The Freedom Star Part 11

"I know only what I must do. I spoke with Lieutenant Lee yesterday. We agreed. We must go with our state. Others may wait until they hear from home, but come Sunday, I will be on the packet boat returning to Virginia."

"And you will be missed," Edward said. "At least by this Yankee."

Henry hooked the last b.u.t.ton on his frock coat, then turned to his roommate. "May G.o.d never place us on the same battlefield, but if he does, may he strike me down in all his fury if any harm comes to you by my hand." He placed his hand on Edward's shoulder.

"Likewise," Edward said, clasping Henry's shoulder. "The war will be over long before I graduate, but even if it isn't, there is no cause so just as to bring me to raise my sword against you, my friend."

"Enough of this pathos." Henry pushed Edward away. "Today is for social calls and farewells, and tomorrow . . . tomorrow I will see my Belinda." He checked the alignment of his tunic in the small mirror. "I dare say I will ask her to await my return, as I must fulfill my duty before I can ask for her hand."

"Why, you sly fox! Congratulations." Edward punched him on the shoulder.

"Hold on there. She still has to say *yes.'"

"No chance she won't, Henry. That girl's stuck on you and all your southern charm."

"Well then, let's go warm up some of that charm. Come tomorrow night, it'll be flowing like hot apple b.u.t.ter on a buckwheat biscuit."

_____.

Henry surveyed the crowd surrounding the dance floor. The animosity of the past six months seemed forgotten as cadets, North and South, came together once more as brothers. Almost a third of the corps were Southern, and many had already departed. Tonight's dance was an occasion to bid farewell to the next group to leave-the Virginians.

Belinda should have been there by now. She always found a spot toward the front. The band opened with a polka and couples filled the dance floor.

"Good luck, McConnell. I'd stay close and provide support, but there's this little Jersey girl who needs my attention." Edward gave Henry a wink, then dashed away in search of his date.

Henry edged toward the band, searching the far end of the hall. It wasn't like her, she'd always attended, and she'd always made her presence known. He climbed onto a bench along one wall. The entire room came into view. Couples whirled past in blurs of pastel and gray. A familiar shade of yellow swept by, topped with raven black hair. Jumping from his perch, Henry kept pace with the couple, positioning himself to move in as soon as the dance ended.

A smattering of polite applause accompanied the final note. Henry leaped as high as he could, peering over the crowd. There she was, only a few feet away, surrounded by other cadets and their ladies. He pushed his way through the gathering.

"I thought you must have missed the packet boat," Henry said. "I was worried."

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Henry."

The music slowed to a waltz. Henry bowed and offered his hand. "Shall we-?"

Belinda looked away.

He withdrew his gloved hand and straightened. "Is there a problem?"

She folded her arms. "The problem is your southern friends turning on our nation and attacking our flag. I can't abide a traitor, Henry, and I'll not be seen dancing with one."

"Is this cadet bothering you, Miss Belinda?" George Wheatley appeared, placing his hand on the small of her back.

"Come with me," Henry said, grabbing Belinda by the hand. He stormed through the double doors to the veranda. Outside, he spun her around. "Traitor is a powerful word. I swore my allegiance to Virginia and the United States, but when the government in Washington saw fit to turn state against state, honor required that my sword be used to defend the oppressed, not aid the oppressor."

Belinda shoved her hands on her hips. "You can frame it any way you please, Henry McConnell, it's treason all the same, and I'll not have my reputation sullied by dallying one instant more with the likes of a man who is neither a patriot nor a gentleman."

"Belinda, wait-" He reached for her hand. From behind, a fist flew over his shoulder, crashing into his jaw. Henry crumpled to the flagstone patio. Clatter filled his ears like drumsticks on a tin pot. He shook his head and slowly pushed up on one elbow.

"You'd best leave our northern women alone, McConnell. Get back to your plow horses while you still can."

That voice . . . The night, back in November, returning to the barracks . . . .

Cadet George Wheatley towered over him, hands on his hips, his feet spread apart. Belinda peered from behind the swaggering cadet, her expression one more of curiosity than concern.

"Get back to your cotton," Wheatley said. "Your kind's no longer welcome here at the Point." He started to walk away with Belinda on his arm.

Henry struggled to his feet. "Wheatley . . ."

Cadet Wheatley turned.

"You're a d.a.m.ned coward." Henry balled his fists. "It took three of you to best me in November and tonight you sneak up behind me like the stinking polecat you are. Stand and fight or strike your colors. Either way, you'll learn a lesson tonight . . ."

