"And they're probably takin' everything from the commissary," Madrigal added. "But if we hurry, maybe there'll still be a little food left."
Putting down her apron, once she had shooed the fly outside, Madrigal picked up the basket, motioned for Ellie to follow, and then closed the door to her apartment. "Wish I had some way of lockin' the door behind me," she commented.
"Wouldn't do you much good," Ellie remarked. "I hear they went to poor Mrs. Forsyth's house and took everything while she was standin' there. Flood said it would be better for us not to try to lock up in the village. They'd just break the doors down, to boot."
"Well, they'd better not try to get in here. I got my steppa's old gun, and I don't mind usin' it."
The two, cautious at first, began walking toward the square and the commissary. "You hear what happened to Mr. Roche?" Ellie asked.
"What?"
"He's been arrested for treason."
"Treason? That's the silliest thing I ever heard of," Madrigal said, stopping in the middle of the road to gaze at Ellie. "You have to betray your country for treason. You must have it all wrong, Ellie."
"Alma Brady told me, and she should know." Ellie was suddenly defensive. "She overheard one of the soldiers talkin' about it. The order came from General Sherman, himself. He was mad because Mr. Roche was manufacturing cloth for the army to use. And there was even talk of hangin' him."
Madrigal snorted in disbelief. "And I suppose the next thing you're goin' to tell me is that we're all goin' to be arrested, too. It would make just about as much sense."
Two soldiers, dressed in blue, leaned against one of the posts supporting the shed roof of the stores and watched Ellie and Madrigal approaching. As they came within a few feet, one of the men took off his field cap and said, "Good morning, ma'am."
Madrigal lifted her head, stared past him, and kept walking. But then she heard the steps on the wooden walkway behind her and knew they were being followed.
"Looks like she's got a temper to go with her hair," one soldier commented. "Snooty, too."
"I always did like a little red-haired gal," the other said with a laugh. "Didn't matter which side of the Mason-Dixon line she came from."
Ellie stuck close to Madrigal until they reached the commissary and walked inside.
"Good mornin', Miss Madrigal." Mr. Rowdybush's face brightened when he recognized her. Then, nodding to the young woman with her, he added, "Miss Ellie."
"Good mornin', Mr. Rowdybush," the two said in unison.
With the bright sun impairing her vision, Madrigal waited for her eyes to become adjusted to the light inside the store.
"What can I do for you?" Mr. Rowdybush asked.
"I need some flour, if you have some," Madrigal answered. "A little fatback, too."
"You're in luck today. But when this supply is gone, don't know when we'll be getting in any more." He stared at the two soldiers lingering by the door and whispered, "They burned the flour mill up the creek two days ago."
Madrigal made no pretense at keeping her voice low. "They seem to enjoy burnin' things, don't they? I hear they've burned so many houses, people have started calling the lone chimneys 'Sherman's Sentinels.' "
"Miss Madrigal," the man warned, "you better be careful what you say."
She turned around and stared in the direction of the two soldiers. "Law, I'm not afraid of them, Mr. Rowdybush." Then she placed her basket on the counter and began to bargain with the man, who could never resist Madrigal's smile.
When Ellie had also completed her shopping, the two said good-bye and left the store. The same soldiers smiled and bowed as Madrigal swept by.
"A pleasant day to you, Miss Madrigal."
"And to you, Miss Ellie," the other one said.
This time, Madrigal gave a curt nod and walked on. Maybe Mr. Rowdybush was right. Her tongue had always gotten her into trouble. Maybe she should be more careful, after all.
"They're still followin' us, Madrigal," Ellie whispered.
"Well, pretend you don't notice them, Ellie. Just keep walkin'. We'll reach home soon enough."
But it was hard to ignore them. And not only the two trailing them, but all of the other soldiers that now swarmed over the town.
In the churchyard, the pews that had been ripped from the sanctuary to make room for the wounded were scattered under the trees, and men, with nothing else to do, sat in them and held spitting contests to while away the time. An occasional moan coming from the open door of the church mingled with the laughter of the men outside.
