Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1

by Patricia Hagan

  Smoke rolled in torrents, spreading darkness about them. The Federals were firing their ten-pound Parrotts, ten-pound rifled ordnance, and twelve-pound Napoleons. They were using projectiles—conical, spherical, spiral. The smoke was becoming so thick that it was hard to see where they were going, but still they kept moving, shooting as they ran.

  And the Confederates fired back—twenty-four-pound shells, twenty-pound, twelve-pound, ten-pound projectiles; they fired everything they had, and each had its own breath, its own voice, its own message of death.

  Travis stepped over a soldier he recognized as having been a player in a card game with him a few days before, but now his stomach was gaping, his eyes staring blankly upward. Trees were breaking away everywhere. Horses fled in panic through the woods. A few men were wandering around dazed, completely unaware of what they were doing. An officer snatched at one soldier, shoved him forward, threw him to the ground, cursing. Travis kept moving. The noise all around him was deafening. Blood, smoke, sulphur, explosions, screams of the dying and wounded. This was the world, and it wrapped itself about him like a giant fist, squeezing, choking. He fought to breathe, to survive.

  He came upon a good-sized boulder, crouched down behind it as Sam, John, and Andy fell in behind him. They were able to take aim and fire at the Rebs in the trees on the mountainside above, dodging when an enemy shell exploded nearby. “We’ve got to keep moving,” Travis said finally. “We’ve got to get to them. We can’t wait for them to come to us.”

  “Travis…” He heard Andy shouting in his ear as they prepared to move out. “When this is over, I’ve got something to tell you. I was afraid to before…”

  “Hell, boy, move!” There was no time for talk. What was the matter with him, anyway? They were out in the woods, running, dodging the exploding trees. A wounded soldier called out, pleading for help, but they kept moving, doing as they had been told. There was no time to help the wounded. Not now.

  General Bragg had only a skeleton Confederate force, dug in on the slopes of Lookout Mountain, rather than on the crest. The day, Tuesday, November 24th, 1863, was cloudy and bleak. All day they fought, but midway through the afternoon there came a break in the cloud cover and the sun shone through.

  “Look at that!” John Wright saw it first, and he pointed above them, a grin spreading across his sooty face.

  And there, waving proudly in the breeze, the Northern flag proclaimed victory.

  Word spread that General Sherman had taken his Army of the Tennessee units upstream and attacked the Confederates on their right, making some progress; but he still had a grim fight on his hands. The top of the mountain might have been taken, but the battle was still on.

  Darkness fell, and the four men huddled together behind a large boulder, firing when anything moved that might be the enemy. There was no food, no water, but no one complained at the moment. Travis felt his stomach rumble once and wondered if it were hunger or fear. He couldn’t remember having ever been afraid before in his entire life. But here, with death all around, something was clutching right at his gut.

  Someone passed the word that Grant had told General George Thomas to push his Army of the Cumberland forward in an attempt to take the Rebel rifle pits at the base of Missionary Ridge, exerting the necessary pressure to force Bragg to recall troops from Sherman’s front.

  And as dawn once again streaked across the smoky skies, it became obvious to Travis and the others that Thomas’s soldiers had taken things into their own hands. They had suffered a long, slow burn for over a month as both Hooker’s and Sherman’s men had jeered them for their defeat at Chickamauga, not letting them forget that other armies had gone to their rescue. The Army of the Cumberland had had enough, and they were moving forward, taking the Confederate rifle pits as ordered. By midday it became obvious that without further orders from either Generals Grant or Thomas, they intended to charge straight up the steep mountain slope to try to hit Bragg’s right line, which was the strongest.

  Travis and his comrades followed. They were in the thick of the fighting when suddenly Andy screamed and fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach and toppling forward. And orders previously given about stopping to help the wounded were thrown to the winds as the three men gathered quickly around the boy, lifting him to carry him quickly to the shelter of a nearby rocky ledge along the incline.

