by Bobbi Smith
Braden's wrists were raw and starting to bleed, but that didn't matter to him. Time was running out. He had to act soon or lose his only chance to save the shipment. When at last he managed to free one hand, he was careful not to betray his elation.
He waited, watching for the right opportunity. When the Reb guard turned his back, Braden made his move. He charged to his feet and threw himself bodily at the armed man, catching him unawares and knocking his gun from his grip. Braden had always been a determined man, but never more so than now. His fury driving him, he pummeled the man. They were locked in a desperate struggle.
The other Rebs who'd been helping the passengers disembark ran to help their comrade.
Eden had been just about to leave the steamship when she saw the Yankee soldier attack the guard. She froze and looked on in horror as the fight raged.
Braden managed to overpower the Reb and then made a dive for the gun. He grabbed the weapon and turned toward the men who were coming after him.
But the others were ready. One of the Rebels fired.
"No!" Eden screamed as she saw the Yankee fall.
Chaos erupted around her.
Francene cried out in horror, as did the others who'd been filing from the boat. Several of the Rebels hurried to quiet the panicked passengers, while others turned their guns back on the remaining Yankee and the crew members still tied up on deck. Eden dropped the few personal things she'd been carrying and started to run to help the fallen man.
"Stop right there! Get back!" the Rebel who'd shot the Yankee ordered. He glared at Eden, his gun ready in case there was more trouble.
"Let me help him!" Eden said.
Steve Rednauer had heard the shot and now hurried down to the main deck.
"What happened?" Steve demanded, pushing through the crush of people to get to where the Union soldier lay wounded on the deck.
The Rebel quickly explained.
"Sir, please, I have to help him!" Eden spoke up, her gaze imploring upon Steve as he turned to face her. "You can't just let him die!"
Steve did not acknowledge that he knew her, but he nodded tersely. "Go ahead."
Eden wasted no time. Unmindful of the blood, she dropped to her knees beside the injured Union soldier and quickly examined him. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder, and the wound was bleeding profusely. She tore strips from her petticoat and pressed them against the torn flesh. She wished there had been a doctor on board to take care of him, but she was alone. Even her mother had been restrained from helping her. As Eden attempted to stanch the flow of blood, the Yankee soldier stirred and groaned.
"Easy," Eden said in what she hoped was a calming voice. She couldn't decide if he had been brave in his desperate attempt to try to stop what was happening despite such overwhelming odds or if he'd been crazy.
Braden's consciousness returned with a vengeance, and he tried to sit up in a sudden move. Pain rocked through him, jarring him to the depths. He collapsed back, only distantly aware of gentle hands pressing him down and a soft voice trying to calm him.
"Don't move."
Braden fought against the physical agony that threatened to sweep him back into unconsciousness. He looked up to see a beautiful, darkhaired woman hovering over him, and he wondered if she was some kind of angel. He struggled to focus his thoughts on all that had happened. It came back to him then-how he'd fought the Reb and tried to grab the gun in his desperate bid to save the arms shipment.
"You're going to be all right. Just stay still," Eden said soothingly.
"Is he going to live?" Steve asked, coming to stand over them.
Eden looked up at him. "He needs to see a doctor. The bullet's still in him."
"Bind him up as best you can, and then get off the boat." It was an order.
"But this man needs help-" she protested.
"Do what you have to do to stop the bleeding and then go."
Eden struggled against the emotions that raged within her. She knew he was right. This soldier was the enemy. He was a Yankee. Yet the thought of his suffering horrified her. "He needs to come with me. Let me take him with us. He needs-"
"He's a Yankee. He's lucky I let you tend to him at all," Steve said coldly.
"But he might die-" she protested again.
Steve shrugged and turned away. He planned to take the two Union soldiers with him as prisoners.
Eden was upset but realized there was nothing more she could do except try to ease the man's suffering. She tore more strips from her petticoats and worked feverishly to bind the wound as tightly as she could to stop the bleeding. She was amazed at the inner strength the Yankee displayed. The lieutenant never made a sound as she treated his wound. His eyes were shut, but she knew he wasn't unconscious by the muscle that worked in his jaw as he battled to control the pain.
When at last she had finished treating him, Eden started to get up and move away, but the soldier reached out and snared her wrist in an iron hold. Eden was surprised by the strength in the Yankee's grip, and she looked down at him to find his dark-eyed gaze upon her. The fierce intensity of his expression startled her.
"Thank you, angel lady," Braden said in a hoarse voice.
"Take care-" Eden whispered.
His grip weakened then, and his hand fell away. The effort he'd exerted to speak to her had sapped what little strength he had left.
Eden stood and made her way toward the gangplank to follow the others on shore. She glanced back once to see how the wounded soldier was faring and then hurried on into the darkness of the night.
Her mother rushed up to meet her. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, but that soldier-"
"Is he dead?"
"No, but I fear he might be soon if he doesn't get help."
Both women watched as the Rebels forced the last of the unneeded crew off the boat and then drew back the plank. Slowly the Bayou Belle backed into the river and churned away, leaving them stranded on the riverbank, abandoned in the night.
