Secret Lady

by Beth Trissel

  “Screw it!” she erupted, yanking her snagged hem from a bush. “I should toss these skirts and just wear my pants.”

  Too late, she realized her outburst and bit her tongue.

  Jack halted at the edge of the woods and turned, a finger to his lips. “What?” he asked under his breath, closing the gap between them.

  “I’m not entirely serious,” she back-pedaled, in greatly reduced volume. “But…”

  “No buts,” he said firmly. “You have stunned enough folk today.”

  “Me? You will floor the Wengers when they learn your plans. Probably shun you—”

  “Hold on.” He clasped her shoulders, commanding her attention. “They only shun members of their own church, and I’m not Mennonite. And as far as they are concerned, I shall be out on patrol. Which I will be.”

  “Partly,” she interjected.

  “I’ll monitor the movements of the burning parties,” he continued.

  “And get yourself shot or strung up in the process.”

  “Not if I’m cautious.” A look of warning crossed his intent expression beneath the wide brim. “It’s the bluecoat stragglers who should be worried.”

  “God help us, Jack. Are you picking them off?”

  “How else will word spread not to linger while burning and looting? And I have no doubt they will do both. If we nip at their heels, they may cause less destruction.”

  “But you will again be the killer you despised.”

  Indignation flashed in his narrow gaze. “Sheridan is bringing this wrath on himself.”

  “And if I hadn’t told you he was coming and what he intended to do here? Then what? Would you still be off guiding men to safety as you were before my arrival?”

  He shook his head. “Not once I discovered Sheridan’s true intent. Bringing hard war to the valley is too much to endure without lashing back.”

  “The Burning is indescribably hateful,” she agreed. “But why must you take part in reprisals? Let Sam and the others conduct guerilla attacks. It’s right up their alley.”

  “I am not certain what you mean by that, but they will need me. I excel at being furtive.”

  “I’ll bet.” With his instincts, sharp eyes, and knowledge of the landscape, she could well imagine he’d be out in front. Not that this realization brought her any comfort.

  He looked long at her. “I know you are deeply vexed, but tell me, truthfully, what would you do if you were me?”

  Yearning to guard him welled in her, along with the nagging reminder of her inner workings. “Exactly what you propose,” she sighed. “I would resist tooth and nail, and woe unto any man who laid a finger on this place. ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here,’ for you are going down.”

  A smile flickered at his mouth and warmed his eyes. “You cannot attack the soldiers.”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past me.”

  “I don’t. And yet you do not wish me to do the same, on a wider scale.”

  “No. I don’t. I want you safe.” How could he not see that?

  He grew somber. Lines creased his forehead. “With winter around the corner and an army marching our way, survival is the aim. Lessening their fiery blow is the only thing we can do. For come, they will.”

  An image from a film she’d seen rose in her mind—Irish women dressed in black keening at a funeral. Everything in her wanted to wail. “I don’t know why I was sent back at such a time as this. I may alter history, and not for the good.”

  “The history you shared with me isn’t especially admirable. It could use some amending. You came at the right hour, when our valley faces its greatest peril.”

  Doubt lurked in her soul. “But what if your guerilla actions only succeed in making Sheridan angrier?”

  Jack leveled a gaze at her steeped in severity. “I don’t think you fully grasp how things are, Evie. I do not lightly choose to ride with Sam. I. Am. Angry.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Confound it! Evie tripped again, and almost fell. Jack cringed for her amid a flash of annoyance.

  Plainly, she was voicing her objection to his plans by refusing his aid and laboring, tearful and exhausted, down the rock-strewn hill. She couldn’t expect him to stand by and see the valley torched—not even to keep him ‘safe’—and do nothing, could she? How would she ever respect him if he hid while it burned?

  He flung his hands up. “Must you be so all-fired mulish?”

  She shot him a reproachful glance.

  “Evie, you can barely see straight. You are going to sprawl on your face.”

