Rob and the courier just stared at him.
“You know her?” The Michigan man was incredulous. “And here I thought I was out on a wild goose chase.”
Travis clenched his fists and glanced up at his brother. “Rob … sir…?”
“Your friend?”
He nodded, afraid to speak.
Rob shrugged and pushed him outside. “You have a pass. What are you waiting for?”
They mounted up silently and headed north. This can’t be right, Travis thought. “Where exactly are you camped?”
The trooper frowned for a minute, thinking. “Near Hanover and Low Dutch Roads? Where the fighting was today. Some place called Springer’s or Sprangle’s.”
“Spangler’s. I know a shorter way than this. Come on.”
At the next farm lane they turned east.
“Are you from around here, Lieutenant Travis?”
“Yes. About five miles the other way, over on the west side of Gettysburg. And it’s Lieutenant Black. Travis is my given name.”
“And the girl…?”
Travis could hear the curiosity in his voice.
“She’s an old friend.”
“You know, what she was wearing looked an awful lot like a Reb uniform.”
“It is a Reb uniform,” Travis said flatly, then fell silent. So, she still has that outfit. Doesn’t that bring back memories. Memories he couldn’t bury far enough. Especially the last. Bruised, trembling, those deep blue eyes misty with tears, and that blasted Deringer rock steady in her hand.
I shouldn’t care. I should not care what happens to you, Miss Anderson. He thought it fiercely, as if trying to convince himself. Logan’s voice, “You shouldn’t care if the girl’s Jeff Davis’ little sister.” His shoulders drooped. But I do care. I still love you. ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.’ He saw her again as he had that first day, lying in a tangled heap of blood and dirt and hair and skirts. The trooper had said she was badly wounded….
Lord! I promised to forgive her if You’d let me see her again. But I meant see her alive!
The sun was setting, disappearing into dark, angry clouds when they stopped outside a tent. A man wearing the all too familiar green chevrons of a medical orderly stood outside, wiping his hands on a bloody rag, and talking to a gray haired sergeant. Private Larson dismounted hurriedly, saluting as he did.
“I found him, sir.”
The sergeant stared up at Travis, whose attention was focused entirely on the rag. Is all that blood hers? Please, don’t let it be so. Then he realized he was being spoken to.
“Pardon?”
“I said, are you Travis?”
I don’t like your tone, mister. “Lieutenant Travis Black,” he said shortly, emphasizing his rank. He didn’t bother to return the sergeant’s hasty salute, but swung down and looked to the orderly. “Where is Miss Anderson?”
Tossing the stained cloth onto a heap, the orderly led him inside the tent. It was very dark, a single lamp casting a dull circle of light on the dirt floor. There was a pallet in one corner; Starla lay on it, motionless. Her blouse was loosely buttoned at the neck, her right arm and chest bound tightly with bandages. The shallow rise of her breast could barely be seen in the dimness.
“I’m trying to keep the light down in here,” the orderly explained. “She has some kind of head injury, and complained of the glare the only time she’s woken up since she wandered into camp. About the only thing she said that made any sense. That and something that sounded like, “Forgive me.” Over and over. At least I think that’s what she was saying. Was kinda hard to understand the words. Most likely delirious.”
No, not delirious, Travis thought, what little anger that still remained in him draining away, only to be replaced by fear. I forgive you. Now, stay with me long enough for me to let you know that.
“What else is wrong with her?” he asked softly, pushing limp hair from her forehead to expose a long cut that still oozed slightly.
“As near as I can tell, since the surgeons are all up at the field still, she’s got a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, possibly a couple cracked ribs, though her lungs seem fine—no gurgling or coughing up blood. I got the shoulder in place, wrapped her arm up pretty well, immobilized them both. But it’s her head that worries me the most. She hasn’t woken up since that one time, and I can’t wake her. That’s not a good sign. I’ve had a little real medical training, and head injuries are notoriously hard to heal. I cleaned the wound, but didn’t dare wrap it in case it put more pressure on the skull. What she needs most is peace and quiet and constant supervision, and she ain’t gonna find that here.”
