The Yankees were almost upon them. She sent Iris into the woods after Will, and dove into a gigantic clump of lilacs just in the nick of time. A squad followed von Borcke’s big bay, firing at him as they went, but they soon tired and returned to the house, where their comrades were in two places. A group on the porch was rummaging through the abandoned haversacks and bits of clothing. One particularly lucky soul tried on Stuart’s famous feathered hat. Oh my, but the general will be furious, Star thought with a mad, stifled giggle.
The remainder of the troop gathered around Travis, who had gotten Virginia under control too late to escape. She breathed a sigh of relief for that, and settled down deeper into her bower, pushing aside a branch of heart shaped leaves. Just ignore the dryad in the bush over here, she thought to herself as she listened and watched.
Travis had obviously been arguing with them while she had dashed for cover.
“I tell you, I was a prisoner,” he said, trying to keep a firm grip on Virginia’s reins. The mare was dancing nervously, kicking out at the encircling Yankees.
“I haven’t seen too many prisoners with their own mounts who remained prisoners very long.” That from a skinny, too young sergeant. Star’s ears twitched at his accent, a peculiar nasal twang she’d not heard before. Where are these men from? she wondered.
Added another, “I’d be thinkin’ you’re a deserter, or a spy.”
Travis hung his head, not in defeat, but in anger. Even from her tiny green cave she could see the way his jaw jutted out, the thin line of his lips. “Fine then, I’m a deserter. So why don’t you take me back to my captain and turn me in?”
There were mutters all around the blue circle.
“Let’s just get out of here. Before those Rebs return with reinforcements.”
The sergeant glanced around nervously, and looked relieved when his major made a jerky hand motion: mount up.
Travis pulled himself into the saddle heavily, wincing, leg obviously paining him something fierce from trying to catch the horse. She winced in sympathy. Wish I could help, Travis, but that would defeat my whole purpose.
But he didn’t leave immediately. Instead he turned Virginia in a tight circle, Yankees scattering out of the skittish mare’s way. He examined the yard closely, almost as if he were saying good bye to his time here. Bright eyes rested a hesitant moment on her hiding place.
He saw me dive in here, she realized. I wish I could say something, give some signal. So long, good luck. I think I shall miss you, Travis Black, although I don’t suppose you will miss me much. At least I shan’t have to worry about you any longer. Once he was away from her, he should be safe. At least from her particular kind of danger….
He lifted his hand as if to brush back hair from his eyes, made a tiny motion. She felt a faint tug on her braid, then the circle of blue closed up around him again and they rode out of the yard, and out of her life. She rested her head against the tiny gnarled trunk and sighed deeply.
She waited a few minutes longer before emerging, picking bits of bark and leaf from her hair. Standing quietly beside the bush, she looked about. No, they really had left. It was safe to call Iris now. She whistled loudly. The gray mare trotted out, Will and General Stuart following close behind.
“That was the stupidest maneuver I’ve seen in a long while, Estella Anderson. What the hell were you thinking?” Will was furious, moustache bristling at her with every breath he took.
But she said nothing, offered no apologies or explanations. What is there to explain? He’s gone.
“Answer me, Starla,” Will demanded, voice grating.
She mounted up, looking at him calmly, though there was little calm in her twisted stomach. “Watching,” she said warily, moving Iris slightly away from him.
His shoulders slumped. “Don’t, Star. You know I’ll not hurt you. You just had me terrified for you.”
“I’m sorry for that,” she said softly, “but I didn’t think I was in much danger, and I needed to know.”
General Stuart was up on the porch, kicking at his empty haversack. Star could see his mouth working, the great beard bobbing fiercely. He stumped back to where she sat, silent, on Iris. She looked away to avoid his accusing gaze.
“What happened to your Yankee?”
Now she jerked her head up. Don’t you dare try to blame Travis for this. “They didn’t give him much choice in the matter, sir.”
The general’s face softened slightly, sparing her a smile. “I know. I saw that much.” He grimaced then and said plaintively, “But did they have to take my hat?”
