Sisters of the Secret Conspiracy

Chapter 1

Chapter 1“They’s coming, Miss Dessie!”

“I know. I sensed it.”

When Desdra Von Cleef ran a brush through her waist-length, jet-black hair, her hand trembled, not that her distraught servant would have noticed. Outwardly, Desdra barely flinched at the tidings, but she could feel the blood rampaging through her veins, pulsing beneath her skin like a lover’s hungry caresses. Indeed, these sensations in her body had started several days earlier when reports began filtering to the plantation from out of the west. And in her dreams and in every waking moment, Desdra had felt the approach of the men deep in her soul, like the persistent ache of arthritis in an old woman’s limbs.

“And what is their number, Narcissa? Any reports?”

“Thousands upon millions,” answered the housekeeper, her eyes rounding in alarm, almost as wide as the exaggerated number she had stated in her matter-of-fact tone. In the marriage of firelight and candlelight, her pretty and youthful face gleamed like oiled walnut, shimmering in perspiration beneath her stark-white turban.

“Nonsense, dear one,” countered Desdra. In a bid to calm the quadroon, who had always been prone to over-excitement, she held her voice to a soothing, melodic whisper. “Obviously, ‘tis an inflated estimation.”

“But that’s what the riders said, and they should know.”

“Keep in mind, the men were likely dazed from exhaustion and hunger, weak in body and soul, and as skittish as chickens in a roomful of panthers. After all, they have battled the Yankees across Georgia for many a month. In their eyes, General Sherman’s army has taken on the semblance of an almost God-like, spectral force, growing in multitude every day the war continues, which is hardly the case. As defeat follows defeat, our brave boys are in a panic, and simply allowing their imaginations to play havoc with their reason.”

“I s’pose you is right, Miss Dessie. They do say the bluebellies is stretched in a line more than sixty miles wide, north to south. Ain’t likely thousands upon millions headin’ straight for our single door as the fleein’ rumor-spreaders claim.”

“There now, you see?” Desdra ran the brush through her hair several more times, hoping the gentle strokes would help quell her churning stomach. They didn’t.

“Still, our soldiers done seen the blue elephant, and it’s ravagin’ the countryside. The Lincolnites is tearin’ up the rails, coercin’ slaves to skedaddle, strippin’ the land of edibles, even destroyin’ nearly every buildin’ in Milledgeville but the state capitol and executive mansion, they said. Put a torch to Sandersville and Louisville and Waynesboro, just like they did Atlanta all those weeks ago.”

“So it would seem.” As of late, the sensation of heat had also raced through Desdra’s veins at all hours of the day or night, and with increased ferocity. Another sign that the enemy would soon arrive, which had led her to make preparations.

“And the burnin’ and lootin’ ain’t nothin’ when—well, ain’t no womenfolk safe from those blue-coated devils. Saints have mercy, our beautiful Savannah is doomed.”

“Not if our army offers no resistance and Mayor Jones surrenders the city, as General Sherman will likely demand.” Smiling, Desdra set the mother-of-pearl hairbrush on her ornate dressing table and stood to face her most loyal and beloved servant. “Still, despite their exaggerated number, the Yankees will be more plentiful than our depleted forces can handle.” She looked directly into the woman’s black eyes, and without moving her mouth, offered additional encouragement—

And that is why my sisters and I must aid them, in our own unique fashion. Understand?

Narcissa nodded in comprehension.

Fear not, young one. We will follow the plan I devised, and you and the others residing at this plantation will come to no harm. Indeed, you, along with the rest of our people, may enjoy the harvest of our success for months, depending on the number of men who arrive.

The housekeeper absent-mindedly licked her lips, and the lines of worry on her forehead melted away.

Desdra affectionately smoothed Narcissa’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Now, dear one, did the riders indicate when we might expect our ‘guests’?”

“Any day now, they say. Mayhap as early as the morrow.”

“Then there’s no time to spare.”

A sound drew Desdra’s attention toward the window. She peered out at the moonlit night. Had she detected the mournful note of a screech owl in the distance, perhaps a hound’s clarion cry, carrying some tidings from one of her sisters?

No, she decided, noting only one of her many fieldhands leading a nickering plow horse from the torch-lit stable. No urgent communiqué out of the darkness. Only wishful thinking; only a yearning for the days of old, she mused, when a cat’s screech, a whippoorwill’s whistle, or a lively choir of croaking frogs ofttimes masked messages from afar. Just like humans, her kind had evolved as the centuries passed, adjusting to the unique circumstances of each era. With the world becoming ever more crowded, the necessity to use denizens of the night to relay communication over a vast distance had become rare, and subsequently, the talent had become nearly lost to her kind. An archaic endowment in a modern world, it would seem, one most of the younger recruits had not even bothered to master, let alone attempt. Alas, the less one practices one’s gifts, the more those gifts diminish. So very sad.

Now, she frowned with annoyance. For the first time since purchasing Raven’s Peak, a large cotton plantation several miles outside Savannah, she wished she still resided within the bustling city, where the close proximity to some of her sisters would have allowed easier mental communication with them, especially in times of emergency. But with these plantations separated by acres upon acres of fertile fields, she had to rely on messengers to do her bidding, and human messengers—or near human, anyway—at that.

