by Ginny Dye
The butt of a rifle appeared from the dark, smashing into Hobbs’ head with a sick clunking sound. Hobbs stiffened then slumped against Carrie.
“Tie him up,” Pemberton ordered. “Then throw him into the back of the wagon on top of the crates. We’ll take care of him later.” Then he turned to Carrie and regarded her thoughtfully. “And just who is your father, Miss Cromwell?”
Carrie stared at him defiantly.
One of the men edged forward. “I bet I could convince her to talk,” he laughed, pulling a whip from the back of his saddle. “Why don’t you give me a go at her, Captain?”
“Quit showing your ignorance, Walker,” Pemberton snapped. “Put that thing away.”
Sullenly, Walker backed away and recoiled his whip. “Her driver tried to kill one of us,” he muttered.
“Then her driver should pay,” Pemberton said calmly. “And he will.”
“What are you going to do to him?” Carrie asked anxiously, gritting her teeth to control a groan when Hobbs was dumped unceremoniously into the back of the wagon, his head hitting one of the crates with a crack.
“We aren’t equipped for prisoners,” Pemberton said coldly. “We are on a raiding mission. I’m afraid he will just be in our way.”
“Just one bullet will take care of him,” one of the men said casually, riding up to the back of the wagon and pulling out his pistol.
For one wild moment, Carrie thought of pulling out her pistol and shooting him.
“Leave him be,” Pemberton ordered. “I’ll let you know what I decide to do with him. Whatever it is, I want him to wake up first and tell us who Miss Cromwell’s father is. I have a feeling that information could be useful to us.”
Pemberton turned back to Carrie. “We will take you back to your plantation. I know that’s not quite the home you had in mind to return to tonight, but I’m afraid it will have to do.” He edged closer and held out his hand. “And you can hand me that pistol. I’m afraid if there’s any more shooting tonight my boys aren’t going to respond as kindly as they did to your driver.”
Carrie handed the gun to him silently, her mind racing to figure a way out of her current predicament. What would they do with her and Hobbs? Now that they knew her father was someone important, her situation had become more precarious. She shuddered at what they would do to Hobbs. Her anger at his impulsive actions had died when they had knocked him unconscious and thrown him into the back of the wagon. How much more would he have to pay for his actions?
The house was dark when the wagon, now driven by one of Pemberton’s soldiers, rolled down the drive. Carrie knew Sam and Opal were peering out the windows at them.
“Anyone home?” Pemberton asked and then sighed when Carrie just shrugged. “You can make this hard, or easy, on yourself, Miss Cromwell.” He shook his head then motioned to his men. “Search the house.”
“There are only some of my father’s people,” Carrie said quietly. “They are no threat to you.”
“I thought we came here and let all the slaves go earlier this year?” Pemberton asked in astonishment. Then he glared at Carrie. “What did you do? Buy some more?” He shook his head in disgust. “You people are really something.”
Carrie bristled at the arrogance oozing from his voice. Exhaustion was beginning to wear her temper thin. “You only show your ignorance when you clump all people together,” she said coldly. “The people in that house have been with my father for years. They know they are free to go at any time. They have chosen to stay here.”
“And where may I find your father, Miss Cromwell?” Pemberton snapped. “Something tells me he’s not here taking care of his slaves.”
Carrie shrugged. Then she raised her voice, hoping to stop any damage to the house. “Sam and Opal,” she called. The soldiers stomping up the stairs stopped and turned around. “Come on out,” she yelled. “They know you’re the only ones in there.” Hide the kids in the tunnel, she pleaded silently to herself, hoping they would pick up on her cue. There was no reason to put the children at risk.
Slowly, the door to the big house opened. Sam and Opal stepped out.
“You be all right, Miss Carrie?” Sam called sharply.
“I’m all right, Sam,” she called back reassuringly.
Pemberton swung down from his horse. “I guess we’ll just make your house our headquarters for a while,” he said pleasantly. “I think it will suit us just fine.”