Peace and quiet and constant supervision. Where was he going to find that, here in the middle of a battle? The answer came to him like a lightning bolt. Home.
“Listen,” he said, straightening suddenly. “She came in on a gray mare, right?”
The orderly looked confused. “No….”
“Fine, white then. Yes? That’s what I thought. Get someone to bring her here. Her name’s Iris. Oh, and I need a blanket. And something large and white.”
He ignored the exit of the Michigan man as he stooped low over the still form. “I’m here, Miss Star. I once said I’d take care of you, and you know I’ll not break my promise.”
Besides, there are words to be had between us, Miss Anderson, he thought, on the nature of duty and friendship. And love? Can that ever be? After all that has happened? He touched her face again, very gently. That remains to be seen.
As the twilight deepened, Travis headed off to the west, a white flag flying from his saddle, and Starla, wrapped in a heavy blanket, held securely in his arms. Iris came behind, limping, but determined to follow. The evening breeze finally blew cool after the heat of the day and the moon remained hidden, suiting his needs perfectly. He kept his eyes focused on the route he was taking and his ears open for sounds of pursuit. He hoped that by taking the back fields and farm lanes he had grown up on he could avoid Confederate patrols. If not, well, he was known by General Stuart and most of his staff. I never thought having been a prisoner could come in handy.
He glanced down from time to time at the silent form whose head lolled disturbingly with every beat of Ginny’s hooves. No, Star. Don’t. Please, hold on just a while longer.
They had just crossed over Rock Creek, using the Harrisonburg Road, when a voice called after him, “Halt, or I’ll shoot.”
Travis slowed to a walk, cursing under his breath. A pale wraith rode up through the shadows, a large horse pistol pointed at him.
“Well now, would ya look at this. A Yankee riding hard behind our lines. Looks rather suspicious to me. Howabout you?” The scout directed that last remark to another horseman who appeared from underneath the trees.
“I’ll say. Probably spying on our lines.”
Shifting Starla ever so slightly, Travis pointed behind him at the limp sheet. “I’m not spying. I need to get this girl to safety, and quickly. Here’s my white flag.”
Both Rebel soldiers looked at him with skepticism.
“Fine. Go get General Stuart. Tell him it’s Travis Black. He’ll vouch for me.”
The gun didn’t waver. “Likely story, Yank. No need to bring the general all the way out here. We’ll take you to him, sure enough. You and whoever, or whatever, you have in that there blanket.”
They started off again, down towards town, too, too slowly for Travis. The second rider took off for the camp, stirring dust clouds as he went.
Most likely to warn everyone that they’re bringing a spy in, Travis thought angrily, running a fretful hand over Star’s too-hot face. Just one guard. He considered making a break for it.
They were passing the old almshouse when he began to gather up Air to shield them as they ran, but was interrupted by the thundering of hooves coming towards them. Even in the dim light, he could recognize the familiar figure of Jeb Stuart on Skylark.
“Lieutenant Black?” the general cal
led out, voice laced with apprehension. “Is Miss Anderson with you?”
Travis didn’t have time to appreciate the stunned look that crossed his captor’s face. He kneed Ginny forward to meet the general. “Yes, sir. She’s rather badly wounded. I was taking her to my home when your men picked me up.”
Stuart peered at the motionless girl in Travis’ arms, reached out to barely touch her face. Then to Travis, “Where is your home?”
“Just up the Chambersburg Pike, sir. Halfway between here and Cashtown. My folks will look after her.”
Heat lightning arced the sky. A whisper of a smile appeared above the dark beard. “I’m sure they will. Do you have a pass?”
Travis nodded. Thanks to Captain Logan.
