Shenandoah Valley
Northern Virginia
1020 Local
The wagon stopping woke Mac from a light sleep. Deacon had told her of his plan to take her to a Miss Avis. Since it was fairly obvious that they had no intention of trying to pass from Southern to Northern lines, she had readily agreed. Mac was just glad that Deacon Turner had prevailed. Thomas wanted to leave her by the side of the road. He didn't have anything against her personally. He didn't want to get caught in a situation that could get him killed.
They had rigged some canvas as a sort of tent. It helped keep the sun and some of the dust off of her and it hid her from view. It would be a lot less complicated if no one realized it was a white woman in the wagon of two black men. Especially one that sported a spectacular bruise on the side of her jaw. They had been traveling slowly but steadily for the last three hours and Mac had been asleep for most of it. Gradually, she became aware that Deacon was calling her name softly, "Miss Sarah? You awake?" Something in his voice told her to be quiet as well.
She turned her head towards the front of the wagon, pleased that she was no longer feeling dizzy, "I'm awake, Deacon, is something wrong?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Couple of riders coming down the road. Hopefully, they'll go right past. You keep quiet and let me handle this, hear? ... that goes for you, too, Thomas."
Mac felt the wagon shift and creak as Turner got down. "Thomas? What's Deacon doing?" she asked in a soft tone.
"Checkin' harness. Hush up now, they's almos here."
Gradually, Mac heard the sound of approaching horses. They were slowing down. Damn!
"You! Boy!"
"Yes Boss?"
"What're you two doing out this way? You got a pass? Be quick about it, I ain't got all day." There was a brief silence while Mac strained to hear. The man's voice came again, "Freed man, are you? Why ain't you with your Yankee friends?"
"They ain't mah friends, Boss," Deacon's voice answered, "Noath's too cold fo dese ol' bones."
A different voice sounded. It was closer, making Mac start a little in surprise, "What 'bout you, boy?" She could hear the horse's hooves shifting closer to the back of the wagon.
Thomas started to stutter and Deacon's voice cut in again, "Thas jus' Thomas, Boss. He belong tuh Miz Simpson down Harrisonburg way. Give him yo pass, Thomas." Mac beginning to feel irritated, who the hell were these two?
"What's he doin' up here with you?" The first voice spoke again, sounding suspicious. He was moving closer to the wagon as well. "What're y'all hidin' in that there wagon?" Mac froze.
"We ain't hidin nuthin', Boss," Deacon managed to sound indignant and respectful at the same time, "Miz Simpson's youngest nearly got hisself kilt, fightin fo Gineral Early. Ol' Thomas here sent word an Miz Simpson hired me tuh fetch 'em back. Ah git two silver dollas fo bringin' 'em home safe."
Mac's eyes widened and she hurriedly looked around the wagon. Her blood-spattered uniform coat was off and tucked in a corner, leaving her in shirtsleeves. There was no way anyone was going to mistake her for a man. She grabbed the coat and wadded it up, replacing the rolled-up blanket as a pillow. Shaking out the blanket, she arranged it so it looked like she'd kicked it partially off, keeping it wadded up around her torso. The light blue pants she was wearing were more of a nondescript gray from all the dust and dirt. Finally, she put her head down and squeezed her eyes shut, turning so that the bruised and somewhat swollen jaw was the first thing they'd see. She could still hear Deacon going on about poor old Miz Simpson and what a kind woman she was and how hard it'd be to lose her youngest son.
Then came the sound of the canvas being pulled aside. It was all Mac could do to keep her eyes closed and her breathing even. Deacon had been silent for a few moments and then started talking again, although his voice was down to a whisper, "Only woke up the one time, dint have no idea what was goin' on. Ah think he done rattled his brain summat fierce... po' Miz Simpson, dis'll like tuh break 'er heart..."
"All right, all right, get on with you then," the first voice ordered. "Don't y'all stop until you get to the Simpsons, hear? I don't want to find y'all on the road again."
