Wild, Beautiful, and Free(59)

Once Cincinnati was within reach, we began to be on the lookout for Mr. Louden. I had been right about the roads being full. We were often passed by militia on horses and on foot. Dorinda and I pulled to the side of the road and watched them go by. The dust from their feet, most likely shod in shoes made in Lower Knoll, floated in the rising late-spring heat. I marveled at the baby-faced youth and the grim determination etched on their faces. I thought of Mr. Colchester’s question to Colonel Eshton: What were they fighting for? Did they know?

Only once did I pull out the pistol. It was when we were near the Kentucky border. A man with a rifle slung over his shoulder approached us on foot. I saw him coming and whispered to Dorinda, “It’s all right. Don’t say anything to him.” I tried to assess what he could be. He wasn’t ragged, and yet he was on foot. He could be on his way to join a regiment. But for which side? I slipped the pistol out of my pocket and held it in my hand on my lap, like I always held it there. I kept the reins in my left.

“Good afternoon, miss.” I could see his eyes going from the gun, to Dorinda, to me, and then back to the gun again.

I nodded. I decided it was best not to volunteer information, so I said nothing, not even Good afternoon.

“On your way to Cincinnati?”

I smiled. “I’m on an errand for my daddy.”

He looked again at Dorinda. “She your property?”

My answer to this question meant everything. I couldn’t tell if he was on the slave-owning side of the conflict or not. I listened for a tilt of his voice, for a different accent, but I couldn’t discern one. Finally, I decided I would tell the truth, or a kind of truth. He would hear it the way he needed to.

I smiled again. “She has looked after me since I was a child. I almost feel like I belong to her! We are indeed together, sir. And as I said”—I moved the gun ever so slightly on my lap—“I’m running an errand for my daddy.”

He nodded. “Good for you, miss. Don’t let that Yankee trash bother you. If I were you, I’d go around Temsun way and avoid the Alma road. There’s a Union camp set up near there.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. We’ll do that.” I clucked to the horses to get them moving. “Good afternoon,” I said as we passed by him.

We drove for a bit without saying anything. After I was sure the man was out of sight and not following us, I put the gun back in my pocket. Dorinda smiled and put an arm around me.

“You reminded me of your daddy just then. Just as brave and bold as can be.”

I smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

She went on: “Brave and bold like he was when you were a baby, carrying you with him everywhere he went.”

It was an image I hadn’t thought of in a long time. It made me feel happy and settled.

“Thank you, Dorinda.”

We found the old farmer first. He overtook us just past Cincinnati and, on glancing at us, recognized Dorinda.

“Is that you, ma’am? Are you looking for your man?”

She put up her hands and waved. “Mr. Smith! Thank the Lord!”

We pulled our carriages to the side of the road, and I helped Dorinda step down.

“Mr. Louden been sending me up and down this road every other day. Said you might come this way.”

I was so glad we hadn’t taken the directions the stranger had given us.

“He still waitin’ for me, then?”

“It ain’t June yet, so yeah, he’s there. But I think he’s itchin’ to go. He’ll be right grateful to be off.”

“Well, I’m ready for him.”

I helped Dorinda with her things. Templeton and I had made sure she was returning with more than she’d had when she’d left Catalpa Valley. I parsed out what food I might need for my return trip and gave her the rest. I did the same with the money Mr. Colchester had given me.

“Traveling mercies, Dorinda.”

She kissed me. “We shall meet again, ma chérie. I know this now. I am glad of it.”





Chapter 12


My journey back to Lower Knoll felt tedious and longer without Dorinda’s company. I took fewer breaks and traveled more miles a day. During the drawn-out hours I thought of what Madame must look like now. I remembered our last encounter, her face disfigured with jealousy and anger, outside her wits from Papa’s death. I wondered what his funeral day had been like—the coffin, the walk to the family graveyard, the black train of slaves and family following the horse-drawn hearse. Would there be such a gathering when Madame died? It didn’t seem likely. I thought about what it must have been like for her to lose Papa’s son and Papa’s love almost all at once. I felt sorry for her. I decided if I ever saw her again, I would try to make peace.

I was going back to Fortitude Mansion and Lower Knoll, but how long could I stay? I had asked Mr. Colchester to find another residence for me, but I didn’t think it could ever be far enough away to keep me from witnessing him and his bride every day. But now that I had a hope of returning to Catalpa Valley, perhaps I needed only to wait until the end of the war, which, if men like Colonel Eshton were right, would not last long. Mr. Colchester would be away fighting, so I would not have to see him, but would he be safe? Would he return whole? He might already be gone to join Eshton’s regiment. For all I knew, he had married Miss Chamberlain in my absence.