The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (4 page)

In a matter of moments, the house was an inferno. With Vivian on her shoulder and the dogs at her feet, Sydnee turned her back on The Devil’s Backbone and left forever.

Chapter 5

Every step Sydnee took away from The Devil’s Backbone, she felt stronger. The darkness that hung over her like a decaying shroud had lifted. It was replaced with warm sun and vivid color. She raised her face to the clear sky with a smile on her lips as she watched birds careening overhead. Her joy was contagious, and Baloo and Atlantis trotted alongside her happily. Vivian came too, flying from tree to tree, swollen with importance, overseeing the journey.

Sydnee knew very little about her future, but she did know that her destination must be the big river to the west, the Mississippi. This great water, of which they spoke, is where all life seemed to originate.

Overhearing customer’s talk, Sydnee knew that The Trace would end in the town of Natchez where she would find the great waterway. It was said that Natchez was the wealthiest city in the United States. The rich soil yielded huge cotton crops, and fortunes were made there every day. Located on the mighty Mississippi, Natchez exported goods around the world, making the residents fantastically wealthy.

Although she was still weak from childbirth, Sydnee walked for hours that first day without stopping. She was trying to put as much distance as possible between her and The Devil’s Backbone. The day was hot, but they were surrounded on all sides by lush green darkness. The trees formed a canopy overhead, sheltering them from the blistering sunlight of midday.

When the air grew sultry, they stopped to bathe in a small lake. It felt delicious, and it was tempting to linger, but Sydnee spied an alligator slide silently into the water looking for a hearty meal. She had to whistle briskly for Atlantis, who was frolicking in the water, to come ashore quickly. Before continuing, Sydnee applied a solution of cloves, alcohol and oil to her skin to repel the onslaught of bugs along on the densely forested trail.

Late in the afternoon, steep banks rose up on either side of the path as they walked. The embankments were from ruts carved deeply into the soft earth by countless wagons, mules and horses traveling on The Trace. The scars were so deep one could not see over either side of the hills.

The dogs went instantly on alert as they passed through the dark furrow. Sydnee was on guard as well. She heard these places were hideouts for bandits and cutthroats who preyed upon unsuspecting travelers. Luckily, they were unmolested. It seemed that too few people passed this way anymore for it to be a profitable haunt for bandits. Sydnee breathed a sigh of relief. All day long they traveled without incident, seeing only one man who merely lifted his hat and said, “Howdy, ma’am”.

The dogs carried packs on their backs, loaded with meat, cornbread and eggs. Sydnee slaughtered and cooked chickens before they left, but the meat would have to be eaten shortly. There had been no time to smoke it or salt it properly. The journey to Natchez would take a week, and she had to ration the food carefully.

When the sun set at last, Sydnee found a small clearing, well hidden from the trail, and draped a quilt over a low branch. Clipping one end shut with clothes pins, she draped a long veil of muslin netting from a hat she found on the trail, over the other end of the tent to allow air to circulate. After strewing pine needles and soft leaves on the ground, she snapped a quilt open for their bed and then invited the dogs in for the night. They slept heavily until the sun rose the next morning, at which time Vivian nagged and cawed at them to rise.

Sydnee stepped out of the tent and stretched. She rubbed her eyes and gazed up at the clear sky. She had never felt such happiness. For the first time in her life, she was at peace and felt safe. Although Margarite was gone from this earth, Sydnee could hear her voice encouraging her and giving her direction. She felt the spirits with her too. Their presence was everywhere, particularly in the sheltering arms of the trees.

Sydnee ran her fingers through her hair and put on her hat. It was a man’s hat, dirty with a wide brim that lost it shape and drooped, but it protected her from the sun and the bugs, particularly when she draped the veil over it. She winced when she took a step. In spite of years without shoes, her bare feet were still sore.

She took down the tent, rolled everything up and tied the bundle back onto her stick. Next she built a fire and cooked some eggs and Johnny cakes in the small cast-iron pan that she brought along. She made enough breakfast for the dogs as well.

