Scanning the horizon and not finding Moses, she frowned. “I would like to know what he thinks about the beetles the workers discovered in the cornfield yesterday.”
“Ain’t right you has to worry your pretty head about such things, Miz Natalie. You need a man to run this plantation.” Carolina punctuated her statement with a nod.
Familiar ire tugged Natalie’s brow. The sixteen-year-old was much too outspoken. George would roll over in his grave if he knew she let the slave speak to her in such a forward manner. Her husband had never treated their Negroes as anything other than property. But George wasn’t there. He had decided the Confederate cause was more important than staying home with his wife and son, and he had paid the ultimate price.
“Even if I agreed with you,” Natalie said, “which I don’t, the only men who aren’t away fighting that dreadful war are either too young or too old.”
Wisely, Carolina didn’t comment further.
A thin line of dust near the edge of the cotton fields caught Natalie’s eye a few minutes later. Squinting, she made out Moses’ large form lumbering up the trail to the house. With the spring rains long gone, every road and footpath on the property was caked with powdery dirt that filled the air and clung to shoes and clothes.
“Finally, here comes Moses now.” She stood, noting a larger cloud of dust on the horizon some distance behind him. Perhaps the slaves were plowing a fallow field, although it seemed an odd time for such an activity. “Fetch a cup of water, Carolina. I’m certain he’ll be thirsty.”
While the servant disappeared into the house, Natalie walked to the corner of the wide covered porch. Gratitude for the big slave welled up within her breast, though she could never let anyone know the extent of it. Rose Hill had been without an overseer for most of the war. She’d feared a revolt, or at the very least, an exodus of slaves once they realized no one would stop them from leaving. A few did escape, taking their chances with the patrols. They disappeared into the night, no doubt headed for Mexico. Moses had taken charge of the remaining workers then, seeing to it they planted, tended, and harvested the crops as though nothing had changed. She knew it was their respect for the big man and not a sense of loyalty toward her that kept them on the plantation.
“Miz Natalie.” He panted as he reached the bottom of the steps. Rivers of sweat rolled down his face from beneath a floppy hat and soaked his homespun shirt. “I got news.” He bent over and placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Alarm washed over her. “I hope you’re not here to tell me those horrid beetles are destroying the corn.” How would she feed the slaves all winter if they lost the corn? “We haven’t the seed to replant if we lose the crop.”
Moses straightened, his leathery brow tugged in a deep frown. “No, ma’am. That ain’t the news I has. The corn be fine. Look yonder.” He pointed to the large cloud of dust hanging in the still air. It was closer than it had been minutes before. “So’diers is comin’. Bluecoats, all.”
Natalie gasped. “Bluecoats? Here?”
“Yes’m. They’s comin’ real slow like they been travelin’ for a time, but they’s comin’.”
Indeed, the shapes of many horses and riders emerged through the dust, making their way slowly up the long poplar-lined road.
Carolina arrived on the porch and handed a tin cup of water to Moses, who downed the liquid in one swallow. She looked at the approaching swirl of dust. “Who that comin’?”
“Soldiers. Yankee soldiers.” Natalie’s heart twisted with dread. The war couldn’t be going well if Yankees were in Texas. With no access to newspapers the last few years due to a statewide shortage of paper, word of mouth was the only way to keep up with the battles. It had been several months since she’d received any significant word on the war.
Natalie spoke with a trembling voice. “Moses, get the rifle. Carolina, run inside and close the windows. Then go upstairs and hide my jewelry. Hurry!”
Wide-eyed, the slaves ran to do her bidding while Natalie watched the riders approach, her stomach knotting with fear. Why were Yankees in Texas? The answer didn’t bode well.
Moses returned to her side as the forms of sixty or more horsemen in blue Union coats became clear. The line of soldiers rode through the open whitewashed gate and entered the yard.
“I’s put the gun next to the door inside,” Moses said, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the strangers. “I’s prayin’ we don’t gots to use it.”
Natalie nodded. What could one gun do to protect them from these armed men? She had heard stories about homes across the South being pillaged and burned by vengeful Yankees. Was that what they were here to do? Burn her home and leave her destitute?
The sound of a barking dog stilled her racing thoughts.
Samuel!
“Where is my son? Moses, where are the boys?” Horses and men blocked her view of the lawn where the children had been playing.
“They be yonder, Miz Natalie.” He pointed to the far edge of the grass where Samuel and Isaac knelt beneath the branches of an ancient black walnut tree, clinging to the big dog to keep it from charging toward the soldiers.
Though he was safe for the moment, she desperately wanted to call him, to tell him to run and hide in the barn. She remained mute lest she draw attention to the boys. Shadows from thick branches overhead made it difficult to see them, but the incessant barking of that mangy dog surely wouldn’t go unnoticed
