by Leigh Lee
It was long after midnight before he finished the reports he had neglected and had the opportunity to stretch out on his cot. Death, illness, and suffering surrounded him, and finding it hard to empty his mind, Jeff stared at the ceiling of his tent wide-awake.
Forcing his eyes closed, he imagined Eugenia’s face. He smiled, allowing the visions of the green-eyed, auburn-haired vixen, with her soft alluring body to fill his thoughts. Finally, he relaxed. Until the vision of the jackass kissing the lips of the woman, he regarded as his came rushing back.
Jeff grimaced thinking about their argument and his complete loss of temper. When she had then called him out on his behavior toward Horace Davis with such maddening clarity, his self-control had snapped. Yes, his structured disciplined world had been set on end the day Sergeant Adams walked into his life and nothing had changed now that he knew her to be a woman. Though he now knew her as Eugenia Johnson, nothing has changed. It was only a different sort of problems.
The next day was just as busy for the army surgeon. The entire day was spent escorting ambulances of wounded men to the train station for transfer to permanent army hospitals. Then at dawn of the following day, Jeff’s presence was ordered at the execution of a deserter who had been found missing for the second time. Those caught after two offenses were shot or hung. Regrettably, it was Jeff’s task to confirm death before the burial could commence. It was a duty he did not relish. Yet tens of thousands of men fought bravely in the terrible battles throughout the war, and for their efforts, he endured the task.
Later, as he sat at his desk constructing a detailed accounting of the execution, the courier he had sent to investigate Miss Johnson’s history returned to camp. As Jeff eyed the man who stood before his desk, he prayed the report did not contain any unforeseen or incriminating information involving Eugenia.
“What have you learned, Corporal Rigby?” he asked, his stomach churning.
“Your hunch was correct, sir.”
Jeff’s eyes drilled into Rigby’s. “The county sheriff, Bill Dunlap, he is alive?”
The corporal looked over his notes. “Yes, sir, I saw him myself, an older gentleman. Though I was careful not to divulge my purpose for being there, he lives.”
Releasing the breath he had been holding, Jeff nodded. “Good job, corporal. Go get something to eat and rest. I hope I do not need to remind you that you are sworn to secrecy.”
“No need, sir,” Rigby assured him, handing over the report.
“Thank you, Corporal Rigby. I appreciate your help.”
After Rigby departed, Jeff read the corporal’s report. When finished, he opened his desk drawer and filed the pages away. Withdrawing the bottle of Old Crow he kept in the same drawer, he poured himself a drink. The report couldn’t contain better news. The man Eugenia unwittingly confessed to murdering during her illness was indeed alive. She wasn’t a murder. “Cheers!” he murmured, looking heavenward before downing the warmth.
The next afternoon, an unexpected opportunity to visit Eugenia arose. One of the railroad bridges outside the town had collapsed and until it was repaired, there would be a delay in transporting the wounded. The mishap afforded Jeff a much-sought-after few days off.
~*~*~
Eugenia was behind the house folding dried sheets from the clothesline when she heard a rider approaching. The sun was setting and in the fading light, she could not make out his identity. She longed for it to be Captain Bradford, and her heart lurched wildly at the prospect. It had been days since she had seen Jeff and she missed him terribly.
Though she was growing stronger each day, the captain had strictly forbid her to do anything too strenuous until he had a chance to validate her return to normal activity. Still, she had begged Mrs. Stewart for chores to end her boredom and this was all the other woman would allow her to do. Eugenia did not consider taking laundry from the line tasking, but she was not sure the captain would see it that way. Thinking it better not to let him catch her in the act, she gathered the basket of laundry and hurried into the kitchen as the doorbell chimed.
Stopping at the small mirror hanging next to the kitchen door, she ran a hasty hand through her hair and pinched some color into her cheeks.
Hurrying to the front door, she chanced a peek through the foyer window. Instead of Captain Bradford, a stranger stood with his back to the door. He turned and Eugenia caught a glimpse of his face. Her heart slammed in her chest. She whirled from the window, plastering her back to the wall beside it. God, oh God, no!