"No Suh! We woan stop til we's on Miz Simpson's porchstep," Deacon Turner sounded positively cheerful. The sound of hooves receded and then the wagon jolted into motion. Mac stayed where she was, figuring Deacon would tell her when it was safe. It was a good five minutes before she heard him say, "Miss Sarah?"
"Are they gone, Deacon?" Mac tried to keep the strain out of her voice. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she was beginning to realize there'd been some injudicious moves on her part. Her sore abdominal muscles had been quiescent for a while, now they were protesting almost every bump and jolt. She gritted her teeth. There was nothing to do but endure it. Eventually, it would get easier and she just had to last until then.
"Yes'm," Mac could hear the hesitation in his voice that said he'd noticed that she sounded different. There was a slight pause, "Miss Sarah, are you feeling all right?"
"Just a little sore, it won't last," she closed her eyes, trying not to groan when the wagon bounced through another pothole. She needed to think of other things, take her mind off the aches and pains. Josiah must be beside himself. Tommy, she knew, would be blaming himself for trusting Garrett. Maybe when they reached this Miss Avis, there'd be some way to get a message to Josiah. She needed to get word to them that she was relatively safe and alive. Neither man was stupid, they had to know that Ezra Caine was behind the abduction. By now they were probably torturing themselves about her fate at Caine's hands.
The wagon stopped again and Mac's eyes flew open. Oh God, now what?! Had those two jackasses come back? Well, at least this time, she could play wounded with a little more realism. She felt like hell. Where were Deacon and Thomas? She hadn't heard either one yet. The wagon dipped and bounced as someone climbed onto the tailgate. Mac tensed and then relaxed as Deacon came in. She looked at him curiously and he smiled reassuringly at her. Raising his voice, he called for Thomas to get started again and then settled himself next to her. "Thought you might like some company for a spell, Miss Sarah," he gave her another smile.
"Thanks," Mac smiled in return and then grimaced when the wagon bounced. Letting out a breath, she looked over at Deacon, "If you could smooth the road out, it would help."
"If I could, I would," Deacon chuckled, "With everything that's going on, keeping the road up isn't high on the list of things to be done."
Mac nodded her agreement and then held her breath as the wagon bounced some more. She needed to focus on something else and looked over at Deacon, "May I ask you something?"
"Sure you can, Miss Sarah," Deacon looked at her expectantly.
"Isn't it dangerous for free man to be in a slave state?"
"It's dangerous to be anywhere these days, but no, there's quite a few of us living around the South. So long as they think we're keeping our place, most folks don't bother us." Deacon said this without rancor, it was a fact of life. "Virginia is my home and I like it best. I was up North for schooling, a lot of people up there were even worse than the ones down here - don't understand us and don't want to."
They sat silently for a minute or so and then Mac cautiously broached a question she'd been wondering about, "Deacon?"
"Yes'm?"
"When those men showed up, you started talking differently."
"You mean like an ignorant field hand?"
Mac nodded slowly. Deacon wrapped his hands around a knee and leaned back, "Most folks see what they want to see; so I sound the way they expect me to sound."
She frowned, "But doesn't having to practice that type of dishonesty bother you?"
"Used to, when I was younger and full of piss and vinegar. I'm surprised I didn't get myself killed. My papa used to tell me you could cure ignorance but stupid goes right to the bone. Now I just think of it as tactics." He grinned conspiratorially, "You were pretty quick on the uptake just now. Being a woman, you probably have had to do the same thing."
She grinned wryly, "Not nearly as often as you'd think. I believe I've acquired a reputation for speaking my mind."
Deacon arched an eyebrow, "And look where that's got you."
"Touche," she chuckled and then winced, "Oh, don't make me laugh." She paused for a moment, "So they think you're not smart enough to be hiding anything." Mac could see the logic in what he was doing.
Deacon chuckled, "Actually, they suspect me of all kinds of native cunning, but they're also convinced they're too smart to be fooled." He snorted and then smiled, "It worked with you, too. They expected to see a man back here and with those pants and that short hair, they did."
