Undaunted Love (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

R
AFE SPENT THE THREE MONTHS between the end of the harvest season and the first part of February walking south. Occasionally he hitched a ride on a wagon for a few miles, but there were many vagabonds about, and fewer people were willing to give rides to strangers than before the Reconstruction, which had displaced so many. The winter gave him little relief, even if it was warmer than in South Carolina, and he stuck to the coast, by what he knew. He found that people along the coastal communities were all much the same: farmers and fishermen, merchants and blacksmiths, grists and sawmills. The accents changed and the plant life changed, but the South was the South.

Stopping for several weeks in Jacksonville, Florida, to replenish his depleted money purse, he found the city in much disrepair. Having changed hands several times between the Union and Confederacy, and having been alternately blockaded and occupied for several years, Jacksonville was in desperate need of workers to help repair damaged and neglected buildings. Rafe took a cheap room in a boarding house and worked framing up a hotel that had been partially burned in 1863.

The hustle of Jacksonville reminded him of Charleston, and there were parts of it he liked. The old homes of Riverside, walking along the St. Johns River at sunrise, the old empty farmland that used to be a plantation but had been sold after the war. The people were friendly, but there were a lot of Yankees moving in, buying houses and businesses, changing things the way they’d changed them back home. Most weren’t carpetbaggers, they were coming to be a part of a growing city, but Rafe decided he hadn’t been out of his uniform quite long enough yet. He didn’t know how to think of these folks from New York and Vermont as neighbors, not when they’d been enemies less than a year before.

When he’d made fifty dollars, he moved on, heading south to St. Augustine. An older and smaller town, Rafe loved to wander in the old graveyards, seeing headstones of men who had been dead since before the United States became a nation. Fort Marion had been used in the War as a military prison, but it had been given back to the city and stood empty, facing the sea and the town. Rafe frequently walked about it, hearing only sea gulls and the wind. The old stone walls, the canons, the worn stairs and rusty iron, all gave him comfort somehow.

His thoughts were always on Livvie. He hadn’t written to her since he had left the Simpkins farm, and he felt guilty about that. He wrestled with what he should do, not wanting to endanger her in any way, either with the sheriff or with her father. He didn’t know what was happening in Byrd’s Creek, and couldn’t determine a way to find out without giving away his own whereabouts. Perhaps they’d already caught the real killer of Mr. Monighan and he was wearing his boots out walking south for no reason at all. If that was so, was Livvie waiting, watching every day to see if he would stroll down the drive to her? Was his Mama alive, and old Nackie?

Every day he would push these thoughts aside as he worked, taking day labor jobs on local farms or painting at one of the oldest houses in St. Augustine, that of the Alvarez family. The city had preserved itself by giving up to Union forces without firing a shot, so it had been spared the shelling and burning that often accompanied the capture of a port, but the War had still taken its toll, and many houses were in need of repair, paint, roofs, and even gardens. At night he lay in a tiny room at the top of an old house down by the former slave docks, listening to sailors as they walked and sang back to their ships. He rarely slept, unless he’d been able to work a long, hard day, as his mind wouldn’t leave his wife, and what she might be going through.

As much as he loved St. Augustine, there was nowhere for him to start a life. Available land was swampy and abuzz with mosquitoes. There was work aplenty for day laborers, but he found no opportunities for a stranger to put down roots. He decided that he would continue south, following the network of rivers that paralleled the coast. He prayed that he would know when to stop, or when to turn and head north, back to his wife. God seemed silent. Maybe He was just watching, waiting along with Rafe. He didn’t know. Livvie always said that God had a plan, but Rafe didn’t understand how this aimless wandering, this lonely, friendless time, could be part of any good plan from a loving Lord. Still, he believed that his wife believed, and for now that had to be enough.

He wrote a letter to her on the morning he headed south, asking a boy playing near the postal office to address it for him. He paid the postage and watched the postman put it in a basket, and wished with all his heart that he could send himself back to Byrd’s Creek as easily as he could send a letter.

February 9, 1866

My Darling Liv,

I know it has been too long since I’ve written, and that my excuses are poor. I worry that my letters will somehow put you in danger, although when I think of all our letters during the War, I feel somewhat foolish. Every night my thoughts are torn – have they caught the real murderer? Are you well, and waiting for me to come home? Have Mama or Nackie passed? I pray, but I don’t hear anything from God, so I just keep moving, praying that I will know when to stop and settle, or when to head north to you.

