For Home and Country Page 9

  “A fire engulfed the city,” Jones said. “The Cathedral of Saint John and the South Carolina Institute Hall are no more. Hundreds of other buildings in its path are all gone.”

  “Good God.” I gripped the side of the buggy to steady myself.

  After the initial shock dissipated, I glanced up at Jane. “Where will you go?”

  She cast a nervous glance at Jones. “Mr. Jones…well, he—”

  “I told them that you may put them up here,” Jones said.

  “Oh,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I patted Jane’s knee and swiftly pushed away my apprehension at the thought of two more mouths to feed. “Welcome to Livingston.” I wielded cheerfulness when I felt anything but.

  “Bless you, Mrs. Armstrong,” she said as I stepped back.

  Uriah drove the buggy to the carriage stone, and Jane gathered the sides of her dove-gray cotton dress and stepped down.

  “Uriah, if you will follow me, we will unhitch the buggy and tend to the horse.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Jones.”

  After the buggy had pulled away, I looped my arm in Jane’s and led her toward the front veranda.

  She gawked at the house with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “I always wondered why you loved this place so much. I can see why.” She twisted to gaze at the pond and the swans, then at the ancient oak trees and house. “A palace fit for royalty. Are you a princess, and we didn’t know it?” She chuckled softly.

  My face heated, and I dipped my head. “I assure you I’m not, or I would have had guards to defend the grounds in my absence,” I said soberly.

  She noted the boarded windows and the reminders of the McCoys’ attack that marred the grounds and home. Her footsteps stilled, and she turned to eye me with concerned, dark eyes. “How are you faring, with Mr. Armstrong away?”

  “We are doing the best we can. Have you heard from your son?”

  “I have.” Her face turned grim. “He has moved his family north and hopes one day to enlist with the Union,” she said, her tone critical.

  I had known her for as long as I could recall, but I’d never formed a relationship with her like I had with the folks at Livingston. “Do I sense disapproval at your son’s decisions?”

  “Yes,” she said with more sharpness than I’d ever heard in her voice. “The boy is a Southerner. His loyalty should be to the South. He has no more sense than a slave.”

  My mouth unhinged, but I quickly snapped it shut. Perhaps Jane and Uriah residing at Livingston was a bad idea. Her opinion of her son’s desire to enlist with the Federals left me perplexed. What side of the war had she moored her loyalty on? My nerves thrummed.

  I’d spent all my years running Livingston with an eye to protecting the cause my parents and I had fought for. I’d assumed, on Jane and Uriah’s arrival, that I embraced allies, but now I wasn’t so sure. I suppose I had assumed that, because she was black, she would hold the same values as me. That we would share the same belief that no human deserved to be owned by another. That we were all equal and one in the eyes of God.

  Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe her words were kindled by a mother’s disappointment, was all.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Armstrong? You look pale.” She touched my shoulder.

  “Yes.” I fell back on pleasantries. “I will ask Miss Rita to fix us some refreshments. You must meet Pippa. My uncle and her married, you know.”

  “Did they really? Well, what splendid news.” Her delighted smile gleamed. “I would love to lay eyes on the lovely creature that finally secured the heart of the handsome Mr. Hendricks.”

  I laughed as we ascended the steps and strode into the house to find Whitney and Pippa. But I was concerned over what Jane and Uriah’s staying at Livingston would mean to us all.

  WORRY HAD PINCHED MAMMY’S BROW when I informed her of my decision to turn Livingston into a wayside hospital. She hadn’t protested but quickly excused herself, and in the days that followed, kept herself occupied.

  The morning the army wagon transporting injured soldiers turned up the lane, heated voices erupted in the corridor.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. Leaving Whitney and Pippa to finish preparing the cots lining the emptied parlor, I went to see what all the fuss was about.

  In the foyer, I found Big John comforting a fretful Mammy. His eyes met mine over the top of her head, where she stood with her face buried in his chest.

