“Okay,” Cora agreed reluctantly. “I understand why you have to go, and I understand why it has to be tonight. Just, please be careful, Bobbi.”
“Careful is my middle name,” I joked as I climbed the steps. I paused midway, and then squatted down to look at Cora. “Take care of my brother, okay?”
“I promise. And you take care of yourself.”
“I always do.”
I pulled on my jacket as I joined Mr. Davis at the window. “Still clear?”
“So far,” he said, dropping the heavy curtain and turning to me. “What’s your plan?”
I shrugged. “Sort of winging it at the moment. Got any suggestions?”
“As far as I can see, you only have one option as they’ll be watching the bridge and you can’t very well swim the James and hope to be any good to anyone on the other side. You’ll need to boat across.”
“Good idea. Do you happen to know of an available boat I could borrow?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Follow me.”
We slipped out the front door and, keeping to the shadows, headed toward the northwest corner of the city. As the clock hands roamed somewhere after midnight, a big chunk of the city had bedded down for the night. Darkened buildings with shuttered windows lined the near pitch black streets. Thick cloud-covered skies blocked any moon or star light from illuminating our path, assisting in our discreet quest; darkness would be our friend. Here and there, a blazing beacon of light and sound blared out into the streets, body-filled taverns beckoning to the lonely, thirsty and insomniacs. We avoided those corners, especially after spotting a handful of Rebels slipping inside one particularly lively establishment.
Ten minutes later, we rounded a corner and almost ran smack into a scouting group of Confederate soldiers. Luckily, it happened to be a different group than had interrogated Mr. Davis an hour earlier, but unluckily, we had to submit to another round of questions about an escaped war prisoner and a prostitute wearing a pink dress.
My, how rumors take flight and then collide midair, winding up a mishmash of rubbish. So now I am a prostitute? I wonder who I’d be by morning.
Mr. Davis calmly and patiently answered their questions, while my fidgety insides squirmed and near exploded out of control. The soldiers finally dismissed us and we quickly moved back into the safety of the shadows, my heart hammering like a hungry woodpecker.
Mr. Davis led me past the main part of town to where the buildings stood few and far between, where a tree or two had escaped the ever-hungry ax of the growing town. Mr. Davis ducked under the thick branches of a pine, rustled around in the darkness and quickly emerged dragging a dilapidated rowboat behind him. He grinned at my surprise.
“In our line of business,” he told me, “it’s ever so important to be prepared for anything. Just last week, I rowed a nice young couple across the river heading up to Canada. Course, when both armies stared commandeering private property for the cause, be it north or south, I had to stash Little Betty here in hiding or risk loosing her.”
I eyeballed Little Betty, her aged wood, creaking joints and overall shipwreck-like appearance, and wondered if the armies were better off without her. However, I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, and desperately hoped Little Betty proved sturdier than she looked.
“We’re in luck that the prison is down river. All you have to do is steer and the current will do all of the hard work.” He paused, casting a suspicious eye in my direction. “You ever worked a rowboat before?”
I nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Good, ‘cause Little Betty needs an experienced hand and a gentle touch. Now climb in and I’ll give you a shove.”
The frigid water of the James River seeped in through a crack in my boot, and I gave an appreciative pat to the boat’s side as I stepped inside and settled on the seat. Taking the oars in a steady grip, I plunged them into the current as Mr. Davis pushed me away from shore.
The swift waters immediately grabbed hold of the boat, trying to twist and twirl her as if she weighed no more than a dried, discarded maple leaf. But being no stranger to strong, willful bodies of water, I refused to obey her orders, and set about guiding Little Betty towards Belle Isle. It didn’t take long until the island’s edges appeared down river.
Most of the island lay buried in darkness. The lanterns lighting the railroad bridge blinked and stomped impatiently as soldiers crossed back and forth in front of them, their reflections dancing on the river’s surface below. The only other light shone from the far side of the island, from the officer’s buildings, where I assumed Toby stood undergoing who knows what kinds of torture at the hands of his angry brother.