St. Louis
"How did it happen?" Logan Matthews demanded, fury and fear gripping him as he stared across the desk at Larry Cotlar, his superior in the Union's Secret Service.
"Your brother was assigned to guard a shipment of arms coming upriver from New Orleans. Evidently, some Rebels in disguise boarded the steamer and took it over. They stole the shipment. From what I've been able to learn, your brother tried to stop them, but he was shot during the fight."
Logan went still at the news. "Is he-?"
"No. He was only wounded, but they took him and the other guard along with them as prison ers." Larry quickly explained how the passengers and most of the crew had been abandoned on the riverbank, and how the thieves had sailed the Bayou Belle farther upriver before making off with the shipment and setting the boat afire.
"I'm going to New Orleans."
"I thought you'd be interested in this assignment." Larry gave him a tight smile. Logan was one of their best operatives. If anybody could find out who was running the spy ring, he wouldespecially since his brother was involved.
"What do we know about them?" Logan turned coldly logical as a fierce determination gripped him.
"Very little. The records of who sailed on the Bayou Belle that day burned with the ship. We've been able to gather a few names of those who were on board from newspaper accounts of the story. You might be able to learn something there." He handed Logan a file. "According to our sources in the city, there are several suspects in and around New Orleans who might have been involved in the planning of the theft."
"The Army wasn't able to learn anything?"
"No. By the time the steamer was located, there was nothing left of her but a burned-out hull. The Rebs either escaped through the bayou or transferred to another steamer. There was no trail to follow."
Logan grew grim as Larry described the possible suspects who might have masterminded the raid.
"Adrian Forrester served in the Confederate Army but lost a leg early on in the fig
hting. He returned to New Orleans and established an orphan asylum for children of dead Confederate soldiers. It's called the Homeless Haven Orphans' Asylum. Nathaniel Talbott is a banker who is well connected on both sides and could possibly be relaying information to spies. There have been other disruptive incidents in and around the city that might be related to this same group, but we've been unable to catch any of those responsible. And neither one of these men is known for being an ardent Unionist. That's where you come in. How soon can you be ready to leave for New Orleans?"
"Today." Logan had no ties to keep him in St. Louis. His brother had been wounded and taken captive in Louisiana. The sooner he reached New Orleans and began his investigation, the better.
"Good."
"And I know exactly what disguise I'll use." At Larry's questioning look, he went on. "The Reverend Matthews will be traveling south to save souls."
"Perfect."
Larry had always known Logan was a brilliant operative, and he'd just proven it again. Traveling as a minister, he would be accepted and trusted by both sides in the war. In that disguise, he would have no difficulty if he had to cross into enemy territory. Larry quickly filled him in on the two informants he already had in place in the city and told him how to make contact with them.
"I'll get word to them about you. When you meet with them for the first time, just mention that you're searching for lost souls."
"All right," Logan agreed, knowing it wasn't a lie. The real lost soul he was looking for was Braden.
Larry stood and extended his hand to him. "Good luck, Logan. Send word and let me know how to get in touch with you in case there's any news of your brother."
"I will."
The two men shook hands, their intent serious.
Logan left the office anxious to get to New Orleans. Since the war had begun, he'd had several important assignments, but none as vital as this one. His brother's life depended on him. He had to work quickly. He would not fail.
The trip to New Orleans seemed endless to Logan. Once he'd arrived in the city, he took a room at a hotel and got ready to begin his mission. He pushed all personal worries aside, for he couldn't afford to be distracted by emotions. He had a job to do, and he would do it. He was going to track down those responsible for stealing the arms shipment and try to break up whatever spy group was operating out of the city.
Logan donned a simply tailored dark coat and pants with a white shirt and tie. There was noth ing unusual about his clothing, nothing that would draw attention to him. Ready to venture out, he picked up the leather-bound Bible he'd been carrying with him on the trip down. His disguise was complete. The Reverend Matthews was ready to go out in search of lost souls.
Logan planned to head to the riverfront first to meet with Larry's contact there-a free man of color named Sam Hall. Logan hoped the man might have some information about who knew of the arms shipment and the arrangements to send them upriver. Sam Hall would be his starting point.
After meeting with Sam, Logan planned to pay a visit to the orphanage. He'd brought extra cash to ensure his acceptance at the home. His story was simple. There were Southern sympathizers in St. Louis who'd heard of Forrester's efforts on behalf of the Confederate children, and they wanted to help Homeless Haven. They had entrusted him with their donations. As difficult as life was now due to the shortages created by the war, Logan doubted that anyone would question his story when he showed up with cash in hand. He was simply a man of the cloth, trying to do God's work on Earth.
Logan got his horse and made the trip to the riverfront. It was still a crowded, busy place, but he could imagine how much busier it had been before the fighting had disrupted regular trade. Tying up his horse near a warehouse where Larry had told him Sam Hall worked, he made his way along the levee, Bible in hand.
Sam was hard at work loading goods on a steamer when he saw the minister walking along the waterfront. He remembered the message he'd received from his contact and finished his task at hand before heading his way.
"You lost, preacherman?" Sam asked gruffly as he confronted him.