“Fine then. Sergeant O’Malley here,” he pointed at the first scout, “will guarantee you safe passage to and from your house, back to where he found you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Travis said, relief washing through his body. Gathering up Ginny’s reins, he turned to go.
“And Black—”
“Yes?”
“Could you try to pass word on to me, on how she is?” There was a quiet regret in his voice. “I feel that I’ve failed Lewis somehow, that he left me responsible for her.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Then they were gone, riding west once more.
There were lights still burning in the sitting room when Travis and his escort rode up the drive to his home. He slid from the saddle and took the porch steps in one stride.
“Da? Mum? Open up!” he yelled, kicking at the front door. There was a clattering in the hall, then the door inched open and a rifle barrel peeked out at him. “It’s me, Da. Travis.”
Almost immediately, the door swung wide. Samuel and Caroline Black stood in the foyer staring at him in disbelief.
“Travis? What’s going on? What are you doing here? Come in, lad, come in.” His mother had, characteristically, found her tongue first. Then she caught sight of the burden Travis carried. “A Mhaighdean! Who is that? Never mind. Get her inside and upstairs.”
He followed her, calling back down to his father who was looking suspiciously outside, rifle held ready. “There’s a Reb on the porch, Da. Don’t shoot him; he’s my escort through enemy lines. You might even want to let him in—it’s starting to rain.” His father’s look of consternation almost made him laugh—a mad laugh, to be sure.
His mother was still talking to him.
“Travis? Who is she?” She looked at him closely in the light of the lamp she held, and with a flash of motherly intuition asked, “Is this the lass who helped you?”
Travis realized he had a lump forming in his throat, a knot of fear that was difficult to talk around. He nodded jerkily and laid Star down as if she were made of glass. She had not moved or made a sound since he’d first seen her. That realization made him go cold inside.
“The orderly said she has some sort of head injury, plus a broken arm and possibly some ribs. I thought … I thought….”
He sat down hastily on the edge of the bed, suddenly at his wit’s end. Thankfully, his mother understood.
“Call Ellen for me. Make sure she brings up my herbs and bandages and some hot water. Then go take care of your horse, and get some food if you like.” She pushed him gently from the room. “Don’t worry, my lad. You thought right. Now, go along with you.”
He stopped in the doorway, looking back to where Caro had already started unwrapping bandages. “Mum?”
“Yes, dear?” she answered, not looking up from the task at hand.
“If she…. When she wakes, will you call me?”
Caro stared at him a moment, as if weighing his request against other thoughts in her mind, then nodded. “Of course, Travis.”
He turned and fled downstairs, yelling for Ellen and Alexander as he did.
Starla awoke suddenly to pain, a flame red, throbbing blanket of pain. And nausea. She drew her knees up to her chest involuntarily, retching and whimpering at the pain that laced every movement. Warm hands held her face, holding her head steady, then lay her back down. She heard a lilting female voice, accompanied by a cool dampness on her brow.
“Rest easy, lass. You’ve quite the knot on your head. No, no. Don’t try to sit up, not yet.”
The pain in her head had subsided slightly, enough that she could now think relatively clearly and take some reckoning of her surroundings. The first thing she realized is that her eyes were bound lightly with some thin cloth that smelled faintly of rosemary and … valerian? That was strange. Only Healers tended to use valerian. The next was that she couldn’t move her right arm. That was fine—she didn’t want to move it. Hurt too much. And then there was the quiet of the room: no cries of other wounded, no shouting of surgeons and orderlies, no heavy storm of battle. Just the tapping of rain on a roof. This definitely was not a hospital tent.
“Where am I, ma’am, and who are you?” she asked. The words were soft and indistinct, but at least they were understandable.
“I’m Caro Black. Travis brought you here to our home.”
Star struggled to sit upright, ignoring the stabbing in her chest, tearing one handed at the blindfold. “Travis? Where is he? Please, I have to speak with him!”
Hands pushed her back into the pillows, gentle, but irresistible.
