“None of us can, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about Meredith and wondering how she’s getting along.”
And it didn’t stop Peyton from thinking about Carrie who, by his calculations, should be settled in at Aunt Ruth’s by lunchtime—that is, if those scouts didn’t run into trouble.
Lord, protect her.
Peyton recalled her apprehension when she learned those two men would be her escorts into Winchester. But General Sheridan trusted them, and that endorsement was good enough for Peyton.
Recollections of the surprise attack on the north fork of the Shenandoah nearly two weeks ago surfaced. It was the day Peyton found Carrie wedged in that tree. He grinned and a comforting warmth like a swallow of fine brandy spread through him. How was it that Miss Carrie Ann Bell had affected him in such a short time the way no other woman ever had in all his twenty-eight years?
Both Peyton and Vern packed their saddlebags and carried them to where their horses grazed. They strapped their gear to their saddles.
Peyton ran his hand over Brogan’s silky neck. “I’ll meet you at the drill site. I have to check my orders with General Merritt.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure the rest of the troops are roused.”
“Good.” The day had begun.
Peyton swung up into his saddle. Indeed, things were heating up between the Union and the Confederacy. A battle, perhaps as devastating as the one in Gettysburg, could very well result. Or the deciding conflict could come in the form of a string of battles, all as intense as Cold Harbor. Either way, his little journalist would have something to write about.
Incessant shaking caused Carrie to open her eyes. Joshua knelt over her.
“Wake up.”
“But it’s not morning yet.” Her body cried for an additional hour of rest.
“Carrie Ann, you are the laziest thing on God’s footstool. You know that?”
“The Yankees never complained.”
“Get up! Major Roddy wants a word with you before we set off.”
Joshua pulled her into a sitting position. Carrie groaned. She hadn’t felt this sore since the day after her fall off the bridge and into that sycamore.
“Whatever you do,” Joshua said, tossing her bonnet at her, “don’t let on you’re the same serving girl from Woodstock who we saw running wild down Main Street last week.”
“Hasn’t he recognized me?”
“Nah, you’re forgettable—except for that hair color of yours. Just put on your bonnet and watch that sharp tongue of yours.”
“You got trouble over there, Brown?”
Joshua stood and walked over to the small campfire where his crony sat, drinking what smelled like coffee. “Some females have rotten dispositions when they first wake up.”
The man snickered.
Carrie donned her bonnet and tied it beneath her chin. Clambering to her feet, she stretched, taking her sweet time. She even made a trip into the woods to take care of her personal needs before strolling over to Joshua and Rodingham. Once she reached them, she leaned against a tree trunk and folded her arms.
“Sit down, Miss Bell,” Major Rodingham—that is, Roddy—invited.
“No, thank you.”
“Sit, Miss Bell.” Rodingham stood and his voice took an edge. “Or I will sit you down myself.”
But he needn’t have bothered. Joshua made good on the threat by grabbing hold of her left arm and yanking. Carrie’s backside hit the ground hard. When she tried to backhand him, he caught her left wrist.
“Don’t twist it,” she begged. “I injured it recently.”
Joshua released her with a warning. “Behave yourself or you’ll be suffering from more than a sore arm.”
“You’re a devil.” Tears stung, and she massaged her wrist. Was Joshua playacting for the benefit of his comrade? She’d never known him to be so cruel.
“We only want some information from you, Miss Bell.” Rodingham was obviously the leader, while Joshua was the muscle. “Approximately how many men do you think comprise General Sheridan’s army?”
“Wouldn’t you know that better than I?” Carrie couldn’t contain her simmering indignation and it bubbled right out of her mouth. “You’re supposedly one of the general’s scouts.”
“Miss Bell …” Warning hung on both syllables. “I hate the thought of your tortured, lifeless body lying on the side of the Valley Pike.”
“Your job, Major Roddy, is to see me safely to Winchester. Remember?”
“How many men do you suppose Sheridan has, Miss Bell?” Joshua asked in a more mannerly tone.