I will think on some way for you to get word to me, so that I might know what to do. I know you say that the Lord has a plan and that He knows all things, but honestly, Liv, I feel very alone. People are friendly enough, and I’ve shared many a meal, but I have so many secrets. I miss you, my love.

Yours Faithfully,

Rafe

Rafe walked south for another week, struggling through swamps. He saw alligators, fearsome creatures he’d only read about in books, and felt wary without a gun. There were snakes, too, and people along the way had told them that some were poisonous, but he didn’t know which were which, so he tried to avoid them all. He walked as much as he could along the Indian River, and saw strange sights there, too. Early one morning, as he was rolling up his blanket and tying his boots, he’d seen what looked like a brown rock rise up out of the water. As he watched, another joined it. He realized it was some sort of creature, huge and dun colored, slow of movement and fat. When he asked at a small two-family settlement, they told him that he’d seen sea cows. He’d shaken his head at the wonder of cows in the sea.

After a few days he’d gotten used to the families of otters, the dolphins that played in the river, the raccoons and opossums and, once, a wild cat as big as a hound dog. He found sheepshead and mullet in the river, with oysters and clams, and plentiful fruit growing along the bank. Small settlements had popped up every mile or two, and he heard tell of Indians about, but he didn’t meet any.

At the end of the week he found himself in a tiny settlement called Sand Point. There was a post office, which also held a tiny general store, and a few houses. There were groves of orange trees, many still full of fruit, and a rough encampment of day laborers. These workers were a mix of former slaves and soldiers, and as raucous and loud a group of men Rafe had seen in quite awhile. He decided against staying, but he went into the post office to talk to the clerk before moving on.

“Afternoon,” the man said. He was in his fifties, balding, with liver spots covering his head from his time in the hot sun. “Passin’ through?”

“Aye, that I am. Headin’ south. What’s the next town?” Rafe asked.

The man thought a bit, chewed his lip, looked off in space, and hummed, although it seemed to Rafe a pretty simple question. Finally he said, “They call it Indian River City, although t’ain’t much of a city. Got a post office, some orange trees, a few stores, houses. Ayuh, that’d be the next town, seems to me.” He smiled at his knowledge.

“Uh, yes, sure sounds like a town. And how far is it from here?” Rafe tried to sound more patient than he felt.

“Oh, well,” the man began, pondering again. Another minute of hemming and hawing led to an answer. “Tis about, well, um, probably about twenty-five miles. Ayuh, about twenty-five.”

Rafe blew out a sigh. He wouldn’t make it that day, nor likely the next. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I think I’ll buy a few victuals before I set out.”

He left the store with a small sack, holding two oranges, a day old loaf of bread, a rasher of bacon, and three fresh eggs. Putting it gently in the top of his rucksack, he put the pack over his shoulder, stepped out onto the road, and headed towards Indian River City.

Chapter Fourty

March 31, 1866

L
IVVIE CAME UP THE FRONT steps with Thomas holding one hand and Sarah the other. All three were laughing, having just come from picking daffodils. Trying to pick daffodils, in Livvie’s case, as she found she couldn’t lean over far enough to pick them with her belly in the way. Madeline met them at the door, taking the small bouquets clutched in the children’s fists.

“They’re beautiful, my loves! And why does your Aunt Livvie not have a handful herself?” she asked.

“Aunt Livvie’s too fat to reach the ground!” exclaimed Sarah, Thomas nodding enthusiastically next to her.

“She near to fell over one time, and me and Thomas said she shouldn’t oughta do it ‘cause we can’t pick her up again and we’d have to get Daddy and Julius and maybe even the mule to get her up.” Thomas said this while dancing foot to foot, his hands clasped behind his back.

Livvie burst out laughing. “I must say, it’s true! If your Aunt Livvie fell down, she’d have to stay right there til the baby came, I’m afraid.” She patted her huge, swollen belly and smiled at her sister. “Out of the mouths of babes…”

Madeline laughed and took her arm, leading her inside. “I’ve got some nice lemonade made, and a plate of ham sandwiches. Come sit down. You look fit to pop!”

“I feel fit to pop, and thirsty.” She sat gratefully down on the sofa, knowing her sister would have to pull her up. “If Rafe saw me now I don’t know if he’d laugh or cry.”

“If he knew what was good for him, he’d tell you you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.” Madeline handed her a tall glass of lemonade. “Sandwich?” She held out the plate.