Mac raised an eyebrow, pulling the blanket away, "They might have seen more than they expected. I had my coat off."
For once, Deacon seemed speechless, "Oh my... " Then he started to laugh, "Well, that's one on me. I thought you were dressed."
She looked at him curiously, "Wouldn't the fact I was wearing Union blue have made a difference? One of the reasons I took the coat off was so no one would think you were hauling a Yankee around."
Turner shook his head, "The South's so hard up for supplies of practically everything, that the soldiers are using Yankees to outfit 'em. So long as you didn't open your mouth, they'd think you were Southern."
Mac was silent for a long moment, "How will your Miss Avis feel about my being a Yankee?"
"She won't turn a hair, so don't you worry about that. Miss Avis don't hate people without cause," Deacon assured her. Mac continued to look pensive, thinking about what was going to happen to this lovely Valley and its people. Turner watched her for a moment, "What's wrong, Miss Sarah?"
"She might have cause soon enough," Mac said finally. "General Sheridan is going to turn the Shenandoah into a wasteland. What Hunter did is going to seem mild."
Deacon gave her a shocked look, "No." He sat frowning for a while and then looked at her again, "All of it? Even the folks' places that are on the Yankees' side?"
Mac nodded. She could see the idea angered and appalled him and waited to see what he might do. This Deacon Turner seemed to be as thoughtful and fair-minded as Sturgis' father. She didn't think he'd kill the messenger.
Finally he shook his head, "I don't understand people like that. It just seems spiteful mean." He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands, "My family has been here for four generations and now we're going to lose everything we've worked so hard for. It hardly seems fair." He looked over at her, "I suppose other folks have lost worse. At least this war hasn't cost me any of my family." He saw the look on Mac's face and patted her lightly on the shoulder, "Don't you worry, I not going to blame you just 'cos you're handy and neither will Miss Avis." They fell into a companionable silence. Mac drifted off to sleep, feeling somewhat reassured.
Deacon watched her sleep. She was an unusual woman, even as white folks went. He couldn't get past the feeling that she thought she knew him. There was a familiarity when she talked to him tempered with a definite amount of respect. He sighed a little, this would be a mystery for Miss Avis to figure out. She enjoyed a puzzle and unless he missed his guess, Miss Sarah was going to be a good one.
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 1730 Local
"Miss Sarah? Miss Sarah, we're here. Are you awake?" Mac opened her eyes. With absolutely nothing to do, she's fallen asleep again. It had been 9 hours and 10 minutes since those two men had shown up. They'd stopped several times after that to rest and water the mules and once for themselves to eat. The remainder of the time was spent traveling, and for Mac, that meant the back of the wagon. It had been boring as hell and she found herself napping as much for that reason as the fact that her body needed the recovery time.
Occasionally, Deacon had made his way to the back and chatted with her. It had been illuminating. Even though she knew this was one of Sturgis' ancestors, it was hard not to think of him as Chaplain Turner. The Turners were successful farmers and businessmen. With only a cursory knowledge of the social situation during the 1800s, she hadn't realized such a thing was possible in the South. They didn't have any more rights than women did but there was a place for them in society. Deacon's wife was a former slave who was a skilled cook. Ironically, that meant it cost that much more to buy her freedom. Fortunately, her owners had let her hire out for special occasions among the neighbors and keep the wages. With Deacon's help, she was able to gather the money she needed that much sooner.
They had waited until she was free to marry. There were no laws or rules that said he couldn't have married her earlier but any children would have been born into slavery. The mother's status determined the children's. They'd met at church and Deacon, at least, had fallen in love almost immediately. She had kept a closer hold of her heart, determined to be free before starting a family. They had been married now for close to twenty years and had three fine sons. The oldest was seventeen and living in Boston with cousins while he attended school there.
"Miss Sarah?" Deacon's voice cut into her thoughts and Mac realized with dismay that she'd dozed off again.