  “Mammy, what in heaven’s name is the problem?” Concern pulled at my heart, and I hurried down the corridor. I placed a hand on her shoulder but was taken back when she shook her head and angled her body away from me. Perplexed by her brush-off, I regarded Big John with wide eyes.

  I retraced the previous day and the morning in my head, contemplating every conversation, wanting earnestly to understand. I recalled how she had roamed the hallways, mumbling to herself and whispering prayers of protection. I felt a twinge of guilt as I realized, too busy with preparing for the soldiers’ arrival, I had pushed away her discomfort over the situation. How could I have been so insensitive to her needs? My decision to shift the house into a hospital had disrupted the sanctuary she had forged around herself. But what choice had I had?

  “Mammy.” I touched her elbow. “Please look at me.” My voice quivered with my need for her to hear me out. “Please.”

  She shifted, revealing puffy eyes welling with fresh tears, and lifted her chin.

  “I’m sorry my decision has made you uncomfortable.” I gripped her shoulders. “You’re safe here. I will never let anyone harm you. You must believe me.”

  She lifted the corner of her apron and dabbed at her eyes. “Sometimes things are out of our control. No matter de intent you set. Ef a man gits an aching, he takes what he wants.”

  I considered the aging woman before me and the gray halo that captured more of her dark tresses with each passing year. Although the beautiful woman of her youth had faded, the memories of her abuse at her master’s hands had not.

  “That time has passed,” I said with the utmost tenderness. “Mary Grace is no longer here and requiring your protection. You must release the obligation to protect you both. There’s no need to look over your shoulder anymore.”

  “Missus Armstrong is right.” Big John gave me a look of appreciation. “Masa Adams dead, and he and no man ever gwine to hurt you in dat way again. Ain’t got no reason to hold on to dat fear no more.”

  Dawning realization softened Mammy’s face, though she frowned before her tension eased. It was as though the anxiety and fear she had carried all her life had dissipated with this new understanding. “Suppose you right,” she said with a sniffle.

  I smiled and stroked her arm. “Together we will manage this new situation. Remember, the gentlemen are Southerners, and we are offering them help. They have no cause to harm us. We are in this together.” I looked from her to Big John. “We will provide them with the care they need and then send them on their way.”

  Mammy nodded and took a deep breath before rolling back her shoulders. “We do dis your way, angel gal.”

  “Good.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “Big John, I know you are our biggest asset with your skills in medicine, but due to your status elsewhere, you must stay away from the house.”

  “I know, Missus. I mighty grateful, what you have done for me, and I ain’t luking to cause you no harm.” The sincerity in his dark eyes provided me with much-needed comfort.

  “Of course. Having you here has put a smile on Mammy’s face. And made her almost…sweet.”

  He chuckled, and to my delight, Mammy did too. He wrapped her shoulders with an arm, and my heart swelled. God had been smiling on us the day He guided Big John to us, and I would take every precaution to see the two were never separated again.

  “Here they come,” Whitney said.

  I gripped Mammy’s wrist for support as Pippa and Whitney dashed from the parlor to join us. I strode to the doors, paused for a moment to adjust the white pinafore covering
my navy cotton dress, then, squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I whispered a prayer before seizing the doorknobs.

  “Everyone ready?” I cast a glance over my shoulder.

  “Ready as we ever be,” Mammy said.

  Whitney and Pippa returned nervous nods.

  “Come then, let us greet our guests.” I opened the doors, and my entourage and I stepped out onto the veranda. I descended the stairs and walked to the end of the path to await the wagon.

  A glance at the flowerbeds in desperate need of care filled me with dismay at the grounds’ condition. Then I admonished myself guiltily. Men were risking their lives every day, and I concerned myself with the lackluster appearance of my home. Taking a deep breath, I cracked my neck side to side and prepared myself for the task at hand.

  A soldier of perhaps thirty pulled the team to a stop. Another man seated next to him jumped down to assist the others in the wagon bed. The driver tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am.” He climbed down and strode toward me. “The Southern army and the South are grateful for your willingness to open your home to help.” His gaze rolled over the house and the grounds. “It appears this war hasn’t been easy for you.”

