Cassie couldn’t help raising her head and watching as the buzzards floated in long curves, without moving a feather—floated down, then up, farther and farther, until they were nothing but tiny specks in the sky. It was a sight she’d seen many times before, but it always filled her with wonder, even now. Up close, turkey buzzards were the ugliest, most ungainly looking birds you could ever see, but when they took to the air …
Philip broke into Cassie’s musing “You’d never know from looking at the critters that they was so graceful, would you?”
Cassie was so startled by Philip’s almost reading her mind, she forgot she was mad at him. “Reckon you can’t tell about too many things just from looking,” she said.
“No, you can’t,” Philip said.
Cassie walked a few steps farther before the force of her own words struck her. And she thought of Gus.
But Philip was talking again. “Reckon the same thing applies to people?”
Cassie jerked her head sharply toward Philip. He was echoing her thoughts … again. “You’re talking about Gus, ain’t you?”
Philip nodded. “We was wrong about him.”
“Yeah,” Cassie said. “He turned out to be right decent … for a Yankee.”
“Yeah.”
They both fell silent and walked on, through a beech grove and down a steep ravine. Cassie was thinking hard about Gus, how close they had come to doing him a great wrong just because they had judged him by looking at him, like most people judge buzzards. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts, she never heard Philip talking, only noticed suddenly that he had stopped walking and looked angry.
“You going to answer me or not?” he said.
Irritation pinched Cassie. Only a moment ago, the two of them had been talking like … almost like Cassie and Jacob used to. And now, here was Philip, ruining it all by lording over her again. “I might answer,” she said, “if I knew what it was you asked me.”
“I swear, Cassie, don’t you ever listen?”
Cassie struggled to contain her anger. She wasn’t going to let him draw her into another argument. “Well, I’m listening now.” She was trying to keep impatience out of her voice. “What did you say that was so all-fired important?”
Philip looked for a minute like he wasn’t going to answer.
He’s going to blow up at me, Cassie thought.
Philip glanced away, then back, and finally said, “Why’d you get riled when I told Gus I’d be going back to the farm to check on Mama?”
“’Cause,” Cassie said, “you didn’t even bother to ask my opinion. You just took for granted it’d be you going back to the farm to look out for Mama.”
Philip stared hard at Cassie. “I didn’t figure there was much choice, since I ain’t never been allowed to know exactly where your thicket is.”
“Oh.” Cassie was taken aback. She’d been so quick to jump on Philip for trying to boss her, the fact that he didn’t know where the thicket was had completely slipped her mind. “That’s right. I forgot.”
“You forgot? When all you and Jacob done for years is remind me?” There was no mistaking the pain in Philip’s voice.
Suddenly it hit Cassie what Jacob had done to Philip. Philip and Jacob were brothers, only three years apart in age; it should have been them who roamed the woods together, them who built a secret hideaway in a thicket. That was natural for brothers, wasn’t it? But Jacob had taken Cassie under his wing instead. Cassie had always relished the attention and never stopped to think about why it had happened that way. Or how it made Philip feel.
Then Cassie heard Philip’s words in her head—the words that had made her so angry before. I can see Jacob’s faults now …
All at once Cassie felt a painful tightening in her chest. She didn’t want to think this way about Jacob. Not now that he was dead and couldn’t defend himself. Not ever.
Then Cassie’s eyes rested on Philip, looking so vulnerable, and a ghost of a memory jumped into her mind. A memory of herself when she was very young, scared witless by a thunderstorm, bawling, and Philip, still in skirts himself, hunkered beside her in the trundle bed, wrapping his arms around her, soothing her: “It’ll be all right, baby. It’ll be all right.” An ache rose up from Cassie’s insides. What had happened to her and Philip in all the years between?
Then Cassie made a decision. And she knew beyond a doubt that it was right. “Philip,” she said, “the thicket’s right on the way home. Come with me now. Will you?”