8. The Other Side Of The River
Mid-February, 1863
Fredericksburg, VA
“I am sick to death of sickness and death,” Starla stated angrily, feeling close to tears and hating herself for it. She threw yet another bloody rag on top of a heap of blood soaked cloth.
Dr. Buchanan looked at her sympathetically. She was blood spattered, white faced, deep blue shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep—the battle for Fredericksburg may have been over, but the battle for life still continued in the hospital tents. Most of the wounded had already been sent farther south to Richmond, but every day found new casualties beneath the wooden walled tents: pickets, scouts, or those just plain unlucky fools who hadn’t hit the ground quickly enough when some Yankee fired.
“Take a rest, Miss Anderson. Go get cleaned up some, try to find some decent food. Maybe take a ride. Heaven knows you’ve done enough here.”
She hesitated. “You’re not leaving.”
“You’re right, I’m not. But I’ve trained many years for this kind of life. You are a young woman, and as such, more easily worn out. And you’ve been using Healing far more than you should, haven’t you?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t help it. I try not to, because I know I tire far too easily, but I can’t see their pain and do nothing,” she said quietly, feeling like a failure.
“It’s no shame, child. You have done above and beyond what the good Lord intended you for. Now git out of here and go take care of yourself. That’s an order.”
She paused to wash and wipe her hands, then stumbled away, fumbling with the ties to her blood stained apron as she went.
There was a chill wind out of the north; Starla bent into it. I hate this wind. I hate everything that comes from the north, was her sour thought as she trudged through the muddy snow towards her own wooden walled tent: the cavalry too was in winter quarters. Camp No Camp was the general’s whimsical choice of names, reflecting how rarely he was actually in camp.
She stopped at the entrance to kick the worst of the mud off her thick boots—no reason to track even more dirt onto her nice canvas floor—and ducked inside. Her banked fire had kept the tent relatively warm. The sudden switch from the cold made her feel lightheaded; her stomach heaved in warning. When was the last time I ate? she wondered, dropping the flap quickly behind her and undressing mechanically. She threw her soiled clothes in a corner.
“I’ll take care of those later,” she said aloud to the tiny room. Much later, she added mentally. Right now I just want to be clean.
A real bath would have been heaven. Instead she got a washcloth and snow water heated over the fire. And there was no way she could wash her hair, not in this freezing weather. She’d catch pneumonia for certain. Instead she unbraided her long, thick hair and brushed it until it crackled. She started to rebraid it, then halted. No, I’m tired of braids. I want something different. So she pulled it back into a large, loose knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with combs. So long as I don’t go for any mad gallops, that should hold.
She put on her new riding habit, a Christmas gift from Will. It was a smoky blue gray wool, so thick she felt warmer just looking at it. She ran a hand over the black braid that marched across the jacket front and looped over the sleeves. If Will had chosen this on his own, he had excellent taste indeed.
Will. I must check in on him before I go out, she thought. I should
have done so earlier. The wind had died down by the time she headed back out into the frosty air. She stopped first by the officers’ cooktent, hoping to find something other than cornbread and bacon. She did, in the form of an unexpectedly thick ham and potato stew. Filling a mug full of the blissfully hot soup, she walked back to Will’s tent.
Her uncle was perched on the edge of his cot, pulling on his boots. The tangled covers behind him witnessed to a fevered sleep, but he seemed wide awake now, eyes brightening as she peeked in the tent flap.
“What are you doing up?” she demanded, coming to his side and placing a hand on his damp brow. “You’re still not well.”
“True, I have been better. But then again, I’ve also been a lot worse.”
She drew back to examine at him with a critical eye. He did look much better today, a faint blue green glow attesting to health. She breathed a mental sigh of relief. He’d had her worried earlier, coughing so hard he could barely breathe. At least there had been no blood. She’d feared that his lungs were affected. That he was up and alert was a good sign. “I suppose you could get up now.”