  Fighting his way through a pitched battle would be easier than dealing with this emotional female. Certainly, she was more difficult than the guerilla tactics he had proposed to undertake. Stealth came naturally to his nature. Admittedly, part of him anticipated reuniting with Sam and routing pockets of torchers. The two cousins would settle their hash.

  Despite Jack’s efforts to quash his savage side, the warrior in him was still strong. He sighed in frustration. Hadn’t Shakespeare said something about being true to ‘Thine own self?’ Which self? Jack had more than one.

  He matched his stride to Evie’s faltering steps. “Will you please allow me to assist you?”

  “Fine.” Chin arched like a duchess, she accepted his arm.

  “Thank you.” He guided her down the hill, dodging stones, and pondering whether he should speak further with her.

  He glanced at her face, so fetching beneath the fashionable hat. And yet, her demeanor was that of a gathering storm. They couldn’t arrive at the Wenger’s with her in this state, like dry tinder seeking a spark.

  Dash it all. He might as well try to converse with her. She was already sorely vexed.

  “Evie, I am truly sorry to cause you such distress. But I must defend my homeland as best I’m able. The rest is up to God.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t drag God into this madness. You realize both sides claim Divine aid?”

  “Oh, yes. Each soul is welcome to petition the Almighty for his mercy, as do I.”

  “And I.” Challenge sparkled in her unswerving gaze. “What of us, Jack? Are we worth fighting for?”

  “Always. I will—am—battling for us. You are everything to me, sweetheart.” His feelings for her ran too deep to express.

  Her eyes reflected the inner workings of her mind, revealing both her dissent and grudging resolution. “Do what you must. But when I say it’s time to follow me to the future, you had better go. We may only have that moment, and that moment alone. I will not ask this of you until it is the only way out, apart from death. I have no idea when it will happen, only that it will.”

  The depth of her sincerity stuck him, and he detected no flicker of doubt. “You truly believe this, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I know it makes little sense, but neither does my being here.”

  “True. You are as unlikely as a rose in winter.” The thought sobered him to the core, and he slowly nodded. “I will do as you request. It’s a miracle you have come. Another miraculous event may occur.”

  She appeared slightly mollified. “I pray so, even though we may have altered the timeline of events.”

  The grassy meadow scent floated on the breeze as he considered. “We cannot know what might have been, unless an account is meticulously chronicled in a volume you can lay your hands on.”

  “Who can say? My grandmother, maybe, but I can’t consult her now.”

  “No. You must trust your instincts, and what she has taught you.” This eccentric woman he’d heard so much about struck him as wise.

  Evie pursed her lips for a moment. “You have gone from being a Confederate officer, to a Unionist guide, to what, a Rebel guerilla?”

  He shrugged. “I no longer know what I am.”

  A searching look entered her gaze. “Defender of the Shenandoah? Does that suit you?”

  “It’s as good a definition as any,” he agreed, relieved to find her more amenable. “Am I forgiven for my a
ltered purpose? At heart, I am a Virginian. My loyalty lies here, and always has.”

  “As does mine,” she affirmed, with a hitch in her voice. “I never really thought what it must have been like for the people who lived here in these days, my ancestors among them. I didn’t understand what a struggle it was to choose who to fight for, and whether or not to fight at all.”

  “You don’t know what you will do until a thing stares you in the face, as I discovered at Gettysburg. This choice sears me like a flame.”

  A sheen washed her eyes, as if she understood, and he sensed an unvoiced truce between them. “I will return to you as often as possible amid my forays, under the cover of darkness to avoid detection.”

  “You must. I will miss you every second,” she said, blinking madly.

  “As I will you.”

  “No.” She muffled a sniff. “You will be too busy off on your adventures with Sam to give me a thought.”

  “Never for a moment could I forget you.” Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled her to him and wrapped her close, savoring the feel of her in his arms.

  They stood in the open. Anyone might look on. They should hasten back to the house, away from watchful eyes.

  In a moment. He must make her sure of his love. If not for this impending invasion, he would devote every thought to her.

