Through the Storm (8 page)

Black and White soldiers were being mustered here too. Many of the freedmen were choosing to wear the Union blue, but others were being forced by the army command to join the fight. They were being drilled, taught tactics, then sent off to war. Because slave owners forbade Blacks to handle firearms, most of the freedmen soldiers were hopeless on the firing range. They knew
nothing about sights or triggers or the difference between a sixteen shot Henry and a musket. Some of the commanders were tolerant and patient, or as patient as men could be knowing that their green troops could be thrown into the fight at any time. Other officers, those with no patience and even less experience, tried to whip the recruits into shape with bullying and insults. When their soldiers proved unprepared for battle, the officers blamed the new Black soldiers rather than their own incompetence. Prejudice and incompetence tended to play havoc with Raimond’s temper, so he made a point of staying away from the drill grounds as much as possible when such commanders were on site.

He hadn’t had many problems with prejudice here lately, although that wasn’t always the case. Many of the White soldiers had made it clear they were fighting for the Union and fourteeen dollars a day—not to free slaves. Raimond did not like the attitude, but tolerated it as long as the men were not disrespectful to his face, didn’t countermand his orders or refuse to carry them out. Those who did were put in their place no matter what their rank. Raimond was a major in the U.S. Army, perhaps the only Black major outside the state of Louisiana. His grandfather and the other members of the Louisiana Native Guard, or the Corps’d’ Afrique as they liked to call themselves, had saved Andrew Jackson at Chalmette during the 1812 war. Having been free all his life, and well educated, Raimond did not have the temperament to suffer quietly the slings and arrows of White soldiers who couldn’t even read their own names.

Sable worked from sunup to sundown washing the clothes of soldiers, campers, and the garishly painted whores who made their living following the soldiers from post to post. It was bone-aching work. Even though it was nearing the end of September, the days were still hot enough to make standing over a boiling vat filled with lye, water, and laundry seem like a trip into per
dition. The first night, her arms ached so badly from the strain of lifting her weight in wet laundry, she could barely raise her arms to feed herself. She was so stiff the next morning, she could hardly move. Her hands were red and chapped from the harsh soap, and she knew they would only get worse, but she did not complain; for the first time in her life she was earning a wage. Her success in this new, free world rested in her own lye-reddened hands. She’d promised Araminta she wouldn’t squander her freedom, and she intended to keep that pledge. The sacrifices made by Mahti and the Old Queens also meant much to Sable, and she couldn’t think of a better way to honor them than by working diligently and making her life count—as long as the work didn’t kill her first.

She felt lucky to have a job. As the soldier who’d processed her had hinted, there were few opportunities for women here, and women with small children had even less choice. Only a few were lucky enough to find someone who’d watch over their offspring while they hired themselves out to the army or to the locals as laundresses, cooks, or seamstresses. Most were relegated to monotonous, uneventful days of waiting for their men to return.

None of the other women in Mrs. Reese’s employ had offered Sable a hand in friendship, so during the day she kept pretty much to herself. At night, she lay on her threadbare pallet and remembered those she’d left behind. She wondered about Vashti and little Cindi, and most of all she wondered about her sister, Mavis. Would they ever see each other again? Sable missed her very much. Mahti too.

On the fifth morning in camp, Sable saw Major LeVeq approaching the laundry area with a bundle of clothes in his arms. Their paths hadn’t crossed since the day she’d arrived. Seeing him now made her remember the teasing banter they’d shared and the sensation of falling asleep in his arms. His handsomeness hadn’t diminished
a bit—he was still tall, bearded, and dazzling.

He approached the laundress named Sookie, who looked as if she was going to swoon as he handed her his bundle. Sable wondered if it was considered an honor to do his laundry. The cow-eyed woman apparently thought so. Shaking her head at the silliness of some of her gender, Sable resumed stirring her vat of clothes.

