An Uncivilized Yankee

by V. V. Wedding

  Wrong. That was wrong. Papa was always neatly, almost compulsively, organized; Star took after him in that respect.

  She picked up the top paper off a sprawling pile. It was a bill of sale from the previous spring. For one gray four year old filly, Woodhaven Athena, out of Woodhaven Minerva and Juggernaut. Price: 150 US dollars. The bill crumpled in her whitening fist.

  “You lying thief,” she whispered. Isaac told her Athena had disappeared, stolen no doubt from the south pasture in the night. Athena, another of Iris’ half sisters, a filly with such promise that Star was determined to keep her as part of Woodhaven’s breeding line. Not to mention the fact that she had been a good friend. She dropped the ball of paper as if it burned. As she did, a glint of metal caught her eye, the edge of a pewter frame holding a hand tinted ambrotype. A picture of her cousins, a recent picture. She grabbed the frame, ignoring the pain of the sharp corner digging into the flesh of her palm, and glared at the hated faces, at Jake’s predatory smile, Leah’s debutante pout.

  Where did you get the money, Isaac Bancroft? I know you haven’t any of your own left—I’ve heard you complain about that often enough. So where did you get the money? Did you use some of the money from Athena’s sale for this? Money stolen from me? As you’ve stolen everything else from me?

  With a muffled shriek, she hurled it across the room. There was a clang of metallic thunder, a tinkling of little glass raindrops, as the frame and glass shattered against the stone mantelpiece. She stared after it for a moment before collapsing into her papa’s chair, drawing up her knees under her chin and huddling there as if the leather arms could wrap around her in comfort. How long she remained like that, mind lost in a storm of grief and anger, she didn’t know. But the rain had stopped and a bright afternoon sun streamed in the window when she finally forced herself up and out of the chair’s warm safety. She gave it a gentle pat, and stumbled across the room, fumbling for her stack of books as she passed the table.

  Closing the door behind her, she became aware of loud voices—Jake and his father were arguing outside the parlor. Blast, she thought, then froze in the shadows at the foot of the stairs, stunned motionless by what she heard.

  “Damn you, boy, if you let this estate slip out of your hands this time, I swear…!”

  “Settle down, will you? I’ll give you Woodhaven as a Christmas gift. Will that make you happy? What color ribbon would you like on it?”

  “Christmas? And how will you manage that, Jacob? I've seen her what, a dozen times since coming home? She’s like a ghost here, her and that blasted horse of hers.”

  A knowing laugh. “Oh, I’ve seen plenty of her. Like a ghost, she does come out at night. Hides in there with Ma and Leah and the cripple. Always has her nose buried a book, Leah says. And I know when she goes out riding, and her favorite hiding places, like the stable and the gazebo and the little room at the head of the stairs. I even know when she crawls in her window late at night. Never fear, Pa—I know exactly when and where to corner my elusive cousin.”

  “And what then when you do get her cornered, as you so delicately put it? She’ll fight you, you know. And with your hand—”

  “Leave off, old man! My hand may be missing, but I’m still more than a match for a mere girl! Besides, she might find she likes being mastered. She certainly needs the taming.”

  Star clutched the books tighter, trying not to drop them and run screaming from the house. Oh God, no! She crept up the stairs to her room and locked the door behind her.

  Curled up on the window seat, she began to plan. I can’t stay here much longer, or I will end up like Aunt Eliza. What about Dani? I’m sorry, dearest, but at least you’ll understand this time. I’ve already stashed my things in Iris’ stall—He’ll not go in there. But where to go? Go back to the cavalry? Without Will? She shook her head, biting down hard on her lower lip to hold back the tears. Too many memories. And even if I could find the general, I’m not sure he’d let me stay. Then it must be north, to Boston this time. She tried to remember the maps she’d seen laid out on numerous camp tables or sketched in the dirt. Probably can’t get through to the east. Too well guarded, by both sides. Maybe if I head due north, aim for Harper’s Ferry. That’ll take me up through Loudoun….

