The Widow of the South Read Online Free Page A

expectantly at him and asked if anyone knew this place.
    One man raised his hand while spitting out some tobacco and pulled his yellow hair out of his eyes. He’d been in Forrest’s troop longer than most.
    “My uncle lives around here, I been here before.”
    “Where is there a place I can see the town from without getting out from cover?”
    Forrest trusted this man, who had once shot a Federal officer in the face before he could run Forrest through. He liked that kind of loyalty, the kind that saved his skin.
    “There’s a house off the Lewisburg Pike. Got two stories. McGavocks own it.”
    McGavock, McGavock. I know that name.
    “Where is this house at?”
    “I can take us there. There’s woods, be easy to sneak up on it.”
    McGavock. I might have sold him slaves.
    “Go on, then.”

2
    C ARNTON
    M ariah knew Carrie would not come greet the men. She closed the door behind her before walking heavily across the passage to the staircase, which she took down to the ground floor. If Confederates were coming, she decided, she must receive them at the front of the big house like proper folks. If she had to cover for her missus yet again, and this time with men who frightened her like the devils in one of her old dreams, she would use all the power of the house and whatever might still be dignified and imposing about it. Not much to go on, but still . . .
    Sometimes she thought of herself as the mistress of the house. She planned the meals and directed what was left of the house staff. She had intercepted many visitors on the front brick walkway during the last two years, telling each of them that her mistress was not feeling well and could not rise to see them. Town people had quit coming to visit unless it was to transact business with Colonel John or Mariah, and she had heard there was some speculation about Carrie’s health and the propriety of any household that would leave a nigger in charge. Hattie and Winder, Carrie’s children, came hollering for Mariah to settle their disputes now, after encountering Carrie’s closed and locked door all too often. It had come to this, finally: she sometimes forgot about Carrie, something that would never have happened when she was running around fetching food and sewing and books and mops and what all. When her mistress ran things. Sometimes now she would jump a little when she heard footsteps on the floor above her.
    Mariah walked past the plaques of the “Masks of Tragedy” on the walls of the hallway and, now hurrying, across the worn-out floorcloth that led to the front doors, which she unlocked. She stepped out onto the portico. She held her hands clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking.
    At the end of the front walkway a small group of riders had come to a halt, and between the rows of boxwoods and cedars that lined the front walk she could see a tall man unwind himself from the back of his horse and step to the ground. His movements seemed so languid she was surprised by how quickly he moved up the path. She wanted him to stay forever down by the gate. He walked bowlegged and loose, with his head down, and was upon her before she knew it. When he first noticed her, he made a gesture as if to take off his hat, but when he saw her fully, he left it on. Down by the gate one of the other gray men dismounted and held the horse of his leader in one bony hand.
    “I need to use your back porch, second floor. I saw it on the way up here. Get your people so I can talk to ’em.”
    “Pardon me, sir, but Colonel McGavock’s out, and Mrs. McGavock’s a mite too sick to take visitors. She would be happy to receive you on another day, and she send her regrets.”
    He eyed her for a moment, as if he was trying to figure her out, and then he nodded. He knocked his boot against the bottom step of the landing, and clods of red mud fell into the path.
    “I ain’t a visitor. I am General Forrest, and I’ma use your house to reconnoiter awhile. Watch yourself.”
    With