Passion's Fury (32 page)

McClellan’s army.
April felt the dread chill move down her spine. They were headed straight into the battlefield! How was she going to explain being a woman in a Yankee uniform? She had to escape. But as her eyes darted about, she knew she could do nothing but remain right where she was. There was absolutely no way out.

She saw them kicking dirt over the flames of their campfire, gathering their things and preparing to move out. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch from sheer hunger, and she felt weak, dizzy.

“Hey, did you hear that noise?”

Now the lurch in her stomach came from fear. She had not made a sound. At least, she didn’t think she had. Pressing her back against pointy edged boxes, she tried to sink even further down into the wagon.

“Yeah, I heard it. Over there. By them bushes. Move slow. I got my gun on it.”

Slowly, cautiously, she raised her head to peer out once more. They had not heard her—but what then? She saw two of the men moving toward thick brush. She licked her dry, parched lips. A wounded Yankee? Rebel? Now she could hear the soft whimpering noise.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Hey, Ryerson, look at this.” The two men stepped back, allowing the wagonmaster to step forward.

“A damn mutt!” He leaned over, and she could see him dragging a scruffy, bony dog who had once been white. The pitiful creature offered no resistance. She could see the slight, hopeful wag of his tail, as though he were clutching one last hope that, through a show of friendship, he might be treated kindly.

“Well.” Ryerson dumped him on the ground. “Don’t waste no gunfire. Just kick him in the head—”

“No!”

The scream exploded before she was even aware of it. She scrambled over the back of the wagon and ran to where the four men stood staring, openmouthed and wide-eyed. One of them had his foot poised in midair, about to stomp the dog. She fell to her knees and scooped the pathetic animal into her arms and pressed him against her bosom. Only then did the impact of what she had done bit her full force. Lifting fearful eyes, she looked at them each in turn, then whispered, “I…I couldn’t let you kill him. He’s helpless.”

“Well, I will be dipped in horse manure!” one of the soldiers cried. “A danged woman. Wearing a federal uniform.”

Ryerson snarled, “And hidin’ out in the back of
my
wagon, too.” He reached down to fasten viselike fingers about her arm and jerk her to her feet. “What’s your name, girl? And how long you been hidin’ back there in my wagon?”

The dog raised his face to lick her chin gratefully with his pink tongue. She hugged him protectively and stared defiantly at Ryerson. “My name is April Jennings. I was being held against my will in Washington, and I escaped. I’m on my way home—to Montgomery, Alabama. I’d be pleased if you’d give me a ride as far south as you’re going.”

The men exchanged incredulous looks, then broke into rounds of convulsive laughter. April tried to pull away from Ryerson’s grip, but he held her tightly, guffawing along with the others. Infuriated, she kicked his shin, and he stopped laughing and gave her a vicious shove that sent her sprawling to the ground.

“Just who do you think you are, you little spitfire?” He reached down to rub his aching ankle. “And you can let go that damn mutt, ’cause when we finish bustin’ his head, we’re gonna show you what happens to Reb spies, even if they are women.”

“I’m no spy, you fool!” She got up on her knees, then managed to stand and face him defiantly. “I told you that I’m on my way home. I was taken to Washington against my will and kept against my will. You have no right to disbelieve me. And you aren’t going to hurt the dog. He’s one of God’s creatures, and you can’t.”

Ryerson took a menacing step forward, and she instinctively moved back, only to find herself pressed against a smirking soldier who stood ready to move whenever he was given the word.

“You get out of that uniform,” Ryerson ordered. “What’d you do to the brave soldier who was wearin’ that blue? Stick a knife in his ribs after you robbed him? We’re gonna teach you a few things.”

“I want her after you, Ryerson.”

She looked toward the man who had spoken, gasped when she saw him fumbling with his pants.

April screamed and tried to back away, but the four men were forming a circle about her, crowding closer, closer.

A shot rang out, and April blinked in stunned horror as Ryerson fell to the ground.

