Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (16 page)

             
“What’s that got to do with me?”  Carrie demanded even though she knew very well what it had to do with her.

             
“Folks ain’t gonna take kindly to a white woman going down into colored town,” Spencer said patiently, his voice imploring her to be reasonable.  “You be in right much danger every time you go down there.  But this time be different.  Some folks just gonna be lookin’ for trouble.  I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

             
Carrie patted her waistline.  “I’m prepared for trouble,” she said grimly.  “You know my father makes me carry a gun ever since that trouble last year.  I’m a good shot,” she added.  She realized Spencer’s stubborn expression hadn’t softened one bit, so she stood up and stepped from the carriage.  “I’m going.  With or without you,” she announced dramatically, knowing he would never let her go alone.  “There are people there who need me.  I will not let my fear of ignorant people stop me from doing what needs to be done.”

             
Spencer sighed and picked up the reins.  “I don’t know why I ever try to argue with you.  I declare - you be the stubbornest woman I ever done met.  Your daddy is gonna have me shot sho nuff if something happen to you.”  He shook his head sorrowfully.  “Get in the carriage, Miss Carrie.  You know I’s gonna take you.”

             
Carrie grinned and got back in.  “Thank you,” she said sweetly.

             
Spencer rolled his eyes and clucked to the horses. “Darn fool crazy thing!” he muttered under his breath as the carriage began to move down the street.

             
Carrie was relieved to see the streets emptying as they headed down the hill from the Capitol toward the river bottom.  In spite of the confidence she had displayed to Spencer, she knew she was taking a huge risk coming down here.  She still had vivid memories of the band of drunken men who had tried to stop her months before - angry because she was treating the blacks.   One of her father’s friends had saved her but told her disdainfully that if she continued doing such a fool thing he would not step in to aid her again.   She now carried a gun tucked into her waistband, but there had been no more threatening encounters.  Why, then, was she so nervous tonight?  She yearned for Janie’s company, all the while glad her friend had not been able to get away from Chimborazo.  Together, the two of them made a difference in the lives of their patients.  Dr. Wild even came down whenever possible to help with the more difficult cases. 

             
Carrie tensed and reached for her weapon when two scruffy-looking men stepped out into the road and glared at her carriage.  Spencer, his back ramrod straight, didn’t even look at them.  He just continued to drive straight forward.  The two men glared at her for a long moment, then scowled, and turned away.  Carrie sank back against the seat in relief but still gripped the pistol.  Something about the air today spoke of trouble brewing. 
Please God, let it be my imagination.

             
Pastor Anthony waited outside the ramshackle building when the carriage rolled up.  Looking around nervously, he met her as she stepped down.  “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to be here today?”

             
Carrie managed a casual laugh.  “My services are no longer good enough for you?” she teased.  “Or have all my patients gotten well and gone home?”

             
Pastor Anthony grabbed her arm and pulled her into the building.  As they reached the door, he turned back to Spencer.  “Put the carriage in back and come inside.  It’s not safe for you out here.”

             
Carrie tried to control her growing alarm.  “Has something happened?”  There was no teasing now.

             
“Two of my parishioners were attacked this morning.  For absolutely no reason.”  He shook his head sorrowfully, his voice edged with anger.  “The group of cowards who jumped them said they were going to do away with them before they could escape to the North and join up with the Union army.” 

             
“Did they kill them?”  Carrie asked anxiously.

             
“They’re two of your new patients,” Pastor Anthony replied, his normally kind blue eyes flashing. “It’s a miracle they’re still alive.  They were beaten up pretty badly.”

             
Carrie tightened her lips and reached for her bag of supplies.  “Show me where they are.”

             
The usually cheerful little hospital was quietly somber as she walked briskly down the aisle.  There were smiles sent her direction, but there was none of the loud greetings that usually heralded her arrival.   Normally bright eyes were now hooded and fearful.  Carrie wanted to shout out they were safe here.  She remained silent.  She couldn’t bring herself to lie. 

             
Carrie stifled a groan as she approached the beds of the two beaten men.  She was sure the two would be unrecognizable to family or friends now.  Their faces had been beaten to a pulp; cuts and lacerations were evident on the rest of their bodies.   One man had had both arms broken.  They were obviously both in shock.  Carrie pushed down the anger at whoever had done this and tried to concentrate on saving them. 

             
One of the ladies acting as a nurse hurried up.  “I done cleaned them up as best I could,” she said breathlessly.  “I done found some of that stuff you made up from the persimmon bark and cleaned all their cuts the best I could.”  She paused then whispered fearfully.  “You think they’s gonna make it, Miss Carrie?”

             
“They’re going to be fine,” Carrie stated briskly, hoping she was right.  There was no telling how much brain damage might have been done by the savage attack.  It would be days before anyone would know.  “I want more blankets on them,” she ordered, then turned to Pastor Anthony.  “Please bring me a bottle of my stramonium leaves and maypop root.  It will alleviate some of their pain.”  Carrie turned back to her patients.   She needed to set the broken bones first.