A crowd of cadets and young ladies circled the two.

Wheatley sprang, unleashing a wild right punch. Henry dodged the haymaker and jabbed hard to Wheatley's midsection. Wheatley recovered, throwing two quick punches. Both missed. He came at Henry again with another violent lunge. Henry ducked, shifted his weight, and smashed an uppercut to Wheatley's chin. Teeth cracked against teeth. The tall New Yorker collapsed, blood gurgling from his mouth.

Belinda rushed to Wheatley's side. She cradled his head in her arms and glared at Henry. "You brute!"

Henry ma.s.saged the knuckles on his right hand, then pointed to the unconscious cadet. "Looks to be a long war for you Yankees if that's the best you can muster." He turned on his heel and marched to the barracks.

_____.

Henry lay on his bunk reading a letter penned on pale yellow stationary.

Edward entered the room and sat, straddling his chair. "I tried finding you after the ruckus, but you'd already left. You all right?"

Henry put down the letter. "Never better, my friend. Never better."

"You sure?"

"What use did I have for that little trollop anyway? In South Boston alone there must be a dozen girls who could best her."

Edward laughed. "One thing's for sure, Wheatley won't be bothering you anymore. Cadets were talking after you left. Even the northern boys liked what you did. He never had much of a following around here." Edward stood and shoved the chair under his desk. "The corps is gathering tonight to give Lieutenant Lee a proper sendoff. Come morning, he'll be on the packet boat with you. How about we head over to officers' row and join the activities?"

"Anything for Lieutenant Lee," Henry said. He hopped out of bed and b.u.t.toned his tunic.

They walked across the quadrangle, joining the growing procession of officers and cadets.

"Must be the entire corps here." Henry gestured toward the impromptu formation of gray gathered on the lawn in front of Lieutenant Lee's quarters. All of the cadets removed their covers, tucking them under their arms, as the officers led the serenade for their departing comrade.

The first song, a somber rendition of "Kathleen Mavourneen," was one of Henry's favorites. Two hundred male voices drew Lieutenant Lee to the small porch on the front of his quarters. He nodded and waved to the crowd, appearing hard pressed to resist the wave of nostalgia sweeping over those gathered in the commons. Next came a mournful rendition of "Auld Lang Syne." Finally, they bid the lieutenant adieu with the prayerful strains of "Dixie." As they sang the final verse, cadets and officers slowly broke ranks, drifting back to barracks and billets.

Chapter Fifteen.

April 1861 "You may go on Sat.u.r.day-if you get that chair finished." Thomas pulled the door closed behind him as he left the bunkroom.

Mr. Jones shot Isaac a quizzical look. "Where's you going Sat.u.r.day, boy?"

"Eat your squirrel, old man." Isaac ladled stew onto the tin plate and took a seat at the table.

"But what's he talking about? You going somewhere and you can't tell Mr. Jones?"

Isaac poked at his food. "It ain't nothing. I just asked could I borrow the wagon after ch.o.r.es was done."

"What's you needing a wagon for?"

Isaac lowered his voice. "I's figuring to head down by Yanceyville, see if I might can have a visit with Raleigh."

Mr. Jones slapped his knee. "That girl sure enough got herself under your skin. You reckon she's partial to you too?"

A warmth rushed to Isaac's face. He stared at his plate. "Could be. She ain't said."

"I wager the two of you'll be jumping that broom before the corn's in the ground." Mr. Jones hopped up from the table and danced around the small room, laughing and clapping his hands.

Isaac pushed aside his plate. How would he know if she was partial to him? Did she lay awake nights thinking on Isaac like he did on her?

_____.

Isaac clutched his stomach as the wagon bounced over a rut. Years ago, he'd experienced similar queasiness. They'd been swimming down at Bennett's Creek and Henry and Patrick had held him under water. Then, a stomach full of creek water had forced him to lie on the bank until the nausea pa.s.sed. Now, it wasn't creek water that turned his stomach in flips, but rather the prospect of a meeting with Raleigh.

"I ain't never called on a woman before," Isaac said to the horse. "Ain't certain what I should say. Shoot, I ain't even certain this is such a good idea. Well, too late to turn back." He tugged on the rein. The horse turned into the winding lane leading to the Patterson house. Isaac stopped the wagon beside the porch and hopped down, tying the reins around the hitching rail. He patted the horse as he studied the porch, then cautiously climbed the steps and crossed to the door. He lifted his hand, then hesitated.

