And in the quietness, Allison wept.
Chapter 19
Addie and Rena, aware of Alma's delusion concerning Allison's baby, were strangely silent. No barbed remarks struck an unsuspecting target. It was almost as if the two troublemakers were bystanders, watching this new development and waiting to see what would happen next between Allison and Alma. Then, too, Rena's mind was on Caddie, who'd evidently eaten something that had made her sick.
For Allison, this part of the journey was extremely difficult. As her strength began to return slowly, she longed to resume the total care of her child, but Alma Brady had moved to the innermost corner of the boxcar and taken Morrow with her. Allison couldn't help but feel rejected, for the baby seemed content being nourished by the other woman.
Rebecca sensed Allison's sadness as the monotonous sound of the train lulled them into a near stupor. "Have you decided what you're gonna do about Alma, Miss Allison?"
"I can't see that any good will come with a battle over the baby, especially in this crowded boxcar. Perhaps when the train stops, I can take Alma aside and talk with her."
Several hours later, that opportunity came when the train ran out of fuel and had to make an emergency stop.
It was a hazardous spot, situated as it was on the other side of a tunnel blasted from the stone heart of the mountain terrain.
While half the guards took their axes and went in search of wood to feed the dying engine, the others set up a well-planned watch around the women who were allowed out of the boxcars to stretch.
In front of them, a chalky bluff, with a few straggly cedars bent at angles by the wind, delineated the boundary where land ended in a steep precipice and low-hanging clouds began, obscuring the valley below. Directly above them, the train sat, wheezing its last fiery breath.
Allison, too weak to go far, had chosen a spot to rest while Rebecca went foraging for both of them. Because of the heat, she removed the widow's cap to allow the sun in her hair. Cropped short, it stuck out in small bunches, reminding her of the difficult time she'd come through.
As she looked back at the train, she saw a guard standing on top of one of the boxcars and watching them all. His legs were spread apart, and he held the musket in his hands as if he were ready to use it at the first sign of mutiny among the women. She had noticed him before—a man totally without compassion. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with an undisguised line of cruelty running from the corners of his mouth to the granite-gray eyes. For a brief second, their eyes met. And then Allison, feeling vulnerable, covered her head again and, with a shiver, turned her back to him.
The guard, Wolf Perkin, saw Allison's reaction to him and was gratified. Several of the women from boxcar eleven had escaped the day before, and he had been blamed for it—a blemish on his record, coming at a bad time because he was waiting for a promotion. He had sworn that no others would escape while he was guarding them.
As he surveyed the women before him, he sensed their desperation. Haunted expressions marked their faces. He had seen the same look on his hunting dogs that he starved for days before a big hunt. That made them better hunters, with no quarter given for any animal they tracked down in the forest. But he had to be careful. If he waited too long to feed them, the dogs would turn on their own pack.
He continued to watch the woman who had lost her beautiful blonde hair. Finally, he saw her get up and walk over to another woman sitting by herself. A baby rested on a shawl on the ground beside her.
"Alma?"
"What is it?"
Allison swallowed and prayed that the speech she'd rehearsed for two days would come out right. "You've been so wonderful these past few days while I was ill. And I owe you so much."
"For what?"
"For taking care of Morrow and feeding her when I was unable to do so."
"Morrow? Who's she?"
"My child. The one sleeping beside you."
"You must be mistaken, Allison. This is Lovey Lou."
"No, Alma. You're only pretending. But I understand. You see, I know how much it hurt to bury your little Robert back there along the tracks, and if taking care of Morrow and pretending she's yours helped to ease some of the pain for a while, I'm glad. But it isn't good for you to keep on pretending. The child is mine and you'll have to give her back to me soon."
Before Allison could stop her, Alma snatched up the baby and began to run toward the precipice. "You'll never take Lovey Lou from me."
"Alma, stop! Please don't go any farther."
Rebecca, returning from foraging, heard Allison's cry before she saw what was happening. And then she saw Alma running toward the bluff with the baby in her arms.
"Lordy! Lordy! Alma's gonna jump with the baby. We've got to stop her."
Rebecca's warning alerted Flood and Madrigal, also returning from gathering pods and green shoots along the mountainside. In amazement they heard Alma scream, "Don't you come near me, Allison. I'll jump. I swear it."
When Allison remained frozen where she was, Flood slowly edged her way around the others.
In a soothing voice, Flood called out, "Alma, I found some queen-of-the-meadow roots for you. I know you've been lookin' for some these past few days." She watched Alma pause, then continued, "Madrigal's makin' a fire right now. I thought we'd boil the roots for tea. Would you like that?"
When Alma still hesitated, she said, "Bring Lovey Lou over to the fire. I expect you're real thirsty."
Alma's head lifted and she gazed at Allison, who still hadn't moved. "I might join you. That is, if you keep Allison away."
"Why, sure, Alma. It'll just be the two of us. With Lovy Lou, of course."
Allison was immensely relieved when she saw Alma turn from the bluff and begin to follow Flood.
