The Roswell Women

by Statham, Frances Patton

  "Stop talking such nonsense, Rebecca. Hurry and get this terrible-smelling clabber off my face. I have more important things to do than sit here wasting time."

  "Such as?"

  "Well, taking Morrow for a walk, for one thing."

  Less than a half hour later, Allison and Morrow were winding their way across the meadow to the shade tree when Rad came down the drive. Seated in the carriage with him was Big Caesar. Allison waved as the carriage passed by.

  "Da-da," said Morrow.

  "No, darling. That's the major. Can you say 'major'?"

  "Da-da," Morrow repeated, oblivious to the exasperation she caused her mother.

  To take Morrow's mind off the man, she said, "Let's go to see the chickens. I need to gather the eggs before we go back inside."

  Later, with the eggs tied up in her apron, Allison began the walk back to the house. She was careful to hold on to Morrow with her other hand to make sure the child did not stumble again. Her little face was still bruised from the fall down the stairs, but the cut looked much better. And Allison was relieved that no scar would remain as a permanent reminder of the accident.

  "Miss Allison?"

  She heard Rebecca's voice calling from the kitchen steps near the herb garden. "I'm coming, Rebecca."

  The black woman rushed down the path to meet Allison. "Here, let me take Morrow, The major wants to see you in the parlor immediately."

  "The parlor? You're sure he isn't in his study?"

  "He's in the parlor, Miss Allison. And I think you'd better not keep him waitin'."

  "Be careful with the eggs," she said, also handing over the apron to the woman.

  "Smooth your hair," Rebecca admonished. "You look a shambles."

  Allison glared at the woman. "You certainly are bossy today."

  "It's my right to be. Remember, I've looked after you almost from the time you were born."

  "When you were all of eight years old."

  "Stop sparrin' with me and go on into the parlor."

  A reluctant Allison went inside the house. The past two days with the major away had been blissful. Now she wondered what new work he had dreamed up to keep them all busier than ever.

  Chapter 34

  "You sent fo me, Major?"

  She stood in the open doorway of the front parlor and waited to be acknowledged. Despite her outward, self-assured demeanor, there was a certain vulnerability about her that could not be disguised. It showed in her eyes—those incredible amethyst eyes the color of fine Venetian glass—and in the flutter of her hand that reminded Rad of the graceful movement of a willow branch bending to the wind.

  Abruptly, he stood up and walked to the window to give himself time to regain his composure and the formal manner of the previous weeks. And when he turned around again, he indicated the slipper chair beside the settee where he had been sitting. "Sit down, Allison."

  She was not prepared for his voice, so harsh and so distant. "If it's all right with you, I prefer to stand."

  "It is not all right, so please take a seat."

  Allison slowly moved to the chair, but her eyes challenged him in an accusing manner. As he gazed back at her, she didn't waver. Suddenly, there was something else beyond the challenge that bound the two together in the uncomfortable silence that filled the room. But Allison waited, watching him, determined not to give in as some are prone to do, to say something inane because of another person's refusal to speak.

  He moved from the window and took his place again on the settee opposite her. "Your face is burned."

  It was not what she expected to hear from him. "Yes, but it's not surprising after our day in the tobacco field."

  He nodded as if agreeing with her. "I've gotten Royal Freemont to let me hire Big Caesar for the rest of the season. That should ease matters with the tobacco crop. From now on, you will not be required to work outside in the sun. Instead, you will be responsible for the smooth running of the house."

  "What about Rebecca and Flood?"

  "They are to continue as they are."

  "I'm sorry, Major, but the three of us are in this together. In the past, we've shared the chores equally, and I fully expect to continue doing so until we leave here."

  As a passage of cloud obscures the waning moon and then moves on, a sudden darkness appeared in Rad's eyes. "You don’t have a choice, Allison. You're not three women trying to hold things together until the owner comes home. I am home and in full charge, make no mistake. There's no need to tell me what you will do and will not do. I give the orders around here now."

  Allison's face showed her anger. She stood. "Well, I think you've made yourself perfectly clear, Major. So, if that's all, then I'd like to finish my chores for today."

  "No, that isn't all. I've decided that you and your child are to move from the attic into one of the larger bedrooms on the second floor. Even if you have no regard for your baby's safety, I do. And I don't wish a repetition of several mornings ago. The next time, she might not be so lucky."

  A chagrined Allison gripped the back of the chair with her hands. What could she say? He was right, of course. It was another indictment against her—this time, as a mother. She finally looked up, swallowed, and said, "Which one?"

  "The large corner room at the end of the hall. The baby should rest better in the summer heat because of the cross ventilation of the windows."

  Allison did not give up without a fight. "Morrow is still a baby—with fretful times of crying. Won't she disturb your sleep by being on the same floor?"

  "After trying to sleep through the hellish noise of war, a baby's cry isn't going to disturb me, I assure you."

  "Then I’ll move our things down this afternoon. Are there any further orders?"

  "Yes. The dining room is to be set for two. Beginning tonight, you'll have your meals in the dining room with me."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but Rad dismissed her. "That will be all, Allison. Until tonight."