It was almost dark when Carrie left the hospital.  She had hoped to get away earlier, but two weeks
’ absence had left a lot to be done.  Every part of her ached from fatigue. 

             
Pastor Anthony accompanied her to the carriage.  “I wish I could take you home,” he said anxiously.  “But I feel I have to stay here at the hospital.”  He gazed around at the deepening shadows.  “They may need me.”

             
Carrie reached out and touched his arm.  “We’ll be fine,” she assured him.  “Spencer and I have done this plenty of times.” 

             
Pastor Anthony nodded and stepped back reluctantly.  “Be careful.”

             
Carrie waved as Spencer picked up the reins.  “See you soon,” she promised, swallowing her fear as she looked down the road into the dark pockets cast by the surrounding buildings.  Spencer urged the horse into a fast trot.  Carrie knew he was as anxious to reach her father’s house as she was.  She leaned forward, silently urging the horses to hurry. 

             
They had gone less than one hundred yards and had just rounded a curve when the horse jarred to a halt, rearing up in its traces and pawing the air wildly.  Carrie gasped and slammed back against the seat as Spencer grabbed the sides of the carriage to keep his balance.  She had just straightened herself when a group of about ten men stepped from the shadows of a building.   The man in the lead calmly coiled the long whip he had just snapped in front of the horse. 

             
“Miss Cromwell, I presume,” he drawled in a nasty voice.               

CHAPTER EIGHT

             
Carrie remained seated, fighting to remain calm.  “Who is asking?” 

             
“Me and the boys here,” he snarled.  “The name is Pickett.”

             
“Well, Mr. Pickett, if you’ll excuse us, we must be on our way,” Carrie snapped. 

             
The skinny, disheveled man stepped closer, hefting his whip in his hand.  “Yeah.  It ain’t real safe to be out this time of the night.”  Suddenly he reached out and grabbed the horse’s bridle.  “But I don’t reckon you’re going to be on your way just yet.”

             
“I beg your pardon?”  Carrie could feel her heart pounding in her ears.  Spencer was ramrod straight, motionless in his seat.  Suddenly she realized she had put not only herself but also him in grave danger.  Visions of the two men beaten earlier that day rose to taunt her.

             
“Now, Miss Cromwell, we ain’t aiming to do you no harm.  At least not
tonight
,” he sneered with an evil grin.

             
“My name is Mrs. Borden,” Carrie said arrogantly, hoping the idea of a husband would cause them to think twice about whatever they intended to do.

             
“You mean there’s a Mr. Borden who lets his wife come down to take care of a bunch of niggers?”  Pickett snarled.  “He must be one of them cowards who are letting other men fight for his country.”

             
“
Captain
Borden,” Carrie said coolly, “has just fought in the battle against Hooker’s forces.”  She took a deep breath and continued angrily.  “May I ask where you and your
men
were while that battle was being fought?”

             
Pickett blanched with anger but then quickly uncoiled his whip.  “I reckon I’ve heard all your female trash I intend to listen to.  It’s obvious from all the talk that you don’t know the proper place of a Southern woman.  I know all about your being a nigger lover.”  He moved closer to Spencer.  “I reckon this be one of your niggers, ain’t he?”  He motioned to the men behind him.  “I reckon we’ll rough him up like we did them two this morning.  That’ll be one more that won’t be fighting with them Yankees.” 

             
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Mr. Pickett,” Carrie said coldly, her voice ringing through the night air.

             
“And just how do you figure on stopping me?” he growled.  “You look slightly outnumbered.”  He laughed wildly.  “Get the nigger, boys!”

             
The men shot forward, then stumbled to a halt as a shot rang out in the air, immediately followed by another. 

             
“What the...?”  Pickett cried.

             
“The next shot will go right through your heart,” Carrie snapped, leveling her pistol at the furious man.  “Don’t doubt that I can do it.  I’m an excellent shot.”

             
“You wouldn’t shoot a man in cold blood,” Pickett blustered. 

             
“I don’t think you’re behavior qualifies you as a man.  I would have no qualms about shooting a wild animal to save a decent human being,” Carrie said coldly, then waved her gun at the rest of the group.  “The first one who takes another step toward my carriage will be the first to catch one of my bullets.”

             
Pickett tried to regain control.  “You can’t shoot us all.  You’re fighting a losing game.”

             
“Maybe,” Carrie agreed calmly, letting her eyes sweep over the group of frightened, but still defiant men.  “But I got enough bullets left for four of you.  If you think I’m going to sit idly by while you beat my driver you are sorely mistaken.  Four of you will have to die to accomplish what you want to.”  She paused.  “Which four of you will it be?” 

             
She swung her gaze back to Pickett.  “I promise you’ll be one of the four if you don’t take your men and get out of here.” 

             
Hatred gleaming from his eyes, Pickett stared at her for several long moments.  “You’ll be sorry for this.” 

             
“And you’ll be sorrier if you don’t clear out now,” Carrie relished the fear squinting from his reptilian eyes.   Slowly she pulled back the hammer of the gun.  “Make your choice.”