“Miss Anderson, Starla. Please. Just relax. Travis is still here. I promised to call him when you awoke. But you must lie quiet. And leave those bandages be. You’re a nurse your own self, true? Then you must know that quiet and bed rest are what’s called for.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said weakly, trying to relax her aching body, and control her heaving stomach. You should know better, Star, she told herself. Thrashing around like that with a head injury. She lay very still, which wasn’t difficult: the bed was soft and clean and lavender scented. She could feel some of her tension easing … except the continued twisting and knotting of her stomach, which was not entirely due to her injuries.
Her thoughts spilled over each other in no particular order, but she latched on to the most important one: Travis was still alive. He had brought her to his home, and he was still here, waiting to talk to her. Would he listen to her apology first? Heaven knows he has every reason to hate me, but I am not certain what I will do if he loses his temper with me….
She tilted her head towards Mrs. Black’s comforting voice. “Could I…? Might I speak with him now? It would … it would help me to rest easier.” A great deal easier, to have this confrontation she had dreaded for weeks over and done with. For better or for worse.
“Certainly, my dear.”
Star strained her ears, counting the steps: one, two, three, four. Then the hushed squeak of a door opening and Caro Black calling out, “Travis? Would you please—?”
The words were cut off by the pounding of boots on the stairs. There was a pause.
She must have pulled the door to, Star thought anxiously, because all she could hear now were muffled voices. So she waited, heart in her throat, barely realizing she was twisting the covers into knots with her free hand.
The door opened again with a dull creak. She heard heavy footsteps: one, two, three, then silence. He’s standing there, looking at me. She cursed her blindness. If only I could see his face, read his mood.
“Travis?” She tried to be calm, but her voice quavered as she turned to where he should be. There was only the sound of breathing, and of voices far away, downstairs. Her head dropped to her chest in defeat. “I’m so sorry, Travis. Please, forgive me? I daren’t ask for your trust again. But your friendship—”
She stopped mid thought as the mattress suddenly sloped sideways, throwing her off balance, and a callused finger placed itself lightly on her lips.
“Hush now, Miss Star,” he said in an oddly husky voice. “I’ve already forgiven you. So let’s hear no more such nonsense.”
Her mouth dropped open beneath his finger, shock and relief leaving her limp. “You have? But … bu
t….” she sputtered, not quite sure what to say next.
He chuckled softly, removing his hand.
“Does that surprise you so much?”
“But I threatened to shoot you! After all you’d done—”
“And I probably would have done the same thing,” he interrupted. “Duty requires that sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, my bull-headed Rebel friend. I was furious. More than furious. I prayed never to see you again.”
Her heart sank as he said that. But he took her hand, kissed the knuckles gently, and held it captive as he continued in that same odd tone. “I’ve never been happier for an unanswered prayer, Miss Star. Nor to see you alive and safe. You know,” he said, voice suddenly much lighter, “when I said I’d look after you, I didn’t realize how much looking after you required. You do seem to have a knack for attracting trouble. Rather like a lightning rod, I think.”
“It’s not like I go looking for trouble,” she protested, defensive.
“I’m sure a lightning rod would say the same thing,” he replied, a hint of teasing in his voice.
It hit her all at once. He’s not angry. He’s forgiven me. And he called me friend. “Isn’t that just like an uncivilized Yankee,” she muttered happily. “Picking on me when I can’t fight back properly.”
She was delighted to hear him laugh.
“Much better. That cowed and submissive attitude doesn’t suit you in the slightest. I know you better than that.” He squeezed her hand tightly. The bed squeaked as he shifted positions. “Yes, Mum, we’re almost through talking.”
Star heard footsteps fade, though she had not heard them approach. He stood up as if to leave.
“Well, Miss Star, it’s fast approaching morning, and I’ve got to be getting back to my company.”
She clung to his hand. Gettysburg! What happened? I can’t remember anything…. “Travis? The battle? General Stuart?”
An Uncivilized Yankee Page 23