“I don’t know.” She’d die before she’d tell these men anything. “I volunteered as a nurse, so most of my time was spent in the field hospital, tending to dying men.” She glared at Rodingham and imagined walking away from his battle-beaten body without so much as offering him water.
But, no … if it ever came down to it she’d probably, out of a sense of Christian duty, give him at least a sip.
“You must have heard something. It’s in your best interest to talk to us, Miss Bell.” Rodingham’s threat was veiled, but unmistakable.
She released a sigh. “General Sheridan has thousands of men, I presume. How many thousands? That answer I’m afraid I don’t know.” She’d heard the Army of the Shenandoah was some forty or fifty thousand strong, but she wouldn’t give out that figure. After all, her heart belonged to a colonel in that army and she’d never betray him.
“Where’s General Grant?” Rodingham asked.
“Outside of Petersburg, or so they say.” That information was common knowledge. Newspapers reported from the front there nearly every day.
“What about Sherman?”
“He’s eating peaches for breakfast this morning somewhere in Georgia.”
“Very amusing,” Joshua muttered.
“Well, how do I know where General Sherman is?” Carrie huffed and gazed off toward the pink and gray horizon.
“What’s your relationship to Colonel Collier?” Rodingham drained his tin cup. “You ought to know the answer to that.”
“As it happens, I do know the answer.” She pressed her lips together.
“Miss Bell …” Joshua set his arm around her shoulders and then took hold of her left hand. “It’s a shame you’re injured. But don’t you worry. I’m not going to hurt you worse.” The tone in his voice said otherwise, although Carrie figured it was a show for Rodingham more than a real threat.
“Colonel Collier values my compassion and nursing abilities, so he hired me to be his elderly aunt’s companion. The woman lives in Winchester, and that’s where I’m supposed to be headed.” She narrowed her gaze at Rodingham. “When the colonel finds out how you mistreated me I’m sure he’ll be very displeased.”
Rodingham chortled, and Joshua joined in, although his mirth didn’t sound genuine.
He released her. “She doesn’t know anything. I told you that earlier. I tried getting information out of her last night and arrived at that same conclusion.”
“For a young lady who talks so smart,” Rodingham said, “you sure are an ignorant creature.”
“And you just lost your one sip of water.” Carrie stood.
“What’s that s’posed to mean?”
Ignoring the question, Carrie stomped over to her sorrel. In the light of day, she saw what a fine animal he was, even if he was too small for cavalry regulations. She stroked his neck and then stared down the road. She could probably gallop away before—
“Don’t even think about it.” Joshua, speaking softly, came up behind her. “Besides, you wouldn’t get far.” He moved the stirrup and tightened the cinches. “I loosened the straps last night so your horse could blow.”
Carrie folded her arms. “I don’t appreciate your companion starting the morning off so rudely.” She shot a glance in Rodingham’s direction, thankful the man was occupied with saddling his horse.
Joshua faced her. “He is not a nice man, Carrie Ann,” he said soft
ly with a wary glance in Rodingham’s direction. “He will hurt you if it pleases him, especially since you seem to mean something to that Yankee colonel. I’m tryin’ to save your skinny backside. Now get on that horse and do what you’re told.” Setting his hands around her waist, he lifted her to the saddle.
“Whatever you say, Major Brown.” But her sass was only a cover for her rapidly beating heart. Deep down, she knew Joshua’s words were true. Rodingham would, indeed, harm her without a second thought—if and when he could get away with it.
CHAPTER 15
After getting stopped and questioned numerous times, Carrie and her escorts finally rode into Winchester as the sun reached its noontime high. The steady clip-clop of their horses trotting along the macadamized street echoed between the battle-sore structures, some constructed from wood, others red brick. Carrie took in the clusters of Confederates standing around every corner and was grateful that her couriers were dressed in gray. Women smiled and conversed with the troops. CSA flags were draped over buildings and flapped in the wind on flagpoles. A sense of festivity pervaded the war-torn town … and why not? Like Woodstock and other towns in the Valley, Winchester was comprised of largely Confederate supporters, and recently the Rebel army had routed Federal troops. Peyton said it had been a great disappointment for the loyalists, his aunt included.
