“I’ll go round us up some firewood and see if we can get a bit of warmth.” He scurried off toward the woods, and Matthew’s shoulders relaxed. He’d feared a long, cold night and was grateful for a man willing to build a fire.
A sound came from the edge of the woods opposite where Holt had disappeared, and Matthew’s head snapped around in that direction. He raised his weapon and scanned the area, but seeing nothing, finally lowered it. Probably just a critter.
Annabelle shook Monroe again. He groaned, and his head lolled to one side, but he would not open his eyes. She placed a hand to his slick brow and cringed at the heat pouring from him. She’d need to cool him. She climbed down from the wagon and determined she would have to search out a source of water.
Oh, Lord, help me find it quickly.
She chose a direction and walked deeper into the field. She had to often lift her skirts to avoid the droppings littering the ground, so there must have been cattle somewhere nearby, and they would need a place to water. She just hoped not to find a bull anywhere near it.
Not long into her journey, Annabelle spied a glimmer that caught the rays of the quickly descending sun, and she hurried in that direction. It turned out to be a small pond, little more than a mud hole, but it would do. She knelt, ripped a section from the hem of her petticoat, and dipped it into the cold water.
By the time she reached the lieutenant again, his eyes were open. “Oh! You are awake!” she said as she climbed into the wagon and sat beside him, pressing the dripping cloth to his head. She prayed she might break the fever without replacing it with pneumonia.
He looked at her with glassy eyes. “You must take it.”
She bathed his head. “Hush now. Let’s get this fever down first. Do not fret.”
He reached up and clasped her wrist in his clammy fingers. “I fear I will not finish this journey. I thought I could ignore it long enough….” He heaved a ragged breath. “You must deliver the message.”
Annabelle shook her head. “We can go over those things later. We will get you back to Rosswood and then travel again when you are well.”
“Annabelle. Please.”
The use of her first name stayed her hand. She’d seen enough death now to recognize its signs, and it appeared Lieutenant Monroe sensed the end would soon be upon him.
She let out a long breath and left the cloth lying on his brow. “What would you have me do?”
“Deliver the message now. Do not try to take me back to Rosswood. Too much time has been lost already.”
Annabelle drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “I learned in town that there is a Confederate regiment just north of here.”
He brightened. “Do you know which one?”
She shook her head. “I am sorry. I do not.”
“Very well.” He drew a breath that seemed to rattle within his chest. “We have no choice. I am convinced that Jonathan was right. It must be done. I can only hope one of our own is within.”
Jonathan? Ah, yes. Lieutenant Smith. The man who’d first possessed the cryptic message. Annabelle’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Are not all with the Confederate Army one of us?”
“It is not for you to worry with. You need only to….” he drew in a deep breath and his body lurched with a series of coughs. It took several moments for him to recover and finally draw his sleeve across his chapped lips. His features hardened in the way a man’s often did when he loathed the thought of showing the slightest weakness. “You need only to do as I instruct. All will be well from there.”
“And what of me? How shall I know where to find a messenger to send for my uncle?”
“Simply ask a ranking officer.”
Annabelle clenched her teeth and said no more. What choice did she have?
“Go to the line, and give them the countersign Richmond. That will get you past the sentry. From there, ask to speak with an officer from Crestview, Virginia. Deliver the message to him. Only to him.” He stared hard at her, as if he feared she could not comprehend such a simple command.
Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “How do you know there will be a man from that town in this regiment? We do not even know which one it is.”
“If no… officer comes forward from that town, that one alone, then… destroy the message and be, be done with it.” He began to pant, and Annabelle worried his lungs were filling with fluid.
She wrung her hands. “But, I don’t think….” her voice trailed off.
Monroe’s eyes rolled back in his head. She grasped his hand and noticed his fingernails had begun to darken. “Lieutenant! Stay with me.”
He gasped and focused on her. “Forgive me. I fear I do not have long.” He pulled in another rattling breath. How had she not seen how bad he was? Was she too preoccupied with her own concerns to notice how near death he had truly been?
“Do not say such. We’ve broken this fever before. We shall do so again.” She knew the words were false hope, and his expression told her he knew the same. Even if the fever broke now, the infection had already taken over his body. Despite the logic that saturated her mind, her heart rebelled against watching yet another man die, knowing she had not been able to save him.
He shook his head. “My heart beats far too quickly within me.”
Tears gathered in her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. “Shall I pray for you?”
He scowled. “For…what purpose? I have… not life enough left for God to want my service now.” The labored words were delivered with disgust and a tinge of regret.
“He took the thief on the cross, when that man was hanging to die and had nothing to give,” she said softly.
Monroe turned his head away from her. “It is too late,” he gasped. “All that matters is you deliver the message.” He began coughing, and Annabelle began to pray anyway.
His body stiffened and lurched upward, his lungs gasping for breath they could not gather. Tears slid down Annabelle’s cheeks. Would she ever grow accustomed to the hideous pain that accompanied man’s final moments? “Please, before your heart gives out,” she pleaded, “turn it over to the Lord, and find peace in the end rather than torment.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then fell backward, his eyes staring into nothing. She reached out gently to lower his lids. Annabelle sat back on her heels and drew her knees against her.
