Angels Watching Over Me (Shenandoah Sisters Book #1) (4 page)

Though the Clairbornes’ Rosewood was not the largest plantation of the region, they were known by most of the citizens of Greens Crossing. Richard Clairborne, Katie’s father, was a hard worker, fair to his slaves, faithful to his family, but a man who kept mostly to himself. He didn’t have close friends in town. His three sons were like him in that way. Neither they nor Katie attended the Greens Crossing school. The Clairbornes weren’t seen at church except for occasional special circumstances. Six miles is a fair piece by horse and buggy.

Once or twice a year, Mrs. Clairborne rode the even more daunting nineteen miles into Charlotte. That’s where she bought her own clothes and Katie’s and did most of the family’s shopping. But Katie had grown two inches over the winter, and the dressmaker in Greens Crossing was as skilled as any in the city. Since it would not be until later in the summer that she and her husband would be taking a wagon into Charlotte again, the buggy would carry them into Greens Crossing today.

Katie and her mother left the dressmaker’s an hour after arriving in town and stepped from the wooden sidewalk to cross the dirt street.

‘‘Hello, Rosalind,’’ a woman’s voice called out behind them.

Mrs. Clairborne paused and turned toward the general store owner’s wife, who had spoken to her. Katie continued into the street, still thinking of the soft, pretty fabric they had picked out and the bright yellow hat they had ordered to go with the new dress. She didn’t notice her mother stopping to chat with Mrs. Hammond. Neither did she see two riders suddenly gallop recklessly around the saloon at the corner.

A tumult of shouts and whinnies suddenly filled the air.

‘‘Get outta the way, you—!’’

Mrs. Clairborne swiftly turned toward the ruckus.

‘‘Katie . . . watch out!’’ she cried as she ran frantically toward the street.

Suddenly a man’s heavy step ran past Mrs. Clairborne. The next instant Katie was thrown to the ground. A second later the riders thundered by.

The tall, lanky Negro picked himself up off the ground beside the frightened girl. He stooped down, took her hand, and pulled Katie to her feet.

‘‘Yo needs be a mite mo careful crossin’ da street, Miss Kat’leen,’’ he said, brushing the dirt from his trousers and shirt. ‘‘Dem two soldiers mighta run right ober da top er you.’’

Mrs. Clairborne rushed toward them.

‘‘Oh, Henry, I can’t thank you enough!’’ she exclaimed to the black man who worked in the livery stable. ‘‘Katie, are you all right?’’ she said, taking Katie’s hand. Still too stunned to speak, Katie nodded.

‘‘Dern blamed soldiers,’’ muttered Henry, who had bought his own freedom some years before, ‘‘dey been raisin’ a ruckus roun’ ’bout fo days now. Ah doan know what’s goin’ on. De’re all ridin’ down t’ Charleston. Somethin’s up fo sho—I been hearin’ talk ’bout an army gatherin’. Yor husband joinin’, ma’am?’’

‘‘I don’t know, Henry,’’ sighed Mrs. Clairborne. ‘‘I really don’t know.’’

As they talked, Katie gazed up into the face of the tall man. The shine in his eyes and the gleam of his perfect teeth drew her gaze into his earnest countenance. An uncommon sensation of gratitude welled up within the heart of the young white girl for the Negro man who had run in front of racing horses’ hooves to keep her from being trampled.

Mrs. Clairborne’s voice intruded abruptly into Katie’s reflections.

‘‘Kathleen, sometimes I wonder if there’s a brain in that head of yours,’’ she said, pulling on Katie’s hand as they walked away. ‘‘What gets into you to wander into the street like that?’’

‘‘Ah wouldn’t be too hard on da chil’, ma’am,’’ said Henry from behind them.

‘‘I’m grateful for what you’ve done, Henry,’’ rejoined Mrs. Clairborne, turning back toward the stable hand, ‘‘but now you must really mind your own business. The child is careless and scatterbrained. She needs to watch where she is going.’’

‘‘Yes’m,’’ said the black man. He tipped his hat to mother and daughter, then ambled back in the direction of the livery.

P
UZZLING
W
ORDS
4

A
N HOUR OR TWO AFTER FALLING ASLEEP that same night, Katie awoke to voices coming from downstairs. She recognized her mother and father talking in hushed tones, not wanting Katie or her older brothers to hear. They weren’t exactly arguing, but her father sounded urgent and determined, her mother tense and afraid.

Strange and undefined fears filled Katie’s heart as she lay awake and strained to listen. She tiptoed toward her door.

‘‘Don’t you understand, Rosalind?’’ her father was saying. ‘‘I have to go. If we don’t fight, everything we have lived for will be taken away.’’

‘‘Why does it have to be you?’’ implored her mother.

‘‘What would you have me do, stay home when the rest of North Carolina’s men are risking their lives for our freedom? I won’t spend my life thinking I was a coward.’’

‘‘But the boys, Richard, surely they don’t have to—’’ ‘

‘We will be back in a few months, Rosalind. It won’t take longer than that.’’

‘‘I can understand Joseph,’’ Katie heard her begin again. ‘‘But the others are so—’’

‘‘Caleb and Jason want to go,’’ he interrupted. ‘‘ I’m not going to stop them. They’re men now too.’’

‘‘Sixteen and seventeen—that’s hardly men.’’

‘‘You can’t keep them boys forever, Rosalind.’’

It was quiet for a few long seconds. Not wanting to hear her parents argue but unable to prevent herself from eavesdropping, Katie put her ear closer to the opening.

‘‘Where will you be—will I be able to get in touch with you?’’ she heard her mother finally say. Her voice was soft and hesitant. Katie could tell her mother was starting to cry.