"Yes, Deacon," she answered, rubbing her eyes. She'd found she could get into a sitting position with the least amount of discomfort if she rolled to her side and pushed from there. She'd also learned not to try it in a moving wagon. Mac pushed herself up and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself a little more presentable. She was afraid it was a losing battle; Miss Avis was probably not going to be impressed. The wagon gave its familiar creak and sag as Deacon climbed up on the tailgate. He pulled aside the canvas and smiled at her, offering a hand, "Are you ready, ma'am?"
Mac gave a short nod, suddenly nervous. Despite Deacon's assurances, what if Miss Avis didn't take her in? She'd be stranded deep in Southern territory without money, transportation or friends, with an accent that said she was the enemy. She couldn't stay with Deacon. He had a family to worry about and putting them in any more danger would be a poor repayment for his kindness.
With Deacon's help, she managed to get out of the wagon with a modicum of grace. They were in the farmyard beside a small, white clapboard house. It looked like an older home but was obviously well-kept. Two stories high with a wrap-around porch, it was surrounded with flower gardens. A neat, white picket fence enclosed the yard and there was a clematis-covered archway over the gate. There was a woman standing just inside the gate, watching them. So this was Miss Avis. She was tall and slim, wearing a simple dark gray dress. Her hair was done up in a kerchief. What Mac could see of it, told her the woman was blonde. As they made their way closer, she was surprised at how young the woman was. From the way Deacon referred to her, Mac was expecting a more grandmotherly sort.
She and Deacon stopped just outside the gate while Miss Avis watched them with surprisingly intense blue eyes. Deacon smiled and sketched a slight bow, "Miss Avis, may I present Miss Sarah MacKenzie? Miss MacKenzie, this is Miss Avis Harper Payne."
Miss Avis extended her hand and smiled, "A pleasure, Miss MacKenzie." Her voice had a soothing, melodious lilt to it. If she was surprised or scandalized by the way Mac was dressed, she showed no sign. Nor did she take any obvious notice of the bruising on the side of Mac's face.
Mac smiled in return, shaking Miss Avis' hand, "Please call me Sarah."
Avis' eyebrows went up and she looked at Deacon, "Come into the house, where's Thomas?"
Turner gave her a look, "I let him off at the top of the your lane. You know how he is; he said he'd walk the rest of the way to the Simpson place." Mac eyed the two of them, there was definitely something going on but she had no idea what it could be. Deacon gave her a hand up the steps. She was grateful for the help since she was beginning to feel a bit rubbery. The constant motion of the wagon with its random jolts hadn't been all that restful.
Avis ushered them into a large kitchen. It was large and airy, with bundled herbs hanging from the ceiling and flowers on the windowsills. A large black tom looked up from where he was basking in a patch of sunlight. As Deacon settled Mac into a chair, the cat got up and sauntered over, weaving between Turner's legs with easy familiarity. He stopped to sniff at Mac's legs and then leapt into her lap for a closer inspection. Mac just had time to notice he was missing an eye when he curled up and began to purr.
"That's Jolly Roger and I'm sorry to say, he's a shameless flirt." Avis glided in from a side door carrying a serving tray, Mac hadn't even noticed her leaving. Deacon rose from his chair and helped settle the tray on the table. There was a pitcher of lemonade, a platter of biscuits and two small bowls. One contained a yellow, creamy butter and the other, a soft cheese. Avis swept around the kitchen and returned with glasses, butter knives and plates. Gracefully settling in a chair, she smiled apologetically, "I hope this will do. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting company today and I hadn't cooked dinner yet." Mac and Deacon gave her their assurances and the next few minutes were devoted to eating.
Finally Avis looked at the two of them before focusing on Deacon, "What's going on?"
Deacon looked at her and then over to Mac, "Miss Sarah, would you show Miss Avis your necklace?"
Mac stared at him, startled. That wasn't what she had expected to hear. She slowly reached inside her shirt and pulled out Annabel's necklace.
