“There was a nasty little fight just ahead.”
“I can handle it,” she said, a defensive note creeping into her voice. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a dead person.”
Lewis reached out and stopped both their horses. He lifted her chin with a gloved hand, forcing her to look at him, eyes dark and deadly serious. “This isn’t Grandma Akins all laid out in her parlor, Star. I know you’ve a strong stomach, but this … this is hell, pure and simple. And it’s not going to get any better as the war progresses. I wish to Heaven you didn’t have to see such— Anyway, that’s a moot point. You’re here. Decide now that you are going to be strong, and you’ll do much better. Charge headlong into this unaware, and things will not go so well.”
Good advice, Travis thought, nodding imperceptibly as Will Lewis spoke. Captain Logan had told them something very similar the day he’d volunteered the squadron for burial detail out at Ball’s Bluff, just to show the raw recruits what to expect on the battlefield. Not that his advice stopped me from losing most of my breakfast.
She said nothing, but the major’s face softened as he looked at her. Then he glanced at Travis. His expression became measuring, calculating. Inexplicably, he said, “Watch her, please?” She huffed, indignant.
Travis blinked. Me?
Major Lewis patted his niece’s cheek, then turned and cantered away. The girl was grumbling under her breath.
“I can take care of myself,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. Travis ignored her. His head hurt, his arm hurt, his leg was beyond hurting, and all he wanted was to get off the damn horse.
They followed the column through a stand of shattered trees, and out into an open, half ripened wheatfield. Or what would have been a wheatfield, had any wheat been left standing. Scattered across the fallen grain were men and horses, already harvested by their own reaper. No moaning or cries, just the cawing and coarse joking of the carrion birds. The air was heavy with the putrid stench of bodies baking in the hot afternoon sun.
A snatch of song ran through his head:
“If you want to smell hell—
If you want to have fun—
If you want to catch the devil—
Jine the cavalry!”
Travis didn’t think this was what the songwriter had had in mind, but if hell had a smell, this must be it. He tried breathing only through his mouth, but the smell was so thick he could almost taste it. His stomach churned angrily. As he looked straight ahead, he saw something that brought up a fresh wave of bile in his throat.
Along the edge of the road ran a fence, and there, at the end of the field, a Reb sat propped up against it. He still clutched his gun tightly. A shell had torn the man’s head off—only the jaw remained attached to the body, its long, blood soaked beard hanging down almost to his knees. Travis stared in horrified fascination for several moments before shutting his eyes resolutely against the gruesome sight. Dia ar sábháil, Captain Logan! You didn’t show us anything like that, he thought weakly.
Behind him the girl gagged openly. There was a touch at his waist, a pressure against his back. His eyes flew open as she clutched at him, unable to keep her balance without support, her head buried in his shirt. His annoyance with her vanished into pity. Poor girl. What an awful place to find a haven. He moved his hand to touch her, to let her know it was all right, but caught himself just in time. Probably not a good idea, Travis lad. Who knows how she might react to that in her present state of mind.
They passed the black feathered field, and the road was once again boxed in by thick woods.
“Whoa, Iris.” She did not sound very steady.
He turned just in time to see her slide off the horse and hunch over, retching loudly. She stayed that way for a few minutes, body shaking as she continued to heave. He moved his foot from the stirrup so she could remount, then handed her the canteen. She took it, and as she did, looked up at him. Her dark blue eyes were wide with horror and bright with tears, but she didn’t cry. Travis felt another flash of pity, and then of admiration. She had grit, this stubborn, haunted girl.
“I did that too, my first time,” he murmured huskily.
The sun was just starting to set when they finally entered camp. Her uncle stood waiting for them, a gray shadow in the twilight, as the last of the column dragged in. He looked at his niece very carefully.
“How are you, cariad?” he asked simply.
She dismounted heavily, leaning up against Iris, obviously exhausted. “I’m fine, Will. Where have the surgeons set up?”
