Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1

by Patricia Hagan

  Thundering horses suddenly came charging across the bodies as though they were only large clumps of earth to be trod upon. Yankees! They saw her and came toward her. “What in thunderation is a woman doing out here in the middle of this bloody mess?” the soldier in front cried.

  It was no use. There was no escape now. She decided to tell the truth about how she came to be there. “Captain Coltrane brought me here night before last to help with the medical staff. I’m out here tending to the wounded.”

  The men exchanged confused glances. “I don’t understand,” the soldier who had spoken scratched at his beard. “You’re a long way from the medical tents, and the only wounded soldiers out here are Rebs, and you sure don’t want to waste your time on them. Come along now. We’ll take you back with us…”

  He held out his hand to pull her up on the saddle behind him, but she did not move away from Andy.

  “Come along now. I know war is hell, especially for pretty young ladies like you, but you have to put your loyalties in their proper place, and this is not the place for any kind of pity, believe me. They say we’ve lost over 10,000 men, so there’s no time to cry over these dead bastards that did the killing!”

  “I’m not leaving this boy…and he’s just that—a boy, hardly past fourteen years of age.” Kitty got to her feet slowly, the handgun she’d picked up at Andy’s side carefully concealed in the folds of her skirt. “I’m taking him back to the field hospital. He’s bleeding from a sword wound. He’ll die without medical attention.”

  “You ain’t taking that goddamn Reb anywhere…”

  Whipping the gun out, she pointed it at the soldier who was doing the talking. “If your men shoot me, I’ll get at least one shot into you before I die.” Her voice was braver than she had dared hoped it would be. “I’m not about to leave this boy.”

  “You crazy?” The soldier’s eyes bulged incredulously. “He’s a Confederate! He was shootin’ at our men, probably killed one or two. Now you put that gun away before someone gets hurt.”

  “Someone is hurt, and I intend to help him. Now are you going to help me take him back to the field hospital or do I have to carry him on my back?”

  He got down off his horse and signaled to another soldier to help him with the wounded boy. Shaking his head, he grumbled, “That’s the reason the battlefield is no place for a dang woman. They ain’t got no sense.”

  Kitty could have told them just what Andy Shaw meant to her—but she didn’t. The emotions churning within were hers and hers alone, rot meant to be shared with outsiders. She’d known him all his life, tended to him when he was sick and Doc Musgrave wasn’t around. In a way he was a symbol of the past that was very dear and precious, for she knew that life would never again be like the memories she held so fondly in her heart. There was no going back. Perhaps she would never see her home again, or her mother and father—or Nathan. She felt a stab of pain. Andy might have some news of Nathan—know something about his whereabouts, if he was still alive, if he had come back for her, then gone in search to find out why she had disappeared. Maybe he even knew something about Poppa. Had he come home? Had he been killed? Was he still in the war, fighting with the Yankees? Yes, Andy just might have some answers.

  The soldiers lifted him onto a horse after Kitty made a compress from her torn skirt to press against the wound to help stifle the flow of blood. “You’ll be all right, Andy.” She smoothed back the unruly red hair, kissing his forehead. But he did not respond, mercifully unconscious and oblivious to the pain of his injury.

  One of the soldiers held out his hand for her to ride behind him. She started forward—then stopped—heart constricting as a lump of terror knotted tightly in her throat.

  There, in a puddle of blood and mud, in the spot where Andy had been lying—the flag lay, as though crumpled and defeated, never to fly so gloriously again.

  The eagle was splattered with blood—the eagle of the flag of the Wayne Volunteers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kitty directed the soldiers to the hospital tent where she had been working. “It ain’t gonna do you no good, lady,” the one in charge told her as he helped lift the still unconscious body of Andy Shaw from the saddle. “With so many of our men wounded, they ain’t gonna let you waste time on no Rebel soldier.”

  Just then the doctor who’d just lost his son stepped out of the tent and looked at them quizzically. “Doctor, this crazy woman insisted we bring in a wounded Reb,” the soldier blared out indignantly. “Tell her there’s no time to waste on a Rebel. She wouldn’t listen to us. Pulled a gun, she did.”

