“First give me the can opener.”
Toby tossed it at his feet.
The prisoner snatched up the tool and clumsily attacked a can of beans.
“Where is he?” Toby growled.
The man spoke over his frantic efforts to get at the food. “Your Robert is locked up at Belle Isle Prison.”
I stared at him, mouth gaping open, my brain too overloaded to speak. Toby pulled me aside.
“So we’ve found your Robert. What’s the next step?”
I had no hope of removing the grin from my face, so I spoke around it. “Don’t know. I’d never thought this far ahead. But did you hear, Toby? This guy has seen Robert with his own eyes, only two weeks ago!” I started edging back toward the prisoner, feeling if I could stand closer to him, I’d be closer to Robert. Silly, I knew, but with all the lightning bolts striking white hot on every inch of my body, my brain refused to reason.
Toby latched onto my elbow. “I think we need to proceed very carefully. We don’t want to get this close, only to have Robert slip through our fingers.”
I blinked at him, the grin sliding slightly. “What’s the matter? It seems somewhat straightforward. Robert’s at Belle Isle. Next step, I go and get him.”
“Come on, Bobbi. You’ve been in the war long enough to know nothing is simple, straight forward or easy. First of all, do you really expect the Rebs to just allow you to march in and take him? And second, in case you forgot, we’re soldiers under oath. If we take off, we’ll be deserters with a price on our heads.”
I shrugged off his grip. “What’s with all of this we stuff? If you aren’t interested in helping me rescue Robert, then feel free to stay here. But I’m not going to let this chance slip away without doing something!”
Toby sighed. “Bobbi, take a second to breathe, okay? You’re not thinking straight. Deep breath. Do it!”
I rolled my eyes, but complied, despite itching to shove Toby out of my way and take off for the prison.
“Again,” he ordered. “Another deep breath.”
I acquiesced, but vowed it would be the last. I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off.
“Okay, better? Now, before you try getting rid of me again, let me remind you, you are my friend and we’re in this together. Okay?”
The oxygen from my ordered breaths began reining in my rash ideas. Why does he always have to be right?
I nodded. “Okay. And thank you. Again.”
He grinned, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “Now, since we’re agreed, we’re going to do this right, and not end up as fugitives, or dead, where we’d be absolutely no use to Robert.”
“Agreed. First step?”
“First, we need to get as much information out of this guy as possible. Anything he can tell us will help us prepare.”
We glanced over at the prisoner, greedily sucking beans out of the can.
“And then what?”
“And then we go see Captain Truckey.”
Toby managed to retrieve his can opener while the prisoner focused on the last drops of beans.
“Hey,” he objected, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “I wasn’t done with that.”
“And we aren’t done with you either,” I retorted.
“Don’t worry,” Toby nudged me aside with a warning glare. “You’ll get it back. But first, we need more information.”
The prisoner eyed the remaining cans with a sigh, before giving his attention back to us. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are you and what circumstances landed you in our camp?” Toby asked, settling down on the hard packed dirt floor in front of him.
Too antsy to sit still, I paced back and forth behind him.
“Name’s Corporal James Dunn. I’m a guard at Belle Isle, or at least I was up until two weeks ago. Got word that my ma was sick, but they wouldn’t grant me leave. So I took matters into my own hands. Ever hear of a little trick involving a soap pill?”
Toby nodded, but I shook my head.
“I can’t believe you got away with that,” Toby remarked before turning his head to explain to me. “A soap pill is a small chunk of hard soap. Swallowing it makes an effective tool for finding some sick leave. Though I thought by now, most officers knew that old trick.”
Corporal Dunn shrugged. “Works for me every time, though the side effects aren’t very pleasant. So anyway, I caught the next train across the James River into Manchester, and then set out for home. I stumbled upon a couple of your Yankee guards a mile or so back, and here I am. End of story.”
“You left out a major chapter in your story, corporal,” I grunted in impatience. “How do you know my brother?”