He didn’t smile—clearly he didn’t think she was fine, but knew better than to argue. “They’re over there, on the far side of those trees.” Travis’ gaze followed the finger. Half the Army of Northern Virginia must be here, he thought. She just nodded, then turned her face, half hidden in the shadows, up at him.
“Ready to come down, lieutenant?”
He tried to think of a witty answer, but couldn’t, the pain again overwhelming his senses. He attempted to move his leg, found it had mutinied, would not respond to any orders. Instead, he felt himself falling from the saddle, slamming into the girl below. There was a burst of fire, and then there was nothing.
He awoke much later, in the darkness under yet another tree. The moon was disappearing into the treeline, and he hurt. Oh, how he hurt. There was a movement a few feet away. The girl was shifting around, trying to bury herself deeper in her blanket. There was a noise like a sob. Travis twisted to face her direction.
“Is something wrong, Miss Anderson?” he whispered into the warm, still air. There was another bout of struggling.
“Can’t get comfortable. Blasted tree root.”
Something about her voice prompted him to ask, “Are you just now getting to sleep?” Silence. “Where have you been all night?”
Still no response. He thought for a minute that she had fallen asleep, then she answered, low and numbed, “I’ve been over at the hospital. Helping. It was terrible, worse than a nightmare.” Then another pause. “I’m so very tired. Good night, Lieutenant Black.”
It was her stirring again at dawn that brought Travis out of the dim half sleep he had lain in all night.
“Lieutenant? Lieutenant Black, time to wake up.”
He wanted to ignore her soft voice, but instead maneuvered himself into a sitting position and accepted the cold cornbread she pressed into his hands.
“Coffee?” he asked hopefully. “You look like you could use some coffee yourself.”
She shook her head, managing a shaky half smile. “Sorry, Yankee boy, no coffee this morning. Though I’m certain I could find you a bucket of cold water if you feel the need for an early morning stimulant.”
He scowled half heartedly at her. “That will be quite unnecessary, Miss Anderson.”
Iris was picketed nearby, munching contentedly on the summer grass. The girl brought her over and saddled her, rubbing ineffectually at the streak of blood down her mane and withers.
“Will was here earlier. Said we were going to be on the road again today. Early. So let’s get you up.”
Travis turned pale, and shook his head, collapsing in on himself. “There’s no way I can ride like that again. It would be better for you just to send me to Richmond now.” I could not bear that agony again today.
“No,” she said, very quietly.
Startled, he sneaked a look up at her. She looked awful; the dark circles under her eyes matched the giant purple bruise across her cheek, hair straggling from her long dark braid. She didn’t look too steady on her feet either. But there was a stubborn set to her jaw as she stared off towards the east and the dawn. “I watched men die all night long and could do nothing. I will not have your life on my conscience too.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her. She raised a hand, turning to look at Iris with an appraising eye.
“I have an idea.”
“Well now,” he drawled, “bully for you. Let’s have a celebration.”
She ignored his s
arcasm, brow furrowed in thought, then bent down and hiked up her skirt. Travis averted his gaze almost immediately, a blush rising warmly up his neck before realizing she wore trousers beneath the dress. Now there’s an interesting idea. She was tearing at her petticoat, which looked like it had been robbed before. She tied the long strip close around Iris’ neck.
“Starla, what are you up to now?” Iris did not sound pleased with her new necklace.
She ignored the horse. “Come on, get you up.”
He wanted to refuse, yet something stopped him. She is trying so hard to make things up to me, he thought. Surely I can stand a little—well, likely a lot—more pain.
“Fine,” he muttered, struggling to his feet, the girl at his side with a shoulder to lean on. He noticed that she didn’t flinch this time. I suppose that is an improvement.
Somehow he pulled himself back into the saddle. It was no easier today; his whole body still felt like it was on fire. Despite that, he managed not to whimper. She gently lifted his splinted leg, ignoring his gasp, and guided it through the sling. Her hands lingered a moment on the leg. He felt again a peculiar tugging sensation, a wave of coldness, and the pain became bearable.
