A Thousand Shall Fall

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Carrie lost her verbal footing and frowned at Aunt Ruth. Inheritance?

  “Honestly, Eli, must you be so boorish?”

  Slowly, he turned. “One more word from you, Aunt Ruth, and I will arrest both of you on suspicion of spying.”

  She parted her lips then wisely pressed them together. But the threat didn’t stop her from sending Carrie an apologetic look.

  “Colonel Kent, I’m not aware of any inheritance. The reason I fell in love with Peyton is because—” Indignation bubbled up in Carrie and flamed in her face. “On second thought, it’s none of your business. Go ahead and arrest me.” She held out her wrists.

  “Don’t tempt me, Miss Bell.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied tartly. She lowered her arms back to her sides and walked toward him, her chin held high. Oh, but she longed to slap his handsomely arrogant face. “And it’s Mrs. Collier to you.”

  He blinked and Aunt Ruth produced a little cough, but neither reaction was enough to halt her as she headed to the doorway. Colonel Kent didn’t try to restrain her when she pushed the doors open. All Carrie knew was that she couldn’t stay here, feeling trapped, any longer. She needed a plan.

  A plan of escape!

  “Oh, now you’ve done it, Eli.” Ruth stood and went after Carrie. She reached the stairway in time to see the young lady ascend with a flash of petticoat and black stockings. “Oh, my …”

  Behind her, Eli chuckled. “Why does Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew suddenly come to mind?”

  “This is no time for jokes.”

  “Come now, Aunt Ruth. Surely that’s the reason Peyt sent her to you, to groom her in the ways of dignified social etiquette.”

  “Well …” Ruth wished she’d thought of that. It made perfect sense.

  “And, rest assured, Aunt Ruth, I believe her.” Eli’s dark eyes moved from the now-empty stairway to Ruth. “That is, I believe she loves Peyt and that she knew nothing of his inheritance until moments ago. I saw it in her face and I could tell she wasn’t lying.”

  “She is easy to read, isn’t she?”

  “I know from our years of friendship that Peyt always wanted a woman who loved him regardless of the trust his parents left him.” His brows pinched, causing deep lines to form above the bridge of his nose. “But a serving girl?”

  “Eli, she had no choice but to move into that inn. Her father is a journalist, who has been away for two years, and her stepmother took ill after their farm burned to the ground. Carrie had to find a place where her family could get room and board.”

  “Yes, well, I guess that can be overlooked, particularly since I’ve already heard as much from Major Blevens. Still, allowing her to come here wasn’t wise—unless, of course, Peyt feels confident that the Union army will triumph in the Valley.” Eli gave a wag of his head. “But they won’t. Just like in the past, the Confederates will defeat those Yankee invaders.”

  “I sense a lack of enthusiasm on your part, Eli.”

  “On the contrary. I’m very much enthused. Nonetheless, I can’t promise how long your new niece or you will be safe here in Winchester.”

  “We shall take our chances.”

  “I had a feeling you would say something like that.”

  Ruth smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d best see to Carrie Ann. No doubt she’s upset.”

  “Then I look forward to seeing you both at dinner tonight.” Eli gave her a parting bow.

  As Ruth made her way upstairs, she prayed for guidance. She’d been a veritable old windbag. She couldn’t blame Carrie Ann if she was angry. Ruth hoped she wouldn’t want to leave. How could she allow it? Somehow Ruth knew that Peyton would never forgive her if Carrie left. However, she couldn’t very well hold Carrie here against her will.

  Her usual confidence shaken, Ruth’s hand trembled as she knocked on the bedroom door. “It’s Aunt Ruth, dear … may I come in?” She knocked again.

  Carrie swung open the door. “It’s your house. You may do whatever you please.”

  “Oh, now, Carrie Ann … don’t be angry with me.”

  “Pretending to be your niece was one thing, but pretending to be Peyton’s wife is quite another and I won’t do it.”

