The Better Angels: Hearts Touched by Fire, Book 4

by Gina Danna

  She could only nod, still afraid of opening her mouth for fear of what might happen.

  Slowly, they walked through the battered land. Edward walked next to them. The pressure of Francois against her definitely changed the focal point of her senses. His solid torso was an added comfort yet it sent tingles through her. Cradled in between his legs, she couldn’t help but feel the slight bulge that nudged against her, despite the woolen skirt and petticoats. Her cheeks heated when her core registered his body. She blinked hard and tried to take her mind off him.

  Looking into the distance, she swore she could see the red, white and blue of the Federal camp. In disbelief, she gulped. “We’re heading toward the Union camp? Do you think that is wise?”

  “I need to get you back to safety.”

  “At what price?” Her voice peaked, at virtually a yell. Her safety at the price of his? “You didn’t do well last time you stayed at a Federal prison.”

  That comment got Edward to glance at them.

  “I can’t just leave you here,” he began.

  She grabbed the reins out of his hold and pulled back to stop the mare. “No!”

  “Missus Ada, hollering out here not a wise thing,” Edward warned. But neither she nor Francois heard him.

  Francois tried to take the reins back.

  “Ada, please, let go!”

  “No, let me off! I’ll walk back over…”

  They managed to shift enough on Rose and tug her mouth to where the horse started to side-step, a little faster with each step. Just as the mare started to hop, trying to dislodge her riders, Francois got Ada’s grip off the reins and managed to slow the horse some.

  “Ada…”

  She twisted as well she could in the saddle, infuriated, and slapped his cheek with all her strength.

  2nd Lieutenant Jeremy Hillsdale inhaled deep and suddenly wished he hadn’t. One would have thought the morning smells after a battle would have been familiar now, but it was the added enhancement of burned human and horse remains took it to another notch and his stomach threatened to upheave. It was bad enough he with two privates were sent to help find the surgeons in the field who’d, as his commander grumbled, ‘wandered off to find those poor bastards’ — the wounded who’d fallen in the fields. So far, he’d found the one and his orders were to return with him immediately, but it was harder than he imagined as the man literally stopped at every lump on the ground.

  “Doc, we need to keep movin’,” he stated and spat into the ground. “Or we’re gonna be in a mighty heap of hurt when those Rebs start this morning.”

  The surgeon glanced up from the stack of leaves and debris, a mixed look of relief and frustration on his face. “Been out here most of the night. Don’t hear those howls of pain anymore…”

  Or the screams of pain being burned alive! That still made Hillsdale tremble.

  “…I guess we’re done.” The surgeon stood. “For now.”

  Grateful, Hillsdale nodded, the mood to take a gun and fire at the enemy growing out of desire to kill those sons of a bitch who’d started this war! He waited anxiously as the doctor mounted his horse and they with the two other soldiers turned to go.

  They barely walked a few yards when Hillsdale heard the voices. Living people and they were yelling, but not for help, more like arguing. He motioned his entourage to stop so he could hear better and find them. Tilting his head in the direction he thought it came from, he heard them again. One of them sounded like a woman. He frowned. What was a woman doing out here in hell? Unless she was a nurse…

  Slap!

  That spurned him to send his horse at a trot toward her, with the rest following suit. Over the crest in the land, with its fallen timber mixed with standing trees and shrubbery, he found a woman on horseback with a man sitting behind her. They were arguing, yanking on the reins, sending the horse to dance with minor hops in its steps. Hillside knew that animal’s fright was rising and those minor hops would turn to bucks. The black man on the ground was scurrying out of the equine’s path.

  The white male rider’s cheek was flaming red from the slap. Hillside gathered he was secesh from the color of his clothes being mud-spattered butternut. Yet the girl was dressed like a nurse for the US Army, with her navy dress and tinged white pinner apron. Though, she could be a civilian…

  “Whoa, hold, sir!”

  The threesome stopped, obviously surprised. Hillsdale smirked. Coming in with prisoners might make this expedition worth the while.