Even though experienced with battling strong currents, sweat dripped from my brow and rolled down my neck as I rejected the river’s wishes to continue downstream. Little Betty proved herself sea worthy and announced our arrival with a scraping of shore sand on her underside. I quickly hopped out and dragged her bow upon the deserted beach, safely out of the current’s greedy grip.
I quickly and quietly stepped through the inky darkness towards the southwest corner of the prison, planning to avoid the two heavily guarded gates. Instead of returning to its normally calm, dependable rhythm after battling the James, my heart continued pounding as if determined to fit in as many beats as possible in case they be the last. I slowly, carefully crept closer to the impoundment, ears pricked for any and every sound, eyes scouting the darkness for identifiable shapes.
An unexpected scraping in the dirt sent me leaping around and reaching for my Colt, coming face to whiskered face with a wide-eyed raccoon. Trying to shove my heart back where it belonged while ordering my legs to quit shaking, I stumbled on towards the prison.
The only light on the island shone out like a beacon from the officer’s buildings. The rest of the encampment stood in silent darkness. Expecting the place to be swarming with Rebs, I felt unexpected relief to only spot a handful. Figuring they sent any surplus soldiers across the bridge to assist in the search for Robert and me, I sent a quick prayer up to God and hoped he wasn’t overly busy elsewhere at the moment.
Getting into the prison didn’t prove much of a challenge. I just waited until the nearest guard stepped aside to relive himself and I scrambled up the knoll and cross the ditch. I guessed the Rebs didn’t feel the need to escape-proof the encampment, what with the place surrounded by water and all. I quickly ducked behind a tent and waited, trying to slow my breathing so as not to awaken any prisoners. I peeked around the corner, found the coast clear and quickly zeroed in on the offices, like a moth to a dancing flame.
Silence. No voices, no movements, no usual nocturnal noises of serenading crickets or croaking frogs. I eased up, ever so slowly, and peered into the window. Jonathon! I jerked back down, trying to convince my body’s instincts to stay put and think, to not rush into anything. After an uneventful few seconds, I risked another look. Jonathon sat at his desk, elbows down and folded hands propping up his chin. He stared forward intently, unblinking, unwavering. I followed his eyes and just barely caught myself from crying out. Toby dangled against the far wall, his arms spread wide and tied to the ceiling’s beams with thick, splintery ropes. His head drooped forward, asleep, unconscious or dead I couldn’t tell. Blood streaked across his shirt, a lot of blood. My breath caught in my throat.
I forced myself to concentrate on the challenge at hand; I’d worry about the blood, and its sources, later. First, we had to escape, preferably with our lives intact. No way did I even want my shell of a body to spend eternity in this hellhole, let alone my soul. I made a thorough search from my crouched position, found the coast clear, pulled my Colt free and charged into the office.
“What the—”
“Hands flat on the desk where I can see them, Lieutenant! And not a peep, or it’ll be the last peep you ever utter!”
After the initial surprise, Jonathon’s face rearranged to a look of boredom. “You won’t get away with this crazy stunt,” he answered.
“And there’s no way for you to win. The captain will be back any moment and I’m certainly not going to cooperate with you. One gunshot will bring an entire army of soldiers down on your soon to be dead body. You are a foolish girl.”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled at his words. “You underestimate me, Jonathon.”
“Bobbi? Is that you?”
“Toby!” Relief gushed through me so forcefully, I only just managed to keep my wits about me and my feet beneath me. Keeping my eye and my gun pointed at Jonathon, I edged around the room to get closer to Toby. “You okay?”
“Nothing serious,” he muttered. “A broken nose and a few bruised ribs. Just a bit of brotherly banter. But what the heck are you doing here?”
“I told you,” Jonathon broke in, “she’s foolish and head strong. A bad combination, especially in a female.”
“And I told you to keep it shut!” I charged back over to stand behind him, pointing the gun at his head.
“What’s stopping you?” he taunted. “Go ahead, kill off another of Toby’s kin.”
