A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (16 page)

Dawn came to eyes bleary from lack of sleep.

“Where’s Meshach?” Jesselynn asked, stumbling over a rock on her way to the already leaping fire.

“Grazin’ de horses.” Ophelia used her apron to lift a boiling pot off the cast-iron tripod.

Jesselynn looked over to see that Benjamin still lay wrapped in his quilt and deerskin. He’d stood the last watch. The boys and Aunt Agatha had yet to make an appearance, for which Jesselynn was grateful. Let those who
could
sleep do so. Nightmares, the first in a while, had ridden her all night.

“Here.” Ophelia handed her a cup of steaming coffee.

“Thank you. Reckon I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You make your own coffee, dat’s what.” Ophelia straightened and kneaded her back with both fists. “Breakfast ready soon as de biscuits done.” Gravy bubbled gently in one frying pan, and smoked venison simmered in another.

What Jesselynn wouldn’t give for two eggs fried till the centers ran only slightly when stabbed with a piece of toast or biscuit, bacon or ham or sausage fried just right, and syrup to drizzle over pancakes so light they could float right off the plate.

The kind of breakfast Lucinda served nearly every morning during their life at Twin Oaks.

Sometimes Jesselynn thought she’d lived another life back then, one with no connection to the one she was living now.

“Think I’ll get a letter written while I wait. Anything you want me to tell Lucinda or the girls?”

Ophelia patted her rounding belly. “You can tell dem ‘bout dis little one. Dat make Lucinda pleased as punch.” Ophelia looked down, shaking her head ever so slightly. “Lucinda do love de babies. You think maybe when we gets to Oregon, we could write Lucinda to come too?”

“She’d never leave Twin Oaks, not when she stayed on after it burned to the ground.”

“You never know.”

“You just spoke a mouthful of truth. Who’d ever have thought we’d be in a wagon almost to Kansas on our way to Oregon?” Jesselynn stretched her arms over her head and yawned fit to crack her jaw. Since she didn’t really expect an answer, she turned and approached the wagon, treading lightly so as not to wake those still sleeping. Once she had her writing case in hand, she returned to the fire, grateful for its warmth in the wind that teased her hat, the brim so limp it flopped in response. She drew her coat closer around her middle and took a seat on a hunk of oak trunk Meshach had carted along since they left the caves. Later on they might need it for firewood, but in the meantime it made for good sitting.

After sharpening her turkey-quill pen she wrote swiftly, first to Lucinda, then to Sergeant White, and finally to her sisters in Richmond. Once in a while she flipped back through her journal to keep track of what all had happened. She didn’t mention to Lucinda that Daniel was in jail. No sense bringing her more worry, especially since the letters might be mailed before they knew the outcome.

Sergeant White would understand her consternation, however. When she thought of the Confederate soldier they’d nursed back to health, his smiling face came to mind. Especially the smile he had reserved for her once he realized she was not the young man she portrayed. He’d seen behind the act, but had he touched her heart more deeply than a friend? While sometimes she thought so, other times she just wondered. Perhaps there would be a letter when they reached Independence. After all, he had said he’d catch up with them.

She sighed as she signed her name with a flourish. The one to her sisters took the longest.

Why is it that God seems to allow more trials, in this case an actual one, with judge and all? He promised the Israelites that they would pass through to the Promised Land. I so thought He meant the same for us. While Meshach seems to have no doubt that we will journey on with all of our band intact, I am still struggling with trusting a God who has taken so many from me, and so much. I long for Twin Oaks and life as it used to be. Always and always, the war has destroyed the crops, the land, and the people. Are these the years of the locust? Will He really restore us as though this has never been?

My eternal thanks will be raised for Meshach, who took me in hand and made me see that life without our Lord is nothing but a long, dark, miserable existence. I am learning to walk with Him, keeping the picture of our mother always as my example. Sometimes, like now with Daniel in jail, I say with my teeth clenched, I will trust Him. I will praise His holy name. A sacrifice of praise, the psalmist calls it, and for me that truly describes what I must do. The black demon reaches out for me, but when I praise our God’s holy name, the sun comes out and warms me again. Thank you, heavenly Father.

She continued on with the news of how Thaddeus was talking and little Sammy was outgrowing his clothes. She told how Aunt Agatha sewed for one and all as she rocked her way across the countryside.

You should see her. We have her rocking chair fitted just so between the boxes and supplies, and her needle flies while her chair rocks the miles away. She tells stories to the young’uns and is teaching Thaddeus his numbers and letters. Jane Ellen has appointed herself as Aunt Agatha’s protégée and is learning womanly things as the wagon bumps along.

The two foals don’t seem harmed by the travel, but we have to stop to let them graze and rest more often than we normally would. I long for the day when we can travel during daylight instead of darkness. As long as we make it to Independence without a brush with the Quantrill Raiders, I will—no I must—trust our God for His protection. I must. I must.

Your loving sister,

Jesselynn

P.S. As I said before, send any correspondence to the post office in Independence, Missouri. We will be waiting there to gather our supplies and sign on with a wagon train going west to Oregon. I have a feeling we really have no idea what we will encounter on our journey, but I will make sure we are as prepared as humanly possible. May our God and Father bless and keep thee. JH

“You wants breakfast now?” Ophelia held out a plate of steaming food.

