by Cathy Gohlke
But it was another trick, or a dream. Home never came. Sometimes I felt myself tugged, lifted, or knew water was forced down my throat till I choked. Once I smelled water, felt the rocking sides of a small boat, heard the ragged whispers of two men.
“We’ve got to get across ‘fore daylight.”
“Why didn’t you just take them across on the ferry by wagon?”
“The boy’s beginnin’ to stir. Who knows what he’ll say in his state? We can’t risk it.”
“Hush! I hear horses.”
I heard them, too, and orders shouted, but through a fog. And then a familiar voice in my ear.
“Don’t worry, Robert. I’m still here. I’ll get you home. We’re crossin’ the Potomac now.” But it wasn’t William Henry, and it wasn’t a dream. Because I knew William Henry was dead, and the voice in my ear was Wooster’s.
When I woke next I forced my eyes wide and stared up at a gray sky and bare, black, rain-wet branches. Even flat on my back, behind a buckboard, a raw wind cut through my jacket. I tried to roll over, but my body still carried a lead weight. Voices came from over my head; the first one I didn’t recognize.
“There’s a good hospital in Richmond. We’ll leave him there. It’s the best we can do.”
“I can’t leave him. I promised. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.” It was Wooster’s voice.
“You’ll not be welcome anywhere. Nobody wants the typhus brought to their door.”
“He’s getting better. His fever’s broke a week now. He just needs to muster his strength.”
“You’re joshin’ yourself, boy. His fever comes and goes. The two of you need food and rest, help. Folks’ll be more likely to give it to you than to him. But it’s up to you, son. Richmond’s as far as I go. I’ve a family to get back to.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks for helping us. I’m beholden. We both are—my brother and me.”
“You’re a stubborn cuss. If you’re a mind to go south, stay as far from Petersburg as you can. They’ve dug in—under siege-long already. Rebs and town people can’t get out; Yanks can’t get in… I still say leave him in Richmond and go on home before snow comes. We’re deep in October already; it won’t be long. Your ma’ll be glad to have one son—better than none.”
Wooster didn’t answer.
“Suit yourself.” The driver clucked the reins. We rattled on, and the rattling set me adrift again.
In and out, in and out. I couldn’t tell dreaming from daylight, couldn’t tell if the long stretches were passing days or passing weeks. I only knew that each time I woke the wind cut rawer, colder than the last.
Eight
Well, well, well, at last we see those bonnie brown eyes, soldier!” The voice sang too cheerful, too bright, and belonged to a girl—all off kilter. I must’ve been dreaming again, but the poking and prodding didn’t feel like a dream.
“What are you doin’ to me?” I pushed the wet rag away, surprised my hand worked, but the thing kept coming at my face.
“I’m cleaning the grime of a lifetime from your noggin, soldier, and grateful you should be. It’s crusty work for any poor soul!”
I knew that voice, that Irish girl voice, whose every word sounded like she was laughing at me. “Get away!” But my swipes at her arm fell feeble, and she just laughed out loud, red curls tumbling, tickling my nose as she leaned into her work. Then it came to me, and all I could do was stare. Four years ago, when Jeremiah, Grandfather Ashton’s slave son, and I ran North, this girl had helped us, hidden us, saved us. At least it could be the same girl. She laughed at me now just as she’d laughed at Jeremiah and me then. And I hoped I wasn’t dreaming.
“By Jim, it is you!” She stopped scrubbing my face long enough to marvel. “I thought you looked a mite familiar, but I couldn’t fathom it so.” She peered closer. “Do you remember me, then?”
“Petersburg,” my voice whispered.
“Aye, Petersburg.” She smiled, a mite sad. “You and—and your friend.”
“You and your family hid us in coffins.”
“Shh. You mustn’t say such here! But, yes. Before this ugly war. And now I’m worried sick for them—the city under siege and Gen. Grant and his blue bellies circling the town.” She pushed the worry away and made her green eyes twinkle. She whispered. “We’re in a Confederate field hospital, you know.” I felt my eyes go wide. “Not to worry,” she said. “I’m nursing here, and you’re my patient—all very proper.” She rolled her sleeves down.
