Where Dandelions Bloom

by Tara Johnson

  “One caveat.” Johnston yanked her from her tumultuous thoughts.

  “Yes, sir?”

  He cringed. “Pinkerton wants you to dress and act the part of a woman.”

  Cassie nearly choked.

  “We thought it would be more prudent if you played his wife. Fewer questions. Do you think you can do it?”

  She forced down the smile that threatened to form. “I’ll try my best, sir.”

  MAY 18, 1862

  NEAR RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  I’ve lost my mind.

  He was crazy. He had to be to agree to this stunt.

  He shot a sideways glance at Cassie, perched next to him on the seat of the Whatsit, her spine stiff. The swaying motion of the wagon slogging through the marshy ground of the Chickahominy swamps did little to make her relax. She looked as if she were wound tighter than a seven-day watch.

  He wasn’t faring much better.

  Captain Johnston had conveniently omitted the fact that Turner would be playing the part of his wife, an irony that would have been laughable had it not been for the seriousness of their task. Cassie pretending to be a man who was pretending to be a woman. Who would ever believe such a thing?

  The Whatsit bounced, knocking his leg against her skirt. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the dark-blue fabric and scooted away from him. If she shifted any farther, she’d be tumbling off the side. He repressed a sigh.

  Johnston had promised to pay him for his part in the dangerous task. Jacob needed any financial help Gabe could provide. But if he were honest with himself, he must admit his concern for Cassie’s safety had been the driving force in agreeing to this insanity. If she refused to listen to reason, he could at least accompany her.

  It was either follow her and save her from herself, or reveal her identity to her superiors. Guilt gnawed his middle. If she only knew how many times he’d contemplated the latter in the past week . . .

  But every time he’d convinced himself to spill the truth, images of her father’s fingers wrapped around her throat assaulted him. He couldn’t release her to that monster. If he hadn’t been there the night her father attacked her, he had no doubt she’d be dead. The man was evil.

  Crack! The wagon stalled and tilted to the left. The horses nickered and tossed their heads, straining against the harnesses. With a groan, he peered over the edge of the wagon to find the left rear wheel had broken, several of its spokes snapped in half.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It was the only thing she’d spoken since leaving camp.

  “Wheel broke. I have another one in the back, but it will take me a while to change it on this mushy ground.” He jumped from the seat.

  She swung her legs over the side. “I’ll help you.”

  “No. You stay.” Her blue eyes rounded. He held up a restraining hand but smiled to soften the edge of his words. “You’re all dressed up and pretty. No sense spoiling your gown. Everyone will wonder what kind of husband I am to let my wife do the work.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

  Grasping his courage, he slid his hand over hers and squeezed warmth into her fingers. “You’re not a man today, Cassie. Rest.”

  Her cheeks pinked just before she slid her fingers away from his and nodded.

  Over an hour later, Gabe wiped the sweat from his face, praying he hadn’t smeared axle grease all over his skin. Tossing the tools into the back of the Whatsit, he trudged to the front of the wagon, mopping his face with a clean cloth he’d found inside. He peered up at the driver’s bench to see Cassie buffing her arms.

  She attempted a smile that fell flat. “All done?”

  He studied her flushed face and glassy eyes. “Yes. Are you feeling well?”

  Her body trembled. “Just a little cold, is all. Did the weather change?”

  Frowning, he dropped the cloth. “Not really. It feels warm and sticky to me.”

  “F-feels c-c-ool t-to me.”

  He walked around to her side of the bench and raised his arms. “Step down for a minute. I’ll catch you.”

  Cassie blinked as if confused and grasped his forearms. He eased her down and slid his palm over her forehead. She was burning up with fever.

  He lifted her into his arms, fighting back the cold alarm washing through him. She made no protest. She shivered as if she’d been dunked in an ice bath.

  Her voice sounded wispy against his chest. “Wh-where are w-we going?”

  “I’m tucking you into bed. You’re sick, sweetheart.”

  “S-s-so cold.”

  “I know.”