“Do you always show such disregard for other’s property?” Carrie asked.
“I’m your enemy, Miss Carrie Cromwell. You will do well to remember that,” Pemberton snapped. “It would not take much more to push me to my limit. I can be most unpleasant if I choose to be.”
I bet you can, Carrie thought. She just stared at him defiantly.
A sudden clatter from down the road caused her to snap her head up. Moments later, two horses galloped up to the porch, their sides heaving. “Captain Pemberton!” one of the men called.
Pemberton strode up to the soldier. “What is it?” he asked sharply.
The man swung down from his horse. “We ran into a Rebel ambush a few miles back.” He paused. “Your brother was shot.”
“How bad?” Pemberton asked sharply.
“He’s hurt pretty bad,” the soldier responded. Suddenly he noticed Carrie and the wagon. “What’s going on?’
“Where is Clifton now?” Pemberton snapped, completely ignoring the question.
Carrie felt a stirring of compassion for the man who claimed to be her enemy. The anguish in his voice was obvious.
“A few miles back,” the soldier responded. “We were afraid to move him.”
Pemberton whirled toward the men on the porch. “Get down here and unload this wagon. Be quick, but don’t break anything. Those crates could be valuable.” The look he shot Carrie clearly revealed he didn’t believe her claim that all the crates were full of herbs.
Carrie breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t care what his reasons were. She just didn’t want them destroyed.
Within minutes the wagon was empty. Hobbs lay motionless on the ground where they had roughly dumped him. Carrie stared at him, wondering whether he was still alive, then exchanged a long look with Sam and Opal.
“Take the wagon and bring Clifton back here,” Pemberton snapped. He cursed and slammed his fist into his other hand. “Fine time to be without a doctor,” he growled.
Carrie was sitting with Sam and Opal in the parlor when they heard the wagon return. Not a word had been spoken since Pemberton had ordered it away. He had done nothing but pace back and forth in the parlor. Carrie watched him silently, longing to check on Hobbs still lying out in the dark and under guard.
“Keep an eye on them,” Pemberton snapped to the two soldiers standing against the wall.
A few minutes later he strode back in, followed by four men holding a crude litter. A young man, covered with blood, was stretched out on it. Carrie grimaced at the deep crimson splotch covering his chest. Another red area was growing on his right pants’ leg.
“Where can I put him?” Pemberton asked.
Carrie sprang to her feet. “There is a small room off the kitchen.”
“Find a better room than that,” Pemberton ordered one of his men.
“I don’t care where you put him, Captain, but he will be closest to hot water from the kitchen there,” Carrie said briskly. “Your brother needs medical attention.”
“I realize that, Miss Cromwell,” Pemberton said furiously. He ground his teeth. “Where in the world am I going to get someone to help him?”
Carrie stared at the anguish and fear on his face. Obviously he and his brother were very close. “I can help him,” she said quietly.
“You?” Pemberton asked contemptuously. “What are you going to do? Pour herbs on him?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
Carrie smiled gently, calm now that there was a need. “I serve as a doctor in a Confederate military hospital,” she explained. “I can help your b
rother.”
Pemberton stared at her in disbelief then turned away. “Find him a room,” he ordered again.
Carrie stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “If you want your brother to live, you will let me treat him,” she said firmly, amazed at her own audacity. “If those bullets aren’t taken out soon, he will die. It won’t take long for infection to set in.”
Pemberton wrenched away but turned around to stare at her. Carrie returned his gaze steadily then motioned toward his brother. “He needs help now.”
“Why would you help him?” Pemberton asked suspiciously.
“In spite of your low opinion of me, not all Southerners are alike,” Carrie replied. “I hate this war, but I most certainly do not hate Northerners. Your brother is very badly wounded. I am committed to helping people. It’s that simple.”
Pemberton’s eyes burned into her for several long moments; then he nodded abruptly. “Put him in the room beside the kitchen,” he barked.
