Field of Redemption Read online

  “I think I have learned that the best way to lift one’s self up is to help someone else.”

  ~ Booker T. Washington

  Twenty-Seven

  In happier times, a trip into Savannah would have been a pure delight. Abby had never seen a more beautiful city with its perfect squares and grand residences tucked behind arching branches of centuries-old trees.

  Instead, a melancholy had settled over the city. Cold rain fell in a steady drizzle contributing to the somber feel.

  Abby and the Saberton ladies had planned to shop for a few incidentals before Abby had her final appointment with the doctor. He had come out to Brechenridge twice. Once to remove the stitches and another to check for infection.

  Understanding the importance of what Abby desperately needed to know, he’d asked her to come to his office in the city for a more complete examination.

  Once in Savannah, however, the women found the shopping district completely shut down. Lovely creations were displayed in darkened windows with no shopkeepers in sight. The eateries were closed as well, leaving the streets abandoned and desolate.

  Mrs. Saberton commented about once elegant people who now dug holes in their backyards to hide valuables and important documents. Disappearing into their homes to prepare for the worst.

  Soldiers patrolled the streets warning the ladies that it would be best if they got back to their homes and stayed until the danger passed. On their drive into town along the river road, they couldn’t help but notice activity on the winding Savannah River was stilled. Ferries had been dismantled and Argyle Island evacuated.

  Although, Dottie had been quick to point out the people of Savannah were not faint of heart. Most had chosen to stay and face whatever may come. According to the latest newspapers, the enemy was heading straight for them like a mammoth hurricane churning ever closer. Their only recourse was to watch … and wait.

  The dreary day took an immediate turn as soon as Abby met with the doctor.

  After examining her wound, he declared it had healed nicely. No significant scarring. No signs of infection. The cut had barely nicked the uterus itself, and ran horizontal rather than vertical. The possibility of her carrying a pregnancy to term, was no less than any other healthy young woman her age.

  Abby’s hopes for a family of her own had not been taken from her.

  What had Ian known before he’d left her that day? Had Mama Ivy told him of the possibility that she might never have children? Had he made the decision to marry her anyway? The possibility had her weeping as she walked from the examination room.

  Rushing to her side, Dottie and Tori assumed the news had been detrimental and held her tight. Their empathy toward her only made the tears flow harder.

  They were halfway back to Brechenridge before she was able to explain that she’d simply been overcome by happy tears.

  Oddly, she’d made her mind up before going in to see the doctor that no matter what his prognosis, she wanted Hickory to be hers. Legally adopted, bearing the proud name of Saberton. Whether he ever had any brothers or sisters sprouting from her womb, in her heart Abby knew he belonged with them.

  She’d pondered it for days now and couldn’t wait to discuss it with Ian.

  The smell of something delicious greeted them at the magnificent carved wood doorway of the Saberton home, beckoning them inside.

  Fires glowed in every hearth, and children’s laughter wafted down the hallway. For the first time since she’d arrived, Abby let herself imagine having a family here.

  “Just in time.” Aurora came through the swinging door that led to the kitchens in the back of the house. “Dinner is served.”

  Flour smeared across the bridge of her nose as she wiped her hands on an apron. “I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Dottie, I couldn’t resist. Cook was showing me all the wonderful recipes in your cookbooks and the next thing you know, I was standing over a pot of chicken stew with dumplings.”

  “I certainly don’t mind. It smells scrumptious.” Dottie Saberton removed her fur-lined cloak and unbuttoned her gloves at the wrists. “We are chilled to the bone and didn’t get to have lunch. Warm stew and buttered bread sounds heavenly.”

  “Cook also showed us how to make gingerbread men. Hickory and Rachelle have been helping me while Mama has her nap.” Aurora sighed heavily. “What with Christmas coming and all, we could use a little cheer.”

  The same look of sadness on Aurora’s face would come over Eliza Jane when she was missing Will. Abby now knew how they felt. Christmas had always been a lonely time, but without Ian the holiday would seem unbearable.