  The doctor was tall and thin, with gaunt, hollow eyes beneath a thatch of thick, graying hair. His mustache and beard was matted with blood from the spatterings of the night before caused by so many amputations. He looked from Andy to Kitty, then spoke softly. “I was too busy to introduce myself properly last night, young lady. I’m Dr. Harold Davis, formerly a proud member of Company B, Fourth Regiment, Tennessee. Bring this boy in, and we’ll see what can be done for him.”

  One of the soldiers in the back whispered, “That’s that Rebel doctor they captured and put to work. What can you expect?”

  Another said, “Yeah, what can you expect? They’ll let our men suffer and die to save this damn Secesh.”

  Dr. Davis carried Andy in his arms to a wooden board placed on top of barrels that served as a table. It was slick with blood. Kitty silently reached for a bucket of water as she’d seen the helpers do during the endless hours of death and suffering, and she sloshed the water across the board, sending a murky liquid to the dirt floor to mingle with the stagnating, putrid puddles that had already formed there.

  The doctor removed the compress, then used a wet cloth to sponge away the blood. Probing with his fingers as Andy moaned in his sleep, he said, “We’re in luck. I don’t think any vital organs have been severed or punctured. We’ll suture and soak it in turpentine and keep a close watch. With God’s blessing, he’ll pull through.”

  Kitty sighed with relief, then set about to help with the suturing. When all had been done that could be, she supervised the moving of Andy to a spot outside the tent where she could check on him when there was time. As she tucked a dirty blanket under his chin, his eyes opened, blinked, and he tried to smile up at her.

  “It is you. I thought I had died and gone to heaven…but it is you…”

  “I’m going to be nearby, Andy. You rest. You’ll need your strength, but you’re going to be fine.”

  He moved his lips to speak again, but the effort was too great, and he slipped away once more.

  Straightening, she looked about her for the first time. As far as she could see in either direction, soldiers lay on the ground. Some in piles. These were the dead, to be buried as quickly as possible, because already the air was thick with the stench and the swarming of flies. Overhead, the vultures circled, waiting.

  Some of them were hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked, shot in every conceivable part of the body; some shrieking, calling upon their mothers; some laughing the hard, cackling laugh of one who suffers without hope. There were curses tossed to the winds, men writhing and groaning as other victims tossed against them in their agony. Nearby, one lay with his head blown open, and she felt sick as she saw his brain thumping in the cavity.

  Dr. Davis called to her. “Kitty, I need you.”

  She turned and hurried toward the tent. It did not matter any longer that it was Yankee blood on her hands. Perhaps it never had, not when a human life was at stake. For somewhere, perhaps Poppa, or Nathan, were suffering and needing help, and she prayed that it would not matter to some doctor or nurse whether they were Yankee or Rebel.

  Through the night they worked, and as often as possible, Kitty stepped outside to check on Andy. Once, she found him awake, and she brought hot coffee and hardtack and coaxed him to eat. By sunrise, her bones and muscles screaming with weariness, Dr. Davis told her to take a break or she would surely pass out. She went to a nearby campfire whe
re some bacon stew was simmering, and, filling a cup, took it to Andy and woke him up to spoon down as much as he could swallow.

  And then she slept, curled up beside him…a link with the life she had left behind.

  “Miss Kitty…”

  Her eyes flashed open. Above, sunlight filtered down through a fig tree, and she blinked and fought to remember where she was. And why did she feel as though there had been no sleep, no rest? Dear God, never had there been such a feeling of weariness.

  “Miss Kitty…”

  Turning her stiffened neck, it all came flooding back as Andy grinned, face bright with freckles. “Miss Kitty, are you all right? I feel so much better this morning, thanks to you.”

  Sitting up, she reached out to touch his forehead. It was warm, but there did not appear to be a fever. Checking his bandage, she was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped once the wound was sutured. Dr. Davis had been right. With the aid of turpentine to fight gangrene and fever, Andy had a good chance of surviving his wound. And he seemed so strong this morning. She checked herself as she looked upward. Already the sun was starting to sink in the west. Had she slept the whole day away?

