A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (19 page)

They pulled back to a slow trot after they’d covered enough distance from the burning to be safe. Jesselynn settled into her saddle, fighting to keep her mind from replaying the death scene. No wonder people spoke of
The Raiders
in hushed tones. Fear did that to a body.

When the sun rose, she hated to stop. The closer they were to Independence, the safer they’d be—at least from the Raiders. But as the area became more settled, a new danger arose.

“Hey, Marse Jesse, you see dat dog followin’ us?” Benjamin motioned with his head.

Jesselynn looked back to see a black dog, part shepherd from the look of him, with a patch of white around one ear. “How long he been with us?”

“Saw him at first light.”

“Where do you think he’s from? Someone’s goin’ to be real sad, missing their dog.”

“No, I think they all dead.”

“Oh.” What more could she say? Looked like another war victim had joined their journey.

Where could they hide the horses until they could purchase their supplies and head out with a wagon train? And for how long? The farther north they traveled, the less the grass had sprouted. For the horses it wasn’t a problem; for oxen it would be.

Independence, Missouri

Jesselynn rode past camps of staring sojourners before she found Independence proper.

“Hey, Chess, if all of these people are wantin’ to go on to Oregon, there might not be room enough left over for us.” The horse twitched his ears and trotted on. Riding Chess was immeasurably easier than riding Roman. Cows bellowed, horses whinnied, children ran screaming after one another, two men stood toe to toe slugging at each other while a crowd cheered them on. Wash hung from lines strung between wagons and tent poles. The smell that assaulted her nostrils could have used a stiff wind to blow it clear to the Mississippi. By then it might be bearable.

Two dogs ran in front of her horse, setting him to shying and her to paying better attention. Wouldn’t that be wonderful to fall in the slop that Chess’s hoofs clopped through?

The recent rain hadn’t helped—that she knew for certain—but still, had no one dug latrines? Or if they had, didn’t the people gathered here use them?

She stopped at the first store she came to and asked how to find a wagon train to join.

“Sorry, son, but most of the trains are already made up, just waitin’ for the grass to grow.”

“But surely there must be one that will take on two more wagons. We’ll more than carry our own load.”

“If’n there is such, you tell yer pa to come on in here and do the dealin’. Nobody’s going to talk with a young boy like you.” The bearded man behind the counter scratched his belly through a shirt that might once have been white.

“Like I said, my daddy is too sick to leave our camp. He sent me ahead to . . .”

“Sorry, can’t help you. Next?”

Jesselynn turned away. It didn’t help that this was the third time she’d heard those same words, or close to it. She thought of taking out the gold coins in her bag and dropping them on the counter, but from the looks of the crowd, that didn’t seem to be a good idea either.

Besides, from what she could tell, supplies cost about twice what she’d heard before. Or more. Maybe they ought to set up an outfitting business of their own. Surely Meshach could get work here. There were enough wheels to fit and repair to keep a hundred blacksmiths busy.

At the end of the fruitless day, she asked directions for the post office. At least she ought to be able to find that. On the way she noticed another store, this one closed for the day. She’d try there tomorrow. She flipped Chess’s reins around the hitching rail and took the two steps to the post office in one stride. The four letters the postman handed her when she said her name made up in part for the futility of the day. Two from Richmond, one from Sergeant White, and the last from Lucinda. She stuck them in her pocket to read back at camp and strode next door to an apothecary. She chose a peppermint stick for each of the boys and a packet of horehound drops and another of lemon drops. They’d all earned a treat. After studying the man’s wares, she promised him she’d return to load up her simples box, then headed back to camp.

The heavy feeling persisted, just like the gray skies that hung low enough to snag with a fish pole. In spite of the gray she reminded herself that even though she hadn’t found a wagon train, she’d learned plenty about getting ready.

And a possible way to make some money. She nudged Chess into a canter all the way back to the river bottom where they’d made camp.

“No wagon train, but we got letters.” She dug them out of her pocket. “Which do you want to hear first? From Richmond or from Lucinda?” She’d keep Barnabas’s letter to read by herself later.

“Lucinda.” Her black members spoke as one.