Relieved, Carrie turned and began to give her own orders. “Opal, put a large kettle of water on to boil. Sam, bring me a supply of rags.” They stared at her in amazement then sprang to do her bidding.
Carrie’s mind flew to Hobbs lying out in the dirt. She turned to Pemberton. “I have only one request,” she said, realizing it was a huge gamble. The captain was already distraught. She didn’t want to send him over the edge.
Pemberton whirled. “What is it?”
“I want my driver brought in and put in the room beside your brother. He might die if left out there. I don’t know how badly hurt he is.”
“He might die anyway,” Pemberton said coldly.
Willing the spark of humanity in him to flare into flaming life, Carrie just looked at him.
Suddenly Pemberton nodded. “Go get him.”
Taking a deep breath, Carrie decided to push further. “If I save your brother’s life, I want your promise you will not kill him.” She shuddered at the bargaining she was doing with men’s lives.
Pemberton thought for a moment then nodded curtly. “And if he dies, your driver dies too.”
Carrie nodded slowly, realizing with a sick feeling that the game she had decided to play had very high stakes. Then she sprang into action, hurrying back to the room where they had deposited the wounded soldier.
Moments later Opal hurried in with the first pot of boiling water. “Still had some hot on the fire from supper,” she whispered, reaching out to squeeze Carrie’s arm comfortingly.
Carrie smiled her appreciation then turned to Clifton. Moving quickly, she cut away the clothing around his chest wound. That was the one that would need attention first. Her lips pressed together tightly as she stared at the gaping wound. “Have one of your men get the bag stuck under the front seat of the wagon. It has a few medical supplies in it.” She heard running feet; then less than a minute later the bag was put in her hands.
Carrie pulled out the instruments she needed, then turned up the light on the two lanterns beside the bed, and went to work, praying silently. Clifton was already in shock, his pulse dangerously low.
“Captain Pemberton, I’m going to need your help.”
“I’ll do anything,” he said promptly, all the arrogance gone from his voice. Carrie glanced up. He was staring at his brother’s white face, his own face pinched and strained. “Hold this cloth over the wound on his leg. The bleeding has to be stopped.” He nodded and stepped forward, doing as she directed. Carrie picked up the forceps and leaned over Clifton’s chest.
“What are you doing?” Pemberton snapped.
Carrie sat back impatiently. “I have to take the bullet out.”
“What about chloroform?” Pemberton growled. “You aren’t just going to operate on him.”
“It’s happening all over the South,” Carrie said. “I’m afraid your blockade has made it almost impossible to get the drugs we need. I would gladly use it if it were available,” she said harshly, then softened at the look of pain on the captain’s face. “He won’t feel a thing,” she said more kindly. “He’s completely unconscious. He will hurt afterward, but he won’t feel the operation.”
Pemberton gazed down at his brother’s face and then nodded.
Carrie sighed with relief before she bent back to her work. It took almost thirty minutes of deep probing for her to finally locate the bloody bullet concealed deep in his chest cavity. Thankfully it had gone in far enough away from the heart and lung not to do damage there. As she carefully sewed the wound shut, she prayed. Chest wounds were the most dangerous. If infection set in, there was no possibility of amputation to save their lives.
She went to work on the leg wound next. The bullet had not gone as deep, so it took her only a few minutes to remove it. The torn and ragged skin surrounding the wound was another matter. There was no way she could sew it up.
She turned to Opal who was standing close by. “Bring me some flaxseed and red pepper.” She paused. “And please bring me some of the red oak bark decoction I made. Then she glanced up and spoke to the captain before he could ask his question. “They are herbal remedies, Captain Pemberton. They have proven to be quite effective against infection and gangrene.”