  Gratitude filled him. “Dearest lady. I thank God for his wondrous gift, however you came to be here.”

  Tucking his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face toward him, and gazed into her streaming eyes. “Don’t weep.”

  Her lips quivered with the effort to stop.

  “It will be all right,” he soothed.

  “Unless it’s not.”

  “Shhh…” He bent his head, covering her tremulous mouth with his certain kiss. Half weeping, she clung to him and returned his tenderness.

  Sublime. He didn’t mind her tears, and only wished they were nearer their borrowed bed chamber. He possessed infinite passion, and scant time to show his ardor.

  Just as quickly, he chided himself for the unworthy thought. They were not yet wed, though he felt as if he were her lawful husband. If two joined hearts sufficed, then theirs was a holy union, written on his soul.

  He reluctantly relinquished her lips. “‘These are the times that try men’s souls,’” he quoted from Thomas Paine. “Believe me, I would never leave you, if I weren’t forced to.”

  “I will be lost without you,” she said in a small voice.

  “You will have plenty to do helping the Wengers. And I will be back before you know it.”

  “Hardly. ‘For in a minute there are many days,’” she argued, with a quote from Romeo and Juliet.

  He prayed that wasn’t a prophetic reference.

  “I could go with you.” She brightened and waved at her riding habit. “Not in this, I’d change.”

  “Into what? Trousers?”

  “Grandma G. also brought me a day dress in the night. Less formal than my other gown,” she explained.

  Eying her in bemusement, he pointed out the obvious. “No matter what you wear, it’s far too risky. Women do not accompany guerilla bands. You would become a legend.”

  Knowledge welled in her liquid gaze. “And endanger you.”

  “Endanger us both,” he stressed. “Get us shot, hung, imprisoned—”

  “Very well.” Impatience edged the tremor in her voice. “I’ll stay behind. Tell me, what do women in this era undertake?”

  “With most of the men away, it will fall to them to guard the homestead as best they are able.”

  She firmed her jaw. “I shall do that. The house is our link, our hope. You speak of survival, Jack. This is ours.”

  “Then we are dependent on the forbearance of our hosts, to whom we had better return.” With their emotions at a sweet simmer rather than a rolling boil, he continued with her across the meadow. “Look.” He slowed and nudged her.

  A large hole, about four feet deep, had emerged in the side of a bank near the barn. Paul bent near it, hard at work with a shovel. A mound of earth had accumulated where he’d tossed shovelfuls.

  Jack stopped with her beside the preoccupied man. “What’s this? Are you digging a cave?”

  A panting chuckle escaped the worker, and he straightened. His brown coat and wide straw hat blended with the dirt. He paused, resting on his shovel. “I am hurried to make a hideaway for grumbiere.”

  “Potatoes,” Jack translated for Evie.

  “Ya.” Paul swept grubby fingers at the garden where the older girls dug tubers and heaped them in sacks. He gestured at the opening he had created. “We will secret the potatoes here. Also, cabbages, carrots, and beetroot and cover them over and under with straw.” His lined face creased in a grin. “After we cart away the earth, we will heap cow dung outside the hole to fernhoodle the soldiers.”

  Jack grinned. “No one wants to search in manure. You will fool them.” Normally, root vegetables were stored in wooden bins in the cellar, but they would be found there, and he had no doubt every scrap of food would be pilfered by the descending horde.

  The foresighted farmer smiled. “Mary and the young ones are squirreling away what they may in the cellar wall, and under the wash house. Stew cooks on the stove. We eat soon, ya?”

  “Yes.” Their innovation impressed Jack.

  “Gladly.” Evie turned her head to take in the preparations. “You are really being creative.”

  “We must be.” Paul scrutinized them from beneath bushy gray brows. His focus settled on Jack. “What have you learned?”

  “It is as we feared. An army is en route and will spread out into the valley in the next few days. You are well advised in your preparations. Be sure to hide your money.”