CHAPTER 13
A DISCOVERY
Cassie felt tense and breathless as she and Philip started up the hill toward the thicket. Was the deserter hiding inside? When the thicket finally came into view, Cassie’s heart gave a little jump. She put out one arm to stop Philip and pointed with the other.
“That’s it?” Philip asked. Cassie nodded.
“How do you get inside?”
“You have to know where the openings are, then pull the vines away and crawl through.”
Cassie’s stomach lurched. It sounded simple enough-pull the vines away and crawl through. But what would they be crawling through to? Was the deserter waiting for them inside that thicket?
With every nerve in her body pulled tight, Cassie took the musket and crept up the hill toward the thicket. She looked for any signs that someone had recently been here—branches snapped off, leaves kicked up, pebbles scattered—but everything appeared just as she had left it nearly a week ago. She tugged at the vines in just the right spot. The vines fell away, and she beckoned to Philip to follow. She cocked the musket, slipped it under her arm, then dropped to all fours and started through. She inched along, an arm first, then a knee, then another arm, another knee, making herself go forward, making herself breathe. Her pulse thudded hard in her throat.
Finally, she had a clear view inside. Her eyes swept across the open space. There was no one there, and nothing seemed disturbed. She relaxed, felt her pulse return to normal. She rose and waited for Philip to come through. Soon his head appeared in the opening.
“Deserter ain’t been here,” Cassie said. “Don’t look like it anyway.”
Philip scrambled to his feet. Cassie watched his eyes scan the interior of the thicket—the carpet of leaves, pine needles, and soft green moss, the hollow log, the wall of shrubs and honeysuckle vines that rose above it, all so beautiful to her, so precious—and butterflies stirred in her stomach. She remembered how Jacob had claimed Philip would never appreciate the glory of this spot. “Philip would see it as naught but a patch o’ ground and a tangle of vines. And he’d ruin it for both of us.” Had Jacob been right?
Philip was screwing his mouth to one side, frowning.
I was wrong to bring him here, Cassie thought. She braced herself for the criticism she knew was coming.
But Philip surprised her. “Tell me again how it happened,” he said. “When you found the button. All that.”
Philip wasn’t even thinking about her precious thicket.
Cassie shook her head. Philip was so unsentimental, so practical. He would probably never see things the same way Cassie did. But now, for some reason, that didn’t bother Cassie like it once did.
“There ain’t that much to tell,” Cassie answered. “Hector come in first, laid himself down by the log. I followed him. Laid myself down. I seen the button when he got up. Somewhere over here.” Cassie walked over to the log and propped her foot on it. “Right about here.” She shifted her weight to the log to stand on it, but the rotten wood gave way beneath her. Her ankle twisted. She lost her balance and tumbled onto the ground. Pain shot through her ankle and the heels of her hands, but she ignored it and pushed herself up to a sitting position.
She had seen something.
As she was falling, she had seen a flash of color in the hollow of the log, a yellowish-brown color, stark against the dark gray of the log. She had a pretty good idea what it was.
“You all right?” Philip was kneeling beside her.
Her ankle
was throbbing. She could feel it swelling. But she didn’t care about that right now. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just got the breath knocked out of me. But, Philip, there’s something inside that log.”
“Inside the log?”
Cassie, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ankle, pushed herself up to her knees and leaned over the log. Now she could see that she had been right: the color she had seen was a dark butternut, and what she had seen was a uniform, a butternut-colored uniform.
Not only had the deserter been here again, he had stashed his uniform in the hollow of the log.
Cassie felt suddenly light-headed. Here was the confirmation she’d been searching for, the confirmation to all her suspicions. She pulled the uniform out and held it up for Philip to see.
Philip let out a low, soft whistle. “I’ll be dad gum.”