“You are annoying me something fierce,” I spat at him. “I already told you before, Randy was an accident!” With that, I raised the gun up high and brought the heel down on the back of his skull as hard as I could. Jonathon slumped to the desk with a thud. A quick glance out the door made sure no one had heard, and I pulled out my knife and sliced through the ropes around Toby’s wrists. Suddenly freed, Toby slid down the wall and sank to the floor. But he would have to wait. I grabbed the rope remnants and hurried back over to the unconscious Jonathon slumped over the desk. I dragged his arms behind him, and quickly secured his hands and feet to the chair with a surefire knot Robert himself had taught me. Then I fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a somewhat clean handkerchief which I stuffed in his mouth. I then took a dear, pricey second to make sure he could still breathe; I truly didn’t want to be responsible for another Dove death, even an accidental one. Satisfied Jonathon sat tied securely and breathed easily. I hurried back over to Toby, who by then had managed to crawl to his feet.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I hesitated to touch him for fear of causing more pain.
Toby produced a grin, though obviously forced and unsteady. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is. And it will definitely be much worse if we don’t skedaddle right quick.”
As I gently pulled his arm around my shoulder to support him, a moan escaped his lips and he clutched his middle. Bruised ribs, eh? More likely broken. But we couldn’t take the time to wrap his ribs or discover the extent of the damages; that would have to wait until we arrived safely in Mr. Davis’ hidden cellar. I could only pray a rib wouldn’t puncture his lung or some other horrendous tragedy while I risked moving him.
The grounds still offered a clear getaway, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. One glimpse inside the office at Jonathon’s tied up body, and we would be the objects of a man hunt…again. I sighed heavily. These Rebels are becoming a real pain in my rear.
We managed to stumble to the prison boundaries before we heard the shouts of outrage. Crud! I’d hoped we’d make it at least to the boat. One horrified glance at each other, and we doubled our awkward shuffling pace.
We stumbled and tripped over the uneven ground in our haste, not taking the time to find a clear path in the darkness. Then I felt the angel-light kiss of tiny snowflakes against my hot cheeks. A good omen or bad? Snow-covered ground would easily betray our path, however I doubted seriously that the ground had cooled enough for the snow to stick. On the other hand, visibility would be hampered. Either way, the frozen flakes felt wonderfully refreshing on my burning face. I popped my tongue out, hoping to snag a few to wet my sandpapered throat.
Just as our straining eyes caught sight of Little Betty, our ears picked up shouting.
“Over here! I’ve found them!”
As we stumbled down the bank, I heard a loud, familiar explosion and a whizzing inches from my ear. They were shooting at us, and aiming to kill. They didn’t mean to take prisoners, only fillers for the cemetery.
I half dumped, half threw Toby into the bottom of the boat and then rammed my shoulder against her hull, heaving with all of my strength to push her into the swift current. I sloshed through the frigid water, hopping over the edge and falling into a rather ungraceful heap next to Toby. More gunfire followed us into the river, and we instinctively kept our heads down and covered, praying no bullet found its mark.
Unfortunately, one did.
A dull thud rocked Little Betty, and within mere seconds, frigid water flooded her wooden planks.
“Oh, crud!” I mumbled
Little Betty sank like a blacksmith’s anvil, and the James River enveloped us in her icy embrace.
“And now we swim,” Toby barked the obvious. “Get moving; we won’t last long in this cold water.”
Hard to keep track of each other in the dark, wet confusion, I paused every few seconds to make sure Toby still managed to stay afloat near me. Now and then I caught a soft moan of pain escaping from my friend. Soon, Toby, we’ll be safe soon! It became a kind of crude pattern: stoke, icy breath, stroke, Toby check, stoke, icy breath, stroke, Toby check…
And then my pattern broke. No Toby!
I jerked around, treading water as best I could in the dragging, dancing currents, and peered into the snowflake-filled darkness.
“Toby!” I screeched, in near panic.
And then I spotted him a few yards away, struggling to keep his head above the surface.
“Toby!” I raced over to him, grabbing his arm to help keep him a float. And then I felt a warmth drift around my legs. I pulled a hand out of the water and found a dark, sticky, oil-like substance clinging to my fingers. Blood!
“Toby, you’ve been shot!”