More gunfire. In a matter of seconds, all four Yankees lay dead on the ground in a spreading pool of blood. Then her vision cleared, the cloud of horror parting as the men in gray stepped out of the bushes, their guns still smoking.

“You all right, ma’am?” A tall, thin man with a scrubby beard spoke as he came closer. When she did not speak, he said gently, “We’re not gonna hurt you now, so don’t you be afraid. I’m Captain George Shoreham, and this here is Adam Pauley, Jarvis Ingram, and Dudley Harper. They’re in my company, and we’re about all that’s left of it since the battle at Antietam. We’ve been wanderin’ around, trying to find some more Confederates, and it’s a good thing we happened along here when we did.”

She stared at each of them in turn and was overwhelmed by their protection. She managed a nervous smile. “Thank you for…for saving me and my friend here.” She gestured toward the dog.

“Well, now, looks like you’ve got quite a friend in that little fellow.” Captain Shoreham grinned and reached down to pat the dog’s head.

“He’s lucky you came along, that’s for sure.”

April smiled down at the ragged dog. “He’s filthy and he’s missed many meals, but he’s a lucky dog. I guess that’s what his name should be—Lucky.”

The captain said quietly, “Now, you better tell us just what’s going on.”

She told them all she knew, that the wagon in which she had been hiding carried supplies for wounded Yankees, and that other Yankees were probably not too far behind.

The men exchanged concerned glances and then the Captain said, “I reckon we’d best be gettin’ along then, miss. We’ll take their wagon, as we’re bound to run into some of our own wounded. You want to come on along with us, or have you got a home to go to? You don’t sound like a Yankee woman to me.”

She explained briefly and he nodded with sympathy but said, “We can’t help you none there, miss. Not now. Best we can do is take you along with us and keep you from harm as best we can. I got a spare shirt and a pair of trousers you can wear. You better get out of that uniform.”

She went behind the wagon to change clothes, and then was helped up onto the wagon to sit beside Jarvis Ingram, who took the reins. Captain Shoreham and the others dragged the bodies of Ryerson and the Yankee soldiers into the bushes, then kicked dirt over the blood in the road.

They left the main road, moving into the wilderness. Jarvis told April they should not be lost much longer. “We figure we’re close to Major General Hill’s division, or some of ’em anyway. And we can’t be too far from Richmond.”

Jarvis gave her a sideways glance and asked, “Are you all right, ma’am? You look kind of funny—”

“I haven’t eaten in quite a while,” she told him feebly, her fingers absently running through the thin white fur of the dog as he lay curled beside her. “That awful smell in the air, it makes me feel sick. What is it?”

“Sulfur mostly,” he said grimly. “With a little bit of death mixed in. A lot of men have died around here in the past few days, miss. I can’t do nothin’ about that smell, but maybe I can help your hunger a bit.” He reached in the pocket of his shirt and brought out a stale biscuit and gave it to her.

After breaking off a bit for the dog, she ate the biscuit quickly, then thanked him, apologizing for being so gluttonous. “I can’t ever remember being so hungry.”

“A lot of folks are going to know the pain of an empty belly before this war is over,” he said quietly. “And ever’body thought it’d be over before it really even got started. We’re all gonna suffer, one way or another.”

They both fell silent, and it was not long before April felt her head nodding, her chin dropping as her eyes closed. She joined the dog in gentle slumber and was not even aware when Jarvis stopped the wagon long enough to lift her in his arms and place her in the back.

They continued to move steadily southward.

Chapter Twenty-One

A jubilant cry brought April to instant alertness. She sat up quickly and looked out to see the colorful stars and bars of the Confederate flag waving from the roof of a log cabin nestled in a grove of pines. Captain Shoreham and his men were cheering over the realization that they were now among their own kind. They were out of immediate danger from the Yankees.

“Godalmighty, I’ve always loved that flag, but never more than in this minute!” Captain Shoreham whooped with glee, following his proclamation with an ear-splitting Rebel yell.

