On the other hand, if he was completely honest, Peyton would have to admit that Miss Bell was a bright spot for him in what had been a series of long, dark days, weeks, and months.
“Some time back I read in a newspaper that General Grant is calling for the South’s unconditional surrender.”
Peyton inclined his head. “That’s true.”
“But if General McClellan is elected president in a few months, he promises to end the war. Most Confederates pray that McClellan will win, and I understand that many northern folks feel the same way.”
“You’re right again, Miss Bell.” Her hair matched the autumn sunset, as if God had woven strands of orange, gold, and chestnut together in a curly mass and affixed it on top of her small head.
“Colonel?”
“Yes?” He shook himself.
“Is anything wrong?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “My opinion of the upcoming election is this: If McClellan wins and does what he’s promising then all the bloodshed will have been for naught.” He drew in a breath on his cigar. He’d lost good men and friends in this conflict. “I respect General McClellan. I served under his command during my years in the Army of the Potomac. However, the United States cannot compromise with the Confederacy. The Union must remain intact, and slavery, abolished.”
“So you support Lincoln?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm …” Miss Bell stared off into the distance. “I hate to think what that means.”
“It means the war continues. Grant must continue pushing toward Richmond. Sherman must continue his assault on Georgia, and it means we must defeat Early’s army here in the Shenandoah Valley.”
A challenge glinted in her eyes. “Even though the Union has suffered many defeats this summer?”
He smiled. “Even so.”
“But I read somewhere that the people in the north have no more stomach for war.”
“I’ve read—and heard that too, Miss Bell.” She’d obviously read every newspaper she could get her hands on just as she’d told him. “Nevertheless, we can’t give up—we won’t give up.” Peyton considered his cigar for a long moment and decided to change the subject lest he increase her anxiety before she had to turn in for the night. “Major LaFont tells me that you’ve been very helpful to his medical staff.”
She lowered her gaze. “I’m happy to help Dr. LaFont, but all I’ve really done is roll bandages and treat minor wounds.”
“LaFont appreciates the fact you don’t complain.”
“Not aloud.” She smiled. “After all, it is my Christian duty to help everyone that I can.”
“I seem to recall you saying the same thing almost a year and a half ago after I asked you why you would risk your employer’s wrath to suture my arm.”
Miss Bell tipped her head to one side. “Did I tell you that it was my Christian duty?”
Peyton nodded. Bits and pieces of details were coming back to him. Like the color of her eyes, for instance. He remembered that as she had stitched his wound and glanced up at him from time to time, her eyes were as blue as the ocean. It had brought back the memory of voyaging as a youth with his parents on the Baltic Sea.
An eternity ago. Another life ago.
A couple of raindrops fell and Peyton tossed his cigar over the sodden hillside. Standing, he stretched, dropped his hat back onto his head, and crossed the distance to Miss Bell. He extended his right hand and she slipped her small palm into his much larger one, causing Peyton to feel an even greater need to protect her.
Several more raindrops fell and Peyton looked at the dreary sky. He took Miss Bell’s elbow. “Let’s head for the hospital tent. I’ve been soaked enough times today.”
Together, they hurried across the field and over to the tent. Just after they’d ducked under the tent flap, the sky opened up and it began to pour.
“You successfully evaded another soaking, Colonel Collier.” Miss Bell laughed.
He swept off his hat, considering her for a long moment. “You need to do that more often.”
“Do what?”
“Laugh. Smile. You’re really very pretty.”
“Me? Pretty?” Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “No one has ever—and I mean never—called me pretty. Oh, I’ve been called pretty stubborn, pretty sassy, and pretty skinny, but never pretty in reference to my looks.”
He leaned toward her. “I know a pretty face when I see one.” He tapped her nose with his index finger. When he straightened, his humor vanished. “Which is why I want you in the company of one of my officers or Tommy at all times. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And tomorrow you’ll assist Major LaFont again and ride with the ambulances in the rear.”
