She sat still for a bit longer, until finally desire overcame her better judgment. She silently stood and looked around. The sentries stationed at the bottom of the hill had not noticed her movement. Slowly she made her way to the door of the tent.
Holding her breath, she listened. She could hear nothing from within. Timidly, she raised the flap and slipped inside.
The sudden darkness startled her, and she stood motionless until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She was in a lounge lined with bunks. Cautiously, she glanced at each bunk, half expecting to see a soldier asleep, or worse yet, awake and watchful. The room was empty.
Quietly she crossed the floor to the next flap. Pulling the flap back ever so slightly, she peeked inside. Several oil lamps still burned, illuminating the room with a dim light. She expected someone to be standing guard, but she saw no one.
Breathing deeply, she tried to calm the pounding of her heart. What will they do to me if I’m caught? she wondered. She swallowed hard and stepped into the room. She’d come this far, and she wasn’t going to turn back now. After all, she only wanted one last look.
Her boldness faded as fast as it had come. This room was so foreign to her. It was stark and masculine. There were no adornments on the walls, no light from outside, and no curtains—only two crate chairs, a crate desk, and one cot.
Her eyes remained fixed upon the cot, and her feet were drawn irresistibly toward the sheet-covered body that lay there. Hardly daring to breathe lest she awaken someone in the camp, she knelt beside the cot.
Slowly, fearfully, she drew back the sheet. She closed her eyes, dreading to see death, yet curiosity drove her on. Opening her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief. James’s face was not drawn or twisted in agony or pain. It was peaceful, as if he were only sleeping.
Jennifer marveled. James was not defeated. Much the opposite! He merely appeared to be resting after winning a great battle.
The remorse of her own soul began to diminish as she looked upon his sweet repose. Gently her finger strayed to his face. It was cool but not cold or clammy. The rough bristles grown during days of unending pain lay thick upon his solid jaw. She felt an ache in her heart to do something for this man who had given himself for her.
Suddenly motivated, she stood. Looking around the room, she spied a wash basin and pitcher. Gathering them, she found a few clean bandages. “These will do,” she said aloud, and her voice startled her. But she had purpose now, and she lent herself to the task at hand.
The grime that covered James was soon washed away, along with days of sweat and dust from the battlefield. She remembered the gallant young commander, clean-shaven and handsome. She was at a loss for only a few moments and soon was rummaging about the room as if she were in charge of the entire grounds. In a small box beneath the rickety desk, she found a small leather pouch in which were a razor and several personal items.
Razor in hand, she set to work. She had done this for her father many times since he’d lost his arm in the battle at Great Bend last summer. Soon she was wiping the last bit of suds from James’s face.
Carefully she sponged her cloth over James’s hair and smoothed it into position. Lovingly she washed his hands and gently laid them upon his chest. She was so involved with her task that she had no idea how long she had been in the tent or what was happening in the world outside.
She left the sheet rolled down, exposing her handiwork. Stepping back, she viewed the results and was pleasantly surprised. James appeared to be sleeping peacefully upon his cot, hands folded upon his breast, without a care or fear in the world.
Her heart suddenly skipped a beat. “Voices,” she whispered. Trembling, she glanced about the room. There were no cubbyholes, no closets, not a single place to hide. She stepped to the door, hoping to slip out unnoticed, but to her dismay, at that very moment, the outer tent flap was pulled aside, and several men entered the outer room.
Dropping the flap, Jennifer stood frozen in place.
“Let’s make plans here,” she heard a tired but resonant voice say.
There was the growing sound of more and more voices outside. Obviously, a fairly large group of men had come back to the tent. Why didn’t I hear them coming? she wondered.
“I wish we’d caught Jabin!” spoke an unfamiliar voice.
“Me too, but his party is greatly diminished,” said another.
“More’s the pity,” said the first. “The slain were probably good men who had fallen under bad leadership.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Excuse me, sir!” A different voice spoke softly. “Is this where James …?”
“Son, don’t trouble John with that just now.”
“It’s all right, Gaff. Frankly, James is closer to my heart just now than deciding what to do about Jabin.”
“We must be swift, John. We can’t let that weasel go far, or we’ll all pay dearly.”
“I know the wisdom of what you say, but grief speaks loudest to my heart just now. Come, Mathias. I’ll take you to him.”
The flap to the inner room began to open. Jennifer stepped quickly to one side, and a sentry stepped through, holding the flap open for John to enter. As John stepped into the room, the sentry stepped back and brushed against Jennifer.
“What the—” he sputtered, dropping the flap and drawing his blade.
Swords cleared their sheaths, and Jennifer fell to her knees, crying, “Mercy! I meant no harm!”
“What are you doing here?” the sentry snapped, dragging the poor girl to her feet.
“Mark, be gentle!” John demanded. “Who are you, young lady?”
Rudy stepped forward. “She’s the girl who told us James had been wounded!”
John’s countenance softened. “Please, everyone, leave us alone. I’d like to talk with this girl in private for a moment.” He motioned the others to leave.
