Ashes in the Wind (26 page)

She wandered listlessly to her own bedroom where most of the furniture remained much as it had been before her departure. In despair she sagged to the edge of the bed, weary, bone tired, and aching inside. A low sob escaped her, and tears trailed down her darkened cheeks. Her thin hands closed in
tight fists, grasping the ticking of the bare mattress, as if by dint of will she could hang on to the remembrances associated with her home. Then, she straightened apprehensively as the floor behind her creaked beneath a heavy foot. In sudden fear she sprang up to face the intruder. But as recognition dawned, she stared agog, her tears forgotten, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Miz Alaina?” the familiar voice questioned uncertainly as the giant black man stepped hesitantly closer. “Is dat you, chile?”

“Saul!” Her shriek of joy pierced the stillness of the house, and in the next instant, she had thrown herself into his bearlike embrace. She wept now with happiness and relief as he clumsily patted her back. “Oh, Saul, I thought you were dead!”

“No,’m,” he grinned as she stood back. “Dem Yankees hung onto my tail for the better part of a week, but ah finally threw ’em. Ah didn’t dare lead ’em back to you, Miz Alaina.”

“I thought you had been taken, so I went to Uncle Angus’s,” she sniffed.

“Ah been keeping an eye out for you ’round here all along. Ah figgered yo’d come back sooner or later. All dem rumors ah’s been hearing, ah knowed yo’ was in a heap o’ trouble. It jes’ seems, Miz Alaina, de lies keep gettin’ worse and worse.” He tilted his head and chuckled as he surveyed her. “Nobody’d know ya though. Yo’ look almost like me.”

Laughing and brushing away her tears, Alaina gestured to a bare corner in the room where once an armoire had stood. “But where has everything gone, Saul? It doesn’t look much like home anymore.”

Saul snorted in disgust. “Dat pack o’ jackals down the road loaded up dere wagons and when ah comed back, dey had already taken dere pick o’ everything. Ah sneaked over to the Gilletts to have me a look-see, and sho’ ‘nuff, they got a good parcel of what’s missing. When Mistah Jason comes home from de war, we’ll go have a gun-to-gun talk wid dem white trash folks. That young whelp, Emmett, he been laudin’ it ’round dese parts dat he’s de one what run yo’ off. He won’t be talkin’ so fine and mighty when Mistah Jason comes back.”

Alaina heaved a tremulous sigh. “I’m afraid Jason won’t be coming back, Saul.”

“Ah, nooo,” he moaned sorrowfully. Tears gathering in his eyes, the black man hung his head and slowly shook it.

“How have you been managing?” Alaina questioned in a quavery voice.

Saul wiped his face on his sleeve and swallowed his tears. “Oh, ah ain’ had no trouble gettin’ along, Miz Alaina. Ah been living downstairs mostly, and when somebody comes pokin’ ’bout, ah hides up in de attic. Dem Gilletts got to nosin’ ’round here one night, and ah took some chains and rattled dem all through the house and made spirit noises. Dey hightailed it off to home right quick. And dey ain’ been back since.”

“Serves ’em right,” Alaina muttered. “They’re nothing but a passel o’ chicken hearts.”

“Yas’m, dat dey is,” Saul agreed. “Den a while back a fancy fella come riding up on horseback wid some other men, one of ’em was dat Yankee who said we was spies. Well, dat fancy man said he was
gonna buy Briar Hill when it comes up for auction. Him an’ the other two men an’ a woman wearing britches went off in de woods. Ah followed ’em an’ got as close as ah could. Dey buried something out dere, an’ ah guess it was one of the men ’cause only three of ’em come back, de fancy man, de lieutenant, and de girl. Ah ain’ found nerve enuff to go diggin’ up any grave to make sho’ what dey buried.”

The idea that a murderer would own Briar Hill was bitter gall for Alaina to swallow. Somehow she would have to prevent it. With grim determination, she gritted, “We’ll just have to find out what it was they buried.”

The black man looked at her dubiously. “Yo’ gonna dig up a dead man, Miz Alaina? He’s been in de ground fo’ some time now.”

“If I ever clear my name, I might have to prove those people are murderers in order to get Briar Hill back. It’s my home, and I’m not giving it up without a fight!”

“Yas’m,” Saul mumbled uncertainly.

“We’ll hide the hearse and horses in a shed, then come night, we’ll take a lantern out to the woods and see if we can find what that fancy man has hidden.”