“I’ll be,” he said in wonder, as she tightened the sling slightly to support and elevate the leg. “It works.” Just as long as Iris doesn’t decide to turn her head suddenly, he thought. He glanced down to thank the girl.
She was splayed against the mare’s side, face hidden under the long white mane, shoulders slumped. Then she shook herself, the way a dog shakes itself to wake up, and slowly mounted behind him.
This day passed much as yesterday had. The girl was silent still. He would have said she was asleep, for all the conversation she gave, but from time to time she shifted uneasily. They saw nothing of Major Lewis, or any other officer, just the long lines of infantry before them. Travis wasn’t sure if being left alone was a good sign or not. He knew that the order to take him away would come. The only question was when.
Early afternoon they rode slowly into a camp, seeing cavalry again for the first time since he’d been taken prisoner. As Major Lewis was still nowhere to be seen, they rode about at will, seeking a place to rest. Travis pointed towards a likely spot, a small open space between the remains of an old barn and a clump of laurel. It was out of the way, and provided a view of the rail bridge, broken now, and of the ominous black clouds rising from the far side of the Chickahominy River. The place looked familiar to him—he was fairly sure he’d passed by here on the way down from the landing at White House Plantation.
She dismounted heavily, wobbling as she did, and led Iris the rest of the way. Then she turned to Travis. “Think you can get down today without falling?”
“Possibly. If you can get my leg out of this contraption of yours.” Once freed, he was able to slide out of the saddle and onto the ground, making certain to land only on his left leg. She offered him a weak smile.
“Congratulations.”
He wanted to respond, to stick out his tongue as he would have ten years ago, or else tell her to go to hell. But neither seemed an appropriate action, so instead he did as his aching body demanded and sat down.
She cared for Iris, then rummaged in a saddlebag and pulled out some more stale cornbread and a couple of apples before looking to his wounds. I am heartily sick of cornbread. But complaining probably wasn’t a good idea either. Her mindless manner concerned him, as did her refusal to eat anything when he offered her a hunk of the bread. She just shook her head distractedly, a vacant expression on her face, though it would twist as if in pain every time she took too deep a breath of the smoke scented air.
She stood up shakily, reaching out to steady herself against the barn wall. “I’m going to see if I can help somewhere,” she mumbled. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Then handing him the canteen off the horse, she tottered off.
Little idiot, he thought, looking after her. You’re going to wear yourself out again. He almost called after her, to tell her to get some rest. That’s what her uncle would have ordered her to do, had he been there. But she’d likely go off just to spite me if I told her stay here.
Her horse had no such restrictions, and called after the girl insistently. When there was no reply, she turned to Travis. “Sometimes I’d dearly love to hobble that girl,” she muttered before moving away to graze.
The dark, billowing clouds continued to pour over the river from the Union lines, filling the camp with the heavy stench of smoke. Travis figured it was the destruction of the supply depot at Savage’s Station, further down the rail line. But who’s doing the destroying? he wondered. My side? He noticed a slender form wandering back towards him. Or hers? She stood over him for a minute, looking confused.
“They sent me back. Said they didn’t need any help, and I should get some rest,” she said in a blank voice.
“Good advi—”
An explosion split the air, rattling the barn behind them.
“Mercy,” she whispered, numbly watching debris rain down on the river and wooded banks. “What is going on?”
He stared down the tracks, listening hard, trying to place what he was hearing. “Either we’re trying to force our way back across the river, or else we just torched all our munitions supplies at once. I’m betting on the latter. McClellan—”
She interrupted him. “Do you hear that?”
He did. It was a rumbling like thunder, or artillery, but coming nearer as they listened, moving far more swiftly than any storm. From the woods closer to the river came a shout: “Run! It’s going to jump the gap!”
