Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  It was long after midnight when they finally reached the far side of the field that edged along the woods. Union medics merged with Rebel medics, all thought of fighting gone. They were all on one mission - to save as many as possible. Moses had stopped more than once to offer water to men waiting for their ride. It made no difference to him what side they were on. The uniforms had stopped registering in his mind. The men were no longer Union or Confederate. They were simply human beings suffering beyond all endurance.

  Moses had become aware of another phenomenon playing itself out on the field. Rebel soldiers picked their way through the fields. More often than not, he saw them stoop to offer water to a wounded man. It made no difference whether they were dressed in blue or gray. Then they would turn away and move on - intent on their search for booty. Moses watched as Union soldiers were relieved of their boots, coats, and even their pants. Rifles were picked up and caressed like new babies. No one made a move to stop the plundering.

  “What’s this?” Burl called.

  Moses turned to see what he was looking at. The pile of logs caught his attention just as it had Burl’s. Curious, he picked his way over.

  Burl reached it first. “Poor devil,” he muttered. “I guess his men were trying to save him. Maybe he died a little easier at least.” He shook his head and moved in the direction of another man who was calling him.

  Moses stood and stared down at the still form. His heart pounded in his head. Even in death, he recognized Robert Borden, the man Carrie loved - the son of the man who had killed his daddy. Turning sharply to hide his tears, he moved toward Burl who was calling him. “Coming,” he muttered.

  It was almost two in the morning before Burl and Moses were replaced with a new crew.

  “Get some sleep,” the officer ordered. “You’ll be back at it in four hours.”

  “Let’s go, Moses,” Burl said wearily. “You’ll feel like you haven’t slept at all when they call us.”

  Moses shook his head. “You go ahead. I’m going to have one more cup of coffee.” He watched Burl trudge away then downed a cup of coffee. Taking a deep breath, he stood and strode back onto the battlefield. He knew no one would notice him in all the confusion. Quickly he picked his way around the sea of dead bodies, resolutely ignoring the feeble cries that still filtered through the night. The skies had once more trapped the moon as a light drizzle began to fall.

  Robert lay where Moses had first seen him. The barrier built around him seemed a mockery. Holding his lantern high, he inspected it closely. His expression changed to one of admiration. Close to a hundred bullets were either embedded in the soft wood or were scattered on the ground around the makeshift shelter. Robert’s men had at least kept him from being shredded by musketry fire.

  Moses had decided what he was going to do. He could not bear the thought of Robert Borden being tossed into a mass grave of Rebel soldiers. He knew from past experience that not all the dead, especially now that the Confederates had left the South, would receive a proper burial. Taking Robert behind the lines of the Rebel camp would at least assure him a burial. That was the least he could do for Carrie. Someday he would be able to tell her what had happened to the man she loved.

  A quiet whinny caused Moses to look sharply into the woods. A horse would be very helpful about now. He jumped up and began to edge toward the shadowy figure in the woods. The horse stood quietly, allowing him to grab the broken bridle reins and lead him forward. It wasn’t until he was once again in the circle of lantern light that he got a good look at the towering animal. “Granite!” he exclaimed. It just wasn’t possible. Slowly he walked around the thin, gray thoroughbred. The horse stood quietly, his ears pricked; then he lowered his nose to sniff at the still form on the ground.

  Moses shook his head in disbelief. It was Granite! There were still horses roaming around, not yet collected after the battle. Granite had returned to where he had lost his master. There was no telling how long he had been standing in the trees. “You’re going to make things a lot easier, big guy,” Moses said softly. He had been wondering whether he had enough strength to carry Robert behind the lines. Now all he had to do was drape him across the saddle and let Granite do the work.

  Moses knew he had a bigger problem. He did not relish the idea of losing himself behind Confederate lines again, but it was a risk he had decided he would have to take. A sudden idea sprang into his mind. A smile split his face for the first time that day as he patted Granite on his thin neck. “You might have just saved my hide,” he murmured. He would tie Robert securely to the saddle, take him just short of the lines, and then let Granite carry him on in. It would keep Moses out of the Rebel camp and assure Robert would receive a proper burial. Moses nodded. It was a good plan.

