“What do you think?” Wilhelmina asked. “Is he going to make it?”
Dr. Gibson looked into the soldier’s eyes and listened to his chest.
“I don’t rightly know,” he said, scratching his head. “His lungs are full of fluid and his heart is racing fit to beat the band. I can bleed him to see if that helps, but he’s coughing up so much blood I don’t know how much he has left to spare. I think I’ll mix a mustard plaster and spread it on his chest. The heat will warm him up a little and hopefully break up some of the congestion in his lungs. Aside from that, I’m afraid there really isn’t much I can do for him. I was a dentist before this war began, not a physician.”
He ran a hand through his unkempt hair.
“If he survives, what do you plan to do with him? We aren’t equipped to house prisoners, and until the supply train arrives with fresh provisions, we’ll barely have enough food to feed ourselves, let alone two extra men. You can’t let him go and you can’t kill him. That would be tantamount to murder, and I want no part of that.”
“Just do what you can, Doc,” Erwin said. “Let Wil and me worry about the rest.”
*
Clara looked away from the bowl of boiled eggs she was peeling in the kitchen to glance at the clock over the mantle. Abram and Percy had been gone since breakfast, and it was now an hour past lunch. It never took them this long to return from their morning hunts. Had something happened to them, or had they simply lost track of time?
Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have been worried if Abram and Percy were a few minutes late for a meal. But nothing had felt normal since Jedediah had stood in the middle of Enid Bragg’s dining room and announced that fifty thousand Yankees were camped out in Nashville and planning to head this way.
Fifty thousand. The number was almost higher than Clara could count. How could Jedediah and the couple dozen men under his command expect to make a stand against a group that large? If they tried to put up a fight, they would be swept under like the Egyptians in the Red Sea.
Boots thumped on the porch and Clara heard the front door swing open.
“It’s about time you boys showed up,” she said without turning around. “Your food’s on the stove. Wash your hands before you eat.”
“I’ve never known you to be quite so inviting, Clara. I should show up unannounced more often.”
Clara whirled around to find Jedediah standing almost on top of her with a ravenous look in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“My job, of course.”
He stuck his fingers in a jar of honey and slowly licked them clean.
“It’s my sworn duty to protect you, and I’m here to carry out my mission since your brothers are nowhere to be found.” He took a step toward her. “I think that deserves some kind of reward, don’t you?”
Clara didn’t take her eyes off him as she ran her hand along the countertop, looking for something—anything—she could use to fend him off.
“What do you want from me?”
Jedediah let his eyes drift from her face to her breasts.
“I’m a man. You’re a woman. No one is around. No one would ever know if we spent a little time getting to know each other better.”
“I’m not that kind of woman, Jedediah.”
“I wouldn’t think any less of you if you were, and it won’t matter if I’m the one who takes your virtue since I intend to make you my wife anyway. Consider it a preview of our wedding night. Give me a little taste, Clara. I want to know if you’re as sweet as that honey.”
He twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers and moved to kiss her. As soon as he leaned forward, she brought her left hand up and pressed the tip of a butcher knife under his chin. She could tell he wanted to pull away, but fear held him fast.
“You don’t want to make an enemy out of me,” he said as a thin trail of blood began to stream down the blade of the knife.
“And you’ll never make a wife out of me, so do us both a favor and stop asking.”
She pulled the knife away from his chin, but didn’t let down her guard. She brandished the knife like a sword, daring him to come after her again.
Jedediah slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he pressed against his chin to staunch the blood from his wound.
“I always knew you were a wildcat. Perhaps I should make you my whore instead of my wife.”
She thrust the knife at him.
“Get out of my house before I slit your throat instead of giving you a little nick.”
Jedediah flinched but didn’t back away. He glanced disdainfully at the blood staining his handkerchief, then turned his angry gaze on her.
“When I see something I want, I don’t stop until it’s mine. That goes for you and your father’s land. I aim to stake my claim to both before all is said and done.”
Clara knew he held all the cards. If he came at her and she used the knife to keep him off her, the sheriff would get drawn into the conflict and it would be her word against Jedediah’s. Odds were she couldn’t beat Jedediah in a court of law or in the court of public opinion. His family had everything and hers had little more than the clothes on their backs. Who would believe someone like her over someone like him?
It would have been so easy for her to crumble in the face of Jedediah’s wrath and let him have his way, but she forced herself not to lose her nerve. She forced herself to believe she was worth more than his low opinion of her.
“I told you to get out. Don’t make me say it again.”
He slowly backed toward the door as she tightened her grip on the knife.
“I’m getting, but I’ll be back. And I might not be such a gentleman next time.”
Abram and Percy ran up the steps and into the house. Even though they had returned from their hunt empty-handed, Clara had never been so happy to see them.
“Afternoon, boys,” Jedediah said. “Your sister has prepared a fine-smelling meal for you. You’d best get it while it’s hot. I would join you, but there are urgent matters requiring my attention.”
