April was straining to see in the dim light. Cots lined the walls, side by side, mere inches between. Some of the men were so horribly deformed that nausea bubbled in her throat. One of these, she thought in terror, was Alton.
Behind her, Clyde Thornsby was reaching into his pocket to display a badge and explain the circumstances of finding April.
“Well, who is she here to see?” the woman asked in a tired voice. “We had no notice anyone was coming.”
Her words were drowned out by an agonizing moan that echoed through the cabin, awaking men who had managed to fall asleep. Soon screams and moans rang out and the woman was raising her voice above the din, explaining that this was why visitors were discouraged. It would take her quite a while to calm the men down again.
April moved away, ignoring Clyde and the nurse. She took slow, faltering steps, pausing at the foot of each cot to stare at the man lying on it. Behind her, she heard Clyde say, “Leave her be. She’s all right. It’s her brother. She may not have much time.”
“She may not have any,” the nurse responded crisply. “I’ve had three die this morning. They’re back there covered up with sheets waiting to be moved to the Dead House. He could be one of them. What’s his name?”
“Let me see. Now what did she say it was—”
April froze. Her fist flew to her mouth to attempt to stifle the rising shriek. Before her lay Alton, staring upward. His face was intact. He was not moving. Beneath the sheet, she could see lumps of what? Bandages? The stumps of limbs? Dear God, just how badly had he been torn apart?
She forced her trembling legs to move, taking shuffling steps to the edge of the cot. “Alton…” she whispered in a voice too low even for her own ears. “Alton. Alton, please hear me.”
“Alton Moseley?” the nurse cried sharply from behind her. “She’s here to see Lieutenant Moseley? That must be the Jennings woman. I was told to be on the lookout for her. She’s not his sister!”
Clyde Thornsby moved quickly. He ran toward April, calling for her to stop. But she ignored him as she knelt beside Alton’s cot and cried, “Please, please hear me, Alton. It’s me, April.”
He turned his head ever so slightly, trying to focus his eyes. His breathing was shallow, labored, and grating sounds came from his chest. His eyes were dull and unseeing.
“It’s April. I’ve come to see you, to tell you—”
He opened his mouth, mustering every ounce of strength left in his ravaged body. The searing scream that came from his lips seemed torn from his very soul.
“Get thee behind me, Satan! Get thee behind me! Thou shalt not have my soul!”
“Alton.” She reached to touch him, but he shrank away, sobbing wildly, and she gasped in horror as he used the stumps of what had once been his arms to shove the sheet away from his emaciated body, struggling desperately to retreat from her.
“Satan! Satan! Satan!” he screamed over and over, tears flowing from his wildly rolling eyes. “Help me, God. Help me, Jesus. Satan’s here in the form of an angel!”
April bowed her head and sobbed, just as the hand of Clyde Thornsby clamped down painfully on her shoulder.
And she prayed as she had never prayed before.
Chapter Twenty-Three
April’s arms were being twisted painfully behind her back as she struggled against the strength of Clyde Thornsby. She watched in horror as Alton writhed in terror on his cot, moving only stubs where arms and legs had once been. Saliva oozed from the corners of his mouth as a nurse attempted to hold his heaving torso. “God! God! Take this she-devil away,” he screamed in agony. “Please, please, don’t do this to me.”
“You little Yankee bitch!” Clyde yelled, giving her a vicious shake. He yanked her around from the cot so that she was no longer facing Alton. “Is this what you came here to do? Do Yankees stoop so low as to torture a man who’s lost his arms and legs?”
She whipped her head from side to side, her long hair streaming across her face, covering her eyes. “No, no, no! We were going to be married. You must let me talk to him.”
“You’ve done all you’re gonna do to that poor boy. Now you’re coming with me, and we’re going to find out just who put you up to this.”
She brought her foot up high, then slammed it crashing backward into his shin. With a scream of pain, he loosened just enough so that she could wrest quickly away. Running back to Alton’s cot, she gripped the edge and leaned forward, her body convulsing in sobs as she pleaded, “You have to know me, Alton! April! It’s April! Remember? You loved me once. We were going to be married, but it was Vanessa who stopped us, Alton.”
