She turned from the window. Still wearing her wrapper, Carrie ran from the room. At the top of the stairs, she paused, seeing Aunt Ruth and Tabitha below, deep in conversation.
“You heard Peyton. The orders to burn the Monteagues’ home came directly from General Sheridan,” Aunt Ruth said. “The general won’t tolerate any threats to his troops, directly or indirectly, and the Monteagues harbored Confederate spies—including the one who intended to harm Carrie Ann.”
“It’s the least them Monteagues deserve,” Tabitha groused.
Aunt Ruth muttered something Carrie couldn’t hear, then said, “Peyton said the burning will be an example to Winchester’s secessionists.”
“Frances and Lavinia ain’t stayin’ here, I hope.”
“No, of course not. Union soldiers packed a wagon and are forcing Frances and Lavinia to leave town as we speak. I expect they’ll go live with Anthony in Richmond, where he will continue to try to penetrate Union blockades. I’m sure they’ll be fine, but still I think …”
Carrie couldn’t hear the rest of what was said, but the slight edge in Aunt Ruth’s tone was evident.
“I ain’t sad to see them go,” Tabitha muttered. “And don’t you be feeling sorry for them either. Burning their house ain’t no more than what the Rebels done when they controlled the town. Lots of loyalists lost their homes.”
“You’re right, Tabitha dear. We’re very blessed that Piccadilly Place is still standing. Even so, I hate to see Frances and Lavinia homeless. And traveling up that rutted pike in the dark. How frightening!” Aunt Ruth’s voice was laced with both sadness and concern. “In my opinion the Monteagues’ punishment is too harsh, especially since Carrie Ann’s friend is just as guilty as the dead Confederate spy she shot in our library. And to think she kept silent about their identities.”
Standing in the shadows, Carrie felt wretched. Obviously, Aunt Ruth blamed her for what happened tonight. For Tommy’s death and now losing her friend, Frances Monteague.
Her heart shattered.
Turning silently, Carrie made her way back to her quarters. Smoke wafted in through the window that she’d left open. The acrid smell of burning wood and upholstery mixed with the sounds of breaking glass and loud voices caused her to vividly remember the fire on the farm in Woodstock. A moment later, she was there, reliving each painful second—Mama, out of her mind, and no one to help. No house. A cold night. Nowhere to go.
These past weeks Carrie had wanted to forget her life in Woodstock and begin anew without the burden of her family. Joshua had been correct: she was selfish.
If so, then losing everything tonight was her just deserts.
Blinking back tears, Carrie closed the window then began to dress. She knew what she had to do. She needed to remember the reason she left Woodstock in the first place …
To find Sarah Jane!
Peyton blinked. He couldn’t have read this letter from Carrie correctly.
He reread it, particularly the first two lines. Because of tonight’s tragedy, you will, no doubt, want to annul our nuptials. It may surprise you to learn that I concur, considering I am entirely to blame …
With a weary groan, Peyton dropped into the armchair in their bedroom. He combed his fingers through his hair, then massaged his now-throbbing temples. How in the world had she arrived at the conclusion that he’d want to annul their marriage? Certainly she bore some responsibility for what happened, but it was, as she penned, a tragedy. Peyton didn’t blame her. No one did. And he certainly didn’t want an annulment.
He scanned the remainder of Carrie’s letter, which largely consisted of a list of the items she’d taken and her promise to pay back the sum of their worth once she found employment in Martinsburg. She was heading there to find Sarah Jane, who was being cared for at a tavern called the Sundowner.
Employment? At a tavern? Surely Carrie didn’t want that kind of a lifestyle. Not again. And when did she discover the whereabouts of her sister?
On a long sigh, Peyton let his head fall back against the top of the chair. Staring at the ceiling, he noted it needed a new coat of white paint. At least that much was clear to him. He’d come up here, carrying a tray of coffee and two plates of breakfast for his new bride and himself. He’d hoped to make up for lost time. And this is what met his efforts—a cold room, an empty bed, and a note from his beloved stating that she’d left him.
