For Home and Country Page 7

  “Missus Armstrong,” he said with a nod. “How are you today?”

  He observed my condition, and I self-consciously smoothed back my hair and brushed at the smears on my pinafore. Becoming aware of my reddened knuckles and chapped hands, I hid them within the folds of the fabric of my dress. “I’m fine, Mr. Sterling. I trust your wife and family fare well.” I offered pleasantries, but my gaze drifted to his saddlebag.

  “We all are good, given the circumstances. We long for our son’s return and do what we can to help the folks around here and our boys on the front lines.”

  “Yes, something we all must continue to do,” I said, and hurriedly asked, “What brings you to Livingston?” I didn’t give him time to answer. “Has any mail gotten through?”

  He gave a soft chuckle. “Indeed there has, and I got some from your menfolk.”

  I glanced at Jones and let out a squeal. All modesty left me, and I rushed forward. “Please, let me see.” I stood eagerly beside his horse while he dug through his saddlebag.

  “Here you go.” He held out a bundle of envelopes.

  I grabbed the bundle and shuffled through to find an envelope addressed to Whitney from Knox, and another for me from Bowden. “There is no word from my uncle?” A knot formed in my chest.

  “I’m afraid that is all I was given. I’m sorry.”

  I dropped my gaze to regard the envelopes through blurred vision and tore open Bowden’s letter. I scanned his ghastly scrawl.

  My dearest wife,

  I hope this letter finds you all well. My heart longs to be in your company and to hold you in my arms again. To smell your sweet perfume and to feel your lips on mine. Until that day, I hold to the memory of our last night together.

  Heat rushed over my body, and I angled away from the men as I hungrily read every word.

  The days are long, and the death around us daunting. We all long to return home. As expected, Ben has been assigned to Medical for General Beauregard, and last I heard, they marched to Virginia along the Bull Run River. Knox and I have been stationed together under General Johnston’s command in the newly formed Confederate army. Knox’s humor has made the days livable. He misses Whitney, as I do you.

  A post carrier is heading out tomorrow, and my letter will go with him. I pray it reaches you.

  Sending you all my love,

  your loving husband

  I folded the letter and held it to my heart. He was well.

  “Well, what does he say?” Mr. Sterling leaned forward on the neck of his horse.

  “That my uncle serves in Medical under the command of General Beauregard. The last Bowden heard, they marched to Virginia along the Bull Run River.”

  Mr. Sterling straightened, and triumph shone on his weathered face. “Reckon he was a part of the attack on General McDowell. They defeated the Federal soldiers and sent them rushing back to Washington with their tails between their legs. From what I heard, onlookers brought picnic baskets to relish the day’s events.”

  I snorted with disgust. “As though the lives taken didn’t matter. Some folks have no shame.”

  “We are at war, Mrs. Armstrong. Have you forgotten?” Mr. Sterling arched a brow.

  “Of course not. How can I forget?” I held up the bundle of letters and shook them at the repairs still underway on the main house. I centered my attention on him. “But I can’t help but grieve for all our countrymen and the loss we will face as a nation if this war continues much longer.”

  “It has already gone on longer than expected,” Jones said. “One can only hope it is worth the fight.”

  “The South will never fall.” Mr. Sterling straightened, pride alight in his eyes. “We will give the North a good licking and remind them that without the South and our cotton, their factories and goods wouldn’t exist.”

  “Perhaps we can come together and form a new future, one that isn’t built on the backs of slavery,” I said.

  Mr. Sterling snapped his attention back to me. “Be careful, Mrs. Armstrong. Talk like that will get you hung around these parts.”

  Jones shifted and gave me a grunt of warning.

  “I’m just stating that perhaps there is a better way we can do things here in the South. I am a proud Southern woman with love for the South and my home. But I carry a vision of a better future—a more honorable one.”

