The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (31 page)

“There’s no one here,” he said heavily.

“It sure ‘nuff seems deserted,” Alex agreed.  “You go on inside, Captain.  I’ll keep an eye out.”

Robert nodded his gratitude and strode inside.   No damage had been done, but a layer of dust said the house had been unoccupied for a long time.  Gusts of wind swept in through the open door and shook the chandelier.   Showers of dust sprinkled from the tinkling light and glistened as rays of sun shined through huge windows facing the golden pasture. 

Robert frowned.  Where was his mother?  What had happened?

Looking around, he saw a single envelope lying on the foyer table.  He strode over, catching his breath when he discovered his name written in an obviously shaky hand.  Pulling the stationery out, he read the letter.

Dear Robert,

I can no longer stay on the plantation.  Your brother was called to the city months ago.  All our slaves have left.  Federal soldiers took the horses two days ago – the last slaves who had stayed behind went with them.  But at least they didn’t burn our home.  For that, I am thankful!

I cannot possibly stay on the plantation all on my own.  I have moved into Winchester with your Aunt Emma as of early July.

I do so hope you find this letter when you are able to return. 

I love you,

Mother

Robert scowled and gazed around.  The plantation had been abandoned for almost three months.  He tried to ignore the ache he felt when he saw empty pastures through the window.  He hadn’t really expected his horses to still be here, but he had harbored hope.  Years of hard work that would have secured his and Carrie’s future had been wiped out, but it was more than that; the empty fields were a reflection of all the South had lost.

“Bad news?” Alex asked through the open door.

Robert shrugged, bringing his thoughts back under control.  “My mother left in July to stay with family in Winchester.”

“Winchester?  I wonder how she’s handled armies running rampant through her city?”

Robert stared at Alex and realized how right he was.  Winchester seemed to always be in the middle of the fighting.  The city had changed hands several times like a massive tug-of-war rope as Rebel and Federal forces fought for control from the start of Sheridan’s campaign.  So far Winchester still stood, but would that change?  Had his mother fled to supposed safety, only to find greater danger?

Robert shook his head helplessly.  “There is nothing more we can do here,” he said, striding back out onto the porch.

“Don’t you want to go through the house, Captain?”

“No,” he said in a clipped voice, his eyes burning and his throat thick.  He cast a look around the plantation, mounted Granite, and took off at a ground-eating trot.

“You okay, Captain?” Alex asked after a long period of silence.

Robert shrugged, not able to articulate the empty feeling that had swallowed him.  All along he had been fighting the war to protect what was his.  Even though his home was still standing, all he had worked for was gone.  He and his brother had worked for years to breed some of the finest horses in Virginia.  How could he start again, with no money and no foundation stock? 

Slowly the emptiness faded – replaced by boiling anger. 

When they were almost back to their encampment, Robert turned to Alex.  “We’re not done yet, Alex.  You’ll find out soon.”

Robert swung off Granite and stared north.  “No, we’re not done yet…”

Chapter Seventeen

Robert’s heart pounded with excitement as Granite picked his way carefully through boulders and around trees, night covering their presence.  He knew there were five other men with him, but no one said a word. 

Secrecy was paramount.

Word had come to them that Sheridan’s army was encamped in what they believed was an impregnable position. 

Impregnable perhaps to the softer Union troops, but not to the Rebel soldiers who called these mountains home. 

Robert and several of his men had been chosen for this mission because they knew the area well.  Orders had come that afternoon; they had set out after a hasty meal and ridden north toward Cedar Creek, staying carefully concealed on deer trails well off the road.  He was grateful for the darkness that now gave them added protection.

Robert winced every time he heard a horseshoe strike a rock; the metallic ring sounded as loud as gunshot in the thick silence, but he also became increasingly confident there were no lookouts on this side of the mountain.  Crickets and frogs provided the only noise; fireflies offered the only bursts of light.  If the mission hadn’t been so critical, he could’ve almost pretended he was out on a late night ride with his brother when they were boys.

Eventually, the grade became too steep to risk riding any farther.  He pulled Granite to a stop, signaled to his men, and dismounted.  Robert tied Granite loosely so that the horse would have a chance of breaking free if he didn’t return.  Knowing his men were right behind him, Robert proceeded on foot.

As they continued to move forward, the trees thinned.  Robert breathed a sigh of relief as the moon illuminated their way.  He knew the light put them at greater risk but the glowing orb was also necessary for them to navigate the rest of their way up the mountain. 

Heavy breathing from his men was the only noise as the steep grade forced all of them to crawl forward on their hands and knees, grabbing at bushes and boulders to keep themselves from sliding backwards.  A fall at this point would almost certainly be deadly. 

Trees disappeared altogether as scrubby bushes fought for a place in the patches of boulders tossing back the reflection of the moon, flecks of mica sparkling like diamonds.  Robert fought to keep his breathing even as he and his men scaled the mountain.  He could tell the top was very near.  Sweating profusely from nerves and exertion, he was grateful for the almost frosty October air. 