That evening the pair of vagabonds dined on palatable fare. A few dozen ears of corn were discovered in the barn, and the old gristmill soon reduced the hard kernels to a coarse meal. Several nests remained in the old hen house, and some of the chickens had found their way back after being scattered by the Yankees. From these Alaina purloined a half dozen eggs, and in the cookhouse
pantry, she found salt and leavening which, blended with eggs and cornmeal, produced a rich golden cake of delectable flavor. Dried beans were cooked with a thin strip of bacon cut from a slab Saul produced from his knapsack, and to top the meal several large bass that Saul had caught were dipped into the cornmeal and fried. For a few moments at least, the two were able to forget the hardships the war had inflicted upon them as they enjoyed the repast.

The moon climbed on its laborious path into the night sky and gave silvery halos to the low-hanging clouds that flitted across its face. Alaina gathered the wooden bowls and washed them in a bucket of water, then taking up a lantern, she faced the black man expectantly.

Saul heaved a sigh and rose to his feet, displaying no spirit for the task at hand. But obligingly he nodded, “Ah’ll get a shovel.”

The strange pair began to beat the woods in hopes of finding some trace of what they sought, yet they were almost surprised when Saul came upon a soft spot of ground between two blaze-marked oak saplings. Someone clearly had planned to return to the place.

Most reluctantly Saul set about his labors while Alaina held the lantern high. The rain had lightened to a fine, sporadic mist, but the soil was soggy and weighty to lift. Almost three quarters of an hour had passed before Saul’s shovel struck something—something very hard. For all of his misgivings about the deed, new interest took hold of the black. This was no body the miscreants had buried.

“Miz Alaina, hold the lantern closer,” he urged. “Dere is somep’n else here.”

He scooped away a spadeful of mud and immediately lost some of his enthusiasm as he uncovered the remains of a hand. It was still loosely attached to an arm that was flung over a large metal-bound strongbox. Alaina recoiled and stumbled back, holding a hand clutched over her mouth. To this point, her bravado had been based on an unwillingness to believe that murder had been committed on the lands of Briar Hill and that Saul had somehow been mistaken. Now, it all came upon her with a crushing truth that made her weak and sick.

“Oh, lawsy, Miz Alaina. Ah was right. Dey kilt him.”

Shuddering, Alaina remained mute as the black worked at loosening the heavy chest from the grave. When finally he set it before her, she brushed away the damp soil that clung to the top and held the lantern close. The letters “U.S.A.” were stenciled across the face of the box and identified the piece as the Union’s property. Curiosity whet her impatience and she twisted at the piece of heavy wire that held the cask shut. The way the hasp was bent suggested that a padlock had once secured it but had been forcibly torn away.

“Stand back, Miz Alaina,” Saul directed and, when she complied, swung the heavy shovel against the knot of wire. It broke away after a second blow, and the black threw back the lid. Alaina gasped in surprise and knelt beside Saul. Within the chest were paper-bound packets of Yankee bank notes, several layers deep, which covered a bottom tier of neatly bagged twenty-dollar gold pieces.

“Lawsy me!” Saul whispered in awe.

“It’s Yankee money!” Alaina stated the obvious in as much amazement. From between the pouches she drew a sheaf of papers and scanned them briefly. “It’s a payroll. Ordered to be shipped out of Washington to New Orleans and from there to the troops under Brigadier General T. Kilby Smith. There’s more than a hundred thousand dollars here!” She paused as it suddenly came to her. “Why, this must be it!” She waved the papers at Saul excitedly and hastened to explain as he stared at her in bewilderment. “This is the payroll that was stolen in New Orleans and blamed on me!”

“Ain’t dat somp’n? Why, it’s jes’ like dat fancy man knows fer sure he’s gonna be buyin’ dis place, and is already movin’ in.”

Alaina sat back and thoughtfully chewed on the corner of her lip. Her eyes slowly narrowed, and the determined gleam that came in them began to worry Saul. What she was thinking could well mean trouble ahead for them both.

“Miz Alaina—?” he began in an anxious tone, but she stared him down, the gray eyes glowing brightly.

“I’ll tell you, Saul, that if Alaina MacGaren is going to be hanged for stealing, no one else is going to enjoy this money either.”

“Whad we gonna do with it all, Miz Alaina?”

“For the time being, we’ll hide it someplace where we can grab it in a hurry and light out just in case the fancy man comes back.”

Saul snorted. “We gonna be in a fine kettle of fish if’n we’re caught wid dat money. Wid dat box beneath our nose, it’s like havin’ a noose ’round our necks just waitin’ for somebody to come along and
give it a tug. And if dat fancy man ketches us, we ain’ gonna be no better off’n dis fella in dis here grave.”