  His listener took the news stoically, as was the way with farmers. “We already buried coins under the chicken house to keep them from Rebels,” he divulged.

  “Ah. Yes.” Everyone preyed on the Mennonites, and they were vigilant.

  Paul prodded Jack’s arm with a mud-streaked finger. “What of you? What will you do?”

  Jack chose his words with care. “Help you haul hay and grain to the woods and drive the cows there to conceal them. You may want to herd livestock farther into the mountains. All your animals are in peril. You must decide what is best to do. After I aid you in these preparations, I will go on into hiding, and follow the movements of the burning parties. I shall carry news to you when I’m able.”

  The older man’s sage gaze rested on him. If he guessed Jack’s ulterior motive, he didn’t say. Finally, he gave a nod. “Have care. If the soldiers catch you, I fear you will not fare well. They do not forgive those who have fought against them, even a man who has redeemed himself as you have done.”

  “I will be cautious,” Jack promised, aware of Evie’s solemn silence. “May my wife remain with you while I come and go?”

  “She is most welcome to stay. Will you lead more men to the mountains?”

  Jack shook his head. “They will have an escort.”

  His grizzled companion surveyed him quizzically. “How?”

  “Don’t you see? Anyone wishing to evade conscription into the Confederate Army should seek out the Union troops that will stretch through the valley and follow them north when they leave. Assuming Sheridan ever does.” Jack envisioned the Union commander settling in indefinitely.

  “He goes,” Evie whispered. “In about two weeks.”

  Good to know. That was a long time to sit on a hot stove, though. A horrific amount of damage could be inflicted in a single day. The slaughter that was Pickett’s Charge unfolded in less than an hour. Jack’s part in the gory fray took minutes, and he would never ever forget a moment.

  Now, what was he undertaking?

  He circled his arm around Evie’s waist and laid a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Come, my friend. Let’s go to the house and sup together while we may. God only knows what lies ahead.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The
people must be left with nothing but their eyes to weep with.” ~General Philip H. Sheridan

  Mounted on Buck, Jack surveyed the latest devastation from the top of a hill south of Harrisonburg outside the hamlet of Mt. Crawford. A pall of smoke blackened the sky and smudged the burning landscape. He blinked irritated eyes and muffled a cough. Forewarning of the coming inferno and witnessing the hellish deed firsthand were very different things, and he had followed the burners for several days.

  Sam reined in beside him on his red mount. The two cousins could see for miles from this vantage point. It was a sight you never got used to.

  “Monster,” Jack hissed. “Sheridan wreaks punishment on women and children, the sick and the old…”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed under the wide-brimmed slouch hat. “I don’t consider myself particularly noble, but this—” He waved a gloved hand at the nightmarish scene. “I would never do.”

  “That’s saying a lot,” Jack replied through tight lips. “There’s plenty you will, and do, carry out.”

  “But I vowed before you and God to leave the Mennonites alone.”

  “Be glad you have, or I would break your arm.”

  “Among other threats,” Sam tossed back.

  The reprobate didn’t seem unduly alarmed by Jack’s coercion. But Sam had confined his actions to raiding Union supply lines, disrupting their communications, repossessing stolen horses, spying on and harassing the burners. These activities, which some might find extreme, paled in comparison to the hard war Sheridan wreaked on the hapless civilians.

  Jack’s thoughts flew to Evie and the Wengers, as they often did. Burning parties, comprised of Union cavalry and infantry, had not yet spread west of Harrisonburg to the farm. But they would. It was only a matter of when. Meanwhile, soldiers spanned out in search of provisions and helped themselves to whatever struck their fancy, and their camps stretched for miles and miles.

  This was no mere raid Sheridan was conducting, but the systematic destruction of the Shenandoah Valley. The assault he waged must have been as carefully planned as a military campaign. He’d unleashed his forces in Augusta County, at the southern end of the valley, and had them working their way north, burning as they went. His men followed the Valley Pike, the main artery running through the countryside, and branched off onto adjoining roads.