  He carried her slight frame to the back and nudged the door open with his foot. Pulling out the bedroll, he gently laid her on it and draped a scratchy blanket over her shivering form.

  “What do you think is wrong?” he asked, smoothing the dark strands of hair away from her cheek.

  She clamped her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering. “S-seen it in th-the h-hospital. M-m-might be m-malaria.”

  His breath thinned as she fell into a quivering sleep.

  Chapter 32

  CASSIE WAS BEING SHAKEN.

  Invisible hands had clamped onto her body, jolting her like cannon fire. Was it her father? She couldn’t hear his curses. Time and reality were fuzzy, shifting like ripples of water. She couldn’t think past the cold wrapping its icy tentacles around her. Couldn’t even open her eyes.

  Expressionless faces floated through her mind. The ends of rifles fired out bursts of flame. All around her, men in blue and gray ran through the mud screaming, bayonets flashing. Trees fell and shook the ground, making her knees wobble like a newborn colt’s.

  She looked down at her grimy boots and blinked when a deep rumbling groan rattled the earth. The ground cracked open. The yawning gap widened as man and beast fell into the abyss with bloodcurdling screams.

  Gasping for air, she cringed as the shaking increased and the zigzag line separated the terrain. From across the divide, she sought and found Gabe’s handsome face. His arm was outstretched. His lips mouthed words, though at first she couldn’t hear him over the terrifying roar of the earthquake.

  “Jump!”

  She crawled toward the edge and peered into the nothingness that separated them. Snapping her eyes back to his, she choked out a sob.

  “Jump!”

  She shook her head. It was too far. She’d never make it.

  The land pushed them so far apart, she could no longer see him. Breathing erratically, she rested her palm on a splintered oak. There was no one with her on this side of the divide. No one.

  A rustle of bushes. She looked up.

  Her father stood before her. They were the two remaining souls.

  No!

  A masculine voice murmured overhead. A damp rag soothed her fevered skin. “Shh. I’m here.”

  The voice calmed her, chasing away the dark images and foreboding of doom.

  In the hazy fog, a gentle hand stroked her brow. She grasped it and tugged it toward her, latching on to the warm flesh with urgency. Strong fingers curled around her own. Someone brushed a kiss to her forehead.

  It was enough. She was safe for now.

  Gabe poked at the fire, sending sparks flying upward into the dark sky, his mind whirling like a top. The fever had ravaged Cassie for two days. Two days of alternating between moving the wagon closer to Richmond and bathing her skin with cool water. He’d cradled her when her tremors had shaken her like laundry flapping on a clothesline. He’d kissed her head and murmured verses of soothing reassurance to her sleeping form. And during the hours she’d slipped into restful slumber, he’d urged the horses onward. They now sat only a mile away.

  But none of it mattered if she perished.

  Please, God, spare her.

  He wasn’t a fool. He’d seen the effects of malaria at the Alexandria hospital. Most recovered from the dreaded malady. Others did not.

  The flames hissed and popped as he wrapped a cloth around the coffeepot handl
e and pulled it from the fire.

  “Gabe?”

  Cassie’s soft voice caused him to jump up. She stood next to the Whatsit, her dark hair a riot. She gripped the wagon as if releasing it might cause her to crumple to the ground. Her face was pale and dark shadows smudged her eyes, but she was on her feet.

  Dared he hope she was past the worst?

  He took her arm and led her to the fire, supporting her slight weight as she leaned against him. He settled her on the ground, admiring the way her skirt puddled around her. Despite the effects of illness, she was lovely.

  “Thank you.”

  He filled the two tin cups with steaming black brew. Ribbons of steam curled and rose. He passed the cup to her waiting hands. “How are you feeling?”

  She smiled faintly as she gripped the cup. “Weak. Some better, though. At least the tremors have ceased. How long have I been ill?”

  “Two days.”

  She gasped. “Two days? What about the assignment?”

  “Don’t fret. We’re only a mile from Richmond.”

  She blinked. “You took care of me and moved us forward?” Something akin to gratitude flooded her face.