  She felt the first stirrings of hope. That’s Major Mosby’s territory up there. He’ll help me. A flash of memory, of the blue eyed scout crouched beside her as Travis bled beneath her hands. Travis. She’d be traveling through Pennsylvania, maybe even close to Gettysburg…? Sighing deeply, she let go of that brief bright fantasy. No, I’ll just find my way to Mosby, and take it from there.

  Now that a decision had been made, that plans for escape were in place, Starla suddenly felt drained.

  “A good, brisk ride is what I need,” she said to the empty room. Lifting the window sash, she swung out the window, shimmied down the dogwood, and ran for the stables, praying that no one saw her leave.

  She heard Iris’s screams even before she reached the stable. Flinging open the door, she saw Iris cross tied in place, but still trying to rear and plunge. There was blood dripping down her sleek hide. Jake held her bridle in hand, cursing at the horse as he whipped the reins at her once more.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Star squealed, anger blinding her to any danger to herself.

  “Going for a ride,” he replied through gritted teeth, advancing on the mare.

  “Like hell you are!” She darted forward and grabbed the bridle, trying to tug it from his grip. “Not on my horse, you aren’t!”

  He swung around to face her, amber eyes lit like a rabid fox. She realized just how precarious her situation was and backed away slightly, reins still clutched tight.

  “That’s right, my dear Estella. Fear me, for I am going to gentle you, just like this beast of yours.” Ripping the bridle from her suddenly nerveless grasp, he lashed out with it. She screamed as the straps caught her across the breasts and face, and again, scoring a thin scarlet line down her cheek. He stopped, the bridle beginning to smoke in his grip. She raised a trembling hand to her face, pulled it away sticky with blood.

  “You bastard,” she whispered, holding her hand before her in disbelief.

  Jake stared at her with a predatory gleam, licked his lips, advanced towards her. He stopped abruptly when she yanked the Deringer from her pocket. “Remember what we did to you the last time you tried to corner me? Well, this time I’ve more than teeth and pain to protect me.”

  “Put away your pretty little toy, Estella,” he mocked. “You haven’t the spine to use it.”

  She cocked the hammer back. “Don’t be so sure.”

  He dropped the bridle, lifted his good hand. There was a flash of fire, and she dropped the suddenly white hot gun into the dirt with a cry.

  “Tsk, tsk. What a shame. You know, I think the time has come for you to have your first lesson in submission, coz.” He reached out and caught her arm in an iron grip.

  You were right, Travis, was her only coherent thought. With a sob, she caught his aura and began to force it through chill purple into pain. His face hardened; he growled and pulled her closer.

  “Not going to work this time, you little bi—” He broke off with a gasp as the color shifted into a mottled brown. He thrust her away from himself, cursing, and fell to his knees.

  Fleeing to Iris’ side, she untied her, collapsed against the warm flank for a brief moment. Then it was up on the broad gray back and out of the stable without a backward glance. She didn’t bother to open the paddock gate; Iris cleared the fence easily and continued on down the hill and up the road at a ground eating pace.

  Star gave Iris her head, conscious only of putting as many miles as possible between herself and Woodhaven. It wasn’t until the mare splashed through a shallow stream, quite soaking them both, that she realized where they were heading. That little runlet fed into Flat Run, and up ahead was Brandy Station, a scattering of houses strung along the railroad tracks. Almost before she knew it,
Iris had swept through the town, halting at the top of a low rise.

  “Oh my,” she murmured. Stretched out before her, in long ribbons of color and flashing steel, was cavalry. Hundreds of cavalrymen, in perfect formation, moving across the fields outside Brandy Station. Walking Iris back and forth to cool her down, she watched them charge and wheel and reform in mock battles. And aloft it all snapped a proud, blood red flag. Which could mean only one thing: General Stuart was right here, right across the tracks. She slid to the ground, shoulders drooping as if the string of tension that had held them up had suddenly been cut. “If the need … ever arises again….” General Stuart, sir, I am so sorry, but I am certainly in need again.

  A breeze blew cool against the throbbing of her face and neck; she could feel the stiffness already where her cheek was crusting over.