“Have any of my sisters been alerted, I wonder?” she mused aloud.

“I ‘xpect those riders trumpeted the warnin’ good ‘nough, but I’ll send some of our people to the closest ‘sister’ plantations to verify.”

“Yes, please. Spread the word as expediently as possible.”

“Any particular instructions you want to send along?”

“Just inform them of what the riders stated, barring the exaggerated numbers, of course. My sisters will know what to do and, like us, will keep spreading the word and prepare accordingly.” Again, Desdra recalled the heated chills she had felt over the past few days, the inbred intuition of the army of Union soldiers heading toward Savannah. “Likely, the most experienced of my sisters will already be on the alert and will have mimicked our plans.”

“You’s probably right about that, too. And me? Anythin’ special you want me to prepare, ‘sides fixin’ up the underground holdin’ quarters for our expected visitors?”

Desdra pointed toward her gilt-framed portrait—painted by the artist Jeremiah Theus in 1770—hanging above the mantel, then the exquisite pair of Paul Storr candelabrum she had carted from London in 1811 upon her next lengthy stay in America. She also gestured toward the Haviland-Limoges porcelain, the Staffordshire figurines, and the Bristol vases on the side tables—just a sprinkling of the many items she had collected in her travels through the decades. “Clear all the rooms of valuables and finery. Have our field hands squirrel them into the specially designated cellars and instruct them to camouflage the entrances just as we planned for this likelihood.”

“Including the furniture? I hear them blue devils is fond of tearin’ up anythin’ in sight.”

“If only we could know how many will actually arrive on our doorstep. Several dozen we can easily handle, but more…?” She sighed. “Well, no sense taking a chance that they will outnumber us. Remove all but the most dispensable pieces…all but the barest essentials. Leave one or two chairs in each room, no more. When our ‘guests’ arrive, they will find nothing in the house to vandalize but a few odds and ends. And of course, have the workers also clean out the smokehouse, hennery, buttery, stable, and—”

“I already got them started on movin’ the animals and comestibles, just after I heard what the riders told me.”

“Thank you, dear one. You’re as efficient as ever.”

Desdra sensed the woman smiling proudly behind her.

“Anythin’ else?”

For a long moment, Desdra stared out at the star-speckled heavens and pondered the question.

Upon hearing the news of the Union army approaching, she had tried in vain to calm her jittery stomach, to keep her limbs from trembling. Though not from fear. Certainly she didn’t relish the notion of losing her home to fire—just prior to the war, she had invested a tidy sum into restoring this plantation to its former glory, using up a good fourth of the capitol she had accumulated through the decades. But trepidation played a rather insignificant actor in her cast of emotions. Now, excitement reigned supreme.

Or rather, s****l excitement and rapacious hunger.

Since the war had started more than three years earlier, life had become rather lonely for her and many of her kind. Young Southern gentlemen had flocked to the Cause, either voluntarily or because of the Confederate conscription, and most had not returned—alas, the majority would never return.

War! Such a damned waste…all those promising young men, all that warm flesh and warmer blood…gone forever…

Desdra could barely remember the last time she had found herself in the company of a handsome suitor who could provide her with all that she mentally craved and bodily required. The arrival of the Northern army at her doorstep, however, would become her great opportunity to replenish some of what she had lost. And if plans proved successful, as Desdra sensed they would, she and her sisters, along with their growing number of dependents, would not find themselves wanting for a very long time. Just as she had promised Narcissa.

She glanced at the four-poster, canopied bed, felt a tingling in her nether regions, and wondered if any of her sisters would welcome this choice opportunity in a similar fashion. If they’re smart, they will, thought Desdra, and shuddered in yearning.

Finally, she had her answer for Narcissa. “Do not remove my wardrobe until I select some fitting attire. Also, please see to it that the household decanters are full to the brim with brandy, whiskey, and wine. Have Cook set aside some of our finest meats and cheeses, and keep them handy.”

“Spirits? Regular food? Sounds like you’s preparin’ for a feast—or rather, a real party, like you used to throw before the war.”

“In a way, I am. Men far from home, especially those used to sleeping on the hard ground, their bellies aching for anything besides hardtack and similarly bland army cuisine, might appreciate reminders of home.” And might let down their guard, she added silently, but only to herself. She again looked toward the bed and the elegance surrounding her. “On second thought, Narcissa, leave this room as is.”

“But Miss Dessie? These fine things? The bluecoats are sure to steal what ain’t nailed down if we can’t work fast enough to stop them in our—special way. Have you now taken leave of your good reason?”

“No Yankee will enter this room—at least, not without my express invitation.” She glanced over her shoulder, watching her servant’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

With swift perception dawning in her dark eyes, Narcissa gave her mistress a reproving expression and tsked like a schoolmarm. “You can’t be thinkin’—”

“Let’s just say I have alternate plans for the one I’ll deem most promising upon the army’s arrival. You and the rest of our people can expertly handle the other details without my guidance. Feel free to enjoy yourselves…I certainly will.”

“But they’s Yankees.”

“Too true, dear one—” Desdra smirked as her nether lips moistened with the juice of desire “—but they are also hardy men…hot-blooded men. And it’s been way too long…”