A Thousand Shall Fall

by Andrea Boeshaar

  And now, after a long soak, she felt refreshed. She thanked her heavenly Father for the soap Tommy found so she could finally wash away the soot, sweat, and grime. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself since she’d arrived in the Union camp. The day she arrived was still foggy, but that evening Dr. LaFont placed her sprained wrist into a sling. Afterward, she’d fallen asleep in the field hospital. The next day, like today, Carrie followed the Union army, staying close to medical personnel in the rear, just as the colonel ordered. From what Carrie gathered, General Sheridan was withdrawing northward, in the direction of Halltown. The rain made travel difficult and often wagon wheels sank into the muddied pike and had to be dug out. Tonight, though, gentle clouds breezed past the moon.

  If only the colonel would let her go free. Already it was almost a three-day trek back to Woodstock.

  Nearing the hill’s top, Carrie became aware of how very exhausted she felt from the day’s journey. She reached for a tree branch to pull herself up only to have all her muscles throb in painful unison. She still ached from her fall into that sycamore.

  Think about something other than yourself …

  Mama and Margaret back at the Wayfarers Inn came to mind. She prayed for them both. Was Mama feeling better, or was she worried about her two missing daughters? But maybe Sarah Jane had a change of heart and found her way home. Maybe only Carrie Ann was missing. Did Mama even care? Likely not.

  What about Margaret? Was she behaving herself and doing her chores? Would she realize that flirting with the male patrons was a wicked sin just like Reverend Carson said? But knowing Margaret, she was livid about having to do three times the number of chores now that her sisters were gone.

  Carrie’s foot slipped and she slid backward. Someone caught her elbow before she fell. Beneath the glow from within the field hospital, she glimpsed the figure of a man. He was too tall, too broad-shouldered to be Tommy.

  She jerked her arm free.

  “You’re just the person I’ve been looking for, Miss Bell.”

  Recognizing the voice of her rescuer, she expelled a breath of relief. “I’m glad you showed up when you did, Captain Collier—I mean, Colonel.” Carrie’s face flamed, having misspoken his rank.

  Clasping her elbow once more, he effortlessly brought her the rest of the way up the hill.

  Funny, she’d dreamed up at least a dozen fairy tales about this man ever since they’d first met nearly a year and a half ago. In her dreams, he was always Captain Collier, the fearless, handsome Union officer whose arm she’d sutured and who, out of gratitude, eventually returned to Woodstock, fell madly in love with her, and rescued her from a life of drudgery at the Wayfarers Inn.

  But, of course, they had been mere fairy tales. This was reality.

  “You and I need to talk.” The colonel’s stern tone vanquished the last of Carrie’s imaginings.

  “I know. I’ve been waiting to speak with you. Are you finally going to let me go?”

  “That’s what we need to discuss.”

  “Oh.” His tone left her feeling no more hopeful about her release than yesterday or the day before. But what did she really know about this man? Perhaps he was a devil cavalryman like Joshua said.

  “I understand from Major LaFont that you sprained your wrist.”

  “Yes, but it’s much better.” She wished she could say the same for the rest of her aching joints after today’s arduous trek. “I didn’t have a single problem with it tonight.”

  “Which brings us to our first order of business.” The colonel halted, forcing Carrie to do the same. The night songs of crickets and katydids filled the space between them. “This is a camp comprised of several thousand men. I can’t possibly speak for the integrity of every single one of them. Many have not enjoyed the company of a female in a long while and may not be able to control their … manners should they happen upon you alone and in a most vulnerable situation again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Extremely clear.” Picturing the consequences wasn’t difficult.

  “Good.”

  “I work at the Wayfarers Inn, remember? I am accustomed to men forgetting their … manners. But I can sense danger, and I felt safe and well hidden.”

  “Did you feel safe two days ago when you were found suffocating in that sycamore?”

  “Are you going to hold that— that accident against me forever?”

  “No. I really meant no insult. Forgive me. But I hope you will take my warning to heart.”

  She softened at his apology. “I will.”