‘‘I’ll be moving about,’’ answered her father. ‘‘Fort Sumter at first, then I don’t know. It depends on how long it takes us to drive the Yankees back north. You’ll just have to take care of things.’’

‘‘What if your brother . . . what if Burchard makes trouble with you gone?’’

‘‘There’s no reason for him to find out.’’

‘‘He always seems to know what you do, almost before you do it.’’

‘‘He’ll be busy with his own crops now that spring’s come. I doubt you’ll even see him before I’m back.’’

‘‘What if I do?’’

‘‘He can’t do anything legally in the short time I’m away. You’ll be fine, Rosalind.’’

‘‘What about the plantation . . . the crops?’’

‘‘Everything will be all right for a few months. The winter wheat’s in, the new wheat’s planted. The cotton will be in within two weeks. The boys and I will be back in time to harvest.’’

‘‘What if you’re . . . you’re delayed?’’

Katie could feel the shakiness in her mother’s voice. By now her mother was crying in earnest. It filled Katie with a kind of fear she had never known before. Her mother was the focal point for everything in life— a rock, strength itself. Her mother knew everything and could do anything. To hear her cry seemed to unravel the very fabric of her existence. Katie would not have put it into those kind of words back when she was a child. But as she stood trembling, she felt dreadful forebodings. She had never heard her mother sound this way, so uncertain, so afraid. She had never heard her mother weep.

But then her father’s voice again floated up into her hearing.

‘‘The slaves know what to do,’’ he was saying. ‘‘They just need someone to push them, to crack the whip every day or two. Tell Mathias what to do. He’s a good man. He’ll keep the darkies in line and take care of the crops.’’

‘‘How will I know what to tell him?’’

‘‘Just tell him to get the cotton planted and then keep it weeded. And Leroy knows more about animals than any darkie alive. Just tell them to run things for a while—we’ll be back by fall.’’

‘‘What about the grain?’’

‘‘Let the wheat turn golden, then give it another week before the scythe is put to it. The color’s the key—green’s got to be gone and the head gold. But if you see rain coming, get it in even if it hasn’t been a week. Once it’s gold, you’ve got to get the wheat under the roof before the rains come, else it’ll fall and rot on the ground. But Mathias knows all that. He and Leroy know what to do. Just make sure it’s gold.’’

Their voices grew soft.

‘‘. . . what about . . . and if my brother . . .’’

Her mother’s voice drifted and she couldn’t hear the rest. Now her father spoke again.

‘‘. . . hasn’t come around in all this time . . .’’

‘‘. . . but if he comes around again . . . his gold . . . what if he . . .’’

‘‘. . . not going to show up with a war on . . . give it to him like you always said . . . but probably back in California . . . for all we know.’’

‘‘. . . hate to think . . . if Templeton found out . . . you not here . . .’’

‘‘. . . couldn’t possibly . . . unless . . . your family . . .’’

‘‘. . . been too long . . . my family . . .’’

‘‘. . . sister might know where . . .’’

‘‘. . . got it out of Ward . . . hate each other too much . . . Ward would never give him . . .’’

‘‘. . . always ran with a rough bunch . . . tell him . . . haven’t seen him in years . . .’’

‘‘. . . what should I . . .’’

‘‘. . . just keep . . . down where . . .’’

Again her father’s and mother’s voices became so distant that Katie could make out no more of their conversation. She crept back into her bed. But she couldn’t go to sleep. She lay for a long time confused and afraid.

What did her mother’s two brothers have to do with whether the wheat was ripe and golden? She’d never even seen either of them, though she’d heard her parents talk about them before. She knew her father didn’t like either of them.

Talk of war, talk of her father and brothers leaving— it all frightened her.

But gradually she fell asleep and dreamed of golden fields of wheat, of golden coins, and the light golden hair of her doll Rebecca. . . .

Only a few days later Katie’s father and three older brothers rode away from Rosewood, leaving the plantation in the hands of Katie’s mother and the slaves. The conflict forever known as the War Between the States had arrived . . . and life in North Carolina would never be the same again.

W
AR
C
OMES
5

K
ATIE KNEW HER FATHER OWNED SLAVES, but like most young white children—and I suppose black ones like me too—she took it all as part of the natural order of things. She’d never thought about it, never questioned it, never stopped to wonder whether it was right or wrong. She had no idea what the conflict between North and South was all about.

The fighting broke out on April 12 of 1861 when Confederate soldiers attacked Fort Sumter in the Charleston harbor. The Union commander of the fort surrendered two days later. The war had begun.

In July the Union army was routed at Manassas in Virginia. It looked like the prediction of Katie’s father might come true, that the South would defeat the North in plenty of time for them to get home for the harvest.

But when Katie and her mother next saw Richard Clairborne a few weeks later, he didn’t have the joy of victory on his face. He had come home to tell them that Katie’s brother Jason had been killed in the battle. Her other two brothers were off somewhere with the army. He didn’t know when he’d see either of them again.

Katie’s mother cried for days. By the time she said good-bye to her husband a second time, hard lines of grief had already begun to etch themselves onto her face. Despite her husband’s optimistic words, she was well aware that the war could take the lives of her other sons too, as well as make a widow of her. She did not cry or argue at his departure this time. She was too angry to cry—angry at her husband for getting involved, angry at Abraham Lincoln, angry at Jefferson Davis, angry at them all. Why did men always have to fight? Couldn’t they see the stupidity and senselessness of it?

With steely eyes she watched him ride off without answers to the questions that had plagued women like her for untold centuries. She loved him. But at that moment she thought Richard Clairborne to be about the most stupid man alive. He was leaving his wife and daughter alone just so he could try to kill other men who had also left wives and daughters behind at their homes. Possibly he would get himself killed by one of those men. Men killing other men . . . and for what?