  Travis bent quickly and looked at the wound, then lifted his gaze to the waiting eyes of Sam and John. Without a word, he conveyed the grim message. Andy was dying.

  Andy gasped, blood gurgling from his lips. Feebly, he clawed at his shirt pocket.

  “What is it, boy? You want your Bible or something?” Sam asked anxiously, tears unashamedly streaming down his face.

  “Didn’t tell you…” the words were barely audible, gurgling in the blood oozing from his throat, “…’fraid you wouldn’t stay…and fight.” Andy clutched at his pocket again. Sam reached for him, withdrawing a crumpled, bloodstained letter.

  “Travis,” Andy moaned. Sam handed Coltrane the letter.

  “Tonight…” the boy’s face contorted with pain, “I’ll eat with the Lord.”

  His eyelids popped open as he stared straight up, his eyes glazing over. One final gurgle of blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth as his head lolled sideways. Sam turned away, sobs racking his heavy body. John Wright cursed beneath his breath, slammed his fist into the rocky ledge and brought it away, bloodied.

  Travis was struggling for self-control, biting down on his lips. He pulled the sheet of paper out of the envelope to give himself something else to fasten his attention on. He was fighting to hang on to his sanity. He loved the boy like a brother. Damnit, without realizing it, he’d really come to love the boy and in that moment the pain burned as it had when he learned of his sister’s death. It burned and it hurt, and he gritted his teeth so tightly that his jaws ached.

  And then his eyes scanned the bloodstained letter, and every nerve in his body was inflamed. It was from Andy’s mother. She was writing to say she’d received word from the cousin in Goldsboro that a soldier who had been taken along with Kitty had returned. And he told a story about how a band of Cherokee Indians had attacked them, killing all of them. He managed to escape. And the next words leaped out like giant fingers of blood: “The Indians took the Wright girl with them!”

  “What is it, Coltrane?” John Wright barked. “What’s wrong with you? You look strange.”

  “Travis!” Sam nudged him, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “What is it?”

  And he told them in low, guttural moans. John rocked back on his heels, stunned. Then he sprang and the two men leaped to pull him down to keep him from getting shot as the air sang with bullets and shells all around them. “I’m goin’ after my girl,” John screamed. “I’ve got to get to her.”

  “Listen to me!” Travis shook him fiercely and yelled: “Don’t you see, John? This is the reason Andy didn’t let us know he had even gotten this letter! He knew we’d take off and try to find her—and he knew we had to stay here and fight. Now get hold of yourself. I want to go after her just as damn bad as you do, but we can’t go running off half-cocked in the middle of a goddamn war. You want to get shot m the back for desertion? Now get hold of yourself.”

  “Besides, you got to have more facts,” Sam spoke up quickly.

  “Find out exactly where they were so we can get an idea of whereabouts the Indians are. You can’t just go riding off and not know where the hell to look.”

  John slumped and they released him. “Look, we’ll finish this fight and ask permission to go after her,” Travis said quickly. “We’ll find her. I promise you we will.”

  John nodded, tears swimming in his one eye.

  “All right.” Travis patted him on the shoulder, his voice an ominous rasp against the noise that surrounded them. “Now let’s get this fight over with so we can go after her.”

  They picked up their guns and stood for one last, somber moment, staring down at
Andy’s lifeless body.

  “Since the Rebs sent Andy to eat with the Lord tonight,” Travis said, biting out the words, “let’s send a few of them to eat with the devil!”

  And with loud shrieks that split the air around them, the three charged on up the mountain.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The beaten Confederates withdrew into Georgia and General Burnside’s Federal forces were secure in Knoxville. Everyone was singing the praises of Grant. Word spread that he would soon become General in Chief of the Union armies. It was obvious that the South had lost the war in the west. For the time being, there seemed to be nothing left except scattered skirmishes through the winter months and both sides dug in to brave the bitter weather.

