Brides of Ohio (2 page)

“Well yes, to get the mail and buy a few things.” Ruth looked in wonder at Mary’s confused look. “Toby ran off and joined up nearly two years ago. With Jonah and Daniel gone fighting, she needed the help.”

Mary paled and leaned back against the door.

Katherine thought she might faint and grasped her arm.

“Oh Mary, I’m so sorry!” Ruth exclaimed. “I thought you knew! I was sure she’d written—”

“Hush up!” Katherine snapped. Seeing Mary so distressed made her sharp. Ruth stopped her chatter, but Katherine could feel her eyes on her as she began to rub Mary’s wrists. “Mary, are you well?”

Taking a deep breath, the older woman nodded. “May we borrow your horse and buggy, Ruth? I need to see my sister.”

“Of course!”

At least the woman is efficient
, Katherine thought as she tooled a little black buggy down the road out of town.

It hadn’t taken Ruth Decker long to get them going. She had even offered to get a boy to drive them, but Katherine had insisted on performing the task to the woman’s great surprise; she hadn’t seemed to believe her capable.
Two weeks ago she would have been right
, the young woman mused.

The trip up from the South had forced Katherine to learn and do things she had never done in the whole of her privileged life—like driving a horse and wagon and cooking over an open flame. She was glad to have learned them. She’d never felt very comfortable having others do things for her or being prim and proper as was expected of a Southern belle. She was glad she was becoming more self-sufficient, particularly now.

Ruth had given Mary her sister’s mail for the last two weeks, and she knew Mary would want to look at the correspondence in private, meager though it was. There were a grand total of three letters in the bundle, two of them from Daniel, one of Dorothy’s sons, and one from someone whose name Mary hadn’t recognized. Katherine had noted it was from a Union officer and hoped it wasn’t bad news. She wasn’t sure how much more Mary could take today. Her friend now flipped through the letters one at a time, her steel blue eyes pensive and a loose strand of ash-blond hair tickling her face, trying in vain to gain her attention.

“Maybe you should open one,” Katherine suggested softly.

Mary glanced at her and looked as if she might refuse.

“I’m sure your sister wouldn’t mind.”

Biting her lip, Mary opened one of Daniel’s, the most recent one. “He’s in Petersburg, Virginia, with General Grant.” She breathed a small sigh of relief. “He says homesickness is all he’s come down with in the last month.”

Katherine nodded and sent up a prayer of thankfulness. Sickness was such a problem in the army camps of both sides that it was feared almost as much as combat.

Mary looked at the other letter from the unknown Union officer. “This is dated before Daniel’s,” she muttered. She turned weary eyes to Katherine. “It may be about Jonah. … I … can’t …” She raised a hand to her eyes.

“Then don’t,” Katherine said. “You’re so tired … I regret suggesting it.”

Mary tucked the missives in her reticule and looked around. The familiar scenery seemed to soothe her, and Katherine sensed her tension ease and a little of her weariness fall away.

The road they traveled down had trees thick on both sides, and every now and then a squirrel, not long from a winter nap, dashed in and out of the leaves. The snow had not lasted long at all, having only served to make a light coating on bare patches of grass and frost the sides of the road.

When they rolled past a neatly kept brick church, Mary mentioned that was where her family had attended since before there was even a building to meet in. She sincerely hoped Katherine would enjoy Mill Creek Church.

Katherine bit her lip and glanced out away from Mary’s eye.
I know I’ll enjoy it, but will the church enjoy me?

She thought back over their visit with Mrs. Decker. Were people like Ruth Decker the kind of folks she had to look forward to? In spite of the woman’s chilly behavior, she regretted being so sharp right before they left. And comparing the poor woman to a tree frog! She felt the color rise slightly in her cheeks.
I ought to be ashamed of myself.

Katherine was hoping to start a new life here, far, far away from the one she had left behind in South Carolina. Ohio was to be her home now.

I surely got off on the wrong foot with Mrs. Decker, Father. Help me to behave better the next time we meet.

