by Tara Johnson
“You ought to see Johnny Cooper spit. Never did see a fellow spit so straight or so far.”
She chuckled and strapped the mailbag to Abe’s saddle. “There’s a talent that will take a man far in life.”
“Aww.” Jonah glared. “You’re no fun. Can’t you see the value of a good spit? What if you need to spit out some snuff but the spittoon is across the room? Or what if the only way to stop a varmint is by spitting on him?”
Cassie arched a brow. “If a varmint turns tail and runs because of some spittle, I have a feeling it wasn’t much of a match to begin with.”
Huffing, Jonah took an apple from his haversack and polished it on his threadbare uniform coat as Cassie pulled herself into the saddle. “You got mail to deliver?”
“Always.” She smiled and tugged her kepi low.
Jonah puffed out his chest, just as he always did before he offered some manly word of advice. “I hear we’re about to march within the hour. Be careful of the weather. The captain said it’s fixin’ to turn.”
She eyed the sky, noting the swift swirl of clouds gliding past. “He’s likely right. I’ll catch you in a day or two.”
Jonah grinned, saluting with the apple, as she kicked Abe into motion. Mile after mile. Day after day. Pretending. Always pretending.
How long could she go on this way?
Cassie shivered and hunkered lower into her coat, the wool feeling thin as paper. An oppressive cold weighted the air like an invisible cloak of iron. Odd for the middle of October.
After delivering messages to headquarters, the weather had turned, just as the captain had predicted. But the regiment had marched along a different route than previously agreed upon, and now she was aimlessly wandering through the woods of Virginia.
Something sharp pinged against her cheek. Another bounced off the brim of her kepi. Then another and another. Hail. Her breath fogged as she clamped her jaw tight, willing the tremors to cease.
Sparse leaves that had yet to fall rattled in a gust of wind. Abe seemed uneasy, anxious to continue on their way. Yet she had no idea of their destination.
Cold wind blasted her cheeks and numbed her nose, and icy rain fell in sheets. Drops clung to her lashes as the sun set, plunging the world from gray glimmers into black. She urged Abe down the only marked path, praying the poor horse would be tough enough to endure the onslaught. Their progress was slow as they slid along the muddy grit of the trail.
She could no longer feel her face, toes, or fingers. A strange knot had formed in her middle. Another hour and Abe sagged under the oppressive wind and rain. Hail had covered the path.
Peering through the blackness, Cassie spied watery spots of light dancing through the night. Lights? More than one. A village perhaps?
Abe must have sensed refuge, for his sluggish pace suddenly quickened as the outline of buildings took shape through the storm. Cassie could have cried in relief. Surely some good soul would put them up for the night.
A cluster of passing shadows on horseback caused her to pause and watch. The hairs on the back of her neck rose when the sound of shattering glass drifted through the air, breaking the whistle of wind and hissing rain. She slid from the saddle and winced when pinpricks of pain shot up her legs. She grasped his reins and moved cautiously around the side of a building, watching. One of the forms held a lantern aloft. A Southern voice cursed as another voice barked commands to take goods from a business.
She slunk into the shadows, her stomach shrinking. Confederate guerrillas. She’d heard of the vile men who plundered and murdered Union sympathizers, looting their homes and establishments for whatever purpose they deemed necessary. She couldn’t stop here.
She and Abe pressed on until her entire body was soaked and chilled. What time was it? Midnight? Later? Time no longer mattered. Neither did temperature. She and her horse both seemed to be walking in a kind of numb, sleepy fog. A fog so thick, she nearly slammed into the farmhouse that appeared in her path.
Fumbling up the steps, she rapped on the door, but there was no answer. No footfalls on the other side. She could never barge her way into a stranger’s house and assume residence.
However, a quick scan of the yard revealed the barn door stood open. It took only a moment to decide.
She led Abe inside, barred the door from the howling wind, and collapsed onto the hay-strewn ground, immediately falling into a dreamless sleep.
Jackson called to Gabe over the sound of bacon sizzling on a stick above the popping fire. “Hey, Avery! You seen the latest papers?”