  “Excellent.”

  “But I won’t be in camp that long, right? I mean, you do intend to release me, don’t you?”

  “I will decide after your interview.”

  “What interview?” This man was exasperating! She pulled her elbow from his hold. “I told you why I wore that deserter’s uniform—to slip past Union troops and find my sister. I thought you believed me.”

  “I do, actually, but I must file a report, so we’ll discuss the matter in detail. Follow me.”

  The colonel led the way to the hospital tent, opened one of the flaps, and politely held it for Carrie. Several glowing lamps lighted their way. No men lay writhing in pain on the grassy ground as in the last couple of days. The field hospital had emptied, save for a few attendants coming and going. The remaining wounded from the fight outside of Front Royal had been taken to Harpers Ferry, and there were no badly injured men to tend to today.

  “You’re back, petite.” The dark-haired French physician hurried toward her. Carrie found him amiable and gentle. Reaching her, Major LaFont looked her over. “And you are wearing a most interesting outfit, yes?” He worked the tip of his mustache between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Not my preference, I assure you. If I had my druthers I’d be in a ladylike frock.” She glanced at the colonel. Did he think she ran around all day in men’s breeches?

  “Please, sit down.” The physician moved a wooden stool toward her and extended his hand in an invitation.

  Carrie walked farther into the tent and stifled a groan as she lowered herself onto the stool.

  “Your muscles still ache, yes?”

  “Extremely.” She’d hoped bathing in the creek would alleviate the soreness, and it had, to some degree.

  “It will be that way for another day or so.”

  She sighed. “I figured as much.”

  Colonel Collier spoke up. “Major Johnston and I will be questioning Miss Bell. You believe she is recovered enough to handle an interview?”

  “Indeed, she is. I shall leave you to your duties.” Major LaFont bowed slightly in Carrie’s direction before exiting the tent.

  Colonel Collier reached inside his coat and produced a cigar. He bit off the closed end and spit it out. After finding a match, he struck it against the sole of his boot then held the lit end to the tip of his cigar and waited until it glowed red.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He took a puff and exhaled a cloud of bluish-gray smoke. His gaze fell on her and he grunted irritably. “Please forgive me, Miss Bell. I’m aware that in polite society my smoking in front of a lady would be deemed quite rude, and if you object to my habit, I will put out my cigar. It’s just that I’ve had a very long and difficult day and I feel the need for a bit of relaxation as we converse.”

  “Smoke to your heart’s content, Colonel. My father smokes a pipe, and I’ve always found the rich smell of burning tobacco rather comforting.”

  After a grateful smile, the colonel glanced toward the tent’s entrance. “Major Johnston, I want no interruptions.” Another puff on his cigar. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir.” A large man stepped out of the shadows. Carrie recalled seeing him around camp the past two days. He held up a pen, a small inkwell, and a record book.

  Tommy had said that Major Johnston was the colonel’s right-hand man. Tommy claimed to be the runner-up.

  “Excellent.” The colonel’s gaze fell on Carrie. “Shall we begin?”r />
  CHAPTER 7

  “I never did hear who won the conflict near Front Royal. The Union or Confederacy?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, Miss Bell.”

  “Fine.” Carrie’s nerves began to fray. “But you can’t fault me for being curious. After all, the Union has taken quite a licking this summer.”

  “Which side do you hope lost the Front Royal conflict?” The colonel puffed on his cigar, eyed it speculatively, and then gazed back at her.

  “Neither side. I’m independent minded, like any good journalist.”

  “Since when are journalists independent minded?” The colonel frowned over his cigar. “Have you not read Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Journal, Harper’s Weekly, or the New York Times?”

  “Yes, I’ve read issues of those newspapers—that is, whenever a soldier has a mind to leave a copy behind in Woodstock. I’ve also read copies of the Daily Progress and the Richmond Examiner.”

  “None is objective, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I agree, but that doesn’t mean the journalists themselves are biased. They may be pandering to their audience—or their editors.”

  “Perhaps, although I do find it strange that you’ve kept your objectivity in Confederate Woodstock.”