Sheriff Bill Dunlap!
Fear shot through her as the bell sounded again. He was alive. How could that be? And why was he here? A hellish trembling made every muscle in her body go weak. There was only one plausible reason he could be standing outside Mrs. Stewart’s door—he meant to finish what he had started to do in the cabin. Somehow, he had managed to find her and now he would kill her to keep her quiet.
She had to escape!
Eugenia heard Mrs. Stewart’s feet scurrying down the front staircase. In a panic, she raced back to the kitchen, tears streaming from her eyes. Her fondest wish of a love with Jeff was coming true and with it, her worst nightmare. She had to think, had to do something, but the sound of Mrs. Stewart opening the front door made her realize time had run out.
The gruff voice of Bill Dunlap filtered in from the foyer.
“Mrs. Stewart?”
The cheery voice answered, “Yes?”
“A Union soldier showed up in my town of Wellsboro asking a lot of questions about a Miss Eugenia Johnson. I followed him back to Gettysburg. I have learned you have been caring for a young woman. Might her name be Eugenia Johnson?”
“And who might you be, sir?” Mrs. Stewart asked an edge of mistrust in her tone.
“I am Bill Dunlap, Sheriff of Tioga County, Pennsylvania. Miss Johnson is an outlaw wanted for the crime of murder. I have come to arrest her and take her back for prosecution.”
If Mrs. Stewart was surprised to learn that horrifying news, her voice did not reveal it. “Sheriff Dunlap, I fear you’ve wasted your time in coming out here. I have never heard that name before. It is true that I have been caring for a young woman, but she is not the one you seek. Good day.”
The squeak of the door closing halted abruptly. “Mrs. Stewart, if you are lying to me and have knowledge of the whereabouts of Miss Johnson, you could be charged with obstruction of justice.”
“Sheriff, do not dare to threaten me. You have no jurisdiction here. Now remove your boot from my doorway at once.”
“I can get the local authorities involved if necessary.”
Mrs. Stewart kept a loaded Remington Beal’s revolver on a table by the front door. The click of its hammer echoed in the foyer. “The sheriff in Gettysburg is a close friend of my husband’s. I doubt he will take kindly to your attempt to force your way into our home.”
The slam of the front door revived Eugenia. If Dunlap succeeded in bringing the local law back to search the house, it would be safer for Mrs. Stewart if she were not found hiding in her home. She had come to love Mrs. Stewart and hated leaving without saying goodbye and thanking her for all she had done. However, this might be her only opportunity to flee, and she could not risk involving the sweet, caring woman in her crimes. Gulping air, she forced her weak limbs into action and ran from the kitchen to the stable.
Saddling a horse would take too much time, so she bridled Mrs. Stewart’s mare, stood on a bale of hay and dragged herself onto the horse’s back. Soon, she was flying down a path in the forest that lined the back of the property.
A moment later, her belly clenched. Was that the sound of hooves pounding behind her? She chanced a glance back. A lone rider was in hot pursuit and closing fast. Before she could turn her eyes forward again, a low-hanging tree branch hit her at chest level, knocking her to the ground. Dazed, she lay on her back, struggling to recapture her breath. When she opened her eyes, she saw Bill Dunlap’s evil glare trained upon her.
“Well, aren�
�t you a sight,” he taunted. “Yes. I am very much alive.”
~*~*~
As Jeff prepared to head over to see Eugenia, a medic hurried into his tent “Captain, there is a woman here to see you. She says it is most urgent, and she must speak to you immediately.”
Alarmed, Jeff followed the man to where an agitated Mrs. Stewart was pacing at the entrance to the camp. When she saw him, she ran to him all aflutter. “Miss Johnson is gone. A man came looking for her. He claimed he was a sheriff—said she was wanted for murder.”
Jeff’s heart hammered. “Was his name Dunlap?”
She wrung her hands, tears running down her plump cheeks. Words tumbled out almost too fast to comprehend. “Yes, that’s his name. Horrible, rude man. He threatened me.”
