November 1863
Dear Jesselynn,
You are married? Tell me more! How? When? And you must tell me more about your husband. You have been rather enigmatic concerning this great event in your life. How did he come to be called Wolf?
I am so glad to hear that you had horses to sell to the quartermaster at Fort Laramie. I am not at all surprised that you have become a trainer of horses and the methods you described make such good sense. I still have a hard time picturing you in britches and Daddy’s old felt hat.
I love your descriptions of Wyoming and of those you claim have become like family. I am jealous, you realize, that others can visit with you and enjoy your company when I cannot. But I am coming to realize that loss is a part of life, and we just need to do our best to weather the changes.
I am glad you were able to write good news, but I am not so fortunate. Remember the man I met at the soireé with Carrie Mae?
Major Wilson Scott called on me several times and then announced that he was being sent back to his regiment and asked if he could write to me and would I return the favor. Of course I said yes, but after three letters I heard no more from him. Jefferson told me last evening that Major Scott had been killed in the line of duty. Such barren words. Please don’t ask me if I loved him, for I am no longer sure I know what that means. I was beginning to care for him, however, and I now am grieving for what might have been.
She didn’t mention another letter she had received only two days earlier, this one signed Major James Dorsey. She told no one about the letter that Reuben again found on the mat at the front door.
I am beginning to believe that I am destined to be an old maid, caring for my sister’s children. And yes, that means what you think. Our Carrie Mae is in the family way again, and Jefferson is sure it will be a boy this time. As if any boy could be more lovable than our baby Miriam. I must close and go assist with the sewing bee. Two of our men were released to return home, so I must train others. May God hold you close and protect you and those you love from all harm.
Your loving, but sad, sister
Louisa picked up Bones and cuddled him under her chin. When he began to purr, she sank down in a chair and let her tears dampen his fur. Major Dorsey had written that he thought of her often and prayed that God was keeping her safe. Wishing she could write back, she shivered in the cold. They had no coal nor wood to heat the house, so all their work was done in the kitchen where the cooking fire devoured any sticks they could find. Some folks were cutting down the big old trees that lined the streets and provided shade in backyards. Another sacrifice to this wretched war. Louisa shivered again. When would it end?
CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX
Richmond, Virginia
April 1865
Dear Jesselynn,
The war is over. I cannot begin to describe my feeling of relief that there will be no more killing. While I know some in the Confederate government were eager to fight on, all I can think of is that we can go home. Home to Twin Oaks, if I have to walk all the way. Though that is such wondrous good news, I have news of the other kind, which brings me to frequent tears. Aunt Sylvania went home to be with our Lord a week before the surrender. She went to sleep one evening and never woke up. I know she is happy, for there was a look of such peace on her face that Jesus must have met her right there himself, instead of sending any angels.
Louisa wiped away the tears that still fell when she thought about her aunt who’d become so frail in the final months of the war.
We will be leaving for home soon. Zachary has not given me a specific date, but I have our things all packed, and tomorrow will go to say good-bye to Carrie Mae. Little Miriam is the one I shall miss the most. She is such a delight, chattering away. Though I cannot always understand her, she has a large vocabulary for one so young. I shall miss her dreadfully. Please write to us at Twin Oaks. Perhaps now that the war is over, the mail will go through on a regular basis. I do so love to hear from you. Is there any chance at all that you will come back to Kentucky? I can tell that you love Wyoming and your life there, but along with seeing you and Thaddeus, I want to meet the husband you speak so highly of, and my other niece and nephew also.
With love always from your sister,
Louisa
As she sat rereading the letter, Zachary strode into the room.
‘‘If you want to go along, be ready in the mornin’.’’ He turned away without waiting for her answer.
‘‘But what about. . . ?’’ Louisa didn’t bother to finish her question. Zachary didn’t care one whit what happened to Reuben and Abby, or Aunt Sylvania’s house. Should she deed them the house? After all, it had been their home for much of their lives. But what would they live on? Reuben was far too old to find a position easily, and while Abby might find one as a cook or maid . . . Louisa shook her head. Should she take them with her? Or at least ask them if they wanted to go? Oh, Lord, what am I to do? What will they eat if they stay here?
