For Home and Country Page 8

  “Since when do you care what Lucille thinks?” I said with a huff and took a seat to her right. “I have something that will wash that melancholy right out of you.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  I retrieved the letter from my velvet drawstring handbag. “A letter from Knox.”

  “Really?” Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to sit up straighter.

  “Indeed,” I said with a grin and held out the letter.

  She took it with trembling hands, and the painstakingly slow way she opened the envelope spoke to her weakness.

  I sat quietly as she read the letter, noting she read it a second time before lowering it to her lap. “Nothing came from Jack?” she asked, yearning filling her face.

  “No, and nothing from Ben.”

  “Pippa must be disheartened.” Sympathy shone in her green eyes.

  “Very.” I thought of what Tillie had said about Pippa retiring to her room and requesting not to be disturbed.

  “My husband isn’t much for words. Has more a gift of the gab, but I’m thankful he wrote.” She looked peaceful. “I knew I would miss him, but I never guessed to what extent.”

  “Look at you—the dedicated and doting wife. Who would ever have thought?” I said with a chuckle.

  Her pale lips parted in a soft smile. “And the fact I find contentment in it is even more bizarre.”

  “At least we know that he and Bowden have each other.”

  “Yes, that does bring me comfort. Kimie is talking about going in to Charleston to help at the hospital. They require volunteers. I suppose it’s about to get more desolate around here. We can’t keep up the house, the land, and the animals together, and it will be almost impossible with her gone, but I don’t want to discourage her. And with the length of time this war is carrying on, they need all able bodies.” She looked to the window.

  I followed her gaze to where Parker balanced on his cane while swinging a scythe at the grass.

  Sadness reflected in her eyes. “When she goes, I won’t be the only one who misses her.”

  “He jumped at the chance to come. He is a good man. I hope one day he and Kimie can have the future they desire,” I said.

  “Such a future would be hard and not easily obtained in the South.” Whitney had come to accept the love between the pair, and I dared believe she had grown fond of Parker.

  “In the South or another part of the country, I don’t believe their union will be welcomed. But I believe in their love for each other and know they will overcome whatever comes their way.”

  “Yes, well. Time will tell,” she said, sounding weary.

  “If Kimie goes to Charleston, you could come and stay at Livingston until the war is over. It would be like old times.” I grasped at the chance to have her near and safe under the same roof.

  She chuckled. “Only this time I’m married, with a farm to run.”

  “We could bring the animals to Livingston. It’s not like your stock is plentiful.”

  “True, and I’m glad Knox didn’t make the purchase of twenty cattle he intended to make before the attack on Fort Sumter, or I’d find myself in a fine mess.”

  “Perhaps you could hire a farmhand.”

  She rubbed an ache in her neck. “I can’t afford to hire anyone.”

  “With the scarcity of our numbers, I have no one to lend.”

  She eyed me with a defeated expression. “We awake to a different world, don’t we?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back in the chair. “I wish I could offer you refreshments, but I’m afraid I would collapse with the effort.”

  “I am fine. What can I do to help you?”

  “Would you be so kind as to help me bathe and wash my hair?”

  “Of course.” I stood.

  Once bathed and dressed in fresh nightclothes, Whitney sat at her vanity while I combed her hair. “Do you think our men will return home?” She looked at me in the mirror.

  I stopped in mid stroke. “What do you mean?”

  “I worry that the war will make us widows.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that,” I said, more sternly than I’d intended.

  “You’ve always been a dreamer,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  “A practical one, I might add.”

  She shook her head in disapproval. “Always choosing to tread this life with your head in the clouds. If one can plan for the worst outcome, then life doesn’t seem so frightening.”

  “Maybe, but if I think of the what-ifs, I may lose my mind. Although the responsibilities at Livingston have lessened, the burden seems more significant. I believe the war will change the South as we know it, but I hope to have a home and land for my family to come home to. If not, what did they fight for?”

  “All we have is this land right here. And all thanks to you.” The tautness in her face faded, replaced by a softer expression.

  “This war just goes to prove that life holds no certainty. You can forge the best-laid plans and still come up with nothing.”

  “There is truth in that.” She patted my hand as I set the comb on the vanity. “Now, if you don’t mind, would you help me to bed.”

  After she lay back against the pillows, she smiled at me. “Thank you, Willow. You indeed are my dearest friend.”

  “That’s because no others would put up with your sass.”

  Her eyes smiled as weariness took over. “Perhaps, but I care not for a bushel of friends. Other women grate on my nerves.”

  And you theirs, I thought with amusement. “Perhaps I’m the fool who puts up with you,” I said lightly as I adjusted the covers over her. “You rest, and I will go downstairs and tidy up. Then I’ll see how I can assist Kimie while Parker finishes up.”

  Amelie

  WINTER HAD COME TO NEW York, and I shivered under the heavy blankets draped across my lap. I observed the congested streets from the carriage window while Zeke sat next to me, reading the newspaper.