He grasped Mrs. Stewart’s hands. “Did he take her?”
Mrs. Stewart shook her head frantically. “No, Captain Stewart instructed me in the use of firearms before he left for the war. I pointed a revolver at the sheriff when he tried to force his way in.”
Relief flooded him. “And Miss Johnson?”
“This was about an hour ago,” she panted. “After he left, I searched the house, but Captain, she must have seen him and run off.”
“On foot?” Jeff asked, his alarm growing.
“No, she took my mare.” She clutched frantically at his coat. “But it came back shortly afterward without her. Oh, Captain, I am so worried that something dreadful has happened to her. You don’t think she really murdered anyone, do you?”
“No. She most certainly did not.” He gripped the older woman’s shoulders. “Listen carefully, Mrs. Stewart. I want you to go home and stay there in case Eugenia returns.”
“Yes. Yes, I will do that,” she agreed, her head bobbing up and down.
He whistled to a soldier, beckoning him over. Helping Mrs. Stewart into her buggy, he barked an order at the man, “Harris, you will accompany Captain Stewart’s wife to her home and stay there with her until you get further orders from me.”
“Aye, Captain,” Harris said, climbing onto the driver’s seat next to Mrs. Stewart.
Grasping the horse’s reins, Jeff gave Harris a leveling glare. “If a Sheriff Dunlap shows up, hold him at gunpoint.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the soldier turned the buggy around Mrs. Stewart called out, “Captain, please find her.”
Jeff prayed he would, but without knowing in which direction Eugenia had fled, it was hard to know where to begin. The approaching darkness would make a search even more difficult. However, Jeff had an idea. It was Friday night and some of the men were due for a short furlough. He hurried to the quartermaster’s tent and issued a request. In less than an hour, he had a troop of volunteers assembled, along with a pack of hounds, ready to conduct the search.
Once at the Stewart farm, Mrs. Stewart quickly located and brought out one of Eugenia’s articles of clothing. He held the item in front of the bloodhounds. Excited, and barking wildly, the dogs put their noses to the ground. They sniffed the floor of the porch, and moments later, they took off through the fields at the rear of the property.
~*~*~
When Eugenia came to, she found herself sitting on the dirt floor of Mrs. Stewart’s barn propped up against a bale of hay. Gasping for air, she moaned as a wave of pain coursed through her side.
A sharp laugh caused her to cry out in panic as the events of the last few hours came rushing back. Her eyes searched the dim space until she spotted Bill Dunlap watching her from a short distance away. “The fair damsel awakes,” he taunted. “Surprised to see me?”
Eugenia tried to move, but ropes binding her hands and feet prevented it. She shook her head to clear it. Every movement caused pain. She glanced around and when she saw the buggy was gone, she hoped, Mrs. Stewart had run to seek help from Camp Letterman. Praying her voice would not betray her terror she glared at her father’s killer.” Let me go. I have not told anyone what you did.”
Her words brought a derisive snort from the sheriff. “You think I am that much of a fool? No, missy. I do not need a witness. Right after you answer some questions, I am going to silence you forever.”
In the semi darkness, blue light glinted off the barrel of a pistol. She did not doubt him. Yet there was something she wanted to know first. “Why did you kill my father?” she asked, meeting his hard black eyes.
He gave a short laugh. “She was a beautiful woman, your mother, Clare. Green eyes and hair the color of sunshine. A pity you look so much like her.”
“Do not dare mention her name as if she meant something to you,” Eugenia spat.
With a menacing growl, Dunlap drew back his hand to slap her, his meaty palm stopping only inches from her face. “She was the only reason your father got away with aiding runaway slaves as long as he did,” he shouted, his eyes glittering with hatred.
Blinking away tears, Eugenia fought nausea. “I do not understand.”
“We were going to be married, Clare and me,” he shouted, spittle spraying from his mouth. “Until your father came along and stole her from me. She would still be alive had she not caught a sickness from one of those darkies your father harbored. If you want to know why I did what I did, it was because his illegal activities caused her death, as surely as if he had shot her himself.”