Why do I have to be the one to make these decisions? This thought ignited a spark of anger. If Zachary was head of the Highwood family, why didn’t he act like it? Daddy, you would never have made Mama handle all of this.
Her sigh came from so deep inside that it took all her strength out with it. Lord, I cannot handle this. What am I to do? She wondered if her mother had felt the same way, and now that she reconsidered, she realized the Highwood women always made the major decisions, even long before the war, when the men were off trying to either start it or keep it from happening.
Louisa wandered out to the back veranda where their remaining two guests were enjoying the sun, weak as it was. Actually, the air felt warmer outside than in.
‘‘Y’all want a cup of coffee?’’ Louisa asked as she stopped between their chairs. Since they had no more sewing to do, Louisa had finished the last jacket and given it to one of the men to wear home. They were talking about what they’d do when they got home.
Samuel looked up, his smile creasing a face too young to have seen all he had. ‘‘That sounds mighty fine, Miss Louisa. Looks like we’ll be headin’ out tomorrow. I do thank you for keepin’ us as long as you have.’’
‘‘You’re more than welcome. Coffee coming right up.’’ She returned to the house in time to meet Abby carrying a tray out to the veranda.
‘‘You read my mind.’’
‘‘You gonna sit a spell and drink wid dem?’’
‘‘No, I think not. Could you and Reuben meet me in the parlor as soon as you’ve served them?’’
Abby gave a brief nod and continued on out the French doors.
Louisa stood by the lace-draped windows, fingering a hole where the sun-rotted threads had separated. Who would have money to buy a house like this one? And what was it worth? She heard movement behind her and turned to find Reuben entering the room right behind Abby.
‘‘What you be needin’, Miss Louisa?’’
‘‘Nothing, thank you, but we need to talk.’’ She laced her fingers together, then unwound them. ‘‘Abby, Reuben, Zachary and I will be leaving for Twin Oaks in the morning.’’
‘‘So soon?’’ The two in front of her exchanged glances.
‘‘I know. He’s not giving me any time to make arrangements.’’
‘‘You don’ need to worry none about us.’’ Abby took a step forward. ‘‘We gots kin to go to.’’
‘‘You’re sure?’’ Louisa felt like a smashing weight had just lifted.
‘‘We be all right.’’ Reuben nodded.
‘‘Then I shall ask Mr. Steadly if he can sell this house for me. I would be grateful if the two of you could live here until that happened, if you wouldn’t mind.’’
‘‘Makes no nevermind. I keep up de yard, Abby de house. We keep it lookin’ nice.’’
‘‘Is . . . is there anything here you would like to take with you when you go?’’ Louisa looked around at the walnut highboy on one wall and the carved arms of the horsehair sofa. They could use all of these things at Twin Oaks if . . .
She knew the ‘‘if ’’ didn’t mean a thing. The big house at Twin Oaks was no longer, and that was that. No matter how much she dreamed it to be different. They would need furniture eventually, but there was no way to transport these furnishings from here to there, nor any place for proper storage.
‘‘Well, if you think of anything, let me know, and I will not include that in the list I shall make up for Jefferson.’’ She sighed again and straightened her spine, squaring her shoulders as if for battle. ‘‘I need to go say good-bye to Carrie Mae and the babies. Perhaps Zachary has told them more than he has me.’’ Keeping the bitterness from her voice was hard, and from her thoughts even more difficult.
‘‘You want I should borry Miss Julie’s buggy?’’
‘‘Thank you, Reuben, but I need the walk.’’ As she strode toward the doorway, she caught the sheen of tears in their eyes, and instantly tears ran down her own cheeks. ‘‘I . . . I am so sorry it has to be like this, so rushed and—’’ She wrapped an arm around each of them, and the three stood in the embrace, wiping their eyes and reassuring one another that all would be well.