“Oh, that,” Dunn shrugged again. “I often pulled night guard duty at the southeast entrance. Boring as all get out, but at least I got to keep a fire burning to warm my fingers and toes. A few weeks ago, when the nights started getting chilly, one of the prisoners dropped by to borrow the flames, your Robert fellow. We weren’t supposed to chit chat with the prisoners, but I didn’t see no harm in it; besides, it kept me awake. Turns out, your Robert kept handing over his tent space to others who had none. See, there’s not near enough tents for all of the prisoners, short by at least half.”
I couldn’t stop the small glow in my heart at Dunn’s mention of Robert’s selflessness. That was so like Robert.
“Sometimes we’d chat and sometimes we’d play a hand or two of poker. Your brother has quite the poker face; more often than not, I’d lose half my dinner to him. Though he always kept some to share with others. They never did feed any of those prisoners enough; never saw a skinnier, grimier, more pathetic-looking bunch of men in my life. So anyway, that’s my story. Now can I get the use of that can opener?”
Toby tossed the tool to Dunn, taking it back as soon as he finished. Then he motioned for me to join him. We stepped outside, leaving the prisoner in the darkness.
“What do you think?” Toby asked, once we’d emptied the slop bucket.
“Certainly sounds like Robert,” I said, starting back towards our tent.
Toby grabbed my arm to stop me. “Where are you going?”
I sighed, shrugging off his grip. “I’m going to pack up a few essentials and then head up to Belle Isle—”
“Not so fast, Bobbi.”
“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Toby. You heard Dunn. Robert’s suffering, cold, hungry. I have to get to him.”
“And we will, but we’re going to need some help. We can’t go charging out of here without permission; I’m no deserter, and neither are you. They hang deserters, and worse…Besides, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a war going on out there. It’s a dangerous time to be out strolling the roadways and sneaking about the countryside. Danger from all sides, Yanks, Rebs, deserters, and gangs. Let’s go talk to Captain Truckey first. He may be able to help.”
I thought about what he said, and then sighed. “Okay, but if he can’t help, I’m going on my own—”
“Don’t explode before the fuse has been lit; one thing at a time.”
We carefully maneuvered our way though the dark camp towards the hospital headquarters. Ever since his wounding in June, Captain Truckey had been recovering in one of the hospital tents. From across the compound, warm lantern lights beckoned us from the clusters of tents bustling twenty-four hours a day.
“You know,” Toby mentioned without much hope. “Captain Truckey might be more receptive to our requests after getting a full night’s sleep.”
I threw a dagger glance in his direction. “Don’t even think of crawling back in bed before we talk to the captain.”
Toby chuckled. “Only thinking of the captain’s welfare and state of mind. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with Private Bobbi Rivers after a full night’s sleep.”
I ignored his ribbing, shouldering him out of my way and charged into the captain’s tent.
Toby predicted correctly; Captain Truckey wasn’t very happy to see me. But he listened to our story atte
ntively, asking questions and pondering answers before ordering us out of his tent. He wanted us to come back after breakfast to give him a few hours to come up with a plan.
Those few hours passed oh so slowly, and frustrated me more than trying to shove sap back into a tree. But I survived and eventually found myself outside of his tent once again, only this time, under the tired October sun trying to climb into the sky. As soon as I had the plan, I would take a second and run over to tell Cora; she’d be so happy for the good news.
Toby and I walked into the captain’s tent, coming up short and surprised to find Cora already seated in front of his desk.
“Cora! What are you doing here?”
She just handed me a wobbly smile, and then avoided my eyes. But before I could dig deeper, Captain Truckey slowly hobbled in using a cane and swinging a string of swear words uttered under his breath. I exchanged glances and grins with Toby before saluting the captain.
He returned the salute and then eased into his chare with a groan. “Darn leg aches something fierce,” he muttered before squaring his shoulders and meeting our eyes. “Okay, we have a plan. Please, seat yourselves and we’ll get started.”
I quickly slipped into the sturdy, straight back chair next to Cora, eager to begin.
“Would you like some tea?” Captain Truckey offered.
