The Last Confederate (10 page)

The subject of the possum hunt came up at supper in the Big House that night. Mark had followed Rowena to Richmond, and Dan, burning to learn more about the war, had gone along. Belle had joined them; leaving only Tom and Pet there with their parents. Sky said as he bit into his steak, “Rebekah, did you read that letter from New York?”

“Yes, I did.” Rebekah sipped her tea, then asked, “Who is Whitfield Winslow, Sky?”

“Oh, he’s one of the New England branch. I never met him—but I remember hearing about his father, Paul Winslow.”

“Why, he’s the war hero, isn’t he, Father?” Tom asked. “The one who died in the War of 1812?”

“That’s the one.” Sky paused, his brow furrowing. “Pa told me one time that if Paul Winslow hadn’t come and gotten him out of prison, I wouldn’t have been born.” They all knew the story of how Christmas Winslow, Sky’s father, had gone to
prison over a shooting affair; it had been Paul Winslow and his father Charles who had gotten him a pardon.

“And Whitfield is Paul’s son?” Rebekah asked. “He seems to know a lot about the Winslow family.”

“Oh, it’s his hobby,” Sky shrugged. “Goes around digging up all the Winslows he can find. He’s found a few he’d just as soon stayed lost,” he grinned. “He writes once in a while to pry some more information out of me, but I don’t know too much about our family.”

“From his handwriting, I’d say he’s getting on in years.”

“You’re right. He’s got to be in his seventies. I haven’t heard from him in the last few years, so I thought he’d died. His son is named Robert, I think. Like the letter says, Whitfield’s writing a book about the Winslow family.”

“You’re going to be in a book, Papa?” Pet asked.

“Not too important—just a minor character, Pet,” Sky shrugged. “You’ll be in it, too, I expect.”

“He asked about all the Winslow women who married,” Rebekah commented, “and wants to know if we have heard of any of them. He listed quite a few names. Do you know if any of your people around here could be related?”

“I guess there are a few. The Perrys over in St. Francis County are some kin. My aunt Judith—she was Pa’s sister, remember? She married a man named Les Perry—but I expect the old man knows about that. Wish you’d write and tell him about her, Rebekah.” Then he remembered something and snapped his fingers. “You know that rich Yankee Rowena Barton took up with—or so the gossip went. I was told he had a friend in West Point by our name. Barton asked me about it. His name was Winslow. I
believe
he may be the son of Robert. Ask him when you write, will you, Rebekah?”

She stared at him. “It’s getting more grim all the time, this war. Our sons might be killing this man—or he might shoot one of them. Brother against brother!”

The thought brought an oppressive atmosphere. Wishing to dispel the gloom Pet asked, “Papa, you said I could go on
a hunt this year. Toby’s going possum hunting tomorrow, and I want to go.”

“That’s not ladylike,” Tom grinned. “You better stay home and play with your dolls.”

“Mind your own business, Tom.” Turning her eyes on her father, Pet implored, “You promised, Papa!”

“Did I?” Sky smiled. “Then, I guess that settles it. We Winslows are men of our word.” He took another bite of steak and said, “Better tell Whitfield to put that in his book, Rebekah.” He put his hand on her arm, adding, “And tell him to include the fact that we always marry gorgeous women!”

Tom grasped the opportunity for his bid and asked, “Are you going to let me join Mr. Barton’s company?” Pet had gotten her own way so easily that he thought it was a good time to pursue the endless task of getting what he wanted most.

Tom’s question brought the parents back to the frightening specter that loomed before them, and the gaiety vanished. But for Tom and others his age, the only fear was that the action would be over before they could get a taste of it. Sky said quietly, “I expect you’ll get your fill of the war soon enough, Tom.”

After the children had left, he sat there silently, his thoughts on the storm that would soon envelope them, and Rebekah came over to put her hands on his shoulders. “We must trust God more than ever, dear,” she said quietly.

He rose and put his arms around her. After all their years together, he loved her as he had when she was his bride, and he kissed her tenderly. “I’ve always leaned on your faith in the Lord. I guess I always will.” They stood there, holding each other, and he sighed deeply, then drew back. “This war will be hard on everyone—but for those of us who have children—it’ll be worse.”

“Jesus is the same—yesterday, today, and forever,” she said. “No matter what happens to us, we’ll have Him. But I do wish the children were safe, Sky. They all go to church—but I pray for them to really know the Lord as their Savior.”