Lord, I hope she likes me. Her first paying job and Carrie didn’t want to fail at it. But if she was completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit her primary desire was to please Peyton. She’d be the best companion his aunt ever knew.
Majors Roddy and Brown slowed to a halt in front of a large, limestone home. Its faded white pillars stood as tall as the shuttered second-story windows. The paint on the home had chipped and peeled, but despite its slight disrepair, the place looked as proud as any Southerner.
“This is it.” Rodingham twisted in his saddle and peered at Carrie. “Climb down from that horse and get out of my sight.”
Carrie dismounted, although she held the sorrel’s reins. This morning she’d decided to call the horse Charlie, since Peyton had presented him to her in camp between Halltown and Charles Town, and Charles was Papa’s given name. She began tying him to the black iron hitching post.
“You ain’t keepin’ that horse.”
She glared at Rodingham. “He’s mine. Colonel Collier gave him to me.”
“Get on up to that house, missy. I ain’t going to say it twice.”
“You’re not taking my horse—and I ain’t saying it twice.”
“Miss Bell,” Joshua hissed, “quit your sassing and do what Major Roddy says.” Saddle leather creaked as he got down from his mount.
Still, she refused. Surely the man wouldn’t harm her here in town and in broad daylight.
Rodingham threw his leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. He tethered his horse. Carrie watched his every move, but sensed Joshua inch closer behind her. His presence and the fact that she was right gave her the courage to dig in her heels.
“This is my horse.” Her heart raced as Rodingham neared. His brows furrowed in a menacing frown. She’d have to fight him to keep the animal, but it was the last thing Peyton had given her. What’s more, if she and his aunt didn’t get along, Charlie was her only means out of town, other than a long walk.
Besides, it was the principle of the matter.
Rodingham glanced around and then peered down at her. His eyes looked like someone had just spit chews of tobacco into their sockets. “Major Brown, take those reins.”
“No. This horse is mine.” Carrie held them fast while Charlie nickered as if taking her side of the argument.
“Girl, you are fraying my last nerve.”
Joshua reached for the reins and she slapped his hand away.
As Joshua drew back, Rodingham made his move, grabbing Carrie around the waist and covering her mouth with a gloved hand that smelled like dung. He lifted her off the ground while Joshua wrestled Charlie’s reins from her fist.
Her gagged protests were unintelligible against his smelly, leathery palm. She squirmed and kicked but she was no match for Rodingham. He hauled her up two flights of steps and set her feet none-too-gently on a brick portico.
His hand still across her mouth, he knocked hard on the door with the other.
Exhaustion and anger ignited and Carrie back-kicked, striking his knee. She jammed her elbow into his ribs. It was enough that Rodingham removed his hand. When he did, she whirled around and shoved him hard. He stepped back and teetered slightly on the edge of the porch step. She gave him another push and down he went, landing on his backside.
Just then the front door opened. Carrie turned to see a slender Negro woman with frosty hair. Spying the white apron covering the black dress, Carrie assumed this was Tabitha, the housekeeper. The woman’s dark eyes bounced from Carrie to Rodingham, and then widened in fright. She raised her hands. “Don’t shoot, mister! Don’t shoot!”
Glancing over her shoulder, Carrie saw the pistol pointed directly at her. “It’s me he wants to kill.” Turning slowly, she cautiously moved to the left so the woman wouldn’t be injured if Rodingham fired.
The barrel of the gun followed her steps. Oddly, Carrie felt unafraid.
“Don’t do it, Roddy.” Joshua bounded up the first flight of brick steps. “Don’t shoot her.” He helped Rodingham to his feet. “The last thing we need is that Yankee colonel putting a bounty on our heads.”
Rodingham’s hand shook slightly and then he lowered his gun.
Carrie released the breath she’d been holding. Her heart banged like drumbeats, as if that body part had come lately to the scene and only now realized she’d been facing imminent death.
Two women now stood at the entryway instead of one.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Tall, with a willowy figure and a head of well-styled gray hair, the second woman stepped onto the porch with a dignified air. Carrie presumed she was Peyton’s aunt.
