Field of Redemption

by Lori Bates Wright

  “She’s in the back!”

  Abby looked back to see Mo yelling from the porch rails and gesturing her way. Several men she recognized from the shanty streamed around the corner, kicking up dirt as they came after her.

  She dashed toward the open storeroom.

  Pitching the piece of wood out of the way, she jerked the door closed behind her. Farris’ men pounded on the other side just as she threw the small latch in place.

  Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. The simple hasp couldn’t possibly hold against their incessant pummeling. With only the light from a single long window, Abby searched the larder for something heavy to move in front of the door—just in case.

  Three large barrels stood in a corner with table clothes and napkins folded neatly on top.

  Surely, they would hold the men back.

  Abby tried desperately to move the barrel closest to the door, but the heavy container refused to budge. Removing her gloves, she gave it another try, coming from another angle. Whatever was in that one weighed a ton.

  The door creaked under their heavy battering.

  Abby got behind a small, pine-hewed cupboard and pushed hard. First with her arms, then with her hip. Slowly, she scooted the piece to cover the door.

  The small room was enclosed on all sides. Herbs and vegetables filled baskets lining whitewashed shelves hanging on red brick walls. Shanks of ham and cured bacon hung from hooks in the back.

  The pounding stopped.

  Abby paced back and forth across the room. She didn’t dare open the door. Trying to see through the only window was impossible with a maze of herbs hung there to dry.

  An exchange of gunfire erupted outside causing her to crouch low out of pure instinct. Followed by a heated discussion just on the other side of the door, evidence that Farris’ men were not giving up a chance to collect on her death.

  Surely Ian had been located by now. Was it him shooting at Farris’ men? Had he been hit in return?

  The sound of shattering glass sent shards of alarm over her already tattered nerves.

  A ball of flame sailed into the storeroom, forcing her back into the shadows.

  Bunches of herbs that had been hung in the window ignited like kindling, dripping to the wood floor below. A pungent stench of kerosene burned her throat as the flaming dart consumed the woven baskets lining the floor.

  Black smoke began to fill the room.

  Acrid fumes stung her eyes and she made a desperate attempt to reach the door but the cabinet she’d placed there earlier blocked her path.

  As the fire grew, so did her panic until stark fear nearly paralyzed her.

  Fire had taken her family. Visions of her mother’s last moments trapped inside that burning fortress had tormented her as long as she could remember. A terror so profound, she never spoke of it.

  Please, Lord, don’t let me suffer the same fate.

  Abby crouched to the floor where the air was easier to take in.

  Crawling on her knees, she blindly searched for the broken window.

  Please, Father in heaven …

  Bumping into the barrels, she reached for the folded napkins to cover her mouth and nose.

  Unable to catch a decent breath, she prayed she wouldn’t lose consciousness and be consumed by the growing flames.

  Snatching another scrapping soldier by the scruff of the collar, Ian flung him to the side of the road where Fitz and eight other officers were corralling their unruly men.

  By the looks of empty bottles in the road, someone had thought it was a good idea to hand out cheap whiskey. The haggard soldiers went without such indulgences for months and imbibed much too freely.

  At first, Ian attributed the misguided gesture to a citizen trying to provide comfort to the military men milling about Harbor House. But as he got deeper into the fray, he came up against more of the rabble from shanty town who appeared to be stirring up hostilities.

  Then, he’d spotted Mo. Immediately, he began to search for Abby.

  It made no sense for Farris’ men to come down and openly start a brawl unless they were creating a diversion from the real reason they were here.

  The most profitable reason Ian could think of was the bounty Farris had out on Abby.

  “Ian!” His attention was drawn to the yard of Harbor House where his mother waved frantically.

  Ian stepped over a discarded rebel jacket wadded up in the dirt, taking long strides to where the ladies were huddled.

  “That general is here! The one that despises Abby so.” Dottie grabbed him by the arm as soon as he was within reach. “He had a muzzle on her, and she was frightened half to death.”