  “I’m going to get you something to eat.” She started to get up but he said someone had been by with sorghum and hardtack, and he had eaten a bit.

  “I can’t get over seeing you way up here. How did you ever get to Tennessee, Kitty?” He looked so young lying there, but the sharp wisdom of the atrocities of war had given his youthful voice a tone of maturity, she realized.

  “It isn’t a pretty story, Andy. When Doc Musgrave and I left Goldsboro last August, it was a trap set by Luke Tate. Doc was killed.”

  He winced painfully. “I’m sorry…” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes for a moment, Doc had brought him into the world.

  “I was held a prisoner by Luke Tate until the Yankees came and killed everyone but Luke. He got away. They kept me with them because I know something about doctoring. I was running away myself when I found you, but I’m so glad I did.

  “But tell me…” she said quickly, unable to contain herself any longer. “How is Momma? And did Poppa ever come back?”

  He turned his eyes away, as though he hated to have to tell her he had no good news, “Your momma, well, she drinks a lot. I heard Ma talking about it with Preacher Brown one afternoon. Jacob’s still there. He says he promised your pa he’d look after her, so he stays on and does what he can. Your pa, he never came back. Nobody’s heard from him. ‘Course I haven’t been home since Christmas. I just couldn’t take it anymore—all the news coming back about the fighting and all. I felt like I had to do my part, so Nathan, he came home for Christmas, and he said I could come back with him, and I did. Ma cried a lot, but she knew I had to do my part…”

  Kitty was no longer listening to what the boy was saying. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she felt herself swaying. Nathan. Oh, dear God, how she longed for the comfort and warmth of his arms. “Andy, was Nathan in the battle yesterday?”

  Again there was that look in the boy’s eyes, as though he did not want to answer her questions. “Nathan is a Major now. The Wayne Volunteers were assigned to the North Carolina State troops, you see, under Colonel George Anderson. They say he’s a West Point graduate. Well…” He paused to take a breath, and Kitty knew she should not let him use his strength to talk so much, but she had to know if Nathan was all right. She had to have news of him.

  “Colonel Anderson put the men through a lot of drill work and training, and he promoted Nathan to Major.”

  She nodded. “That’s wonderful, but Andy, tell me, was he in the fighting yesterday? I’ll have to go back and look…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She did not want to put in words that she would have to go back and search the dead for Nathan’s body. “No ma’am,” he said finally. “Major Collins don’t ride with his men anymore. He stays behind the line with his maps and charts and plans the artillery fire. Somebody has to do it, you know,” he added defensively.

  But Kitty did not notice. She was too relieved to hear that Nathan would have to be all right. But the fighting had spread for so many miles—and so many had been killed. Would she ever be able to find him?

  “What’s going to happen now? I mean, when I get well, will they send me to a prison? And what about you, Kitty? Are they going to keep you here and make you look after the Yankees? Nobody thought the war would last this long. I sure didn’t. I thought I’d be home in time for spring planting.”

  Suddenly, she did not want to talk anymore, at least not about the future. They could not be sure that any of them had a future. Not now. Getting to her feet, she smoothed her torn, blood-stained dress. “Andy, I’ve got to go back and help Dr. Davis, but I’ll keep a watch on you. The man who brought me here, Captain Coltrane…if he’s still alive, he’ll be back, and I’ll talk to him and find out what’s to become of you. If they send you to a prison, at least you’ll be safe until the war is over.”

  “I’d rather fight,” he said fiercely. “I’d rather fight and die on the battlefield than rot in some damned Yankee prison…”

  “Hush. Your ma wouldn’t like for you to curse so. I know you’re brave, Andy, and I’m proud of you, but war is no place for a boy as young as you…”

  “I’ve killed Yankees. Shot three yesterday, I did. I ain’t afraid to fight, and I ain’t afraid to die.”

  “I know. Now you rest.”

