by Tara Johnson
The colonel’s face showed no emotion as he studied the quivering soldier before him. “And what pretenses would those be, Captain?”
“Claiming to be a man. Private Green is actually a woman.”
Audible gasps of shock rippled down the line before the entire group of men fell into stunned silence. Cassie’s throat tightened until she feared she would lose all ability to breathe.
A muscle ticked near the colonel’s eye. “How did you discover this deception, Captain?”
The red mottling on Captain Johnston’s neck crept into his whiskered cheeks. “I would request to give you those details in private, sir.”
“So be it.” Colonel Poe swung his attention to Private Green. “Do you deny this charge?”
Cassie watched in horror as Green’s face crumpled and she burst into hysterical shrieks. She dropped her head into her hands, answering with shrill sobs, “It’s true! It’s true. Please don’t send me back!”
The colonel curled up his nose and waved a hand over the prostrate woman. “Take her away. I’ll discuss this matter with you further, Captain.”
Cassie’s heart rose into her throat as they led the sobbing woman away. The contents of her stomach soured.
It could have been me. Dear Father, it could have been me.
Feeling someone’s eyes on her, she turned her head to the left, startled to see Gabe watching her with an intensity that made her knees sag. He’d seen the whole thing.
Colonel Poe straightened and addressed the soldiers once more. “The reason for these new assignments comes in conjunction with a major announcement from General McClellan.” The colonel reached into his jacket and pulled out a crisp note folded in perfect thirds. “After the monotony of this past winter, I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear this.” He cleared his throat and read aloud.
“‘The period of inaction has passed. I will bring you now face-to-face with the Rebels. Ever bear in mind that my fate is linked with yours. I am to watch over you as a parent over his children; and you know that your general loves you from the depths of his heart.’” Colonel Poe speared the regiment over the letter’s rim. “Soldiers . . . men of courage, we move to crush the Rebels with a fierce determination and under the blessing of God Almighty. It’s time to break camp and engage the cursed enemy.”
As he rallied the men, Cassie felt faint. How had Captain Johnston discovered Green’s deception? And how long before he unearthed hers?
It was strange to fear an enemy army far less than someone discovering the depths of her own lie.
When Colonel Poe finished speaking, she glanced in Gabe’s direction once more. He was gone.
Gabe longed to smash his fist into a tree. Instead, he growled and ran his fingers through his hair, the tension inside him coiled like a rattler.
He marched toward the Whatsit, troubled in mind and spirit. What was Cassie thinking? What was Colonel Poe thinking? Putting her in continual danger, having her gallivant all over kingdom come, back and forth between picket lines?
He flung open the door to his traveling darkroom and stomped inside. Glass bottles filled with chemicals clinked in their cabinets from the impact of his heavy step.
She was going to be killed. The realization swept over him, draining the strength from his legs. He groped and found a small crate he kept inside. He lowered himself to the wooden box and dropped his head in his hands, his stomach curdling. Pain constricted his chest.
He could take Cassie’s ire. It was normal, considering the fear that so obviously rattled her. She was confused and scared. Even though she was doing her best to push him away, he could see through her attempts to keep her heart protected. It hurt, made him long for her even more, but this? To stand idly by and watch the vibrant life snuffed out of her beautiful eyes? To say nothing and witness her courage be struck down and silenced forever?
He wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.
Oh, God, how do I do this? How do I watch her taunt death day after day and say nothing?
In the cramped quarters of the dark wagon, he pulled tufts of his hair until needles of pain pricked his scalp. She had been in danger ever since she’d enlisted. Why did fear for her suddenly choke him now?
He loved her. That made all the difference.
The darkroom’s door clattered. Light invaded and Gabe turned to the intruder with a glare.
“Hiya, Mr. Gabe! Whatcha doing in here?”
Gabe sighed and dropped his head in his hands once more. “Jonah, how many times have I told you to knock before you enter? What if I’d been in the middle of developing photographs?”
