by Beth Trissel
“Don’t think that,” Sam argued. “More like Satan and all his demons have been unleashed.”
The lamplight touched on the confusion in her eyes. “Why would God allow this?”
He shrugged, wincing at the pain in his bandaged shoulder. “Don’t ask me. Only the Almighty knows the why of anything.”
Evie gazed from one to the other. “All I can tell you is this suffering will pass.”
“Yes. We must have faith.” Hettie firmed her chin, hope in her eyes. “The Lord will not leave us comfortless. The light shall shine again on our valley.”
Sam ran the fingers of his uninjured arm through blondish hair like Jack’s. The ends brushed his shoulders in the borrowed white shirt. “That may be, miss. But first we must cross through the shadow, and it’s a long one.”
Hettie exuded determination. “We will get through.”
Her ‘we shall overcome’ spirit inspired Evie. “You are right. We must set aside the differences tearing us apart and work together for good.”
Slight tremors ran through Sam. “Maybe so. But I’m tired of this bloody war. Time I went home, to what’s left of it. See Mama and my sisters.” He lay his head back on the blankets.
The poor guy was worn out and his eyes were a little glassy. Getting him up here hadn’t been easy, and further taxed him.
“When you’re stronger, you can go,” Evie agreed.
Hettie bent near and tucked the cover more snugly around her patient. “Rest now, and mend.”
“Thank you, miss. You are most kind.” His husky voice was a whisper.
The gentle healer had bathed his arm with herbal water and dabbed more yarrow root over the wound before the bullet was removed, then she’d bandaged him. Not neglecting his sprained ankle, she had applied an herbal poultice of comfrey leaves and wrapped it. He was fortunate to be in her care, and it wasn’t lost on Evie that her friend seemed intrigued by this wounded warrior.
She ran her gaze over the accommodations. The wall slanted on one side of them, and he lay in this angular space. Where the narrow room leveled out, ropes of onions and dried herbs hung from the beams overhead in a fragrant contrast to the smoke.
The hideaway housed only a handful of people, and it was cold. She hugged her cloak, as did Hettie. But the attic had provided much-needed sanctuary for many men these past months. Sam was the first avowed Rebel. Others sought to escape conscription in the Confederate Army.
Soon, all of this would be behind the residents of this decimated valley. Rebuilding, replanting, and restocking their burned-out farms would require every scrap of resilience. Many would leave in wagons and never come back. Others would return in the spring.
A pang ran through her at the realization that she and Jack would not be a part of the restoration. Grandma G. had said to watch for the warble phenomenon that acted as a portal to the future, and she was. But leaving the family who had become dear to her, and this era, despite its harshness, would be more wrenching than she’d expected.
Footfalls below them disrupted her thoughts. The footsteps entered her room, and the door to the attic lay behind the dresser along the back wall. They had pushed the heavy furnishing aside to get Sam up here.
Was it Mary, coming to summon the girls from this hidey hole and restore the dresser? Hettie had asked to tend Sam a while longer before going to bed, and Evie wanted to stay with them both. Mary had agreed but was uneasy about his presence.
‘Mister Hobbs must not be found in this house,’ she had asserted. “It will not bode well for him as a Rebel, or us for concealing him.’
Evie had argued the bluecoats wouldn’t come in the dark, and it made no difference if the dresser were out of place, but things were different today. The angry hive had erupted in a frenzy, as if struck with a stick. Maybe they would.
What a terrible predicament if the soldiers came now.
Sam stirred wearily. “That had better be Jack we hear below. Dunham’s probably hightailed it back to the pack.”
Had Jack returned alone? Was this him?
Hinges creaked and the door to the attic opened. Footfalls sounded on the narrow stairs leading to the secret space where she and her companions waited in tense silence.
The attic had no door, but an opening in the shape of one. A bareheaded figure appeared in the entryway. She looked closely.
Thank God. Jack ducked his head and came through.
