by Jess Evander
“What say you, Mr. Allen? Will you join us in traveling as far as the encampment of troops at Camp Beauregard?”
Pinkerton says, “Gents, as I both lack an engagement and enjoy your company, that sounds like a marvelous plan. I may even join to do my part in the cause like you’ve all been encouraging me to do.” There’s a scuffling of shoes and grunts of agreement, then nothing. The stable is around back so if they’re leaving right away, they’ll exit the other end of the house.
Latched onto the armrest of my chair, my fingers go white. Weren’t we originally sent here to help the Union spy? Michael sensed a leading to save Pinkerton the first time. Now the man’s leaving Hunt House to go who knows where. I’m on my feet now, pacing the veranda. Oh, and biting my nails. I make myself stop.
Michael’s in the circle of men, swapping stories. Hitting each other on the back and laughing. Is it proper in this time to walk over there and snag him? Can I holler out his name to get his attention?
My friend Emma once forced me to watch Pride and Prejudice. Thankfully, it was just the two-hour one and not the eight-hour saga that requires an entire day devoted to watching. What did the mean-headed sister call her brother in the movie? I press my fingers to my temples. She referred to him by his last name. Not that this is the same time period. Actually, that story takes place in a different country all together.
I work my bracelet around my wrist. Taking action is better than thinking about movies. I start across the lawn. “Mr. Pace?”
Michael raises his eyebrows toward me, and then turns back to the men, bowing slightly. “Excuse me, friends. My sister is prone to lightheadedness when left in the sunshine over long.” He comes over and puts his arm around me, steering me away from both the house and the soldiers.
I dig my elbow into his ribs. “Lightheadedness?”
He squeezes my shoulder. “It was the best I could come up with. What’s up?”
“Pinkerton is leaving.”
He stops walking. “You saw him?”
“I heard him.”
“When?”
I shrug. “Two minutes ago.”
“Did he say where he was headed?”
“Not just him. I think he’s with some of the soldiers.”
“The clerk will know. He’s been feeding information to them this whole time. I asked him how to give money and pretended to be from a wealthy family that wants to help the cause. He’ll tell me where they went.” Grabbing my arm, Michael tows me into Hunt House and flags down the clerk who gives him the information about the Confederates. “Do you have carriages to let?”
Creep-o polishes the table without looking up. “No, sir. The last one left moments ago. I have a horse.” Then he glances at me. “Only one. If you need to travel somewhere, there are rooms open this evening. Should you pay in advance, your sister can stay here under my care for the duration of the day.”
I dig my nails into Michael’s hand.
He grits through it with a smile. “What a thoughtful offer.” He pays for the horse while I panic. If Michael leaves me here, I’ll take off into the woods and live like a hobbit until he returns. I will not stay at Hunt House alone.
Without wasting time, Michael ushers me out of the house and we’re tramping to the barn. He tosses me the backpack, and I sling it over my shoulder.
While he pulls a chestnut-colored horse out of a stall, I stalk back and forth, fists bunched at my sides. “You’re really going to just leave me here. I can’t believe this.”
He swings up onto the horse and trots it over to me.
I leap back. “Okay, you know how I feel about those animals.”
Maneuvering his shoe from the holder, he reaches out his hand. “Put your foot in the stirrup and climb up behind me.”
I’m lifted onto the back of the horse by more of Michael’s strength than my own.
He peeks at me over his shoulder. “Hang on tight. This isn’t going to be a little stroll.”
“I thought you were going to leave me behind.” I lace my arms around him. Perhaps hanging on too tightly.
Clucking his tongue, he gets the horse to jog out of the barn. Michael turns his head slightly. “I’ll never leave you behind. That’s a promise.”
Michael lands a swift kick to the horse’s side, sending it into a full run. I pull closer to him, bury the side of my face against his back and close my eyes. Sway against him as the horse tears across a field.