Vivian resented the dogs receiving a free handout. The crow walked around the fire glaring at Sydnee, looking for her share. Nevertheless Sydnee gave little to the bird. The crow foraged and scavenged successfully all day long, whereas the dogs would have to hunt if Sydnee did not feed them. There was little time for that undertaking.

They passed many stands like The Devil’s Backbone on their journey, but they had all been abandoned, remnants of an earlier time when overland travel was the only way to the north. It was a lonely sight, doors left open, roofs caved in, split rail fences crumbling, and nature reclaiming the landscape. Sydnee considered entering these stands to search for discarded tools or clothing and then reconsidered. She did not want to surprise any wildlife inside or risk injury from the shacks collapsing.

At sunset on the third day of their journey, they passed an active stand. There were men sitting on the porch, drinking from jugs and smoking. They were dressed in rags and had long tobacco-stained beards. When they saw her, they hooped and hollered, whistling and shouting profanities. They told her to come and drink with them and take turns pleasuring them.

Sydnee held her breath and walked past, not making eye contact. Even Vivian and the dogs did not acknowledge the men. They walked by quickly and cautiously, and much to their relief, the men did not follow them. Even though Sydnee knew the dogs would protect her, the canines were no match for firearms.

There was a lot of time for Sydnee to consider her future as she walked along The Trace. At the top of her list was earning a living. When she reached Natchez, she decided that she would find work on one of the plantations. Maybe she could pick cotton, plant or help with household tasks. In a town the size of Natchez, there was sure to be employment.

She also took time to appreciate the beauty of The Trace too. It was midsummer, and the wildflowers were in bloom. Thick hedges of purple flowers that looked like thistle lined the trail along with yellow daisies, wild roses, and orchids. The smell of the air was thick with fragrance, especially late in the afternoon, when the air was heavy. At night the moonlight dappled the floor of the forest, illuminating white wildflowers as the crickets sang.

A day never passed without rain, but Sydnee welcomed it and found it refreshing. It cooled the heavy coats of the dogs while it soaked her clothing and skin. On two occasions when the wind was right, she thought she heard a whistle blowing in the distance. But she could not imagine what this could be and put it down to fancy.

On the fifth day, they heard a woman calling from her stand on a hill. She was an old lady, hunched over with age with skin like brown leather. Her cheeks and lips were sunken, but her smile was warm and friendly.

“Howdy, lil darlins’,” she called. “Can you see fit to keep an old woman company? I ain’t seen no one now for near seven days.”

Sydnee lifted up her veil and climbed the hill, smiling. “Of course.”

The dogs trotted up to the woman, and she stroked their heads.

“Come take a load off. The name’s Nell Patchett,” she said, pointing a skeletal hand at a porch chair.

Sydnee sat down with a sigh. She had not been in a chair for almost a week, and her back was grateful. The dogs dropped down beside her. Vivian landed in the yard searching for grasshoppers.

“I don’t have much food since my husband died a month ago,” the old woman said, easing herself down stiffly into a rocker.

“W--we have plenty for us all,” Sydnee said shyly, embarrassed of her stutter. She had never been comfortable with strangers, but she forced herself to ask, “Y-you have lost your husband?”

“Yezum, a month ago. I miss him terrible,” she said, her voice cracking.

Sydnee turned in her chair to look at the decrepit cabin. It was in worse shape than The Devil’s Backbone. One side of the shack had caved in, and a straw mattress was on the floor in the opposite corner. They were no farm animals and no chickens in the yard.

Sydnee built a fire under the tripod in the yard, and using the old woman’s crucible, she cooked up a chicken stew. They sat on the porch and ate.

“You sure are a pretty little thing,” the old woman said, gumming her corn bread and looking at Sydnee.

Embarrassed, Sydnee smiled and looked down.

“You headed to Natchez?” Mrs. Patchett asked.

“Yes, is it close?”

“Almost a week’s walk.”

Sydnee looked up abruptly. “A week?”