For once, Pemberton didn’t react. Using the rags and hot water to clean all the other wounds on his body, Carrie turned back to Clifton. His color, now that all the bleeding had stopped, had slightly improved, but his breathing was still shallow and fast, his skin still clammy. Carrie stared at him silently, praying he would live - not just for himself, but for Hobbs as well. Her mind flew to him. What would she find when she was done with the captain’s brother?
Opal flew back into the room, and Carrie carefully applied all the herbal poultices to Clifton’s wounds. When she was done, she covered him carefully with several blankets before she stepped back. “That’s all I can do,” she said quietly.
“Is he going to live?” Pemberton asked anxiously.
“I certainly hope so,” Carrie said fervently. “Only time will tell. Have one of your men keep an eye on him. If he moves or wakes up, let me know.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Pemberton growled. “My brother still needs you.”
“There is nothing more I can do for him right now,” Carrie said firmly. “But there is a young man lying in the room next door who also needs my help.” She took a deep breath. “I believe that was our agreement,” she reminded him.
Pemberton hesitated then nodded curtly. “My brother better live.”
Carrie felt another surge of compassion at the pain on his face. She stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm. “I hope he does, Captain. This war has already claimed too many lives. Your brother looks like a fine man.”
“He is,” Pemberton choked, his defenses falling away. “He saved my life up at Gettysburg. I owe him the same.”
“I’ll do my best,” Carrie promised, then turned, and left the room.
She found Hobbs lying just as still as when she had last seen him. The two soldiers guarding the room stared at her but made no comment. Carrie ignored them and examined Hobbs’ head carefully. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found no cuts. There was indeed a huge lump on his head, but upon closer inspection she realized his breathing was steady and deep. He would have a raging headache when he woke, and he would probably be disoriented but would recover. Carrie covered Hobbs with blankets then returned to Clifton’s room.
“Anything?” she asked when she entered the room.
Pemberton shook his head heavily. “Nothing.” Then he looked up. “How is your driver?”
“He’ll live.”
“If my brother lives.”
“Right,” Carrie snapped, leaning over Clifton. She was encouraged. There was even more color in his face, and his breathing was a little steadier. She glanced up at Pemberton who just stared at her stonily. Carrie took a deep breath. “Are you hungry?” He nodded abruptly. “I’ll get you some food.”
“Don’t bother to try anything,” Pemberton r
eplied. “Your driver’s life is dependent on my brother’s, you know.”
Carrie was tired of playing games. Exhaustion dogged every movement. “Look, Captain Pemberton, even if my driver and friend wasn’t lying in the other room, I would still do my best for your brother. He is a human being. He is an American. That still means something to me.”
Pemberton sat up straighter in his chair. “You’re a Unionist? Why didn’t you say so?”
Carrie shook her head. “I didn’t say I want the North to win. Quite frankly, I’m confused about the whole mess. I don’t think this war should have ever started. It’s done nothing but multiply the problems in this country. All I know is that too many men are dying or being horribly wounded. I just want it to end. Whether I end up living in the United States or the Confederate States of America means little to me right now. I just want the killing to stop.”
“Why are you in the South, Miss Cromwell? You don’t believe in slavery, do you?”
Carrie looked at him. For the first time, she felt they were communicating as two individuals. “No, I don’t,” she agreed. “If I had my way, every slave would be free. But,” she continued, “the South is my home. My father is here. My...,” she broke off, shocked to realize she had almost told the captain about Robert. She turned to leave the room. “I’ll go get some food.”
A broad shouldered soldier suddenly blocked her way. He was holding papers in his hands. “I found out who her father is, Captain Pemberton, sir.”
Pemberton pushed away from the wall, but his voice lacked any real interest. “Who is he?”
“He works in the Virginia state government. He’s one of Governor Letcher’s top men.”
“That true?” Pemberton asked Carrie.
Carrie looked at the papers the soldier was hiding. What good would it do to deny it? “Yes,” she said simply.
“We’ll take her back north, Captain,” his man said eagerly. “I reckon she’ll be a real prize in the prisoner exchange game.”