“I kind of noticed,” he mumbled around the pain.
“Can you swim?”
“I—I can try.”
“I’ll help.” I threw an arm across his chest and pulled him on his back. As my remaining limbs awkwardly kicked and pulled at the river, Toby weakly attempted to help. But after a few exhausting moments, I noticed Toby hung limply in my grasp.
“Toby? Toby! Answer me you highfaluting, pig-headed, stubborn, mulish, southern pile of arrogance! You’d better not pull a stunt like dying on me now!”
He stirred, shifted his lips closer to my ear and whispered, “I love you, too.”
Then his head dropped limp in my arms and he didn’t move.
I dragged my frozen and numb body up onto the bank by my hands and knees, each inch a tremendous effort. My muscles cramped tight with the cold and exhaustion, and every movement required a conscious and forceful command. I climbed painfully to my feet, grabbed Toby’s arm and lunged backward, dragging his limp body out of the water. I collapsed down into the mud next to him, begging my body not to give up just yet. But if I could only rest a few minutes…
“No!” I jerked my eyes open, forcing myself back to my knees. Toby needed me…if he still drew breath.
I hesitantly placed my numb fingertips against his neck, praying to find a pulse. Nothing. I moved my fingers to the right, then to the left. In desperation and growing panic, I dropped my ear onto his chest…There! The faint, yet steady beating of his heart. Relief overwhelmed me, and I slumped back on my calves, trying to slow my own racing heart. But I couldn’t rest yet, not with our lives still in danger.
I quickly searched his body, looking for the bullet wound. I found it in his upper thigh, still leaking blood out of the jagged hole. Awkwardly, with numb fingers that seemed to refuse directions, I wiggled out of the cotton strip of cloth pinning down my bosom, and tied it snuggly around his wound. Hopefully that would stop the bleeding while I moved him. Next step, how to move him…
Tall and strong, but also exhausted and frozen, I seriously doubted being able to carry Toby more than a few steps. And who knew how far we’d floated downstream in that swift current. With any luck, the Rebs would believe us drowned and not
even send out a search party. But I doubted that. With any other escaped prisoner, maybe; with Jonathon’s disowned and so-called traitorous little brother, no. They’d be searching for us, and I didn’t have much time to spare, with avoiding the searchers or with Toby’s life.
Making sure Toby lay free of the river’s greedy clutches, I clamored up the bank to find something, anything to help transport him. I dare not knock on anyone’s door; no one in his or her right mind would help an escaped convict, especially an escaping Yank in Confederate territory. We’d drifted far enough downstream to be out of the busiest part of town. A few houses scattered the river bank, all dark with sleep. A nearby dog growled a warning, and barked an alarm, but quickly quieted, his focus most likely a fox near his henhouse or such. But that gave me an idea.
Farmers, especially small time farmers on the edge of town, usually had wheelbarrows to transport the feed and manure of their limited livestock, as opposed to the bigger farms using wagons. If I could just find one and borrow it…
It took a few minutes to locate a rickety wheelbarrow leaning against a closed barn. I grabbed the handles, instantly lodging a big splinter painfully in my palm. Ignoring it, and the strong smell of manure, I hurried back to Toby.
I took one precious second to make sure his warm breath still flowed past his blue-tinted lips. Squatting low, I pulled his weight on to my shoulders and then heaved to a bent over position. Taking wobbly, unstable steps, I inched my way up the bank and deposited Toby into the wheelbarrow. It tilted precariously, almost spilling Toby back on the ground, but I caught the edge, righting it in time. I grabbed the handles, getting pierced with another branch of a splinter between my thumb and forefinger. My muscles balked at the commands. However they eventually obeyed, forcing my load up to the road.
Unsure of our location, I followed the dark street up river, searching for a familiar landmark. A handful of misty sunbeams began poking their way over the horizon, along with a few glowing lanterns peering sleepy-eyed out of curtained windows. Straining for breath, and the strength to endure, I found the way back to Mr. Davis’ cabin. I burst through the door, wheelbarrow and all.
Echoes of Dark and Light Page 32