Her heart sank. She had enough food for only three more days. Nevertheless she was more concerned about the old woman. She rehearsed her words in her head and then said, “How w-will you make it here all alone? Come with us.”

The old woman cackled. “These ol’ legs can barely make it down to get water. No ma’am, I lived here, and I die here,” and she held out her bowl for another helping.

Sydnee nodded and brought her more stew. The sun was starting to go down, and the old woman suggested they stay at her stand for the night. Sydnee agreed and pitched her tent over a limb in the yard.

The next morning, they said farewell. It rained off and on for several hours, and when the sun finally came out around midday, Sydnee decided to rest and eat. She sat down on the banks of a creek and took the pack off Baloo’s back. When she flipped it open, the bag was filled with rocks.

Sydnee’s jaw dropped. She leaped to her feet and opened the pack Atlantis was carrying. It too was filled with rocks. She realized then that the old woman had taken their food during the night and put rocks in the packs instead.

Sydnee put her hands to her face. What would they eat? They had a week of traveling left.
She knew that she could fish and the dogs could hunt, but this all took time. She took her hat off and rubbed her brow. She felt a headache coming on. She dug inside her pack for a net. She would have to craw fish, if she wanted to eat.

Sydnee tried to swallow her fury at the old crone. She knew she was needy, but she had stolen everything they had brought along.

“Howdy!” a voice called. A stocky man with a big stomach waddled across the rickety creek bridge. He was leading a mule. The wood groaned under the strain of the weight. He had a closely cropped beard and a bald head.

Sydnee nodded coolly and went back to sweeping her net on the creek bottom. She’d had enough of strangers for one day.

“Which way you headed?”

“Natchez,” she replied.

The man looked at the rocks strewn on the ground near the packs and whistled. “Hew-wee! You musta met up with Nelly Patchett.”

Sydnee looked at him sharply. “We did.”

“She’s all that’s left of the old time Trace swindlers. She still using the Conklin Stand?”

Sydnee stared at him, dumbfounded.

“The one with the side caved in?” he continued.

She nodded.

The man began to laugh, his belly bouncing. “God damn! I bet she told you that her husband just died and that’s her house. Well it ain’t! She lives in a nice little place down by Jackson. By the looks of ya, she didn’t get any money. That’s what she’s really after.”

Sydnee’s jaw tightened.

“Well, it does my heart good to see that there is still a few of ‘em left. Those were the good ol’ days, you know,” the man reflected wistfully. “The days when The Trace was alive and full of good folks.”

He did not notice Sydnee gathering up her things.

He shook his head, as he reminisced. “There was Hoppin’ John Tate and Harry Spoiler--” Suddenly he realized, she was leaving and he called, “Hey little lady. Why are you leavin’? ”

Sydnee did not look back.

*                   *                    *

Traveling was more difficult now thanks to Nell Patchett. Sydnee had to stop and fish, forage for berries, and the dogs had to hunt. It did not take the canines long to understand they had to fend for themselves. On the second day of their ordeal, Baloo presented a squirrel to Sydnee for her supper. She was touched by his gesture, and her eyes filled with tears. Squatting down, she hugged the dog’s neck and murmured, “You’re a good ol’ boy.”

After that Baloo and Atlantis did not consume their kills, rather they brought the meat to Sydnee for everyone to share. She cooked rabbit or squirrel along with fish every night followed by a dessert of berries. The portions were not huge but the group managed to survive.

The journey now seemed endless to Sydnee. The remainder of the trek should have taken a week, but because of hunting, the time now doubled. Everyone in the group was losing weight. Tempers ran high as well, and spats broke out regularly between the dogs and Vivian.

Late one afternoon when the sun was setting, Sydnee allowed the dogs to run ahead. Vivian had been squabbling with them all day, and Sydnee needed a break.

Sydnee was walking along unconcerned when suddenly there was a blood curdling screech behind her. Turning abruptly, she saw Vivian pecking at the head of a large, burly man. He dropped into a crouch as the bird pecked furiously at his eyes and pulled out his hair. He had been about to attack Sydnee.