She didn't know he was coming. What if she was off doing errands or tied up with ch.o.r.es? What if she didn't want to see him? His stomach tightened. He lowered his hand. This had been a bad idea. He turned toward the wagon.

The door opened.

"Yes?" Mr. Patterson stood in the doorway. "It is Isaac, isn't it? To what do we owe the pleasure? Was there something more from Mr. Day?"

Isaac s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat from his head, clutching it in front of him. "No sir, Mr. Patterson, I don't have no business from Mr. Day. I . . . I come to see Raleigh. I was hoping for a short visit."

A smile crossed Mr. Patterson's face. He pointed to one of the straight-backed chairs. "Set on down, boy." He chuckled as he disappeared into the house.

The morning sun warmed Isaac as he sat, hat in hand. On the front lawn, daffodils encircled a thick, gnarled oak. Forsythia splashed yellow across the paddock fence. Isaac's knee bounced uncontrollably.

"Hey there."

Isaac turned quickly.

Ezekiel stood beside the porch. "You's that boy from up Milton way, ain't you? You bring us another table, maybe a new bed?"

"I . . . I come to see Raleigh."

Ezekiel glanced cautiously at the door. "She know you here?"

"Ma.s.sa Patterson went to fetch her."

"Raleigh don't cotton none to men callers. Mighty particular, that woman, and she don't tolerate the attentions of no slaves."

Isaac's stomach tightened. She was free. What could she see in him, other than just another slave?

Ezekiel removed his hat and raked his fingers through his snowy hair. "Well, I has to go clean the barn. You take care, boy." He set his hat on the back of his head and whistled as he walked away.

Isaac started to wipe his sweaty palms on his shirt, then hesitated. That church shirt was all he had, not counting slave clothes. He rubbed his hands down the front of his britches.

The door creaked and Raleigh stepped onto the porch. She wore a plain gray dress with a white ap.r.o.n. "Good morning, Isaac. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Isaac stumbled to his feet. "Morning." He poked at a board in the porch with the toe of his shoe. "I was hoping we might have us a visit." Isaac motioned to the other chair.

"I have ch.o.r.es."

"Won't take up much of your time." He twisted the brim of his hat. "Since you don't get up to church no more, I reckoned I'd come down here."

She brushed wrinkles from her ap.r.o.n. "Walk with me while I gather the eggs."

Raleigh took a basket from the back porch as they pa.s.sed, hooking her arm through the wicker handle. "So, are you a city boy or a farmer?"

"Growed up on a farm," Isaac said. "My white folk, they has a place up by South Boston." He paused while his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hen house. "We grows tobacco, corn, some wheat, plus vegetables for the table." He found a large brown egg under an old hen and handed it to Raleigh.

She turned the egg over and scowled. "That hen's too old for laying. Stew pot's where she needs to be." Raleigh placed the egg in the basket and continued down the row of nesting boxes. "Farming's all right for some, but I hope to live in the city one day. I can't see myself being a farmer's wife."

"I . . . I don't plan on farming. I makes furniture." Immediately, Isaac cringed. Why'd he say that?

Raleigh turned toward him. "Does Mr. Day intend to set you up in business?"

"I ain't ready for that, least ways, not yet." He searched for another egg.

"Someday?"

"I hopes to open my own shop, maybe in Philadelphia." He retrieved an egg from under a cackling hen and added it to the basket. "Pa and Mr. Day, they been teaching me all about making fine furniture. When the time comes, I'll be ready."

"Missus Patterson has a brother in Philadelphia," Raleigh said. "We visited there two years ago. It is certainly a fine city in which to open a carpenter's shop."

When they finished gathering the eggs they returned to the main house. Raleigh set the basket on a bench by the back door and turned toward Isaac. "Tell me about your family."

He leaned against the porch rail. Pink blossoms clung to the branches of an apple tree in the backyard. In the fields, slaves bent over, transplanting tobacco seedlings. Isaac faced Raleigh. "Pa, he goes off fixing furniture and Mama, she just keeps on cooking, but if I get tore up with cat briars or such, she knows all sorts of potions for healing. Joseph, he's my little brother, he got snake bit once and Mama sucked out the poison. She nursed him on back and cooked up that copperhead in a stew."

Raleigh laughed. "She sounds like quite a woman."

"She's as good as they come."