Clyde grabbed her once again, just as a guard, alerted by all the screams, came charging into the cabin. “Help me,” Clyde yelled. “Grab her feet. Get her out of here. She’s trying to kill this boy.”
“I’m not! I’m not. Oh, please God,” she screamed. “Make them listen to me, please.”
The guard lifted her feet from the floor while Clyde gripped her beneath her shoulders. They carried her to the door, while Alton sobbed, “The Devil! Torturing me by pretending to be April. Oh, God, let me die. Don’t make me suffer this way. Not fair…not fair…not after all I’ve been through. Oh, God, hear me, kill me…”
His wails echoed through the building, shutting out the moans from the other patients.
Once outside, the soldier dropped April’s feet, but Clyde held onto her. “Get me some rope,” he said hoarsely. “A gag. We’re taking her to headquarters. She’s a spy.”
“I’m not a spy or a Yankee!” she shrieked, trying to kick him once again.
He released her and spun her around, his hand cracking across her face once, twice, three times. She felt a ringing in her ears and swayed dizzily, spots dancing before her eyes as the pain settled into every bone in her face.
“Now I’m not listenin’ to your lies. I don’t want to hurt you, but by damn, I will. Now you just calm down. You’ve done your dirty work.”
“I’m not a Yankee!”
He hit her again, this time sending her sprawling on the ground. The soldier came running with a scarf and a piece of rope. “Hey,” he protested. “She’s a woman—”
“Stay out of this.” Clyde yanked the rope away from him and bent down to jerk April’s wrists behind her back. He looped the twine tightly, then stuffed the scarf in her mouth roughly before straightening up. April’s head was bobbing about limply as she struggled for consciousness over the stunning pain exploding inside her head.
“Now let’s get her to headquarters. You got a horse nearby? I want to get there in a hurry.”
The soldier nodded and disappeared around the building, at the same moment one of the nurses came outside to see what was going on.
“Is he all right?” Clyde asked quickly. “Is he still havin’ them fits?”
She gave April a hating glare as she answered, “No, thank God. He fainted.” To April, she said coldly, “You should be ashamed. What kind of witch are you that you could torture the poor man that way? How could you?”
April struggled to speak against the gag. Her head slumped. What did it matter? They would not believe her. The memory of Alton lying there, all his limbs gone, screaming that she was a she-devil—that picture would haunt her for as long as she lived.
The soldier returned with a small wagon pulled by one horse. Clyde dumped April unceremoniously down in the rough wood bed, then climbed up on the bench beside the soldier, who popped the reins and started moving them toward the ridge.
April’s lips were burning. She had tasted blood after the second blow, knew that her mouth was cut.
Soon they arrived at the headquarters, a large two-story white frame building with a proud red and white Confederate flag flapping in the breeze atop a pole just outside the porch. Clyde got down out of the wagon and then reached inside and scooped April up.
Two gray-clad guards were standing at attention just outside the double-front doors. When they saw a woman being dragged from the w
agon tied and gagged, their muskets snapped to point directly forward, and one of them cried, “Hey, what’s going on here? What’re you doin’ to that woman?”
“Yankee spy!” Clyde hoisted her over his shoulder. “Tell your commanding officer that Clyde Thornsby wants to see him.”
The second guard spoke up. “He’s okay,” he said to the soldier beside him. “He’s security, all right. You go tell General Hepple.”
“Where can I put her till the General decides what to do with her?” Clyde inquired, glancing about. “We don’t have a jail here, and she’s liable to run off if she isn’t put somewhere. You should’ve seen what she just did.” He proceeded to give them his version of the horrors she had inflicted.
The guard frowned down at her. “We got an ice house around back,” he said. “It’s about twelve foot deep. Put her in there and pull up the ladder, and she won’t go nowhere. We’ve put a few men down there till we could get ’em to Libby prison in Richmond.”
April attempted to scream her protests against the gag in her mouth, but made only a muffled sound. She kicked her legs wildly as Clyde dragged her around the headquarters to a wooded area beyond.