Jesselynn opened the envelope and withdrew the ink-dotted sheet. While Lucinda could write well enough, she had a hard time keeping the quill from blobbing ink.

“ ‘Dear Marse Jesse and everyone,

We miss you so bad here. But thank the Lord we are alive and well. Joseph say to tell you he found some tobacco seeds, so we will have some crop in. Thanks to the garden and Joseph setting snares, we been eating well enough. Many have died of influenza, but we are safe so far. Black wagons carry bodies to the cemetery often. Men come home to die if they can.

I thank the Lord He keeping you safe. Tell Ophelia we are glad she and Meshach will have a baby. When will you come home? I got a letter from Miss Louisa. She working at the hospital. What her mother say about that, hmm? We digging the fields with a man pulling the plow. Goes slow.

Crocus come up, war or no war. Lord keep you in His care.

Lucinda’ ”

Jesselynn let the silence lengthen. She knew the others were thinking of home just as she was. Somehow she could not erase the picture of the big house. Twin Oaks still lived and flourished in her mind.

The letters from Louisa and Carrie Mae told of Christmas in Richmond, what was happening in the legislature, and the things they’d made for Christmas gifts. Zachary added a note of his own, barely legible with his left hand, but he had cared enough to write.

“ ‘You take good care of those horses, you hear? We need them to start over, but I know you know that and are doing all you can. If I could sneak back to Twin Oaks I would, but I am pretty hard to disguise, missing a foot and hand, let alone the eye.

Louisa is still grieving for her lieutenant, but I keep telling her he is dead, not just missing. She refuses to believe that, since there is no proof, but she must get on with her life. Carrie Mae tries to introduce her to young men, but you know our Louisa, stubborn to the hilt. I do not know where she gets that trait. Of course, none of the rest of us suffer from that affliction. May our God and Father keep you all safe. I trust that one day we shall see each other again—this side of heaven, I do hope.

Your loving brother,

Zachary’ ”

By the time she’d finished reading the letters, Sammy and Thaddeus had gone off to play, and the rest of them, other than Jane Ellen, were drying their eyes. Ophelia rocked gently, then hummed, and finally her song bathed the others in comfort. It was a deep river for sure, between them and home. How many more rivers would they cross before they found a new home, a free home, a safe home?

When the song died away, Jesselynn pulled herself back to the moment. “While I’m searching for a wagon master and train, you get Ahab back in condition,” she instructed Benjamin.

His eyes rounded, along with his mouth. “For racin’?”

She nodded. “But you have to keep it a secret. No one can know about him.”

Now he rolled his eyes, along with shaking his head. “Where we got space for dat?”

Jesselynn turned to Meshach. “I know the chance we’re taking, but I can’t figure any other way to get enough money to outfit us. We need two wagons and at least eight oxen, along with all the rest.” She raised her hands and dropped them again. “Any other suggestions?”

“Like you said the other day, I could find work.”

“I know. And you better do so. Daniel and Benjamin will have to guard the camp.”

“I can graze the horses.” Jane Ellen looked up from the willow basket she was weaving.

“And I can help guard the camp. No one expects an old woman to be able to shoot a gun.” Aunt Agatha laid the shirt she was sewing for Jesselynn down in her lap. “Besides, with you off racing Ahab, Patch will let us know if anyone is comin’.” They’d named the dog that had insisted on joining up.

The dog, lying beside the rocker, raised one ear, the tip of it flopping forward. For some reason he had adopted Aunt Agatha as his mistress, yet at the same time kept a watchful eye on the boys. If Sammy strayed too far from the fire by himself, Patch would go round him up and herd him back. He’d obviously been a cow or sheep dog.

Jesselynn half smiled and shook her head gently. All of them were learning that they could do things they never thought they could or would have to do.

And the dog, who’d shadowed them when they left the burning farm, adopted them so quickly it felt as if he’d always been part of the family.

When Jesselynn thought about the last week, she had to remind herself that God was in control and had a plan for all the goings-on. They’d rushed to get to Independence, and none of the wagon trains were heading out yet, though one wagon master had said “any day now.” She still felt guilty for not burying the woman at the farm, even though she knew that staying there long enough to do the job right could have caused them all sorts of trouble. Ahab’s throwing a shoe didn’t help much either. Cost them a couple of hours. All the rush, and now they waited. And tried to find a wagon train.

