detritus from the shooter’s weapon. “How did you find this?”
Wyatt pointed up at the cupola’s smashed windows. “Traced the trajectory the bullet would have had to follow.”
“Good work, son.” Levi shook Wyatt’s shoulder with affectionate roughness.
Wyatt shrugged. “I always liked science and mathematics. Useful, you know?”
The boy would make a good detective, but Levi couldn’t tell him so. “All right. Let’s look around for anything else the shooter might have left behind.”
For nearly an hour the two of them searched the area, looking for human disturbance—footprints, snagged clothing, anything that might have identified the assailant—without announcing their own presence. Finally Wyatt asked Levi if he didn’t want to go in and get his “head doctored.”
Realizing he’d been unconsciously touching the aching ear every time an incautious step jarred his balance, Levi sighed. “Guess we’d better. I’d hoped we’d find something else by now.”
Frustrated, footsore, and thirsty, they emerged from the woods in front of the house just as a horse and wagon came bowling up the lane from the gate. Dr. Benjamin Kidd, dressed in a bright blue coat buttoned over a red paisley tie, pulled up on the reins, letting out a whistle at Levi’s armed and no doubt gory appearance. “Nathan came to
get me. He said there’s been a bit of trouble.” Kidd tied off the reins and sprang down from the wagon seat. “Shouldn’t you be lying down?”
Levi’s hand went to his ear. “I’m fine. This is just a scratch. Well, I was about to wash up and change clothes—I’m sure I look a mess. Mose Lawrence is in bad shape, though. We’d appreciate it if you’d come look at him.”
“Of course. My bag is in the wagon.”
“I’ll get it.” Wyatt eagerly sprang to help.
“Nathan said there was an attack,” Kidd said as he accompanied Levi into the house. “Any idea who would do such a thing?”
“Not yet. Selah!” Looking around, Levi propped his gun by the door. “Where is everybody?”
Selah appeared, looking down over the second-floor railing. “Up here, with Mose. Hello, Doctor! I’m so glad you came!”
“Of course I came,” Kidd said, running up the stairs. “Somebody fill me in on the details while I attend to the patient.”
An hour or so later Levi sat in the desk chair in the library, letting Dr. Kidd work on his ear with something he called an “antiseptic”—which hurt like the devil but would, in the doctor’s words, “keep your ear from falling off.” He supposed he should be grateful for small mercies.
Kidd had checked Mose, approving Horatia’s herbal dressing, then left him resting quietly in the upstairs bedroom with Horatia standing as nurse. Meanwhile, Levi had marshaled his troops, sending Joelle, Wyatt, and Nathan to complete the transferral of the bees out to the woods. After coaxing Miss ThomasAnne out from under the stairs with the promise that the danger was past and she could help by rounding up refreshments, he’d made the trek up to the cupola to inspect the damage. It was a mess for sure, with golden sticky, fragrant honey on the ceiling and walls, blood stains on the floor, and shattered glass and wood everywhere.
But that wasn’t the most interesting thing he’d found there.
His gaze rested now on Selah, who stood beside the doctor with a bowl of hot water and a tray of bandages. He didn’t know whether or not to tell her about the spyglass. None of them had noticed it during the process of removing the bees.
