Spring Will Come (46 page)

             
“It’s a crazy idea,” he muttered up to the sky. 

             
They’re good people.

             
“Sure, they’re good people.  That doesn’t mean they want this man dumped on them.”  Moses didn’t care that he was talking out loud.  The very idea was so ludicrous he was beginning to think he was crazy just to be thinking it. 

             
Take Robert to them.

             
“Look, God,” Moses said angrily.  He stopped himself, sure that the long day had gotten to him if he thought he was talking to God.  A soft breeze sprang up, blowing gently across his hot face.   Once again he was gripped with confusion and turmoil.  Moses groaned and buried his face in Granite’s mane.  “What am I supposed to do?”

             
Do the right thing.

             
Moses stood still for several long minutes then turned and began to head due east.  It was crazy.  It could mean Robert would die for sure.  His heart was telling him God was leading him.  His head was telling him he had taken leave of his senses.  He knew only one thing for sure.  The confusion had stopped swirling in his head as soon as he changed direction.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Night was just beginning to give way to dawn when Hobbs, carrying a stretcher, led a medic through the woods.  “Thank you for helping me,” he said, his face taut with worry and fear. 

             
“You can’t possibly think this man is still alive,” Manson protested, his florid face lined with fatigue.  He shook his head.  “I’m plum crazy to be doing this.  I could be catching a few hours of sleep.”  He stopped, his look saying he was having second thoughts.

             
Hobbs grabbed Manson’s arm and pulled him forward.  “The lieutenant might be alive,” he insisted.  “Come on, Manson.  We’ve known each other since we were kids.  Don’t you remember when I pulled your little sister out of the river?”

             
“Course I remember,” Manson growled.  “You won’t let me forget!  It’s the only reason I’m out here on this wild goose chase.”

             
“Lieutenant Borden saved my life,” Hobbs reminded him for what must have been the tenth time.  He still couldn’t believe he had talked Manson into coming out here with him.  He had scoured the lines all night, searching for his commander.  He knew Robert could be lying anywhere, but one of his final conversations with a medic had given him hope.  “That fellow I talked to remembered seeing the barricade of logs we built.  Said there was still a man lying there.”

             
“If he was alive, they would have gotten him,” Manson protested.

             
“You said yourself they have orders to bring back the ones with the best chance first,” Hobbs reminded him.  “That don’t mean he’s dead for sure.”

             
“Yeah, yeah!”  Manson growled, his face sympathetic.  “I’m coming with you, aren’t I?  How much farther?”

             
“We’re almost there,” Hobbs responded.  He gave a cheer when they broke through the woods, the sun creating more of a glow on the eastern horizon.  The mountains stood like silent ramparts over the grisly scene.  Hobbs stopped and stared, his face turning white.  It had been horrible enough to see yesterday when the battle was raging.  Now the cornfield had become something even his worst nightmares could never have envisioned.   His stomach heaved, and his mouth turned to cotton.

             
Manson put his hand on Hobbs’ shoulder.  “I told you it was bad.”

             
Hobbs shook his head and turned away.  “Let’s find the lieutenant,” he growled.  He had taken no more than a few steps before his insides went into full rebellion.  He bent double as dry heaves wracked his body.  The horrors of the last twenty-four hours exploded from his body.  When he finally stood, it was only Manson’s steadying hand that kept him from falling.  He took several deep breaths.  “Sorry.”  He took another deep breath and shook his head to clear it.  “The lieutenant should be this direction.” 

             
They had gone several hundred feet before Hobbs could make out the crude barricade in the distance. “There it is!”   He picked his way faster over the dead bodies. Moments later he was standing stock-still, staring at the empty space behind the logs. 

             
“He’s gone,” he said in disbelief.

             
“Great.  We came all the way out here for nothing,” Manson said in disgust.  “One of the boys probably got him.”

             
“He’s gone,” Hobbs said again, his mind trying to convince his eyes they were playing tricks on him.   “How could he be gone?”  Disappointment gripped his heart. 

             
“Good lord, man!” Manson exclaimed.  “Be glad he’s off the field.  He’s probably lying on the ground somewhere being tended to right now.”

             
Hobbs looked up quickly, his disappointment giving way to a desperate hope.  “I’ll find him in one of the camps.” 

Hobbs spent all the next day scouring the buildings and tents holding the Confederate wounded.  He had been forced to stare into the face of thousands of horribly wounded men
, but he could not find his lieutenant.  Everyone was kind, but no one could tell him anything. 