  Travis Coltrane, John Wright, and Sam Bucher asked for, and received, permission to take furlough and find Kitty Wright. And while John waited a safe distance away, Sam and Travis rode right into Goldsboro, spending several days discreetly asking questions before they cornered Lonnie Carter in the alley behind the saloon and made him tell his story. From what he told them, they were able to calculate the approximate location where the Indians had captured Kitty.

  “You tell anybody we were here, that we asked questions,” Travis hissed, holding the blade of a bowie knife against the shaking man’s throat, “and we’ll be back. You understand?”

  Lonnie understood, but the blade was pressed so tightly into his flesh he could not give an affirmative nod. But Travis read the message in his eyes, released him, and flung him to the ground. “Just what kind of man are you to let them take her away? Hell, what did you do? Hide behind a goddamned tree and watch?”

  “They…they would’ve killed me too if I hadn’t!”

  Travis turned on his heels and walked away. Sam kicked the trembling soldier in the side, then followed.

  It was winter and it was cold. Snow and ice made moving through the mountains slow, tedious, and all but impossible, and several times they were faced with the prospect of having to hole in until the spring thaw. But something deep within forced them to move on, if only a few miles a day.

  And then they encountered a small band of Cherokee Indians high in the western region of Tennessee. The Indians were friendly enough. Speaking in broken English, they told them of hearing about the white woman with “big powers” who could bring people back from the dead. They spoke with reverence and awe, and it was obvious that Kitty was held in deep esteem by the Cherokees.

  “That means she’s probably treated fairly well,” Sam said later, when they talked about it. “If they think she has the power to raise the dead, they’ll be scared of her.”

  “Kitty ain’t raised no dead,” John said, chuckling. “She’s probably brought a few out of fever that looked like they were dead. But I agree. It sounds good. She might just be all right. We’ve got to hope for that, anyway.”

  They were sitting in a cave high up in the mountains, with the snow whipping outside as the wind howled in all its fury. The fire they’d built from rotting wood found in the cave crackled and popped and cast eery shadows along the damp walls. The rabbit Sam had shot was being turned by John as he held the end of a spit over the flames.

  “What happens when we find her?” Sam asked suddenly, looking from John to Travis. “If she’s all right, unharmed, how the hell do we get her away from the Cherokees? If she’s big medicine, they won’t let her go. And we can’t take on a tribe of wild Indians.”

  “If we have to, we will.” John spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on the slowly browning rabbit. “I aim to find my girl and get her out of these mountains.”

  “And then what?” Sam prodded him. “What do we do with her? You know they’re saying Grant is going to be named Commander of all the armies. The war is going to really get going once spring arrives. We’ve got to get back in it. I aim to see it through. What do we do with Kitty if we do get her back?”

  “Let’s just worry about getting her back,” Travis said shortly. He knew it was going to be a problem, but it had to be done, He blamed himself, after much concentration, for the way in which it had all come about, for her even being in the thick of things. Had he allowed her to return to North Carolina when he first rescued her from Luke Tate’s clutches, she would probably be there now. Maybe if it hadn’t been for him, she and that Rebel officer would be married, and she’d be tucked away on some Southern plantation—and safe.

  Safe! He shook his head. No one was safe anymore, not in this war. And he knew what Grant’s plan would be: attack! Attack at all points simultaneously and apply constant pressure on the ever-weakening Southern states, Attack and fight and get it over with.

  And where was all of this going to end? How was it going to affect each of them—particularly Kitty? And how was he going to feel when he faced her again? One minute he hated her and in the next he remembered the joy of holding her in his arms, possessing, touching, feeling—and he felt a warmth creeping into his loins.

  “When we get her back,” John said, cutting into his thoughts, “we’ll do whatever she wants. If she wants to go home, then by God, I’ll take her there myself. If she wants to go find Nathan, then I’ll set her in that direction. It’s up to her. She’s been through hell. I just want to make some of it up to her. She never asked to be brought into this war. All she wanted to do was stay home and do what she could in the hospital there. And look what it got her.”