Instead of thinking about falling off the horse, I focus on Michael. He’s warm and carries the mixed scents of the outdoors and hard work. When I was younger and spent all day playing outside with friends, I used to come home smelling like that. My dad would pick me up, twirl me in a circle, and say I smelled like the sun. What a great way to say it. So much better than saying someone reminds you of sweat and dirt.
We’re at the train depot quicker than I expected. Michael’s easing me off the back of the horse before I get a chance to open my eyes. He loops the reins over a hitching post and strides to the front doors, then pauses. “I’m going inside to do some surveying. Wait for me out here, okay?”
Once he’s inside, I skirt around the horse and decide to check out the other side of the station. Where the horse is hitched faces the road, but I want to see the side with the rail. Someone has planted a few flowers to trim the building, but they’re in horrible need of watering. Stuff like that must fall to the wayside during a war. One wayward bee searches each wilted blossom for nectar. Bad luck, buddy.
I turn the corner and stop dead in my tracks. The three men I saw the first night I shifted are there on the platform, waiting beside a monstrous black train as it belches smoke. I have to do what I can to find out about Pinkerton. The sooner we finish this mission, the better.
Raising my chin, I try to act the way a lady in this time would, although I don’t really know how that is. I saunter toward the train, pretending to be dazzled by the contraption. My ploy works. The men talk as if I’m not even there.
“Why the pretense about showing him the fort?”
“If he’s the spy I think he is, capturing him will get us promotions and loads of money. We could also be granted positions off the battlefield for a capture this grand. Isn’t that what we all want—to be done fighting once and for all? This could be our ticket, but I’m being careful until we have him surrounded by a thousand soldiers.”
“You did send a telegram? They’re aware we’re coming with him?”
“From the second we step off the train, he won’t stand a chance.”
I’m inching my way down the platform when I spot Pinkerton. He’s seated inside the train, reading a newspaper as if all is right in the world. Without thinking, I scale the three large steps into the train and hurry down the aisle.
I slide into the seat next to Pinkerton. “I know you don’t know who I am, but I just heard those men you are traveling with. They know you’re a Union spy and they have people ready to jump you at the next stop.”
Pinkerton’s eyes narrow. “Jump me?”
Okay, so not the best word choice for the 1800’s. “Abduct you.”
He glances out the window, then stands. “I’m indebted to you, Miss.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid he can hear it. “Exit on the other side of the train. You can make your way off the platform on that side before they realize you’re gone. I’ll keep an eye on them for you.”
Pinkerton follows my instructions. Once off the train, he ducks behind carriages until I can’t see him any longer. Who knew I could complete a mission that easily? I take a long breath. Bite my cheeks to hold back a smug smile. Wait, I need to get off this train before it decides to go somewhere.
Just as I turn, a hand clamps around my mouth and another wraps around my middle. Strong body odor makes me gag. It happens so fast, I don’t have time to fight. I’m jerked backward and dragged off the train.
The long-haired Confederate soldier slams me against the outside wall of the station and
smiles at me like the Cheshire cat. Except there’s black ooze dribbling down his lip. “Do you realize you just cost me a trip home to see my family? You’re either the greatest fool in history or another spy. Either way, you’re coming with us.”
I try to wiggle free. Shift! Nicholas, if you’re real. Shifting now would be nice. “Please. I don’t know what this is about. Let go.”
“I think you know exactly what this is about. Anyone who warns a Northern spy has either picked the wrong side—or is a spy herself. My gut says—I got a spy. If I’m correct, Commander Bragg may give me a promotion yet.” His giant hand locks my neck to the wall. I gasp for breath and claw at his skin. He spits tobacco juice all over my shoes.
As my brain starts to go fuzzy from lack of air, only one discernible thought pounds over and over in my head.
Stupid duck.
The world snaps back into view as I gain consciousness, and it smells like a Dumpster. They’ve hauled me around the corner of the train depot, near a small shed. Two men bind my arms, my feet. I try to struggle, but my limbs feel so heavy. I half close my eyes against the stinging sunlight.