Gabe looked up and frowned. Next to him, Sven paused in penning a letter home to his wife. The noon break from marching was a welcome reprieve.
Jackson’s breath puffed in the cold air as he loomed over them and handed a wad of inky newsprint to Gabe. “That Gardner fellow you work with? His prints are in this one. Causing quite a stir.”
Gabe grasped the paper with his free hand and furrowed his brows. “Why is that?”
Jackson shrugged. “Apparently Gardner managed to talk them into printing images of the dead.” The young private crossed his arms. “It’s a bit of a shock.”
Gabe shoved his spit of bacon to Sven, the treat all but forgotten as he riffled through the paper with shaking fingers. Sure enough. Gardner’s prints covered pages two and three. Corpses lay at odd, grotesque angles. How did he manage to convince the editors to print them? Such a thing had never been done before.
He scanned the articles, the type blurring. The images had been captured at Antietam. Gardner was quoted defending the paper’s decision to print the gruesome photos, saying, “Let them aid in preventing another such calamity falling upon the nation.”
Gabe lowered the paper, his thoughts churning like a cyclone. Getting newspapers to buy photographs had been a selective process before. A difficult endeavor. But now . . .
Gardner might have paved the way for a multitude of photographic opportunities.
Sven looked over Gabe’s shoulder and grimaced. “Do you think this will repulse the public?”
Gabe shook his head. “It will either repulse them or make them desperate for more. Sensationalism sells. Always.”
Before he could ponder further, Briggs stomped up, his breath puffing from his nostrils like an enraged bull. With a hot glare, he tossed a newspaper at Gabe’s feet and jabbed a thick finger in the air. “Why didn’t you tell me who Turner is?”
Chapter 38
CASSIE AWOKE BEFORE DAYBREAK. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but her body was blissfully warm, albeit stiff and sore. Abe seemed no worse for the wear, though the poor horse would need sustenance soon. At least the rain had stopped as they rode out. Even the wind had calmed.
They had traveled only a mile when she stopped in a cornfield, finding a few discarded, bird-pecked ears to feed her hungry horse. The feed would be soggy, but at least it would give his belly some fuel. As he sniffed and chomped, the sound of hoofbeats approached from the west. She hunkered low under the brown cornstalks until she recognized the flash of Union blue. Straightening, she waved to three soldiers who pulled short upon seeing her, their mounts snorting puffs of frost into the bright morning air.
“Morning, soldier.” One of them tipped his kepi, his dark eyes narrowed and shrewd. “You lost?”
Cassie kept her voice low and chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. Private Turner. I’m a courier for the Michigan Second. My regiment moved during my last delivery. I’m tracking them now.” She jerked her head toward the other two soldiers. “You?”
“We’ve been sent to round up a band of Confederate guerrillas that’s been terrorizing folks out this way. You seen or heard anything from rabble-rousers in these parts?”
She patted Abe’s thick neck. “Not this morning, but I nearly ran into some Confederate guerrillas last night. Probably the same men you’re looking for.”
The soldier’s eyes lit with interest. “How far?”
Cassie squinted. Everything last night was just a haze of cold misery. “About fou
r or five miles east. I think, anyways. The storm made it hard to judge distance.”
“Would you recognize the spot you last saw them if you were to lead us back?”
“Sure.”
The soldier grinned. “You up for a Johnny Reb hunt, then?”
Cassie returned his smile with one of her own. “Why not?”
She pulled herself onto Abe’s broad back and kicked him into motion, the soldiers falling into stride behind her. The cornstalks whooshed as they cut through the field.
A twitch of movement from the side of her vision caused her heart to skip a beat. The sharp clap of a rifle sounded. Then another. And another. Their echoes bouncing all around. Dull thuds as bodies hit the ground. Abe reared with a shriek and the world blurred.
Sky and wind, then an explosion of pain tore through her body. Cold mud stung her cheek. She waited for the piercing burn that would indicate a gunshot. Instead she felt nothing. Nothing but a vague achiness washing over her in waves. Nausea.