“I’ll not be telling on your illegal journey if you’ll not be squealing on me.” She smiled, then frowned just as quick. “It’s good to see you again, though I don’t know what you’re doing here. I’d have imagined you blasting away at Confederates, not joining up with them.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not a—”
“So, this young man’s awake at last. You had us all worried, soldier.” A doctor appeared from somewhere and leaned over me. “Your brother said you’d been in and out with fever for weeks. I’d say you’re coming out of a bad case of typhus, with a hefty relapse or two. But it looks like you’ll make it.” He thumped my chest, listening, then peered down my throat, into my eyes. “I’m Col. Monroe. Hmm. No sign of pox. That’s good. We’re not wanting that here.”
“Where is—?” My voice still wouldn’t stand up like I wanted.
“Your brother’s in camp, gaining some strength of his own. We don’t have much in the way of rations, no supply wagon for some time. But we do what we can for our boys.” He stood up. “Your job is to get well. We need our soldiers in the field, not lying around field hospitals. Your brother, weak as he is, refuses to go home without you. But I’m hoping we can get you back on your feet for duty. He said you boys were separated from your regiment when you came down with fever.”
“I don’t remember.” I swallowed. “My head hurts.”
“That will pass. We’ve kept you quarantined until we know what we’re dealing with. But I’d say, if the fever doesn’t return overnight, we can move you in with some other men. We need all the tents we can get.” He turned to the red-haired girl. “Nurse.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need you for surgery.”
“Right away, Col. Monroe.” The red-haired girl smiled up at him, blushed, stood to follow. I feared to see her go. Once the doctor turned she leaned down and whispered near my ear, “I’ll be back when I can. My name is Katie Frances.”
I didn’t sleep for hours after that. I kept watching for red hair every time the tent flap lifted. The only red hair that came through belonged to a one-eyed private.
Dark settled in, and the temperature dropped. I pulled my thin blanket tighter around me, surprised and glad that both my arms worked. A single candle burned atop a stand in the midst of the tent. I kept my eye on it, tried to stay awake, tried to guess the day, the month. When I’d last gone into Fort Delaware it was June. Unless I missed my guess, the temperature had dropped below freezing. I remembered that the tree branches were bare when last I’d seen the sky. It must be late October or November. My birthday must have come and gone—eighteen. I should be enlisted by now! How could so much time pass without me knowing?
“Robert!” a voice whispered. “You awake?”
“Wooster?” I watched him struggle beneath the tent and hoist himself up on one leg.
“Katie Frances said you was awake. I had to wait till the guard left so I could come. They played taps already.”
“Where am I? What month is it? What did you do to me?” I demanded, breathless from my own questions.
But Wooster grinned. “I reckon you’ll mend. You’re mouthy as the first time I met you.”
I’d have punched him if I’d been stronger. But the tent flap lifted then, and a dark, cloaked figure backed inside, quickly pulling the flap taut. Wooster hit the ground and rolled under my cot. I tried to rise up. The figure started at our noise and whirled to face us. The hood fell back, and relief poured over Katie Frances’s face. She smiled
, then touched her finger to her lips. I never saw such lips, even in the lone candle’s light.
“You gave me a fright!” she whispered, moving slowly among the supply kegs. She peered under my cot. “You can come out now, Wooster. I’ll not bite you!”
I heard Wooster roll out and struggle to his foot. He dimpled red as beetroot, even in the dim light. “I thought you was the guard,” he whispered back.
She shook her head. “I stepped clear of them.” She gave me a smile that warmed me through, shivering as I was. “And how are you faring, Robert Gibbons?”
“I’m not Rob—” I started, but Wooster cut me off.
“He’s faring a mite better, ma’am, but still a little woozy in the head—doesn’t hardly know his name.” Wooster tapped his head and rushed the words out in a breath, but Katie Frances was not taken in.