  She whirled around, her petticoats rustling as she swept from the room. Rad watched her go and then sat down again.

  He should have known about the woman, been more observant of her—especially her soft, cultured speech. But he'd had to be hit over the head first by her servant, Rebecca Smiley, before he noticed.

  His two days in Louisville had been eye-opening—both at the military prison and then at army headquarters, waiting for the reports to come through.

  Yet Rad knew he shouldn't have been surprised at what he discovered, for innocent civilians in the corridors of war had always suffered as much as those fighting on the battlefields. In one way, though, it was worse. For civilians were the defenseless ones, without guns, without redress from a military tribunal.

  He knew, too, that the atrocities were not completely one-sided. Although it was easier for Allison to believe the worst of the Yankees because of her own experience, she had not seen the devastation done by Morgan and some of the others to their own people. Perhaps one day she could gain a true perspective, but not now. She was too tied up in her own hurt. And he couldn't blame her.

  Rad left the parlor and went outside to find Big Caesar. For the next week, they would both be cutting down the timber to cure, for the eventual replacement of the cottage.

  In the attic, Allison began to pack her few dresses and Morrow's things. Minutes later, she was on the second floor in the bedroom Rad Meadors had designated for her.

  As she began placing her belongings in the beautiful old clothespress opposite the burled walnut bed with its high curved pediment reaching almost to the ceiling, she realized the room was much more suitable for Morrow. Hidden by the lace ruffle that fell gracefully from the bed to the floor was a small trundle bed, where Morrow could sleep.

  There was something feminine about this room that reminded Allison of her own at Cypress Manor, with the little extra room adjacent to it, where the marble stand holding pitcher and basin stood near the dressing table. Even the old china chamber pot, decorated with pink ro
ses, was vaguely familiar.

  Looking at the room and its annex, Allison was glad that there was nothing in it to remind her of Rose Mallow. It was better that way—better not to recall the reality that had vanished as suddenly as the seeds of a dandelion scattered by the wind. Better to remember the girlish dreams half-born in the mind. They were much easier to live with.

  Allison looked out the window as Rad Meadors disappeared beyond the orchard. Despite her bravado, she was afraid of him. For she knew in her heart that one day he would force her to deal with that reality—all the things she had buried in some, deep, dark cavern never to be explored again. And at that moment, she hated him for it. It was almost as if he had willingly gone out of his way to evoke some response, some feeling from her, to bring her out of the numbness that had enveloped her ever since that day at the memorial service when Captain Coin Forsyth's soul had been offered up to God for safekeeping.

  The slight breeze through the open window grazed Allison's face. She felt its cooling touch upon her flushed cheeks. But then the soft, sweet music of a bird began, bringing back memories. "Hush, little baby…"

  Quickly, Allisoin pulled down the window, shutting out the sound and the grief from her heart.

  That evening, when the shadows had spread over the meadows and invaded the house, Allison lit the candles on the dining room table. She had seen to it that the candelabra , ornate with the trappings of some English silversmith, was squarely in the middle of the table. She had done as Rad Meadors had ordered, and now the two places were set, far apart, one at each end of the long, polished table.

  She stood in front of the fireplace, which was filled with the scent of fresh green leaves. Even Rebecca seemed to be in league with the man; for when Allison had walked into the kitchen, she had been shooed out with a strong scolding.

  "I'll serve the dinner tonight, Miss Allison. Just like I used to at Rose Mallow. And I don’t need your help. You go on into the dinin' room. I'll be there in a minute."

  Now, she stood, waiting for the major to appear and feeling sorry for herself. She had been banished from the kitchen, from the camaraderie between Flood and Rebecca. But she certainly didn't feel at ease at the same table with Major Rad Meadors.

  "Good evening, Allison."

  "Good evening, Major."

  He started to correct her and then thought better of it. "Are you ready to be seated?"

  "Yes."

  He walked to the end of the table and held the chair for her as if she were an honored guest. "Thank you."

  Rebecca chose that moment to come in with the large tray of food. Allison noticed that the woman had raided the pantry of some of the delicacies they had put up in Mason jars the previous summer, when the threat of winter was uppermost in their minds. Once Rad had been served, Allison took little. Frugality had become a way of life to her.

  Rebecca said nothing about the small helping. She was too busy examining Allison's appearance. She was gratified that her hair was in place and her dull grey dress with white collar flattering to her trim figure. Even her burned complexion, framed in the soft glow of light, was hardly noticeable. There were only two things wrong. One, Rebecca knew she could fix. The other would have to be left up to the major.

  Before Rebecca departed to the kitchen, she pushed the candelabra aside so that the view from one place to the other at the end of the table was unobstructed,

  Allison glared at Rebecca, but it did no good. Only Rad seemed to notice her silent protest.

  "There's no need for you to be aggravated with Rebecca, Allison. If she hadn't seen fit to move the candles, I would have done so myself."

  Allison made no comment. Keeping her silence, she picked up her fork and began to eat slowly.

  "This won't work, you know."

  She gazed up in surprise.

  "You think you're going to freeze me out by your silence so that I'll banish you back to the kitchen."