Never had she felt so alone.
The cold wind tugged at her hair, drawing her up from her sorrow and reminding her she had neither the time nor ability to allow herself the comfort of tears. She must mourn later. Here was another soldier who deserved a proper burial she could not provide, and this time she didn’t even have a spade.
Her memory wandered to the broken fence, and soon her feet followed. The rough wood left little scratches on her palms as she tugged, rolled, and hefted the pieces of the fence boards into a pile behind the wagon. She wiped a hand across her cheeks and studied the pyre in front of her as the final rays of sun dipped low, casting shadows across the dancing grass.
She pulled a match from the pack and rolled it between her fingers. What else was she to do? It would be crueler to leave him here for the birds and animals to nibble, finding his eyes and… she shivered. It must be done.
Using her bare fingers and a relativity flat stone, she scraped away the dry grass for a couple of feet in a perimeter around the pyre. Hopefully, the fire would remain contained and would not leap her moat to find the dry grass beyond.
Annabelle climbed into the wagon and placed her hands underneath the still-warm body of the lieutenant. “Forgive me,” she said, and gave a mighty shove. The body rolled. In a few moments, the soldier she’d hoped would provide her protection fell from the wagon bed and onto the woodpile at an awkward angle.
She stepped down and set to work arranging him properly, then covered his body with handfuls of dried leaves. As the darkness thickened, she struck the match and held it high, whispering a prayer that his soul had found its rest.
Annabelle lowered t
he flickering flame, and in a moment the leaves began to catch and crumble. She watched until his clothing took hold, then placed her hand over her mouth and turned away. She climbed into the driver’s bench and took up the reins, urging Homer forward.
As the flames glowed brighter, Annabelle turned her back on the shadows and rode deeper into the night.
“They have no hope in peace conferences; neither do I.”
“You hear that?” Holt asked, dropping the stick with which he’d been poking the dying flames.
Matthew straightened. He’d heard rustling but had dismissed it. Perhaps he should not have. He reached for his rifle. “I did.”
Holt drew his weapon and pointed it to the dark woods beyond their small circle of light. Matthew used the stock of the rifle to aid him in getting to his feet, thankful the movement was becoming steadily less painful.
A sound again came from the woods, and Matthew caught a flash of color moving through the trees. He followed it for only a second before it merged with the shadows and made him wonder if he had merely imagined it.
“Halt! We see you, man. Come forth, or be shot!” Holt shouted.
Silence. Matthew scanned the trees but could not distinguish movement anywhere near where he had seen the snip of color, but someone had to be there. Should they send up an alarm?
Suddenly, a distinctly feminine voice came from the darkness. “Please! Do not shoot me!”
Matthew and Holt exchanged a glance. Matthew returned his attention to the sound. “Come forth!” he commanded.
A small shadow emerged from the trees and stood cloaked in darkness. The figure was slight of frame and did not appear to hold a weapon. Matthew lowered the muzzle of his rifle but kept it at the ready. “Approach, ma’am,” he said, “and give reason for your presence.”
Holt steadied his stance and trained his gun on the woman as she neared. When she reached the flickering light of their wavering campfire, Matthew could now distinguish the slender form of a girl half-hidden underneath a frayed paletot not nearly warm enough for this cold.
“Who are you?” Holt asked, suspicion thick in his tone.
“Please. I mean no harm. Could you lower your weapon?” the girl said with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Not until you give reason for your presence.”
She sighed. “I have come to find an officer.”
Matthew studied her. She appeared to be a young woman of perhaps seventeen years, her face streaked with dirt and her dress ragged. The waif probably came seeking supplies or a place as a camp woman. Many had come offering various forms of service. Matthew had been wise to stay clear of them all.
Holt laughed. “I bet you have. Aiming high, huh? Well, you seem pretty enough under all that dirt to fetch a fair wage.”
The girl gasped. “Of what do you speak?”
Matthew placed a staying hand on the private’s shoulder, his height once again giving him an advantage. The young man straightened and said no more.
Matthew looked the girl over. “Why don’t you just state your business, miss?”
She lifted her chin, and his gaze wandered briefly down the smooth curve of her neck before returning to her eyes. He couldn’t be sure in the sallow light, but her eyes appeared to glitter as she fixed her steady stare on him, ignoring Holt entirely. “I am here to deliver a message to an officer from Virginia.”
He raised a brow. “Have you, now? Just any officer from Virginia?”
She hesitated. “He hails from the town of….” she thought a moment. “Crestview.”
Holt snorted. “No one passes this point without the proper call sign. Too many spies about.”
Matthew cast his gaze to the heavens. This waif? A spy? He looked back down at her. Though he had heard rumors….
She cast a disgusted look at the private and then once again dismissed him, speaking only to Matthew. “Oh. Yes. The sign. Let’s see….” She fiddled with her dress. “Oh, yes. I remember now.” She straightened and studied him, as if wondering if he were the proper one to deliver it to.
“Well?” he prompted.
“The countersign is Richmond.”