  “What gets me is the fact we’re almost exactly back where we started from,” Sam said disgustedly. “We took a chance on gettin’ killed riding right into that town in North Carolina and finding out where she was first captured. Then it turns out we were almost right there when we were at Missionary Ridge. Couldn’t have been over a day’s ride, two at the most.”

  “We didn’t have any way of knowing that.” John pulled the skewered rabbit from the fire, propping the stick against a rock to allow the meat to cool. “With all this snow, we can’t move around and do much looking, anyway.”

  Sam nodded. “We’ve got to duck Rebs, too. I hear the mountains are full of deserters.”

  John shot a sideways glance at Travis, who was listening in silence. “What about you? When we find her, what’s it going to mean to you?”

  Travis looked at him, chewed at his lower lip, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally, he said, “Well, it will mean she’s safe. If I can get her back home, where she belongs, then I’ll quit blaming myself for her getting this far to start with.”

  “What if the North wins? What if we march right straight through the South and kill everybody?” John’s tone was sharp, his one eye glaring at the two men simultaneously. “You two thought about that?”

  “I think only about getting the war over with so I can…” Travis paused abruptly, realizing that he didn’t know how to finish his sentence. So he could what? Go home? What home? There was nothing back there for him. Sam could do as he wanted. That was up to him. But what did the future hold for him?

  Sam told John he should have thought about the possibility of eventually invading the South when he first joined the North. “You knew you were fighting against your own people, John. This isn’t the time to question your decision, not at this late date.”

  “I didn’t really want to fight against my people. I wanted to fight for a final peace, for the Union, to strike back at slavery and all that goes with it. I just hate the thought of destroying what I left behind.”

  “You can’t go back to it,” Travis said soberly. “You can’t ever go back to what you left behind.”

  John squinted his one eye at him and scratched at his beard. “Then why are you going back to Kitty? What do you think there is to go back to?”

  “Probably nothing. I just feel responsible.”

  “He feels love, don’t let him fool you,” Sam guffawed. “I watched the two of ‘em. Oh, they put on a good show of hatin’ each other, but I knew.”

  “Sam, the girl betrayed me,” Travis reminded him sharply, and the grin left his comrade’s face quic
kly. “One of my own men got killed over her, with a ball he intended for me if it came right down to it. She tricked me. I don’t take that lightly. Now, true, I feel responsible for her being messed up in the war, but as for love…” He shook his head.

  Sam looked at John, winked, and then said, laughingly, “John, you one-eyed son of a bitch, how can I tell if you’re winkin’ or just closing that one eye of yours?”

  The two men laughed, but Travis continued to stare at them soberly. Love? The idea was ridiculous. He might love Kitty’s beauty, her body, the feel of entering that body and plunging into its warm delights, but love her as a woman? Like a man loves a woman he wants to marry?

  John and Sam were pulling the roasted rabbit apart, still laughing over Sam’s joke about the one-eyed wink. Travis pulled his greatcoat around his shoulders and walked toward the cave’s entrance and then straight into the wind and snow of the storm that swirled in the world beyond. It was time, he reckoned, to reflect on a few things that were whirling around inside him, to sort things out and think about the future—if he had one—and what it held for him. The last they figured, they were maybe fifty miles or so from the Indian camp where Kitty was said to be living. That meant that soon, weather permitting, they might reach that camp—and Kitty. And when they did, he wondered if he even wanted to see her, talk to her. True, most of the Indians around were friendly, but the ones who had Kitty reportedly slaughtered over a dozen Reb marauders. No great loss, true, but they appeared to be savages, from all reports. There was no way of knowing what to expect when they reached the camp, and they planned to be on their toes. But he still thought about Kitty and the image of her betrayal and escape blotted out any memory of happiness between them.

  When the time came for an actual confrontation, perhaps it would be better if he just turned and rode away, heading back to the battlegrounds and letting Sam and John take over and get Kitty wherever the hell she wanted to go. There was no way of knowing what she wanted, either. Who could predict the whims of a woman that strong-willed and conniving? He didn’t intend to try. All he wanted to do was forget they’d ever met.