  Stooping, Moses gathered Robert carefully in his arms and lifted him. Suddenly he noticed something. Robert had not taken on the bloated, blackened condition of the rest of the corpses he had passed that night. He must not have been dead too long. Moses grimaced as he felt Robert’s bloodstained clothes soak through his own.

  “All right, Granite... stand easy, big guy. I’ve got a job for you.” Moses moved next to the horse and shifted Robert’s weight. He would try to throw him across the saddle as gently as possible, but it wasn’t going to be easy. He counted quietly to himself and heaved on the count of three, giving a grunt of satisfaction as Robert’s shoulders settled onto the top of the saddle, his arms flung across the sides. His head flopped awkwardly, banging against the saddle horn. “Sorry,” Moses grunted.

  His right hand held Granite’s bridle as he eased around the front to grab Robert’s arms and pull him the rest of the way over. Suddenly he froze. Had there been movement in Robert’s hand as he grabbed it? Horrified, he stared at the dead man. Finally he shook his head. The long night was getting to him. He was imagining things. He moved away and searched until he found an abandoned haversack. Opening it quickly, he discovered two short lengths of rope. He grabbed them and dashed back to Granite’s side. This whole escapade was taking too long. If he wasn’t back at camp when someone came to waken Burl and him, he would be in big trouble. He understood his position as a black man. As long as he did whatever they wanted him to - and did it well - he would be okay. There was no room for acting on his own. Captain Jones was different; he seemed to trust Moses, but he hadn’t seen the captain all day and had no idea where to find him. He had to get back.

  Moses grabbed Robert’s hands and quickly tied them to one of the stirrups. There was no movement. He knew he had been imagining things. Granite continued to stand quietly, seeming to understand what he was doing. Moses circled him and pulled Robert’s feet together. Once they were tied to the other stirrup, he would be secure in the saddle. At least secure enough to be carried back to his camp.

  The job finished, Moses moved back to Granite’s head. “All right, boy. I’ve got a job for you to do. But you aren’t doing it for me. You’re doing it for Carrie.” Granite looked at him with eyes that said he understood.

  “Aahh.”

  Moses sprang back from Granite and stared at Robert. Then he looked around frantically, trying to identify where the noise had come from.

  “Aahh.....”

  Moses eyes flew open wide with disbelief. He pressed his ear close to Robert’s head.

  “Aahh....”

  “I’ll be!” Moses exclaimed. “You’re alive!”

  One of Robert’s hands fluttered the tiniest bit, like a leaf in a spring breeze, then lay still. Suddenly his mouth opened again. “Carrie...,” he whispered faintly. Then his head lolled back against the saddle.

  Moses stared at him. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t just take Robert to the lines and let Granite go. He stood still, gazing at Robert’s wounded body and trying to think. His father killed your daddy. His eyes hardened as the voice in his head reminded him of the truth he was trying to push down. Why should he do anything for this man? Carrie gave you your freedom, and this is the man she loves. His face
twisted as he faced the other truth.

  The night spun around him as confusion battered his soul, the two voices trying to tear him apart. Finally Moses straightened, his eyes clear. He would do the right thing. It had nothing to do with what he owed anyone. It had everything to do with love. He loved Carrie Cromwell. It was as simple as that.

  He would take Robert into the Confederate camps himself. Then he would try to devise a way to get out. He pushed away the additional problem of his being discovered missing from camp. He would face that when it came. The way was clear before him. Confusion had fled from his heart once he had made his decision. It would be up to the doctors once he got Robert back.

  Moses grabbed Granite’s reins and began to lead him through the woods. He picked his way carefully, pulling back limbs that would have hit Robert, giving trees a wide berth. Just then an idea sprang into his mind. He shook his head and pushed on. The idea persisted. Moses heaved a sigh of disgust and stopped.