“Thank you.” Jesselynn closed her writing case and set it beside her. “That smells heavenly.” She sniffed again and smiled at the fragrance. “Your biscuits give Lucinda’s a real challenge. I’d hate to have to judge them in a contest.”

Ophelia smiled and ducked her head. “Thank you, Marse.” The glint in her eyes told far more than her smile. Comparing her biscuits was a compliment akin to the Father’s “well done.”

While she ate, Jesselynn ruminated on the plan to substitute Benjamin for Daniel and show that the man in town hadn’t really seen either one of them. Something about it dug down in her soul like a tick on a feeding frenzy. But short of breaking Daniel out and streaking across the countryside, nothing came to mind. When she closed her eyes, she could remember one of the dreams that had plagued her the last two nights. She saw Daniel swinging at the end of a rope.

The stark fear in his eyes when she had visited him in the jail raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

No matter, she’d have to wait until she could ride into town and talk with the sheriff, hoping he’d been able to speak with the judge.

When Meshach sat down beside her with his full plate, she glanced at him in time to see the same weary look she felt.

“You didn’t sleep either?”

He shook his head. “Prayin’ more important den sleepin’.” He cut into his gravy-laden biscuit with his fork. “I asked de Lawd for a sign, but I ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Dis here’s one of de times we got to walk by faith.”

Jesselynn felt a shiver race up her back. Talking about walking by faith and doing it were two entirely different things. Especially when a young man’s life hung in the balance.

“Surely you don’t believe it is God’s will for Daniel to hang for something he didn’t do?”

Meshach shook his head. “Not God’s will, but sometimes He lets folks do bad things. Daniel know who his Savior be, and heaven be home for us all, ‘specially poor black men and women.”

“Meshach, don’t talk that way. We got to get Daniel out of there.”

“I knows, but I cain’t say how. Be God’s grace for sure.”

Jesselynn felt like shaking the big man.
Don’t you dare give up! We can’t let them hang him
. But she kept the thoughts to herself, knowing that Ophelia might go into one of her rantings if she heard them. Jesselynn stared at the congealed gravy left on her plate. She’d thought of mopping it up with another biscuit, but her stomach rolled over at the notion. Instead, she scraped the remainder into the fire and dropped her utensils into the pot of simmering water and soap.

“I’ll go on and wash up.” Leastways then she could leave camp and be by herself. Somehow she argued with God better when it was just the two of them. But arguing and pleading seemed to do no good, and when she returned to camp, she was no nearer a solution than before.

“I believe we should all go into town with you for the trial.” Aunt Agatha delivered her pronouncement as if she were the judge.

Jesselynn looked toward the two little boys with Jane Ellen as their overseer. She had taken to instructing them on table manners, having recently learned them herself from Aunt Agatha.

“No, Sammy, use your spoon.” Thaddeus’s command overrode Jesselynn’s tangled thoughts. “See, like this.” He demonstrated, ushering biscuit and gravy to his mouth without spilling, to the applause of Jane Ellen.

Sammy giggled, squirmed, and stuck his forefinger in his mouth—after swiping it through the gravy.

When Thaddeus rolled his eyes in perfect mimic of Aunt Agatha, Jesselynn choked on her swig of coffee, sending splatters to sizzle in the flames.

Jane Ellen took over ferrying food to Sammy’s mouth, which opened and closed obediently. In the months he’d been with them, the grinning black baby had come a long way from a scrawny, squalling orphan found on a Kentucky hillside.

Aunt Agatha poked Jesselynn with the end of a stick. “Did you hear me?”

Jesselynn nodded. “Just trying to figure what is best.”

“I, at least, will be going along. My thought was we look more respectable if we are all in attendance. No judge will think we are a gang of ruffians when he sees us.”

I wouldn’t be too sure of that
. Jesselynn kept the thought to herself. But yet she had to admit that her aunt was right. They didn’t look any worse than other families moving west and most likely better than a lot of them.

“Shame we don’t have a buggy. That would make a better impression than the wagon.”

“I don’t know about that. People sure look twice when they see you sitting up there in your rocking chair, knitting or sewing as we go along.” The few times they’d traveled in daylight, the reaction had been just that.

“Hmm.” Agatha gave her a studying look, the kind that elicits fidgets, feet and hands that twitch, the urge to rub her hand across her mouth in case food remained on her face.

Jesselynn kept her gaze on her aunt’s hands. If she looked into her eyes, she knew she’d see disapproval of what Jesse was wearing—a man’s hat and britches. If she thought that donning women’s clothes would save Daniel, she’d do it in an instant, but that might endanger all of the rest of them.

“We’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes.” Jesselynn turned to Meshach and spoke in a low voice. “Any suggestions?”

“I could stay with de horses in case you wants Benjamin to take Daniel’s place. We can’t take dem to town.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think I should go by myself first and talk with the sheriff, then come back and get the rest.”

“Might be de best idea.” He stood and stretched. “I get de mule.”

She kept Roman at a canter all the way to town, pulling him up at the hitching post in front of the jailhouse. Few people were out on the streets. The general store had yet to open its doors, but she could hear the school bell ringing the children in for class.

She paused in front of the jail door and took a deep breath, then pushed open the door and entered. “Good morning, Sheriff.” Gratitude that the man behind the desk wasn’t the deputy widened her smile.