Avis leaned forward to look and then sat back in surprise, staring at Deacon, "Oh my... "
The wagon stopping woke Mac from a light sleep. Deacon had told her of his plan to take her to a Miss Avis. Since it was fairly obvious that they had no intention of trying to pass from Southern to Northern lines, she had readily agreed. Mac was just glad that Deacon Turner had prevailed. Thomas wanted to leave her by the side of the road. He didn't have anything against her personally. He didn't want to get caught in a situation that could get him killed.
They had rigged some canvas as a sort of tent. It helped keep the sun and some of the dust off of her and it hid her from view. It would be a lot less complicated if no one realized it was a white woman in the wagon of two black men. Especially one that sported a spectacular bruise on the side of her jaw. They had been traveling slowly but steadily for the last three hours and Mac had been asleep for most of it. Gradually, she became aware that Deacon was calling her name softly, "Miss Sarah? You awake?" Something in his voice told her to be quiet as well.
She turned her head towards the front of the wagon, pleased that she was no longer feeling dizzy, "I'm awake, Deacon, is something wrong?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Couple of riders coming down the road. Hopefully, they'll go right past. You keep quiet and let me handle this, hear? ... that goes for you, too, Thomas."
Mac felt the wagon shift and creak as Turner got down. "Thomas? What's Deacon doing?" she asked in a soft tone.
"Checkin' harness. Hush up now, they's almos here."
Gradually, Mac heard the sound of approaching horses. They were slowing down. Damn!
"You! Boy!"
"Yes Boss?"
"What're you two doing out this way? You got a pass? Be quick about it, I ain't got all day." There was a brief silence while Mac strained to hear. The man's voice came again, "Freed man, are you? Why ain't you with your Yankee friends?"
"They ain't mah friends, Boss," Deacon's voice answered, "Noath's too cold fo dese ol' bones."
A different voice sounded. It was closer, making Mac start a little in surprise, "What 'bout you, boy?" She could hear the horse's hooves shifting closer to the back of the wagon.
Thomas started to stutter and Deacon's voice cut in again, "Thas jus' Thomas, Boss. He belong tuh Miz Simpson down Harrisonburg way. Give him yo pass, Thomas." Mac beginning to feel irritated, who the hell were these two?
"What's he doin' up here with you?" The first voice spoke again, sounding suspicious. He was moving closer to the wagon as well. "What're y'all hidin' in that there wagon?" Mac froze.
"We ain't hidin nuthin', Boss," Deacon managed to sound indignant and respectful at the same time, "Miz Simpson's youngest nearly got hisself kilt, fightin fo Gineral Early. Ol' Thomas here sent word an Miz Simpson hired me tuh fetch 'em back. Ah git two silver dollas fo bringin' 'em home safe."
Mac's eyes widened and she hurriedly looked around the wagon. Her blood-spattered uniform coat was off and tucked in a corner, leaving her in shirtsleeves. There was no way anyone was going to mistake her for a man. She grabbed the coat and wadded it up, replacing the rolled-up blanket as a pillow. Shaking out the blanket, she arranged it so it looked like she'd kicked it partially off, keeping it wadded up around her torso. The light blue pants she was wearing were more of a nondescript gray from all the dust and dirt. Finally, she put her head down and squeezed her eyes shut, turning so that the bruised and somewhat swollen jaw was the first thing they'd see. She could still hear Deacon going on about poor old Miz Simpson and what a kind woman she was and how hard it'd be to lose her youngest son.
Then came the sound of the canvas being pulled aside. It was all Mac could do to keep her eyes closed and her breathing even. Deacon had been silent for a few moments and then started talking again, although his voice was down to a whisper, "Only woke up the one time, dint have no idea what was goin' on. Ah think he done rattled his brain summat fierce... po' Miz Simpson, dis'll like tuh break 'er heart..."
"All right, all right, get on with you then," the first voice ordered. "Don't y'all stop until you get to the Simpsons, hear? I don't want to find y'all on the road again."