“Yes, sir.”
Judging by her downcast expression, his orders didn’t please her, but it was for her own good.
Peyton turned to leave, but Miss Bell caught his shirtsleeve. “Colonel, you know almost everything about me, but I know nothing about you, other than you have an aunt in Winchester.”
He folded his arms, regarding her. He wasn’t accustomed to imparting personal facts about himself. Yet this sassy young woman evoked his longing to trust someone—someone special. “Just what is it that you’d like to know, Miss Bell?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps some information like … Do you have a young lady waiting for you somewhere?”
The forthright question entertained him, although he’d be suspicious if it came from anyone else. Most proper young ladies with whom he was acquainted were interested in his trust fund, not in him. Miss Carrie Ann Bell, on the other hand, hadn’t a clue. “Other than Aunt Ruth and Tabitha, no. There are no special females in my life at this time.”
“Tabitha? Yes, you’ve mentioned her before. The housekeeper, correct?”
He inclined his head. “Tabitha is a free woman of color. She and my aunt have been as close as two sisters since they were children. See how large my ears are? It’s from Tabitha yanking on them whenever I disobeyed. Finally I grew taller than she, which spared my earlobes.”
Her eyes brightened at his jesting, but a thoughtful look settled on her brow. “Could be you do fewer acts that require ear yanking. I mean … you’ve been kind to me. You seem fair-minded. Your officers and enlisted men speak highly of you.”
“Thank you for the high praise, Miss Bell.”
“Please call me Carrie Ann.” Her face flushed at her unintentional forwardness. “That is, if you want to—if it’s proper.”
Peyton chose to ignore her social blunder. The truth was he felt quite enchanted as evidenced by the sudden warmth pumping through his veins. “As you wish, Carrie Ann. Anything else you’d like to know?”
“How were your parents killed?”
“In a carriage accident in France when I was twelve.”
“How tragic.”
“Yes, but oddly I wasn’t as devastated as you might think. My parents were consumed with their social lives and traveling around the world. There wasn’t much room for me.”
“The real tragedy, then. It’s my belief that children are treasures from heaven.”
“Hmm …” He glanced around the tent. Enlisted men milled about. Peyton began to grow uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. His gaze drifted back to hers. “Anything else?”
“What did you do before the war?”
He inhaled, opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. Narrowing his gaze, he carefully considered his next words. “If I told you what I did before the war, you would not think highly of me. It’s only by God’s grace that I am who I am now. But perhaps I’ll share the details another time.”
“I’d like that.” She stared up at him, adoration shining on her small face, and Peyton felt rather invincible, albeit with a humbling dose of awkward schoolboy thrown in the mix.
Except he was hardly an awkward schoolboy.
“If that’s all, I’ll take my leave. I’m meeting with General Me
rritt soon.”
“Of course. I’ve kept you from your duties far too long.”
“On the contrary, I have enjoyed our conversation.” He set his hat on his head then touched the rim. “Good night, Carrie Ann.”
“Good night, Colonel.”
As he stepped out from beneath the tent he was met by cold, hard rain. Even so he felt Miss Carrie Ann Bell’s gaze burning into his back—
She already seemed to have melted his heart.
CHAPTER 10
August 21, 1864
The Sabbath dawned revealing gloomy skies. A church service was held in one of the officers’ tents, but instead of Major Johnston at the foot of the tent, Carrie discovered another chaplain there. He read from the book of Revelation.
“‘Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown.’” The reverend looked up from the Bible in his hands and scanned the sparse crowd. “No man knows the hour of his death, but it is appointed unto man once to die and after that the judgment. See that there is no sin between you and your God.”
Carrie glanced at the troops around her. She’d heard horsemen ride out of camp in the wee hours of the morning. Evidently only foot soldiers and details were left behind. Their somber expressions weren’t lost on her. How well they must know that life was a vapor and that theirs might vanish during the next skirmish or battle.