  “Where is she now?” Every muscle tensed at the thought of Farris getting his hands on Abby. The man was crazed and had nothing left to lose. He’d obviously wasted no time in escaping his assigned post and returned to Macon.

  “He was in a drunken rant, and Abby caught him by surprise.” Dottie fairly ran next to him in effort to keep up with his determined pace.

  Ian came to an abrupt halt when a black plume of smoke rose from the back of Harbor House just as a scream rent the air.

  Apprehension surged through him as he burst into a full run.

  Rounding the corner of the main house, he saw Elizabeth Lambert desperately tugging at the door of an out building off the kitchen. Beside herself, she screamed something about Abby.

  A thin stream of smoke poured from a single broken window. He couldn’t risk breaking in the door, outside air would only serve to fuel the flame. He’d have to go through the broken window and fight the fire from inside.

  Ian threw off his jacket and wound it around his arm to clear the jagged edges of the broken window. Stepping inside the smoke-filled storehouse, he breathed into the crook of his elbow, squinting as he searched for movement.

  “Abby!” He shouted, delving deeper into the haze.

  The far end of the room was ignited. The fire popped and sizzled, shooting orange cinders down to the wooden floor.

  Somewhere to his left, he heard coughing. Following the sound, Ian made out a form crouched near the door. The green of Abby’s dress glinted in the flickering light.

  “Hang on, Angel.” His boot came up against a barrel in his haste to get to her. Tossing it out of the way, he dove to her side.

  He found Abby on her knees, fighting to take in a breath.

  “Are you hurt?” Ian could barely see her face. At the shake of her head, he stood and pulled her to her feet. Slipping her arm around his neck, he scooped her into his arms. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Carefully, he retraced his steps, holding his breath until his chest burned. Low flames crept toward the shattered window. If the stores of cooking oil ignited, their only way out would be sealed by an inferno.

  “The door is blocked.” Abby trembled in his arms and he clenched her closer against himself. “W-We can’t get out.”

  Ian knew she was terrified of fire. The smell of smoke stirred achingly raw memories, a cruel reminder of her parent’s death.

  Farris couldn’t possibly have known it.

  Whether he had, or simply had an innate sense of evil that drove him in matters concerning Abby, he was responsible for the hot tears Ian felt against his chest.

  There was a time to turn the other cheek and there was a time for evil to be dealt with.

  Farris and his men had hurt Abby for the last time.

  A thin stream of light led him to the broken-out window. Ian wasted no time getting her out through the fragmented opening to taste a breath of cool, fresh air.

  Laying her on a patch of winter grass, Ian turned, scouring the area for any sign of Farris.

  Men with axes chopped at the wooden door to the storehouse while a few of Ian’s soldiers filled buckets full of water.

  Abby coughed as Elizabeth urged her to take a drink. She was shaken, but unharmed. If he hadn’t found her …

  Movement beside a tall bush near the carriage house immediately cau
ght his attention. Farris staggered and tried to run as soon as he noticed he’d been spotted. His cowardly attempt to escape only served to infuriate Ian more.

  Unholstering his gun, he took measured steps toward the man who’d done all he could to torment everyone he came in contact with. A wretch of humanity, with no discernable conscience or remorse.

  If faltering justice wouldn’t put an end to the man’s constant torment of Abby, Ian would take care of it himself.

  Closing the gap between himself and Farris, Ian raised his revolver to take aim.

  “Ian, no!” Abby rasped behind him.

  Without looking around, he could tell activity in the yard quieted. “Stay back, Abby. This man’s deserted his post.” Ian pulled back the hammer with his thumb. The sound of the click of the lock filled the courtyard. “He threatened a female civilian, and defied an officer’s direct command.” Gritting his teeth, he kept his aim. “My orders are to shoot on sight.”

  “You’re not defending yourself, Ian. This time it’s a choice.” Abby stood at his back and though she spoke softly, the weight of what she said slammed into him with brute force. “You are acting out of hate. If you chose to kill him, this time it’s murder.”