  “I have been a friend of your family for years. Your parents and grandparents have a name for the good they have done around these parts. Your granddad and Charles, as well as your husband, are known as powerful slave owners. But I’ve always known you took after your mother, and her beliefs caused folks to alienate her, no matter the good deeds she accomplished. I’m not a rich man and never owned a slave of my own. My loyalty to your family remains, but so does my belief in the ways of the South. I caution you to tread lightly with what you say. Don’t paint yourself in the same picture your mother did in the eyes of folks around here, or death will surely follow such talk.”

  My heart thumped faster, and I inclined my head in respect. “I heed your warning.”

  He eyed me with unease and concern, but instead of pressing the matter further, he tipped his hat. “I have other mail to deliver and folks yearning for letters from their menfolk. Good day, Mrs. Armstrong. Jones.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You bring us hope.”

  He waved and turned his mount to gallop back down the lane.

  Jones and I stood without speaking until Mr. Sterling rode out the gate. Then I turned to look at him and found him eyeing me. “What?” I frowned.

  He scratched at the gray scruff shadowing his face and shook his head as though exasperated. “You’ve become lax in your guard. War or not, this is not a time to let your defenses down.” He pointed at the lane. “And a friend or not, we need to tread carefully because you heard the man—he is a proud Southern man who believes in owning slaves. And no matter the man your father was before he changed his ways, we can’t allow others to find out what things were like here before the war and before the McCoys attacked. Or have you forgotten you still harbor a runaway?” He gestured to Big John, walking across the work yard toward the forge.

  I knew Jones was right. Had I become debilitated in Bowden’s absence and since the onset of the war?

  “I’ve stood by your family because I believe in your cause,” Jones continued.

  I fumed inside. For a man of few words, he sure had a lot to say on the matter. “All right!” I threw my hands in the air. “I heed your warning.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now, if you will excuse me, ma’am, I’ll get back to the fields. The land won’t work itself.”

  I pressed my lips together. “No, indeed.”

  I regarded his back as he walked away before heaving a sigh and looking back at the gate. “Let’s hope I didn’t add any suspicions,” I said to the bird perched on a rosebush at the end of the stone path. The critter tilted its head at me as though trying to understand.

  “Do I see Mr. Sterling riding off?” Pippa exited from the house dressed in a yellow day dress and apron.

  I glanced down at the letters clutched at my side, and guilt washed over me. She longed to hear from Ben as much as I had, but it broke my heart to tell her no word had come. “Yes.” I strode up the path and mounted the stairs.

  “Did he bring word from Ben and Bowden?” Optimism gleamed in her blue eyes.

  I gulped at the thickening in my throat. “He did.”

  “Well, come now. Let me see.” She nodded at the letters I had instinctively tried to hide behind my back.

  “There is no word from him.”

  Her hand dropped, and her brows dipped. “Oh…”

  “Bowden says that he’s stationed somewhere else. But don’t lose heart, I’m sure his letters will arrive soon.” Hollowness and uncertainty echoed in my voice.

  “I see.” Her voice trembled, and she avoided meeting my gaze. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Pippa…” I took a step forward, wanting t
o wipe away the pain on her face.

  “I’m all right. If you will excuse me.” She whirled and darted back into the house, and my heart dropped.

  Tears caught in my throat, and I wandered to the porch swing and sat down with a heaviness that sent it swaying. I gripped the chain to steady myself and ease the movement.

  I opened Bowden’s letter and reread it through damp eyes. Why did something I longed for, for so long, feel so wrong? The answer lay within my heart. I had grown to care deeply for Pippa and wanted nothing more than a letter from Ben to soothe her aching heart. I, too, wished to hear from him, but I had my husband’s letter for encouragement.

  The front door opened, and someone stepped out. I quickly folded the letter and wiped away my tears.

  “Missus Willow, you all right?” Tillie said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Did somepin’ bad happen?” She crept forward.

  “No. I received a letter from Bowden. But no word came from my uncle.”

  “Is dat why Missus Hendricks gone up to her room and asked not to be disturbed?”

  My shoulders slumped. “I reckon so.”