The little boy huffed in irritation. “Well, were you?”
Gabe gritted his teeth. “What do you need?”
“Did you hear we’re to move out?” The lad was nearly quivering with excitement.
“I heard.” Normally the news would have made him giddy. He was weary to death of the winter quarters. They’d sat for months in the monotony of drills, biting cold, and boredom. Now they were finally pressing onward, and all he could think about was Cassie.
Jonah approached his side, his voice colored with a question. “Something wrong with you? Ain’t never seen you so down in the mouth.”
Gabe lifted his head and shot the precocious lad a tired smile. “I am, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take out my sour mood on you.”
Jonah shrugged and swiped his nose. “You didn’t hurt my feelings none. What’s got you low?”
Scraping his fingers down his face, Gabe pursed his lips. “Someone is pretty riled at me, and I’m worried about them.”
Jonah twisted his head to the side like a curious puppy. “It’s hard to imagine anyone mad at you. You’re one of the nicest fellows I know.”
“Thank you.”
Jonah squinted at him with a discerning look far too old for his years. “What if I’d sulked every time old Schoolmaster Howe got miffed at me?” He shook his head. “It happened so much, I’d look like a sour pickle every hour.”
Gabe chuckled, though the mirth didn’t reach his heart.
“What’s this fellow have against you anyways?”
“I—” He broke off. “It doesn’t matter. But all I want to do is keep my friend safe.”
Jonah frowned. “In war? Seems like a mighty foolish goal.”
The distant blast of a bugle sounded through the air. Jonah scrambled toward the door, looking back with a scowl. “Time to drill.” He wrinkled his freckled nose. “You can’t control war, you know.”
With that abysmal thought, he scampered away, leaving Gabe alone with his cold glass plates, acrid chemicals, and tortured thoughts.
Everything was spinning from his control. Just like it had with Da. Just as it had with his mother.
“You can’t control war . . .”
Everything he’d ever loved had been ripped away from him. He couldn’t bear it if Cassie were too.
Chapter 25
MARCH 20, 1862
PORT RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
Cassie breathed in the perfumed scent of wild blooming jonquils, giving Abe his head as they trotted through the meadow toward a wooded area. Soft clods of dirt flew up behind the horse’s hooves, occasionally striking her cheek like kisses. The sacks tied to either side of the saddle bulged with mail—much-anticipated letters from sweethearts and anxious parents, correspondence from commanders—a task that prodded her to sit a little taller in her saddle. The other sacks hung empty, ready for her day’s task.
Despite Colonel Poe’s stern warning that her role carried heavy responsibility, she couldn’t suppress the feeling of freedom that poured through her veins like warm honey. The post was a blessed reprieve from the dreary routine of the past winter, from feeling as if she must constantly be on guard to keep her identity a secret. In addition—something tightened in her chest—the assignment allowed her to flee from seeing Gabe day in and day out.
Perhaps he was out of her sight at the moment, but he refused to leave her heart
.
Pushing aside the thought, she sharpened her focus. She couldn’t allow herself to become distracted. A Reb could be waiting around any tree, boulder, or bramble.
Abe trotted ahead, unaffected by her wayward emotions. At least the horse had good sense.
Since their meeting at the hospital, she and Gabe had managed a respectful relationship. When they were in their group of comrades, they spoke polite niceties and small talk, but nothing else. To his credit, he had not sought her out once. The realization should have brought a rush of relief as winter melted into spring.
Yet she’d found no reprieve from him, from herself. Instead, the desire to run to him, to be held in his arms, to give up everything so they might be together, only grew. Like a beast panting its warm breath against a window, it waited. Taunting her. Refusing to leave her be.
She was a far weaker woman than she’d feared, easily falling into the arms of a controlling man. Terrifying thought. But she would not make the same mistakes as her mother.
Cassie pulled Abe to a stop when the woods gave way, revealing a well-kept farmhouse sitting in a cleared meadow. Smoke curled from the chimney. The grass surrounding it was green. The window boxes trimmed with colorful flowers testified the place was well tended.