What would she have done if a threat had come in his place? They had nowhere to hide. This was it.
He lowered himself on his haunches by her, circling a welcome arm around her shoulders. His clothes were cool from the night air and his skin reddened from riding in the chill breeze. His wind-blown hair framed his handsome face, shadowed in the lamplight. She’d never tire of looking at him, but his demeanor was undeniably grim.
She was instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Plenty.” His forbidding gaze sought his cousin. “Do you know anything about the death of Union Lieutenant John Meigs? He was felled last evening.”
Sam rubbed a chin roughened from days in the saddle, and surveyed Jack with hazel eyes of a similar greenish brown hue. But his expression was mild. “No. I don’t inquire the name of every Yankee we fire at. Why?”
“This one was special. Meigs was a favorite of Sheridan’s. The general has gone into a rage over his death.”
Oh. No. Evie sucked in her breath.
Sam pursed his lips, then asked, “More than usual?”
“A heap more.” Jack frowned. “Sheridan ordered his men to burn every building on every farm within three—or was it five—miles of the town of Dayton, plus the entire town. It seems Meigs was shot near there.”
“Whereabouts?” Sam asked.
“Along the Swift Run Gap Road.”
“Dunham and I weren’t there last night.”
“He says the same,” Jack agreed. “But one of the Rebels in the incident was wounded, which roused my suspicion.”
Sam drew his brows together. “There are a lot of wounded Rebs in the valley, Cousin.”
“Yes, but your injury is fresh. Then Dunham and I learned the men involved weren’t guerillas or bushwhackers, as Sheridan thinks. They are said to Confederate scouts from Wickham’s brigade. The word is that Lieutenant Meigs was shot in a fair fight, not murdered.”
“A fine line in war,” Sam interjected.
“One we should take care not to cross,” Jack flung back, and threw his hands up. “It makes no difference, anyway. Sheridan has doubled his efforts at burning, and the area he’s targeting is heavily settled by Mennonites and Brethren families. Pacifists with Unionist sympathies.”
Evie was aware of this dark valley history, and yet, to see it playing out was appalling. “The height of cruel irony, and so unfair.”
“Tell that to Sheridan,” Jack said bitterly. “His burning parties had a busy day.”
Hettie roused from her stunned silence. “When will they come here?”
“Tomorrow or the day after at the pace they’re going. We are outside the burn range for homes.”
“Just,” Sam broke in. “You think the men are measuring, Jack?”
“I expect it depends on the officer in charge of each party and whether he cares to control them.”
“That’s impossible to know,” Evie reasoned. “What about Dayton?”
Jack relaxed slightly. “A sympathetic Union officer by the name of Wildes is pleading with Sheridan to spare the town. Wildes says the townsfolk have been kind to him and his men, and his Brigade, which includes men from West Virginia and Ohio, are loath to carry out Sheridan’s orders. Not all Yankees are monsters.”
“I never said they were,” she contended. “But far too many are eager to apply the torch, as you well know.”
“Too well. Question is, what are we to do?”
“Keep out of sight. You cannot fight them when they come. This is not our way.” Hettie’s quiet voice was firm.
Evie sighed. “I sus
pect it may be mine.”
A hoarse laugh escaped Sam. “It sure as heck is mine. But here I lie. If they torch this house, where does that leave me? Going out the window? Won’t do my ankle a power of good.”
“Listen.” Jack gestured like a coach urging his players to huddle in. “You are in no shape to ride, and the countryside is overrun with the Boys in Blue. I will watch their movements and try to get you to the woods.”
“You know what will happen if we’re caught. I reckon Sheridan’s in a hanging mood.” Sam had a fatalistic air.
Jack fingered his stubbled chin. “Yeah. I expect he is. You might be better off taking your chances up here.”
For all Evie’s talk of putting differences aside and working together, she was prepared to defend them all. But that wasn’t what the Wengers wanted.
How could she explain to them this was her home, too?
She couldn’t, unless she revealed her true origins.
