Field of Redemption

by Lori Bates Wright

  Fitz slid from the saddle, and Ian swung up in his place. “Abby, my apologies.”

  “No. Absolutely, go.” She was fully aware of the heavy mantle of responsibility that drove him.

  Wheeling the animal, Ian leaned low and sent the horse dashing toward town.

  Fitz climbed in next to Abby and took up the reins. No flippant remarks or engaging stories today. He appeared every bit the dogged soldier that Ian’s cavalry was known for.

  “Did anyone see how many raiders there were?” Abby asked, hoping to get some answers for Doc and the others at the hospital who would be asking. “How did they get past the guards?”

  “You’re sure a curious little thing, aren’t ya?” Fitz shook the reins and gave a click of his tongue to get the horse moving faster.

  Unfortunately, the rented nag was not inclined to go any faster than a snail’s pace.

  At first, she thought to dismiss his gruff as understandable, given the circumstances. But something about the way he narrowed an eye at her made her realize that Fitz was as unsure of her as Farris had been.

  Anything she said right now in her own defense would only make matters worse. There would come a time when her innocence would be proven, but while the city was reeling from a Union attack was not that time. Truthfully, she couldn’t blame them. What did anyone down here know of her really? Besides her name, her skill for nursing, and possibly her love for children orphaned by the war.

  If they did—truly know her—they’d surely hate her as fiercely as they hated the worst of the dreaded Yankees.

  “Can you tell me what was taken?”

  Fitz refused to look at her, so she hurried to explain. “I only ask because the hospital counts on those storehouses for supplies. We won’t be getting another shipment anytime soon and with so many patients …”

  Fitz veered the buggy to the left and circled to deposit her at the front steps of the hospital. She thought he was going to completely ignore her question, so she prepared to leave him to his duties with no further questions.

  “Valuables.” He finally answered. “And lots of ’em.”

  “Civilian’s?” Abby looked back over her shoulder.

  “Everything they had. Well, anything worth keepin’ anyhow. Entrusted to the CS army for protection.”

  “Oh, no! Fitz, that’s awful.” Abby gave him a sad smile before scooping her skirts and stepping down from the carriage. After thinking on it she turned and spoke from her heart. “I’ll pray that you and your men are quick to recover every bit of it. And the truth of who’s behind it be revealed.”

  Fitz seemed to contemplate her words for a good long minute before setting the old nag back in motion.

  As he rode off, her heart was heavy.

  As hard as she tried to fit in, times like this reminded her she was still considered an outsider.

  “I have thought a sufficient measure of civilization

  is the influence of good women.”

  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Fifteen

  The mayor called an emergency meeting between five key commanders of the Macon area.

  General George Hawthorne, Commander in Chief of Macon,

  General Buford Farris, Commander of Fort Oglethorpe,

  Colonel Ian Saberton, Confederate States Army Special Forces,

  and Major General E.G. Baker, Georgia Militia Field Commander out of Forsyth.

  By the time Ian got to the community house, his mood was as black as the starless night.

  Contrary to the rabid scuttlebutt firing through the streets of Macon, triggering panic at every turn, the allegations of a shrewd Federal raid just didn’t add up. With intense battles going on seventy-five miles north as Sherman’s army began to push its way down past Atlanta, no Union officer worth his salt would sacrifice even a few men to raid a storehouse full of family heirlooms and trinkets. Such a frivolous move made no strategic sense.

  And if the evidence was to be believed, only someone familiar with the layout of the old cotton storehouse would know how to get in from the broken aeration vent. The grading bin was removed from the outside. Just last week, Ian had issued a request to Mayor Dobbs that the owner have it sealed at first convenience.

  In the meantime, an iron rod had been put in place from the inside to prevent unauthorized access. That rod had been removed.

  With lanterns in hand, anxious citizens came from every direction to surround him as his horse drew up to the hitching post.