"No Suh! We woan stop til we's on Miz Simpson's porchstep," Deacon Turner sounded positively cheerful. The sound of hooves receded and then the wagon jolted into motion. Mac stayed where she was, figuring Deacon would tell her when it was safe. It was a good five minutes before she heard him say, "Miss Sarah?"
"Are they gone, Deacon?" Mac tried to keep the strain out of her voice. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she was beginning to realize there'd been some injudicious moves on her part. Her sore abdominal muscles had been quiescent for a while, now they were protesting almost every bump and jolt. She gritted her teeth. There was nothing to do but endure it. Eventually, it would get easier and she just had to last until then.
"Yes'm," Mac could hear the hesitation in his voice that said he'd noticed that she sounded different. There was a slight pause, "Miss Sarah, are you feeling all right?"
"Just a little sore, it won't last," she closed her eyes, trying not to groan when the wagon bounced through another pothole. She needed to think of other things, take her mind off the aches and pains. Josiah must be beside himself. Tommy, she knew, would be blaming himself for trusting Garrett. Maybe when they reached this Miss Avis, there'd be some way to get a message to Josiah. She needed to get word to them that she was relatively safe and alive. Neither man was stupid, they had to know that Ezra Caine was behind the abduction. By now they were probably torturing themselves about her fate at Caine's hands.
The wagon stopped again and Mac's eyes flew open. Oh God, now what?! Had those two jackasses come back? Well, at least this time, she could play wounded with a little more realism. She felt like hell. Where were Deacon and Thomas? She hadn't heard either one yet. The wagon dipped and bounced as someone climbed onto the tailgate. Mac tensed and then relaxed as Deacon came in. She looked at him curiously and he smiled reassuringly at her. Raising his voice, he called for Thomas to get started again and then settled himself next to her. "Thought you might like some company for a spell, Miss Sarah," he gave her another smile.
"Thanks," Mac smiled in return and then grimaced when the wagon bounced. Letting out a breath, she looked over at Deacon, "If you could smooth the road out, it would help."
"If I could, I would," Deacon chuckled, "With everything that's going on, keeping the road up isn't high on the list of things to be done."
Mac nodded her agreement and then held her breath as the wagon bounced some more. She needed to focus on something else and looked over at Deacon, "May I ask you something?"
"Sure you can, Miss Sarah," Deacon looked at her expectantly.
"Isn't it dangerous for free man to be in a slave state?"
"It's dangerous to be anywhere these days, but no, there's quite a few of us living around the South. So long as they think we're keeping our place, most folks don't bother us." Deacon said this without rancor, it was a fact of life. "Virginia is my home and I like it best. I was up North for schooling, a lot of people up there were even worse than the ones down here - don't understand us and don't want to."
They sat silently for a minute or so and then Mac cautiously broached a question she'd been wondering about, "Deacon?"
"Yes'm?"
"When those men showed up, you started talking differently."
"You mean like an ignorant field hand?"
Mac nodded slowly. Deacon wrapped his hands around a knee and leaned back, "Most folks see what they want to see; so I sound the way they expect me to sound."
She frowned, "But doesn't having to practice that type of dishonesty bother you?"
"Used to, when I was younger and full of piss and vinegar. I'm surprised I didn't get myself killed. My papa used to tell me you could cure ignorance but stupid goes right to the bone. Now I just think of it as tactics." He grinned conspiratorially, "You were pretty quick on the uptake just now. Being a woman, you probably have had to do the same thing."
She grinned wryly, "Not nearly as often as you'd think. I believe I've acquired a reputation for speaking my mind."
Deacon arched an eyebrow, "And look where that's got you."
"Touche," she chuckled and then winced, "Oh, don't make me laugh." She paused for a moment, "So they think you're not smart enough to be hiding anything." Mac could see the logic in what he was doing.
Deacon chuckled, "Actually, they suspect me of all kinds of native cunning, but they're also convinced they're too smart to be fooled." He snorted and then smiled, "It worked with you, too. They expected to see a man back here and with those pants and that short hair, they did."