  He pushed away the pleasure at her response. “The Lord has preserved us from danger or delay. And you slept deeply yesterday afternoon, which helped us travel faster.” He sipped the bitter brew and grimaced. Chicory was a poor substitute for coffee.

  “Did I, uh, say or do anything unseemly while I was ill?” An uncharacteristic expression of vulnerability flitted across her features.

  He shook his head. “No, nothing.”

  Her shoulders sagged as she released a sigh laden with relief.

  “Except for confessing your undying love for me.”

  Her cheeks blushed crimson. “I did not.”

  Chuckling, he took another sip. “Guess that’s for me and the Almighty to know.”

  She bit her lip and looked into her cup.

  A gunshot blasted in the warm evening air, sending reverberations through the hills. He heard Cassie’s sudden intake of air. He frowned and scanned the trees surrounding them. “That was close.”

  A rustling sounded beyond the line of brush. Gabe set his cup on the ground and rose, reaching for the rifle not a foot away. “Stay here.”

  He lifted the weapon to his shoulder and moved in the direction of the noise. Cassie’s soft steps fell behind his, her skirt whooshing like a whisper.

  “I said to stay behind.”

  Her whisper was terse. “I’m a better shot than you.”

  Inwardly groaning, he gave up trying to convince her and crept farther into the woods. A low moan prickled the hair on the back of his neck.

  Cassie clutched his elbow. “Gabe, look!”

  Twenty paces ahead, a body lay on the ground.

  “Stay behind me.”

  They crept closer, and the limp form emitted another whimper. Rifle raised, Gabe called out, “Who are you?”

  The body shifted, moaning. “Shot.”

  He crouched and rolled the stranger over. A man with a sparse black beard looked back, his eyes pinched. The thick cords of his neck shifted as he swallowed. His hands clutched his stomach, where a circle of crimson was spreading.

  “Been shot.”

  Cassie knelt and began ripping the hem of her petticoat.

  Gabe grasped the stranger’s blood-slicked hand. “What’s your name? What happened?”

  The man clenched his jaw and released a guttural cry from deep in his throat. “Name’s Ernest Beauregard.” He swallowed again, hissing through his teeth. “Shot by my no-account brother.”

  Cassie pressed a wad of torn fabric to the wound bubbling blood. “We heard the shot. Is he still around?”

  Ernest scowled. “The coward hightailed it out of here. Good thing too, or I’d be putting a bullet through his heart.”

  Gabe sought Cassie’s eyes. She shook her head. He turned back to the man and clutched his hand tighter. “The bleeding is bad.”

  Ernest coughed and winced, his chest heaving. “I ain’t gonna make it, am I?”

  Bowing his head, Gabe murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  Ernest nodded stiffly, his eyes searching the sunset-streaked sky overhead. “So be it. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Wouldn’t change what?”

  The dying man huffed a deep breath and grimaced. “Burning down my brother’s barn. I come home one day and found him with my wife.” A deep gurgle rattled his chest. “The snake deserved it. We never did get along. He was always looking for ways to hurt me.”

  What could he possibly say? “I’m sorry.”

  Ernest fought for breath. “Ma always said I should forgive him. Never would. I guess this is the natural end, then. We fight until one of us is destroyed. I’ll be going first, but I’ll take my dignity with me.”

  Gabe heard Cassie’s sharp intake of breath. He kept his eyes trained on the man’s ashen face. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth. His pupils dilated, then shrank to pinpoints.

  “If you see a fellow that looks like a scrawny version of myself, you shoot him for me, you hear?” With a deep wheeze, Ernest shuddered and his eyes glazed. His hand went limp as life siphoned from his body. His head rolled to the side, his mouth slack.

  Gone.

  Gabe released Ernest’s sticky crimson hand and peered over his shoulder. Cassie sat still as a statue, her hands and cloth still pressed to the man’s stomach. Her face bore a haunted look.

  A single tear tracked down the smooth skin of her cheek.