“I know. I’ve thought the same thing,” he murmured. “I suppose all over this country, the North as well as the South, parents are talking like this. We’ll have to believe it’s in God’s hands, Rebekah. We can only trust Him!”

****

Mr. Winslow was watching his blacksmith, a huge black man named Frank, shoe his new buckskin hunter when Dooley rode in accompanied by his little brother Acie and two other young fellows. “Dooley—come here!” Winslow called, and when Young slipped off his horse and came to stand before Sky, he said, “Pet pestered me into lettin’ her go on this hunt. Would you and Toby keep a sharp eye out for her? I’m not sure that it’s right for a young woman to go hunting with a bunch of wild characters like you, but she caught me in a weak moment, so I have to let her go.”

“Why, shore, Mr. Winslow,” Dooley nodded. “I’ll be her guardian angel!”

“Never mind that—just don’t let a bear get her. She’s got enough food for a regiment, so you won’t starve.” He looked across the fields, and then said, “This war—it’s going to make a lot of changes, Dooley. Think you’ll go?”

“Guess so. All us Youngs have fought whenever we got the chance.”

The words seemed to depress Winslow. “All right. Just watch out for Pet.”

When the party got together at three in front of the Big House, Toby showed up accompanied by two young black boys. Soon Pet came out of the house and joined them. Thad drove the wagon up, having loaded it down with food and blankets, and she climbed up and sat beside him. “Thad, isn’t this exciting!”

“Sure is,” he nodded, then added, “I see you got your possum huntin’ clothes on.” Pet glanced down self-consciously at her outfit—a pair of overalls especially cut to fit her slim figure, custom-made leather boots with thick soles, a fine
soft leather coat lined with wool, and a wool cap perched on her head. “You look real fine, Miss Pet,” Thad commented.

She turned a little red. “Oh, they’re warm enough, I guess. Are we about ready?”

Dooley rode up on his feisty little bay, calling out, “Let’s git!” and led the procession out of the yard at a brisk gallop. Thad spoke to the team and they followed. Toby drove the second wagon with a mixture of young boys and yelping dogs bouncing wildly around. Dooley’s brother Acie, aged thirteen, and the other two boys rode their horses in front of the last wagon.

For several miles they traveled along muddy roads. At first Thad had nothing to say. He could talk to Dooley and his people, or to the slaves, but the young woman beside him came from another world. Pet, however, was not quiet. She chatted happily, telling him about hunting, and Thad relaxed. “You sure do know a lot about farming and hunting,” he said when he got a chance. “I thought girls were only interested in parties and dresses.”

“Oh, most of them are, I guess. Why, it would take an act of Congress to get Belle out to watch a mare foal—or in this wagon, but I like it, don’t you?”

He met her eyes and noticed that it was impossible to tell if they were blue or gray, and her nose had freckles sprinkled so lightly that they were almost invisible. She was going to be a very pretty girl when she grew up, he realized. Even now she made him a little nervous.

They left the wagon when the road ended, with Pet riding behind Dooley. By the time they got to the campsite, it was almost dark. The group stopped long enough to eat some sandwiches and drink a great deal of tea. “We’ll build a big fire later,” Dooley told them. “You boys start pickin’ up wood, while the rest of us get on with the business at hand. Now—there’s too many of us to go in one bunch, so Acie, you go with Laddie and Josh over to that place I showed you last week. Should be a passel of critters there. Take Rowley
and Henry with you to bring the game back. I’ll take Toby, Thad, and Miss Pet over to that ridge I tol’ you about. Let’s all try to git back ’fore dawn, and we’ll have a good breakfast.”

Acie and the other boys took off quickly, and Dooley said, “Let’s git goin’ our ownselves.” He led them through the woods, with Pet right behind him, followed by Thad and Toby and one slave named Jim who carried a lantern. Dooley held three of the yapping dogs on long leashes, but their strength almost dragged him through the brush. Only a sliver of a moon gave light to the dark woods, so Thad found himself stumbling over logs and into holes constantly. Dooley and Pet pulled away, and he wondered how the girl could keep up. Finally the dogs began barking in a hysterical pitch and Toby said, “Dere! Dey done got one treed!” They continued on until they located the others standing under a massive oak. The dogs were trying to climb the tree, barking with all their might.

“What you got, Dooley?” Toby asked, peering up into the tree. “I cain’t see nuffin’! Jim, gimme dat lantern!” In one quick motion he held the lantern high and they all stared into the dark recesses of the mighty limbs of the tree.