I shook my head impatiently, but Cora offered to fix us each a cup, so I wiggled in my skin and bounced my leg to keep from exploding like a wedged in cannon ball. But the warm cup Cora handed me gave me an old comfort to grip onto, and the mint and chamomile scented steam soothed my nerves. I smiled my genuine thanks to Cora and took a cautious sip.
“As you may have guessed,” the captain began, “the Union has interest in all of the Rebel prison camps, Belle Isle included. We’ve been able to gather a tiny bit of information from newspapers, Rebel prisoners and the like, but not nearly enough to meet our needs. So far, we know that Belle Island is about a mile long and a half mile wide, situated in the James River with Richmond to the north and Manchester to the south. Our government delivers food and supplies to Belle Isle to care for our troops, but we’ve heard rumors that most is confiscated by the Rebs.
“I talked with a general early this morning, and he has agreed to send in a couple of corporals to gather important information. So, congratulations, you’ve been promoted.” Captain Truckey tossed me and Toby a couple of black stripe patches. “Get those sewn on your shoulder before you leave.”
I caught the stripes in a one-handed fumble, almost dropping them and turned to Toby in surprise. He cracked a grin at me, raising an impressed eyebrow.
“Now,” Captain Truckey continued, “as part of your assignment, before visiting the prison, you will be escorting Miss Davis up to her uncle’s home just outside of Manchester, who will then ensure her safe passage home.”
I jerked my eyes over to Cora, almost spilling the steaming tea into my lap.
“You’re leaving?” I shot over in a forced whisper.
She nodded, avoiding my eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve seen enough death for a thousand lifetimes.” She paused and then met my gaze, eyes pleading for understanding, voice dropping to a whisper. “Nightmares invade my mind every time I close my eyes. I haven’t slept…”
I took a closer look at my friend and noticed the dark circles around her exhausted eyes, the pale skin pulled taunt against her skull. Guilt pooled sickly in my stomach that I hadn’t made the effort to visit Cora in a couple of weeks, that I hadn’t helped her, hadn’t even noticed.
“I was on my way to tell you, Bobbi,” she continued, “but the captain called me in here.”
I tried to give her a smile, to let her know I understood. I also tried to reassure myself that we would talk more later on our journey north. I would apologize then for not being a better friend.
Captain Truckey cleared his throat. “Getting back to your assignment, you’ll be traveling in army uniform, but will go undercover when you reach Manchester. Here are your disguises.”
He reached under his desk and pulled out a tattered pair of civilian trousers, a rough-sewn wool, button-down shirt, a dirty brown jacket and a frumpy cap, looking and smelling suspiciously like it’d been dragged out from beneath a garbage heap. He tossed the pile into Toby’s lap. “Your role is a southern hired hand. Think you can handle being southern?” Captain Truckey paused, lifting of his brows.
“Somehow I’ll manage, sir,” Toby replied.
“Good. Your job will be a chaperone of sorts. You’ll be escorting…” he paused, pulling out an armful of pink material, tossing it into my lap. “…your southern belle employee.”
The sip of tea caught in my throat sending me into a coughing fit, spewing tea all over Captain Truckey’s desk.
“You want me,” I sputtered angrily in-between gagging coughs, “to dress as a woman?!”
“Now, I know it may be uncomfortable for you—”
“Captain, you have no idea—”
“But we, the General and I, felt this would be the best plan. As a proper southern woman, escorted by her simple hired hand, you would present the least hostile image possible to the Rebs. You will request admission to the prison under the pretense of delivering blankets and food to a Union prisoner cousin of yours. Your mother is concerned for her sister who married a northerner and had to see her son march off to fight as a Yank. He was captured and believed to be imprisoned at Belle Isle.”
“But, but isn’t there another way?” Fear and anger mixed to jumble my thoughts and tongue. “Why me?” I shot a piercing glare at Toby, catching him in a suspicious coughing/snickering fit, studiously avoiding my eyes. I jerked over to Cora. She too, avoided me, studying her tea cup intently, her lips wobbling as she fought an ironic smile.