“Is he, then?” She tilted her head, searched our faces, then ran her finger down my arm. “And suppose you tell me your real name.” Her green eyes bored into mine. I couldn’t look away if I’d a mind to.
“Robert. Robert G—” I started again, but Wooster jumped in.
“Robert Gibbons! Robert Gibbons—my brother. I already told you, Miss O’Leary.”
“And I’m sister to the Queen of Spain, Wooster Gibbons. For brothers the two of you don’t look a penny alike! You—” she pointed to Wooster—”cornflower eyes and scrawny, tow-headed as the day you were born. And you—” she pointed to me ”—chestnut waves, all arms and legs, and eyes the color of me uncle’s cow!” That shut us both up. We couldn’t even look at each other. “So what is it? Truth, now.”
I glanced at Wooster, then, and his cornflower eyes pleaded with my cow ones. But I’d trusted this girl once, and she’d saved me. I’d trust her again. “Robert—” She rolled her eyes, not believing me. “Robert Glover, from Maryland.” She tilted her head again, considering.
“And you?” she queried Wooster.
“Wooster Gibbons—Salem, North Carolina.” Wooster frowned. “You won’t tell, will you? You won’t tell we’re not brothers?”
“Why would I tell? And why should a soul care?”
Wooster and I looked at each other, and I realized Wooster would never tell, never betray me. “Because he’s a secesh soldier, and I’m not,” I said.
“A Federal? Spy, are you?”
I looked away and felt the heat rise up my neck. “I’m not a soldier at all. And if I was I’d deserve to be shot. Thanks to Wooster and his friends and my lying cousin, I’m a traitor to my country!” The more I said, the angrier I grew. The angrier I grew, the louder I talked.
“Hush up!—or you’ll get us both bucked and gagged!” Wooster ordered.
“There’s a bit of a tale here, I do believe!” Katie Frances looked ready to settle down for the telling when we heard the changing of the guard. “They’ll be walking through the tents. Wooster, you’ve got to get out of here, and so must I.” She pulled her hood over her head. “I’ll be wanting to hear more of this.” She stopped before the tent flap and turned. “But not to worry, your secret is safe with me.”
That quick, they were both gone. I was madder than I’d been since I’d first realized what Cousin Albert had pulled on me. It felt good and clean to be angry. Worn from my fury, I fell back, panting.
I thought through all that had happened since I’d rode off from Laurelea—at least as much as I knew and could remember. But my neck and head ached. My eyes grew heavy again. I never heard the orderlies walk their rounds.
The next two days I lay in the tent, lost amid the kegs and boxes of supplies. Col. Monroe decided it best to keep me away from the other men a few days more. In that time Wooster caught me up on all we’d been through these five months. Five months is a long time to miss from your life. One minute I’d hate Wooster for being part of McCain’s and Cousin Albert’s treachery and secesh regiment, and the next I’d be grateful beyond words that he hadn’t left me for dead.
I just wanted to get my strength back enough to stand, to ride, to walk—if I had to—to Ma and Ashland.
Before reveille one morning, Wooster leaned into my face, shaking me. “We’ve got trouble. Wake up, Robert! Wake up!”
“How could there be more trouble?” That didn’t seem possible, unless we were being attacked and shelled by Union artillery. For the first time I felt strong enough to roll over, turn my back on him. But he jerked me to face him again.
“Sgt. McCain rode in last night. He’s been reassigned to this regiment. If he sees you you’re as good as dead! If he sees you he’ll find me!”
“What?” McCain’s name was like rotten potatoes in my mind.
“Sgt. McCain! He’d love turning you over as a prisoner. You’d never make it in a Union prison, Robert!”
“I’m a civilian! I never even enlisted, thanks to you and McCain—”
“Listen to me!” Wooster shook me. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to run!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Wooster! Soon as I get my feet under me I’m going to find my cousin and Ma—where I should’ve been months ago!” And saying it slammed the urgency, the fear of God into me. What had become of Ma and Emily in all this time?