  Chapter 33

  MAY 21, 1862

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  Cassie forced her mind to the task at hand. Distracted thoughts while traversing through a Rebel army camp would spell disaster.

  Yet try as she might, she couldn’t erase the image or the words of the dying stranger from her brain.

  So angry. So bitter. And what good had his choices done in the end? His thirst for revenge had not been sated, and the full potential of the length and depth of his life had been snuffed out.

  Would her end be the same?

  The plink of a banjo yanked her from the dark thought.

  Keeping her head down, she shadowed Gabe’s sure step as they followed a sergeant through the camp, weaving between the rows of squatting canvas tents. A cluster of gray backs huddled around the banjo player, tapping their feet as the cheery tune drifted through the air. She peered from under the wide brim of her bonnet, searching for anything McClellan would find useful.

  She had feared entering the camp would be difficult, but when Gabe showed the Confederates a forged document—a false plea from Lieutenant Colonel Tanner requesting Mr. Smith and his wife be allowed to photograph the camp, the Rebels had made no protest. With a long look at the papers, the guard had granted them entrance.

  They passed another throng of soldiers shouting and laughing as they played a crude game of baseball using a long piece of fence rail to smack a yarn-wrapped walnut.

  The sergeant stopped suddenly, his stern visage showing little emotion. “Would this spot serve, Mr. Smith?”

  Gabe glanced around and scratched his hair in a relaxed manner. “Reckon it’ll do.”

  The thick-waisted sergeant nodded curtly. “I’ll leave you to prepare, then.” His jaundiced eye swiveled to Cassie. “Stick close to your man, ma’am. Some soldiers won’t think twice of taking advantage of a pretty woman.”

  Cassie nearly laughed. If the man only knew she could drop any one of these Johnny Rebs with a flick of her rifle . . .

  Instead, she clutched Gabe’s arm and gasped. “Yes, sir.”

  Gabe patted her hand as if trying to console his trembling wife. “I’ll keep a close eye on her, Sergeant.”

  The man marched away and Gabe released her, fumbling to set up the cumbersome camera and tripod. His gaze connected with hers and he murmured under his breath, “Do what you must do quickly.”

  With a sideways glance to make sure she was unobserved, she
plucked up her skirt to free the hem from tangling around her feet and scurried from view.

  Under the pretext of returning to the Whatsit for supplies, she scanned the camp’s artillery strength, keeping her ears pricked for troop placement or gossip.

  Two soldiers were cleaning their guns as she passed.

  “James says the Yankees are about finished with the bridges across the Chickahominy.”

  The other soldier spit a thick brown stream onto the ground. “Let ’em come. We got masked batteries waiting for them.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Did you see that big brush heap over yonder?” He chuckled. “Yankees are gonna be blown to kingdom come when they pass it.”

  Keeping her head low, she hurried to the Whatsit and let the voices drift past. If Union forces were preparing to cross the Chickahominy, she and Gabe had little time. Her illness had held them back significantly.

  She collided with a firm chest, the pain stealing her breath for a moment. A dark laugh washed over her, causing prickles to traverse her spine. Punishing hands curled around her upper arms.

  She looked up into the sneering face of a soldier.

  “You’re a pretty little filly, ain’t ya?” His sour breath assaulted her skin, stealing her air. “You the newest entertainment?”

  She clenched her jaw and tried to pull herself free. “Unhand me.”

  His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Just one little kiss.”

  He leaned in, and she placed a swift kick to his middle. He bellowed, but she couldn’t manage to break his ironclad grip. Squirming, she recoiled from his venomous glare, her mouth dry. “Let me go.”

  “You deny me?” His eyes glinted like shards of glass. “I think not.”

  He lurched forward, dragging her behind him, and stomped toward a tent. As his purpose became clear, she began to claw like a maniac. Her ears buzzed, her heart racing as she cried out. “Please! Help me!”

  “Unhand my wife.”

  Gabe’s voice boomed behind them, and Cassie nearly collapsed. The foul soldier whirled. “Your wife?”