Now a sense of urgency bore down on Cassie, bore down hard. “This proves it, Philip. The deserter stole Jacob’s britches and hid his uniform here, so he could prowl around and watch our farm without folks noticing. He was the feller that Gus saw and the one camping in the cave and the one that took all them things, probably even Jacob’s mug.”
“Which means he’s been in our house,” Philip said grimly.
“Yeah,” said Cassie, beginning to feel frantic. “And, since he ain’t here or back at the cave, it means …”
She couldn’t go on. Her thoughts frightened her too much.
Philip finished for her. “It means he might just be back at the farm right now.”
“We got to hurry then, get back to the farm quick as we can.” Cassie tried to rise, but her ankle refused to bear her weight. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.
“You ain’t going nowhere quick on that ankle,” Philip said.
“It don’t hurt that much,” Cassie said, trying not to grimace. “I’ll be just fine once we get moving.”
Philip looked doubtful. “I think the best thing is to go right on along the way we planned: I go back to check on Mama and Emma and Ben; you stay here and watch the thicket. One thing this deserter has showed us for sure, he’s unpredictable as a mama bear. If he comes back here, somebody needs to be waiting on him. And it makes a heap more sense for it to be you than me.”
Cassie couldn’t very well argue with him. It was clear she wasn’t going far or fast on her ankle. It was already nearly the size of her knee.
“Come on, girl,” said Philip. “You take the musket, and we’ll get you hid where you can see the thicket real good. Watch yourself, though. Don’t take no chances that you don’t have to.”
Cassie managed a weak smile. Philip knew her too well. “There’s a big ol’ hollow oak about a stone’s throw down the hill. I can hide there.” She hesitated. Anxiety was fluttering in her stomach. She dreaded the thought of Philip leaving her here. “You’ll come right back to fetch me, won’t you?” She hoped her voice didn’t betray her nervousness.
“I’ll be back before nightfall.”
The hollow oak proved a far-from-perfect hiding place. Cassie could only partly see the entrance to the thicket. She also felt as cramped as a walnut in an acorn shell, and since there was no way she could prop her ankle up, it kept right on swelling and hurting like all get-out. She could see a slice of sky, and she marked the passing of time by the way the clouds thickened and fluffed as the afternoon came on. She watched branches bend as birds alighted, and whip upward as they took off. She watched the tender new leaves of the oak lift in the breeze. And so she watched, all that long afternoon-she watched and she worried. About Philip and Mama and the others. About what was happening back at the farm. Even about Gus.
As the afternoon stretched on, and the shadows started to deepen, and the tree frogs started to sing, Cassie’s worry gradually turned to desperation. What had happened to Philip? Why hadn’t he come back for her?
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Cassie caught sight of a movement at the entrance to the thicket. She shifted her position to get a better look, and her heart jumped into her throat. There was a figure kneeling to crawl inside the thicket—a figure with a red patch on the seat of his britches!
CHAPTER 14
INVADER IN THE THICKET
Cassie’s heart pounded. The deserter had returned, and now that low-down scoundrel was headed inside the thicket. Cassie’s mind flooded with all the wrongs the deserter had done to her and her family—the way he had threatened her that day in the swamp and the way he had toyed with her ever since: following her through the woods, sneaking around the farm, pilfering things, coming inside her house.
Cassie’s muscles tightened in anger. How could she just sit here and wait, meek as a dove? She had to go after him, now, while she had him cornered. She could sneak in through the back passageway and surprise him. “If he tries anything funny,” she whispered to herself, “I’ll up and shoot him.”
Cassie crawled out of the hollow and stood. The pain in her ankle made her dizzy, but, she determined, she would get to the thicket, even if she had to do it on all fours. She waited a moment for her head to clear, then took a few hesitant steps. She could walk, though just barely. She crept around to the back of the hill before she approached the thicket, soundlessly, ever so soundlessly. At just the right place, she dropped to her belly and slunk forward, into the back passageway. It was overgrown with woody vines, and she could barely squeeze through. She inched along, musket in front of her, holding her breath, every one of her senses honed. She had to be silent, absolutely silent.