  “I suppose we could all use a bit of cheer.” Tori’s features were marred by gloom as well. Removing her hat, she went toward the kitchen in search of her little one.

  “Mrs. Dottie, what will we do if the Yankees come take Brechenridge?” Aurora’s question took both Dottie and Abby off guard. “Christmas would be especially sad with no place to call home.”

  “We’ll get by, just like we always have.” Dottie patted Aurora’s arm.

  It had been a long while since Abby called any place home.

  These past couple of weeks with Ian’s family, she’d experienced a grounding of sorts. Late night talks with various ones, hearing the proud history of Saberton ancestors. Listening as they told of the sacrifices Dottie and Samuel had made to lead by example, encouraging those who were slave owners to find better ways to work the land and turn a profit. They’d made huge strides before Samuel was killed in the Mexican War.

  To these ladies, Abby was one of them. They were the women who loved the Saberton men. And for the first time since losing her parents, Abby had a sense that was somewhere that she truly belonged.

  “Come help us decorate, Abby.” Hickory poked his head from the kitchen door. “We’ve been having so much fun.” Without waiting for a response, he was gone again.

  “I’ll set out some bowls and we can eat in the main kitchen.” Dottie followed him through the swinging doors.

  Abby hung back, as one by one the others disappeared down the hall.

  Unwrapping her worn woolen shawl from around her shoulders, she thought about how the ladies in Macon had often teased her about her lack of cooking skills. It was the truth. She was an awful cook.

  Now with the real possibility of one day having a family of her own, she should probably examine her “lacks” more closely.

  Her mother had been a remarkable seamstress. She’d handmade all of Abby’s clothes with only a needle and thread.

  Abby sewed her quilt square to her skirt.

  Her mother, like Aurora, had played several musical instruments. One of Abby’s fondest memories was listening to her lead the mission in hymns on Sundays.

  Abby only mouthed the words at church, pretending to sing because she could never quite find the right note.

  What did she truthfully have to offer as a wife? No man deserved to be bound to a woman who might poison him every time she tried to cook a meal.

  Especially not a man as wonderful as Ian. He’d given her the world—his world.

  Abby looked around at the opulent home he’d grown up in. She could imagine fine dinner parties given in his honor someday with his loving family at his side. A big family. Seventeen children at least. All with his roguish good looks and big brown eyes.

  How soon after marrying her would he realize she simply had nothing else to contribute to their perfect life other than a head full of good intentions and a heart full of love?

  Would that be enough? Could love alone ever be enough?

  Abby squelched a familiar urge to run.

  “What has you troubled, dear?”

  Abby realized Dottie Saberton watched quietly from the kitchen door.

  “Must be the weather.” Abby turned, letting out a sigh. “My thoughts run rampant sometimes until they become completely irrational.”

  “Your thoughts?” Mrs. Saberton approached her and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Or your fears?”
/>
  “Fear I suppose.” Abby confessed with a shrug. “If fear is realizing you’re a completely inadequate helpmate for the most magnificent man in the world.”

  “You mustn’t be so hard on yourself.” Mrs. Saberton rubbed her arm. “You’ve already helped Ian more than you know.”

  Abby shook her head. “I don’t cook, or sew or sing or …”

  “Neither do I.” Dottie poured a cup of coffee from the sidebar and handed it to Abby before pouring one for herself. “But there are strengths inside of you that you’ve only begun to discover. You always have something to offer. You just need to look for it and don’t be surprised if it doesn’t look at all like you think it should.”

  Dottie turned up the sconces brightening the room as Abby took a warm sip, thinking over what she’d said. Being a governess had resulted in failure, so teaching obviously wasn’t her strength.

  “You were telling us about your early years. They were quite literally destroyed by ashes. But we’ve been promised beauty for ashes.”

  Abby watched her light the candelabra at the center of the large table. “Yes, but when things start looking like they’ll end up in ashes again, I tend to run. How can beauty come from so many failures.” Abby shocked herself at having expressed her deepest fears aloud.