For the next couple of days she rode on into Independence in the early morning, talked to as many people as she could, and came home to shake her head again. She had ordered two wagons, longer and sturdier than the one they were using now, and had brought back heavy canvas to make coverings for the hoops. Aunt Agatha, Jane Ellen, and Ophelia had been stitching on the covers ever since Jesselynn hauled it into camp. Meshach had fashioned leather handpieces like sailors used to help force the needles through the heavy fabric. Jesselynn planned to sell the present wagon when she sold Chess.

Ophelia and Jane Ellen dried fish and rabbit, whatever Daniel could bring in above what they ate every day.

One morning she and Meshach rode in to town together, he bareback on the mule, his sack of tools slung over one shoulder, his quilt rolled in a deerskin over the other.

“I’m not so sure I think this is a good idea.” Jesselynn sighed and shook her head. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

“Anythin’ I can bring in’ll buy more flour and beans. Could be I find us some oak for a barrel too. Wish now I made another back at de cave.”

“Pray that I find us a wagon train today. With all the people gathered here, there has to be more trains being organized.” She squeezed Chess into a faster trot. “Keep your eyes open for oxen. I heard there were more coming in.”

“Got money enough to pay for dem?”

Jesselynn shrugged. “We will soon enough.” Checking out the horse racing was another thing to watch and figure how best to win.

She left Meshach at the first blacksmith shop and returned to the store that had been closed the evening before. The proprietor smiled when she entered.

“Name’s Robinson. How can I help you, son?”

“My family is here to head out on the trail, and we need supplies. And a wagon train.”

“You came to the right place. Just this mornin’ I heard of a new train formin’ up under a man named Torstead.”

“Really?” Her heart leaped at the news. “How can I, what do I—”

“Whoa.” He held up both hands. “Got a bargain for ya. Buy what you need here—I got about the best prices around—and I give you a list of suppliers for what else you need. No one on my list cheats my customers, or I don’t send them no more.” He leaned on the counter, propped up by stiff elbows. “Now, what do ye need? Wagons, oxen, feed, flour—I got a list here that most wagon masters go by.” He slapped a piece of paper on the counter.

“Already ordered the wagons. Need most everything else.”

“How many folks in your party?”

Jesselynn mentally counted. “Nine. Two little ones.” She didn’t dare tell him about the horses.

“Hmm.” The man scratched out some numbers on a slate and held it out for Jesselynn to read.

“Now, that is the amount for each person, you understand.”

Jesselynn nodded and returned to her reading. Two hundred pounds of flour, seventy-five pounds of bacon, five pounds of coffee, two of tea, twenty-five pounds of sugar—brown the best—half a bushel of dried beans, one bushel of dried fruit, two pounds of saleratus, ten pounds of salt, half a bushel of cornmeal.

When she started multiplying by six—she counted Jane Ellen as a child—she felt her jaw begin to drop. A keg of vinegar, rope, tools, kitchen things, clothing, a small stove—where would they store all this? And she hadn’t added grain for the mares yet.

“That thar list is mighty complete.”

“I can see that.” She read a section on taking milk cows. How she wished that were possible. “And you say you can supply all of this?”
And we’ve got the forge and Meshach’s tools. Leastways we got our guns already, but we need more ammunition
.

“Either me or my list of suppliers.” Robinson scratched his chin. “Goin’ west takes all a man has and then some.” He nodded as he spoke. “Better to take extra food and water than trinkets like furniture and things. You can always make your own once you get there.”

“Well, sir, thank you for the advice.” She rolled her lips together and, chewing on the bottom one, slit her eyes in thought. “Guess I better go find that Mr. Torstead, then.”

“Wolf, he goes by Gray Wolf.”

Jesselynn left the store with the name Gray Wolf Torstead branded on her mind and no idea where to find the man who owned the name.

He was a half-breed. What would Aunt Agatha have to say to that? And what if he wouldn’t take them on? The fears hammered in time with Chess’s easy trot. Robinson at the store thought the man was camped southeast of the square. All she had to go on was a name: Gray Wolf Torstead. Even the name intrigued her.