  “In President Lincoln’s inaugural address, he proclaimed his desire to keep the Union intact but not to end slavery. He bans the blacks from enlisting and declares the fugitives as contrabands of war…”

  He continued, but my attention shifted to a feeble woman weaving down the boardwalk, flailing her bare arms and gripping passersby. I tensed before leaning forward in my seat to pull back the velvet drape. Unkempt gray hair hung down her back, and she wore the same clothes she had on the day she visited the brothel.

  Mother? I pressed my face against the glass to get a better look as a man gave her a shove, and she went down hard. I winced, and my stomach knotted.

  “Stop the carriage.” I struck the roof.

  The carriage drew to a stop.

  “What is it?” Zeke lowered the newspaper, concern gleaming in his eyes.

  I ignored him and threw open the door.

  “Amelie?” Zeke folded the newspaper.

  Without answering him, I disembarked. My gaze pinned on the man and his fancy lady friend as they hovered over the fallen woman. I crossed the street to the boardwalk.

  Zeke called after me, but I didn’t stop.

  “Go back to the slums where you belong,” the man said before kicking at the form on the ground.

  Another passerby spat on her, and a fierceness charged through me. I hurried my steps as the man drew back his boot to strike again.

  “Enough!” My voice reverberated.

  The couple looked in my direction. Once I stood in front of them, I looked to my mother, where she lay curled into a fetal position, her arms shielding her face from the next blow. I gawked from her to the man and took a second look. I recognized him. He visited my establishment on the weekends.

  He gulped and looked from me to the petite blond woman holding his arm.

  “Is this your husband?” I directed my attention to her. She was stunning and appeared to have all a man would desire in a woman, but unfortunately, that wasn’t enough for some. I h
ad seen my fair share of men like her husband.

  She jutted her chin. “Yes; what of it?”

  Zeke came to a stop beside me and clutched my arm.

  I gritted my teeth. “Get her up and into the carriage.”

  Zeke hurried to help my mother up while I turned my attention back to the couple. “Where does your husband tell you he goes on the weekends?”

  Confusion shone in her eyes, and her tone was sharp. “What business is it of yours?”

  I waved a hand in annoyance. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Madame Amelie, owner of a brothel that your husband frequents every weekend.”

  She lifted a delicate hand to her throat. I looked her husband directly in the eyes and delivered, with much satisfaction, my own kick to his ribs. “His favorite girl is Beth—a lovely little creature. I’d guess her to be ten years your junior.” I returned my gaze to his wife, who stood with her mouth agape and her flesh ashen.

  The man gripped his wife’s arm and started blabbering a defense. I spun and marched back to the carriage, where Zeke stood observing me.

  “Am I to believe you know this woman?”

  “Yes, she is my mother. Instruct the driver to take us home.” I boarded the carriage and took a seat across from her. I coughed and removed my handkerchief from the cuff of my sleeve to cover my nose. The smell of her took my breath away. She sat gawking at me, but her eyes had changed since I had seen her last. They appeared glazed and empty, as though the spirit inside her body had fled. Ugly sores spotted her face and exposed flesh.

  “What is wrong with her?” Zeke had seated himself beside me. He gagged at her odor.

  “I don’t know.” Tears caught in my throat.

  “Food?” Mother held out a trembling hand. “Please, ma’am. Just a small bite to eat.”

  I nodded.

  “Bless you,” she said as though she understood, but her next words alerted me to what I already knew in my heart. “Food? Please, ma’am. Just a small bite to eat.”

  I turned and buried my face into Zeke’s shoulder. He cupped my head with a hand and held me while I wept. How could a woman who had been so influential in my youth have become pathetic and vulnerable?

  When we returned to the brothel, Zeke helped me from the carriage before assisting my mother.

  “Here, hold her upright while I pay the driver,” he said.

  I shook my head and shrank back. I didn’t want to touch her, let alone help her.

  “Do you expect me to let her lie in the street?” The firmness in his tone snapped me from the panic rising within me, but still, I couldn’t move closer. “Amelie! For the love of God.”

  “All right.” My jaw tensed. I stepped in and placed an arm around her thin waist. The smell of her was no less potent in the fresh air. She stood shivering, teeth chattering.

  Zeke paid the driver and moved in to assist me. “Let’s get her around the building and up the back stairs.”

  Inside, my mother slumped in to Zeke, and he was forced to gather her up and carry her. To my relief, we met no one in the corridors as we made our way to my suite. I hurried ahead to open the door. My living quarters consisted of a small parlor and bedchamber.

  “Where do you want me to put her?” Zeke asked as he stepped inside.

  “On the settee, I suppose.” But as he strode forward, I said, “Wait.”

  He spun to look at me with annoyance.

  I dashed into my chamber and grabbed some linens before returning to the parlor. I spread the linens over the settee, and he laid her down.

  “What now?” He stood back to observe her.

  “I don’t know.” I rubbed my hands on the sides of my day gown. “I suppose we will need to bathe her and send for a doctor.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he said. “After everything she has done to you.”

  I shrugged. An emptiness settled in my chest as I turned and left the suite. Why was I tending her? The last thing she deserved was my help.

  “Luther.” I entered the empty grand parlor to find him fluffing the pillows on a gold velvet settee.

  He stood and turned to regard me. “Madame?”

