But Vickie didn’t hear her. She was already running out of the room.
She didn’t know what she was going to do herself. She only knew that she had to catch up to him before he reached his doorway to the past.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Vickie first left the hospital, she was at a loss.
She had left her Jeep at the library, having ridden the few minutes to the hospital with Jason in the ambulance.
Now she needed a cab, and they weren’t that common in this kind of a small town.
“Damn!” she cried out, her heart sinking. Then she saw a green Volvo pulling out from the doctors’ lot. It was Sam driving.
“Sam!” she cried, running in front of him. He slammed on his brakes, then leaned his long frame out of the window. “Vickie, have you lost your mind completely? I might have killed you!”
“Sam, can you get me home? I know you’ve been on a long shift, I know how tired you are, but I have to get home quickly!”
“Is your grandfather all right?”
“Oh, yes, he’s fine. I think. I just have to get home.”
He stared at her, but leaned back into the car, pushing the passenger’s door open. Vickie ran around and slid into the car.
Sam started to drive. She leaned back, closing her eyes. She felt him watching her, but she didn’t know what to say.
“So where is my patient?” Sam demanded.
Her eyes sprang open and she stared at him.
“I imagine he’s taken off, and that’s why you’re in such a hurry to get somewhere,” Sam said. “Your house?”
She bit her lip, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think that he’s still there.”
“But he went there?”
“Well, he needed his horse and his uniform—”
She broke off, realizing that Sam was watching her.
“His sword, his gun? His men? Are they all running around your house, too?”
“Sam, this is serious!”
Sam sighed. “All right, how did he get to your house?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Oh, I know that you don’t believe me, but you can just quit making fun of me, Sam Dooley.”
“Vickie, have you considered that he may be a madman?” he asked her worriedly.
Vickie smiled, looking to her lap. “I thought of it. I thought of it a lot. But he isn’t. He isn’t mad at all. He’s just rare—very, very rare. As rare as Brad!” she said softly.
Sam sighed. At that hour, they hadn’t hit much traffic, and in just a matter of minutes, he was pulling up to her grandfather’s driveway.
“Thank you, Sam. Thank you so much,” she told him.
She started to open the door. He caught it for a moment, and met her eyes. “This just may tie into something, Vickie. Early this morning one of the nurses in Emergency was preparing a tetanus shot for one of those reenactors who had cut himself up on his own bayonet.” He paused, and Vickie arched a brow to him. “The syringe disappeared, all ready to go.”
“Oh,” she said softly.
“Vickie, will you pay attention to me? He could be dangerous.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. He needs it. His brother was wounded up on the mountain.”
“Then he should bring him to the hospital.”
“I don’t think that he can.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek impulsively. “Thank you for the ride. And for everything. Sam, you know that I’m not crazy, and I swear to God, I’m telling you the truth!”
Sam sighed, sitting back. “I don’t know where this man is going to lead you, Vickie!”
“It doesn’t really matter,” she said. “I—”
“You what?”
“I’m in love with him. I never thought that I could love anyone again.”
“Vickie—”
“Sam, I’ve got to go. I have to find him. I can’t just let him disappear without saying goodbye.”
Sam let her go. Vickie ran up to the house, calling for Gramps. He burst out onto the porch just as she reached it.
“I tried to call you at the hospital, Vickie. But you’d run out just as I got through,” Gramps said.
“So he was here? He came here?”
Gramps nodded. “Came back for Max, his uniform, his sword. I tried to hold him. He said that it was too hard to leave you as it was. Told me that he loved you.” He hesitated a minute. “Told me that he’d love you through all time.”
“Oh! How did he get here? How long ago did he leave?”
“Seems he managed to hitch a ride easy enough, down the highway. Walked the rest of the way. He’s only been gone a few minutes. I’ve got the horses saddled out back.”
“You’ve got the what?”
“The horses saddled. Your Arabesque and old Dundee.”
He suddenly tossed her something. It was a clean white blouse. “Your shirt’s got bloodstains on it. Come on, let’s go.”
He was out the door while Vickie was still struggling into the clean shirt. She followed him quickly enough. “Gramps! What do you think you’re doing? You—you can’t come with me. This ride is too hard—”
“Am I still living and breathing and in my own senses, Victoria?” he demanded.
“Living and breathing, yes, but I was never too certain that you were in your right senses!”
“Young lady, you keep at it and you’ll get your mouth washed out with soap.”
“Indeed?” Vickie said, but she was panting then to keep up with him.
“Do you think I’d let you go alone, Vickie?”
She shook her head. “Go? Gramps, I’m not going. I wouldn’t leave you. I just have to—”
“To what?”
“To say goodbye. To tell him to come back if there’s ever a way. To tell him—”
“That you love him, too.”
She nodded.
He wagged a finger at her suddenly. “Don’t you ever give anything up for me, Victoria Ahearn! Ever. I’m an old man. Not much time left.”
“Don’t you talk like that! I’d never leave you—” she started to say, and she knew that that was exactly what she was afraid of. “Gramps, it never, never occurred to me to go back! To a life without cars, without washing machines—my God, I’m still a young woman. I could conceivably have a half-dozen children. Could you imagine having to go back to a life without disposable diapers?” She smiled brilliantly for him. “Gramps, go home!”