  “It’s a crazy idea,” he muttered up to the sky.

  They’re good people.

  “Sure, they’re good people. That doesn’t mean they want this man dumped on them.” Moses didn’t care that he was talking out loud. The very idea was so ludicrous he was beginning to think he was crazy just to be thinking it.

  Take Robert to them.

  “Look, God,” Moses said angrily. He stopped himself, sure that the long day had gotten to him if he thought he was talking to God. A soft breeze sprang up, blowing gently across his hot face. Once again he was gripped with confusion and turmoil. Moses groaned and buried his face in Granite’s mane. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Do the right thing.

  Moses stood still for several long minutes then turned and began to head due east. It was crazy. It could mean Robert would die for sure. His heart was telling him God was leading him. His head was telling him he had taken leave of his senses. He knew only one thing for sure. The confusion had stopped swirling in his head as soon as he changed direction.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Night was just beginning to give way to dawn when Hobbs, carrying a stretcher, led a medic through the woods. “Thank you for helping me,” he said, his face taut with worry and fear.

  “You can’t possibly think this man is still alive,” Manson protested, his florid face lined with fatigue. He shook his head. “I’m plum crazy to be doing this. I could be catching a few hours of sleep.” He stopped, his look saying he was having second thoughts.

  Hobbs grabbed Manson’s arm and pulled him forward. “The lieutenant might be alive,” he insisted. “Come on, Manson. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Don’t you remember when I pulled your little sister out of the river?”

  “Course I remember,” Manson growled. “You won’t let me forget! It’s the only reason I’m out here on this wild goose chase.”

  “Lieutenant Borden saved my life,” Hobbs reminded him for what must have been the tenth time. He still couldn’t believe he had talked Manson into coming out here with him. He had scoured the lines all night, searching for his commander. He knew Robert could be lying anywhere, but one of his final conversations with a medic had given him hope. “That fellow I talked to remembered seeing the barricade of logs we built. Said there was still a man lying there.”

  “If he was alive, they would have gotten him,” Manson protested.

  “You said yourself they have orders to bring back the ones with the best chance first,” Hobbs reminded him. “That don’t mean he’s dead for sure.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Manson growled, his face sympathetic. “I’m coming with you, aren’t I? How much farther?”

  “We’re almost there,” Hobbs responded. He gave a cheer when they broke through the woods, the sun creating more of a glow on the eastern horizon. The mountains stood like silent ramparts over the grisly scene. Hobbs stopped and stared, his face turning white. It had been horrible enough to see yesterday when the battle was raging. Now the cornfield had become something even his worst nightmares could never have envisioned. His stomach heaved, and his mouth turned to cotton.

  Manson put his hand on Hobbs’ shoulder. “I told you it was bad.”

  Hobbs shook his head and turned away. “Let’s find the lieutenant,” he growled. He had taken no more than a few steps before his insides went into full rebellion. He bent double as dry heaves wracked his body. The horrors of the last twenty-four hours exploded from his body. When he finally stood, it was only Manson’s steadying hand that kept him from falling. He took several deep breaths. “Sorry.” He took another deep breath and shook his head to clear it. “The lieutenant should be this direction.”

  They had gone several hundred feet before Hobbs could make out the crude barricade in the distance. “There it is!” He picked his way faster over the dead bodies. Moments later he was standing stock-still, staring at the empty space behind the logs.

  “He’s gone,” he said in disbelief.

  “Great. We came all the way out here for nothing,” Manson said in disgust. “One of the boys probably got him.”

  “He’s gone,” Hobbs said again, his mind trying to convince his eyes they were playing tricks on him. “How could he be gone?” Disappointment gripped his heart.

  “Good lord, man!” Manson exclaimed. “Be glad he’s off the field. He’s probably lying on the ground somewhere being tended to right now.”

  Hobbs looked up quickly, his disappointment giving way to a desperate hope. “I’ll find him in one of the camps.”