  She went back inside the tent. Dr. Davis was still at work, and she wondered how he could carry on. The line of wounded seemed endless. For every soldier that looked as though he might live, one would already be dead when brought in, or die on the table.

  Dr. Davis told Kitty that she would have to continue to make decisions as to whether or not to amputate limbs. Arms sore and weakened, she could no longer use a saw to grind through bone, but there were strong-gutted assistants to do it for her. “Gangrene is what we’re fighting here,” he said. “These wounds from the minie balls are terrible. They shear and chop their way through muscle and tissue, and some of them hit with enough speed to split and shatter right into a bone. If you don’t cut that bone off, gangrene will set in, and the patient will die. The balls leave jagged, ugly wounds, and in most cases, there is no alternative but to amputate.” He gestured toward the steadily growing pile of arms and legs lying to one side.

  “I don’t feel qualified to make such a judgment,” she said. “I’m not a doctor. It isn’t right.”

  “We’re short-handed. We have to do the best we can, and I’ve watched you, girl. You’ve got the gift. You’ll do just fine.”

  Kitty went to work, hating every moment of it. Finally, the parade of death slowed, and just when she reached the point when she felt she could begin to minister to Andy and the others recuperating from their injuries, Captain Travis Coltrane returned.

  He had been standing back, silently watching. Out of the flickering beam of the lantern overhead, Kitty had not seen him observing. How long had he been there? She did not know. A soldier had just died as she probed into the flesh of his chest for the bullet, and she lowered her face into blood-slick hands and wept.

  Someone was fastening a strong hand around her wrist, pulling her toward him. Opening her eyes, she saw Travis standing there, tight-lipped and grim, steel-blue gaze burning into her face. Silently, he led her from the tent, away from the campfires and into the shadows.

  “I hear you’ve done a remarkable job back there,” he said finally, sitting down beneath a tree and pulling her down beside him. He pulled out a cigar and lit it with a burning twig he’d picked up as they passed a small fire.

  She didn’t speak.

  “I also hear that you brought in a Rebel soldier and insisted on treating him.”

  “What should I have done?” She jerked around to glare at him in the darkness, hoping he could see her anger. “Leave him there to die, or shoot him the way you did one of your own?”

  He ignored her anger. “You had a special reason
for bringing him back. What was it?”

  “I wish you’d been killed in the fighting,” she ground out the words. There was something about this man that made her tremble and feel warm—and she didn’t like the strange feeling, as though he had some secret power over her.

  Even in the darkness she could tell that he was grinning at her in that cocky way with the side of his mouth tilted crookedly, mockingly. “Well, I wasn’t. I killed a few of your people, though.”

  “They’re your people, too. You’re a traitor to your countrymen.”

  “Perhaps. Depends on how you look at it. If I don’t think the way they do, why should I die for their convictions? But that’s another story, princess, and that’s not why I brought you out here. We’ll have plenty of time later to talk about the war and why we’re both in the middle of it, because we’re going t spend a lot of time together.”

  She tensed. “If I have to be a prisoner, I want to stay with Dr. Davis.”

  “Sorry, but I’ve just finished a conference with General Grant, and I have another assignment, and I’ve asked for permission to take you with me, and the General granted it. He knows that I’ll need some medical assistants with me, and the way I’ll be traveling, a woman won’t be so conspicuous.”

  “Conspicuous? What are you talking about, Coltrane?”

  “General Grant wants me and my men to do what your friend, Tate, was doing, except for a different reason. I’m not after gold and plundering. I’ll be after information, trying to find out what the enemy is going to be doing next. We don’t want the Rebs to surprise us again if we can help it. So we’re going to go out on our own, in civilian clothes, and we’ll sit on both sides of the fence…whatever it takes to get the information we want.”

  “Spies. You’re going to be spies!” she said accusingly.

  He laughed. “You can call it that. Makes it sound more exciting, doesn’t it? Actually, we’ll be scouting and sending back messages about the Confederates’ movements. Naturally, from time to time, we’re bound to get in a skirmish, and we’ll need medical aid. That’s where you come in.”