She clucked her tongue, urging Abe ahead in a smooth stride. No sense galloping to the front door and scaring the inhabitants away.
When the captain had insisted she procure supplies and food for their march north, she’d nearly balked at the task. Delivering mail and riding through the country in solitude was more to her liking than knocking on strange doors, asking citizens to exchange butter, eggs, and chickens for Federal greenbacks. She kept her dismay hidden, wanting to give the captain no reason to pull her from mail duty.
As the house loomed before them, she tugged on Abe’s reins, dismounted, and tethered him to a thick porch rail. The porch was painted and swept clean. As she climbed the steps, she noticed there was no give in the wood planks. Everything was pristine. Memories of Granny Ardie’s sagging steps assaulted her. The steps Gabe had ripped up and replaced.
Why can’t I scrub him from my mind?
Gritting her teeth, she steadied herself and knocked. Footfalls sounded beyond the door. It squeaked open slowly, revealing a tall woman draped completely in black. Her gown and shawl testified this poor soul was in deep mourning. Even the necklace resting against her bodice was polished coal. The woman smiled sweetly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
Cassie cleared her throat, keeping her voice low. “Ma’am, I’m a soldier with the Michigan Second, sent to purchase food and supplies from anyone who might have some to spare. I’ve been authorized to pay for any provisions with greenbacks.”
The woman’s smile tightened, though her eyes stayed bright. “Of course. Do come in.” Waving her arm in a gracious arc, she pushed the door open farther to allow Cassie entrance.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I have plenty to spare.” She led her through the front sitting room, her sharp heels clicking smartly against the gleaming floors. “Please take a seat while I obtain some food for you.”
Something about the woman’s manner put Cassie ill at ease. “I don’t mind standing after riding in the saddle for so long.” She glanced about the room crammed full of delicate knickknacks, afraid to bump any of them and start an avalanche of destruction. “I’m sorry to have interrupted you, especially since I see you’re in mourning.”
The woman sighed heavily as she opened cupboards in the kitchen, her voice drifting into the room with a clear cadence. “Yes, I’ve lost many. My father, my husband, and now two brothers.”
“I’m sorry.”
Cassie watched the woman through the open kitchen door. Her movements seemed aimless and scattered. Nervous even. She roamed from cabinet to cabinet, collecting nothing. Odd.
“Would you like to stay for some refreshment?”
“No thank you. I must leave soon.”
More rifling through the cabinets. A pot clanged. Unease slithered up Cassie’s spine. Something was wrong.
Her instincts screamed to run. She turned and burst through the front door, nearly falling down the steps as she scrambled to free Abe’s reins from the porch post. A shrill shout sounded from inside.
Pulse ricocheting, Cassie mounted and kicked Abe into a run. The crack of a shotgun split the air. Something whizzed past her right ear.
“Yankee scum! You killed my men!”
The woman’s deranged scream caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Hunkering low into Abe’s mane, she urged the panting horse to make haste. Another booming blast as something white-hot sliced her upper arm.
They didn’t dare slow for several miles. Her arm burned, but there was no time to stop and examine it. The lathered horse dropped into a trot, his labored breathing matched by Cassie’s own.
Today, monotonous drills seemed far preferable to being regimental mail carrier.
She grimaced against the throb in her arm. Perhaps the woman’s Confederate fervor had blinded her with rage. Or maybe her grief had robbed her of sense.
Something twisted in Cassie’s chest. Father’s heartbreak over the son he’d lost had been his undoing. They had all suffered as a result.
Her body shuddered as the horse carried her farther from the deranged woman.
What power on earth could break the chains of such grief?
A rider burst into camp, pulling Gabe’s attention away from positioning the tripod. The young boys arranged in front of the camera barely looked up, most of them deep in conversation, or engaged in a battle of aggies as they waited for him to prepare his lens and plates. Mustering the young soldiers, the buglers and drummers, hadn’t been easy. Keeping their attention was proving even more challenging.