“We’ll just have to take care that we’re not caught—by anyone.”

The dirt was pushed into the grave again, and the spot was carefully disguised as before. For the time being, an old trunk in the stable handily received the payroll chest. The tray of the trunk had collected its own trove of broken harness straps and buckles, and this was carefully replaced over the box. Since neither of the fugitives was of a criminal bent of mind, they did not consider that only a frightfully honest man could pass an unopened lid or door and not yearn to know what it conceals.

The turgid river swirled muddy red beneath the lowering sun on March fourteenth. Above the deep green of the trees, the sky was a blaze of color; vibrant pinks and brilliant golds with a patch of bright blue shining forth here and there. The dusty blue-gray haze on the eastern horizon deepened with each passing moment, and from the same direction came a low rumbling noise, like distant thunder, though no flashes of lightning could be seen. Alaina met Saul’s apprehensive frown.

“Do yo’ hear it?”

She nodded and again scanned the treetops to the east.

“Guns!” Saul stated bluntly. “Big ones! Comin’ from ‘way over the other side of Marksville. Maybe twenty miles or so off yonder.”

“Fort De Russy,” Alaina murmured. “It’s been manned again, and you can bet the Yankees are trying to take it.”

“Dey jes’ might be comin’ dis way, Miz Alaina.” The outsized black twisted his hands in anguished fretting. “Lawsy me, we ain’t got nothin’ mo’ to spare. Dey’ll burn us out fo’ sure, dis time.”

“Nail that Yankee ‘No Trespassing’ sign on the door again.” Alaina launched into the process of decision making with bitter perseverance. “They’ll think twice about burning their own property. We’ll move into one of the dogtrot cabins for a while.” She grinned up at Saul with gleeful malice. “If the bluebellies come riding ’round, I’ll just have to pass off as your kinfolk, or some such.”

The following day the sound of gunfire stopped. The small fort had been reduced, the garrison taken prisoner, and on the sixteenth the flotilla of Yankee warships moved on up the Red River, guarding thirty-odd transport steamers that carried two divisions of seasoned veterans under the command of General A. J. Smith. Another division, under another Smith, this one General T. Kilby, stayed behind to raze the remains of Fort De Russy and, in exuberant largesse, extended their activities to the surrounding countryside.

Fresh from Sherman’s guiding hand, the bluecoats proved expert in their trade of war. Simsport had felt the heat of the Yankee torches, and the lush Avoyelles prairie was not to be spared. Inhabitated by the gentle Acadians who held a rich tradition of freedom and who were generally sympathetic with the Union cause, the area was soon well dedicated with “Sherman’s monuments,” the stark, charred chimneys that stood unsupported where once spacious plantation homes had been.

The rain continued to muddy the fields of the plantations, while the Yankees laid waste to the prairie. In Shreveport, the headquarters of the Confederate Army of the West, Lieutenant General Kirby Smith, the third of that auspicious surname to be involved, worried and fretted, but could not release General Taylor and his thin Louisiana division to the attack until the scattered grayback Army of the West could be collected from its far-flung posts and concentrated against the advancing Union Army. Major General Richard Taylor, son of Zachary and brother-in-law of Jeff Davis, could only fall back, recruiting volunteers as he went, hoping that somewhere he would have a chance to defend the soil of his native state.

Alaina worried about much the same thing—how to protect her home from the rampaging hordes of blue that came ever nearer. The smell of ash was heavy in the air, and even the rain could not wash the stench away. In her half of the dogtrot cabin, she tried to relax on a hard, lumpy, cotton-filled pallet, but she could only wonder at what new test might beset her now with the Yankees all about them.

When the rain abated, the night grew still. The smell of ashes and smoke became oppressive as an eastern breeze freshened. She pulled the blanket over her head in a vain effort to shut out the hated essence of war. It was a dismal thought that in her attempt to escape Cole she had thrust herself directly in the path of a greater threat. But this time she had her back to the wall, and there was no place else to run.

She waited. The dread was oppressing. Neither she nor Saul dared venture far from the cabin. They
lived with the agonizing fear that any moment the enemy would descend on them with flaming torches.

Then, just as it seemed Briar Hill would be next, Kirby Smith’s division tired of their sport. The men reloaded onto their steamers and journeyed northward to join the rest of the river-borne army already in Alexandria. But there was hardly a moment of respite before another swarm of Union blue traversed upon familiar soil.