But suddenly—crunch! A twig she hadn’t seen snapped under her weight. Cassie froze, terrified.
“Who’s there?” said a voice from inside the thicket. But it wasn’t the voice of the deserter. This voice was rich and smooth, like honey, like, like … A wild thought leaped into Cassie’s mind. No, it can’t be, she told herself. I’m hearing what I want to hear, and it can’t be.
“Who’s outside there?” said the voice again.
Cassie’s throat constricted; her heart twisted. It can’t be … It can’t be …
There was movement inside the thicket. Footsteps. Cassie was shaking. Tears were coming. Hands yanked back the branches in front of her.
No one else could have known right where that opening was. No one else.
Jacob! Cassie looked up into her oldest brother’s face.
Cassie was seated with her back against a pine tree and her gaze fixed on the brother she’d thought she would never see again. Jacob was much changed from the way Cassie remembered him. Three years ago, when he left for the war, Jacob was a boy of fourteen. Now he was a grown man, with a beard, an ugly scar across his forehead, and weary eyes that belonged in the face of someone much older.
Jacob had settled Cassie on a bed of leaves, with her foot propped up on a stone. He tore off the sleeves of his shirt to make a bandage to support her ankle. Cassie watched as he twisted the cloth into a rectangle and placed it under her heel. He carried the ends up and back, crossed them around her ankle, then went down and around again.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked. She was staring at Jacob, still trying to convince herself that he wasn’t a ghost.
“Three years of soldiering learned me a few things,” he said. Then he added gravely, “Past killing people.”
“We thought you was killed,” said Cassie. “We got a letter from some major saying you was.”
“Y’all thought I was dead?” Jacob’s eyes filled with anguish. “Mama must be tore all to pieces.”
“Yeah,” Cassie said. The lump in her throat wouldn’t let her say more.
Jacob shook his head. “I hate you had to go through that. Though I was close to dead, I’ll allow.” He made a hitch under the cloth on each side of Cassie’s foot in front of the heel. Then he pulled the ends in opposite directions, crossed them, and tied them. “That oughta do you. You could walk from here to Texas on that.” He sat down beside Cassie. “How’d you manage such a savage sprain?”
“Never mind that. H
ow’d you manage to come back from the dead?”
Jacob’s face looked tormented. “It’s a long story, Cass. And you’re liable not to think too much of me when you hear it.”
“That ain’t likely. Couldn’t be nothing but proud of you,” Cassie said, but a mixture of alarm and uneasiness was creeping through her. What could Jacob possibly tell her that would change the way she thought about him?
“Huh,” he said in a bitter tone. “Better hold off that judgment till I’m through.”
Then Jacob told Cassie his story. His regiment had been with General Johnston, retreating from Sherman’s army across North Carolina. The condition of the Confederate troops was miserable—thousands sick and starving, with no proper clothing or supplies. Many soldiers were barefoot, their clothing little more than rags.
“I was one of the lucky ones,” Jacob said. “I still had that big ol’ gray coat Mama sent me last fall. But this friend of mine—Lonnie Reid—he was bad off sick, coughing something awful, and it was raining like all wrath, and cold, and we was out there right in the midst of it. I was scared he was going to die for sure if he didn’t have something to cover him, so I give him my coat.
“Well, next thing you know, we was locked in a skirmish with the Yankees—three of Cox’s divisions under General Sherman. They was pounding us with artillery—grape and canister coming at us hard. I got hit, then everything went black.”
“But you got your coat back,” Cassie said, “before you got hit. You’d have had to, for you to give it to your major when he got wounded.”
Jacob looked at her like she was crazy. “What you talking about?”
“That’s what the letter said—that you was a hero, pulled that major feller out of danger. Saved his life and then give him your coat. That’s what he said you did. Only he was wrong about you being killed. You was just wounded—”
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