Walking Into The Unknown (# 10 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series)

by Ginny Dye

  Carrie walked toward the light provided by Mark’s fire stick. One look told her the man was indeed going into shock, but he was aware enough to be absolutely terrified. She knelt beside the man who looked to be in his late twenties. He was thin, and his shaggy black hair was matted to his head by blood. “We’re not here to hurt you,” she said. “We’re here to help.”

  “Why?” the man mumbled.

  “I’m a doctor,” Carrie answered. “It’s what I do.”

  The man’s eyes widened. The revelation seemed to have revived him. “You’re Mrs. Borden?”

  “I am.” She motioned to Anthony. “Please bring several blankets from the wagon.”

  “Don’t make no sense,” the man muttered.

  “You’re right,” Carrie answered. “It’s obvious you are aware that vigilantes killed my husband. What was done was horribly wrong, but I don’t want to fight hate with hate. If you were my husband, I would want someone to help you. So, I am.” She was examining his wounds as she spoke.

  Anthony appeared with the blankets. “Can I ask what you are doing?”

  “This man is going into shock. The first thing I must do is treat that, then I can treat his wounds. A bullet grazed his head, causing a tremendous amount of blood loss. He’s also been shot in his right shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet went straight through. I have to stop the bleeding from his head to save him.”

  “What can I do?” Anthony asked.

  “Roll him over so he is lying flat on his back. Use two of the blankets to elevate his legs and thighs, and then cover him with the rest of them to warm him. His circulatory system is collapsing.” Carrie spoke her orders calmly and reached for her bag. She pulled out a large bottle, answering Anthony’s question before he asked it. “I suspected we would deal with shock if people were hurt. Polly made a large supply of herbal shock formula while we were waiting for word.” She opened the bottle and poured some into a tin cup. “It’s a mixture of water, honey, apple cider vinegar and cayenne pepper.”

  “Cayenne pepper?”

  “It’s a miracle herb,” Carrie answered. “I’ve never seen anything better for boosting circulation and increasing heart action. It’s one of the strongest natural stimulants I know of. I’m giving him this drink because he needs fluids and he’ll get some cayenne, but I’m also going to give him cayenne tincture once he has finished this so it will work faster.”

  Carrie motioned for Mark and Anthony to lift the man enough for her to pass the liquid through his lips. His eyes were confused, but accepting, as he drank the liquid. “Drink all of it,” Carrie ordered, waiting until he complied. She had seen it work countless times, so she wasn’t going to wait before she treated his head. It was enough that he had swallowed what he needed.

  Normally, Carrie would want to treat his head wound in the clinic where it was much more sterile, but if she didn’t stop his blood loss, he wouldn’t live long enough to get there. She gestured for Mark to move closer with the light. The bullet had grazed a path down the right side of his skull, going almost a quarter of an inch deep. A fraction more to the left, and he would no longer be alive. “You’re lucky,” she said quietly. “This is going to hurt, though,” she warned. “I have to apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding or you are going to die.”

  The man nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving her.

  Carrie took the clean cloth Anthony handed her, tightened her lips, and pressed down on the wound firmly. A groan burst from the man’s mouth, and then he went slack. “It’s best this way,” she said. “His breathing is better, so I know the shock formula is working. It will be better for him if he stays unconscious through the rest of it.”

  “The rest of it?” Anthony asked faintly.

  Carrie glanced over at him with a slight smile. “I have to sew his head wound together and then pack it.”

  Anthony’s eyes widened. “Out here?”

  “No. She glanced up at Mark. “I need the two of you to carry him to the wagon. Keep him as immobile as you can. I will maintain pressure to his head until we get him into it. Then you can hold the cloth to his wound. Hold it firmly, but if you push down too hard it will cut off the circulation. Don’t move the cloth to see if it is working, because you can disturb the clotting process. If the blood is seeping through the cloth, add another one,” she said, holding back a chuckle at the faint look of terror on Mark’s face. “Can you do it?” she asked.