“What did he want?” Abram asked as he watched Jedediah untie his horse and climb into the well-oiled saddle.
Clara closed the door and slid a thick piece of wood into place to make sure it stayed that way.
“Something he will never have.”
Chapter Six
Wilhelmina stood guard outside the medical tent while Dr. Gibson looked after the prisoner. The stricken man hadn’t opened his eyes since he had passed out on the edge of the woods three days ago. Some of Wilhelmina’s fellow soldiers said he was faking his condition, but his fever was almost impossibly high and kept getting higher every day. Dr. Gibson seemed amazed he was still alive but didn’t dare offer a prediction as to how long he might remain that way.
“Any change in his condition?” Erwin asked after he showed up to take Wilhelmina’s place.
Just in time, too. Her bladder was so full she was afraid it might burst, but she hadn’t been willing to leave her post in order to find a safe place in which to relieve herself.
“No, he’s still unconscious. Has the other one said anything?”
“Nothing we can use.”
Maynard had marched the younger man to Colonel Stumbaugh’s tent the night he and his companion had arrived in camp. The colonel and his men had been interrogating him ever since, but he had refused to break.
“He keeps telling the same old story,” Erwin said. “He and his father got separated from their unit and stumbled across our unit while they were foraging for food and herbs they could use for medicine to treat his father’s cough. He says he doesn’t know where the rest of his regiment is, but I think he knows exactly where they are and doesn’t want to give away their position.”
“What would you do if you were in his shoes? Would you try to save yourself or protect someone else?”
“I would do the same thing he’s doing. I would make sure my father was safe and
do whatever I could to protect my men.”
“I guess the Yankees and the Rebels aren’t so different after all.”
“No, son, I guess we aren’t in some respects. Go get some sleep. You’re going to need plenty of rest tonight. The regiment is marching out first thing in the morning.”
“What about the prisoners? What will happen to them?”
“Colonel Stumbaugh plans to send them to the Louisville Military Prison in Kentucky for the duration of the war. The ambulance wagon will take them to the train station, where they’ll be escorted to prison under armed guard. There was talk they might be executed without virtue of a trial, but the colonel’s a good man. I knew he would find a reasonable solution if he was given a chance to consider the situation from all sides. All we have to do is make sure they both survive to make the journey.”
Wilhelmina peeked inside the tent. The prisoner lay on a cot, his face and uniform drenched with sweat despite the bitter cold.
“I don’t even know their names, Mr. Weekley. Do you?”
“The younger one says his name is Solomon Summers. His father’s name is Lee. They’re from Shiloh, Tennessee, and they’ve been fighting with the Fourth Tennessee Infantry Regiment for about six months now. That’s the only information he’s been willing to divulge. Has Lee said anything?”
“He talks all the time, but he’s out of his head with fever. He’s been having whole conversations with a woman named Saoirse, but there’s no one in there but him and Doc Gibson most of the time. He keeps saying he’ll see her when he gets to the other side.”
Erwin nodded.
“The ghost of his dead wife, most likely. Sometimes loved ones who have already passed on appear at someone’s deathbed to usher them from this world to the next.”
“It’s a good thing she’s here,” Dr. Gibson said, bending low to make his way under the tent flap. “The conditions are so bad in most prison camps, he’d be better off dead. Overcrowding, unsanitary conditions, and food not fit for man nor beast.” He glanced behind him. “His uniform is rife with disease and needs to be burned, but I don’t have anything to replace it with except civilian clothes. He’ll be given a prison uniform when he arrives in Louisville—if he survives that long.”
Wilhelmina felt an almost overwhelming sense of melancholy. If Lee and Solomon’s story affected her so deeply, how could she consider them her enemy?
“Colonel Stumbaugh has asked for volunteers to escort the prisoners to Louisville,” Erwin said. “I took the liberty of appointing ourselves to the position. Do you feel up to it?”
Wilhelmina felt honored to be trusted with such an important task.
“What will we be expected to do after we complete our mission? Are we to remain in Kentucky, or will we be expected to rejoin our regiment?”
“Three of us will ride the ambulance wagon to the train station, take the train to Louisville, and return to Shiloh after we turn over the prisoners. After we reach the train station, a supply wagon will be waiting to take us to our next campsite.”
The trip sounded fraught with responsibility, which also made it ripe for disaster.
“Do you know who the third man is?”
Erwin shrugged.
“I don’t think anyone has stepped forward yet. But it doesn’t matter who the final guard turns out to be. I feel an obligation to these men. I captured them. I want to be assured that they are safe.”
Wilhelmina rested her rifle against her shoulder.
“I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.”
“Thank you, son. I knew I could count on you.”
After she bade Erwin good night, Wilhelmina slipped into the woods and made sure no one else was around before she unbuttoned her pants and squatted to urinate. Fatigue wrapped itself around her like a blanket. Her eyelids were so heavy she could barely stay awake. She leaned on her rifle in order to remain upright. After she was done relieving herself, she stood and buttoned her pants, her fingers clumsy from exhaustion. She forced herself to hurry. She felt vulnerable at all times, but never more so than when she exposed herself like she just had.