It’s impossible to scream with a sweaty handkerchief in your mouth. Try it if you don’t believe me. My brain commands me to shriek, but each attempt ends in a cough, which leads to eye watering and gagging. Why do I even bother? There’s no one to ride in on a white horse and rescue me. Any other Confederate sympathizer will slap these men on the back for a job well done if they see me. Of course there’s Michael, but the thought of him in danger makes my gut clench.
These men aren’t really going to injure me, are they? A woman can’t be hanged for spying. Or were they? I wish I paid better attention in history class. My mind trips down a bunny trail to flannel-clad men who kill women in the woods, or worse, lock them up somewhere for twenty years while they waste away. Maybe I’ve watched one too many true crime shows on cable.
The soldier with the long hair hoists me onto his shoulder. “Round up the rest of the men. Tell them we won’t be taking the train today. Not with this little bit of cargo. We’ll have to keep the horses from Hunt House and be late delivering the medical supplies, but I don’t see a way around it.”
“Sure thing, Sterling.”
When the others leave, I pound on the man’s—Sterling’s—back, and try to land solid kicks to his stomach. With a growl, he secures my legs and gives me a shake. “Don’t mess with me, girl. Promotion or not, I’ve a mind to shoot you right here if you don’t quit.”
He’s right. Now’s not the time to make an escape. Because if he set me down—then what? I’m tied, and he has a horse. Not really a fair match for a getaway.
Grunting, he tosses me over the front of his saddle. The horn jabs my spleen. Sterling mounts, and his knees dig against me. I hear a group of men joining us. It’s more than the two who were here a moment ago.
Sterling circles his horse while the others unhitch theirs. My head’s no more than three or four feet from the ground. I bob with every move the animal makes. Each muscle twitch could pitch me face-first to a death by trampling. Stiffening only makes me totter more. I swallow hard. Relax. Just relax. Easier said than done.
“I thought I made it clear, we’re not bringing anyone else with us.” Sterling does not sound pleased. In fact, he snarls whenever he talks. As hard as I try, I can’t lift my head enough to see the others.
Different voices filter my way.
“The boy checks out. He wants to join the army, but they told him he was too young.”
“He doesn’t look too young.”
I hear Michael’s soft laugh. “People always tell me that. I’d like to join, if you’d allow me.”
No, no, no. Michael is not supposed to be here risking his neck for me. His words from last night pierce through me with the power of a breaking dam. “Do you really think I could do that? Just let you die right in front of me when I could do something to prevent it? Come on, Gabby.”
I should never have come. When I see Eugene, I’m going to call him every foul name I can think of. How quickly I broke my promise to help Michael. I’ll never gain his trust again now. The backs of my eyes sting with gathering tears.
Sterling rests his hand on my back. “You can join as long as you don’t slow us down. Understood?”
Without another word from the men, the horse I’m on takes off. As we bump along, I shut my eyes, and try to keep this morning’s sausage and apples from making a reappearance.
If some great and powerful Oz really does control when we shift, now would be an excellent time. Besides, Pinkerton’s safe, so at least Michael should have shifted. Unless this is punishment for bending the rules.
We ride for what feels like a few hours. Summer sun scorches my neck and arms. Horse sweat lathers along the straps of the saddle, which are near my head. I find some relief as we enter a wooded area, and the horses slow to a walk. As we weave between trees and tramp over shallow rivers, I lose track of time. Before long, we stop.
Sterling dismounts and lifts me, only to drop me onto the ground. I land hip first. Pain shoots into my spine, and I have to bite the nasty cloth to keep from crying.
Another man carries over a large rope and fastens me to a tree. The thick hemp cuts into my wrists. I slump there and watch them set up camp for the night. Most of all, I follow Michael’s movements. He gathers dry branches and sets up tents—jokes around with the other men as if I’m not even here. Which is probably his plan. Showing interest in the captive girl will toss unwanted attention his way. Still, a quick wink or a chin-up couldn’t hurt.