As she finished her bit of introspection, a shell exploded, rocking the ground on which the gathering sat. The men jumped up and ran for their posts. The tent emptied quickly.
Ducking beneath the flap, Carrie barely had time to take in the chaos around her when Tommy appeared and grabbed her wrist.
“We gotta get outa here.” He began to run, pulling her along.
“What’s happening?” A stupid question. Had she thought about it, she would have figured it out on her own.
“The Rebs are attacking.”
A shell burst nearby, sending grass and dirt flying high into the air. Thick, dark smoke blotted out the dawning light. Carrie coughed. Her lungs burned. Tommy, however, was undeterred as he ran through the waking camp, shouting to the men as he tugged Carrie behind him. Gunfire sounded in the distance, echoed by frantic bugling.
“Them dirty rotten graybacks.” Tommy spat on the ground and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “They got a lot of nerve, hittin’ us on the Sabbath.”
Carrie’s thoughts whirred. Memories, horrible memories, marched across her mind. The farm … the explosions that knocked pictures off the walls and dishes from the shelf. The barn … the fire! Animals, whinnying, baying, lowing in terror. The flames licking high into the sky. The house, soon ablaze. Mama’s soul-piercing screams.
“Miss Carrie Ann?”
Her gaze found Tommy. “Where’s Colonel Collier?” His presence would be a comfort.
“Fighting! Where’d you think?”
“I … well, I can’t think at the moment.” Remembrances and images of what she witnessed nearly a week ago near Front Royal flashed in her head and melded with the ones that had already resurfaced. “I can’t think at all.”
Scores of cavalrymen on horseback galloped past her, kicking up dirt. More shelling exploded, although she and Tommy now stood a safe distance from it.
“Sorry to be so hard on ya.” Tommy slung his arm around her shoulders. “I know you’re a girl and all.”
Carrie mustered some backbone. “My gender has nothing to do with it. I’m a very capable female. I’m just”—her shoulders sagged slightly—“inexperienced.” She gulped back her fear and confusion then blinked away the moisture collecting in her eyes.
“All you gotta learn is one thing: Run in the opposite direction of the cannonading. We ain’t supposed to get in the way, understand?”
She nodded.
“Colonel Collier gave me the duty of making sure we both turn up alive at the end of the day when he gets his evening report on who got killed and who didn’t.”
Again, she nodded, but her stomach lurched. Putting her hands on her knees, she bent forward to suck in clearer air and catch her breath. Her heart still pounded.
Tommy gave her a smack between the shoulder blades that nearly sent her flying onto her face. “You’re smart. You’ll learn it real quick.”
“I appreciate your encouragement.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone.
Tommy didn’t seem to notice. “C’mon, we got to keep moving. Seems like the Rebs are pushing us back.”
Again? Carrie’s faith in the Union army waned. “Do you think it’s safe for me to reenter the hospital tent?”
“Maybe.” Seconds passed as Tommy mulled it over. “But I’d best go with you.”
They walked back, careful not to get trampled by horses and limbers. By the time they reached the hospital, the wounded were being loaded into ambulances headed for the general hospital in Charles Town while tents and gear were hastily packed into wagons. Carrie did whatever she could to help.
The fighting continued for several hours and so did the withdrawal. They packed up the wounded and continued northwest until they reached Halltown. They camped in the same place the army bivouacked only weeks before.
The next day, there were no marching orders. This gave Dr. LaFont and his medical staff a chance to get the last of the severely wounded into ambulances bound for Harpers Ferry. The conveyances weren’t having an easy time of it due to the rain. Worse, Carrie suspected most of those men would never make it to the hospital.
Meanwhile in camp, everyone remained on alert. The enemy was in the area.