Livvie looked at it and felt slightly nauseated. The baby was smashing her insides so, she had found she had no appetite over the last few days. “I’m sorry, Mad, I’m sure they’re delicious, but I just haven’t been feelin’ too hungry.”

Her sister looked at her closely. “You been having pains?”

Livvie shrugged. “A bit. Nothin’ like you said, though, not regular or very painful. My belly just hardens up for a bit sometimes, and my back’s been achin’. Mostly I have to make water every hour.”

Chuckling, Madeline took a small bite out of a sandwich. The children tumbled in, bringing Rebecca in with them. The littlest girl was rubbing her blue eyes, lines from the sheets across her plump cheek.

“She was awake in her bed, Mama,” Sarah said. She was the motherly type, always wanting to help, and Madeline suspected she’d awakened her sister. “She’s hungry.”

Rebecca wandered over and stood in front of Livvie, her thumb in her mouth, still sleepy. Livvie tried to lift her onto her lap but couldn’t manage it. “I’m sorry, honey, can you climb?”

Nodding, Rebecca pulled herself up on to the soft cushions and leaned against her aunt, putting her thumb back in her mouth and watching her siblings. Thomas and Rebecca had both taken a sandwich and were eating quickly, crumbs falling onto the floor. Sarah picked out the pieces of ham, preferring them to the bread, which she picked apart and placed on the table in a stack.

“Eat the bread, Sarah,” Madeline said absently. She was watching as her sister grimaced and put both hands on her belly, her face flushing. “That looked like it hurt,” she commented.

It took a moment for Livvie to speak, and she nodded her head. “I think this might be it. My back was hurtin’ more when we were pickin’ the flowers, but I thought it was just the bendin’ and such. But that…” She took a long swallow of lemonade.

“That was just the beginning,” Madeline said, standing. “I’ll send for Chloe. It’s your first, it’ll be awhile. But I wouldn’t drink too much more lemonade.”

Livvie’s labor lasted through the night, and although she did her best not to cry out, by sunrise she was too exhausted to stay quiet. She knew that Gardner was pacing downstairs, and that Nackie was waiting with him in the parlor. Madeline and Chloe sat with her, helping her through the pains and contractions, checking her to see if the baby was crowning. She could tell that Madeline was growing concerned with the length of her labor, and she knew she was running out of strength.

“Miz Madeline!” she heard Chloe call out during one particularly long and painful contraction. Her sister came running into the room, and peered under the blankets. She whispered something to the former slave, and Chloe ran out of the room. Madeline took a towel and wiped her face.

“It’s about time to push, Liv,” Madeline said. “It’s gonna hurt, and it’s gonna be hard, but the harder you can push the faster he can come on out and you can rest. Can you do that?”

Livvie nodded silently, another contraction already building. She closed her eyes and thought of Rafe. She envisioned his laughing blue eyes, with crinkles at the corners. She imagined herself running her hands through his soft blond hair, pulling his head down to hers for a kiss, feeling his body next to hers as they slept. She drew strength from the memories of him, and knew she would be strong for him, strong enough to bring his baby into the world.

Chloe came in with steaming water just as the contraction hit. She held her legs behind the thigh, and bore down with all her might, screaming. She could hear Madeline saying, “Yes, that’s it, push!” then she had to take a breath. The contraction was still upon her so, she pushed again, feeling the pressure build up in her head before she released. She fell back against the pillows as the cramping stopped.

“That was great, Liv,” Madeline said as she piled towels and rags next to Livvie’s legs. “We just keep doing that until this little one comes on out.”

Livvie pushed for forty-five minutes, and to the end of her strength. Chloe and Madeline had exchanged worried looks several times, knowing that she was exhausted, but every time they despaired of her finding another breath, she closed her eyes, thought of Rafe, said a prayer, and carried on. Finally, at seven thirty, the baby slid out, squalling with his first inhale, his skin pink and his face red from yelling.

Madeline laughed as she tied off the cord and cut it, Chloe wrapping the baby in a soft blanket. “It’s a boy, Liv, and he’s mad, let me tell you!”

Chloe handed the bundle to Livvie, who was almost too shaky and exhausted to hold him. She laid him on her breast, and he started suckling greedily. “He’s tired and hungry, too, looks like, Miz Livvie,” Chloe said. “He a big boy, and look jes like his daddy with that blond hair.”

Smiling gratefully, Livvie closed her eyes. Her sister came and sat next to her, stroking the tiny baby’s fine hair and soft cheek. “He does look like Rafe,” she whispered. “His name is Gabriel. Gabriel Byrd Colton.”