  But all his wild musings came to an abrupt stop when the surgeon piped in.

  “Ada?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed then. What little color in her cheeks paled. “Richard?”

  Ada froze. What was Richard doing out here? She hadn’t recalled hearing he was in the area, let alone searching for survivors. Her heart, though, jumped at seeing him. He did look rather dashing in his uniform, even with it as muddy as everyone’s. As he approached, the usually warm wickedness she normally saw wasn’t there. Recognition yes, but the warmth was lacking. Then again, she was sitting on a horse with the Rebel. She wondered if he recognized him…

  Francois, though, recognized him as his whole frame tightened against her. She tried to relax against him, hoping he’d do the same but both failed.

  “I thought you’d returned to the Army of the Tennessee,” she started, trying desperately to recall what he had said. “It’s a surprise to see you here, in Virginia.”

  He smiled, breaking the tense look on his face. “A pleasant surprise, I hope, considering. I was at the last minute re-assigned to Grant’s command.” He looked at Francois. “Are you not the man I met at—”

  “He is,” she interjected, praying Francois would not say a word and expose his Southern drawl. The uniform, though… “It’s a joint venture, as it were, trying to find the wounded.”

  “Well, come to me,” Richard offered, extending his arms. “Let the Rebels find their own.”

  “Ada,” Francois warned, his voice low.

  She pulled her confused focus off Richard to the man on the front horse behind him. An officer. And she noticed his hand was at his side, where his revolver was.

  “Richard, this man is wounded as well. Don’t allow Captain—”

  “2nd Lt. Hillsdale, ma’am,” the mounted officer claimed but he didn’t move his hand.

  “Lieutenant, then. I’d appreciate if you’d move you hand away from the gun,” she directed at Hillsdale.

  The two soldiers behind him moved closer. She hadn’t seen them, but they were not mounted. They carried rifles. The air was tense and her worry increased. Edward, she saw out of the corner of her eye, had stepped back. What was he doing?

  “Gentlemen, please,” she started.

  “Yes, Ada, explain what I’m seeing here,” Richard said. “You are on the horse with this Rebel, obviously in dire straits. We cannot allow that type of behavior.”

  Her heart fell into her stomach as her eyes shot wide open, but she forced a laugh to try to lighten the mood. “You know me, Richard. Arguing is a pastime of mine.”

  Richard laughed, followed by Francois. The officer gave a chuckle and when they all bent over with the contagious jovially, no one saw Francois pull his LaMott pistol out and aim it at Richard. The click of the hammer locking back caught everyone’s attention.

  Ada gulped. “What are you doing?” she mouthed but he ignored her.

  “I think it’s time we leave.”

  Hillsdale steeled. “Soldier, drop your weapon.”

  Richard acted fast. He reached up, grabbing Ada at the waist and lifted her off the saddle, making sure he hit Francois’s leg. Startled, Ada screeched as he flung her to the ground. Francois roared, bending in the saddle, his face painted in pain, his trigger finger squeezing. As Richard yanked her to the side, she saw in the confusion, with the horse prancing, the foot soldiers ran forward right as Hillsdale pulled his gun. The black man was gone.

  Angry, Francois twisted in his pain and pointed
the gun at Richard.

  Shocked, Ada cried, “Francois, don’t!”

  But the gun fired, along with two others. Smoked filled the air and she froze. It took a moment but reality rang in her head, so she struggled to see and found Hillsdale’s gun smoking as it fell loose of his grip as he fell off his saddle, his leg bleeding through the powder blue wool trousers. One of the soldiers was on the ground, his eyes opened and vacant of seeing ever again. The other soldier was so caught in the vines that littered the ground that he fell to his knees.

  Richard was reeling, trying to clear the gunsmoke to make it to the fallen officer. Ada had to blink hard, her ears still ringing from the gunfire, when she saw Edward, standing to the side, tucking his long-nosed revolver into his belt to hold it. The slave had shot a white man, a Federal soldier, her mind stuttered. The side that fought for his freedom! Befuddled, she slowly became cognizant of the moans and they came from more than the Federals. She heard Francois and ran to him.