Later, a dejected Allison sat apart, hunched over and clasping her arms around her knees. She was still shaking from the near tragedy. Sitting down beside her, Rebecca reached over and squeezed her hand in sympathy. "We got to be more'n careful, Miss Allison."
"I know, Rebecca. I handled that badly. But I never dreamed that Morrow would be placed in such danger."
"I guess it caught all of us off guard. Alma's sicker than anybody ever imagined. But we'll stick together, Miss Allison, closer'n a tick to a dog's ear. And when the right time comes, we'll get Morrow back. Don't you worry."
But Allison made no further attempt that day to settle matters with Alma Brady.
Within a half hour, with the wood loaded in the hopper behind the engine, the women were summoned to the train, and the engine, making up for lost time, hurtled its way toward Nashville.
Two years previously, the Tennessee city built on the banks of the Cumberland River had been an important rail center for the Confederacy, with a junction of three main lines—the Nashville and Chattanooga, the Central of Alabama, and the Louisville and Nashville. With its giant depots filled with munitions and supplies, the city had been a prime target for General Grant's gunboats and his successful Army of the Tennesee.
On a bitterly cold day in 1862, when the sleet and the defeated troops from Fort Donelson arrived at the same time, Nashville's citizens, in a state of panic, had vied with the wounded for places on the last Confederate trains leaving Nashville.
Now, in 1864, in the heat of waning summer, the same platform was crowded with other civilians as the long train, with too many empty spaces in the boxcars, finally drew into the station.
Many of the people waiting to catch a glimpse of its passengers were merely curious; others were truly concerned over the condition of the deported Confederate women prisoners.
In the headquarters of the military Division of Mississippi, General Webster heard the news—that the women and children had finally arrived. And he rued that July day he had received Sherman's message. Even the northern newspapers were having a field day following the progress of the women.
Webster stared down at the Philadelphia Patriot and Union that some anonymous officer on his staff had left on his desk.
>
…Our generals out west are very busy sending the ladies back and forth. Sherman sends from Georgia 200 or 300 helpless factory girls north—to starve—while Rosecrans is packing them by the dozens south from Missouri. Between the vandalism of Hunter, the barbarity of Sherman and Rosecrans, and the lawlessness of Banks, the country will need peace to keep us all from the horrors of a Tartar civilization.
But the reporter didn't have his numbers correct. Webster already had on his hands a total of fifteen hundred women, children, and babies—to feed and to shelter. And if these women from Roswell and Sweet-water were in no better condition than the ones who had arrived earlier, then he would have the added expense of pine coffins, too.
"General Webster, sir?"
The Union general looked up from his desk. "Yes, Curry?"
"The deportation train has pulled into the station."
"Have the engineer brought to me."
"Yes, sir."
The soldier did as he was told. He walked through the crowd that jammed the platform and approached the engine just as the engineer climbed down from his tall perch.
"Just a minute, mister," the soldier called out, "General Webster wants to see you."
"Then tell him I'll be over at the Watauga Saloon rinsing the dust out of my throat."
"I don't think you understand, mister. The general has jurisdiction over everybody on the train, including you. He's waiting at headquarters. And I'd advise you not to wait much longer. He's not in the best of moods."
While the unwilling engineer went with Curry, the guards who had traveled with the train all the way from Marietta to Nashville began to open the boxcars for the last time. Their duty was ended once the women were put in the care of General Webster.
"I never knew a train trip could be so long," Alonzo Puckett complained to Tom. "I feel like I've been to hell and back. And just look at the blisters on my hands from chopping all that wood for the engine."
While Puckett complained, Tom helped the women down from the boxcars, going to the rescue of several of the older ones whose legs doubled under them when they tried to stand and some of the younger ones too small to negotiate the jump themselves.
Tom watched for Madrigal. When she appeared, he leaned toward her and whispered, "I'll find you tonight. After you get settled."
"You promise?"
With a silent gesture, he used his hand to cross his heart, but with Puckett staring, he quickly returned his attention to the other women.
He saw Alma Brady standing in the opening of the wooden car. For a moment, she clutched Morrow to her bosom and hesitated to jump until Tom came to her aid. He held out his arms to take the baby as he had done with Caddie and some of the other children.
When she finally relinquished the child to Tom, Alma said, "Be careful of my Lovey Lou. I wouldn't want you to drop her."
Tom frowned. He knew that the baby's name was Morrow and that she didn't belong to Alma; for he had dug the grave for Alma's little boy in the meadow. He would never forget how it had torn his insides to watch her smoothing the dirt mound and to hear her sing that strange song over and over before Allison got her back to the train. But Allison Forsyth had been ill for the past week or more. Maybe that was why Alma was still caring for the baby.
As soon as Alma jumped to the ground, she was followed by Flood. Then came Rebecca, helping Allison. The woman still looked pale and weak, but she smiled when she saw Tom with the baby. As a matter of course he held out the baby for her to take.
Suddenly, Alma pushed herself between Tom and Allison and shrieked, " Don't you dare give my Lovey Lou to anybody but me."
"Ma'am?" Tom looked from one woman to the other. By that time, the people on the platform had become interested in the exchange. Morrow started to cry and Allison, realizing that the platform was too public a place to have it out with Alma, finally nodded and said to the guard, "Give the baby to Alma for the moment, Mr. Traymore."