She left me. Those three words bruised him more than exchanging saber clashes with Rebels, although his mind wasn’t yet willing to accept them. There were too many questions that required answers.
Sitting forward, he turned Carrie’s letter in his hands and critically picked apart the situation. She had interpreted his intentions wrongly. But if her stepmother wouldn’t forgive her for Sarah Jane’s rebellious actions, Peyton supposed he could understand how Carrie applied the same twisted logic to their situation. Yes, he’d been angry that she’d kept silent about the enemy’s identity. But he believed her explanation—and forgave her. The only reason he hadn’t returned to their room last night was because of the issues next door with the Monteagues. Mercy, but those ladies were problems—problems now on their way south to Staunton, guarded by several troops who would stay with them as long as safely possible. It was dawn before all the commotion died down. He could understand how Carrie might jump to conclusions when he didn’t return last night.
But it didn’t excuse her running off the way she did.
Peyton drew in a long breath and slowly released it. His mind sought a plan of action. One thing was certain: he had to find Carrie, not only because he loved her but because she was likely to get herself killed!
CHAPTER 28
It hadn’t been difficult to skirt around pickets and vedettes in the dark of night. Wearing her black woolen cloak pulled over her head, Carrie managed to blend in with the shadows. The only time she nearly met guards was as she neared the Valley Pike, but she’d quickly ducked into a farmer’s buckwheat field, and while going terribly out of her way, she managed to evade the soldiers.
Carrying a small valise, it wasn’t long before Carrie felt sure she’d drop from exhaustion. But then as the sun popped over the horizon, an old Negro man came by in his rickety wagon and offered her a ride to Martinsburg.
“I’s goin’ that way anyhow.”
The next Union guards rode by and paid them no mind.
“I always gots my pass with me so I reckon they know you got yours.”
Carrie had forgotten that important detail. A pass was needed to leave town … and she didn’t have one. “I- I’m afraid I forgot mine.”
“Name’s Jeremiah Fry. What’s yours?”
“Carrie Ann Collier.” Too late, she wondered if she should have used her maiden name.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. We’ll just pray we don’t get stopped. Like I said, most of these fellas know me already. They say, ‘There’s ol’ black Jeremiah and his po’ old mules, going for Missus Tate’s supplies again.’ You see, I travel on Sunday so I steer clear of trouble that otherwise might get in my way. I stay overnight at my cousin Hester’s home, pick up the order on Monday, and make it back to Winchester before any wickedness figures out I ever left.”
“Who’s Mrs. Tate?”
“The woman that owns me. Oh, but don’t frown so hard, Miz Carrie Ann. I’m treated all right. Couldn’t do better on my own, I figure. Not at my age for sure. And Missus Tate needs someone to look after her since her husband passed on.”
Bells clanged in the distance, and as they passed travelers on their way to church, Carrie Ann felt ashamed. She’d forgotten today was the Sabbath. God, forgive me. Maybe she should have made a plan before leaving Piccadilly Place.
By early afternoon, as Martinsburg came into view, Carrie felt certain she’d made a terrible mistake. The hymns Mr. Fry sang at the top of his lungs only confirmed her wretched feelings. But as she bounced along on the wagon bench, she knew there was no looking back.
They rode throu
gh town, whose main thoroughfare was largely deserted. Respectable businesses were closed on Sunday. Even the livery looked vacated. The Sundowner Tavern, on the other hand, appeared to be a lively place. Piano music from an untuned instrument wafted to their ears, and several rough-looking men stood outside, smoking cheroots and clinging to whisky bottles.
“I think we best keep on moving, Miss Carrie Ann.”
“No, please.” She placed her gloved hand on the slave’s forearm. She’d told him that she was looking for her youngest sister who, according to Joshua, was gravely ill and being cared for in the tavern. “I’ve got to get Sarah Jane out of that place.”
“We-ll. I guess I can wait here for you.”
“That’s not necessary, and I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“No trouble, ma’am, and you might need a wagon to transport that sister o’ yours. Don’t sound to me like she’s in a condition to walk anywheres.”