  “Send for a doctor.

  “You.” I gestured at one of my girls. “Get hot water, and have my tub brought to my suite.”

  She frowned but hurried off to do as requested.

  “Beth,” I said to another. “Ask the cook to prepare a tray of food and see it’s delivered. And someone air this place out. It smells dreadful in here.” The scent of my mother lingered in my nose and most likely had seeped into my clothing. “And see that you are ready to entertain by ten today,” I finished.

  “But we don’t usually open until noon,” a girl protested.

  “Yes, well, the new group of soldiers seem to require more attention than usual patrons do,” I said over my shoulder before walking from the room.

  Willow

  December, 1861

  AFTER TAKING PORT ROYAL SOUND, thousands of Union soldiers disembarked onto South Carolina soil and moved on to Beaufort. The Federal soldiers reveled in their victory, and the North praised Lincoln for his political win.

  In the days that followed, Whitney decided to move to Livingston until the war ended, for which we prayed each day, and for the safe return of the menfolk. We aided the Women’s Societies that had formed across the country to assist in the war efforts. At Livingston, we did our part to cook and sew for the soldiers and delivered blankets, uniforms, food, and letters to lift their spirits. My heart called for me to leave Livingston and take my position on the front.

  It was late evening, and the fire crackled and snapped in the hearth in the parlor. I lowered the uniform I had been darning and regarded Pippa and Whitney, who sat across from me. The encounter with Mrs. Davenport on the road some time back had never left my mind; “If you want to do something, aid our army in whatever means possible,” she’d said.

  I heaved a sigh. “I’ve been thinking…”

  Whitney glanced up and pursed her lips.

  “What is it?” Pippa lowered the garment she was mending and offered her full attention.

  “Why does my stomach clench when you get to thinking?” Whitney adjusted herself in her chair before gesturing for me to continue.

  “Makeshift hospitals are being erected all over the country, and with Kimie gone to help at the wayside hospital in Charleston, it has inspired me to do our part to help too.”

  “What do you call this?” Whitney held up a Confederate coat before lowering it and holding out her pierced fingers for my inspection.

  “This is hardly good enough. We must do more. Sitting here waiting for word will send me to an early grave. Besides, I can’t get poor Mrs. Davenport out of my mind. What if it was Jack, or one of our husbands in the back of that wagon?” I said. “To think of our loved ones waiting for a doctor’s care that may never come… What do you say about us turning Livingston into our own wayward hospital?”

  Whitney thrust her hands at the heavens. “Oh, how the tides have turned.”

  I frowned at her, uncertain of what she referenced.

  “Your family has spent decades seeking to protect Livingston and their cause from outsiders. Now you want to invite Confederate soldiers to lodge here.”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do.” I squared my shoulders. “Our endeavors in the cause have come to a halt for the time being. There are too few of us to move folks along the road to freedom, due to the war. And, with their masters away, slaves just leave, and little attempt is made to retrieve them. This means that, at the moment, we’ve nothing to hide and have no cause for concern. Livingston has plenty of room to care for the wounded. We can’t sit idly by.” I pushed to my feet. “Livingston will become a wayside hospital to all in need. Tomorrow I will set things in motion. I hope I can count on support from both of you.”

  “You can count on me.” Pippa offered me a tender smile. “I’m sure Isabella and Callie will also offer their assistance.”

>   I exited the parlor and walked to the foyer with Whitney following on my heels.

  “I don’t know the first thing about nursing. That’s Kimie’s forte,” she whined.

  I turned to face her and gripped her forearms. “We will figure this out together.”

  “I hope you’re right, and we are making the right decision.”

  “Can one ever be certain?” I studied her.

  “I suppose not.” She rubbed a hand over the nape of her neck. “All hopes of this war ending swiftly have vanished. I fear the months will turn into years. It has been nine months since we’ve seen our men, and who knows how much longer we will endure.”

  “Your concern is also my own.” I gave her hand a gentle squeeze before fetching my shawl. I wrapped the garment around my shoulders and stepped out onto the front veranda.

  The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air; in the direction of Charleston, gray billows of smoke rippled across the sky. My heart struck faster.

  “That can’t be good,” Whitney said.

  I turned to look at her grave face. “What do you suppose is happening?” I returned my gaze to the horizon.

  She shivered and drew her shawl closer. “I’m afraid to find out.”

  That night Whitney and I never retired to our beds but drifted off in the rockers in front of the fireplace, in case word came of what destruction had overtaken Charleston.

  Two days later, Jones returned from delivering uniforms and food to General Robert E. Lee and his troops in Charleston. I noticed him coming down the lane as I entered the front yard carrying two water pails from the well. He wasn’t alone. He rode alongside a buggy, and my gaze turned to the driver, then the passenger seated beside him—a willowy black lady wearing a red head rag. Uriah and Jane? What were they doing here?

  A horse tied to the back trotted behind the carriage. Chickens clucked from their cage on the back seat, next to the goat that bleated its distress.

  I lowered the pails and darted forward. “Jane? Uriah? What has happened?”

  “The townhouse is gone.” Exhaustion and soot besmirched her face.