When Louisa left the house, she had one more stick she wished to beat her brother with, his hurting those two gentle people who had worked so hard caring for them all, including all the soldier guests they had helped bring back to health.
‘‘Zachary Highwood, if Mother could see you now, she would take a willow switch to your bare legs.’’ Another sob caught in her throat. He only had one leg to switch. The old Zachary would have made a joke about it all and had everyone laughing.
By the time Carrie Mae’s buggy had returned her home, Louisa felt like she had no more tears to shed. Or at least hoped so.
Carrie Mae had promised to come visit as soon as the trains were rolling regularly again.
Louisa hadn’t added the ‘‘if.’’ Somehow she doubted life would ever again be what it used to be.
But when Zachary and the buggy stopped in front of the house in the predawn stillness, she was ready, her clothing packed in one bag, bedding in another, and a basket of food that Abby prepared, salted with her tears.
‘‘God be wid you,’’ Reuben whispered as he placed her things in the lidded box in the rear of the buggy.
‘‘And with you.’’ Louisa gave Abby and Reuben each a hug and, with the old man’s hand assisting, climbed up in the seat.
‘‘Did you bring water?’’ Zachary asked, voice abrupt as ever.
‘‘Yes.’’ She settled her skirt and wrapped her shawl more closely around her shoulders. She wasn’t sure if the chill came from the air or from the agony of leaving. But either way, it crept into her bones, setting her teeth to chattering.
The buggy started forward, and Louisa waved once more to her two old friends. As long as it remained in sight, Louisa gazed at the house that had been her home for five years. Dear Lord, keep them safe, please. She fought the tears that clogged her throat, knowing that if Zachary heard her, she would receive one of his looks that stripped flesh off her bones. Maybe she should have stayed in Richmond, at least until . . . at least until what? She knew there were no good answers to any of her questions.
Zachary never looked back.
The trip passed in a morass of despair, with soldiers clumping their way home, stepping back off the road to let the buggy by. More than once she was grateful for the rifle Zachary had prominently displayed. Hungry men would do whatever was needed to eat.
Any time she tried to start a conversation, Zachary acted like he didn’t hear her, only giving orders—to get down or to hand him whatever he needed at the moment. At least the harness was light, and she was adept at backing the horse into the shafts and hooking the traces. Every time she had to do something he would have been doing had he been able, she made sure not to look at his face. Icy or flaming, rage was rage.
The contents of the silver flask seemed to be his only antidote. She came to think on it as a friend.
Trees were donning new leaves as they drew close to Lexington. And the rolling green hills looked no worse for the war, except for the burned-out shells of houses in some areas and the battlefield at Richmond, Kentucky. As they drew closer to home, places looked much the same, but they didn’t stop to talk with anyone. When they turned on Home Road, Louisa could hardly swallow, her throat was so dry. The Marshes’ house and barns stood, needing paint and general fixing up, but smoke rose from the chimney. If she squinted, she could make herself believe it looked no different.
Ahead she saw the two ancient oaks at the end of their lane. Oh, Lord, we are home. Thank you, thank you, we are home.
Zachary turned the horse in between the green-furred sentinels and stopped.
No white house with green shutters and welcoming portico beckoned from the slight rise at the end of the lane. No big barns that had once looked to have been placed there when God created the earth. The brick chimneys poked skyward like skeletal fingers.
Louisa crumbled within, her heart faltering. No matter that she’d known this to be true, still some small part of her had hoped, dreamed, that Twin Oaks still stood.
She sneaked a peek at Zachary. He sat frozen, like a bronzed statue, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN
Twin Oaks
May 1865
Dear Miss Highwood,
I have been assigned to Kentucky to assist in the reparations now that this horrible war is over. I hope that I might call on you at Twin Oaks, as I am hoping you have returned there. I called at the house in Richmond, only to learn of your loss. Please accept my condolences on the death of your aunt.
