by Diane Wylie
* * *
Though she was grateful that the wind howling relentlessly through the trees would mask the sound of the wagon, it was making everything more difficult. If it were not for the responsibility she had toward this injured person, she would be safe and warm in her bed, not battling to race the approaching storm.
Jenny forced herself to relax her clenched jaw when her teeth began to ache. She glared through the darkness, concentrating on the barely visible trail. Finally reaching her destination, she jumped down and firmly tied the frightened mare to the tree next to the Yankee’s horse. Thank goodness it was still here; the triple knots had held.
The little clearing looked so different now. It was dark and almost menacing the way the trees encircled it. Their rustling, moving branches seemed ready to lean down and grab her. Her heart pounded in her chest. Earlier today this had been a haven of plants spreading their lush green leaves, ready to be gathered in the dappled sunlight. Now there was not even a touch of moonlight to reveal what she was seeking.
Romulus snuffled through the carpet of dead leaves as she retrieved the lantern from the buckboard. Lantern in hand, she made her way toward the place where she had hidden the unconscious man. From what she could see, the pine branches she had covered him with were undisturbed.
With renewed vigor, the wind tugged at her cloak, whipping it around her breeches and pulling at her braided hair. Jenny shivered. The rain would be coming at any moment; the air smelled thick with its approach.
With gloved hands she began to carefully lift pine branches off the pile and throw them aside. The oil lantern on the ground behind her provided little but a flickering glow. Anxious to find him, she plunged her hands deep into the leafy pile.
“Looking for something?” a deep voice cut into her concentration.
Jenny froze. It was not so much the sound of his voice that stopped her; it was more the feel of the cold steel gun barrel pressed up to her back. Unfortunately for the soldier, anger followed quickly on the heels of her fear. With the force of her whole body, she jabbed the pine branch she held in her hands backwards into his leg. Her aim was perfect.
Suddenly she was in the grip of a living nightmare. A heavy, warm weight, smelling of blood, sweat, and maleness, suddenly smashed her down into a prickly pile of branches. The breath went out of her with a shriek. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the clearing briefly. Romulus barked frantically, pawing at them in an attempt to help.
“Idiot,” she told the unconscious Yankee crossly as she painfully crawled out from under his dead weight on her hands and knees. “I was looking for you…though now I’m not sure why!”
Her hand landed on something cold and hard. Feeling it carefully, she realized it was the Yankee’s pistol. He dropped it when he fell. She picked it up. Romulus joyfully licked her face as she emerged and sat on the ground to collect her wits. Putting down the gun, she gathered the dog close, burying her face in his warm thick fur, trying to calm her racing heart.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have done that, Rommie. He could have shot me. Now what am I going to do? I was hoping he could at least get into the wagon by himself.”
A few cold drops of rain fell on her head. She groaned. “I have to move him somehow. The Yankee’ll catch his death then God will punish me for allowing it.”
* * *
With trembling hands Jenny held the flaming stick to the old bundle of twigs in the fireplace and prayed it would catch. She was wet, chilled to the bone, and thoroughly exhausted from her labors, but she had done it.
The still breathing, but unconscious Yankee captain lay a few feet away in a sodden heap. The rope she had used to drag him into the abandoned cabin was still tied under his arms and around his chest. She would deal with the rope and the man in a few minutes. First she needed to get heat and feeling back into her numb fingers.
The flame caught and grew quickly in the old, dried wood. Warmth—blessed, wonderful warmth—radiated from the open stone fireplace, and Jenny spread her aching hands out to capture it. Steam rose from her clothing, but she was too tired to do anything more than sit down with a wet plop in front of the fireplace. It had taken all of her strength and ingenuity to get to this point, and now she was drained.
Faced with a large burden to move, she had been forced to treat a fellow human being like a sack of grain. It had been hard, hideous work to wrap the thick rope around his upper body, tie the other end to his horse, and carefully drag his dead weight into the wagon. She had been so afraid of inflicting further harm on the bleeding man or, worse, killing him. Then, in a torrential downpour, she tied his horse to the back of the wagon and brought them here to the deserted sharecropper’s cabin deep in the woods on her family’s land.
She had to repeat the action, leading the huge horse right into the building to drag the man. The thump of his limp body as it fell out of the wagon onto the muddy ground, despite her efforts to cushion his fall, had been awful. Then she had to drag the man over the rocky, uneven ground. The bumping of his body over the threshold made her grind her teeth with anguish.