  I must look a sight indeed, she thought bitterly. What an idiot I was. I should have shot first, instead of waving the gun around and giving him time to react. She had a sudden delightful vision of Jake’s body snapping backwards as the Deringer’s shot took him square in the chest. She smiled grimly, then sobered. Murder. Will it come to that? Were I to go over there now, I doubt very highly if the general would let me go back. Nor would I argue with him about it. But I promised Danica I would tell her before I left again.

  She sat down in the soft summer grass and stared longingly at the grand review. All I want is to run away, to rush down there and find safety….

  “I didn’t run from the growling dog this time, Will,” she said aloud, “and look where it has gotten me.” Reduced to haunting my own home like a wraith, beaten by my own kin. She wrapped her arms around her knees, wishing for strong arms around her, a place of security within a warm circle. Where was the last place she had felt that safe? Will?

  No, it had been Travis—holding her, pulling her out of a world of nightmares. Resting her cheek on her knees, she retreated into the memory.

  A pale slice of moon was high above the trees by the time Starla wound her way back up the beech lined drive that led from the road to the main house. The first thing she did upon reaching the stable was grab the Deringer, which still lay in the dust of the stable floor. Then she gave Iris a thorough rubdown, and at the mare’s suggestion turned her out into the pasture saddled, bridle about her neck, and packed with her satchel and gear.

  “Just in case, caraid,” Iris said, lipping gently at her thick hair.

  This is getting to be too much of a habit, Star thought sourly as she climbed the twisted trunk. Maybe I should forgo the stairs altogether. She stopped suddenly; the window was already up.

  “Danica?”

  A tiny spark coalesced into a ball of light in Dani’s palm. “What has happened now, Starla?” she asked, reaching over to transfer the flame to the bedside candle as her sister swung herself in the window.

  Star didn’t answer, too focused on carefully removing her dress. Oh, but she hurt. And sitting on a hill in the chill of night had not helped her bruises, nor the coldness that had seeped into her heart.

  “Jake came in to lunch looking like— Merciful heavens,” Danica breathed as Star came into the circle of candlelight.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” She pulled her nightgown gingerly over her head and ran a finger ever so lightly over the long red weal that ran from her right eye down her neck, disappearing under the thin cotton. “Such are the tokens of love and affection that I now receive from the men in my life. Bastards, all of them. Why won’t they just leave me alone!” she demanded, shaking a fist at the wall between their room and Jake’s.

  There was a firmness in Danica’s voice that belied the tears in her eyes. “Starla Shane Anderson, not every man you know is like Jacob, or his father for that matter! General Stuart isn’t, nor his officers. At least, that’s what you’ve told me. And what of your friend, the Yankee?”

  “Travis,” Starla whispered. “No, Travis would never have hurt me. He would have died before he ever let that happen.” He nearly did.

  “What was he like, Star?”

  Her question stirred memories she’d tried to bury, memories that both sustained her and tore at her heart. The memory of laughing silver gray eyes as he tugged on her braid, of a shock of dark hair dripping with wet snow, of his arms about her. And the memory of blood. Always the feel and smell and sight of his blood, staining her clothes, her hands, her life. She stared out the window into the darkness, resting her burning cheek against the cool glass.

  “He was a good friend, and a true gentleman, and I—” Her voice broke off suddenly. “Oh, Dani, I don’t even know if he’s still alive!”

  11. A Duty That Divides

  June 9, 1863

  Cannon thundered from Marye’s Heights, followed by a rainstorm of gunfire. Star groaned and hid her head under her pillow. Here we go again.

  A voice outside her tent. “Star? Starla, wake up!”

  “Just a few more minutes, Will,” she mumbled. “I’m so tired.”

  “Starla, please! I’m frightened,” said the voice. Danica’s voice.

  Star sat up in bed, blinking away dreams of Fredericksburg. Dani was perched on the edge of her bed, blankets pulled up around her shoulders, trembling. Star hurried out of bed to sit by her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  And the sounds of cannon broke the predawn air.