Announcing ‘I’m from the future,’ and references to past lives likely wouldn’t go over well. She’d have to wing it on a prayer, and hope Grandma G. was getting her notes.
“Where did you leave Dunham?” Sam finally asked.
“In the kitchen with Mary and the girls.” Jack was matter of fact.
“Huh?” Sam grunted. “I figured he would join up with the boys.”
“Naw. Mary’s cooking corn mush and ham. There’s scant food to be had in the camps. Evie has more.” Jack slanted his gaze at her carpet bag, peeking from beneath her pile of clothes. “What have you got left?”
“Dried fruit, the chocolate isn’t gone yet, and there are cookies. Oh, and I could make us some more coffee.”
“If you would, please, Mrs. Ramsey—I mean, Evie—and bring me up a cup with milk and sugar,” Sam pleaded. “Just the thing to ward off this chill.”
It nagged at her that his eyes looked a bit feverish. “I will. And you can have more of those pills. That should help.”
Hettie laid her palm on his forehead. “You are a little warm. I will bath your brow with herbal water.”
“Much obliged, miss.”
Jack smiled at him. “I would say you are in good hands.”
“A shame I had to get myself shot to have these lovely ladies fussing over me.”
It was an enormous pity any of these misfortunes had taken place, but Evie found herself planning an impromptu picnic, and looking forward to it. She might never share this time with these people again, and was determined to savor the moment, despite the destruction descending around them.
Chapter Eighteen
Smoke burned Jack’s eyes. A stiff drink would feel good going down his scratchy throat. Nothing would ease the ache in his chest, though, except getting out of the smoke. Impossible. It only thickened. After securing the horses in the sink hole, he stood at the edge of the woods and surveyed the inferno spreading before him. The familiar landscape was ablaze as far as he could see, but the evil cloud obscured his view. The tireless invaders carried out their work like scurrying ants.
Evie slipped from the hazy trees and joined him in the nightmarish reality. The poor girl suffered equally, and he couldn’t aid her. Damn it all.
Arms wrapping each other, they looked on in dismay. She shuddered against him as the whistle pierced the ash-laden fog and the successive cracks of rifles felled the animals. The shrill piping and the gun volleys alerted him to the men’s whereabouts.
Soon, this menace would be on the Wenger’s doorstep. And they had implored Jack to do—nothing. He never felt more helpless. Give him action, not this thumb-twiddling wait while everything around him turned to cinders.
Muffling her mouth and nose with her green cloak, Evie choked out, “It’s worse than I could have imagined. Nothing prepares you for this.”
“No.” And he had seen far too much already.
She lifted reddened eyes to his. “You’re resolved to stay, aren’t you?”
“I cannot leave you and Sam. The only possible route out of here is to ride west toward the mountains and hope to keep ahead of the blue horde.”
Pain welled in her gaze. “Nothing in me wants you to go, but you know every track and cow path. You have a chance, Jack. You might get away.”
“As I hope Dunham will do.” Their friend rode off at first light with corncakes in his haversack. “But Sam needs the care Hettie gives him to recover. Too often, I have seen men succumb to fever after injury. More soldiers perish from disease and infection than die in battle.”
“She will pull him through this,” Evie insisted.
Doubt needled Jack. Sam had worsened overnight. “I pray so. He’s like a brother to me.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “You never would have shot him, even when he was hot on your tail.”
“Never. Though he often angered me and felled one of the guides.” He frowned at the memory.
“War should be outlawed,” she said, mopping her eyes with a handkerchief.
He turned his head toward her. “Hasn’t it been, in the age you come from?”
“Not remotely. There has to be a better way.”
“Indeed.” He nodded at the farm house below them hazed by the encroaching smoke. “The Wengers say there is.”
“The Mennonites say the same in the future.”
“Maybe they’re right,” he suggested.
“Maybe… It’s so hard to resist the urge to fight. I want to ride at the soldiers with an upraised sword.”