  “What have you to say, Colonel, about today’s Yankee attack? Is enemy siege impending?” A reporter Ian recognized from The Macon Telegraph, with tablet and pencil, gave him no room to pass.

  Ian stood head and shoulders taller and easily brushed past him to the wide brick-paved steps of the city’s community center. He was in no mood for interviews. Especially not by an ambitious newspaperman trying to make a name for himself.

  “Sources say you were seen with a Yankee Spy earlier. Can you confirm her involvement?” The words slammed into the back of Ian like a runaway freight train.

  Stopped in his tracks, though refusing to turn around, Ian inspected the tall windows of the building in front of him. As wildly satisfying as it would be to lay the halfwit out for his careless accusation, it wouldn’t help Abby’s cause in the least. Hard as it was, he’d still be better off to ignore ignorance than justify it with an answer.

  “Colonel, Oh, Colonel!” Cora Dobbs pushed through the crowd to Ian’s side. “Hazel, stand back, I have official business.”

  A woman whose hair was pulled into a severe bun stepped aside but peered over Cora’s shoulder looking like she had chewed a lemon.

  Cora latched onto Ian’s arm and half dragged him up the steps. “Colonel, with you in attendance, we now have a deciding vote.”

  “Deciding on what, exactly, Mrs. Dobbs?” Ian held the door open.

  Cora entered, pulling her skirts in as she passed through the doorway. “Turn the lock. Make sure no one follows us.”

  The crowd had already moved up to the top steps as Ian slid the lock into place. With the reporter out there sensationalizing the event, they could easily become a panicked mob within minutes.

  Hawthorne needed to assemble a special guard.

  “You’ll have to admit, the driving force in this resistance has and will continue to be the ladies left behind to defend our own homes from Yankee ravagers. We’re committed and efficient. None are more invested in keeping those marauders from taking our land than the very women who sent our men off to fight for the right to defend it. And we demand to be supplied with weapons the same as any male reservists.”

  “Driving force might be a bit of an overstatement.” Ian was not inclined to smile but did anyway when her fierce defense of the ladies’ right to bear arms had her waving her parasol like a rapier blade. “But, yes, I’d say you ladies are about as well-organized as any I’ve seen in Virginia or down through Tennessee.”

  “Then I can count on your vote to allow me, as Commander of the Georgia Ladies Auxiliary Militia out of Macon, to attend this meeting?”

  The lamps lit the way down a shiny wood floor to an open door with light splaying out into the hall. Ian halted briefly, knowing unless Cora was appeased, this meeting would never come to order.

  She folded her arms. “We practice three times a day, sometimes with real guns. We only ask for a few bullets.”

  Ian pitied the man who’d oppose them.

  “Mrs. Dobbs, you still haven’t told me how it is that I’m your deciding vote. This is your husband’s meeting. Ask him if you can sit in.” Ian rested a gloved hand on the hilt of his scabbard, and removed his hat before entering the meeting room. “But I must warn you, these are confidential matters. If your husband is wise, he will not subject you to the temptation of repeating what you might hear.”

  “I already asked him. Walter is perfectly fine with my attending. He knows my value in strategic warfare.”

  Ian grinned. He’d just bet Walter did.


  “And so is Georgie. It’s that odious Farris and Major General what’s-his-name that are putting up a fuss. Votes are tied, two to two. You, Colonel, get to decide.”

  A rumble of laughter started deep in Ian’s chest but never made it any farther before annoyance completely choked it out.

  “Between you and me …” Cora took a step toward him and lowered her voice. “You will need me in that meeting for support.”

  Ian’s brow rose a tad. “Why would that be?”

  “Walter tells me Farris is insinuating he has hard evidence proving Abby was behind the Yankee raid.”

  “That’s ludicrous.”

  “Exactly what I said!” She folded her gloved hands before her and squared her shoulders. “Well, not exactly what I said. But your version is more pleasant.”

  “Abby was with me at the time of the raid.” It irritated him to have to give an account for her at all.

