I rode as steadily as we could, as fast as I dared. There weren’t many out so early Most of the faces I passed along the streets shone only in lantern light. They were dark and solemn, and kept their eyes from mine. North Carolina, outside Quaker farms and Confederate field hospitals, beyond the walls of Union occupation, was still very much the land of slavery. I wondered for the first time if Wooster’s family owned slaves. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to ask him.
But the bigger question now was where to go. Where did Wooster live? “Wooster! Wooster!” I shook him, but he was out, burning with fever.
I wandered down what looked like the main street of town. A few lamps and candles burned in windows and cellars, probably kitchens. A stooped colored man, his hair nearly white, stood near a stable, lantern in hand, watching us. He drew a younger, dark woman to him and pointed our way. Stargazer snorted and sidestepped. “Whoa, boy. I don’t know what they want.” It was all I could do to keep him steady, to keep Wooster in the saddle.
We’d reached the town square. I’d a mind to water Stargazer from the town square pump when a young colored boy ran up to me. “What your name, Mista?”
“Why do you want to know my name?” I took in the street, up and down, to see who might be watching.
“Don’t want to know. My mama want to know. You sure got a pretty horse.”
“Thank you. Look, maybe you can help me.”
“Help you what?” He stepped back, suspicious. “Gibbons. Do you know where the Gibbons family lives?”
“Gibbons! The Widow Gibbons? Miz Eulalia Gibbons?”
“I don’t know. Is she the only Gibbons in town?” He nodded. “She live over by the ladies’ school.”
“Then she must be the one. Can you show me where she lives? I have her son, Wooster, here.”
The boy stepped back again, wide-eyed, afraid. “Wooster done died in a Yankee prison.”
“No, he’s here. He’s not dead, but he’s sick. See? Tell me where the Widow Gibbons lives.”
But the boy kept stepping back, shaking his head, too frightened to speak, too shaken to run. That’s when his mother called to him from across the street. “Samuel! Samuel!”The boy turned and ran in her direction.
“Ma’am!” I called to her. “Can you please tell me where I can find the Widow Gibbons?”
The woman drew her shawl tight around her head but pointed beyond the square. “Church Street!” she called, then clutched her young son’s hand and hurried away.
I headed Stargazer in the direction she’d pointed. I couldn’t understand why the few people on the street stared at us so. I guessed we made a sorry sight. I found Church Street, just a block over. But which way to go?That’s when I saw the shingle for the Salem Female Academy. The boy had said the Widow Gibbons lived next to the ladies’ school.
A little house sat to the right of the school, a house I could imagine Wooster growing up in. A single candle burned in the window and a brighter light beyond that. I slid down and pulled Wooster gently from the saddle. He’d lightened over the weeks, but I’d weakened some, and it was all I could do to get him to the front door. I kicked the door with my shoe, balancing Wooster against me as best I could.
When the door opened a small but wiry silver-haired woman in a white cap took one look at us and gasped. Once her blue eyes fixed on Wooster her hands flew to her face, then to his, and she cried, “Wooster! Wooster!” She pulled us in without me saying a word. “My boy! My boy!”
“He’s burning up with fever, ma’am.”
“Bring him here.” She led the way toward a small room near the back of the house, turned down the bed quilt, and helped me settle him in. “Wooster. Wooster!” She kept repeating his name, running her hands over his face, his shoulders, his arms, trying to take in that he was really there. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her wrinkled cheeks as she ran her hand over his stump. I knew they needed time alone.
“I’ll bring in his crutches and such.” I was glad to get out of the room. Seeing her worry so over Wooster made me want Ma in the worst way. And it scared me that Wooster’s fever raged.
I don’t know what made me do it, but I pulled off my butternut jacket before I went back outside, even though the cold December morning ate through my clothes. I closed the front door behind me. That’s when I looked up and saw the stooped figure of the white-haired colored man beside Stargazer, running a dark hand over the blaze on his forehead, stroking his chest. Surprisingly, Stargazer didn’t shy. “Something you want, Mister?” I didn’t like strangers getting so near Stargazer.
“I seen this horse before. I’d recognize him anywheres,” the man said.
“I doubt that. I just rode in.” But something in the old man’s voice sounded familiar, not challenging.