“What a splendid sight you would be, sweetheart. An avenging angel. But they would shoot you off your horse.”
“There is that.” Blinking at tears, she eyed him as if she might never see him again. “You are going to the attic, aren’t you?”
“I fear so. I will remain with Sam.”
“I think this is where you die, Jack.”
He exhaled heavily. “I thought you were going to save me?”
“I am,” she said.
“Then save us both. I’m out of ideas.” Choking on smoke and emotion, he took her arm. “Let’s go. The haze conceals us, and the bluecoats will soon be on our farm.”
“Ours?” she pressed, coughing into the handkerchief.
“Yes. We began here. Our cabin is at the heart of this house.”
She smiled through her tears. “Did we conceal a secret passage in it?”
“If we had, do you not think we would remember?” He hastened her down the hillside through the noxious vapor masquerading as fog.
“There is one, though,” she asserted. “The warble.”
“We didn’t put that there. It’s a pathway I cannot begin to understand.”
“But it exists. Please, Jack. If I see it, grab Sam and come through with me.”
“What do you mean? You speak as if you will be with us?”
“I will. I’m staying in the attic, too.” Her tone held steely resolve.
He opened his mouth in protest, coughing as he argued. “No. Absolutely not.”
“If I remain in the yard, I will rage at the men.”
“They will ignore or restrain you. I have often seen them dismiss frantic women.”
“Exactly,” she agreed, to his surprise. “And I will not be able to get to you.”
He considered her. “Must you?”
“I’m your guide. There’s no hope for us here. The only escape lies in a way out we cannot yet see. The warble is it.”
“And if it doesn’t come?” he challenged.
“It must. Your and Sam’s voice are the Whispers I heard. You called me here. I know that now.” Conviction weighed every ragged word.
She baffled him. “The bluecoats may not set the house on fire. We are beyond the burn zone,” he reasoned.
“They will. And I will get us out.”
Either she was utterly delusional or truly inspired. “How? If the dresser is pushed against the door?”
“That I do not yet know,” she conceded. “But we cannot risk you and Sam being found, if men sear
ch the house.”
He panted in the foul air. “I fear Hettie will try and save us.”
“I fear she will insist on remaining by our side. She’s fast falling in love with Sam,” Evie pointed out.
“Is she, really?” How had Jack not noticed? “God save us all.”
Chapter Nineteen
Where are they? Evie knelt at the attic window, searching for sight of the dreaded blue-clad figures pounding up the gray drive. She strained to hear the oncoming beat of hooves, a prayer for Divine mercy repeating in her soul.
She felt uncomfortably like a prisoner awaiting execution but there was a distinct difference between her and a helpless victim about to ascend the scaffold. She had chosen to remain in the attic with Jack and Sam, insisted on it. Not because she had a death wish, but to help them escape.
Haze rolled from neighboring farms like fog covering the sea. Orange-red flames shot from burning buildings, and fire devoured hay and wheat shocks still standing in the fields. A blackened pall hung over everything, Hell come to earth.
This heinous mode of warfare was referred to as scorched earth. The term hadn’t meant much to her in high school, but she totally understood now. It was royally screwed up.
Oh, the arrogance of men! To assume food would always be there no matter how much they wasted, that the earth would remain the same despite the pollution unleashed on it.
Much of the Wengers’ hay and corn crop had been harvested, and Jack had helped Paul haul a generous supply to the woods, but the barn wasn’t emptied. Removing all the fodder was impossible, nor would it keep out in the weather. The family had planted extra this spring, and this year’s harvest was the best in memory. Hopes of expanding their livestock or selling the added bounty had vanished. They would be fortunate to feed their remaining animals through the winter.
Evie’s watering eyes masked the barely contained urge to sob uncontrollably. Being stuck up here with the fiery assault almost at their door was harder than she could possibly have imagined. Having faith that a way out would present itself was a stupendous leap, like stepping off a ledge into the abyss and trusting an unseen support awaited her.