Yours truly,
Colonel James Dorsey
Louisa read the letter for the third time. James Dorsey, a Union colonel, was coming to Twin Oaks. Of course she had seen blue uniforms in Midway, and rumor had it that Frankfort and Lexington were well populated with blue-and-gold soldiers, along with their wives and families. While shopkeepers disdained serving them, the truth was, they were the only ones with money to spend.
What will Zachary say? More important, what will he do? Louisa climbed back up in the buggy and clucked the horse homeward. At least they had a horse and buggy, thanks to Jefferson, or she, like most of the area folk, would be walking to town. She’d stopped by the neighbors to see what they needed, but with Confederate money being worthless and a frightening shortage of gold coin, everyone was getting along with what they had or going without.
The knot in her stomach that tightened whenever her brother raised his voice twisted now. When would Colonel Dorsey call? Should she warn Zachary? She glanced down at her faded and well-patched skirt. She had one dress in less deplorable condition. Thoughts of all the lovely garments that Carrie Mae took so for granted roused the little demon of jealousy. Perhaps if she had asked, Carrie Mae would have shared some of her things, but pride had kept her quiet. Her sister should have volunteered. Carrie Mae wasn’t intentionally selfish, just thoughtless.
Once out of town, she clucked the horse to a trot. Perhaps the mail addressed to Zachary would lift his mood. While she’d been hoping for letters from Jesselynn and Carrie Mae, she couldn’t deny the tingling joy brought by the one she received.
‘‘I will see him again and have a chance to thank him properly.’’ The horse flicked his ears, listening to her and keeping track of all around him.
When she returned to the log cabin that Lucinda and Joseph had built behind where the summer kitchen used to stand, she tucked the letter away in the box where she kept her writing things. Zachary never came up in the loft where she had a pallet, as climbing the ladder would be next to impossible for him. She hung her bonnet on a peg in the wall and donned her apron. Best get to hoeing. Dreaming over a handsome man never did put victuals on the table.
As each day passed and the warmth of May caused the tobacco plants to shoot up, along with the corn and beans in the garden, Louisa kept one eye on the long drive, waiting for a man in blue to ride up. She trimmed the
roses back and weeded the rose garden, in between hoeing the tobacco. In spite of the wide-brimmed straw hat, ventilated by mice, that she had found in the cabin, her face and arms took on the golden hue of one who worked outside.
Two of their former slaves returned, and as they hoed and mended fences, the place took on a more kept appearance.
Everyone walked on tiptoe around Zachary, for no one ever knew what might ignite him in a roaring rage.
‘‘I don’ know what to do wid dat boy.’’ Lucinda watched Zachary’s back as he stomped and stumbled back down to the shed where he kept his bottle under his sleeping pallet. If he slept at all.
‘‘Wish I knew. I’d sure enough tell you.’’ Louisa kneaded her aching back. The weeds in the garden grew far more quickly than the carrots. Before that she’d been out hunting greens so they would have a noon meal. She eyed the rose garden, knowing what still lay deep beneath the soil. Zachary had no idea that the family silver and their mother’s jewelry lay boxed and safe. She had no intention of telling him until the day they could be used again or were needed to save Twin Oaks.
Some days it was harder than others to be thankful for what they did have—food to eat, a roof over their heads, and work that would pay off in the fall. All Zachary could see was what was gone, not what they had. And it was eating him alive.
‘‘You gon’ write to Jesselynn and ask her to bring de horses back?’’ Lucinda sank down on a stool, rubbing her gnarled fingers.
‘‘No. She will do so when she can. Besides, what use would stallions be when we have no mares?’’
‘‘Dey be runnin’ at Keeneland dis year?’’
‘‘I don’t think so. At least I’ve not heard of it. But then, if Zachary knew, he wouldn’t tell me anyway.’’ Keeping the bitterness out of her mind and voice took real gumption at times. Lord, forgive my judging spirit. You sure have to love this brother of mine for me, ’cause at times like this, all I want to do is haul off and smack him with that crutch—or something heavier.
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