Her mind kept trying to snap shut, but she fought against the dizzying sensation. She tried to move, but her left ankle suddenly protested with a stab. Her breath seized. The barely healed break must be freshly severed once again.
She peered through slitted eyes. Abe’s still form lay next to her, his chocolate eyes vacant. No breath stirred from his velvety nostrils. Reaching out, she dug her fingers into his mane and pinched her eyes closed against the tears.
Craning her neck, she saw two of the soldiers sprawled among the dripping cornstalks, their bodies coated in crimson, eyes open and limbs contorted. Dead. Where was the other one? Did it matter? They were all dead. She would be soon too. She was half-dead now.
Numbness stole over her as time slipped into nothingness. Five minutes? An hour? What did it matter? She would be gone before the sun set tonight.
Gabe’s face blazed through her memory, his green eyes coaxing. You must forgive your father.
The thuds of approaching hoofbeats. The sound of men jumping to the ground. Southern drawl and laugh-tinged curses. The Confederate guerillas they’d been searching for had cut them all down like ducks on a pond.
And now they’d come to finish the job.
Was it only moments ago she had felt death’s icy grip stealing over her body? Now her senses buzzed with life.
Her heartbeat pumped loud in her ears. She managed to push her rifle into the surrounding cornstalks, then lay still, keeping her nose half-buried in the mud so they wouldn’t see her breath fogging the air.
Thwick, thwick. Boots squelching through muck. The metallic whoosh of a saber being pulled from its scabbard. The murderer sank the tip of the sword into the closest corpse and pulled it out with a grunt. Through her cracked eyes, she saw crimson drip from the end of his blade.
They were checking to make sure the dead were actually dead. She couldn’t fake her way out of this.
A thump as the brute rolled the body over. Rustling as the soldiers’ pockets were searched. The process was repeated for the other corpse. She was next.
God, have mercy.
A voice overhead prompted with a harsh whisper, “Come on! You’re wasting time. They’re dead. Just look for valuables and let’s get out of here.”
Hands circled her ankles and yanked. She bit down to keep from crying out. Her foot gave an odd pop followed by a pinch, then settled into a numbness. Hands groped over her clothes, turning her pockets inside out. She kept still and limp, thankful she carried nothing on her person other than some scant coinage.
The intrusive fingers disappeared and footfalls receded, followed by the faint thumps of hoofbeats. She lay still five minutes more. Then another five. When a crow landed several feet away, pecking at the ground, she peered through her lashes and sat up slowly. Her mind kept tumbling over and over.
God spared me. He spared me. Why?
Her whole body began to shake, but this time it wasn’t from the cold.
Gabe unhitched one of the mares and rode her through the mass of soldiers marching south. He was desperate for one glimpse of Cassie among the crush of blue-clad men. Briggs was livid. Gabe had to warn her. But how could he begin to find her among the thousands when they all looked the same?
The futility of his search stabbed him anew. He wanted to kick himself for capturing her likeness. How had Briggs seen the truth in the reprinted image when so many others had not?
He urged the mare into a trot and rode down the lines, searching, pleading with God for a glimpse of her. She would be on horseback most likely, fulfilling her courier duties. Time pressed down upon him like a hot iron. Briggs might even now be informing Captain Johnston of her deception.
Spying the corps of drummer boys and buglers, he rode toward them, his horse flinging up flecks of mud. Where the other boys were, Jonah would be close behind. He pulled the mare to a stop, craned his neck, and peered ahead . . . There. Just beyond the buglers.
Lurching ahead, Gabe called out from atop the horse, “Jonah Phifer!”
Jonah looked up midmarch, a wide smile splitting his freckled face. “Hiya, Gabe.”
“We need to talk.”
Jonah glanced around. “I can’t shoot the breeze. If I’m caught, I’ll be in trouble.”
“I need to talk to you as messenger boy for Captain Johnston.”
With a curt nod, Jonah broke formation and trotted toward him, fighting the wave of marching soldiers like a salmon in an upstream current. Gabe dismounted and faced the lad with his voice low. “I need to know something. Has Briggs come to see Captain Johnston?”