  Mark took a deep breath. “I can do it.”

  Carrie looked at him closely and then nodded when she was satisfied with what she saw. “I’m going to go check on the other two. I’m fairly certain we’ll be taking all of them to the clinic.” She took a deep breath as she considered the ramifications of having three Klansmen in her clinic, but she tightened her lips and headed toward the next patient.

  She found Janie bent over an older man with silver hair. His clothes spoke of wealth, but they had not protected him from the bullet that had penetrated his chest. “Janie?”

  Janie looked up and shook her head. “He’s lost too much blood. He regained consciousness long enough to beg me to tell the Cromwells that he was sorry for being such a fool, and then he passed out again. I can barely feel his pulse now. He won’t make it to the clinic, and even if he did, he won’t live for long.”

  Carrie stepped closer. Both of them had experienced enough death during the war to recognize the signs. One look told her Janie’s assessment was correct.

  “Randal Poston wasn’t always a fool,” Thomas said heavily. “He lost three sons during the war. I had heard it changed him, but I never would have dreamed he would take part in an attack against the plantation.” He looked down sadly. “We were friends once.”

  Carrie sighed, knowing there was nothing she could say to make sense of what couldn’t be made sensible, and then walked over to where Polly and Abby were hunched over a man who appeared to be in his forties. “Polly?”

  “His name is Phillip. He woke up when I poured the shock formula in. He passed out again, but not before he swallowed it. His breathing is better. I believe we can save him.”

  “Wounds?”

  “A bullet through his leg that severed a main artery. He was bleeding out but had enough presence of mind to tourniquet his leg.”

  Carrie calculated the time since he had been shot. “The tourniquet has been on a long time, and his shock would have hurt circulation even more.”

  Polly met her eyes with understanding. “I doubt you’ll be able to save his leg, but I believe you can save his life.”

  Carrie waved Jeremy and Matthew forward. “Please carry Phillip to the wagon and put him in with the other man.” She watched as they picked him up carefully, and then turned back to Janie. They couldn’t leave a man out to die alone in the cold, but she wasn’t willing to put anyone else at risk.

  Janie looked up as she approached. “He’s gone,” she said softly.

  Carrie wanted to scream at all the death caused by irrational hatred, but all she did was clench her fists. “Let’s get out of here,” she said shortly.

  “I’ll send someone for the corpses in the morning,” Thomas said.

  Carrie refused to think of what could happen to the defenseless bodies during the rest of the night. She had to put her focus on the men she could possibly save.

  *****

  Moses was relieved when he arrived back at the gate without any more sounds of violence. After he had directed all his men to accompany the wagons, he changed his mind about needing guards for the plantation. He had ridden through the woods to the schoolhouse. Alvin reported no threat there, so Moses reallocated the men to make sure all the wagons would still reach home safely. Simon and a small group of others were behind him now and had promised to protect the entry to the plantation until daylight.

  “Everything okay here?” he called.

  “Three men are dead,” Thomas answered from his driver’s seat on the wagon. “We’re taking these two to the clinic. Carrie believes she ca
n save them.”

  “If we get there quickly,” Carrie interjected. “Is there more trouble, Moses?”

  “No,” Moses assured her. “I came to check on all of you. I have a group of Simon’s men taking their positions in the woods. They’ll keep an eye on things until the morning.”

  “Good,” Carrie answered crisply. “We need to be going.”

  With his hand raised to wave them forward, Moses froze. “Wait,” he hissed. There was the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance. “Someone is coming. Get down in the wagon,” he ordered. He waited until the four women ducked down and then moved into the darkness of the tree line, relieved when the rest of the men followed him. They couldn’t move the wagon without being heard, but there should be enough of them to stop anyone from getting close. He knew Simon was watching and would take action if needed.