A soldier in a dirty, tattered gray uniform approached and told them they were in Colonel Saul Whitfield’s camp. “Don’t look like much of a camp to me,” the captain pointed out, seeing only a few other soldiers milling about.

“Most of our men are over that rise there,” the soldier pointed to a hilly ridge. “Camp’s really over there. The Colonel took over this cabin, ’cause his wife’s bad sick. It’s quieter here.”

April had climbed down out of the wagon and walked around to stand before the soldier, the dog following her. Bewildered, she asked, “You say the Colonel’s
wife
is sick? You mean she’s here? Where you’ve been fighting?”

He gave her an insolent glare. “Lots of women follow their men into battle. The Colonel just happens to want his family with him. I might ask what you’re doin’ out here in the wilderness, wearin’ men’s breeches and traveling with a bunch of men,” he added suggestively.

“Now wait a minute—” Captain Shoreham spoke up indignantly.

April interrupted quickly. “It’s all right,” she said to the captain, then turned back to the soldier. “It’s really quite a long story, and we’re all very tired. Do you suppose we could have something to eat? Then perhaps I could see the Colonel’s wife. If she’s ill, I might be of some comfort to her.”

He frowned. “I’ll have to check with the Colonel.”

After all the months of running and sneaking and pretending, April basked in the friendly atmosphere of the camp. She was fed, and they even found a dress for her, a green muslin dress the Colonel’s wife no longer used. She and Lucky thrived.

One afternoon, while she was trying to make arrangements to go to Alabama, she found herself talking with a garrulous older man who had been wounded at Harpers Ferry and was being left out of the fighting so that he could heal.

Glad to unburden herself, April told him about Pinehurst, and her father, and Vanessa, and he listened sympathetically, then began telling her about the fighting, what it was like to be right there inside it…and about the wounded and dead, the horrors he had seen.

“There was a boy from Alabama in my company. I knew lots of men from Alabama, but he sticks in my mind. I was talking to him one day about his home, and he got this funny look on his face. I asked him if he had a wife back there, or a sweetheart, and he just blowed up and said if I didn’t mind my own damn business he was gonna bust me right in the mouth. I left him alone after that, but I couldn’t get him outta my mind.

“Anyway.” He paused for a breath and continued, “His name was Moseley, Alton Moseley. He got hit same time I did, but he got it pretty bad. They took him to that big hospital in Richmond, but I doubt they was able to save him. Some of the boys said he was blowed up pretty bad.”

He stopped talking when he saw that she had gone white. She took a deep breath and said, “Alton…is—an old friend.”

She turned beseeching blue eyes on him. “He’s been taken to the big hospital in Richmond?”

“Chimborazo, yes,” he replied.

“I must go there. At once.”

Bidding him good-bye and mumbling good wishes for his health, she left him and sought out the Colonel. Luck was with her. There would be a wagon leaving for Richmond in a few days, and, yes, he promised, he would see that she was on it. It was unusual to provide transportation for a woman in an army wagon, but the Colonel liked her. He would help her out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I am sorry, Miss Jennings. I do sympathize with you, but there is no way we can allow you to visit Lieutenant Moseley. His condition is extremely poor. He has been placed in our special unit for the critically wounded. It is absolutely impossible for you to visit him.”

April sat on the edge of her chair, facing the woman who was in charge of visitors at the huge, sprawling Chimborazo Hospital.

Mrs. Palmer looked down at the papers on her desk, then lifted sympathetic eyes to meet April’s searching gaze. “I hate to be so blunt with you, but he is not expected to live. I’m sorry.”

“Not expected—?” April echoed, shaking her head from side to side wildly as she clutched the edge of the desk for support. “Oh, dear God. Then I must see him. I must! We were going to be married before he went off to war, and there was a terrible misunderstanding. I’ve got to see him and tell him what happened.”

“It just isn’t possible. I’m sorry.”

April stared at her, foggily aware of her eyes, a warm brown. The laugh lines were evidence that she had probably smiled a lot once, before the war. Now she looked severe, bitter, almost merciless.