“Mrs. Maynard told me that. Why do you think I’ve been draggin’ you along all this way? She said you’re headed South, toward the Yadkin out Davie County way—not twenty miles from Salem. Salem’s where I’m headed. We can help each other, but a fat lot o’ help you been to me so far—sick and puny and slowing us down!”
“Well, pardon me, General Gibbons! It wasn’t my idea to sit days on end in that wet cellar, trussed up like a pig to slaughter!”
“Stop it! The both of you!” It was Katie Frances at the tent flap. “You’ll wake the dead and bring every sentry within a quarter mile!” She brushed past the kegs and insisted, “I don’t know what’s got into the two of you, but you’d best take hold!” She stabbed my chest with her finger. “It was better when you were raging with fever. At least you hadn’t so much to say!”
I sat back, angry but stronger for the blood boil. Wooster looked like he wanted to knock my teeth out.
“Now I want the story. I want it straight, and I want it quick. Do you understand?” Katie Frances stood with her fists pressed into her hips. When we didn’t answer she grabbed Wooster’s ear with a vengeance. “I said, do you understand me?”
“Let off! Let off!” Wooster wailed, loud as he dared. And then he poured our story. Every time he got something wrong or left out a part I pitched in till we’d told the whole mess from every angle.
Katie Frances drew a deep breath. “You two are in a nastier cow pie than I thought possible. Did you know there’s a major here from North Carolina? Maj. McCain. He boasts he was once a prisoner, escaped from Fort Delaware—a hero at Gettysburg for all he tells.”
“That’s a lie,” Wooster spat. Katie Frances raised her eyebrows. Wooster and I looked at each other, and I knew he’d spoken true before. “McCain was at Gettysburg, and Fort Delaware—but a sergeant then, and not much of a hero, except to hear him tell it.”
“Ah,” Katie Frances said, “a ‘field promotion.’”
Wooster glanced at me, then away again. “Maj. McCain was the one wanted to kill Robert back at Fort Delaware or leave him to be shot, and I’ll bet he’d do it for sure now. He’d have nothing to lose and won’t want the truth about our escape getting out. It won’t look so good for him—not the way he acted, not leaving me while he ran South.”
“I thought you wanted to stay!” I said, confused.
“I wanted to help you, you idiot! It was wrong for him to leave you there to die or be sick on the Maynards’ hands. Col. Mitchell wrote that you were to be treated with every courtesy, and kept safe, that you were his blood kin. Sgt. McCain knew that. He disobeyed written orders—code or not. He disobeyed orders and deserted a soldier. None of that’s gonna look good for him. He won’t want you—or me—running around spouting the truth about him!” Wooster th
undered, nearly beside himself. “And it would be our word against his—a major!” The bugle called reveille. “You can’t afford to be recognized, Robert.”
“I’d say it’s a little late for that.” The uniform slid through the tent flap. Wooster paled. Katie Frances barely caught him before he hit the floor.
Nine
Reverend Goforth? Andrew?” It couldn’t be.
“Wooster! Wooster! Wake up, boy!” Katie Frances slapped Wooster’s face. “It’s only the chaplain! Don’t die on us! Wake up, you sleepy strawfoot!” She pulled Wooster to the cot and made him sit.
“Are you all right, son?” Rev. Goforth leaned down, reached for Wooster’s hand, helped him stand.
“Yes, sir. I just thought you were Maj—somebody else. I thought you were somebody else.”
“Apparently.”
“You know the chaplain?” Katie Frances, flustered, demanded of me, but Rev. Goforth answered before I could.
“Robert and I are old friends. It’s been too long, Robert, and it’s good beyond words to see you—a blessing I never expected—here, of all places!” He reached for my hand and shook it and my arm heartily. He frowned. “Or is it a blessing?”
“You’re a chaplain? For the Confederacy?” It didn’t fit, but then what else would he be? Katie Frances tilted her head and raised her eyebrows again. Chap. Goforth smiled, a little sheepish, it seemed to me.
“And you’re wounded? A Confederate private?” He looked puzzled.
“Well…” I didn’t know how much to say. But I didn’t need to say anything. Col. Monroe walked in.