Eugenia stared at Dunlap with disgust. “An eye for an eye?”
Dunlap frowned. “Something like that.”
It was hard to believe her mother would have found anything to love about this man. Moreover, never had she known a couple to be more dedicated to each other than her parents. “You knew they were helping escaped slaves?”
“I knew. I warned your father to stop, but he refused. It was out of respect for Clare that I held off arresting him as long as I did.”
“Arresting him?” she repeated with venom. “Hideous vermin. You were his judge and executioner.”
This time, Dunlap backhanded her, laughing as she swayed from the impact. “Show some respect. I could have been your father.” Tasting blood, Eugenia fought for courage. “Unlike you, my father was a righteous man who did not deserve to die.”
Dunlap came within inches of her face, grabbed a fistful of her blouse, and pressed the barrel of the gun to her chest. “Keep talking this way, and you will get a bullet right now.”
Eugenia fought back a rising tide of bitter resentment and revulsion. For years, she had thought she had killed Dunlap, and had existed with the horror of what she had done. She had managed to survive despite her guilt and fear for all those years only to find out the man she thought she had killed still lived.
“How did you find me?”
“Ah, that was a stroke of luck. A Union soldier showed up in Wellsboro with orders from a Captain Bradford to locate me. Apparently, someone thought I had been murdered. Imagine my surprise. There is only one who might think me dead,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Yet, it was not until I followed the soldier back to Gettysburg and met Horace Davis on his way out of town that I was sure of your location.”
Jeff had sent someone to Wellsboro to investigate her? The knowledge stunned her. How could he have known her hometown—unless? Of course. Swallowing hard, she remembered her propensity to ramble in her fevered state. Though it was a relief to discover she was not a murderer, Jeff’s inquiry into her past had brought her father’s killer right to her.
She met his hard gaze. “Captain Bradford will be searching for me.”
A smirk darkened the sheriff’s face. “I’m counting on it. But first, I will deal with you.” He stuffed a gag into her mouth. Avoiding her wildly kicking legs, he dragged her to a stall at the end of the barn. He had his pistol cocked, ready to shoot, when the sound of approaching wagon wheels stopped him. Swearing a blue streak, he hurried out of her view.
After a long moment Eugenia recognized Mrs. Stewart’s voice screaming “No!” A shot rang out and Eugenia whimpered through the gag, fearing Dunlap had shot her only friend.
Ignoring the
pain, she struggled to pull herself up, but tied too well, the ropes would not allow movement. The cords dug into her wrists as she tried to worm her body across the straw. Her progress was abruptly halted when a heavy weight hit her in the face, the blow knocking her into oblivion.
Chapter 21
Until well after midnight, Jeff and his troops searched the backwoods of the Stewart’s farm for Eugenia. The hounds kept circling back to a spot not far from the house.
Jeff was losing hope until he found another set of tracks. The horseshoe imprints were different from Mrs. Stewart’s mare and led back toward the farm. He and the men were backtracking the trail, when torrential rains erupted over the area, washing away all trace.
Frantic with worry and unwilling to give up, Jeff drove the men through blinding rains until the trail became impassable and the dogs lost the scent. With the worst kind of dread curling in his belly, he raised his hand to halt the troops.
Jeff gathered his men around. “I appreciate your help, but you all best go back to camp and get dry. Those of you who have furlough passes are free to head into town.”
Corporal Rigby was one of those present and spoke up quickly. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, I think I speak for the rest. I’d like to stay and help you find Miss Johnson.” The others readily agreed.
Jeff looked at the drenched men who had willingly given up their weekend passes to tramp through the rain in search of a woman they did not realize they knew. He had never revealed Sergeant Adams’ identity and all they knew was they were looking for a missing woman named Eugenia Johnson. They were a good lot, and he was proud to be their commander, but he could not rightly subject them to further risk. “I appreciate your help, men, but it is best for you all to head back. I doubt we are going to find anyone on a night like this.”
There was much grumbling among the men as Rigby asked, “What about you, sir?”