Inside the field hospital, Carrie tended to the dying as directed by Dr. LaFont. She was relieved when female camp followers and loyalist women from town arrived to render aid. They administered sips of whiskey to the wounded and, at first, Carrie refused to follow suit. After all, the Bible said “Woe unto them” who did such things. But Dr. LaFont was short on medicines until the next supply wagons came in from Harpers Ferry. Meanwhile men writhed in agony at her feet. Carrie knew she couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
Collecting a bottle from out of the medicine trunk, she knelt before a man whose lower torso had been mangled on the battlefield. One of his legs was gone, but amazingly he was still alive. God wouldn’t mind if she gave strong drink to a suffering man to ease his pain, would He?
Lifting the bottle to the wounded soldier’s lips, she gave him sips of whiskey until he ceased his thrashing.
“Almira …”
Was he delirious now, thinking she was his wife?
“Tell Almira … I love her. And the children … Robert. He must … be strong.”
Carrie bit back a sob. There was no time for tears. “I will,” Carrie agreed. She didn’t know the soldier’s name, but she’d figure out how to keep that promise.
“Tompkins,” he rasped as if reading her thoughts.
“Corporal?” His face was blackened with soot and unrecognizable—until now. He’d hit her upside the head after Colonel Collier rescued her out of the sycamore. “Corporal Tompkins?”
He moved his head slightly, indicating the affirmative. “Sorry … cuffed you.” A wheezy breath. “Thought you … were Rebel boy … killed our men.”
“Don’t talk anymore. Just rest.” Carrie gave him another sip of whiskey. “I forgive you.” She thought of the chaplain’s message yesterday. “Make your peace with God.”
She gave him another swallow before making her way to the next patient. Then the next. When she returned to Corporal Tompkins, he lay dead, his sightless gaze staring placidly heavenward.
First icy numbness spread through her body and then fire filled her veins. She ran from the tent, unable to stem her emotion. The blood, the death. She couldn’t bear any more of it.
She sprinted toward a cluster of trees with thoughts of disregarding her agreement with Colonel Collier and going … going somewhere. Anywhere but staying here. The edge of a tree branch scraped her cheek before she could push it aside. She nearly tumbled
over a fat root, but pressed on.
“Hold on there, girl. Where do you think you’re running off to?” A shapely woman stepped into her way.
Carrie slowed, then stopped. Her breath came in quick spurts.
“You must have come late to the war.” She expelled sweet-smelling breath near Carrie’s face. “I can always tell the new nurses by the fright in their eyes. Besides, I haven’t seen you around camp before.” Her bold eyes took in Carrie’s less than flattering attire. “Wouldn’t have thunk you was a girl until I got a closer look at you.”
“I wish I never came here. Fact is, this wasn’t my idea in the first place.”
“There, there, no need for bawling and murmuring. Men die all the time in battle. Have been for the last three years, for sure. You best get used to it.”
“It’s not that. I’m aware of the lives lost in the name of freedom. I even sensed Corporal Tompkins wouldn’t make it for long. But I never experienced death so— so personally before.”
“Someone you know just breathe his last, honey?” The woman had a comforting manner.
Carrie nodded, although she hadn’t known Tompkins very well. They’d never engaged in conversation. She despised him when their paths first crossed. But minutes ago he seemed like a decent fellow … before he—
“He left loved ones behind,” Carrie croaked. Her throat ached as if she’d swallowed an apple whole and it got stuck on its journey down.
“Don’t they all?”
Carrie wiped her cheeks while thunder rumbled in the distance. How fitting.
“You’ll be all right. I can tell.”
“How?” Carrie longed for a bit of hope.
“You’ve got fortitude, that’s how. My granny used to say she admired women with fortitude and just look at how you stand so straight, even if you are a bitty little thing. Anyhow, you don’t have time to feel sorry for yourself.” The woman nodded toward the worn road.
Another wagon of wounded was rolling in.
The woman hooked her arm around Carrie’s elbow and drew her back to the makeshift hospital. Once inside, Carrie forced herself to tend to the injured and willed herself not to think about the sights and sounds. A strong mind was required of every worthy journalist, after all. Perhaps Papa would let her write of her experiences—if she lived that long.
A Thousand Shall Fall Page 10