  “Shhh!” Ruth quickly closed the door. Leaning her shoulders against it for several long moments, Ruth felt any remaining fight drain out of her. Slowly, she crossed the room and sat down in one of the two chairs near the window. “I can’t argue, Carrie Ann, especially after I voiced such an outrageous idea. I don’t know what possessed me to blurt out such a thing. I only wanted to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” Carrie Ann shook her head, setting loose several curls. “Thanks to you, my life is now in greater danger than when I was traveling in the Yankees’ rear.”

  Carrie Ann’s voice stung Ruth like a dozen bees. “You’re in no danger. I’ll see to it. The Monteagues will keep our secret and so will Eli. He just said so. Despite this terrible war, he and Peyton have remained friends. Eli will make certain that, as Peyton’s wife, you’re safe.”

  “There is no secret, Aunt Ruth, because there is no wife!” Carrie Ann dropped several dollar bills down on the bed. “This is payment for the dress I’m wearing.”

  “I’m not taking your money. As I told you, the dresses were gifts.”

  Carrie Ann moved toward the door.

  Ruth stood and quickly stepped into her path. “Please? Can’t we discuss this?” She noted the stubborn set to the younger woman’s jaw and tried not to grin. Mercy, but she reminded Ruth of herself in younger days. “Now, Carrie Ann, you can’t just up and leave. It will be dark in a few hours. There are guerrilla fighters in the area that aren’t attached to any particular army. They’ve been terrorizing residents, particularly farmers. Union and Confederate generals alike have tried to apprehend and stop these marauders, but they’ve been unsuccessful. It’s best you remain here—at least until morning.”

  Folding her arms, Carrie Ann appeared to consider the idea.

  “And about this afternoon …”

  “I will not pretend to be Peyton’s wife. He will be apoplectic when he learns of it, and should his commanders hear the news, it could harm his military career.” Carrie Ann lowered her chin and stared at the toe of one of her black leather boots. “I’m not exactly the kind of woman whom a refined, sophisticated man like Peyton would choose.” When her head came up, the evidence of her pain and disappointment pooled in her eyes.

  Ruth alone was to blame for it.

  “You heard Colonel Kent mock me. I’m a serving girl at the Wayfarers Inn, and that’s hardly a position to brag about.”

  “He wasn’t mocking you. Besides, I explained why you were forced into such an occupation, but your, um, friend Major Blevens had already told him. Eli understands.”

  “And what am I now, other than Colonel Collier’s pretend wife? Thanks to Joshua and your tall tales, I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Ruth saw Carrie Ann’s blue eyes tear up. “Oh, my dear girl, you’re a woman who is seeking to help her family by finding her sister and father. You’re courageous, working to support them any respectable way you can.”

  Carrie Ann didn’t argue, and Ruth knew that she’d presented her story honestly and that her heart was pure. True, she barely knew her, but Ruth hadn’t reached the ripe old age of fifty-five without knowing a thing or two about people. She could practically sniff out the superficially sweet, the swindlers, and the connivers as well as the fortune hunters who merely wanted to drain her nephew’s trust fund.

  But Carrie Ann was none of those. She had an innocence about her that was refreshing. She was well-read, well-spoken, straightforward, and protective of those she loved.

  Including Peyton.

  Ruth wanted to giggle. Mercy, but it was so obvious! Even now, Carrie Ann stood up in his defense, not hers.

  She was perfect. The wife Peyton needed and the niece for whom Ruth had longed. And with the stipulations of Peyton’s trust met, Ruth
and Tabitha would have the funds they so desperately needed.

  Ruth would visit her attorney first thing in the morning.

  And then she’d write a message to Peyton …

  “Don’t worry about my nephew and his reputation. And the Monteagues won’t tell anyone. Better still, the news of your marriage to Peyton will discourage both Lavinia and Eli, which was its intended purpose. And you said yourself, you have nowhere else to go. Therefore, you must stay here where you have a room to yourself and a soft bed to sleep in. You’ll be fed … and paid, just as Peyton promised. You’ll be helping your family too.”

  Carrie Ann’s expression softened. “I must admit, you’re right on all points.”

  “Of course I am.” Peace enveloped Ruth. “So, you see, while the ruse was an absolute blunder on my part, one which I admit and promise to take full responsibility for, it works together for the greater good.”