“My, but Mill Creek is high.”

Katherine started at the sound of Mary’s voice. She had been so lost in thought she had not noticed a rushing sound that was quickly becoming a roar. They were approaching a creek—Mill Creek, according to Mary.

Katherine stopped the horse for a moment to look. The creek was a tumult of rushing water running quickly past them as if on serious business that would not wait. The spring thaw had made the waters run high and fast. It seemed slightly smaller than the Congaree, the waterway near the plantation where she grew up. But according to Mary, it wasn’t called Mill Creek for nothing. It powered more than one mill along its banks.

A covered bridge spanned the creek, and Katherine urged the horse forward. Not long afterward they came to a crossroad, and Mary instructed her to turn east. After crossing the creek once more, the trees began to thin and Katherine noticed Mary’s face take on a gentle, happy look, much to her relief. The creek was on their right, and the road now followed the base of a gentle slope. As they rounded a slight corner, the rear of a farmhouse came into view.

“There it is,” Mary murmured.

Katherine pulled the buggy up the sloped driveway and turned to see a kindly, cozy-looking farmhouse. Painted a simple white with a slate roof, a little dormer window capped the square front porch. The pine-green shutters on the windows were open and welcomed all to come in. Smoke was rising from one of the twin chimneys that rose from either side of the house, and Katherine found herself longing to sit before its fire away from the chill.

“This isn’t right,” she heard Mary say. “Dolly wouldn’t stand for the farm to be in such a state.”

Confused, Katherine turned and saw that her friend was looking out at the scene in front of the buggy. She had been so absorbed admiring the house that she hadn’t noticed the rest of the farm. The yard and other farm buildings were in poor condition. More than one rail in the garden fence was broken. The barn door was standing half open, and several chickens, loose from the coop, wandered here and there.

Before Katherine could say a word, Mary was out of the buggy and in the house.

Katherine looked around for a place to leave the horse and buggy, eager to follow. But Ruth’s horse, a gentle old mare, had already raised one hoof and appeared to be dozing. She secured the brake and followed Mary into the house.

Finding herself in a little entry hall with stairs in front of her, she was unsure where to go. To the right was a charming little parlor with rose-print wallpaper, comfortable-looking chairs, and a sofa; a dining room with a long, sturdy table and chairs lay to the left. Mary was nowhere to be found.

“Katherine?”

Hearing her friend’s call, Katherine immediately ascended. Halfway up she heard the worst coughing she had ever heard in her life, and the sound made her dash up the last few steps. There were several doors to choose from at the top. All were closed save one. She entered the room and nearly gasped at the sight of a woman in bed, covered with a handmade quilt. Her face was drawn and pale, and it grieved Katherine to come to the conclusion that this was Dorothy Kirby.

Mary sat on the edge of the bed trying to urge her sister to drink from a cup. “The fire’s low. Go through the dining room and there should be some wood in the kitchen.”

The tightness in the older woman’s voice gave Katherine speed, and she flew down the stairs as directed to the kitchen in the rear of the house. The wood box had several logs in it, and seizing a few of the thicker ones, she lugged them back upstairs. It didn’t take her long to get the fire going again.

She turned to find Dorothy looking at her. She swallowed hard. It felt like a walnut with its green spring husk still attached was trying to go down her throat. Would her presence alarm the sick woman? Dorothy couldn’t possibly know who she was.

She started to step out of the room when Mary motioned for her to come near.

“Pneumonia,” Mary stated as she approached.

“Is that Katherine?” A catch grew in Katherine’s throat at the sound of the poor woman’s hoarse, weak voice.

“Yes, but hush now,” Mary soothed. “We’ll save introductions for later, Dolly.”

But the woman shook her head. “Been praying for her. Like you asked.” She made an attempt to give Katherine a weak smile but began to cough again.

“Maybe she’ll quiet down if I leave.” While gratified that Mary had asked her sister to pray for her, Katherine was more eager to let the woman rest.