             
It was almost midnight before he finally retreated to the rest of his unit.  Hopelessness settled on him like a heavy mountain fog in the early spring.  It clung to him, pulling from him what little energy he had left.  He walked slowly up to the nearest fire and sank down, staring into its curling flames. 

             
“Didn’t find him, huh?” Walker asked sympathetically. 

             
Hobbs shook his head.  “No,” he said dully.  He looked up, from somewhere a faint hope reaching through the fog.  “I ain’t done looking, though.  There’s still them buildings in town.  I heard the people around here have taken in a lot of our men.  Robert could be there.”

             
“That could be,” Walker agreed.

             
Hobbs stuffed down his anger at the look of skepticism on his comrade’s face.   What did it matter what he thought?  It was his life the lieutenant had saved.  It was he who had made the promise to let Carrie know what happened to her lieutenant..   Hobbs stood, walked to his haversack, and reached for his grimy, worn-out blanket.  He would welcome the little comfort it would give him tonight.  In the morning, he would continue to look.

             
Someone was shaking Hobbs’s shoulder. 

             
“Get up man!  We’re getting out of here.”

             
Hobbs struggled to focus his eyes.  It was still dark, the position of the moon telling him he could not have been asleep for more than a couple hours.  “Huh?”

             
“Lee has called for a retreat.  We’re getting the heck out of here,” Walker insisted.  “And not a minute too soon, I would say.  I heard somebody say we lost more than ten thousand of our men yesterday.”

             
Fully awake now, Hobbs stared at him.  “Ten thousand?” he repeated in a stunned voice. 

             
“Yeah!  Now get moving.  Some of the boys have already headed out.”

             
Hobbs shook his head slowly.  “I can’t go right now.”

             
Walker stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.  “What do you mean you can’t go right now?  We’ve got our orders!”

             
“I got to find the lieutenant.”

             
Walker cursed and grabbed Hobbs by his shirt collar.  “Have you gone completely loony, man?  Lieutenant Borden is dead!  You hear me?  He’s dead.  You got to face it.”  He shook him then pushed him back.  “We’re soldiers, Hobbs.  We follow orders.  Lee has given the order to retreat.  We retreat!”

             
Hobbs stared at his friend and knew the anger suffusing his face was caused more by fear than anything.  Both of them knew the Confederate army was not strong enough to withstand another onslaught of Federal forces.  They had to git, while the gitting was good.  “Yeah, Walker.  I hear you,” he said slowly.  “We have to retreat.”

             
Walker settled back on his heels with relief flooding his face.  “That’s more like it,” he growled.  He stood and moved away.  “Our new commander, Colonel Jordan, said we pull out in fifteen minutes.”

             
Hobbs nodded and watched him walk away.  He waited until the darkness had swallowed Walker before he stood, stuffed his blanket in his haversack then turned to disappear into the woods behind him.  He still had a job to do. 

             
As Hobbs trudged through the woods and moved toward the houses a couple of miles away, he realized he was acting completely out of character.  He had not once in his army career disobeyed a direct order.  And he knew Walker was probably right - Lieutenant Borden was dead.  Even as the thought fought its way into his mind, Hobbs rejected it.  Something in him told him the lieutenant was still alive.  All he knew was he could not face Carrie Cromwell until he had tried everything to discover her missing fiancé.

             
Hobbs gazed around as he pushed on toward the houses sheltering wounded Rebels and ignored the flow of Confederate soldiers in full retreat.  He shoved aside the annoying voice whispering he should turn around and go with them. He shuddered at the thought of being caught behind enemy lines. 

             
It was still pitch dark when Hobbs finally found the houses he was looking for.  Wounded men were being cared for here by local civilians who had risen up to meet the need.  He watched quietly for several minutes.  Lights bobbed through the house and across the grassy area.  He could vaguely discern the outlines of men lying on the grass, forming long rows that disappeared into the darkness.   Every few seconds a cry or moan floated toward him on the breeze.  His heart ached for their agony.  He had been there.  He knew the pain - understood the fear. 

             
A woman, dressed simply in a long gray dress, stopped in her movement from soldier to soldier.  She raised her lantern high and straightened, staring into the dark woods.  Hobbs shrank back though he knew it was impossible for her to see him.  What was she looking for?  Suddenly he stood and moved forward.  The longer he stayed where he was the greater the chance he would be caught by McClellan’s men.  “Hello,” he called softly.