The structure around the ice house was made of split logs and was about eight feet square. She watched in horror as the guard pulled a peg from the drop door, opening it to display the damp, dark pit beyond. He descended the ladder and held his arms up. “You can stop that kicking,” he yelled. “Or I’ll just let you fall all the way to the bottom and break your neck. It sure as hell don’t matter to me.”
Frozen with terror, April ceased struggling as Clyde passed her to the guard. She felt the sawdust scraping at her bare arms as she was dumped roughly the last remaining few feet to the pit floor. The air was close, damp, the odor a mixture of rotting wood and earth. She could feel the chill of the nearby ice, packed down in the sawdust to delay its melting in the summer heat.
Clyde jerked the gag from her mouth, warning her that if she started screaming, he would replace it and leave her tied. She made no sound, and he untied her hands, then scurried up the ladder. She was helpless to do anything but watch as he stepped through the doorway and pulled the ladder up behind him. He leaned back in to stare down at her and call, “When I find out what’s to be done with you, I’ll be back. Till then, you’re just wasting your breath if you start yelling, because no one will hear you down there.”
He swung the hatched door shut, and she was plunged into darkness.
God alone knew what her fate was to be.
The light filtering through the slatted roof of her prison grew dimmer as the day wore on. Then there was no light at all, and she shivered as the dampness worked its way into her bones. Hunger had become a great, gnawing pain, and the trembling from being cold made her stomach ache even more.
She tensed as the sound of footfalls reached her ears. Someone was coming. Scrambling to her feet, she stumbled. Her legs were numb from crouching for hours.
A ball of light hovered over the slatted covering. As it was swung open, she saw a lantern, held high. There was a man’s outline, but his face was not visible. An unfamiliar voice called down. “You all right, woman?”
“Yes, yes, but I’m cold and hungry,” her voice quavered as she fought to keep from breaking into sobs. “Please let me out of here. I haven’t done anything. I swear I haven’t. Please believe me, and in God’s name, have mercy—”
“Stop your whining, Yankee bitch!” he yelled. “They ain’t gonna get you out of there till tomorrow morning, so you might as well settle down for the night. Here. I brought you something to eat.”
Something hit the ground nearby.
“If it was up to me, you’d starve, but I was ordered to feed you.”
The hatch door fell shut with a loud bang, and she stared at the disappearing ball of light, her body shaking with dry sobs, anguish choking her.
For a long while, she stood staring upward. Then she lowered herself to the ground once more and groveled for the bundle. It was a burlap bag. She reached inside and found the food—a sweet potato, some cold, greasy concoction made of swine’s flesh, and a hunk of cornbread. She forced herself to eat slowly, afraid of nausea after going so long without eating. The food was barely palatable, but that did not matter.
As she ate, crouched there in the damp sawdust, she thought of Lucky, and tears stung her eyes. The poor dog. Surely he would find a way to take care of himself. But what if he could not get loose from where she had tied him, inside the old barn? If she had left him running free, he would have followed her. Now, she wished she had. Perhaps he would have caused her to be discovered before finding Alton. Then she wouldn’t be here in this pit.
When the food was gone, she lay down and tried to think of other things. Poppa. Was he still alive? If so, how was he faring? Was Vanessa still at Pinehurst, or had she given up?
Rance. Where was he? Did he think of her, or was he too angry to care any longer? She felt a stab of pain. The only time she had meant anything at all to him was when they became one entity in lovemaking. And when an entity is divided, is there any real feeling between the two divisions until the entity is created once more? In their case, she had doubted it.
But why was she wishing she had never left him? Desperation? Yes, that was all it was. She cursed herself for thinking about Rance. What good would it do? Then, suddenly, the answer was clear. Thinking about Rance was helping her keep her sanity. Dreaming about Rance would keep her from becoming a babbling madwoman by morning.
Sleep would not come. Even when the roll of thunder began to disrupt the quiet of the night, and the slash of white lightning gave momentary illumination within the pit, she did not close her eyes.