“There is no one else. For one, we are absolutely not going to subject Miss Davis to the dangers of a Rebel prison camp, and two, Corporal Dove there on your right, who seems to be enjoying this news overly much, is a few inches taller than you. You’re already too tall for a woman, but it’d be more believable if your hired hand stood taller. I’m sorry this makes you uncomfortable, but it’s this plan or nothing.”
The room fell silent except for the smirks escaping out of my so called friends. Helplessly, I examined the pile of fabric in my lap. Miles of lace lined a slightly stained and well-worn pink silk gown, a matching bonnet and yards of cotton undergarments added to the tangle. I moved my gaze, studying the captain as he shuffled through the tea-dampened paperwork on his desk. Could he know, or could this be some sort of sick coincidence? Surely if he knew, he would say something, or even toss me in the prison shack with Corporal Dunn and his slop bucket. Even if he didn’t know, the idea of donning those frilly garments made me squirm in disgust. But if there was no other way…
I signed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. So, tell me where my brother comes into all of this. How do we get him out of prison?”
Captain Truckey looked up with raised brows. “I don’t understand, Corporal Rivers. Your mission is to retrieve information about the Rebel prison. That is all.”
My stomach gripped in a painful cramp. “But sir, my brother! That’s why we came to see you—”
“Your mission,” Captain Truckey pinned me to my seat with his probing glare, “is to retrieve information about the Rebel prison. Breaking your imprisoned family member out of Belle Isle is not the army’s concern at the moment.”
“Sir?” Confusion began swirling in my brain until Toby stomped hard on my foot, rattling my mind back into function. Oh. Captain Truckey knew what we needed to do. He’d help us with a legitimate army purpose to get inside, but any unorthodox behavior beyond that would be up to us.
“Get yourselves packed,” Captain Truckey ordered, climbing painfully to his feet. “Three horses will be saddled and waiting for you at the stables. I expect you reporting back by the end of the week. Need I remind you of the dangers this mission promises, so take appropriate precautions. Good luck.
Oh, and don’t for get this.” He handed me a matching pink parasol, trimmed with age-yellowing lace. He ducked his head back to his desk, but not before I caught a grin cracking his usually solemn face.
It didn’t take us long to be on our way. Toby and I grabbed our rucksacks and tent, ready to move at a moments notice anyway, and stopped for provisions on our way to the stables. We met Cora there, ready with a traveling cloak and satchel. Having made her decision to leave a few days prior, Cora had already packed most of her belongings and shipped them to her father’s home, now her home, in Boston.
“So, you’ve decided to return to Boston,” I began conversationally, reining my paint gelding onto the forest road heading north.
Cora nudged her palomino mare into a trot to come up alongside of me. She nodded. “You knew I’d been thinking of this, ever since my father died. But it hadn’t been the right time; I still had so much to offer the wounded soldiers.”
“And now?”
“The last couple months, the last couple years really, have been draining anything helpful or hopeful right out of me. I’m empty.” She paused, patting her willing mare on her soft neck. “Except for the nightmares.”
“You mentioned them. Dreadfully bad, eh?”
She nodded, glancing behind to see if Toby rode in ear shot. He appeared oblivious to our conversation astride the black gelding, intent on studying our surroundings for potential dangers.
“The things I see in my nightmares seem too hellishly horrid to ever be something real, except that I’ve seen it in the hospital tent and out on the battlefields. I can’t seem to get the inhumane images out of my head, whether awake or asleep.”
“And from the looks of you, you aren’t spending much time asleep.”
She shook her head. “The nightmares begin as soon as my eyes close. I don’t know what to do.” Cora turned to look at me. “I even fear I may be going mad.”
I snorted, both from her ridiculous statement and to lighten the mood a tad. “Cora, you are one of the most sane people alive.”
“That’s just it, Bobbi. Sometimes I don’t feel alive at all. Sometimes I fear I’ve died and am stewing in some kind of hell comprised of death, blood and hate.”
Echoes of Dark and Light Page 28