  Allison smiled in spite of herself. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Yes. Something I might expect of Morrow, but certainly not her mother."

  His comment made her ashamed. "I'm sorry. But somehow I can't…I just can't…"

  "I understand, Allison, how difficult it is for you to sit at the same table with a Yankee, especially after what has happened in your life. But if two intelligent adults cannot sort things out and make some effort toward reconciliation and understanding, then there's no hope for the nation. We will always be divided."

  "We were divided long before the war began, Major. And it will take more than a few platitudes for the breach to be healed. If it ever is…"

  Rad smiled. "I have no wish to solve the nation's ills tonight, Allison. I'm only asking for a truce for the next several months."

  "Yes, of course. Once the tobacco is harvested…"

  "What are your plans when you leave here?"

  "I'll take Morrow and go back to Savannah, to Cypress Manor. That is, if it's still standing."

  "You have no desire to return to Roswell?"

  "No. I have no relatives there. Only sad memories."

  Rad nodded. "Tell me about your childhood in Savannah."

  Allison hesitated. She knew that he was just making conversation to pass the time at the table. She put her animosity behind her and responded as she would have if she had been dining with a friend instead of an enemy.

  "It was quite ordinary. We were a small family—just my brother Jonathan, my parents, and me. My mother died when I was ten years old, and once my brother had left to study under the Reverend Pratt, my father began to tutor me himself. We spent many long hours together, discussing philosophy and reading the classics…"

  A faraway look enveloped her as the candles flickered and burned. She was traveling where Rad could not follow—deep into the past. Suddenly, the hiss of tallow melting brought her back with a start.

  "And you? What about your childhood?"

  "Quite ordinary, also. My own mother died in childbirth with another son. Glenn was eight and I was twelve. My father never got over the loss." His eyes narrowed. "There's something about you that reminds me of her."

  "It's the dress, if you remember."

  "I must confess that I was quite irate when I first recognized it. But no. There's something else about you—your blonde hair, perhaps…"

  "You don't look at all like your brother."

  "No. Nor my father, either. I used to wonder if he hadn't found me somewhere and brought me home—a waif by the side of the road. And then I found a picture of an uncle who went out to California. And I stared at my own image. It was quite a relief, I assure you, to one small boy to find someone in the family he resembled."

  Rebecca stood in the shadows and listened unashamedly to the conversation. She counted on her fingers the number of weeks before the tobacco crop would be harvested. And she prayed that it would be long enough.

  Chapter 35

  September's fire spread over the land, with the leaves of the trees bleeding red. The golden tobacco leaves hanging in the log barns were seared by the same heat that fanned through the apple orchards, changing colors from green to gold and then to scarlet. And on the distant horizon, the sun, like a burning red ember, scorched the earth with its heat.

  In the corner bedroom of the redbrick Kentucky plantation house, no breeze stirred as Allison sewed the dress that she had cut out long ago for Flood.

  Their work on the land was finally finished. At that moment, Rad and Big Caesar were loading the cured tobacco onto the wagon to take to the auction barn. In another day or so, the women would be paid from the proceeds and then they could be on their way.

  While Allison sewed, Morrow played in the annex, content to use the remnants of material that Allison had given her to dress her rag doll. And while she played, she jabbered and sang, causing Allison to smile as she listened.

  At the knock on the open door, Allison looked up. "Come in, Flood. I'm almost finished."

  The large, heavyset woman, still dressed in t
rousers and shirt, walked inside. She looked at the table where a shabby valise from the attic sat open, waiting for Allison to finish packing her own clothes.

  "Well, it won’t be long now," the woman commented.

  "No, it won’t. In another day or so. But I never thought the time would come. I suppose the children of Israel felt this way, too, leaving Egypt."

  "Let's just hope we won't have to wander around in the wilderness for forty years like they did, before gettin' home," Flood said.

  "It shouldn't take more than a week to ten days," Allison said. Then she laughed. "I never thought I'd ever look forward to riding on a train again."

  "But it will be different this time. We can get off and break the trip whenever we want."

  "And order food at the railroad hotels, too. No more foraging in the woods for berries or nuts."

  Allison snipped the last thread from the hem and turned the dress right-side-out. "Well, now, this is the moment of truth. Let's see if it fits you, Flood."

  The woman took the dress into the annex. "Run along to your mother, Morrow. Flood has to change clothes."

  The child picked up the scraps from the floor, packed them in a small case and, with the doll in her arms, walked into the bedroom. A child's wicker rocking chair sat under one of the windows. Morrow dropped the case, climbed into the chair, and began to rock her doll to sleep.

  Before Flood had time to put on the dress for Allison's inspection, Rebecca walked up the stairs and called out, "Mr. Freemont's in the parlor, Miss Allison. Said he needs to see you right away."

  "Serve him something cool to drink, Rebecca. And tell him I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

  Royal Freemont felt awkward. He was dressed in his Sunday summer suit, even though it was the middle of the week. He laid his straw hat on the settee beside him.

  He would just as soon be having a tooth yanked out by the local barber than to be where he was at the moment. But he had made up his mind. And there was nothing to do but speak his piece.