“Begging your pardon for the disturbance, ma’am,” Carrie said, “but I abhor being manhandled by ruffians.” She flicked a look at Rodingham.
“I don’t blame you.” The older woman peered toward the yard. “Ruffians, eh?”
“And horse thieves.”
“Mercy!” Her hand drifted up to her lace collar.
“Now, that ain’t quite right, ma’am.” Joshua strode to the lower step of the covered porch and politely removed his hat. “Taking this horse was part of our arrangement. Miss Bell, here, must not have understood those terms.”
“Miss Bell?” The older woman’s hazel eyes widened, and her thin lips curved upward in a pleased-looking grin. “You’re the guest we’ve been expecting.” A moment later, she clasped Carrie’s right hand. “I’m Miss Ruth Collier, but I insist you call me Aunt Ruth.” She leaned close. “And let’s not say my nephew sent you for obvious reasons.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean … Aunt Ruth.”
With a smile at Carrie, she turned to the dark-skinned woman who now fanned herself with her hanky. “And this is Tabitha, my trusted friend and housekeeper.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Carrie said.
“Likewise I’m sure—that is, once my heart goes back down into my chest.”
Carrie shared the feeling.
A man dressed in Confederate gray pushed his way out the front door.
Aunt Ruth put a possessive arm around Carrie’s shoulders. “This is my … my niece. Miss Carrie Ann Bell, please meet Lieutenant Colonel Elijah Kent.”
She knows my first name? Carrie fought to hide her surprise and faced the officer. “A pleasure, Colonel Kent.”
“Miss Bell.” He gave her a gentlemanly bow. “I am at your service.”
“You can start, Colonel Kent,” Aunt Ruth said, “by reprimanding those scoundrels on the walk. They manhandled Carrie Ann and are proceeding to steal her horse. Why, that man there was about to shoot her!”
The colonel walked onto the porch. “
Sir, sheathe your weapon at once and answer to these charges or I’ll have my men arrest you.”
As if on cue, four Confederate pickets appeared from the side of the house and converged on Joshua and Rodingham, their guns drawn.
“A misunderstanding, sir.” Rodingham holstered his gun.
“Misunderstanding? How dare you threaten any guest or member of this household?”
Carrie glared at Rodingham, forcing her lips not to curl upward in satisfaction.
As the colonel descended the porch steps, Aunt Ruth guided Carrie into the house. Disappointment fell over her. If the majors were about to get a dressing down she wanted to stand gleefully by and watch.
But, alas, duty called. She’d been hired as Aunt Ruth’s companion. She wasn’t a guest.
Her new employer led her into the parlor, where Carrie removed her hat and cape.
“We’ve been expecting you. I hope those men didn’t hurt you.”
“No, I’m unharmed. Colonel Collier wanted me to have safe passage to Winchester. Up until last night, it wasn’t possible. The army was getting the last of the injured from Sunday’s skirmish to the hospital in Harpers Ferry.”
“Yes, we’ve been hearing of that conflict. Eli told us the Federals were successfully routed and moved farther north.”
“It’s true.”
Aunt Ruth looked dismayed as she placed her right hand over her heart.
“But it was a controlled rout, if you will, not a panicked one. You see, General Sheridan is being very careful of what conflicts he engages in. He’s saving his troops for the anticipated bigger battle—and it’s coming. Which is why I’m here now. The word around camp is another Gettysburg-like storm is brewing. So you see, it’s a tactic, not a defeat.”
“I’m so glad you shared that information, my dear. I feel infinitely better … I think.”
Smiling, Carrie glanced around the sparsely decorated parlor. She counted seven pieces of furniture: a sideboard, standing up against the inside wall; a settee; three armchairs, all arranged in front of the brick hearth; a side table between the chairs; and a grandfather clock which stood on the carpetless, wooden floor. No knickknacks appeared on the mantel. No framed art on the walls. But that wasn’t surprising as nary a home in the Valley survived the war this far without loss of property.
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