  Farris narrowed his bleary gaze at her but held his tongue.

  Ian’s finger itched to pull the trigger. He deserved to die. According to the articles of war, Ian had every right to fire.

  But he was bound to a higher law.

  Abby was right. He despised this man for all he’d done. But killing him would ultimately be Ian’s own ruin. He’d lived in absolute torment for three years.

  With a flick of his wrist, he pointed the end of his revolver to the sky and released the hammer.

  He wouldn’t go back.

  Abby stepped forward to put a hand on his arm and lay her head against his back. “There’s been enough death.”

  “He’ll still stand trial. And eventually get his due.” Ian’s gaze remained on Farris until he signaled for two of his men to apprehend him. “I’m sure Hawthorne can find a place for him at Camp Oglethorpe until then.”

  “A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.”

  ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Thirty-Three

  Abby sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of Harbor House.

  A colorful quilt warmed her shoulders and a steaming cup of cocoa warmed her hands. The ladies fussed shamelessly over her. Much more than the ordeal warranted.

  “I’m glad to see you’re getting color back in your cheeks.” Dottie smiled as she came up the brick steps. “I’ve secured a carriage. We can leave in the morning.”

  “You will stay with us tonight.” Elizabeth Lambert offered her a warm cup. “You both need rest.”

  “Posh! They’re staying with us.” Cora was obviously riled. All the fighting seemed to have put her on the offensive, ready to lead a charge.

  “Our house has a doctor living there, in case Abby needs one.” Elizabeth patted Abby’s knee. “Besides, Eliza Jane will want to hear all about this betrothal we’ve heard about.”

  “I won’t argue, Elizabeth, that’s very kind of you.” Abby’s throat still burned, but other than feeling exhausted, she was content. Being here with Ian, even for a short time, had made it abundantly clear she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. No matter what happened with the country, she no longer dreaded the future.

  “What sort of general has the audacity to run his own brothel to service his men? Taking what little pay they receive?” Dottie took a careful sip.

  “Buford Farris, that’s who.” Cora provided. “I don’t know why they ever let that old walrus out of jail.

  “Fitz has him under guard. He’ll be cashiered and locked away as soon as Hawthorne arrives.” Ian climbed the front steps. Removing his hat, he ran a hand over his thick hair before settling it back over his brow.

  “Has the general been summoned?” Elizabeth offered him coffee which he politely declined.

  “General Hawthorne,” Cora spoke to Ian’s mother. “He’s my brother.”

  “I see.” Dottie winked at Abby.

  A young soldier came around from the back of the house. “Colonel, sir, the fire has been extinguished. The storehouse was saved, but most of the provisions ain’t fit to eat.”

  “Send the bill to Farris.” Cora clapped a hand on her hip. “And he can pay to replenish it, too.”

  “Well, you’d best empty his pockets before he goes to jail, or we’ll never see a penny of it.” Elizabeth joined Cora at the end of the porch looking out across the road to where Fitz escorted Farris to a wagon.

  Ian took Abby’s hand. Without a word, she was bolstered by his strength.

  “He’ll be limping back to jail is what he’ll be doing.” Cora came back from where she had taken a quick assessment of what was going on out front. “When they took his rifle, the drunken fool shot himself in the foot. Pretty certain a toe or two is missing.”

  Abby sat forward with a look of consternation marring her brow. “Does he need a doctor?”

  “He’s not hurt. Only a hole in his boot. Cora, will be tellin’ everyone he shot his whole leg off before this is over with.” Elizabeth took Dottie’s and Abby’s cups and went inside the house.

  Cora smirked in answer, neither confirming nor denying the accusation.

  “The men are restless. Must be the feel of winter coming on.” Ian surveyed the heavy clouds. “We lost several to the cold last winter. The memory’s still fresh.” He leaned down to speak next to Abby’s ear before placing a kiss at her temple. “I need to see that Farris is transported. I’ll be back.”