And then he turned. “Masta Robert, it is you. Rebecca thought it was you riding this horse, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Old George?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Old George?” I wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. “What are you doing here?” But the last was lost in the bear hug he gave me.
“Oh, it’s good to see you, Masta Robert. I thought never to see you this side of Jordan!” He laughed and hugged me again, then stood back. “I told Rebecca it couldn’t be you, not riding tall in that Confederate uniform.” He looked truly confused.
“It’s only a coat. I needed a coat and somebody gave me one. I’m not a Confederate.”
He nodded but warned, “Well, you sure looked like one, and that all the home guard gonna care about if they catch sight of you. They’s hard on deserters. Only able-bodied young men about be deserters.” He shook his head. “What you doin’ here? I’da thought you’d be off fightin’ with the Yankees, no matter what your mama said.”
“Ma! How is she? Are you on your way out to Ashland? What are you doing in town so early?” I had a million questions for him, but there would be time. We could ride out to Ashland together, and Old George could fill me in on the last five years.
“Whoa, now. I don’t slave for Masta Marcus no more. I don’t even know if he still be alive.”
“What?” Old George had been Grandfather’s horse trainer and stable keeper since he was bought as a young man. He was as much a part of Ashland as my mother, had lived there longer, by far.
“You don’t know, do you?” Old George looked concerned for me, and that sent a chill up my spine.
“What—”
“Sam!” the widow called from behind me. The small, dark boy who’d been so frightened of Wooster appeared from behind a lamppost, skittered past me, and ran straight to the widow’s skirts. I heard her urge, “Dr. Macey! Run, Sam!” The boy took off like slick shavings down the cobblestone street.
“Old George—what about Ma? Is Ma all right?” I couldn’t breathe.
“Far as I know, she’s with Miz Emily. Miz Emily take good care of her. Take good care of all of them.” Old George looked over his shoulder. The town was beginning to stir, and a man stopped across the square, staring in our direction. “Best get off the street. This fine horse causing too much stir. Not many good horses left by the Confederacy. They’ll be wantin’ this one, and what they want, they take. Folks’ll be asking.”
“I just rode in. I don’t know where to stable him.”
“You let Old George see to that. I take care of this fine boy. Yes, sir, I’ll take good care of him.”
“Where will I find you?” I had every reason to trust Old George and every reason to trust nobody when it came to Stargazer.
He nodded across the square and down the street. “Over yonder, beyond the tavern. I’ll feed and water him inside the stables. If folks come asking about him, I’ll move him, hide him.” He smiled. “There’s always friends among us. Don’t you worry.
“I saw you brought the Gibbons boy home. That’s good. The widow set great store by her boy—thought he be dead. She a fine woman.” He picked up Stargazer’s reins and handed me Wooster’s crutches and the bedroll. “Don’t you worry none. I’ll take good care of this boy, and I’ll send Rebecca over with news if I can’t come.”
The man across the square started toward us. I wanted to ask Old George more questions, get some answers, but his eyes took in the stranger and motioned me toward the widow’s house. “You’d best get inside.” He walked off with Stargazer like he’d done it every day. I swallowed, uncertain if this was right, fearful I’d regret this action, fearful I’d lose Stargazer again, but I turned and walked back into the house just the same. I stood with my back pressed against the door, my knuckles white around Wooster’s crutches. Old George had helped Jeremiah and me escape all those years ago. I couldn’t imagine he’d betray me now. Footsteps walked right up to the door, hesitated, waited, then walked away. I breathed, finally, wondering what he wanted, wondering why my heart beat so fast.
“There you are!” I jumped. It was the Widow Gibbons. “Are you all right, young man? You’re not feverish, too?”
“No, ma’am. Just tired.”
She felt my head, then nodded. “Are those my Wooster’s things?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I handed her his crutches, his bedroll. “Wooster won’t want these out of his sight. How is he?”
She shook her head. “I’ve sent for Dr. Macey. It’s a high fever. How long since it took?”
“Yesterday. He’s been in and out, and weak. I don’t know if it’s from infection or something else. His arm was dressed last night but might need looking at. Been running as fast as we could. Wooster had it in his head to get home for the Christmas Eve lovefeast you all hold.”
She smiled and nodded, but the smile faded quickly. “I was told my son had likely died in a prison escape. I don’t know what miracle brought you here, but I thank you, with all of my heart.”