A short guy plops down a few feet from me. “We’re going to be fried as a floured chicken by the time we reach the fort.”
Sterling spits a long stream of tobacco. It explodes against the hard-packed dirt, flinging some onto my pants. “We’ll ride by night from here on out. Sleep and hunt by day. That way, we avoid crossing paths with other troops—both kinds of troops.”
“And avoid getting yelled at for taking so long on our errand.” A man near the horses yawns long and loud.
“Don’t tell me you wanted to get back straight away to the fighting?” Sterling smirks.
Since being captured, I’ve avoided looking at them, but I do now. Even if they end up hurting me, I want to see the men as individuals like Michael said I should. Where once they might have been handsome, their cheeks have sunken in from lack of food. They all sport matching bags under their eyes. No wonder they’ve taken their time heading back to their post.
The soldiers are worn down—bitter from war. Who can blame them? In my time when people are separated from their loved ones for long durations of time there are ways to stay in constant touch. Email, texts, and video chats keep spirits high. But in this time? They probably can’t even get a note delivered since they travel from battle to battle.
Evening swathes the sky in a thick, purple cloth. While some leave to hunt, a few soldiers start a fire. The flames are high enough to make a cub scout squeal. Fingers of smoke tickle the canopy’s underbelly. Heat bathes the area. I press my tongue against the inside of my cheeks—my mouth is dry, and my lips cracking. Even my eyes burn, as if all their moisture has disappeared. No one offers me water. If they did, I’d gulp it right through the handkerchief. I shut my eyes, but my head still throbs.
Shuffling as best as I can, I try to work my way to the other side of the tree they tied me to, but the rope snags halfway. I’m stuck at an angle, but if I look to my left, I can pretend they’re not there. My eyes rove over the underbrush, trying to remember what Indiana Jones does in moments like this. The snap of a twig nearby announces men returning, and the end of my escape plans.
They’ve bagged a few squirrels and four fish. I watch dinner roast over the fire, knowing they aren’t planning on sharing any with me. I’m right. The men pick the carcasses clean, piling the bones nice and nearby. A barrel is pushed to the end of a supply cart and tapped. The men line up. Each waits to fill their tin mugs with the
brew.
Sterling toes off his boots, stretching out near the fire. “With a spy in our midst, let’s keep our wits about us tonight. Only one drink a piece then water or tea.”
A couple of the men grumble.
Michael downs his glass. “No worries, men. I’m famed in my town for making the best tea in a twenty mile radius.”
“Only ladies make tea.” The shortest of the soldiers mutters, but as he talks he pulls a bashed up kettle from a pack on the supply cart.
Michael rubs his hands together. “Just wait, you’ll see.”
“That sounds intriguing.”
Nodding, Michael turns his back to the group of men and sets to work going through the sacks on the cart. I hope he thinks to bring me a drink. He starts to make rounds, filling mugs with his concoction from the kettle and skips me. Great. Don’t mind me, I’ll just sit here and die of dehydration. No big deal.
Sterling takes a swig and starts to cough. “That’s the bitterest tea I’ve ever tasted. What’d you put in there, son?”
Michael grins. “It’s my ma’s secret recipe—I promise it gets better after the second cup.”
Which seems to be true because they all ask for seconds … and thirds.
Some of them play a game with marbles. I press my elbows into my middle when my stomach grumbles. But for the most part, everyone’s forgotten I’m here. By now a group of the men have already dozed off.
Michael jiggles the kettle. “There’s still more.” Men wave their cups in lazy arches in the air. He works his way around the group, providing more refills.
Someone to my left yawns. “Know any songs, boy?”
Michael clears his throat. “There is a land where cotton grows, a land where milk and honey flows. I’m going home to Dixie. Yes, I am going home.” Who knew he could sing so well? His baritone lulls a few more men to sleep. Others join him for all seven verses, but their words slur a bit.
By the fourth song, Michael sings alone again. “For Southerners never yield. And when we think of those who are away, we’ll look above for joy that Bobby is a Southern soldier boy.”