Mac raised an eyebrow, pulling the blanket away, "They might have seen more than they expected. I had my coat off."
For once, Deacon seemed speechless, "Oh my... " Then he started to laugh, "Well, that's one on me. I thought you were dressed."
She looked at him curiously, "Wouldn't the fact I was wearing Union blue have made a difference? One of the reasons I took the coat off was so no one would think you were hauling a Yankee around."
Turner shook his head, "The South's so hard up for supplies of practically everything, that the soldiers are using Yankees to outfit 'em. So long as you didn't open your mouth, they'd think you were Southern."
Mac was silent for a long moment, "How will your Miss Avis feel about my being a Yankee?"
"She won't turn a hair, so don't you worry about that. Miss Avis don't hate people without cause," Deacon assured her. Mac continued to look pensive, thinking about what was going to happen to this lovely Valley and its people. Turner watched her for a moment, "What's wrong, Miss Sarah?"
"She might have cause soon enough," Mac said finally. "General Sheridan is going to turn the Shenandoah into a wasteland. What Hunter did is going to seem mild."
Deacon gave her a shocked look, "No." He sat frowning for a while and then looked at her again, "All of it? Even the folks' places that are on the Yankees' side?"
Mac nodded. She could see the idea angered and appalled him and waited to see what he might do. This Deacon Turner seemed to be as thoughtful and fair-minded as Sturgis' father. She didn't think he'd kill the messenger.
Finally he shook his head, "I don't understand people like that. It just seems spiteful mean." He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands, "My family has been here for four generations and now we're going to lose everything we've worked so hard for. It hardly seems fair." He looked over at her, "I suppose other folks have lost worse. At least this war hasn't cost me any of my family." He saw the look on Mac's face and patted her lightly on the shoulder, "Don't you worry, I not going to blame you just 'cos you're handy and neither will Miss Avis." They fell into a companionable silence. Mac drifted off to sleep, feeling somewhat reassured.
Deacon watched her sleep. She was an unusual woman, even as white folks went. He couldn't get past the feeling that she thought she knew him. There was a familiarity when she talked to him tempered with a definite amount of respect. He sighed a little, this would be a mystery for Miss Avis to figure out. She enjoyed a puzzle and unless he missed his guess, Miss Sarah was going to be a good one.
Shenandoah Valley Northern Virginia 1730 Local
"Miss Sarah? Miss Sarah, we're here. Are you awake?" Mac opened her eyes. With absolutely nothing to do, she's fallen asleep again. It had been 9 hours and 10 minutes since those two men had shown up. They'd stopped several times after that to rest and water the mules and once for themselves to eat. The remainder of the time was spent traveling, and for Mac, that meant the back of the wagon. It had been boring as hell and she found herself napping as much for that reason as the fact that her body needed the recovery time.
Occasionally, Deacon had made his way to the back and chatted with her. It had been illuminating. Even though she knew this was one of Sturgis' ancestors, it was hard not to think of him as Chaplain Turner. The Turners were successful farmers and businessmen. With only a cursory knowledge of the social situation during the 1800s, she hadn't realized such a thing was possible in the South. They didn't have any more rights than women did but there was a place for them in society. Deacon's wife was a former slave who was a skilled cook. Ironically, that meant it cost that much more to buy her freedom. Fortunately, her owners had let her hire out for special occasions among the neighbors and keep the wages. With Deacon's help, she was able to gather the money she needed that much sooner.
They had waited until she was free to marry. There were no laws or rules that said he couldn't have married her earlier but any children would have been born into slavery. The mother's status determined the children's. They'd met at church and Deacon, at least, had fallen in love almost immediately. She had kept a closer hold of her heart, determined to be free before starting a family. They had been married now for close to twenty years and had three fine sons. The oldest was seventeen and living in Boston with cousins while he attended school there.
"Miss Sarah?" Deacon's voice cut into her thoughts and Mac realized with dismay that she'd dozed off again.