He swung around to her. “Not a chance, Victoria. You listen! I’ve studied it, my whole life! The Civil War. I’ve collected, I’ve lectured, I’ve sold. I’m taking you to that doorway, Vickie, and that’s that!”
She sighed and threw up her hands.
“Besides,” he said smugly, “I actually know the mountain much better than you do. I know the exact places where all the skirmishing took place. Can you say that much?”
“I know them well enough.”
“Well, do we stand here arguing like stupid old asses, or do we ride?”
Vickie walked on past her grandfather, leaping up on Arabesque. He was one stubborn old coot.
And for all his years, he could still swing up easily enough on old Dundee. They started out, Vickie leading the way.
They came through the back, past the area where the reenactments had already taken place, where the landscape was still heavily trampled and an occasional paper cup still lay around. Then she hesitated, trying to remember where she had been. She pictured the place past the Yankee encampments where Jason had first accosted her. Then she tried to recall where it seemed they had traveled back in time for those few brief moments.
“May I?” Gramps drawled.
She swung back in her saddle, looking at him. He rode on past her, spurring old Dundee into a canter.
“You’re going to have a heart attack!” she called to him, giving Arabesque free rein to catch up.
But it was the best she had seen Gramps look in years. He grinned back at her. “Who wants to live forever?”
She shook her head, riding hard beside him. And amazingly, it seemed that Gramps did know where to go. Vickie recognized all the terrain they covered. Even as they rode higher and higher.
The first indication that they had come to the right place was the sky.
Vickie reined in, feeling the hard gusts of wind swirling around her. “Gramps?” she murmured uneasily.
She looked up. The blue day had gone very gray suddenly. Dark clouds were massing above her, some of them nearly black. The wind picked up with a low, chilling moan. Gramps was near her. Old Dundee was backing up and prancing nervously. Beneath Vickie, Arabesque was doing the same thing, her hooves kicking up clumps of dirt and rock.
“There’s sure as hell something going on out here! It’s going to storm,” Gramps cried. Then he looked at her, his eyes wide with amazement. “The wind is circling here like a cyclone! Feel it! It’s not coming from the east or the west, it’s circling!”
“I remember this!” she cried. Yes, this was what it had been like. This was the area that surrounded the break, the doorway, in time.
And she had passed through it before!
Yes, this was it, Vickie thought. They had come too late. Jason was gone. They had missed him.
She could hear the awful cry and whip of the wind. It seemed to be building. She tried to control Arabesque as she looked around the slope of the mountain. She reined in, her mouth feeling dry. Ahead of her, right ahead of her, barely visible against the darkness that had arisen around them, was an archway of trees. Huge, tall trees, old trees, nearly as old as time itself, bent over and arched into a perfect arbor. Hesitantly, she nudged Arabesque over to the opening of it. Her breath caught. There was movement. Far at the end of the archway, she could see shadowy movement. A horse! A horse and rider.
“Jason!” she cried his name.
But was it him? She couldn’t tell. Whoever it was didn’t seem to hear her. The rider didn’t stop.
And sitting there, she began to feel the cold, clammy sensations of fear come creeping over her again. The place did exist; yes, it was real, it was a break in time, extraordinary, and not quite right. The wind wasn’t right, the feel of it was more than odd—unearthly. She realized suddenly that in the tunnel, she wouldn’t really be anywhere, not in her world, not in his, just captured in a dark swirling void between past and present.
She couldn’t go forward. Couldn’t feel those awful, clammy fingers of dark wind and chilly air touch down upon her, wrap around her.
She couldn’t do it…. But if she didn’t, she’d never see Jason again. She couldn’t go through that dark, terrifying passageway. She had to go through.
She swung around, staring at Gramps. “Stay there! Just stay put! I’ll be right back.”
She nudged Arabesque hard with her heels then. The horse reared up, and she tightened her thighs to hold her seat. “Don’t you dare go getting temperamental and overbred on me now, Arabesque. Don’t you dare!”
Arabesque landed on all four hooves. Then she leapt forward, bunched her muscles and started to race.
As Vickie urged her horse forward, the wind whipped cruelly around them. She tried to rein in on the mare, crying out a “Whoa!” But Arabesque ignored her, snorting and galloping her way wildly into the swirling green-and-black darkness. Vickie lay low against her neck, wincing, clinging hard to the horse lest she be killed in the violence of the fall she would take if she lost her seat. God, it was awful! A wild, reckless gallop that she couldn’t control. It was terrifying. She could feel some kind of walls. Walls, yes, invisible walls, tightening around her. Cold, clammy. Touching her.
Dear Lord, she thought! It was growing smaller! Changing. The door in time, if that was exactly what it was, was beginning to close.
Of course, she thought bleakly, the battles were almost over.
Air rushed and shrieked by her. Terror filled her. She kept riding. Hard. She closed her eyes against the blinding forces of the wind and Arabesque’s whipping mane. Then she screamed out again for it seemed that the mare came to a halt just like a well-trained barrel-horse, right on a dime. Arabesque reared high again. Vickie still clung to her. The mare landed hard.