Barreling down the tracks towards the Chickahominy came a train as if from hell, fire leaping from the boxcars, sparks shooting off into the trees. The girl began to shriek, a wild banshee sound that brought Travis to his feet, leaning on the wall for support, leg screaming at the movement.
“Miss Anderson!” He tried to yell over her, over the shouts of the men around them. She remained frozen, mouth opened in a soundless scream, staring at the flaming engine streaking towards them. The firelight reflected off her wide glassy eyes. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her hard, but she remained rigid beneath his hands.
Now what am I supposed to do? Slap her? I could never— Oh damn. She’s not breathing. “Forgive me, Miss Star,” he said quietly, and steeling himself, smacked her across the face.
An involuntary gasp. She blinked rapidly, looking past him as the train plunged towards the broken bridge. He barely heard her whimper, “Papa,” before she crumpled at his feet. Then an explosion rocked the camp, buffeting him, and he collapsed beside her, staring at the cloud of gray smoke that mushroomed into the dusty sky. His ears rang, and he could feel blood trickling down his left arm.
He twisted to look over at the girl. She was still in a pile, no movement. That wasn’t good. He attempted to make her more comfortable, as much as he could with his limited mobility, and pillowed her head on his good leg. What can I do? Where is your uncle? He put out a hand to touch her face. It was cold. Her hands were cold too. And I can’t even chafe them, not without dripping blood all over you, he thought, feeling like he had somehow failed her. Instead, he held both her slender hands in his right hand, hoping to warm them that way.
“What the devil is going on here?” he demanded of Iris as she came trotting hurriedly towards them.
The mare nuzzled the unconscious girl and shook her head. “Not my story to tell, Yankee. She’d have my hide if I did.”
Travis ground his teeth in frustration and tried to think it through. It was the train that had set her off, scared her … no, that reaction was past fear. You are a tough one, I’ve seen that much. So what else have you been through, to bring you to this?
Evening came. There were no more explosions or cries, but the dark clouds remained in the still, summer air. He couldn’t tell how long it had been, but the oozing of blood down his arm had stopped, was now cold and stiffening. Iris lifted her head from where she lay beside the
m, ears swiveling. Major Lewis came running up.
“Lieutenant? Fitz heard—” He broke off as Travis gestured towards the motionless girl in his lap. The major suddenly looked much older. “Oh damn, not that,” he said, voice very weary. “The train?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lewis untied the blanket from Iris’ saddle and tucked it in around his niece. “I’d move her, but that might wake her up, and the best thing to do is let her sleep it off. Do you mind?”
Would it matter if I did? Travis thought. “Not a problem, sir.”
“If she wakes up badly…,” he paused and swallowed hard, “do what you can for her. Please. I’ve got to make a courier run. I’ll try to be back as quickly as possible, but I can’t guarantee anything. If you must have help, ask for Colonel Lee. He knows about the situation.”
He fixed Travis with a speculative eye. What are you thinking? I didn’t do anything. Then he remembered he had a question of his own.
“Sir…?”
Lewis stopped him. “Later,” he said hoarsely. “Get some sleep too, if you can. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
Travis awoke soaking wet and with a terrible pain in his neck. That’s odd, I don’t remember getting hurt there. Then he realized he was still sitting upright, propped up against the wall.
What an absolutely awful night. A thunderstorm had swept in soon after dark. What was left of the barn roof had shed most of the downpour, but not enough to keep them both dry. After a feeble attempt to ward off the rain with Air, he and Iris had spent the better part of the night holding the rubber poncho up over the girl, one end in his hand, the other in the horse’s teeth. How she’d had slept through it all, he couldn’t quite figure. He certainly hadn’t gotten much sleep, at least not until the rain had tapered off towards midnight.
His legs reclaimed his attention almost immediately. The one was relatively less painful, which meant only that he could stand the pain this morning. The girl, her pale face stark against his blue trousers, had numbed the other.
An Uncivilized Yankee Page 6