He flashed her a quick grin. “Thanks, doc. Especially since I’m already up and ready to get some fresh air.” He stood up, cocking his head and looking at her closer. “You look like you could use a rest.”
“Do I look that bad? Dr. Buchanan said the same thing.” Please don’t ask me if I’ve been using myself in Healing again. I can’t lie to you, and I really don’t want to get in a fight with you about it.
Thankfully, he didn’t bring it up. “You look fair worn out. Maybe you should be the one getting that fresh air.”
“That’s where I’m off to. And I was thinking I might find some better forage somewhere farther from camp. Iris could use a decent meal too.”
“That’s a sound idea. I’ll join you in a few minutes. Just let me go grab some of that soup.”
Iris whuffed happy puffs of steam at her when Star brought out her tack. Star patted her lovingly, but winced at the sight of the mare’s protruding hipbones. Food had been scarce recently, the horses at times reduced to eating tree bark.
“I’ve missed you too, my dear. Though I must say,” she continued, chatting brightly as she saddled and bridled her, “I have not missed those long days and nights of endless riding. I dare say you feel the same way.”
“Actually, I rather enjoy being in the saddle for days on end.”
Star whirled around. Will was behind her, holding Jupiter—his latest acquisition, a showy black stallion—under tight rein. He was grinning broadly. She let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“I do declare, Major Lewis, you startled me so. You should know better than to be sneaking up on ladies like that. My poor delicate heart can’t take the strain.”
He laughed then. “I do offer my humblest apologies, Miss Anderson. Is your poor delicate heart up for a little ride?”
He swung her up into the saddle easily and she smiled down at him. It felt good to smile again. “Lead on, sir. My heart may hold out for one little ride.”
They rode out from headquarters, taking Telegraph Road towards town. Will turned north, following the heights and staying behind their lines, Fredericksburg spread out along the river below them. From here they could see the guns that stood like great brass beasts along Stafford Heights.
Star could remember coming here many times, special trips with her papa. She had to avert her eyes from the blackened husks of houses and shops where the Yankees had burnt and looted as they’d retreated.
There’s Chatham, she thought, recognizing the stately brick house visible across the river through the bare trees. Last time I saw it was on my flight to Richmond. Before I met Travis. Travis. She probed carefully around his name. It lay there, dark and silent, like a deep hole. I never thought I would miss him this much, that tomfool Yankee. I wonder how he is, where he is? Did he get back to his company? Did he go home? Does he ever think of me? A terrible thought popped into her mind: He could be dead, and I would never know.
She shook her head violently. No! I will not think that!
The heights dipped down to the Rappahannock’s twisting shoreline as they continued northwest. It was silent now: no thunder of cannons, no rattle of guns, no screams of wounded. The only sound was the quiet thud plop of hooves in slushy snow. Neither of them spoke; they simply enjoyed the silence together.
A flutter of motion at the edge of her vision caught her attention. Reining in Iris, she waved at Will to pull up.
There it was again. Dark horsemen, coming through the trees. Behind them. Between them and the safety of camp.
Will let out a swift curse, dismounted, and led his horse deeper into a stand of hollies. Star quickly followed his example.
“They aren’t ours, are they, Will?” she whispered.
He shook his head.
Somehow a detachment of Yankees had gotten across the river without being challenged. Probably on one of the fords farther upstream. A large enough group to be a threat, but small enough to likely be uneasy, and therefore too quick to shoot….
This does not look good, she thought dourly, a hand over Iris’ muzzle, though the mare needed no urging to stay quiet.
It was Jupiter, however, who broke the silence. He backed into a particularly stiff holly branch, and let loose with a stream of equine curses. The approaching horsemen halted, peering through the pale winter landscape to pinpoint the source of the cry. Starla’s mind alternately cursed that stupid stallion and churned for a way to escape. Her uncle was far too close to the general. If they captured him….
She pressed Iris’ reins into his hands.
“Will, you stay here, under cover, with Iris. Give me your horse. He’s too visible against the snow. I’ll draw them off.”