"Yes, Deacon," she answered, rubbing her eyes. She'd found she could get into a sitting position with the least amount of discomfort if she rolled to her side and pushed from there. She'd also learned not to try it in a moving wagon. Mac pushed herself up and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself a little more presentable. She was afraid it was a losing battle; Miss Avis was probably not going to be impressed. The wagon gave its familiar creak and sag as Deacon climbed up on the tailgate. He pulled aside the canvas and smiled at her, offering a hand, "Are you ready, ma'am?"
Mac gave a short nod, suddenly nervous. Despite Deacon's assurances, what if Miss Avis didn't take her in? She'd be stranded deep in Southern territory without money, transportation or friends, with an accent that said she was the enemy. She couldn't stay with Deacon. He had a family to worry about and putting them in any more danger would be a poor repayment for his kindness.
With Deacon's help, she managed to get out of the wagon with a modicum of grace. They were in the farmyard beside a small, white clapboard house. It looked like an older home but was obviously well-kept. Two stories high with a wrap-around porch, it was surrounded with flower gardens. A neat, white picket fence enclosed the yard and there was a clematis-covered archway over the gate. There was a woman standing just inside the gate, watching them. So this was Miss Avis. She was tall and slim, wearing a simple dark gray dress. Her hair was done up in a kerchief. What Mac could see of it, told her the woman was blonde. As they made their way closer, she was surprised at how young the woman was. From the way Deacon referred to her, Mac was expecting a more grandmotherly sort.
She and Deacon stopped just outside the gate while Miss Avis watched them with surprisingly intense blue eyes. Deacon smiled and sketched a slight bow, "Miss Avis, may I present Miss Sarah MacKenzie? Miss MacKenzie, this is Miss Avis Harper Payne."
Miss Avis extended her hand and smiled, "A pleasure, Miss MacKenzie." Her voice had a soothing, melodious lilt to it. If she was surprised or scandalized by the way Mac was dressed, she showed no sign. Nor did she take any obvious notice of the bruising on the side of Mac's face.
Mac smiled in return, shaking Miss Avis' hand, "Please call me Sarah."
Avis' eyebrows went up and she looked at Deacon, "Come into the house, where's Thomas?"
Turner gave her a look, "I let him off at the top of the your lane. You know how he is; he said he'd walk the rest of the way to the Simpson place." Mac eyed the two of them, there was definitely something going on but she had no idea what it could be. Deacon gave her a hand up the steps. She was grateful for the help since she was beginning to feel a bit rubbery. The constant motion of the wagon with its random jolts hadn't been all that restful.
Avis ushered them into a large kitchen. It was large and airy, with bundled herbs hanging from the ceiling and flowers on the windowsills. A large black tom looked up from where he was basking in a patch of sunlight. As Deacon settled Mac into a chair, the cat got up and sauntered over, weaving between Turner's legs with easy familiarity. He stopped to sniff at Mac's legs and then leapt into her lap for a closer inspection. Mac just had time to notice he was missing an eye when he curled up and began to purr.
"That's Jolly Roger and I'm sorry to say, he's a shameless flirt." Avis glided in from a side door carrying a serving tray, Mac hadn't even noticed her leaving. Deacon rose from his chair and helped settle the tray on the table. There was a pitcher of lemonade, a platter of biscuits and two small bowls. One contained a yellow, creamy butter and the other, a soft cheese. Avis swept around the kitchen and returned with glasses, butter knives and plates. Gracefully settling in a chair, she smiled apologetically, "I hope this will do. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting company today and I hadn't cooked dinner yet." Mac and Deacon gave her their assurances and the next few minutes were devoted to eating.
Finally Avis looked at the two of them before focusing on Deacon, "What's going on?"
Deacon looked at her and then over to Mac, "Miss Sarah, would you show Miss Avis your necklace?"
Mac stared at him, startled. That wasn't what she had expected to hear. She slowly reached inside her shirt and pulled out Annabel's necklace.
Avis leaned forward to look and then sat back in surprise, staring at Deacon, "Oh my... "