Mary shook her head, seemingly resigned to something Katherine was unwilling to consider.

“Toby …,” Dolly began.

“I know. He’s fighting.”

Dolly shook her head and looked toward her night table.

Mary took the letter lying there and read the first few lines and then handed the letter to Katherine.

Toby had died at Cold Harbor, Virginia, a little less than a year ago.

“Jonah?” Mary’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Tears smarted at Katherine’s eyes as she watched Dolly shake her head.

Mary bit her lip and drew the letters from Daniel from her reticule. “Daniel’s all right. He’s in Petersburg.”

Her sister nodded and closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged for a minute or two. It became shallower and shallower, and Katherine gently grasped Mary’s shoulder as Dorothy Kirby left to go to her reward.

Tears flowed freely down Katherine’s face as she sat down on the edge of the bed and held Mary as she sobbed.

Oh Father, she prayed, dear Mary has lost so much. Keep Daniel safe and let this sad war come to an end. Soon.

Bootsteps sounded on the stairs, and Katherine rose, standing protectively over Mary who still sat on the bed. A huge, gruff-looking man filled the doorway, and fear gripped Katherine as she saw the rifle in his hand.

But Mary knew the stranger. “Mr. Carr,” she said calmly, far more calmly than Katherine thought her capable of just a few minutes after her sister’s death. The older woman stood, handkerchief in hand.

Surprised, he said the name almost under his breath. “Mary O’Neal!” Clearing his throat, he took his straw hat from his head. Long strands of gray hair tumbled clumsily into his eyes, and he immediately pushed them back. “Mrs. O’Neal, I—I wasn’t expectin’ you.”

“I understood from Ruth Decker you were helping Dolly run the farm.”

Mr. Carr nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Since that rascal Toby took off.”

“I’ll thank you not to speak ill of the dead, Mr. Carr.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled gruffly and nodded toward the bed. “How’s your sister?”

“Mrs. Kirby has passed,” Mary said softly as she turned back to her sister. As she did so, Katherine thought she caught a brief gleam in Elijah Carr’s eye.

“If you want to gather up a few things, I’ll wait outside for you.” His voice strained not to sound eager.

“What on earth for?” Mary asked suddenly, turning from her sister.

“Well …,” he began hesitantly. “Thing is … Dolly promised the farm to me.”

Mary stared at him. “I’m quite sure that must be a misunderstanding. Dolly would never give up this land. Joseph always intended it for the boys.”

“Jonah and Toby are gone, Mary. Died fighting the war.”

“But Daniel is still alive and well, Mr. Carr.” She walked up to him. He towered over her, but she paid him no mind. “I read a letter from him this morning. He’s with General Grant in Petersburg.”

“Daniel always had a head for book learnin’. He was already an instructor over at that college of his. He was never a farmer. Dolly said, with Jonah and Toby gone, he would most likely sell me the land.”

“Dolly said that?”

“She surely did.”

Mary looked at him carefully. “Be that as it may, whether or not to sell the land to you is for Daniel to decide. And until he comes home, we’ll stay right here and keep the farm going.”

Katherine took a step forward to stand right behind Mary, backing up her words. She grasped the older woman’s hand and squeezed it. She had no idea how to run a farm, but she was more than willing to try.

Her movement attracted Mr. Carr’s attention, and he looked at Katherine as if just noticing her. “Who are you?” he asked gruffly.

With a pounding heart, she raised her chin. “My name is Katherine Wallace, sir.”

At the sound of her voice, Mr. Carr glared at Mary. “What do you mean bringing a filthy little secesh up here? Dolly most likely died of shock from you letting her step foot in her house.”

Mary glared right back at him. Secesh, short for secessionist, was a word they had both heard spoken in anger far too often since coming north. Mary thought it a cruel name, but Katherine felt it was an accurate one.

“Miss Wallace is my dear friend, and I had my sister’s permission long ago to bring her here.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Dolly would have more of a fit if she could see the state the farm is in right now.”