  “So I’m guessing dat is why you crying and luking lak someone done gone and died?”

  I nodded and bit my lip to quell the trembling.

  “You count your blessings, Missus. Ain’t no need for you to feel sad. I knowed Missus Hendricks wouldn’t want you feeling bad either.” She offered a kind smile. Although nobody could fill the void left in my life by Mary Grace, Tillie had come close. She was as brilliant as my dearest friend and had given me so much comfort in the years since she had become my handmaiden.

  “Thank you, Tillie. You truly are an angel.” I stood with the desire to embrace her, but Jones’s warning ran through my head.

  She grinned and dipped her head. “I don’t know ’bout dat, but I jus’ happy I could ease some of your sadness. We got ’nuf of dat ’round here.”

  “You are a good soul, and regardless of the situation that casts me as your mistress, I think of you with fondness. Perhaps one day, when this is all over, and if the North is victorious, you will consider me a friend. I hope you can forgive me for my family’s wrongs against you and those you love.” I eyed her earnestly.

  “Ef a day come when I a slave no more, I give thanks as much as de next slave. But I won’t become my own jailor, imprisoned by hate of de wrongs done to me. No, sah. I ain’t fixing to remain a prisoner of de past either. And et bes’ you don’t become one shaped by your own guilt.”

  The power and passion in her words hit me straight in the heart, and I gasped. She regarded me with compassion before she turned and returned inside.

  I strode to the railing and looked out over the front grounds, captivated by the wisdom in her words. Folks were fools to think Tillie and her people were any less intelligent than us. Perhaps it was time we learned from them. Had I been a slave, would I have extended the same decency and empathy Tillie had to me? I hoped so, but self-doubt swelled.

  I whispered a prayer to the heavens. “Make me a vessel of light in the darkness that encompasses this world. Show me a way to help others. Help me right the wrongs of my family.” Like an embrace from the angels, a warmth cloaked my shoulders, renewing my spirit and profound devotion to erasing the prejudices inflicted on the Negroes.

  “Parker,” I said as he rounded the corner of the house.

  “Yessum?”

  “Can you have Jimmy prepare a buggy? I have to pay the Tuckers’ farm a visit.”

  His eyes widened with hopefulness. “Yessum, straightaway.” He turned to shuffle off.

  “Parker,” I called out.

  He braced and turned back, his dark eyes searching my face.

  “I will require a driver. It isn’t safe for a lady to be out on the roads alone.” His yearning pulled at the corners of my mouth. “I know a certain young lady who would be delighted if you accompanied me.”

  He let out a yelp. “I dying to see Kimie.”

  I laughed merrily. “Very well, then, make it swift. We will leave as soon as the buggy is prepared.”

  “Yes, Missus Armstrong.” He whirled to hobble off but spun back, and while walking backward, said, “Thank you, Missus. Thank you kindly.”

  I nodded and waited until he disappeared around the house before going inside.

  PARKER BOUNCED ON THE BUGGY seat next to me as we ventured along the road to the Tuckers’ homestead. I studied the passing countryside while securely gripping the letter from Knox between gloved hands. May the letter bring Whitney comfort, I thought before my stomach knotted with the recollection of Pippa’s disheartenment. Before my guilt could take me on a journey, Parker’s voice brought me back to the present.

  “Wagon coming.”

  I swung my attention back to the road and squinted to get a better view. “It appears to be a lone woman.”

  Parker’s grip on the reins eased, and he steered the buggy to one side. “Don’t luk lak she in any hurry.”

  I noted the slumped shoulders of the woman, whose floppy straw bonnet sheltered her features. As she drew near, I recognized Mrs. Davenport. I had met the woman at social events in Charleston. Her husband had died last year, leaving her with five boys. The oldest, who was barely eighteen, had joined the Southern Militia at the start of the war.

  “Stop the buggy.” I touched Parker’s arm. “Good day, Mrs. Davenport.” I offered her a cheerful smile before noticing her puffy eyes and the evident misery in her face.