  Fatigue pressed down on him. He was tired physically, but it was the fatigue in his soul sucking him dry. All he could do was wait and see what this newest threat would be. His concern turned to puzzlement when he realized whoever was coming was not making an effort to be quiet. He grew even more puzzled when he recognized soft singing in the darkness. At least one of the people coming toward them was a woman.

  Moses’ gut told him whoever was coming was not part of a vigilante band. Regardless of what had transpired that night, this was a public road. His men had been told not to act without a direct signal from him, but he was not willing to take a chance. There had been far too much bloodshed for one night. His decision made, he urged Champ forward to the middle of the road. “Who goes there?” he called.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all! Moses, what you be doing out here in the middle of the night?”

  Moses stared into the night almost certain he recognized the voice, but was not willing to let his guard down. “Who goes there?” he called again sternly.

  “It is a bad night when your old friend doesn’t even recognize your voice,” came a lamented call as the approaching riders rounded the curve a few yards ahead from where Moses waited. “Have you really forgotten me? I guess saving your life didn’t put me in your memory bank after all.”

  Moses frowned. “Franklin?”

  “In the flesh,” came the cheerful voice. “I know this isn’t really a good time to come calling, but we have discovered traveling at night is preferable to daylight hours.”

  Moses grinned, thrilled to know there was at least one good thing that was going to come from the long night. “Any time is a good time for you to come calling,” he replied as the two riders drew closer. “I’ve got a ton of questions, but we’re not going to talk about them out here.”

  Franklin finally registered the tension in his voice. “Has there been trouble?”

  “If you count twenty Klansmen attacking this plantation, and the fact that three of them are lying dead in the woods right now, then I suppose we have had trouble,” Moses answered. “Now is not the time to get into it. They could be coming back. I’ve got men watching from the woods, but we’re headed over to the medical clinic to see if we can save two wounded men we have in the wagon.” Now was not the time to reveal the wounded were Klansmen. “Come with us, and then we’ll talk later.”

  “We must go,” Carrie said urgently. “These men don’t have long.”

  Nothing more was said until they reached the clinic. Moses wondered who the woman was with Franklin, but there would be time to find out.

  *****

  Both wounded men had been carried into the clinic before Moses finally turned to Franklin. “Talk,” he commanded. He was too tired to say more than that.

  Franklin was too busy staring at the door to the clinic. “Those were white men.”

  “You’ve always been observant,” Moses said drily, and then sighed. “They are two of the Klansmen. Fifteen of the twenty were shot during the raid. We were ready for them. Ten of them managed to stay on their horses and disappear. Out of the remaining five, three of them are dead, and those two are here.”

  “Klansmen? Are you crazy?” Franklin’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

  “Possibly,” Moses admitted. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain it all later, but for now I want to know what in the world you are doing here. And, who the lovely woman with you is.” He had not seen any Indians in his life, but he knew one was sitting in the clinic, and he knew she was not far from giving birth.

  Franklin nodded. “It’s a long story, too.”

  “We have time,” Moses replied. “We’re not going anywhere until Carrie, Janie and Polly are ready to leave.”

  Abby opened the door and walked in, her eyes settling on the young woman with Franklin. She smiled and moved closer. “You are exhausted. There is a bed in the other room. Come in so you can lie down.”

  The young woman, whose shiny black hair was pulled into a long braid, looked at Franklin with wide eyes.

  “You’re with friends,” he reassured her. “Anyone who is a friend of Moses is a friend of mine,” he said. “Even if they’re white,” he added.

  Moses chuckled. “That’s part of the long story.”

  Abby held out her hand. “Come with me, dear.”

  The young woman ducked her head shyly and then looked up. “My name is Chooli,” she said.

  “Chooli,” Abby repeated. “It’s a beautiful name. You speak English.”

  Chooli smiled slightly. “Not well, but I am learning every day.”

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” Abby replied. “But for now you need to rest.” Her eyes landed on Chooli’s stomach. “When is your baby coming?”