  “And how fortunate for you that I’ve managed to do so or you would have bled to death in the Wayfarers Inn.”

  “Touché, Miss Bell.” He sounded amused.

  “The battle near Front Royal was inconclusive from what I’ve heard.” The resounding timbre of Major Johnston’s voice made Carrie turn and look his way. His hulking frame remained near the opening of the tent, record book in hand, his pen poised. “We lost less than a hundred men and took almost three hundred prisoners.”

  “Does that include me?” Carrie looked at the colonel.

  “Depends on whether we finish this interview.” He emphasized his statement with a wide-eyed stare.

  Carrie still hadn’t decided how cooperative to be. “What is it that you want to know?”

  He blew out a plume of smoke. “You stated your sister ran away. When did you first learn of it?”

  “Before breakfast the day before you found me. You see, I went to my father’s newspaper office at dawn that day, before I began my chores at the Wayfarers Inn. It was then I discovered the note Sarah Jane left me. It read that she’d run off with a peddler by the name of Arthur Sims.” Carrie glanced at Major Johnston. “Do you need help getting this all down?” she asked facetiously. “If so, I’d be happy to write it myself.”

  He chuckled. “After years of seminary training, I think I can manage.”

  “Seminary? Are you a priest?”

  “Hardly.” He chuckled. “I’m a minister in civilian life. I served a church in Germantown, Maryland, until I marched off to war with the Union.”

  “I didn’t know there were loyalists in Maryland.”

  “More than you’d expect. Abolitionists too.”

  “Miss Bell.” The colonel cleared his throat. “Major Johnston is not the one I’m investigating. You are.”

  Carrie expelled a long breath.

  “Now, as you were saying … you set off to find your sister, wearing a Union officer’s uniform?”

  “Not exactly. First I ran into my childhood friend Joshua Blevens and his ill-mannered comrade, a man by the name of John Rodingham.”

  The name obviously didn’t mean anything to either Yankee officer.

  “Go on,” the colonel said.

  “I hadn’t seen Joshua in a long while and we’ve known each other since the day I was born. So, naturally, I stopped to converse.”

  Carrie hoped to bore the two men to tears. Maybe they’d fall asleep as she prattled on. Then she’d slip away into the night.

  “Continue, please.” Having finished his cigar, the colonel dropped it and ground it out with the heel of his boot.

  “I showed my sister’s letter to Joshua, and about that time I remembered the deserter’s uniform. Like I told you before, I found the garments this past spring as I cleaned one of the rooms at the inn. After I found it, I checked Mr. Veyschmidt’s register. The man had signed his name Tom Foolery. Obviously not his real name.”

  “Obviously.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in the colonel’s tone. “And you never bothered reporting the deserter and turning in his uniform to Federal authorities?” He folded his arms.

  Carrie gave a shrug. “No Federals have come to town since then.” She couldn’t resist goading him just a bit. “They might have dashed down Main Street as if the devil himself chased them, when in actuality it was the Confederate army on their heels.”

  To his credit, he didn’t bite. “And then what happened, Miss Bell?”

  She told him and Johnston, using every unnecessary detail that popped into her mind. She recounted how, after completing her daily chores, she’d hemmed the Yankee uniform and concealed it beneath Margaret’s dress in case she ran into Confederates—which, indeed, had occurred. She described meeting the Rebel soldier on the way to Front Royal.

  “The idea of getting in the middle of two opposing armies wasn’t enough to send you back to Woodstock?”

  “No. The soldier said he’d seen a peddler and a girl just ten hours earlier. I knew if I hurried, I could catch up. But I was just too tired by then.” Exhaustion weighted her limbs now too.

  “I imagine so, not having any sleep the night before.” The colonel sounded … sympathetic.

  Carrie felt herself soften. Odd, since she’d never been one to cave into a man’s will simply because he showed her some politeness or concern. But the colonel was different somehow.

  “The main thing that kept me going was that my mother told me I couldn’t return home unless Sarah Jane was with me.” Carrie bowed her head. “I’m sure she thinks I’m dead now.”