  She reined her team to a halt. “Hardly a day of any good,” she said with a voice empty of all emotion.

  “Has something happened? How are you and the children getting on?”

  She swallowed hard, and tears welled in her dark eyes before she nudged her head at the back of the wagon. “My Jacob is in the back.”

  My hand went to my throat. “Oh, dear.” I strained to peer into the bed of the wagon. “Is he injured?”

  “Dead,” she said dryly.

  I bit back a gasp and snapped my gaze back to her face. “No…” My words ended with a groan.

  “He was severely wounded, they told me. But by the time the doc got to him, he was gone. There isn’t enough help to go around. Our menfolk win battles only to die in the street outside wayward hospitals. It doesn’t seem just.” The agony in her eyes shattered my heart.

  “My condolences to you. If there is anything I can do…” I let my words drift as I struggled with the right thing to say.

  “There isn’t anything we womenfolk can do but sit and wait for news. And when the information comes we breathe a little easier, or we do what needs doing and collect the bodies of our boys.” Her voice trembled. “My Robert has been stomping ground, seeking to join his brother in the war. He turned sixteen last month, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold him back for much longer.”

  Lost for words and tears gathering, I nodded my understanding.

  “Well, I best get him on home and lay him to rest next to his pa.”

  “Go with God,” I said.

  Her hands moved to slap the reins, but she paused and leveled an austere look on me. “I will not bury another member of my family in my time.” Determination registered in her eyes. “If you want to do something, aid our army in whatever means possible.” She directed her gaze back to the road and urged the team forward.

  Parker continued on, and I lowered my gaze to the letter I held with trembling hands. I blinked off tears and remained silent for the rest of the journey.

  The Tucker place sat in the embrace of a meadow. The quaint, two-story white house had a partial wrap-around piazza and black shutters woven with climbing Carolina jessamine. The charm of the home stopped there. Whitney had never been one for gardening, and with no one to work the land but Kimie and her, the grass and weeds had grown to encompass the front steps and overtake the walkway. A small barn sat to the right of the house next to the kitchen house. Chickens scurried around the front yard. A horse in the pasture stood eye
ing us, and in a nearby field cows lifted their heads from grazing.

  Parker reined the buggy to a halt, hopped down, and came to assist me. “Et luks a bit unkempt, don’t et?” he said as I placed my hand in his.

  “It does.” I stepped out.

  “Ef et all right wid you, Missus, maybe I can give Missus Tucker a hand and cut de grass and weeds.”

  “That is very kind of you. I’m sure the Tuckers would be grateful.”

  “Parker. Willow,” Kimie cried, and we turned to survey the grounds in search of her.

  “There she be.” Parker pointed toward the barn as Kimie turned to secure the door before racing toward us.

  Face pearled with sweat, yet radiating delight at our arrival, she wiped bloodied hands on her apron as she came to stand before us. “What a lovely surprise.” She looked at me before favoring Parker with a shy smile.

  “I bring word from Knox,” I said. “Where is your sister?”

  Her face grew serious. “She fell ill a few days ago and only today left her room to sit in the parlor for a spell while I tended to Daisy. She has been laboring all night. Gave birth to a healthy calf this morning.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do,” I said with a smile. I admired the bright young lady for her many talents and her eagerness to take on any task without fear.

  She blushed, and I patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll let the two of you catch up while I see to Whitney.” I left them and headed inside, where I removed my bonnet and shawl before walking down the hallway to the parlor.

  From the threshold, I regarded Whitney. Dressed in a nightgown and night-robe, she sat in an armchair, looking paler than usual. “Whitney?” I entered the room.

  She turned her gaze from the window to me. “I thought I heard someone ride up. It’s good to see you.” She tried to smile.

  “Kimie says you’ve been unwell.”

  “Yes. Quite a sight, aren’t I? I got a glimpse of myself in the looking glass when she helped me come downstairs. I look like I’m at death’s door. If Lucille could see me now, she’d never let me forget it.”