  “Have you failed, Abby, or have you been failed?” Dottie crossed her arms.

  “Both I suppose.” Abby rested her arms on the back of a chair. “At six, I ran away from the first two homes they sent me to.” Abby was ashamed to admit it. “The first man beat me with a razor strap on my first night there. The second had an older boy who terrified me.”

  Dottie didn’t say anything, just shook her head.

  “I was finally placed with a prominent family in the community that had six children already. They were kind and upright. And, though they were not affectionate toward me, they did provide well for my education. I was very blessed to have them.”

  “What made you run from Ohio?”

  Abby had never thought of it like that. In a way, she’d run from the disgrace of having lost the first job she’d ever had. Her foster mother had gone out of her way to arrange the position for her. Of course, she’d hoped to find Malcolm and return him to his home where all would be forgiven. But, once she found out he’d been returned, with no help from her, she’d simply started over somewhere else.

  “I was dismissed from my position as governess when I lost one of the children.”

  “I can see where that might be frowned upon.” Mrs. Saberton laughed which lightened Abby’s mood. “But didn’t you say since arriving in Macon, you’ve found a love for helping birth healthy babies into the world?”

  Abby smiled. “Thanks to Doc Lambert’s guidance, I’ve become comfortable with the process. So much so, Doc said my knack for attending births is almost instinctive.”

  “A high compliment, indeed.” Dottie took a drink of her coffee.

  “For whatever reason, the Lord has seen fit to grant me favor with the people of Macon. Those who have plenty, as well as with those who have nothing.” Abby wasn’t sure why that thought had come to mind, but she had to admit some might see it as a strength. “I’d hoped to help bridge the chasm between them someday.”

  “So, you see? There are many, many ways the Lord may choose to use you to help your family. And anyone else He puts in your path. Cooking and sewing are only one of many strengths. Find yours. Do what only you can do. Then, do it well.”

  Dottie gave her a warm hug before Aurora poked her head in from the kitchen. “Come on, you two. Your dumplings are getting cold.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and vanilla filled the warm kitchen giving the house a holiday feel. Abby and Tori sat at the long table where Rachelle bobbled on her mother’s knee eating a gingerbread man.

  Aurora was on oven duty, making sure the wood fire stayed hot while Dottie and Mrs. Charlotte chatted over the worktable.

  “I read the Yankee president, Mr. Lincoln, declared tomorrow to be a Day of Thanksgiving.” With pinkie fingers up, Mrs. Charlotte pressed a cookie cutter into dark dough rolled out on the table. “I don’t know what he has to be thankful for. Doesn’t he know there’s a war goin’ on?”

  “He declared every last Thursday in November to be a Thanksgiving Day.” Aurora removed a pan of cookies and replaced it in the oven with another.

  “What can you expect from a bunch of Yankee Doodles? How does that silly song go, Aurora?” Mrs. Charlotte abandoned her station to go see what she could sample from the pans set out to cool. “They stuck a feather in their hat something … something … cup of noodles.” She waved a wooden spoon like she was leading an orchestra. “I believe I’ll have Jean Pierre make me a hat like that.”

  Abby couldn’t help but laugh. Mrs. Charlotte was as loveable as she was sassy. Give Eliza Jane about fifty years and she’d be much the same.

  “Wish I was old enough to go whip their tails.” Hickory lifted his battered spoon like it was a sword. “I’d show those Yankees a thing or two.”

  “You mustn’t say such things, Hickory.” Tori set Rachelle down to go help Dottie roll out the dough. “Too many of our men are off fighting as it is. I’d like to keep you here with us a bit longer.”

  “Well, I’ve had about all I can stand of this war nonsense.” Mrs. Charlotte ate a candy button from a gingerbread man. “It’s high time someone call a truce.”

  “Ow!” Aurora touched a hot pan then shook her hand. “I haven’t gotten a letter from Zach in four months.”