  “I’m sure your mother didn’t mean those harsh words,” Johnston said.

  “Oh, she meant them.” There wasn’t a doubt in Carrie’s mind.

  “What about your childhood friend, Joshua. Is he a Confederate soldier?” The colonel squatted so he was eye level with Carrie.

  She squirmed at his scrutiny. “Yes.”

  “Do you know where he was headed?”

  She did, but should she say?

  “Any information would be of help, Miss Bell, and I would be very grateful.”

  She supposed it wasn’t any big secret. “Joshua had just received his orders and he and Rodingham were to set off for Staunton after they finished eating. I served them dinner at the inn the night I left, since I couldn’t leave my sister Margaret to serve customers on her own. Mr. Veyschmidt would have gotten suspicious about my absence.”

  The colonel released a heavy sigh.

  “Anyway, I overheard Joshua and Rodingham discussing how Confederate troops were regrouping at Fisher’s Hill. Evidently, General Early and his men are waiting for reinforcements from General Richard Anderson and his First Corps, who, you must admit, fought amazingly well at Spotsylvania Court House and Cold Harbor.”

  “I will admit no such thing, Miss Bell. Many of my friends were killed in those battles.”

  Carrie immediately regretted her words.

  The colonel sprang to his feet and took in a breath through his nose, slowly yet audibly as if he fought to control his anger. Carrie reminded herself that she wasn’t among curious patrons at the Wayfarers Inn, anxious to hear the latest news of Confederate victories. She was among officers in the Union army, who might just shoot the messenger.

  “Did these men mention the number of Early’s forces?”

  “No, but it can’t be more than thirty or forty thousand—and that’s including Anderson’s troops.”

  “Based upon what, Miss Bell?”

  “Based upon”—Carrie lifted her shoulders—“basic mathematics, sir.”

  The colonel peered over her head and looked at Johnston.

  “I’ll tell Tommy to relay this information to General Merritt.”

  �
�Thank you, Major.” As Johnston left the tent, Colonel Collier glanced back at Carrie. “And thank you, Miss Bell. As I said, I’m grateful for any information.”

  “Happy to oblige, especially if it means you’ll turn me loose.” She didn’t feel at all like she betrayed Joshua or any Confederates she knew. Like the graybacks, the Yankees had their spies, and soon the colonel would learn the very same things she’d just told him. “Except, I didn’t really say anything you wouldn’t find out soon enough.”

  “Sooner rather than later is oftentimes the difference between life and death.” The colonel walked to the medicine trunk, closed it, and pulled it across the carpet of soft, trampled grass. He sat on it, close enough to Carrie that his knees nearly touched hers. Strange flutters filled her insides and she wondered over her reaction to this man. The last time she’d felt this way was when she’d sutured his forearm.

  “Is there anything else you’re willing to share?”

  “Well, the only other thing I know is—” She didn’t mind betraying that varmint Rodingham one bit. “I overheard Major Rodingham tell Joshua—”

  “Your friend—or is he more than a friend?”

  “Actually, more than a friend. He’s like an annoying older brother.”

  “I see.” His tone was a mix of amusement and perhaps curiosity. “But I interrupted you. Please continue.”

  Carrie focused on the top brass button of his dark blue coat. If she looked into his handsome face, she’d lose her concentration for sure. “Rodingham told Joshua that General Early likes to hit the Union army’s rear because then the Confederates will have less of a fight.”

  “That’s probably true and it’s no secret. Both sides employ the tactic.” The colonel’s voice sounded velvet soft. “Ambulances, supply wagons, and artillery pieces travel with the rear guard.”

  Carrie knew that; after all, she’d traveled with them for two days. “But Rodingham said he’d gladly meet the Yankees head-on. He wasn’t afraid to fight. Joshua agreed. Personally, I think they’re fools.” Her eyes met the colonel’s steady gaze. She could barely think. “I read somewhere that General Sheridan’s army is comprised of fifty thousand men.”