After he had done so, Tom stood by the boxcar and watched the procession with Alma being carefully escorted by four women—Flood and Madrigal on either side of her, and Allison and Rebecca following closely behind.
An hour later, the women were resting in refugee quarters. New guards were now assigned to watch over them, to keep them from escaping. But they were in no condition to do anything but eat the first hot meal they'd had in days and then find rest on the narrow cots that seemed like heaven after the discomfort of the boxcars. Allison, choosing a cot not too far from Alma, kept her eyes on her child, all the while praying that it wouldn't be too much longer before she was able to nurse her again.
That night, with the eruption of every little noise, Madrigal, close to the window, lifted her head and waited to be summoned to the gate. But Tom Traymore never came. Finally, in the wee hours of the night, when she could no longer stay awake, a disappointed Madrigal laid her head on the makeshift pillow and went to sleep.
For two days, Madrigal waited for Tom to appear. But by the third day, when the women were separated into smaller units to be moved to another building, she became reconciled to the fact that she would never see him again. She would have to find some other means of escape.
It galled her that she had allowed Tom all those liberties, especially at the creek. But she knew that he wasn't the only one responsible for her present condition. The culprit was Caleb, taking her that night in her apartment at The Bricks. She hadn't told anyone what she suspected. Not even Flood.
With a slight feeling of nausea, she slung her small clothing bundle over her shoulder and followed Rebecca, Allison, and Alma out of the gate toward the smaller building a hundred yards away.
Standing outside the gate was Tom Traymore. When Madrigal saw him, her eyes darkened and she turned her head away so that she wouldn't have to speak to the soldier who had betrayed her.
"Madrigal, wait!"
His insistent voice caused her to look around. He motioned for her to come closer and the faint hope of escape was born again.
"Be ready around midnight tonight, Madrigal. I'm coming for you then."
"I got no timepiece, Tom."
"Just listen for the hoot of an owl outside the window. That'll be the signal to slip out. I've already arranged it with one of the guards to be looking the other way."
Madrigal didn't know why she felt so stubborn. And when she'd said it, she was even more surprised than Tom. "I can't leave without my friends."
For a moment, he stared at her. Then he said, "How many?"
"Well, there's Flood. And Allison with her baby. And Rebecca, too."
A soldier escorting the small group of women stopped and pointed a finger at Madrigal. "You, young woman, stop loitering."
"I'll be there in a minute."
The love shone in Tom's eyes. "All right, Madrigal. Have your way. I guess there'll be enough room for them, too."
A pleased Madrigal rushed to catch up with the others. Once she was in the group, Addie, as usual, had her say about the red-haired girl's flirting with the Union soldier. But Madrigal didn't even respond. By midnight, she was going to be free. And Addie wasn't.
Madrigal skipped along, making a slight pirouette in her shabby calico dress. Her red hair was matted, but her skin was white and smooth. With her topaz eyes showing her excitement, she reached out and tugged at Allison's sleeve.
"I've got the answer, Allison. Tonight, you'll have your brat to yourself."
Chapter 20
Situated in a small wooden building not far from the rail tracks, Allison had listened all day to the familiar whistles of incoming and outgoing trains, had heard the shifting back and forth of locomotives and the abrupt, clanging noises that accompanied the uncoupling of cars. The steady songs of the work crew also filled the air—the rich, hypnotic rhythm so peculiar to the field songs of the South.
But once darkness descended on the town, the work songs gave way to peals of female laughter, answered by a masculine roar, a shot fired, and pigs squealing in the street.
Allison had immediate sympathy for the animals looking for food. After having to subsist on roots, berries, and nuts, the women had been driven into near frenzy at the aroma of potatoes and a little fat meat served to them. What consternation it had produced when they had eaten so ravenously and then, one by one, lost it all. If it had not been for Flood's saving a queen-of-the-meadow root for soothing tea, Allison doubted that either she or Madrigal would have survived the night.
Only now, after several days' rest, were the women beginning to realize what they had been through. And even worse, what was still ahead of them. They had come only halfway on the journey north. Allison could sense the hopelessness in some of the less sturdy women—that they might not be alive when the deportation train reached its final destination beyond the Ohio River.
That was one of the reasons why Allison, sick from the fever, had not wrested Morrow from Alma, once and for all. For Alma was one of the strong ones. Her round face, with its freckles sprinkled across her nose, did not resemble a mask of death but of life. If Allison died, she knew her child would be taken by Alma as her own.
Now, Madrigal had given Allison reprieve, hope, and the opportunity to reclaim her baby.
She waited in the dark for the signal Madrigal had told her to listen for. But she was so tired. She fought the sleep that threatened her. She must remain awake; for when the signal came she had only a moment to get to Alma's cot, take the baby, and then slip out of the building to go to the wagon hidden in the alley.
Close to the window, Madrigal O'Laney lay on her cot and listened to every sound. The night noises were subsiding and she was glad. Inside the small barracks, Flood's snore was conspicuously absent. That meant the woman was still awake.
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