  “Northern militia attacked us at the outset of the attack on Fort Sumter. Because of the war and our menfolk’s absence, it’s been hard to keep the fields tilled and planted. The maintenance of the grounds has become less of a concern.”

  “As with most across the country, I would expect.” He pressed his lips together, and his pale-blue eyes reflected sympathy. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Lieutenant Williams, and this is Private Cooper.”

  I glanced at the soldier standing at the back of the wagon, awaiting orders.

  Lieutenant Williams looked past me. “You.” He gestured at Pete as he rounded the corner of the house. “Come give Private Cooper a hand with the men.”

  “Yes, sah.” Pete hurried to oblige.

  The lieutenant looked at me. “Do you mind showing me where the men will stay?”

  “Certainly.” I graced him with a smile while, inside, my heart pounded faster. I swerved and walked toward the house.

  The lieutenant’s boots clicked on the stone path behind me. As we strode past Whitney and Pippa, he paused. I came to a halt. “Ladies, how do you do?” He bowed his head.

  “We are well, Lieutenant,” Whitney said, her tone lacking all warmth.

  I gulped and openly gawked at her.

  His brow dipped at her standoffishness. “Do I detect a Northern accent?”

  “Yes.” Whitney lifted her chin and stood with unbending pride. “I was born and raised in the North. I lived there until my father purchased a plantation here.”

  “I see.” He took a long look at her. “I hope we have no reason for concern about your loyalties to the South.”

  “This is not my war, sir.”

  I braced as her expression grew determined. Whitney would back down to no one when it came to her convictions, but we had no time for her pride or honor.

  “No?” He removed his hat and arched a brow.

  “If it were up to the women of this country, we would have figured out another way to balance the need for power.”

  My fingernails bit into my palms. For the love of God, be quiet! Has she lost her mind?

  “Is that so?” He bristled before shifting his gaze to Pippa. “What about you, ma’am? Do you share the same beliefs as Miss…” He sent a quick look at Whitney.

  “Tucker. Mrs. Tucker. My husband fights for the South.”

  His consternation grew. “You don’t say. Well, I hope his fight isn’t for nothing. A traitor within his own household would be too much for most men to bear.” He returned his attention to Pippa and awaited her reply.

  Pippa gave him a warm smile. “I am here to serve your soldiers in whatever way I can.”

  He tensed when she spoke. “Another foreigner.” He swung to face Pete and Private Cooper, who advanced up the path with an injured soldier between them. “Halt!” He lifted a hand to stop them.

  Pete froze, and the young, wide-eyed private looked from his superior to each of us womenfolk. The lieutenant spun on his heel to face me. My insides trembled, but I kept my hands lightly clasped before me while every part of me wanted to rebuke Whitney for her foolishness.

  “I’m astonished, Mrs. Armstrong,” he said, his voice laced with contempt. “When I was told a well-esteemed Southern woman had opened her home to aid the Confederate army, I had no idea we would be concerned about leaving our men in the hands of a Northerner and a Brit.”

  I inclined my head and replied with a docility that churned my stomach. “We are only women committed to helping our menfolk. Does it matter where we originate? My uncle is a doctor serving Confederate soldiers on the front lines. He is married to Mrs. Hendricks.” I gestured at Pippa, who curtsied with the grace of a proper Southern belle, or in her case, an English lady, regardless of her loss of station. “And Mrs. Tucker has been my dearest friend for years. I assure you our intentions are pure of heart. No man in our care will go without. They will receive the care I hope others would offer our menfolk.” The sadness that washed over me caught in my throat, and I lifted teary eyes to him.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His next words came gentler. “Yes, well. Please forgive me. I don’t mean to bring distress. One cannot be too certain, with the spies planted amongst us.”

  “We understand. Don’t we?” I looked past him to Whitney and Pippa.