"No. I'm doing God's work, searching for lost souls," Logan answered, looking up at the big, burly man who stood before him. Intelligence shone in the man's dark eyes.
"You'll find them here in this town, that's for sure," Sam told him. Their gazes met in understanding and acknowledgment of each other's identity.
"I'm Reverend Matthews."
"My name's Sam-Sam Hall. Good luck with your work, Reverend."
"Thank you, but I'm going to need more than luck if I'm to be successful." Logan needed any and all information Sam could give him.
"That you will," Sam agreed, then lowered his voice. "I can meet you tonight-here, around midnight. Can you make it, preacherman?"
"I'll be here," Logan promised. He started to say more when he heard shouts coming from the area where he'd left his horse tied up.
"Stop! Thief!"
He turned to see a boy racing along the riverfront with a man in hot pursuit.
The youth spotted Logan's horse and raced straight for it.
"Tonight," Logan confirmed to Sam quickly. Then he started back up the levee to see what the problem was.
The boy had already snatched up Logan's horse's reins and was just about to vault into the saddle when the man who'd been giving chase caught up with him. Grabbing the boy bodily, he held on tight as the youth twisted and turned in a violent effort to free himself.
"Let me go!"
Logan reached the scene as the man was struggling to subdue him.
"What's the problem?" Logan asked, looking from the red-faced man who was obviously a merchant to the fighting boy he held in an iron grip.
"This little bastard stole some food from my shop," the merchant snarled, tightening his grip even more.
"Did not! Let me go!" the boy yelled, still fighting for his freedom. "Let me go!"
"If you didn't steal anything, then you'll have no objection to this gentleman searching your pockets, will you?" Logan asked him in a calming tone. "Surely you've nothing to fear if you're innocent and have been falsely accused."
The boy glared at Logan, and then he saw the Bible Logan carried. He paled a little and stopped his struggles. The merchant eased his grip and started to check the boy's pockets. Re alizing he was about to be found out, the boy bolted, but he wasn't quick enough.
Logan had anticipated his move and was ready for him. He snared the youth by the collar.
"Look!" The merchant held up the bread roll and piece of fruit the boy had jammed in his pockets. "I told you he was a thief! I'm going to beat him within an inch of his-"
Logan gave the youth a censoring look, then said to the man, "Let me pay you for what he's taken."
"But he ain't nothing to you. Why would you-?" The merchant was shocked by Logan's offer.
Logan didn't respond to the merchant. He looked down at the boy and asked, "Can I trust you not to run?"
The boy's expression was as defiant as it was angry. "I ain't gonna run."
"Give me your word," Logan said.
"I told ya, I won't run!"
Logan let go of his shirt and turned to the merchant. "How much will satisfy his debt to you?"
The man quoted a price and Logan paid him.
"You know him?" the man asked, wondering why he would help the boy out.
"I know him. He's a child of God," Logan answered, looking down at the dark-haired youth as he rested a hand on his shoulder. That single touch told him that under the baggy, ill-fitting clothing he wore the boy wasn't much more than skin and bones.
"You paid for this. It's yours." The merchant handed him the fruit and bread. "Good luck with your `child of God' there, preacher. I think God needs to have a little talk with him about stealing and lying," he sneered, giving the boy a dirty look as he moved away, pocketing the money.
"Everything all right, preacherman?" Sam asked. He'd followed along with some of the other workers to see what the
ruckus was about.
"Everything is fine," Logan told him. They exchanged a knowing look, confirming their rendezvous for later that night.
Sam moved off with the others to return to their work, leaving Logan alone with the boy.
"What's your name, son?"
"I ain't your son." He was sullen.
"I asked you your name," Logan repeated in a tone that this time brooked no defiance.
"It's Mark. Mark Williams."
"Well, Mark Williams, my name is Reverend Matthews."
The boy only looked up at him. He did not speak.
"Do you have something to say for yourself?" Logan guessed the boy to be about nine or ten years old.
"I ain't got nothing to say."
"Where are your parents?"
"They're dead."
"Where do you live?"
Mark glowered at him in silence. It was bad enough that he'd been caught, but he wasn't go ing to be telling this man his business. He wasn't nothing to him. He didn't owe him anything.
"Mark, when was the last time you had a decent meal?"
He still didn't answer, refusing to admit that he needed help. No one had ever helped him before, and he didn't expect anyone to start helping him now.
"Here." Logan held the food the boy had stolen out to him. "Eat this."
Mark eyed him for a minute, then grabbed the food. He took a big bite of the bread.
"Now get on the horse," Logan ordered.
The boy was tempted to run, but the look in the minister's eyes stopped him. He saw no threat there, only understanding and kindness. It had been a long time since he'd known either. Still, he hesitated, unsure.
Logan understood his indecision. "No harm will come to you. I give you my word as you gave me yours.
Mark nodded and mounted the horse. "Where are you taking me?"
"I have business at an orphanage here in town-The Homeless Haven Orphans' Asylum."
"I ain't going to no orphans' home!" He was ready to bolt.
Logan fixed him with a steady regard. "You don't want to be someplace safe and have a clean bed every night and three good meals a day?"