He was correct, of course. “Thank you, Mr. Fry. Hopefully, the hotel will be able to put us up tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Fry jumped down and helped Carrie alight from the wagon’s bench. She gave Peyton’s Sidehammer a pat. It was well concealed in her dress pocket. Her courage bolstered, she glanced over at the men. Their clothes were sweat stained and tattered. One man was barefoot and swayed slightly as he stared at her. Another spit a wad of chew onto the ground and then wiped his mouth with his dirty sleeve.
“I won’t dally. You can be sure of it.” She turned to Mr. Fry. “But if you feel your safety is in jeopardy, don’t wait. Keep going. I’d feel horrible if I brought any harm to you.” Like I did to Tommy.
“You ain’t bringing harm to me. Jus’ hurry up, and if’n you’re right and it’s your sister in there, get her out quick. We’ll put her in the wagon bed.”
After a nod of agreement, Carrie made her way toward the tavern. Upon closer inspection, she concluded the structure was in far worse shape than the Wayfarers Inn. Constructed with thin, rough wooden plank walls, it was a wonder the place withstood strong winds.
She reached the men. They surprised her by removing their hats and nodding politely.
“Excuse me, but I’m looking for my sister. I received word that she’s here … Would you know where I can find her?”
“’Fraid not, little honey. But ask Abby Enders inside. She’ll know.” The tobacco chewer smiled, revealing several missing teeth, and pulled open the door. “Go on in.”
Carrie murmured a word of thanks and walked inside the dimly lit tavern. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust before glancing around. The only light came from a few lamps hanging on nails above the bar.
“Thar she is. That’s Abby over yonder, holdin’ a pitcher of beer.” The man had followed her in, and now spoke close to Carrie’s ear, sending prickles of apprehension down her spine.
Carrie moved off to the side, waiting for a moment when Miss Enders wouldn’t be occupied. As she watched the matronly server at work, she wondered what would become of Sarah and her. She’d have to find employment until she could transport Sarah Jane home to Woodstock. Would she find a respectable position somewhere, or would she be stuck working here?
Carrie’s eyes began to sting from the smoky haze, and she grew increasingly aware of men’s glances at her—and at her reticule. It dangled from her right wrist. She wished she had remembered to tuck it out of sight. She’d brought her allowance to pay for Sarah Jane’s keep. While Peyton had been generous, giving her an allotted monthly sum, it wouldn’t last long if she had to support the two of them.
She swallowed hard. Was she glimpsing her own fate as she gazed at the harried server, arms now laden with a tray containing a whiskey bottle and four short glasses?
Maybe she could return to Winchester and throw herself at Peyton’s mercy. Then, again, no! She clenched her gloved hands. She loved Peyton, but she wasn’t about to grovel.
Miss Enders emptied her burden onto the middle of a table surrounded by men playing cards. Hoping to catch her before she took care of another customer, Carrie stepped forward.
The woman noticed her and tugged up on her bodice in what seemed to be an act of self-consciousness.
“Miss Enders?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who’re you?”
“My name is Carrie Ann. I was told my sister is very ill and here in the tavern.”
“Your sister?” Understanding washed over her face just before deep lines set in on her forehead. “She was here, Miss.”
“She left?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Miss Enders took her elbow. “I’d best show you. Come with me.”
Miss Enders led her to the back of the tavern and then down a narrow hall. The soles of Carrie Ann’s boots stuck to the grimy floor with each step. At last they exited the side doorway and walked into the yard behind the tavern.
“There. She’s over there.”
Carrie’s gaze followed in the direction that Miss Enders pointed. “I see a meadow, maybe a stream beyond it, but I don’t see Sarah Jane anywhere.”
“The cemetery, Miss. She’s in the cemetery.”
The wind left Carrie’s lungs. She staggered forward. Miss Enders steadied her.
“I know it’s a shock, Miss. But I did all what I could for her. Even called Doc Parker, who examined her and prescribed her several treatments. Nothing worked.”
“Sarah’s … dead?” No! It couldn’t be true!
“Yes, Miss. I’m real sorry ’bout it too.”