Jenny sighed, plucked a strand of wet hair out of her face, and closed her eyes just for a moment to gather some strength. The big horse blew through his nose. The noxious smell of both wet animals mingled horribly with the scent of burning wood and the metallic odor of blood. With a grimace, she pulled her wet hood over her nose to block it all out. Romulus came and lay at her side protectively, also anxious for the warmth the fire provided.
* * *
It was the uncontrollable shivering that finally woke David. He gradually became aware that he was no longer in the midst of the raging battle where his mind had taken him. The roar of cannons, whine of bullets, and agonized screams of dying men faded from his ears to be replaced by the crackle and pop of a fire and sound of heavy breathing.
The first physical sensation his body registered was that of bone-deep cold, which was causing his teeth to chatter. Then he realized a thick rope encircled his chest, restricting his breathing, and he knew then he was now a prisoner of war. The breathing must be from his fellow prisoners. Fear, primitive and deep, ran through him. A prisoner! This was what all soldiers feared the most next to death or dismemberment. With shaking hands, he tore at the rope, desperate to free himself. He had to escape.
“Oh, dear! I’m sorry, sir. I meant to take that off. Here let me help you.”
Startled, David looked up into the concerned face of a very wet, bedraggled young woman with the luminous blue eyes and pale skin of an angel.
Chapter Four
The girl reached for the rope tightly binding David’s chest, and together they pulled it free. He took a deep gulp of air and tried to control his shivering as he looked around him. It was dark beyond the edges of the firelight. Something that smelled suspiciously like a wet horse was breathing there in the darkness. This was no prison, unless a prison looked like a one-room log cabin with a stone fireplace and employed beautiful angels.
“Just who are you, and where am I?” he demanded hoarsely.
He saw the anger flare in her beautiful eyes, followed quickly by a noticeable attempt to control it. He instantly regretted speaking to the young woman so harshly. Pain over every inch of a person’s body and fear of imprisonment was hardly an excuse for bad manners.
“I’ll forgive your tone…this time, Captain, seeing as how you have been through an ordeal. But I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue when addressing the mistress of Pleasant Run Manor in the future.”
In another place, at another time, David would have been charmed by her sensuous Southern accent, but things being what they were, he was simply glad to be alive and anxious for some relief from the draining shivering of his body.
“I…I ap-pologize, Miss,” he stammered, trying to drag himself closer to the fire. Fear leaped into her eyes as he moved in her direction. She scrambled to her feet, moving away from him and letting the heat reach him. He groaned at the wonderful warmth hit
ting his battered, wet body. Then, remembering his manners, he stretched up a hand to the woman standing a few feet away from him.
“I won’t hurt you, I-I promise. I’m Captain David Reynolds of the Seventeenth Pennsylvania Cavalry, Company I.”
Slowly the woman moved closer, bent, and accepted his hand in greeting. His hand was ice cold, wet, and grimy with blood and black powder residue. Her pert little nose wrinkled with distaste, and she dropped it quickly.
“My name is Jennifer Winston. I found you…that is, Romulus and I found you earlier today.” She nodded to the shaggy brown dog standing silently beside her, looking curiously at David. “We came back to help you…and you had the nerve to threaten me with a gun!”
“That was you in the clearing poking around in the leaves? You hit my leg with some kind of spear!” He moved the offending limb and gritted his teeth at the pain shooting up and down the leg.
She sighed impatiently. “It was a pine branch, and I had to do something. I couldn’t just let you shoot me.”
“I’m sorry for holding a gun on you. I thought you were a man in those breeches.” He nodded at her legs, which were at his eye level as he lay on the hard-packed dirt floor. “I can see now that I was mistaken.” Oh, there was no doubt there were womanly curves under the outfit she wore. Even the loose-fitting shirt could not disguise the swell of her breasts and hips. He was struck again by a fit of shivering and curled up on his side.
“Y-you brought me here? All alone? In th-this storm? W-why?” he gasped between chattering teeth.
She didn’t answer. He saw the anger leave her face, replaced by a look of gentle concern. Dropping to her knees beside him, she began to unbutton his uniform jacket. The woman was going to undress him! No, he couldn’t allow that. He was a gentleman, despite the current situation he found himself in. Romulus came over and sniffed the top of his head.