  Hobbs spent all the next day scouring the buildings and tents holding the Confederate wounded. He had been forced to stare into the face of thousands of horribly wounded men, but he could not find his lieutenant. Everyone was kind, but no one could tell him anything.

  It was almost midnight before he finally retreated to the rest of his unit. Hopelessness settled on him like a heavy mountain fog in the early spring. It clung to him, pulling from him what little energy he had left. He walked slowly up to the nearest fire and sank down, staring into its curling flames.

  “Didn’t find him, huh?” Walker asked sympathetically.

  Hobbs shook his head. “No,” he said dully. He looked up, from somewhere a faint hope reaching through the fog. “I ain’t done looking, though. There’s still them buildings in town. I heard the people around here have taken in a lot of our men. Robert could be there.”

  “That could be,” Walker agreed.

  Hobbs stuffed down his anger at the look of skepticism on his comrade’s face. What did it matter what he thought? It was his life the lieutenant had saved. It was he who had made the promise to let Carrie know what happened to her lieutenant.. Hobbs stood, walked to his haversack, and reached for his grimy, worn-out blanket. He would welcome the little comfort it would give him tonight. In the morning, he would continue to look.

  Someone was shaking Hobbs’s shoulder.

  “Get up man! We’re getting out of here.”

  Hobbs struggled to focus his eyes. It was still dark, the position of the moon telling him he could not have been asleep for more than a couple hours. “Huh?”

  “Lee has called for a retreat. We’re getting the heck out of here,” Walker insisted. “And not a minute too soon, I would say. I heard somebody say we lost more than ten thousand of our men yesterday.”

  Fully awake now, Hobbs stared at him. “Ten thousand?” he repeated in a stunned voice.

  “Yeah! Now get moving. Some of the boys have already headed out.”

  Hobbs shook his head slowly. “I can’t go right now.”

  Walker stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “What do you mean you can’t go right now? We’ve got our orders!”

  “I got to find the lieutenant.”

  Walker cursed and grabbed Hobbs by his shirt collar. “Have you gone completely loony, man? Lieutenant Borden is dead! You hear me? He’s dead. You got to face it.” He shook him then pushed him back. “We’re soldiers, Hobbs. We follow orders. Lee has given th
e order to retreat. We retreat!”

  Hobbs stared at his friend and knew the anger suffusing his face was caused more by fear than anything. Both of them knew the Confederate army was not strong enough to withstand another onslaught of Federal forces. They had to git, while the gitting was good. “Yeah, Walker. I hear you,” he said slowly. “We have to retreat.”

  Walker settled back on his heels with relief flooding his face. “That’s more like it,” he growled. He stood and moved away. “Our new commander, Colonel Jordan, said we pull out in fifteen minutes.”

  Hobbs nodded and watched him walk away. He waited until the darkness had swallowed Walker before he stood, stuffed his blanket in his haversack then turned to disappear into the woods behind him. He still had a job to do.

  As Hobbs trudged through the woods and moved toward the houses a couple of miles away, he realized he was acting completely out of character. He had not once in his army career disobeyed a direct order. And he knew Walker was probably right - Lieutenant Borden was dead. Even as the thought fought its way into his mind, Hobbs rejected it. Something in him told him the lieutenant was still alive. All he knew was he could not face Carrie Cromwell until he had tried everything to discover her missing fiancé.

  Hobbs gazed around as he pushed on toward the houses sheltering wounded Rebels and ignored the flow of Confederate soldiers in full retreat. He shoved aside the annoying voice whispering he should turn around and go with them. He shuddered at the thought of being caught behind enemy lines.

  It was still pitch dark when Hobbs finally found the houses he was looking for. Wounded men were being cared for here by local civilians who had risen up to meet the need. He watched quietly for several minutes. Lights bobbed through the house and across the grassy area. He could vaguely discern the outlines of men lying on the grass, forming long rows that disappeared into the darkness. Every few seconds a cry or moan floated toward him on the breeze. His heart ached for their agony. He had been there. He knew the pain - understood the fear.