“Surely you’re mistaken.”
“No, Miss, I ain’t. The girl passed a day after that dark-headed fellow left. And if you’ll be wanting a refund of his money, I’ll be straight with you, I ain’t got it anymore.”
“I-I don’t care about the money.” Feeling dazed, Carrie walked to the gravesite.
Miss Enders followed. “The girl was bad off when that fellow left her here. She never woke up.”
“How did it happen?”
“The man who brung her said some peddler beat her up and left her for dead. She developed a fever soon afterward that wouldn’t leave her. Then the fellow said—”
“Joshua—or perhaps you know him as Major Brown?”
“That’s him.” Miss Enders inclined her head. “Told me he found the girl, said she was like family to him. The hospital’s been full up with wounded men for weeks, so he asked me to take care of her and he promised to inform the girl’s older sister—must be you.”
“He kept his word.” Reaching her sister’s grave, Carrie dropped to her knees. Tears flowed freely. “Oh, Sarah Jane, I’m so sorry …”
Why couldn’t she have found her baby sister before it was too late? Maybe if she had escaped the Union camp instead of falling in love with Peyton, she could have rescued Sarah Jane from that no-account peddler.
The sound of horses’ hooves drifted toward them.
“Yankees is here.” Miss Enders heaved a sigh. “I’d best get back inside. Those men probably got a powerful thirst.”
Carrie remained at the gravesite. Around her the long dry grass blew in the October wind. There was nothing more she or anyone else could do for Sarah Jane. She was with Jesus, meeting Him either as her Savior or her Judge. Carrie longed to believe Sarah met Him as her King of kings, and that she’d see her youngest sister again someday in heaven.
Slowly, Carrie got to her feet. Her head swam. When had she last eaten? A few bites at last night’s party? The dizziness passed but left a heaviness in its place. She trudged back toward the front of the tavern. Mr. Fry stood near his wagon, kindly waiting for her.
Seconds later, a blue-jacketed soldier rounded the corner of the tavern, pistol drawn.
Carrie halted. But in her present state she didn’t much care if he shot her.
The soldier lowered his weapon at once, and removed his cap, revealing a head of unkempt brown hair.
Recognition set in. “Sergeant Kramer?”
Kramer holstered his gun and looked to his
right. “Colonel Collier,” he hollered. “I done found your wife.”
At that moment, Carrie’s legs threatened to give way. She hadn’t believed Peyton would follow her. After all, he didn’t seek out Miss Monteague when she didn’t show up for their wedding years ago.
Carrie’s mouth went dry at the thought of facing him. He must be terribly angry if he trailed her all the way to Martinsburg.
A heartbeat later, she crumpled to the ground. Kramer rushed forward. Mr. Fry hollered her name. Carrie struggled to stay conscious. The weight of her limbs wouldn’t allow her to get back on her feet. She glimpsed the top of Mr. Fry’s peppery head as he bent over her, and then a wall of blue before Peyton gathered her into his arms.
“I’ve got you, Carrie.” His lips touched her ear, and his voice held that same low, sturdy-soft timbre that always made her feel so safe.
Eyes closed, she gave in to the overpowering sea of nothingness.
CHAPTER 29
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, and we’re staying here until you’re well enough to travel back to Winchester.” Peyton turned from the drapery-lined hotel window and faced Carrie. He didn’t care one bit for her pale complexion. It was an alarming match to the downy pillows behind her. “You need to rest. You’re exhausted.”
She didn’t reply, but picked at a multicolored quilt that covered her. He worried over her mournful expression about as much as her ashen face.
Peyton stepped toward the bed. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know you hoped to find Sarah Jane alive.”
“I did.” Her voice sounded strangled. “I pictured locating Sarah Jane in many different situations, but I never dreamed I’d discover that she’d died before I reached her.”
“I’ve sent a telegram to your stepmother and Margaret in Woodstock, letting them know of Sarah Jane’s death.” He knelt beside the bed and stroked her hair. “If you’d like, we can have a proper ceremony for her and move her body to—”
A Thousand Shall Fall Page 29