  His side had a red stain from blood, the clothing torn by a bullet. She raced to untie her medical bag.

  “Can you move? I need you off that horse,” she told him, freeing her supplies.

  “No, no, Ada,” he muttered low. “We got to go.”

  “Ada, don’t! I need help here!” Richard begged.

  “Give me my gun!” Hillsdale bellowed. “You shot me, you worthless bag of Southern shit!” He bent, trying to reach the fallen piece.

  “Perhaps, sir, I oughta just shoot you.”

  Silence fell except for the sound of Richard ripping material. The rest looked up at the black man.

  Hillsdale glared. “To think the fight is to free your black asses! Why the hell did you shoot me?!”

  “Ain’t right, firing at a wounded man and involving a lady in your fight.”

  Hillsdale swung back to Francois. “I’ll see you hanged for this!”

  Francois sat on the horse, patting her neck in an attempt to calm her while he worked hard to breathe. The pain in his side was smart, like a slice went through him. He recalled his aim at the bastard Ada was so enamored with. How he longed for her to realize that man wasn’t worth the spit it’d take to shine a shoe! But Rose moved, moving his aim off the doctor and more on her, so he managed to shift and he guessed, from his position, he downed the soldier on the side. From all the looks of it, Edward shot the Federal officer. He counted in his head the circumstances and realized, firing and killing at this close range, when all were on a ‘mercy mission’, being brought in as prisoners wouldn’t go well. He doubted they’d make it to the Federal camp. Silently, he swore.

  “Ada,” he called. “Come with me.”

  “You’re not going anywhere!” Hillsdale barked, even as he flinched at the doctor’s ministrations. “I’ll have you hanged!”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide and wild. He could see the battle in them—to come with him or stay with that Yankee braggart? His shifted. “They will hang us, since Edward shot them too. We can’t stay.”

  He could see her breathing hard, indecision plain as day.

  “Ada, I need you to stay!”

  Francois glared at the Yankee doctor. “I know you, sir, and I know your type.”

  “Oh, and what type is that?” Richard snapped as he tore the linen wrap and started to make it a tourniquet on his patient in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  “Heard about you through my sister, who was the last lady you tried to favor. You might recall her. Cerisa Fontaine.”

  Richard stopped for a second in twisting the lever that tightened the wrap. “I recall a lady by that name, though I didn’t recall her last name being such.”

  “No, because she was wed. But that didn’t stop you from trying to seduce her, did it? Or the fact that you have a wife.”

  He heard Ada gasp. The color drained from her face. He hadn’t meant to tell her the truth of the man this way, but they needed to go and her indecision required he either shoot the man or tell her. He might just shoot him anyway…

  “Wife?” Ada piped.

  “Ada,” Richard started.

  Ada felt her heart rip. In the back of her head, she remembered Will constantly saying Richard Peregoy was no good, yet he never told her why. Did he know of this? That there was a Mrs. Richard Peregoy? Her breathing became hard.

  In the far distance, gunfire rang and then an artillery piece boomed.

  Still trying to take it in, she stared at him. His mercurial smile was gone, the warm brown eyes more begging than seductive. Somehow, she knew he had lied to her. The vacancy, the sporadic letters, the long courtship that was sparse, and no marriage even hinted at. And then to discover he had tried to dally with another woman? The pain was like a knife jabbed into her heart. She was going to be sick.

  “So that’s why you never mentioned marriage. Nor made yourself available to take me to meet your family or anything else.”

  “Ada, please, now is not the time to discuss our future,” he pleaded a bit sternly.

  She shook her head, unable to believe him.

  “Doc, we gotta finish to go. The battle has started,” Hillsdale stated, trying to right himself.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Francois pull up onto the saddle, shifting till he was secure. “Ada, we need to go!”

  Edward, still to the side, managed to reload his weapon.