“No,” he hissed back, choking down a cough. “I can not allow that.”
She snatched the black hat off his head and settled it securely on her own. “Look at it this way, uncle dear. If they nab you, it will likely be quite some time before we can get you exchanged. Bad for General Stuart, you know. Not to mention me. But if they catch me … I’m hospital staff, a noncombatant, a girl. They won’t hold me for very long, if at all.”
He stared at her, mouth working silently. She could tell he was looking desperately for some reason to stop her, but to no avail. He knew she was right, and hated it.
“Take care of him, Iris,” she said. The mare looked as if she too wanted to argue, but merely bobbed her head. Then, heart thumping, Star scrambled up on the black, kicked him hard and tore out of the thicket with a cry.
Immediately she heard the pursuit, shouts and the pounding of hooves. She bent low over the dark neck; the hat disappeared into the undergrowth as branches snagged her cloak and hair. She urged the horse to greater speed before realizing she was no longer in control.
Stupid, stupid horse, she thought wildly. She knew there was a reason she disliked the big black. Not a Woodhaven horse … She dodged another low lying branch … poorly trained … and pulled uselessly on the reins. Jupiter had the bit in his teeth now and was running for all he was worth. But true to his color he had no stamina, and the Yankees were gaining on her. She risked a backward glance. Only yards behind.
Where to go? she thought breathlessly, knuckles white on the reins. Suddenly the trees opened up before her, and the ground dropped away beneath Jupiter’s flying hooves. Her stomach floated up in her throat for a bare minute, then they crashed down, down, through a thin skim of ice into the Rappahannock’s frigid waters. Her scream was lost in a swirl of dark water.
Her cloak wrapped around her neck, strangling her. She struggled with it frantically, vaguely aware that Jupiter was thrashing beneath her, fighting his way back up out of the water. There was a heave, the cloak dropped away, and then her head broke the surface. She drew in deep breaths of knife cold air, gasping. The horse pulled himself up on the bank, shivering and stomping. Her eyes were clamped shut as she lay draped over the black’s
neck, mane and hair plastered across her face in a frozen mask.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?”
“Ain’t no Reb, that’s for certain.”
“Of course she’s a Reb. They’re all Rebs down here. Likely a spy to boot.”
Something touched her arm. Memories flashed through her befuddled brain—Len reaching out for her, grip crushing her wrist. She jerked away, eyelids breaking open. She was the focus of a half circle of blue coated troopers.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. Or at least that’s what she attempted to say.
The soldier looked at her in confusion. “What’s that? Speak up now.”
One of his comrades broke in. “Easy, George, can’t you see she’s chilled through? Here, lass,” he rode closer and draped his heavy coat, still warm, over her shoulders. Starla wanted to thank him, but all she could manage was a watery smile. He reached down and pried Jupiter’s reins loose from her grasp. “Even if she is a spy, the best thing to do is get her back to camp and turn her over to the captain.”
They led her up the bank, through the trees and away from the river. Away? That didn’t make sense. She tried to puzzle out what was going on, but nodded in and out of numbness. Stay awake, girl. Worst thing you can do, fall asleep now. Move your hands, move your fingers, move anything that will respond. But her body was in deep rebellion and nothing obeyed. Her mind wandered. Just let me go to sleep, Will. I’m so tired. Just a few minutes more. Will wasn’t saying much, just staring at her and shaking his finger. I’m sorry. But it’s not my fault, honestly….
A new voice broke in. “Whoa, there. What have you found?”
“We done found ourselves a Rebel mermaid, sir,” someone replied, laughter in his voice.
Starla forced her eyelids open again and found herself almost face to face with a sandy haired Yankee captain, green eyes staring at her in great interest. Do I know you?
“Come on down from there, lass,” the coatless trooper coaxed, dismounting and helping her down. She stood unsteadily; there were no legs between her and the ground. The captain towered over her now, filling her with an even deeper certainty that she knew him. Someone came up beside the captain and stopped abruptly.
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