  “Soon,” Chooli answered. “Very soon.” Her eyes revealed how exhausted she was.

  Abby nodded. “Come with me.” She took Chooli’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

  Chooli swayed slightly from fatigue and then followed Abby into the room.

  Moses watched until the door was closed and then turned back to his friend. “I’d say it’s time to start on that long story.” Franklin had served under him during the war, had saved his life during one of the endless battles by pulling him out of the way just before a cannonball shattered the wooden wall he was hiding behind, and then disappeared as soon as the war ended. The three of them—Moses, Simon and Franklin—had spent many long nights in intense conversation. A deep friendship had developed.

  Franklin continued to watch the door. “Chooli will be all right?”

  “She could not be in better hands,” he said. “You can trust me on that. Do you remember me telling you about the woman Rose and I lived with when we first escaped the plantation?”

  “That’s her?”

  “That’s her. Her name is Abby Cromwell. She will take good care of Chooli.”

  Franklin turned back to him with a long, searching gaze before he evidently decided to believe him. He sank back against his chair and started talking. “When the war ended, I was at loose ends. I looked for jobs for a while, but not many people are looking for a black man for a real job, and I was right tired of working tobacco.”

  Moses remembered now that Franklin had worked on a large tobacco plantation in eastern Virginia before he escaped to serve in the Union Army. They had spent many hours discussing farming techniques.

  “Anyway,” Franklin continued, “I found out about the Buffalo Soldiers and decided to go back to doing what I knew.”

  “I read something about them. They are black units that were formed as cavalry out in the West.”

  “That’s right. I picked up the horseback riding pretty quick and then went back to fighting.” A look of disgust filled his face.

  “Fighting who? The war is over.”

  “One war is,” Franklin agreed. “There’s another one going on. This one is against the Indians. Doesn’t seem to matter what tribe it is—the white people want them gone.”

  “Chooli?” Moses asked. There were dozens of questions swarming in his mind, but he wanted the most important ones answered first.

  “She is m
y wife,” Franklin said proudly. “Chooli is Navajo. I met her when her family was incarcerated at Bosque Redondo, the Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

  “Incarcerated?” Moses knew absolutely nothing about Indians.

  “Yes,” Franklin replied. “There is no other word for it. Her people were attacked and starved into submission. There are thousands of them starving on the very reservation that was supposed to offer them refuge. The rest are slaves throughout New Mexico.” His voice was rough with anger. “Chooli started out as my housekeeper. I fell in love with her. When I realized she was pregnant, there was no way I was going to let her stay on the reservation. So I left.”

  Moses watched him carefully. “You mustered out of the Buffalo Soldiers?”

  Franklin met his eyes steadily. “Not exactly.” He hesitated. “I just disappeared with Chooli one night.”

  Moses had opened his mouth to respond when a sudden scream ripped through the clinic.

  Chapter Five

  Carrie was putting the last stitch into the younger vigilante’s head when she heard the scream. She exchanged a startled look with Janie and Polly. “What is it now?”

  “Go ahead,” Janie said. “Polly and I can finish up here. Call us if you need help.”

  Carrie tore off her blood-speckled apron, quickly washed her hands, and rushed from the room.

  Abby was waiting for her outside the door. “It’s Chooli,” she said urgently. “She’s the wife of Moses’ army friend. It seems she has gone into labor.”

  Carrie took a deep breath. She was beyond exhausted but that didn’t matter. She had worked endless shifts at Chimborazo during the war; she would push through this long night that surely must be on the verge of surrendering to dawn. The memory of the morning’s dream flashed through her mind. Was it really less than twenty-four hours since she had woken with Abby stroking her hair? It seemed like days. The question was followed by a quick revelation that she could not have helped any of these people if Robert had not sent her back. She couldn’t yet say she was glad he had not let her join him, but she was grateful she’d been able to make a difference. That would have to be enough.