  “Duty first, Colonel.” With a tender hand, she cupped his face next hers. “Don’t worry about me. Your place is with your men.”

  Abby knew as long as she was in Macon, she was a distraction. Ian was torn and with all he had bearing down on his shoulders, his full attention should be dedicated to his mission—and to the men who depended on him.

  “The Yankees are coming.” Cora followed him down the porch steps. “Our troops have more important battles to forge, than to fool with Farris and his bunch of hooligans.”

  Abby noticed that Ian didn’t bother informing Cora that the Yankees had most likely bypassed Macon altogether. She had so been looking forward to deploying her Ladies Militia.

  Abby left the rocking chair to join Dottie down in the yard. The sooner they made their way to the Lamberts, the sooner Ian could focus on his task at hand. Besides, she did want to see Eliza Jane and the baby. So much she wanted to tell her.

  “Looks like the main ruckus has run its course.” Dottie observed beside her. For the most part, commanding officers appeared to have regained control. A few of Farris’ men were shackled and waiting for transport in a work wagon at the road where Fitz stood writing on a small piece of paper.

  It disturbed her that Mo was not counted among them.

  “Fitz!” Ian called to his lieutenant.

  “Yes, sir.” Fitz tucked his paper and pencil in the pocket of his jacket and hurried to answer his commander. “Miss Abby, you all right?”

  “She will be.” Ian lifted the collar of his jacket against the cold. “Where’s Farris?”

  Fitz lifted his chin toward a sprawling elm by the road. “The State Militia boys have him under guard over yonder.”

  “Personally guard him until Hawthorne gets here. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “Yes, sir!” Fitz obeyed the command with a broad smile.

  “Where do all these men belong?” Dottie looked one side of the yard to the other.

  “And where is their commander?”

  “Most are new recruits from the Georgia State Militia. Volunteers from the backwoods. General Baker has his hands full with them.” Ian started back toward Harbor House. “As soon as Hawthorne’s troops arrive, my men can go back to camp and Baker can better settle his men down.”

  “What started the fight? Do you know?” He looked a bit surpri
sed when Abby followed to walk along with him and Dottie.

  Despite regulations preventing public displays of affection, he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side to keep her warm.

  He tipped his head at three ruffians sitting with hands bound in the center of the wagon. “Seems Mo and Farris’ men from Dove’s Nest were the ones stirring up the trouble.”

  Abby observed them for a minute, then turned to Ian. “You think Farris planned all of this as a distraction?”

  “Not all of it,” Ian snatched up an army issued weapon left unattended in the dirt. “My guess is he sent them in to cause a diversion to occupy us long enough to get to you. Which he did.”

  She gave Ian a tired smile, taming her hair which had long escaped its pins. She was certain she looked more hoiden than lady with her hair loose and flowing down her back, nearly to her waist. One sleeve of her green dress was ripped at the shoulder and only one glove remained on her hand.

  “You’re beautiful just the way you are.” Ian read her thoughts.

  “Indeed, she is.” Dottie agreed.

  Abby’s heart swelled. She wasn’t used to being complimented so freely.

  A disturbance caught their attention near the elm where Farris was being held. Another fight had two sets of men tumbling to the dirt.

  “Surely not again.” Dottie crossed her arms as a cold wind blew against their skirts.

  A looked of annoyance crossed Ian’s brow at the prospect of having break up another fight.

  “Looks like Mo is one of the men throwing fists.” Abby pointed out, oddly relieved to know of his whereabouts.

  “If he thinks he can distract Fitz long enough to free Farris, he doesn’t know him well.” Ian started toward the fracas when a clatter sounded from up at the house.

  “Attention!” Cora stood at the top step of Harbor House porch, banging a copper pan with a wooden spoon. “Stop this nonsense immediately. Go clack heads at your own camp. You’re destroying the shrubbery.”

  Not one of the men fighting gave her a second glance as the rose bushes took a beating.