Then the, rain came. Slowly at first. Tiny drops, just a few of which made their way through the cracks above to fall on her shivering skin. Then came the downpour, cascading through in a torrent to soak her. Her teeth chattered and her hair hung wet and dripping on her shoulders, but there was nothing she could do for herself.
They shot spies, didn’t they? Would they come in the morning and take her out and line up the soldiers to shoot her? And if so, she pondered recklessly, what difference would it make now? The sawdust was becoming saturated. She could feel the water beginning to creep up about her. Perhaps she would drown, and then they would be disappointed because, when they came, they would find her already dead.
Just as a faint gray light began to work its way downward, the rains slackened, then ceased. She was sitting in mired sawdust then, half covered in water. How much longer, she wondered miserably, how much longer must I endure this hell?
The light grew brighter. She struggled to stand but fell backward. It was impossible to stand in the slush beneath.
Perhaps, she began to think, they were not coming at all. This was to be her fate—to die here in this pit. They would not come until they were sure she was dead. They had wounded Confederates to care for. They would spend their time caring for their own before wondering about a Yankee spy.
Panic took hold. The trembling was beginning again, this time causing her body to jerk uncontrollably. Although sunlight streamed down now, she began to feel darkness descend about her. She knew it was hysteria but was unable to stop it.
“Maybe she drowned last night. Save us a lot of trouble if she did.”
At the sound of voices, her head jerked upward, eyes growing wide.
“Aw, don’t talk like that. You’re letting the war make an animal out of you. Damn. You want to see a woman drown like a rat?”
“Don’t matter to me. Not after what I hear she did. Wonder why? I mean, Moseley wasn’t no important officer or nothin’. He was just a lieutenant. Why bother with him?”
The hatch was opened. She squinted at the great blast of sunlight and covered her face with her hands.
“Good Lord! She’s about drowned in that damn sawdust. Look at her. That ain’t no way to treat a dog!”
Dog. April was fighting to clear her wind. Hysteri
a was threatening to jumble her brain.
“Dog,” she whispered as the man reached her after climbing down the ladder. “Save my dog, please,” she gasped.
“Lady, you don’t have no dog here.” His hands on her shoulders were as gentle as his voice. “Now I’m going to get you out of here, so just put your arms around my neck and hang on. Lord, what a mess. I can’t hardly stand in this muck.”
She clutched him as tightly as her dwindling strength would allow, and as he climbed the ladder slowly, holding her with one hand, clutching at the rungs with the other, she whispered, “Please. Save my dog…I left him tied…in a barn…He might die there…please…”
“What’s she mumbling about, Blackmon?” a soldier leaning over the opening asked as they neared the top. “She whining about going to Tarboro? Well, that’s too bad. That’s the place for a hussy like her. She—”
“Shut up, or I’m going to throw you in that goddamn pit.” He reached the top, stepped through the opening, and set April on her feet. She swayed, and he quickly slipped a strong arm about her to hold up her upright. Facing the other soldier, who was watching with a crooked, smug grin, Blackmon yelled angrily, “Just what kind of an animal are you, Hester? Putting a woman in a hellhole like that all night long, and it poured down rain last night, too.”
Saul Hester snickered. “You trying to tell me your place is any better? I hear Tarboro ain’t fit for hogs, Blackmon.”
“My prisoners can keep dry,” he lashed out in retort. “We don’t stick ’em in goddamn holes in the ground. She could’ve drowned down there.”
Hester stiffened, frowning. “Look, I was only doing what Thornsby told me to do. He was the one what stuck her in there and said to keep her there till the officers decided what to do with her. I wasn’t gonna get in trouble by letting her outta there.”
“Shit, you didn’t care.”
April looked up with weary eyes as the tall, heavyset man began brushing her matted hair back from her face. He had black eyes beneath bushy brows. The heavy beard which covered the lower part of his huge, round face concealed the bottom line of a jagged scar running from the corner of his nose downward. His hair was shoulder length, as dirty and tangled as her own. His gray uniform was soiled and worn. He towered over her.
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