Holt threw up his gun and aimed it at her. “Captain! Restrain that woman!”
Confusion rolled through Matthew. It was not the proper counter, but shouldn’t they just send her away? The signs changed often enough that one might not have ample time to travel with any given pass before finding it had expired. And why would the private be so unnerved as to presume to give his superior orders? Matthew glared at Holt. “Explain yourself, Private.”
The man looked at him with wide eyes, his gaze bouncing back to the frightened girl. “She’s given the sign of Richmond,” he said, as if restating the obvious were proper explanation of his behavior.
“Indeed, Private. And thus should be turned away.”
Holt scowled. “I ain’t got the time to explain. Captain, you must keep your rifle trained on this spy to keep her from escaping while I restrain her.”
The girl gasped. “Spy? I am no spy.” She took two steps backward, and Private Holt lurched forward.
“Halt!”
She stopped, fear evident on her features in the flickering firelight. Holt grabbed her arm and pulled it around behind her back, and she let forth a small yelp that stirred Matthew’s ire. “Private, must you restrain her so? I do not believe this tiny girl would deliver us any harm. I demand an explanation for such aggressive behavior.”
Holt tugged on her, and she followed him to Matthew’s side. “Forgive me, Captain, but I have my orders from higher than you. This woman is to be restrained and delivered.”
She stared up at Matthew, searching his face. “But, I am not a spy.”
“Perhaps not.” He stared down at her. Her loveliness was evident even underneath the grime. Such beauty only made her more dangerous. He frowned, dismissing the attraction that would only lead him into trouble. “But then, I’ve seen many a woman who was not what she appeared. Private Holt is correct. You must be taken in. You may explain yourself there.”
She blinked rapidly at him. “But the lieutenant gave me the countersign. He has been in my care since he was wounded and was on his way to rejoin the army.”
Holt snorted. “A likely story. And where is this man now?”
She swallowed hard, fear lighting her eyes. “He is dead.”
Matthew nodded. “You shall report to Lieutenant Colonel Hood.”
“No, sir,” Holt interrupted. “I will go to one of this regiment’s officers and see that—”
Matthew held up a hand to silence him. “It would seem that I am not apprised to all that needs to be known on the line, Private. Perhaps it is best that I take her and you maintain your position here, seeing as you have carried on your duty so well. I shall have to tell your cousin of your aptitude.”
The private stood a little taller. “Yes, sir. That would seem best. Though you must have her presented.” He looked at Matthew as if he expected rebuttal. When he received none, he continued. “We’re supposed to bring in anyone who gives that sign as a spy, seeing as how the last man who used it carried off some….” He glanced at the girl. “Sensitive information.”
Matthew nodded. “Understood.” He reached out and cupped the girl’s elbow. She made no effort to evade him and stood silently beside him while Holt handed him a torch. How was he to carry the light, his rifle and still maintain the girl? She would not attempt to flee, would she? He looked down at the top of her head. She must have sensed his stare, for she turned her chin up and steadied a crisp blue gaze on him. He offered a tight smile.
“You won’t go running away on me, miss, now will you?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but Private Holt interrupted before she gained the opportunity to speak. “Captain, protocol says you are to maintain contact with the prisoner’s person at all times.”
She gasped. “Prisoner?”
Matthew glared at Holt. “Private, as I do not possess three hands, I s
uppose only two will have to do.”
Holt looked confused, so Matthew continued. “I do not believe I shall need my weapon, so I will leave it here with you, thereby allowing myself to maintain restraint on this young woman while also retaining the ability to provide us with light without attempting to secure the torch in my mouth.”
Holt’s face reddened, and he gave a single nod as Matthew handed his weapon over. He looked down at the girl again, who stared up at him with rounded eyes. “Come, miss, and we shall see this sorted out. Do you have proper papers?”
She shook her head. “I am afraid not. Only the message I was asked to give to an officer from Crestview.”
He guided her around the fire. “I shall return shortly, Private Holt,” Matthew said over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir.”
They walked into the edge of the main camp and past several tents of sleeping men without the girl showing any inclination to run from him. It was a good thing, too. He was doing well enough concealing his limp, but he doubted he would be able to run after her if she proved quick.
She did not speak until they had nearly reached the officer’s quarters at the rear of the camp. “Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I’m confused. I’m not a spy. I’m only delivering a message for a friend.” She lifted her shoulders. “And, well, perhaps hoping to find a messenger heading to the Northern Virginian.”
Matthew stopped, bringing her to a stumbling halt. “Why do you want to do that?”
She scrunched her nose. “That is of a personal manner.”
“That so?” Matthew bristled. Holt was likely right. She was up to some form of deception. And here he was, nearly swayed by another beautiful face masking a devious soul. He grunted. “Well, it’s none of my concern. You can take it up with the lieutenant colonel.” He continued on, pulling her along.
“But, I….” she stumbled beside him, but he did not stop, forcing her shorter legs to keep up with his stride.
“Here we are, miss.” He raised a hand to the man on guard outside Lieutenant Colonel Hood’s tent. “I do hope you have an honorable reason for coming into this camp,” he said low enough for only her to hear.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 8