  “I know that. We all know that. Abby’s plenty of things, but a Yankee spy is not one of them.” Cora wagged a finger. “And if that pompous walrus says otherwise, you’ll need me in there as a character witness. I don’t care if she is from Ohio, she’s been a Southerner for the past two years. Not another female in Bibb County has done more to ease our suffering Confederate soldiers as Abigail McFadden. Never giving a moment’s thought to her own lack or exhaustion but sitting up all night sometimes at the bedside of another dying young man because he’s afraid to cross over.”

  Ian smoothed a hand over his hair. With all he had to face this evening, whether or not Cora Dobbs had her nose in this meeting was the least of his concern. If she could possibly help Abby, he had no qualms about her being there.

  With a gallant wave of his hat, he allowed Mrs. Dobbs to precede him into the room.

  Farris and Hawthorne were already in a heated discussion at the back of the room. Walter and Baker played chess at a long table set in the middle. Theater posters lined the brick wall between long tall windows facing the river.

  Cora marched to the head of the table. “All those in favor of my attending this meeting say, ‘aye.’”

  “Aye.” General Hawthorn and Walter Dobbs responded in unison. Walter, never looking up from his game.

  Ian pulled out a chair and turned it around, motioning for Mrs. Dobbs to be seated first. “Aye.” He answered with a half grin before straddling the seat.

  “The aye’s have it. Let the meeting begin.” If she’d had a gavel Ian was sure she would have wielded it freely.

  “General, this is outrageous.” Farris padded to the table. “When the time comes that we need help from our most delicate and genteel–.”

  “I am neither delicate nor genteel, Buford. Now, who will begin?” Cora ignored Farris’ incredulous sniff.

  “Let’s start with the facts.” General Hawthorne took his place at the head of the table, standing beside his sister’s chair. “Colonel Saberton, please brief us on your findings concerning this afternoon’s raid.”

  “Storehouse Number Twelve across from the railroad depot was burglarized at some point between noon and four p.m. Though ransacked, only one trunk and a priceless painting are missing. Everything else has been accounted for. An unknown assailant entered the warehouse through a known damaged vent accessed from the back outer wall. Their escape was made through the front where the guard on duty sustained a gash on the back of his head as he was assaulted from behind.”

  “Blue-belly calling card.” A smug sneer indeed gave Farris the look of a walrus with the long ends of his shaggy mustache hanging down past where his neck should be.

  “Actually no, Sir, it’s not.” Ian crossed his arms over the back of the chair. “The main purpose of a Yankee raid would be to infuse fear in the locals and cause the Confederate army to know that this area had been invaded. Therefore, they would have made a display of entering the city in formation and confronting our men at gunpoint. They would not have crept in the back but through the front of the building taking possession of everything they could carry away and burning down what was left.”

  “And they would have gone from storehouse to storehouse until they found food, medical supplies, or ammunition to bring back to the Union camps bearing down on Atlanta.” Major General Baker concurred. “A painting and lady’s trunk would not be of particular interest.”

  “Priceless painting.” Farris interrupted.

  “Where do you suppose they would sell such a priceless possession?” General Hawthorne postured with a hand resting inside the frock coat at his chest. He made a valid point. “Unless you suppose that they would haul such a cumbersome piece all over creation to get back into Union territory, they would have to find an unscrupulous buyer south of the Mason-Dixon. Otherwise, what good would Confederate currency do them?”

  “Colonel, are you of a mind that this was not a Yankee raid, after all?” Cora wanted to know, drumming her white-gloved fingers on the polished mahogany table.

  “The dead Yankee would beg to differ.” Farris’s face turned crimson. He took a long sip from his snifter, glaring at Ian.

  “It’s true, Cora. They shot one down behind the warehouses.” Walter Dobbs looked from Cora, to Farris, back to Cora again.

  The one aspect of this incident that made no sense whatsoever.

  A red patch found on the soldier’s hat identified him as an infantryman for the Army of the Potomac. As far as Ian knew, they were engaged in Virginia and had never come this far south.