Madrigal's face hardened when she saw the remnants of the organ, a pathetic thing, lying near the street. She had loved the music played on it each Sunday. But from the looks of it, nobody would ever be able to put it back together once the Union army had left.
Horses galloping down the road sent Madrigal and Ellie scurrying to the green strip of grass beyond the road. They waited for the cavalry to pass, and then, looking both ways, they crossed the dusty road and headed for home.
The two soldiers, who had been following them all this time, stopped. Seeing Madrigal disappear into The Bricks, they turned around and retraced their steps to the churchyard where they, too, found a pew and sat down.
"You know how long it is, Maybry, since I've been with a woman?"
"Too long, I guess, from the way you were looking at that little redheaded gal."
Caleb laughed. "She's sure something, ain't she? Miss Madri-gal." He placed the emphasis on the last syllable of her name.
Captain Ferrell walked by, took one look at the lolling soldiers, and put them all to work clearing the churchyard of its debris. He looked at Caleb and said, "Get a wagon, Private, and begin loading it."
"Yes, Captain. Right away."
"And when you're through here, go down to the mill and pick up the wood there."
"What do you want us to do with it, sir?"
"Haul it to the river and unload it so the men can begin rebuilding the bridge."
Two hours later, Caleb and Maybry were still working. "Never should have sat down where the captain could see us," Maybry complained.
"Wouldn't have made a bit of difference. The general has everybody working. Saw Jed a little while ago. He's been foraging all day gathering grain for the horses." Caleb wiped his perspiring face with his bandanna. "Hotter 'n hell in the fields, I can tell you. Jed's face was every bit as red as this here bandanna."
Maybry nodded. "I never saw weather this hot before." He threw another large piece from the wagon onto the huge pile at the riverbank. "You know what I'd like to do right this minute?" he asked.
"What?"
"Go skinny-dippin' in the crick behind the mill. You wanna go?"
Caleb laughed. "Not with you, Maybry. But I wouldn't mind if I could persuade that little redheaded gal to go with me."
"She's been on your mind all day, ain't she?"
"Not much else to think about," Caleb confessed.
"Well, there's the whiskey ration that General Garrard is gonna issue us tonight for supper."
A surprised Caleb said, "What brought that on? He's only done it one other time in all these months of fighting."
"General Sherman. He's that pleased to be back in his good graces again."
They finished unloading the wood. "Gee-haw," Caleb shouted and, whistling to the mules, he brought the wagon around and headed back from the Chattahoochee River toward the burned-out mill. By the time they took one more load of wood to the river, it was almost dark and they could quit.
Several hours later, Caleb and Maybry sat around the campfire and scraped their mess kits clean. The allotment of whiskey had not lasted long with the two. They looked over at young Orville, who hadn't bothered to taste his.
"You gonna drink your whiskey, Orville?" Caleb asked.
"No. I promised my granny I wouldn't touch the stuff till I was nineteen. Got a year to go." Then he said, "Why? You want it?"
"I could use a little extra."
"So could
I," Maybry said.
"How 'bout a game of cards for it?" another voice piped up. "Winner take all."
"Yeah. Let's play for it," a fourth voice agreed, "Everybody who has a gill they don't want, put it under this tree. And everybody who wants to play for it, get out the dice and cards."
Soon, by the light of the campfire, the men began to play with the rations of whiskey as the prize. At the end of each round, the winner picked up a gill from the stockpile and downed it before the next round began.
Caleb, Maybry, and Jed were lucky. Within two hours, all the gills were gone, with a decidedly drunk core of soldiers sitting around the fire at the last.
The men who had lost got up and began to drift in various directions. But Caleb, Maybry, and some of the others were in no mood for the festivities to stop.
"Hey, I know where there're some of the cutest little mill gals just waitin' for us," Caleb said.
"Where?" Jed asked.
"Me and Maybry will take you there," Caleb offered.
"You'd better not let Captain Ferrell hear you," some-one whispered, motioning for Caleb to be quiet until the captain passed by.