People reluctantly obeyed, but there arose such a cacophony of voices in the outer lobby that Jennifer could barely hear herself think.
John moved to the door and addressed the group. “Gentlemen, would you please go outside?”
There was a good deal of grumbling, but eventually the confusion subsided. Jennifer trembled, as John now turned his full attention upon her.
“Don’t worry, lass,” he said softly. “No one is going to harm you.”
“I’m so sorry!” she stammered as tears sprang afresh in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” John said softly. “Can you tell me what you know of my son’s death?”
The man was so kind and gentle. Jennifer wiped her eyes, but she could not look into his face. She felt his hands on her shoulders and finally began to speak. “Your son learned his kindness from you,” she began. She looked up to see a rueful smile cross John’s lips, warming his expression.
“Thank you. My son did not show kindness to everyone, but I’m glad he did to you.”
Jennifer bowed her head, afraid to trust her voice. She knew it was kindness that had brought James to her rescue at the fortress gates. He had saved her life, only to lose his own.
During her silence, John turned toward James’s cot. “What?” he whispered.
Jennifer followed his gaze. James was clean, shaven, and appeared to be sleeping.
“What happened?” John asked, incredulous at the transformation.
“I—” Jennifer stammered. “I wanted to see him one last time, and I wanted to do something for him.” Her mouth felt dry. She felt that her words formed a feeble excuse.
John strode quickly to the cot and knelt beside his son. Jennifer watched from a distance, feeling awkward and very much alone.
John knelt silently for what seemed to Jennifer a very long time, but when he finally turned to her, tears were streaming down his cheeks. His voice broke, and it seemed all he could do to whisper, “Thank you!”
; She blushed and dropped her eyes.
“You must have loved him very much?” John asked.
Her eyes glistened as she looked into the eyes of the man before her. “Yes, but only from afar.”
John rose and wrapped an understanding arm about her shoulders. “That is how everyone loved him,” he said softly. “He never allowed anyone close enough to really know him.”
Jennifer could sense a father’s regret.
“What happened?” John asked gently.
Slowly and carefully, Jennifer described her mission away from home, her return, the frightening battle, her fear, her rejection at the fortress, her deliverance, James’s wounds, and her brief stay in the camp.
John’s eyes clouded as she spoke, and when she finished, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. She could hear the steady beating of his heart. Imperceptibly at first, but with growing emphasis, she could feel great spasms shake his body. Hot tears splashed into her hair from above, and she felt her own tears run unchecked down her cheeks. Together they poured out their grief and loss.
After tears had drained their anguish, they pulled apart, and neither felt embarrassed. “Dear child,” John said. “You have done a lovely thing for my son. You have also done a lovely thing for me. Thank you for sharing my pain and my loss.”
CHAPTER 18
Last Rites
After Jennifer left the tent, John knelt beside James’s body and prayed. “Lord, I came into this world with nothing, and I shall leave the same way. All that I have is from You. Take my firstborn son and cradle him in Your arms. Keep him safe until one day I shall see him again in the glory of Your kingdom. Amen.”
John rose and stepped from the tent. Down the hill from the command center, he could hear a boisterous conversation taking place. “We should go after Jabin now!” one voice demanded. “He’ll do more damage if we leave him alone!”
“He’ll be back! We beat him badly last year at Great Bend, but he’s already back this spring.”
“I agree,” chimed in another. “He’ll cause grief wherever he is. If he’s not disturbing us, he will be destroying someone else. We can’t allow him to continue unchecked.”
After scrambling down the hill, the gathering encouraged John to join the conversation. “I dare not say too much,” John said flatly. “My words could be construed as wanting vengeance for James’s death.”
“John, be reasonable,” Gaff growled. “From what we’ve heard about when and where James was attacked, this tragedy could more aptly be laid at Devia’s feet.”
“As could the kidnapping of Thomas,” another said hotly.
“We don’t know where to lay the blame for that,” John said coolly. “In fact, we don’t know if James knew something, or if he was guessing. He died before he could tell us more.”
“Just the same, we must pursue and, if possible, eliminate Jabin. The man is a terror to mankind, and he has to be stopped!”
“If we remove him from the scene, another just as bad will arise to take his place,” Stafford said. “The human heart is wicked beyond all measure.”
“John, I know that,” Gaff grumbled. “But we have to move while we can, before Jabin rebuilds and strikes again.”
“Very well,” John said. “I will abide by the decision of this council, with one condition.”
“Good,” Gaff said. “What is the condition?”
“I will go with you, but my men must choose for themselves whether they will go or stay.”
“What?” Gaff exploded. “You can’t be serious! We are going to need every available man to chase that villain out of the mountains.”
“I know,” John said quietly. “But my men signed up for the protection of Amity, not for world adventures.”
“John, you give your people too much freedom and too many choices.”
“I don’t want an unwilling soldier behind or beside me in the thick of battle. I only want those who are committed to the cause. I can’t afford to have dissenters among my men!”