Jonah frowned, a knowing look in his eyes. “He tried, but the captain was away. He left a message with me instead.”
Gabe fought the urge to swear under his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck until Jonah’s giggle snagged his attention.
“I didn’t say I gave the captain the message.”
Gabe froze. “What do you mean?”
Jonah smirked. “Briggs stomped up, madder than a hornet, blathering that Turner was a woman and ‘Be sure to give this message to the captain.’ Then he stomped away.”
“And?”
“I threw the message in the fire.” Jonah shrugged. “I told Turner I would protect her—er, him, and I meant it.”
The tight pinch in Gabe’s gut unwound a fraction, but his nerves strangled nonetheless. He placed a hand on Jonah’s bony shoulder. “That was a very brave thing you did, son. Do you know what would happen to you if anyone found out?”
Jonah jutted his chin forward. “I don’t care. Turner is my friend. And considering he’s actually a girl, I guess you could say she’s like my mother.”
Gabe’s throat burned. He squeezed Jonah’s shoulder before dropping his hand.
Jonah swiped under his nose with his arm. “So no more problem, right?”
Gabe shook his head. “I wish it were that simple. Briggs is spitting mad. Your heroics may have stalled the captain from finding out, but Briggs will hunt him down and tell him face-to-face at some point. I must find Cassie.”
Jonah’s eyes lit up. “So that’s Turner’s real name? Cassie?”
Gabe winced. There was no denying it now. “Yes.”
“Cassie. It suits her,” the boy mused.
Mounting the horse once again, Gabe looked down at the precocious boy and nodded. “I’m beholden to you, Private Phifer.”
Jonah offered a salute in response, but his grin and the way he rocked back on his heels revealed his delight with his own part in the drama.
Stomach crawling into his throat, Gabe kicked the mare in the flanks once more, the passing faces blurring into one.
Cassie, where are you?
Chapter 39
CASSIE HAD LIMPED ALONG FOR MILES on snow-dusted roads, every muscle in her body protesting the abuse. Her stomach cramped with need. Her mind felt foggy. At least she could walk. The foot she’d feared broken had actually only been dislocated, blessedly popped back into place by a greedy Confederate guerrilla.
&nb
sp; Her eyes and throat burned as she thought of Abe’s demise. She mourned for the faithful horse who had been with her through so much. She grieved for the loss of her freedom. She missed Granny with a painful longing. She yearned for home. For Gabe. For peace.
Pebbles crunched under her feet as she shuffled along. She was alone. Utterly and completely.
You are never alone.
She lifted her face to the bright sunshine, blinking against the sharp light. I know you are with me, Father. But why do I feel so alone?
You must forgive your father.
She looked down.
My child, you push away all the blessings I long to give you when you refuse to forgive him. It is a weight you weren’t meant to drag around. Cut him free.
Cassie pressed her fists against her temples and pinched her eyes shut, biting her lip until she tasted blood. But he doesn’t deserve it.
The faint sound of braying drifted through the air. Her pulse tripped as she followed the noise. It grew stronger as she searched.
She stopped at the sight of a donkey thrashing its head, eyes wild with panic. It was bridled but its reins were tangled in a thicket. It brayed again, and sympathy tugged her heart.
“There, there. Easy now. Poor little fella.” She reached out and stroked the soft white tuft of fur between the donkey’s eyes. He calmed under her touch, his nostrils flaring even as his bucking ceased.
“Come now. How did you get in such a fix?” She dug through the brittle tangle of bramble, freeing the reins. When they finally found release, the donkey tossed his head in the air and pranced a couple of high steps.
Cassie laughed. “Going to dance a jig, are you?” She grabbed the bridle and scratched around his face as he nuzzled her hand. “Where is your owner, huh?”
She glanced around, unsure how to proceed. No buildings. Nor had she seen anything for miles. Maybe this was God’s provision.
“Looks like you’re mine for the time being, little fella.” She gingerly pulled herself onto his bumpy back and sank down with relief. At least she wouldn’t have to walk the entire distance.