  The greater good of all of us.

  New York Times

  September 5, 1864

  Five telegraphic words—“Gen. SHERMAN has taken Atlanta,” on Saturday, thrilled the nation with a joy …

  Four months of constant and vigorous campaigning, a contested march of full two hundred miles, ten pitched battles, and two score of lesser engagements by night and day, make up the price we paid for Atlanta. It is worth them all …

  The Daily Dispatch

  Richmond, Virginia

  September 5, 1864

  On Saturday evening a rumor was in circulation that “Atlanta had gone up”; but the vague nature of the accounts previously received made it all a matter of conjecture, and no one seemed to be possessed of sufficient information to explain the true situation of affairs. The report, as usual, gathered proportions as it progressed, and by nightfall the croakers were brooding over the most exaggerated statements and false representations.

  The Daily Dispatch

  September 7, 1864

  General Hood formed a junction with General Hardee at Lovejoy’s station at one o’clock Saturday, and the whole army is now concentrated at that point. As a matter of course, the fall of Atlanta is regretted; but neither the army nor the people are at all discouraged. All was quiet at last accounts. Our army was re-organizing, and taking the rest so much required.

  CHAPTER 19

  September 7, 1864

  “It’s been two weeks.” With rain in his eyes, Peyton glanced at Vern before swinging out of his sodden saddle. “Those scouts who took Carrie to my aunt’s in Winchester had explicit orders from General Sheridan. They should have returned by now.” He handed off Brogan’s reins to Tommy.

  After reconnoitering all day, they’d discovered nothing new. Neither army had moved since yesterday. But while in the saddle, Peyton had found time to speculate with Vern about who those scouts had been and whether they were trustworthy.

  They determined they were not.

  Adding to Peyton’s worry was the fact that he’d received no mail from Winchester since Carrie left camp, although Vern reminded him that Winchester was under Confederate authority and mail from loyalists to Union soldiers was likely prohibited. Either way, Peyton had no way of knowing whether Carrie had arrived safely at Piccadilly Place.

  Tommy patted Brogan’s neck. He was as drenched as Peyton and Vern. “Glad you’re alive and well, Colonel. Major.” The boy’s shaggy brown hair partially covered his eyes and dripped with rain. As Tommy pushed it back off his forehead, Peyton glimpsed his expression of relief.

  “Every time I make it safely back to camp,” Peyton said, “I thank God.”

  “Me too.” Tommy spoke over the downpour. “I keep thinking of Anderson’s attack on General Crook’s men at Berryville, sir. Word is the final count of the Union dead is a couple hundred.”

  “More like three hundred.” Vern handed his mount’s reins to Tommy also. “Anderson lost at least that many troops as well, but neither side was victorious.”

  “And it didn’t involve my brigade, Tommy.”

  Peyton bestowed the best reassuring smile he could muster on the boy, although, personally, he would have liked to fight those Rebs alongside Crook’s troops four days ago. He and his men expected to meet the enemy sooner or later—Peyton would prefer sooner. But just as Early’s Army of the Valley hadn’t marched an inch, neither had Sheridan’s Army of the Shenandoah. Instead the Union dug in, and now its entrenchments stretched eight miles long.

  The men, including Peyton, were getting antsy.

  One enlisted man referred to this campaign as merely “mimicking war.” Peyton feared his men would become complacent if this cat-and-mouse game continued any longer. His troops were ready for battle now.

  “Don’t take our horses too far, Tommy,” Peyton instructed. “We may need them in a hurry. Early’s men are bivouacked right across the Opequon.”

  “No foolin’?” There was a note of awe in Tommy’s voice.

  “No fooling.” Peyton had a good mind to smuggle that young man to Winchester where he’d be safe from the fighting …

  And he could check on Carrie at the same time.

  Giving Vern a side-glance, an idea formed. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. It would take some planning and, of course, General Merritt would have to agree to it—that is, whatever plan Peyton cooked up. But it was already hot on the fire. He just needed several volunteers.

  “Vern, let’s go find some supper. I’m famished.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He clamped one hand on his friend’s shoulder as they strode toward the officers’ mess tent.