  “Most certainly.” Pippa inclined her head.

  I arched a brow at Whitney as Lieutenant Williams turned to give her a hard stare.

  Whitney curtsied and offered him a fetching smile, like the one she’d presented to Reuben the day he’d ridden in to Livingston seeking slaves to help with the Widow Jensen’s homestead. The smile was better served on the officer and left him flustered. I quietly congratulated Whitney’s performance and redemption.

  The lieutenant lifted a gloved hand and gestured for the private and Pete to continue.

  “Now, Mrs. Armstrong, if you will please show me where the men will be staying.”

  “Of course. Follow me.”

  As we walked past Mammy, she braced and looked straight ahead. I noted the tension in her jaw. The officer strode past her, never pausing to acknowledge her presence. He opened the door, and I hurried after him.

  “This way.” I motioned toward the parlor.

  He stopped on the threshold and looked at the two rows of cots lining the walls.

  “As you can see, we are equipped to house five men in this room,” I said. “And if you will follow me—”

  I turned and hurried down the corridor to the library. “In here, we can take another six.”

  He strode along the aisle between the cots without speaking, eyeing every detail of the room. He regarded everything from the boarded window to the scorched walls and ceiling, the aftermath of the torch that had been thrown through the window. He gestured at the walls. “Am I to assume this fire also happened in the attack?”

  “Yes. As you can see, we suffered immense devastation here. The cowards advanced while my husband and I were in Charleston.”

  “The Northern militia would be fools to advance so far south.” He eyed me and lifted an eyebrow. “You mystify me, Mrs. Armstrong.”

  I tensed. “Why is that?”

  “Not only by the company you keep, but also your claim that the Northern militia invaded your plantation.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. The men wore Northern militia uniforms. My uncle and the slaves did their best to defend Livingston, but we suffered a great loss that night. Many of our slaves were killed.” The anger I felt toward Reuben McCoy kindled in my chest.

  “Your slaves defended the place?”

  “Yes.”

  His brow furrowed. “An odd loyalty for niggers, and slaves at that.”

  “Livingston has enslaved many since my grandparents built it. My husband and I handle the on
es in our care differently than most. We have the firm conviction that if we treat them fairly, they will do right by us. And their aid in defending this place confirmed our belief.”

  He gawked at me, skeptical.

  “You see, if we hadn’t given them reason to help us, this place wouldn’t be standing to offer shelter for your men.”

  “Am I to believe that I’m not only leaving my men in the care of a Northerner and a Brit, but also a nigger-lover?” He eyed me intensely, as though studying a traitor.

  “On the contrary. Rest assured that you’re leaving your men in the capable hands of folks looking to see war’s end, to again know peace and welcome the return of our loved ones. I might add that the battle of Fort Sumter took my merchant ships. We have sustained a significant blow to our finances. We have lost much in this war, and if Negroes and whites have to come together to see it end, so be it.” Passion fueled my words.

  He stood as though pondering what I’d said. “Where are all these slaves now? A plantation this size would require many to help it run.”

  “Dead or run off.” I bowed my head.

  He released a breath, and I heard satisfaction in his next words. “So it appears you were wrong to put your faith in these slaves. Where are they now? You could use their help to tend the fields and grounds.”

  I lifted my gaze to meet his and shrugged.

  I saw pity in his eyes. “We agree on one thing, Mrs. Armstrong.”

  “What is that?”

  “That this war must end, so menfolk can return to running the plantations. Left in the hands of women, I fear what the men will return to.”

  My hands balled, but I kept them hidden at my sides. “I suppose you are right.” I feigned meekness while fire sparked in my chest.

  “Well, it appears everything is in order. But I warn you, Mrs. Armstrong, I will be keeping an eye on you,” he said with all sincerity. He strode to the shelving featuring Father’s and my collection of books. He stopped to admire the titles and said, without turning, “Your husband has a remarkable collection.”

  “Those were my father’s books.”

  “Am I to assume your father is no longer with us?”