The rider barreled past, half-slumping over his saddle. Gabe glanced and froze, inhaling harshly through his teeth. Cassie.
Blood stained the blue shoulder of her coat.
Pulse tripping, he murmured to the boys, “Stay here. I’ll return shortly.”
A few of them moaned, but most didn’t even acknowledge him as they laughed and barked out excitement over their marble competition. He ran to Cassie’s side, grabbing the reins of the lathered horse in his right hand. “Easy, boy. Easy.” Looking up, he saw the pain in her eyes. The tight lines marring her brow. Her skin was ashen. “What happened?”
Her voice came out low and thin. “Stopped to gather supplies. Crazy woman. She shot me.”
Panic burst in his chest. Cass leaned forward to dismount but winced, nearly falling from the saddle. He grabbed her right elbow and eased her down to the ground. He had half a mind to throw her over his shoulder and ride away. This was exactly what he’d feared.
A shout bellowed from across camp. “Is that Turner? What happened?”
Cassie grabbed his arm, digging her fingernails into his flesh, and whispered harshly, “Don’t let them examine me. They might find out. Please. Don’t let them.”
Her blue eyes flickered with such fear, such hurt, he was helpless to refuse her. He gave a curt nod. “I’ll take care of it.” Lifting his face, he called out to the approaching men, “Yeah, it’s Turner! Just nicked a bit. I’ll clean him up.”
The approaching soldiers stopped. Jackson cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “You sure?”
Gabe raised his arm. “He’s fine. I’ll see to him.”
The men sauntered back toward their duties. Cassie nearly slumped against him in relief. He clenched his jaw and motioned toward the Whatsit. “Let’s get you inside. Don’t fall against me. They might see you and come investigate.”
She nodded tersely and walked toward the traveling darkroom, wrapping her right arm against the bloody sleeve of her left. It was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and cradle her like a wounded kitten.
He followed her into the Whatsit and shut the door behind them, fumbling to light a lantern against the slight sway of
the wagon. With a hiss, the match flared to life, and he coaxed it to lick the wick of the oil lamp. He replaced the globe with a clink and blew out the match. Curls of smoke tickled his nose.
“Sit.” He motioned toward the only chair he could boast and scurried to locate the medical aid box. When Mathew Brady had insisted he carry one, Gabe had nearly argued. What good could such a small thing do against an entire war? Now he saw the wisdom of such foresight.
Pulling it out from under the long shelf with a scrape, he placed it on the small worktable and flipped the metal latch open. Rolled bandages, carbolic acid, scissors, needles, thread, and a couple envelopes of pain powder filled the box. He glanced toward Cassie. Her color was pale, but she appeared to have her wits about her. Her eyes were shuttered with pain but were not listless or confused.
Not unlike that night when her father had attacked at Ardie’s cabin.
His fear for her that night had been real, but it was nothing like the cold grip fisted around his heart at this moment. If the bullet had hit only a few inches to the right . . .
Bile rose up his throat and he clamped his jaw so tight, he feared his teeth would break.
He cleared his throat, desperately trying to keep the quaver from his voice. “I need to remove your coat.”
She grimaced, shifting out of the bloody garment and letting it fall to the floor. Bright-red crimson stained almost the full length of her white cotton sleeve. He struggled to hold back a curse.
Forcing himself to be gentle, he knelt in front of her wounded arm. “I’m going to cut away this sleeve to see the damage.”
She didn’t protest, though he noticed her right hand was clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. “I have another shirt in my haversack.”
He pulled out his pocketknife and cut the bloody sleeve away. She sucked in a breath as cool air struck the open wound. He winced.
The smooth skin of her slender arm had been cut through, leaving a wide, deep gash. Blood seeped from the torn muscle and flesh. He looked closely. No actual bullet hole that had cut through bone. At least, not that he could tell under the sticky crimson.