"Good evenin', Captain," Jed called out.
"Time to break it up, boys," he advised. "We've got a long day ahead of us."
"Just as soon as we finish our smokes, sir."
"Well, put out the fire before you leave. There's been enough burning to last awhile."
"Till we get to Atlanta, I reckon," a voice piped up in the dark. The soldiers laughed and watched until Mars Ferrell was out of sight. Taking their time with their cigarettes, some lingered by the fire. Then, conspiratorially, the soldiers left, two by two, crossing the road and waiting until Caleb had put out the fire and joined them.
In her apartment at The Bricks, Madrigal was still awake. The night air was heavy with the odor of horses, and the slight breeze that found its way through the upstairs windows also smelled of dust, as if the June rains had never happened. In the distance was the sound of the waterfall cascading over the dam. But the mill wheel was silent.
Poor Mr. Roche. Ellie had been right, after all. The Frenchman had been arrested and taken to Marietta. Thinking about him, Madrigal climbed out of the black iron bed and walked to the window. The moon was hidden behind the clouds. But an occasional red glare flashed in the distance, lighting up the sky. Madrigal's mind turned from the manager of the mill to Private Angus Smithwick, who had kissed her by the bridge.
All of the Georgia Militia were gone now, with Roswell occupied by thousands of enemy soldiers.
A small movement along the white-graveled road caught her attention. For a moment, Madrigal strained her eyes, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then voices penetrated the silence—stealthy voices, moving along in a whisper. The moon came from out the clouds, bringing momentary light. Soldiers in blue uniforms, perhaps a dozen or more, were walking down the road. She saw them clearly until the moon went back behind the clouds.
Madrigal rushed to put on her wrapper. The gun was still hidden in the kitchen behind the cracker barrel. With bare feet, she fled down the narrow steps to retrieve it and take it upstairs with her. But before she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard an impatient knock at the door.
"Miss Madrigal," a voice called out, "can you hear me? I want you to open the door right now."
Madrigal froze. She looked in the direction of the kitchen and then toward the door with its wooden bar in place.
"Miss Madri-gal, I know you're in there. Open up!"
She heard the door rattle, and her hand flew to her throat. Finally, she spoke. "What's wrong? Who are you, and what do you want?"
"It's me—Caleb. And I've come to keep you company for the night."
"Go away, Caleb. Leave me alone."
The door rattled again. "You can't get rid of me easy as you did today, Miss Snooty."
Alarmed, Madrigal rushed toward the cracker barrel. Before she had a chance to retrieve the pistol, she heard a board splinter, and the door to her apartment fell open.
Chapter 9
As Caleb stumbled past the door and into the apartment, Madrigal blew out her candle, leaving the room in complete darkness. She didn't move.
Swearing, Caleb struck a match, and in its brief glare, he saw Madrigal standing only a few feet away. She came to life and began to move forward, trying to get past him and out the door, but he blocked her way.
"Oh, no, you don't, Madrigal. I'm not letting you run away from me this time."
"What do you want, Caleb?" she repeated.
"A little company, that's all. A soldier gets mighty lonesome around here."
He reeked with the odor of whiskey, and Madrigal knew he was drunk. Remembering the earlier days when Ben, her steppa, had come home in the same condition, she knew the best thing to do was to humor him before he started to get ugly.
"Well, why didn't you say so, Caleb? Wait a minute till I can light the candle again."
"I'll light it for you."
Disappointed at not being able to reach the kitchen, she held the candle steady while Caleb lit another match. Then she placed the candle on the table and sat down in one of the rush-bottomed chairs.
He looked at the door hanging on its hinges. "You stay where you are while I fix the door," he said, walking back to the opening and lifting the door in place. He then anchored it by placing the slat of wood back into the groove on each side.
By now, Madrigal could hear the commotion along the row of apartments and she knew that no one in The Bricks was safe from the soldiers. She thought of Ellie and Flood in the village and wondered if they were also having trouble. Poor Ellie. She was such a 'fraidy cat. And she was frightened of men more than anything else.