She had been pretending to be a man for nearly two months. No one had seen through her ruse at this point, but how long could her good fortune hold out? And what would happen if her secret was discovered? She would surely be dishonorably discharged from service and her reputation would be ripped to shreds, but would she be spared her life? The army killed deserters. Were imposters given the same harsh treatment?
When she walked out of the woods, Maynard was standing on the edge of the clearing with a lit cigarette held loosely between his thumb and index finger. How long had he been there? Had he seen something he shouldn’t?
“Evening,” she said, too afraid to meet his eye lest he see right through to her soul.
Maynard took a long drag on his cigarette before he flicked it away.
“Erwin’s guarding the prisoner you’re both so fond of and the other one’s in chains. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Mr. Weekley and I have to escort the prisoners to Louisville tomorrow. I want to make sure to get plenty of rest before we begin the journey.”
She tried to leave, but Maynard grabbed her arm.
“What’s your story, boy?”
Wilhelmina broke free from his grip before he could feel the feminine softness beneath her newly formed muscles.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Sure you do. Everybody has a secret. What’s yours?” He stepped forward, squinting to examine her face. “What are you running from, Fredericks?”
Wilhelmina felt her heart begin to race. Had Maynard been asking questions about her? Had her father been making inquiries that had raised suspicions about her identity? Did Maynard suspect she wasn’t who she claimed to be?
“I’m not running from anything. I’m running toward something.”
“What might that be?” Maynard asked through narrowed eyes.
“My destiny.”
*
Clara mixed flour, salt, sugar, butter, lard, and cold water with her fingers, then flattened the resulting ball of dough with a rolling pin. The boys had more of a sweet tooth than she did. They could eat sugary treats all day long if she let them, but she only got a hankering for something sweet when it was close to her time of the month. An apple pie made from one of the jars of preserves lining the shelves in the basement was just what she needed to prepare for the coming of her monthly curse.
Moses sat in a rocking chair near the pot-bellied stove. Jedediah’s claims of fifty thousand Yankees readying to march on Shiloh had Enid so shaken up she didn’t want anyone she cared about to be left alone. She hadn’t resorted to having someone stand guard whenever anyone took a trip to the privy, but it was probably only a matter of time before the idea struck her. Lately, she had insisted on having Moses accompany her and Mary when they ventured to the Summerses’ farm in case the Yankees raided their homestead while they were gone and burned the house down with Moses trapped inside unable to find his way out.
Clara appreciated Enid’s concern but thought her fears were unfounded. An army fifty thousand strong wouldn’t be able to sneak up on anyone. Dragging cannons, horses, rifles, and whatever else they needed to wage war, the men would announce their presence well before they arrived, giving everyone plenty of time to clear out if they wanted to. She was grateful for the company, however. Especially considering what had nearly happened the last time Jedediah Ogletree had come upon her while she was unaccompanied.
Moses draped his walking stick across his lap. Percy had spent almost two full days carving it for him out of a branch from the pine tree on the corner of the house. Instead of support, Moses used the walking stick like a second set of eyes. He poked it out in front of him as he walked so he could locate any obstacles that might be in his way. He still needed to take someone’s arm from time to time, especially in areas with uneven footing, but he was able to make his way
on his own more often than not. Clara had noticed a change in him the past few days. Gone was the sullen acceptance of his fate. In its place was something that looked an awful lot like hope. She wanted it to stay.
“What’s troubling you, Clara?” Moses asked.
She looked up, startled. Had a miracle happened? Could he see the worry on her face? When she regarded him, his eyes were as cloudy as ever.
“What makes you think something’s the matter?” she asked, returning to her chore.
“You’re pounding that dough so hard I’d be surprised if it doesn’t come out bruised. Is it Jedediah? Ma hasn’t had a good night’s rest since he came to the house last week.”
“Neither have I.” Though her discomfort had begun after his visit to her home, not the Braggs’s place. “Aren’t you scared of what he—I mean what the Yankees might do?”
Moses flashed a sad smile. The only kind he had been able to produce since he returned home.
“Half the stories you hear about the war are just that. Stories. Tall tales people tell because they want to be scared or scare someone else. If they weren’t there to see it for themselves, how can you be sure what they’re saying is true?”
“But the things you saw when you were in battle—”
“Were things done in battle. The Yankees aren’t going after civilians any more than the Confederates are. They’re just trying to find food to eat and a warm, dry place to sleep at night. If they come marching through here, we’ll be fine as long as we give them what they want and stay out of their way.”
“Wouldn’t giving them food and shelter be considered aiding the enemy?”
Moses cocked his head as if he was listening to what Clara didn’t say as opposed to what she did.
Divided Nation, United Hearts Page 7