  “Mrs. Saberton, Constable’s at the door to see you, ma’am.” Amos announced from the doorway.

  “Send him back, Amos.” Dottie lifted the last man shaped-cookie onto a sheet.

  “…never in a million years.” Constable G.W. McCallister ambled into the kitchen mumbling to himself. “Ladies.” He removed his hat and greeted them with a bob of his head.

  “What brings you out this evening, G.W.?” Dottie poured a cup of coffee and brought it to the peace officer who appeared slightly shaken.

  Abby noticed he watched her with a leery eye.

  “No, thank you, Dottie.” Again, his gaze cut to Abby.

  “She’s not a Federal spy.” Tori set a hand on her waist. Her British clip was a tad more pronounced. It was obvious she didn’t particularly care for the man. “And she rarely bites unless she’s provoked.”

  Rachelle laughed when Hickory did.

  “I’m making the rounds and wanted to be sure you all got the word, too.” He pulled a folded newspaper from his hip pocket. “The bluelegs are comin’ this way.”

  “What? Yankees here?” Mrs. Charlotte was suddenly in a dither. “They wouldn’t dare!”

  “Their General Sherman has broken communication with his superiors. He’s conducting an illegal ransack right down the middle of Georgia. Pillaging, burning, stealing everything in sight. No one’s safe.”

  His heavy jowls shook like an old hound dog when he spoke.

  “We got word, he and his men are destroying the capital in Milledgeville as we speak. They’ll burn it clear to the ground just like they did Atlanta. Word has it, he’s bound for Savannah next. Left orders that nothing and no one is to be spared.”

  Mrs. Charlotte slumped into a chair.

  “Come, children. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Tori wisely removed the frightened children from the room.

  Constable McCallister flicked open the newspaper and read aloud. “General Sherman was quoted as saying, ‘War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.’ He’s made it clear he intends to punish any who oppose him, and he won’t stop until he’s completely desolated our homeland. He ends with saying, ‘he’s gonna make Georgia howl.’”

  “Let me go. I’ll show him.” Hickory burst into the kitchen with fire in his eyes from where he had been listening at the door. So much like Malcolm that Abby was stunned.

  Without delay, sh
e went to the boy and ordered him to sit.

  “Now, you listen to me, Hickory.” She pulled a chair over to look him straight in the eyes. “You are not going anywhere. Do you understand me? I couldn’t bear to lose you. My heart would break in two.”

  Hickory’s fervor noticeably cooled as he took in what she was saying. “It would?”

  “You’re all the family I have for now.”

  He grew serious. “Abby, you think we are a family, you and me?”

  “I’d like to think we are. If we promise to always love and care for each other, I’d say that’s what family does.”

  “Everyone here is family,” Dottie added.

  “I promise.” Hickory nodded slowly. “And I won’t go fight the Yankees if you don’t want me to.”

  Abby pulled him close. “I appreciate that. I love you too much to lose you, Hickory.”

  “No one ever said that before.” She heard him say against her shoulder.

  Abby heard the constable still rambling about the mass destruction the dreaded Yankees would likely cause. “Mayor and me, we’re taking a boat and heading upriver. My suggestion is, you pack up what you can take with you and get on out of town. Once they get here, no man, woman, boy or girl will be safe from—.”

  “Thank you G.W.. Amos will show you out.” Dottie Saberton dismissed the constable, and he quickly obliged.

  “Think on what I’m tellin’ you, Mrs. Saberton. A house full of purty ladies …” He shook his jowls and walked out the door.

  “Besides, Hickory, we need you here.” Tori came over to smooth his curls. “If you were to go, who would defend us should the soldiers show up on our doorstep?”

  Lifting his head, he gave her a determined smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Rachelle, you might as well come in here, too.” Tori called to the door.

  The girl slowly entered the room. “Can I sleep with you tonight, mama?”

  The constable’s warning had only managed to frighten everyone. He’d given no real suggestion as to how they should prepare other than to run.