"What have you been doin' today, Caleb?" Madrigal inquired, as if she didn't have a care in the world.
"Hauling wood to rebuild the bridge," he answered, coming back to stand beside her at the table.
Madrigal tightened the sash of her wrapper and pushed the long red hair from her eyes.
"That must have been hard work in all this heat. When will the engineers get started on the bridge, and how long will it take?"
"You're awful talkative, Madrigal. Why do you want to know?"
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was just makin' conversation." She indicated the empty chair opposite her. "Sit down, Caleb. If you're goin' to stay awhile, you might as well get comfortable. Can I fix you a cup of coffee or tea?"
Madrigal had to get into the kitchen to retrieve the gun. But Caleb shook his head. He looked at the stairs and back at Madrigal.
"What's upstairs?"
"Oh, just another fireplace—and the rest of the apartment."
"And a nice feather mattress, I'll bet."
He stared again at Madrigal. "I been sleepin' on the ground for the past three months. I sure would like to sleep in a nice soft bed tonight."
"Well, if you want the mattress, there's not much I can do to stop you from takin' it."
"And not much you can do to stop me from taking you, too."
"Now, Caleb, you're drunk. So I'll just pretend you didn't say that. But I sure do feel sorry for you, sleepin' on the ground for so long. I wouldn't mind a bit if you went upstairs and slept off the whiskey."
He looked at her in a questioning manner, as if he couldn't quite comprehend what she was saying. "Go on, Caleb. It's all right. I'll just stay here in the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee that we can drink together when you wake up."
"Oh, no. I'm not that stupid, little redhead. Think you can get me to go upstairs, do you, just so you can run out the door?"
"Why, sir, that never entered my mind."
"Wouldn't do any good if it had. Take the candle, Madrigal. We'll go see that feather mattress together."
"You're sure you're not hungry? I got some nice leftovers…"
Caleb's laugh was ugly. "I'm hungry for something besides food," he admitted. "I'm hungry for you, redhead. And I been thi
nking this livelong day, ever since I saw you, what I was going to do about it."
Caleb suddenly grabbed her arm and began to propel her toward the stairs. "Go on, girl, up the stairs you go. I'm getting impatient."
Slowly she walked up each step, wondering what she could do to defend herself. The only weapon at hand was the candle. At the head of the stairs. Madrigal stopped, turned around like lightning and pushed the candle into Caleb's face. A yelp of pain echoed through the apartment as the light went out and Caleb lost his footing. "You little bitch," he shouted. "Now you're going to pay for that."
Madrigal didn't get far in her flight. In the darkness, she felt Caleb's hand reach out and grab her ankle as she tried to flee down the steps. Only the railing kept her from taking a nasty spill.
"No, leave me alone," she cried.
But it was too late. Caleb was stronger than she. He dragged her like a rag doll toward the iron bed, faintly framed by the light coming through the open window.
In the bedroom, Madrigal struggled, twisting and turning, to avoid the drunken Caleb. It made no difference. He was soon on top of her, pinning her to the bed as he fumbled with his uniform. And he began to touch her, just as her drunken steppa had touched her sometimes when she was younger.
Caleb's actions brought back the part of her life that she had relegated to the past, with a curtain drawn over the memory, just like the curtain that had separated the bed belonging to her mother and Ben from her own bed.
But then the flames that had only been banked were stirred up again, awakening the errotic appetite that had been force-fed by Ben. Despite herself, she began to twist and turn in a different manner—not against Caleb, but with him, becoming the willing receptacle for his every thrust. And she hated him; for he had made her a twelve-year-old again, alone in the shack with her steppa. He was the one on top of her.
"You're bad, Madrigal. And it's gonna be your fault when I leave your ma one of these days. I can see her face cave in when I tell her what we've been doin' behind her back."
"But it wasn't my fault, Ben. I didn't want you to do it."
"Not at first, anyway. But you love it now, girl. Don't you? Admit it feels good, Madrigal."
The Roswell Women Page 6