  “What the blazes?”

  She sprang for the window, swinging out and crawling further up the tree, bare feet gripping at the bark. “There!” She pointed through the leaves to small flashes that lit up the fog to the northeast. “Too far to be the ford at Norman’s. Probably Beverly’s. Someone’s after General Stuart,” she declared, ignoring the look of horror on Danica’s face.

  Then she softened and slipped back in to sit by her sister. “Sorry, Dani. I forget you’re not used to this. Don’t worry. We’re quite safe here.”

  They were silent for some time, Star’s thoughts focused on the battle. How was it going for the general’s men, for her friends? How many lives were bleeding out, becoming ghosts in the pale mist of morning? I should be there, helping, she thought wistfully.

  In the next heartbeat came the inevitable question: Was Travis there? Again came the unbidden flash of his broken body falling towards the muddy earth. Stifling a gasp, she pushed the nightmare vision resolutely from her mind and stirred herself from the bed.

  “Well, we might as well get dressed, since there’s little chance of going back to sleep,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted for Danica’s sake. Actually, I’ve slept through worse barrages, but I doubt if Dani could.

  She got up stiffly—blast him, but she hurt—and walked over to the wardrobe where she picked out an outfit for Dani, shoulder aching dully with the motion of reaching. But when she went back for her own, her hand fell on a much mended dark blue dress. She fingered it thoughtfully, tracing the remade bodice, not quite matching in a lighter shade of blue. Her eyes rested momentarily on a faded rusty stain on the skirt. Only a year ago.

  On an impulse she pulled it out and slipped it on, wincing as the hooks pulled it tight against her bruised breasts. That was the only place the dress was tight. The rest of it hung loosely from her slender frame. I probably ate better with the cavalry than I do in my own house, was her angry thought as she slipped the Deringer from under her pillow and into its pocket. Next time I won’t give him a warning.

  Danica watched her from across the room, apprehension darkening her bright blue eyes.

  “Are you looking for another fight, Star?” she asked softly.

  “No,” Star replied with a faint smile. “This time the fight’s come to me.”

  Dani sat on the bed quietly while her sister hurriedly brushed her hair and then her own, fighting to shape it into a long, fat braid. Starla avoided looking in the mirror as she did. She needed no reminders of yesterday’s attack.

  Once finished, she threw the brush across the room, where it hit with a satisfactory thud on the wall, then hooked her arm around D
ani’s waist. Entwined for mutual support, physical and emotional, they went downstairs.

  Despite her cool exterior, Star’s insides twisted tighter with each step. She could hear voices arguing in the dining room. Her cousin and uncle had also been awakened early.

  “And I say there’s absolutely nothing to worry about,” Isaac shouted, waving a butter knife at his son.

  “Well then, you get Ma and Leah out from under their beds. They utterly refuse to listen to me.”

  They both stopped as the sisters entered the room. Jake looked Star up and down, and smirked as if he’d succeeded yesterday, instead of being left in a pile on the stable floor.

  “Good morning, Danica, Estella.”

  Star looked away immediately and moved to put the table between herself and her tormentor.

  Isaac was staring at her. “What did you do to your face, girl? Take a tumble off that beast of yours?”

  Dani nearly spilled the tea she was pouring. Star squeezed her shoulder in warning. Don’t bother. He won’t listen to the truth. He would probably applaud. Like father, like son.

  “And what is that rag you are wearing? Go put on something decent.”

  Star looked down at her feet, clenching her teeth, then looked up in what she hoped was a suitably cowed fashion. “I need to work in the garden again today, uncle,” she said. Quietly, for fear that her voice would explode if not kept under a tight rein. “This dress is so worn that a little more dirt won’t matter.”

  Isaac was silent a moment, then grunted his assent.

  So kind of you to give your permission, you petty tyrant, she raged into her cup of tea. In my house, no less. If you weren’t Dani’s guardian….

  She refused to look up—she could feel Jake’s gaze burning into her, and was afraid of what might happen if their eyes met again. Her cheek and chin throbbed in sympathy.