  It took a good three days, but finally Peyton received approval from Generals Merritt and Sheridan for his brilliant albeit risky plan to scout the area. The Union army hadn’t moved in days and neither had Early’s troops. The two enemies were kept apart only by the rapidly rising Opequon Creek due to the continued storms. He had approval for Tommy and Vern and three others to accompany him on the journey. Tommy hadn’t stopped grumbling about going to Winchester, however, and Vern, normally an optimist, predicted one catastrophic scenario after another. It was enough to make Peyton wish he’d gone ahead with his mission alone. Meanwhile the rain didn’t let up, adding to the usual discomforts of morning and evening drills and general camp life, spoiling even the best of temperaments.

  “You’re insane.” Vern’s whispered voice reached Peyton’s ears as their horses plodded through the soggy underbrush. “You know that, right?” He paused a moment before adding, “Sir.”

  Only Vern could get away with a retort like that and avoid a court-martial. However, Peyton was beginning to think that he might have, indeed, lost his mind. Sneaking past Confederate pickets and vedettes wouldn’t be easy, although Sherman’s daring in Georgia and the Federal victory there emboldened Peyton.

  Nonetheless, he had good reasons for this covert quest—at least that’s what Peyton told himself.

  “Neither army has moved since that skirmish near Berryville, Vern. But unless the Confederate army decides to surrender soon, a full-scale battle will be under way shortly. You know that as well as I.”

  “Can’t argue there.”

  “Good.” Peyton kept his voice as low as possible. “And as I’ve said, I don’t want Tommy’s life endangered.”

  The boy rode closely behind them. “I can handle myself, sir.”

  Peyton cast a brief glance over his shoulder. “Of your capability, Tommy, I have no question, but I’m not willing to test it just yet.”

  Tommy muttered something under his breath. He’d been sulking since they left camp.

  “Let me remind you that your instructions are to look after my aunt and Miss Bell. But seeing as more than two weeks have passed without word, I’ll look in on Miss Bell before returning to camp. After that, Tommy, you may be on your own, fighting the Rebel Army with sheer wit.”

  “I’d rather fight with a gun in my hand, Colonel.”

  “You have a gun.” He’d given the boy his Colt Si
dehammer and told him where he’d hidden the Repeater in the house. “You’re going to be the Army of the Shenandoah’s eyes and ears in Winchester and the defender of the ladies of Piccadilly Place. Just remember what I told you.”

  “I know. I know. I have to say I’m fifteen so the Rebs don’t force me to fight in their army.” Tommy groaned. “But jumpin’ jackals, sir. I’ve been waiting to turn seventeen for almost a whole year now just so I can sign up with all you men.”

  “Tommy, you’re an important part of my brigade. If you can prove to me you’re ready for the cavalry by succeeding at this assignment, I’ll see that you get an immediate promotion once you’re officially enlisted.”

  “Yes, sir.” He replied in a hushed tone, but Peyton still heard the boy’s enthusiasm. “I can do that, sir.”

  “I know you can.” Another glance back and Peyton thought Tommy sat taller in his saddle.

  Under the veil of darkness, Peyton reined in Brogan as they reached the banks of the Opequon. He’d forded the creek at this particular spot dozens of times when he was a boy. Turning in his saddle, he waited for Tommy and Vern to catch up. Several days ago he’d taken four trusted and skilled subordinates along with him, Vern being the first to volunteer, albeit reluctantly. After meeting together, they arrived at a plan which included dressing as Quaker farmers. Then he received approval from the higher-ranking brass for this unofficial scouting expedition. All Peyton had to do was wait for the right time.

  And now was that time.

  Peyton removed his field glasses from his coat pocket and scanned the area for enemy movement. Just as he suspected, there was none. After rechecking his sidearm and his Spencer repeating rifle, he signaled his companions onward and they crossed the swollen creek. On the other side, they dismounted and walked their horses up an incline. The muddy banks of the Opequon could be treacherous, especially after all the rain. Another reason Sheridan chose not to order his army to ford the creek and attack. Doing so would hand over an advantage to the enemy.