three
They took the back stairs which lead to the alleyway behind the saloon. Two horses were waiting for them and they rode off into a night lit only by the crescent moon.
Close to morning they came to a small nearly forsaken community dominated by a rundown saloon, deserted church and boarded up general store. Tumbleweeds seemed to be the town's only active occupants. A railroad track ran along one side of the derelict buildings. They waited only minutes before a train pulled into town. They climbed aboard, leaving the horses tied to a hitching rail in front of the makeshift depot. The passenger car was crowded and they were forced to sit side by side in the cramped space.
She studied him from the corner of her eye. He was of medium height and dressed in new cowboy garb. His canvas britches still held store folded creases. His voice when he deemed fit to use it carried strong traces of a cockney burr. The contours of his face were vaguely familiar and she reckoned he must have been one of the strangers she'd seen Matt with before he left town. Though she asked many questions he answered with only a grunt or a nod and she knew no more by the next nightfall than she had the previous.
They traveled on and on, three days in the crowded car, their only food, farmers cheese, hard bread and weak coffee offered by the train peddlers who worked the cars at the various stops along the way. When they hit the Mississippi they boarded a small paddlewheel which took them eighty miles upriver. They left the boat at the port of Bellevue, Illinois. A farmer was waiting for them with a hay wagon, which they rode for half a day. They were dropped off on a hard packed dirt trail in the middle of nowhere. Here they remained until a stage passed by. For the next two days they were jostled along a crude route traveling across the vast flat expanse of Illinois and Indiana. It was a relief when they again boarded a train in the town of Emmetsburg, Kentucky. They rode the train throughout the next day and by late afternoon they arrived in Richmond, Virginia. "'ere's your bag mum. This is where we get off."
There was a lineup of carriages waiting for hire. Her companion headed to a dilapidated hansom cab driven by an elderly black man. The old gentleman tipped his hat and spryly jumped down from the rig. He gallantly helped her into his conveyance as though it were as fine as the grandest carriage there. They traveled along back streets until they were out of town, finally, coming to a large estate on the river's edge. The driver pulled the coach to a stop in front of imposing fancy-work wrought iron gates. She was handed her bag and forced from the buggy, "'ere you be. Ring the bell five times, fast like. Someone 'ill come to fetch you."
"Is Matt here?" She asked but the carriage with her escort in it was already pulling away. She glanced around, the fields behind her were active with the fall threshing. Through the gate she could see a sweet smelling apple orchard, its trees laden with ripe fruit and beyond that an immense white stoned mansion in the federal design. Multiple pillars lined up at right angles to a wide veranda, that ran the length of the building. She picked up her bag and walked to the gate, pulling the bell five times, in rapid succession as directed. Another black man, this one young and dressed in fine dark broadcloth, came walking down the path in a dignified strut. He nodded to her as he lifted the catch and pulled the gate open. "Miz Russell?" He asked.
Wide eyed, she nodded. "Yes."
"I'm JoJoba. Missy, you'd best follow me." He took her bag and started off around the house walking on a herringbone patterned brick path. It was clear in every direction she looked, that opulence ruled. Purple asters, violet hued phlox, ruby chrysanthemum, yellow golden rod and thickseed sunflowers decorated the garden path with brilliant fall colors as rich to the eye as priceless jewels and as fragrant as Paris perfumes. At the rear of the house another enticing aroma set her senses to reeling. Jojoba nodded at the steps leading to the kitchen porch and the screen door beyond.
The black man reached in front of her to open the door, "Go right on in Missy." He invited politely, and in a louder voice he hollered, "Macy, Miz Macy yous got company here and she looks to be plumb tuckered out and famished."
Macy was a tiny woman of undetermined years. Her ageless skin was the color of generously creamed coffee. She wore a black dress covered by a spotless white apron and on her head was wrapped a red and yellow tignon, below which dangled large gold hoop earrings. "Hush up you Jojoba; we don't wants Massa Johnston to hear you." Her keen dark eyes traveled up and down Kitty's weary frame and she tut-tutted, with a shake of her head, that made her hoop earrings dance. "We's been s'pecting you, I gots a room all fixed up, you just come with me honey, and I'll get you settled in, and then in a little while, I's gonna bring you some of my porky puddy pie."
Kitty had no idea what porky puddy pie was, but if it was the cause of the stomach-rumbling aroma she'd been inhaling, she was more than ready for it. The tiny black woman took the bag from Jojoba and led the way. "We's going up these here back stairs, you just follow me."
The room indicated as Kitty's was obviously in the servant's quarters three steps lower than the main sleeping rooms. The bed was nothing more than a well-padded cot, but Kitty thought it looked as soft as any heavenly cloud. There was water in a pitcher and a basin for washing with soap and fresh toweling sitting beside it. She noticed this all in a brief glance.
Kitty sat on the cot while Macy put her bag on the room's one chair, then she bent down and with the experience of one trained in the service of dressing and undressing her female employers; pulled off Kitty's boots. She gave her a gentle shove to the shoulder and Kitty fell to the bed with her head centered in the downy pillow. "There now, you rest yourself for a spell. I'll have some victuals waiting for you when you wakes up."
It took no more than to close her eyes for sleep to come. When she awoke the room was pitch black, with the only light a thin slit shining from beneath the doorway. It took a moment to adjust to her surroundings and remember she wasn't in Kansas any longer. She listened and could hear the faint drone of conversation coming from the floor below her.
She got up from the bed and walked to the light, with her hand she felt along the door's contours until she come in contact with the knob. She turned it quietly and gave it a pull. The door wouldn't budge. It was locked. Beginning to feel the first apprehension of panic, she reached overhead and walked her fingers along the doorframe until she found a key. Quickly, she tried the lock and with one little turn the tumblers clicked and the door opened.
She had no way of judging the time of night, but she knew it must be late for the house was quiet except for the voices coming from the lower level. She crept from the room and sidled down the back stairs into the kitchen. She was starving and hoped she could locate something to eat figuring Macy must have found her asleep or had forgotten about her altogether. The kitchen was lit by a low burning lamp, providing enough light to see a half dozen hard rolls protected by a glass cover, she lifted the lid and took one and placed it in her pocket and grabbed another for immediate consumption.
She was thirsty and could have used a stiff drink and recalled she'd packed a small bottle of sipping brandy in her carpetbag. So much for sustenance she thought as she made her way back to the stairs. She had no wish to be discovered for she had figured out she was not a guest of the landowner but of his servants. Had she been less tired she might of pursued this thought. She turned to head back to her room secure in the knowledge she possessed the key to her confinement. Her foot was on the first step of the back stairs when the conversation seeping through the kitchen door grabbed her attention.
"Matt Dillon." She stopped cold in her tracks and turned to the swinging doors which lead to the main part of the home. She took the roll from her mouth, stopped chewing and listened, "One way or another we need to get our hands on Matt Dillon, he knows too much, if he is hurt and that knowledge gets in the wrong hands it could do more than ruin our plans, it could ruin our lives."
"I don't think that's going to happen, General Johnston. From what Captain Barger told me, they left him in a field. He was badly hurt, bleeding heavily, most likely he died that night sir."
Cold panicked sweat spilled from her pores. Her heart raced and her mind refused to believe the words she heard. She leaned in closer desperate for some word of hope. She was listening so intently she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. She jumped with a start, dropping the roll at the touch on her shoulder and the voice whispering, "Honey?"