Gaff shook his head. “All right! I just hope we don’t pay too dearly for your folly.”
“Gaff, you will see. More can be accomplished with a few who are committed than with multitudes who don’t care about the cause.”
Inquiry was made throughout the garrison about Thomas’s disappearance, and finally two men came forward who had ridden with him the last night he was seen.
“Yes, sir, we rode a circuit with Thomas that night,” one man responded to John’s questions.
“Did he seem distraught or agitated about anything?”
“Yes, sir. He was real interested in the men Devia had hanged outside the fortress. He stayed near their rotting bodies longer than I could stand to. I think he was trying to identify them.”
“I thought he must have known them,” the other man said, “because when he rejoined us on the circuit, he sure was upset.”
Suddenly the first man came to life. “That’s right,” he said. “I remember Thomas saying that he was going to see Samoth first thing in the morning.”
“Samoth Devia?” John asked.
“Yes, sir!” both men chorused.
“Were there any of Jabin’s men near the area that night?”
“No, sir. They hadn’t made their move yet. They were located about two miles west, all along the edge of the forest. Our orders were to report any movement toward Green Meadow or our positions. There was no movement that night, sir.”
“Tell me more about why Thomas said he was meeting Samoth,” John said.
“I didn’t know what he was talking about, sir. He might have meant the parley.”
“The parley?” John echoed.
“I rode with James and a small group of men to the fortress the next morning for a parley with Jabin. Devia was supposed to be the intermediary. That was when we discovered the missing body. Commander James went crazy. He started screaming and calling curses down on Devia! We tried to restrain him, sir, but he broke free and smote the gates with his knife. He drove that blade in, clean up to the hilt. He wasn’t the same after that, sir. I think he aged ten years that morning. O’ course, that was when everything else started, and Jabin’s troops began to move in the meadow. We had our hands full the next few days until you and your men showed up. We’d just about given up hope.”
John sat silent for a moment. The information he’d heard was fragmented and gave him little insight into the problem. He studied the men before him. They were dirty, exhausted, and as thin as razor blades, yet they seemed honest men, soldiers to the core.
“Do you know anything else about Thomas?” he finally asked.
“No, sir,” both men chorused.
“I thank you both for this information. Gaff has a larder under his jurisdiction. See Captain Wilmont outside, and he will see that you get something to eat. Then I want you to take the rest of the day off from your duties and get some rest.”
There was an unexpected pause as the men turned to go. “If you please, sir,” one man ventured, “I wouldn’t mind getting a bite to eat, but I’ve a brother I’m still searching for.”
John felt smitten. He was not the only one to lose a family member. This man had taken time to tell him about James and Thomas, all the while wondering about the fate of his own brother. John understood the man’s helplessness. He would be unable to rest until his brother’s fate was known.
“Permission granted, soldier. I pray the Lord will help you find your brother alive and well.”
Both men thanked him with their eyes and turned to leave.
Jennifer carefully washed her face. A slight smile tugged at her lips. After days without care or attention, she wondered if she would ever be clean again. Running a comb though her tangled hair, she winced as it caught in a mat of knots. I must hurry! she chided herself.
John h
ad ordered James’s body removed from the command center for final viewing, and then he had turned James’s living quarters over to Jennifer. Having sectioned off one small corner of the inner room, Jennifer made her preparations in semi-privacy, for the entire command center had become a makeshift hospital. Men who had sustained injuries filled nearly every corner of the tent and the surrounding area.
Jennifer tried to hurry, but the comb snagged in yet another set of tangles. She’d spent the afternoon cleaning wounds and cooling fevered brows, not cleaning her own face or combing her hair. It was nearly sundown, and John Stafford would be calling for her any minute.
Can I really do this? Jennifer wondered, a sudden pang of remorse wrenching her heart. James is gone. I will never see him again. She was to accompany John Stafford to James’s bier, leading the entire procession of soldiers past his grave.
“Miss Jennifer!” A voice broke into her confused thoughts, bringing her back to reality. “Master Stafford is waiting.”
Oh my! she thought. Her hands began to tremble. “I’m just about ready,” she called, brushing tousled hair back from her face.
Slipping around the curtain, she stepped quickly toward the door. A hand brushed her skirt as she passed one of the many cots. “Miss Jennifer,” a badly wounded soldier whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
Jennifer knelt beside the suffering man and swept her fingers gently over his moist brow. “I must step out for a moment, but I’ll be back.” The man’s skin felt damp and clammy, and she feared he was in shock. Jennifer bowed her head. “Dear Lord, please let him live,” she whispered.
She heard her name from countless cots as she passed. Without a doubt, this was where she belonged. Her heart ached for these mauled and maimed men.
Stepping from the darkness of the tent, fresh air and a golden sunset dazzled her senses. John Stafford was waiting. He smiled and offered his arm.
His clothes were fresh and clean, and he wore no armor. His head was bare, save for a shock of unruly, windblown hair. She marveled at his appearance. He was no warrior tonight, merely an aging father about to bury his son. Her heart ached for the graying man.
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