  “Perhaps the Colonel’s personal investment in this case has blinded him to the truth.” Farris finished his drink with a repugnant belch.

  Both of the other General’s turned to Ian for an explanation.

  “I have no investment, General, personal or otherwise.” Ian stood and swung the chair back to the wall. “Perhaps your bottle of cheap brandy has you mistaken.”

  “He was with a known Yankee spy today while the prized possessions of our good citizens were pilfered and fleeced.” Farris tried to stand but fell back into his chair. “Conveniently, it was his duty to protect our trusting residents from this contemptable act of cowardice. Very convenient, indeed.”

  Cora Dobbs was on her feet in an instant. “Farris, you drunken old fool.”

  The mayor intercepted her charge toward the other end of the table. “Simmer down, dearest. You’ll get another one of your sick headaches.”

  “Yes, dearest.” Farris mocked. “We wouldn’t want poor Walter to spend the night alone on the sofa again.” He was the only one laughing.

  “Georgie, …” Cora began.

  “You can’t call me Georgie. You must address me as General.” Her brother corrected her gently. “We are recording official minutes, Cora.”

  “General, then.” She picked up where she had left off. “Don’t you dare believe a word that man says. We’ve no known Yankee spies within a thousand miles of here. He’s drunk as usual and hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about.”

  “Georgie, I believe we should order a pair of britches for your sister from the Quartermaster.” Farris shook the last drops from his bottle into a cup. “She’s gotten too big for her husband’s.”

  “General, you disgrace yourself.” General Hawthorne strode to Farris’s side and directed him to stand. “You are dismissed. Return to your command at once. My full report will be sent to your commander concerning your behavior. This is not the first time you’ve attended a meeting intoxicated.”

  “He’s even more disgraceful when he’s sober.” Cora dusted off her skirts and returned to her chair, retying the bow under her chin that secured her hat.

  Farris set his bottle down hard and made for the door. His eyes, bloodshot and cold, skimmed over Ian as he passed. “You should be questioning your Yankee whore about how those men knew where to look for valuables. I have proof she facilitated the entire operation.”

  “Present your evidence then, General.” Ian stood. He was fed up with Farris’ accusations.

  The Major General came to sta
nd between them, facing Ian. “Saberton, he’s not worth it. He has nothing or he’d have presented it long before now.”

  “That will remain to be seen.” Farris exited into the hall and pulled a sloppy salute. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  The room was quiet until they heard the door at the front of the building open and close once again. Hawthorne sent an aide to make certain it was locked.

  “I don’t know why that odious imbecile still walks our streets.” Cora continued to grouse. It was no secret she had strong feelings when it came to Farris. He’d broken trust with her a long time ago.

  Ian circled the table to look out the floor length window. While a few still milled about on the street waiting for the meeting to end, most had dispersed to their homes where they were sure to take extra precautions to secure every door and window.

  Ian had no doubts Farris was bluffing. He had no proof of Abby’s involvement or he’d have been happy to parade it under their noses.

  “Colonel?”

  Ian turned to find all attention centered on him.

  “My apologies.” He leaned a shoulder against the cool brick. “General Farris’ intense dislike for Abby is tiresome. I’ve never seen her disrespect him, in fact she goes out of her way to avoid him from what I can tell.”

  “Is this the Abby I met at the hospital last week, Walter?” General Hawthorne asked.

  “The nurse.” Cora waggled a finger at the aide taking minutes. “Get this down, Abigail McFadden. Reddish-gold hair, green eyes. A mite too skinny.”

  “Ah, yes. Lovely girl. Very well thought of among our soldiers.” General Hawthorne clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the other side of the room.

  “Nurse Abby was a veritable angel of mercy tending our reservists.” Major General Baker scratched his beard. “Granted, we’ve not seen many battle wounds but a round of measles took hold. If she hadn’t put the sick ones in quarantine, and taken such good care of them, we’d never have survived it as well as we did.”