“I see his eyes!” Dooley shouted. “He’s a big one!” He threw up his gun, then lowered it. “Shoot! He ducked around the tree.”

“Let’s spread out an’ see if we can spot him,” Toby suggested. But they couldn’t get a glimpse of the animal, so finally Toby decided, “We gonna haf to go shake him out, Dooley.”

“I can go up and blow him out with this here rifle gun!” Dooley exclaimed.

“No—don’ you ’member how Jimmy Hope done shot his whole hand off climbin’ a tree wif a loaded gun?”

Dooley started to argue, then his eyes fell on Thad with a gleam. “Thad, you go up and shake that critter out. I’ll shoot ’im when he hits the ground.”

“Cain’t do dat, neither,” Toby insisted. “He’ll likely be spinnin’ round like dey does—and you might shoot Miss Pet.”

“Oh, all right!” Dooley said in disgust, then leaned his rifle against a sapling. “Go shake ’im down, Thad, and I’ll git the sucker in this sack.
That
suit you, Toby?”

“Dat will answer. Up you go, Thad.”

“But—I don’t even know what a possum
looks
like!” Thad protested as Toby shoved him up to the first branch.

Pet broke out in a fit of laughter. “Just throw down the first thing you find, Thad—that’ll be a possum.”

“Well . . . all right.” Thad moved easily up the tree. When he reached the middle, he heard a rustling of branches over his head, and shouted, “He’s going up—I’ll catch him, though!” The spirit of the hunt excited him, and he climbed higher until finally he saw that the animal had backed out on a branch. “I got him now, Dooley!” he yelled. “Get your sack ready!”

“Let ’im come, Thad!”

Thad walked out carefully, holding tightly to a branch overhead, but he stopped when he saw the bright sharp teeth of the possum. Then he began to jump up and down on the branch and yell “Here he comes” as the animal slipped and fell toward the ground. “Don’t let him get away, Dooley!” In his excitement Thad started to scramble down when a blood curdling scream from below stopped him.

Dooley had been running around trying to get under the possum while Toby held the lantern.

Pet was screaming “Git him, Dooley!” while the dogs frantically tried to climb the tree.

The dark shadow had fallen squarely into Dooley’s arms, and he clutched it, instinctively yelling, “I got ’im! I got ’im!” Then a red-hot pain struck his ear and he felt a set of razor-sharp claws raking him across the chest!

“THIS IS A PANTHER!” he screamed.

It wasn’t a panther, but it was the closest thing to one—a full-grown bobcat weighing over thirty pounds! The angry beast was trying to get free, but Dooley fell to the ground and began rolling to get away from the animal. Toby and Pet could see what was happening, but the dogs jumped into
the fray and instantly there was one whirling mass made up of Dooley, the bobcat, and the dogs—all screaming at full pitch. Sometimes the dogs got a grip on the bobcat, but sometimes it was Dooley they grabbed—and all the time Thad was scrambling down the tree, hollering, “Don’t let him get away, Dooley!”

Pet, on hearing this, burst into gales of laughter, and Toby joined in. This infuriated Dooley, who finally kicked the bobcat away, and the animal raced off, followed by the dogs. Dooley staggered forward, his fists raised to fight Toby, but he was intercepted by Thad who yelled, “If you got that one in the sack, Dooley—I got another one ready!” Thad had found something overhead—a small animal with gray fur and a naked tail, looking like a large rat.

Dooley staggered back and wiped the blood from his ear. He looked up with horror, and screamed, “No—you crazy Yankee! Don’t knock nothin’ else outta that tree!”

Then the humor of it struck him, and he said to Toby and Pet, who could not stop laughing, “N-no tellin’ what that kid will send down to be sacked up next! Probably a full-growed grizzly bear!”

Just then Thad reached the ground, demanding, “Where’s the possum, Dooley? I think we’ve found a nest of ’em up in this tree—” He stopped and stared at the three still laughing, and he joined in, remarking, “This possum huntin’ is sure fun, ain’t it?”

They left that place, but it was midnight before they caught the dogs. Dooley decided to try a spot about five miles away. He had not been seriously hurt—just a few cuts in his earlobe and on his chest. “We’ll build a fire for you, Miss Pet,” he told her, “and you and Thad wait here while Toby and Jim and me go see if we can get a coon.” After they got the fire going, they disappeared into the darkness.

“Cozy here by this fire, isn’t it, Thad?” Pet asked. Her eyes were bright despite the late hour. Then she said, “You never
say anything about yourself, Thad. Tell me about your family—and how you grew up.”