The work took a great deal of effort. To move the long length of wood around in the clothes-choked vat took more strength than she’d initially guessed. She still found it nearly impossible to move all of the clothes from the washing vat to the rinsing vat in one load, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Sable forced the long piece of wood deep into the boiling water and lifted as much of the load as she could. Her arm muscles bulging, she’d almost cleared the lip to complete the transfer when a familiar, accented voice behind her asked, “What in the world are you doing here?”

Raimond LeVeq’s unexpected presence broke Sable’s concentration, and the clothes fell back into the vat, sending up a small shower of scalding water.

Sable jumped out of harm’s way, irritation on her face. “This is where I’ve been assigned.”

Raimond stared at her ill-fitting dress and mud-caked shoes and said, “You would be more useful clerking.”

“I’m fine here, Major.”

She wasn’t really, but she wanted no special treatment. Many of the single women had become whores in order to keep themselves afloat. Just this morning, she’d overheard the other laundresses talking about certain White officers who had harems of dark beauties at their beck and call. Sable did not want to make herself beholden to the major for any help he might throw her way.

To Raimond Sable was even more beautiful than the night they’d first met. Her mysterious eyes were as green as the sea. A sea-faring man, he’d sailed all over the world, and everything about her called to him like the
bewitching song of a siren. In spite of her obvious mixed-race parentage, her rich dark hair knotted at her nape bore the wave and thickness of its African ancestry. One could also see her tribal roots in her proud nose and lush mouth. “You clean up well,” he remarked.

“I’m glad you approve,” she said, not missing the daggers being shot her way by the other women. She didn’t want to draw their wrath. “I need to get back to work.”

“Would you dine with me this evening?”

Sable looked up in surprise. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not here to be your dessert at the end of the day.”

He chuckled. Although he found the wording of her refusal novel, he enjoyed the idea of her as a dessert. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She resumed stirring. “Now leave me before you get me in trouble with Mrs. Reese.”

“As you wish, but I won’t stop asking,” he promised with glowing eyes.

“Go,” she commanded, trying to hide her smile.

He bowed gracefully and departed.

As Raimond made his way back across camp, he smiled at the thought of the lovely Miss Fontaine. She had a spice and sass that seemed to breathe excitement back into his soul. The war, the refugees, and the untimely death of his brother Gerrold had stifled his usually exuberant approach to life. He’d seen more death than he cared to remember and more despair than the world should be able to hold. Men were dying, the country was torn apart, and his mother in New Orleans was having to sell her possessions piece by piece in order to eat. Over the past few weeks, he’d thought the sun would never shine inside him again, but Sable’s presence seemed to be changing that. Yes, he’d had a few discreet liaisons during his time here, but they’d never
been more than a mutual satisfaction of need. Sable Fontaine made his blood rise. The challenge of getting to know her better and maybe wooing her into his bed made him feel alive again.

That evening as Sable and the other women sat eating dinner outside Mrs. Reese’s tent, Sookie, the young woman who’d been given the major’s clothes to launder that morning, asked, “What did he say to you?”

Since Sable had never been included in the women’s conversations before, it took her a moment to realize the question had been directed her way, and that Sookie was referring to the major. She shrugged. “Nothing.” She went back to the beans on her plate, hoping that would be the end of it, but of course it was not.

Paige, Sookie’s friend, added coolly, “He was down there an awful long time to be saying nothing.”

In the silence that followed, Sable could see they wouldn’t turn the topic loose until she’d answered, so she told them the truth. “He asked me to dine with him.”

“See, I knew she was down there flirting,” Sookie snapped. “So when are you going?”

Sable wiped her plate with the last of her stale bread. “I’m not.”

They stared at her as if she’d just sprouted wings.

Bridget, who’d been quiet until then, asked, “You’re joshing, right?”

Sable shook her head. “No.”

“Can’t you see how handsome he is?” Sookie questioned.

“Do you know how rich he is?” Paige put in.

Sable answered truthfully, “I don’t care.”

It was obviously not the answer the women had been expecting. Their stunned faces made her smile.