When they broke out onto the top, he immediately turned east and continued down the ridge.  He knew exactly what he was looking for; he and his brother had spent many afternoons there.  Robert and his men hiked rapidly for another mile before a hand signal from him had them cutting left out onto a jagged precipice. 

Robert took a moment to absorb the sheer splendor of the scene before him.  Quick intakes of breath said his men felt the same way.  The moon glimmered across the mountains, wave after wave disappearing into the distance until swallowed by the dark horizon.  Far below, the silver ribbon of the Shenandoah River slipped through the valley, while Cedar Creek trailed away right into the bosom of the mountains.

Robert took a deep breath and then focused on why he was really there.  The glow of thousands of campfires looked like tiny orange specks on a dark canvas. Sheridan’s camp spread out in stark detail below their position.  Nearly every tent was visible in the bright moonlight.  He stayed motionless, identifying the locations of Sheridan’s cavalry, his artillery, his infantry, and his wagon train. 

Robert stared intently, noting where Sheridan’s lines of entrenchments had been run, and where they stopped.  He could see it all… the roads leading to the camp, the place where the Federals could best be attacked.  The scene below was like a huge map:  showing him where to move, how far to go, and what to do. 

He knew every man with him was documenting the same picture in their minds as the wind sprang up and turned their sweaty bodies into shivering muscles.  Finally he turned away, motioned silently, and headed back down.

Alex caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.  Robert said nothing, but they exchanged a broad grin. 

They were definitely not finished yet. 

Grateful for the flickering fire flames, Matthew leaned back against his chair and stared up at the full moon.  He pulled his coat tighter and let his thoughts roam.

“Today was fun,” Peter commented.

Matthew grinned.  “Who would have thought I would be playing baseball on a battlefield?” he snorted.  “Of course, they change the rules so fast it’s hard to know who is really winning.”

Peter nodded his agreement.  “It’s fun, though.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the game becomes a national pastime.”  He paused and then added, “Sheridan should be back sometime tomorrow from Washington.  I understand he’s spending tonight in Winchester.”

“He must be quite confident nothing will happen.”

“Definitely,” Peter replied.  “The troops wouldn’t be playing baseball if this was considered an active camp.  Right now we’re just biding time until Sheridan decides what our next move is.  Early may be done, but I’m confident Sheridan will make another move toward Richmond when he’s ready.”

“Right now he’s basking in his glory.”

“It’s more like the Republican Party is basking in his glory.  The election is less than three weeks away.  Sherman is hanging out in Atlanta until the election is over, too.  Nobody wants a defeat to upset the results of the election.  Right now it’s almost certain Lincoln will be re-elected.” 

Matthew nodded again and then fell silent, content to let the crackling flames embrace his thoughts.  His mind traveled back to a night much like this one when he and Robert had camped in these very mountains on a break from school.  He wasn’t sure where Robert’s plantation was, but he knew it must be fairly close. 

He smiled as he remembered swimming in a frigid mountain stream, and then eating trout they had caught, complete with berries they had pulled from bushes.  It had been an idyllic weekend.  They had shared dreams and hopes, and spent hours in laughter.

Matthew’s smile faded as the sounds of the army encampment reminded him he was at war against his friend.  For all he knew, Robert had been wounded or killed since he’d last seen him five months before, when his friend had saved him from being recaptured and taken back to prison.  He only hoped the day would come when he could repay Robert.

Robert gazed around him, amazed that thousands of men could be this silent.  He knew it was the only thing that had brought Early’s army so close to Sheridan’s camps.  No alarms had been raised. 

It was five o’clock in the morning on October nineteenth.

Sheridan had no idea what was about to befall him.

“Your men are ready?”

Robert snapped his head around when the quiet question sounded behind him.  “Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice barely audible, and then Robert exchanged a grim smile with General Kershaw. 

Robert’s men were stationed with General Kershaw.  They were poised east of Cedar Creek, near the point where it formed a lazy loop in its southward course toward the North Fork. 

Robert tensed his body and prepared for the signal to move forward.  All around him he could sense coiled bodies ready to advance.  He gripped his rifle tightly and thought of Oak Meadows’ empty fields.  He had lost everything he had worked so hard to obtain.  Even the image of Carrie’s smiling face wasn’t able to diminish the anger coursing through his blood. 

Up until now he had been fighting to protect what was his.  Now he was fighting to avenge what had been lost.  The war had a face now - one hundred horses that would never be reclaimed.

When the signal came, he plunged forward down the trail.  He began firing as soon as the first tents entered his field of vision, his lips tightening with satisfaction as screams and curses filled the air. 

Within minutes, the part of Sheridan’s camp under attack was in a complete rout - men still in their night clothes ran wildly from their tents, their weapons and provisions left behind.

The need for secrecy was over. 

Robert raised his voice, along with his men, in wild Rebel yells and continued to push forward, jumping over bodies in his path and leaping over campfires. 

“Get them!”