There was a tapping on the side door. The widow and I looked at each other. She stepped to open it and a tall, slim black woman and the little boy that I’d met near the pump nearly fell inside. “It’s you! It really is you, Masta Robert!”
“Rebecca, you know this young man?”
“Rebecca?” I wouldn’t have believed it, but I remembered Old George saying he’d send Rebecca if he couldn’t come. I hadn’t imagined it would be Rebecca from Ashland.
“There’s no time. I heard the home guard talking over their breakfast at the tavern where I carry Miz Adelia’s pies. One of the men spotted you riding in. Everybody’s mighty skittish, what with all the talk about that Gen. Sherman burning his way through Georgia, tearing up every rail line and telegraph pole, doing the Lord knows what to folks in his path. It’s all anybody talks about for fear he’ll come on up here. That Maj. McCain warned that some of those bummers might come our way. They’s coming to see if you are one of them or maybe a deserter.”
“I’m none of those things!”
“You best have proof, or they haul you off, take your horse, andslapyouinthejailhouse.”
“I’m not even enlisted!”
Widow Gibbons looked near horrified. “But you rode in here in a—”
“A rebel soldier’s jacket, but it was given to me in a field hospital—in a field hospital where Wooster saved my life.” She frowned, confused. “It’s a long story, ma’am, but I swear to you that I’m a friend of Wooster. I wasn’t in the beginning, but I am now.”
“You’re a Yankee?” She could barely say the word.
“I’ve never enlisted. I’m here to find my mother.”
“You come for Miz Caroline?” Now Rebecca seemed horrified.
“Caroline Ashton? You’re Caroline’s son—Emily Mitchell’s cousin?” the widow asked.
I nodded, surprised the widow knew Emily, or Ma. But I turned sharp on Rebecca. “Emily wrote me that Ma needs help.” Rebecca looked away, but I pulled her to me. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Ma?”
Rebecca looked afraid. She looked at me, Widow Gibbons, and back to me. “Let go. You hurting my arm.”
“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I didn’t mean to, but—Ma—how is Ma?”
“Rebecca?” the widow asked.
Rebecca licked her lips and looked away. “She be poorly. Real poorly, last I saw her.”
“What—”
“She be feeble.” Rebecca stepped back. “She be feebleminded.”
That’s when I heard the knock on the door. But I couldn’t take it in. “What do you mean, ‘feebleminded’?” I teetered on the edge.
“Masta Robert, you best hide. You hide now, or they gonna drag you off!”
“But I haven’t done anything!”
Now the widow took hand. “I’ll not let them take you, for Wooster’s sake, for the fact you brought my boy home to me. Come in here.” I followed her into her bedchamber. The knocking grew to a pounding. “Climb between the mattress and the ropes, face down, so you can breathe. Help him, Rebecca, while I answer the door.”
I felt a fool, letting two women hide me in a lady’s bedchamber. But in the last few months I’d been shot at, nearly drowned, half starved, sick near to death, arrested, and nearly shot for being a spy. I sure didn’t want to be hauled off by the home guard, especially now that I was so close to Ashland and Ma. So I climbed between the ticking and the ropes, staring straight at the floorboards, while Rebecca made the bed above me. When everything was to her liking I heard the window lift, a swish of skirts, then the window sliding into place.
Voices rose from the next room. Footsteps pounded the halls, searched the very room in which I hid. “You’re certain he didn’t come in here?”
“Mr. Hubner, the boy left my son’s bedroll and crutch, then took off. I’ve no idea where he’s gone, and I don’t expect him to return. I’m only grateful he helped my Wooster home.”
“Maj. McCain wrote for us to be on the lookout for a boy answering his description, said he might try to bring Wooster home. He said Wooster got mixed up after Gettysburg. Thinks his enemies are his friends now. Said that boy is a Federal spy, might be using Wooster to get information, and if we can we ought to catch him and take care of him.”
“I don’t know anything about all of that. And as you can see, Wooster isn’t fit to tell you anything. Now, I must ask that you leave here so I can prepare my boy for Dr. Macey—before it is too late.”
The bedchamber door closed. Voices argued, rose and fell. I heard the front door open, footsteps fade down the walk, the door close, and a bar slide into place.