Bridget cracked, “There isn’t a female in this camp who tells him no.”

“Then I’ll be good for him. No man should have everything he desires.”

When several of the women shook their heads at her response she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“You’re just not who we expected,” Sookie confessed.

“What did you expect?”

“Someone who couldn’t pull her weight and would complain all the time.”

“Why?”

“Because of the way you look and talk.”

Sable appreciated their bluntness. She wondered how many others viewed her with the same jaundiced eye. The misconception that her light brown skin and refined speech automatically made her different irritated her. No matter what color or pedigree, a slave was still a slave.

Granted, there were those who’d taken advantage of their station as house slaves and lorded it over those who toiled in the fields; in fact, she’d known a few such irritating people on some of the plantations near her home. But house slaves came in all colors. There were those whose skin bore the paleness of miscegenation and others whose faces reflected the true skin tones of their African ancestors. Opal, the housekeeper on the Fontaine place, had never allowed any distinctions; no one lorded it over anyone. If anyone under her supervision did consider himself better, he knew to keep the attitude to himself.

“So you’re really not going to have dinner with him?” Sookie asked in continuing disbelief.

“No.”

They continued to shake their heads before turning the conversation to another topic.

To Sable’s surprise, the next morning the other women began addressing her by her name instead of as “Hey you!” Bridget, who seemed to be the most friendly, called her Fontaine.

They showed her how to roast the green coffee beans
sold by the camp sutler, let her in on some of the camp gossip, and for the most part treated her as one of them. Their change in attitude made her wonder if last night’s conversation had changed their opinion of her. Sable had always been straightforward, so she asked Dorothy, the oldest woman.

“Because you’re one of us, no better, no worse. No airs, no complaining.”

Sable accepted the plain-spoken explanation just as she accepted their newly offered friendship.

The next day brought more laundry and still more hard work. It also brought a lost child.

Sable spotted him on her way back from the privy. He was seated on the ground looking so sad, she stopped, then looked around to see if his parents were nearby. Seeing no one but the folks coming and going, she stooped and asked, “What’s your name, little fellow?”

“Patrick.”

Patrick looked to be no older than six or seven. “Where’s your mama, Patrick?”

He began to cry silent tears. “Don’t have one.”

She felt her heart twist. “Do you have a pa?”

He shook his head.

She glanced around for someone to help and spied a few people looking on curiously, but no one stepped forward to express concern. Sable had to get back to her vat, but she balked at leaving the child alone. “Would you like to go with me and see if we can find someone to help you?”

He nodded and stood.

Sable took his small, dirty hand in hers. On their way back to the laundry, she learned that he’d come to the camp a few days ago with his Uncle Benjamin and a group of older men and boys, but he’d become separated. When Sable asked him if he would recognize his uncle or any of his companions if he saw them again, Patrick assured her he would.

The laundry ladies were moved by little Patrick’s plight. When they learned he didn’t remember when he’d last eaten, Mrs. Reese fed him, washed him up, and found him some clothes in her stash of left-behind items. By midday, he looked like a new little boy, but seemed no closer to being reunited with his uncle. Sable took it upon herself to locate him.

Mrs. Reese gave Sable permission to conduct a search, but reminded her she would lose half a day’s pay. Sable agreed without complaint.

With Patrick in tow, Sable made her way through the camp. Everywhere they went she asked if anyone knew Patrick, or knew of someone who was trying to locate a child matching his description, but no one did. She did get a few promising leads, but none led to the boy’s relative.

As dusk fell, they were still searching. Sable felt discouraged but didn’t voice her feelings aloud so her young charge wouldn’t lose hope. Someone told her of a place near the center of camp where people who’d become separated could leave word for their kin. The woman giving Sable the information wasn’t sure where the posting place was located, but she had heard of its existence from another woman.

So Sable and Patrick set out once more. There were over a thousand people in the camp, and trying to reunite one little boy with his companions was proving harder than she’d imagined.