  Ada couldn’t move. Richard stood and walked over to her.

  “Ada, please. I need you to stay.”

  As the truth started to make sense, she snorted. “Why? So I can continue to work, slaving away as it was, in a hospital, helping all I could, for you to tempt me later? For a promise of later that never came? And never would?”

  “You can’t be serious about going with a Rebel! Good grief, he’s a slave owner, for Christ’s sake!” He snarled. “Oh, I remember lovely Miss Cerisa and her family. If you go with him, you’ll regret it. The story of his lifestyle will make you sick. Sick!”

  As he threw the jabs at her, she realized she was stepping away from him and right towards Francois. Granted, Francois was what she despised, but he hadn’t promised her the world, nor lied about what he was. She glanced up to him. The Rebel nodded.

  Another volley of cannon-fire rained to the side of them, getting closer.

  She could see his side bleeding through the bandage she hadn’t secured, being pulled away by Richard’s denial. Suddenly, Edward was at her side, handing her her bag and offering her a leg up.

  At this point, the wounded Hillsdale had thrown his hands in the air. He’d ordered the other soldier to grab Richard’s mount and they waited.

  “Miss, if you go with him, your safety is in danger,” the commander warned her.

  As she settled into the seat, this time behind Francois, she looked at the Federals, refusing to believe what was happening. Instead, she looked at the man she had thought she loved, the one she’d waited for and suddenly, found him not what she wanted. Instead, the man before her was a better option.

  “Good bye Richard.”

  Chapter 38

  “We have now ended the sixth day of very heavy fighting [and] the result up to this time is much in our favor. I intend to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.”

  —General US Grant wired to President Lincoln,

  May 11, 1864

  It was a long afternoon. The ride was long, troublesome and he was too tired, too much in pain and too hungry but he was thankful. Despite everything, the woman who sat behind him, arms wrapped around his stomach, was now his.

  That, he realized, was a bit presumptive on his part. He had ridden off with this lovely vixen despite the fact that he was a Southerner and a slave owner. The bit that vermin had hinted at, about his ‘lifestyle’, irritated him. He’d stopped that practice well over a year ago. The history that lasted years, though, and plagued his conscience now, was because of her. So he did his best to wipe it from his mind, for they were still in Virginia and heading south without another thought.
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  The silence over the last few hours was deadly. Periodically, he felt her shudder against him and he was sure she was crying. All he could do was be steady for her, but said nothing. They’d left the Wilderness right as both armies went at it again. He directed them South, not to either army, and no one complained. He hadn’t given the direction much thought, until now. Location and food rang high in his thoughts. Though water was first, as his canteen was empty.

  Edward must have thought of that, too as the colored servant skirted ahead only to return not long after, the wool cover of his canteen dripping.

  “Sergeant, there’s a creek up ahead. Water still clear.”

  “Thank you, Edward.” Clean water was such an oddity nowadays, he thought. So much blood from battles often spilled into water source, making camp life hard. With a sigh, he stopped the horse and slid off while Edward stood close by to help Ada down. He watched, hoping she’d look at him or at least say a word but she did neither. What was going through her mind? He could only imagine the hearsay and wild thoughts prompted by that lowlife back there.

  He dipped his canteen in the water, every move hurting. His body was racked with pain and to add the scrape on his side nearly made him collapse but he didn’t. Thankfully. Breathing hard, he scooped up a handful of water and splashed it against his face, relishing in the coolness. With some stiffness, he rose and took the canteen to Ada, with thoughts of giving her his and filling hers but when he did the exchange, her dull expression changed. Her eyes caught on fire and without forewarning, she swung and slapped his cheek again, sending his hat to the ground.

  Stunned, he stared at her.

  “How dare you!”

  Francois breathed deeply, picking his hat off the ground and ran his fingers through his hair before jamming the hat on his head.

  “You should be mad at him,” he finally blurted. “You just don’t like me being the one to tell you the truth!”

  But she was pacing.