And the world seemed to explode.
There were men everywhere. Men mounted, men afoot. Shots were being fired, saber duels were taking place in front of her.
Bodies lay all about the field. Bodies in blue, and bodies in gray.
For a moment she stared, disbelieving, even after all that she had come to believe.
There were so many things to see.
The mountain had changed little. Men changed. The earth, if let be, did not. The terrain was still deep green and brown; it was littered with the yellow and purple of wildflowers. Trees and clumps of rock lay strewn about naturally as always.
Yet covered with fallen, bleeding men.
So many were so different. The Yanks seemed fairly uniform, but some of the Rebs were in kepis and some in slouch hats.
Some wore gray, and some wore faded, tattered colors that were no longer really discernible.
Some still fought, and some were in retreat. While Arabesque pranced and Vickie fought to control her, she could see that the fighting was going bad for the Rebs. In good order, they were forming a retreat up the mountain. They couldn’t come down any farther, but they were going to hold their ground. They fought all the way.
Horses were rearing, screaming.
Men were screaming, crying out. The Yankees were taking the field before her. Oh, God! Had Jason come through? If so, where was he now? What could she do? Try to reach him?
Leave. Turn around and leave. There was nothing that she could do here. Gramps was behind her, waiting for her.
“Ho! You there!” someone called out.
She turned around. She blinked. There was a great deal of powder in the air, adding to the grayness of the day. The wind was still whipping it around, causing her eyes to sting.
There was a Yankee officer on a horse trotting toward her. She tensed, suddenly wondering just what she had done, and wondering now if she wasn’t the mad one, not Jason.
She was in the midst of the war. The real one. It was incredible.
It was true.
“Who are you!” the man demanded. “State your business.”
“I live on the mountain,” she said. He still stared at her demandingly, a man of about forty with a beard and sideburns. “It’s my home!” she told him.
A younger officer rode up behind him. A man with long blond curls and a slim face and watery blue eyes. “It’s another one of those Southern spies, sir! Look at her, look at the way she’s dressed, riding a horse like a man.” He spit on the ground and Vickie gasped.
“Well, excuse me!” she cried furiously. “And just who the hell do you think you are? And what the hell do you think you’re doing on my damned mountain!”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized her mistake.
Too late.
“Smart mouth on her, too. She’s a Southern spy, I swear it, like that girl from Front Royal, Belle Boyd. Like that Mrs. Greenhow in Washington, the one who caused our boys to be mown down back at Manassas!”
“I’m not a spy. I’m just looking for someone!” she said.
“Who?”
“An officer. A—”
She broke off.
“A Reb!” the blond man proclaimed, as if he had caught her in the act of murder.
The older officer moved his horse closer to hers. “And just what is it that you intend to tell this man—this Reb—once you find him?”
“What could I tell him?” she asked with exasperation. “You’ve already met up with the Rebs, they know where you are, you know where they are! Just what could I possibly have spied upon that everyone involved here doesn’t know already?”
“She’s a clever one!” the blond man said.
The older man nodded slowly. “Maybe you know something about Rebel reinforcements. Something that could keep t
he Rebs fighting harder and longer.”
“I don’t know anything—” she said, then she broke off. Yes, she did. She knew everything that happened here. Jubal Early was due to bring his troops in at any time. Stonewall Jackson had sent for him, putting out a cry for help. And when Jubal Early made it, the Yanks were going to be pushed back. They would still claim victory; losses would be nearly equal, but the Rebels would keep their hold on this little piece of Virginia until the end of the war.
“Jesu!” the older man exclaimed. “She does know something!”
A third man rode up. He was older still, very weary looking, silver haired, sharp-eyed. “What’s going on here, Lieutenant Granger?” he asked the dark-haired man.
“I’m afraid we’ve found a local spy, sir, trying to reach a certain Reb, Colonel Bickford.”
The newcomer looked Vickie up and down with curiosity. “It’s dangerous business, ma’am, stumbling around in the middle of a battlefield,” he told her in a light tone that still carried a note of warning.
“I’m not a spy.”
“She sure is!”
“You sure she’s even a Reb?” the colonel asked.
“Ain’t ever seen no Northern girl dressed like that,” the nasty-tempered blond man said.
“That’s enough from you, Captain Harper.”
Vickie gave her attention to the colonel. “I’m not carrying secrets or messages. I’m just looking for a man to say goodbye.”
“Your husband?” the colonel asked.
She hesitated a second too long.
“Not her husband!” the blond Captain Harper said, pouncing once again. He rode his horse slowly around Vickie. “Not her!” he exclaimed softly. “She wouldn’t have time these days to settle down, to be a lady. Who are you looking for? A man, but not your husband. Someone to just fill a few of the hours that might be long and lonely otherwise? Well, ma’am, we’ve lots of Yank soldiers where we’re going. Maybe you’ll find another one you like.”
“Captain Harper, that’s enough!” the colonel insisted.
But Captain Harper had seemed to quickly acquire a deep and hostile interest in her. “We’re not going to lose this battle, sir, because of a snooty Southern spy.”
The Last Cavalier Page 14