“You have to get out of these wet clothes before you catch your death, Captain!” she insisted.
He put his hand over hers, stopping her and raised himself up on his elbows. She looked up. Although he was moved by her solicitude, David knew he had to get her to leave. “You should not be here, Miss Winston. A lady, alone in the middle of the night with an enemy soldier, is far too risky. Go home to your family and your bed. I’ll just rest here for a bit and be on my way.”
Unable to hold himself up any longer, he fell back to the floor, releasing her hands. Sweat ran down his face and dripped off his nose, despite the fact that he was freezing.
“I appreciate your concern, sir,” she said, reaching for the front of his wet jacket again. “But no one will ever know that I have been here, and you need my help. I do have some skill in the healing arts.”
“No,” David protested again, “you must leave. It isn’t safe. I’m behind enemy lines. A patrol could come.” With that, he pulled himself up, reaching out for something to hold onto. He found her hand ready to help him. He managed to stand but barely.
“I’ll leave right after we get you out of those wet clothes.” She lifted her eyes and gave him a tiny smile.
He nodded, unable to do anything but agree to her terms. Together they got his jacket off, and she tossed it aside, reaching quickly for his homespun linen shirt next. They tugged the sodden, long-tailed shirt free of the top of his uniform trousers and pulled it over his head.
“Goodness, you’re bleeding heavily again, sir!”
Looking down he saw that she was right. Fresh blood was running freely down his leg. The room swam before his eyes. He put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “I have to sit down.”
She put an arm around his bare waist and helped him to lie down again on the hard dirt floor as close to the dying fire as possible. David was only vaguely aware of the remaining night’s events. He tried again to protest when she tugged off his boots first then his trousers. When he lay naked and shivering, he hadn’t the strength to even lift his eyelids. Somehow his savior produced a dry cloth and wiped the dampness from his body. He could do nothing but lie there and shiver helplessly, barely holding onto consciousness.
The act reminded him of his mother drying him after his bath a lifetime ago, so gentle was her touch. But this wasn’t his mother. Of that fact he was well aware despite his pitiful physical condition at the moment. Then several warm, soft blankets settled over him, and she was washing his face and the wound to his head.
Her hands were gentle and her voice soothing, as she wrapped a bandage around his forehead securely. The words she spoke could have been in a different language for all David knew. He couldn’t get his mind to function well enough for her words to penetrate to his brain.
God, his head hurt so badly, he wondered if his skull would explode like those hideous cannon balls. She slid an arm under his head to raise it and forced some kind of drink between his lips. He choked and gasped but swallowed obediently. It was bitter tasting and unfamiliar. Then he drifted to the melodious sound of her soft voice, still unable to decipher a thing the lady said.
His mind floated away from everything but that wonderful female voice. It kept him anchored to some form of reality, however tenuous.
Soft, careful hands touched his injured thigh. Some kind of burning liquid was poured over the raw wound seconds before a red-hot pain stabbed and dug at the spot. With a loud moan, he jerked violently, but a warm, soft weight across his middle held him down. He slipped into the heavy blankness once again.
Chapter Five
Sunlight streamed in through the window all too soon to suit Jenny. Groaning, she snuggled down under the quilts, reluctant to leave their luxurious, soft warmth to face the day. Little footsteps pattered smartly down the hall, the bedroom door slammed open, and a small body jumped on her legs then scrambled up and under the covers.
“Morning, Jenny. Where’s Rommie?”
She opened her eyes slowly to find herself facing a round, freckled face with wide brown eyes and wild light brown hair regarding her solemnly.
Smiling faintly, she lied to the child for the first time in his short life. “Rommie must be out at the stables with Jebediah already, Ben, sweetie. He was gone when I woke up.”
She didn’t tell the boy she had left the big dog with an injured Yankee soldier—an enemy soldier—in the waning hours of the night. The man had remained unconscious long after she dug the ball out of his leg then cleaned and bandaged the wound. His body was cold and white as marble despite her best attempts to warm him. She knew he had lost too much blood.
Knowing that she had to leave him alone in no condition to tend the warming fire, she had commanded Romulus to lie against the man’s side and covered them both with blankets. The dog was as warm as toast and would keep the man—David—from freezing to death over night.
She had thought the soldier was just an average man, but when she lifted his wet shirt off, she had almost gasped aloud. The Captain’s upper torso was a magnificent example of a healthy young male—of a kind Jenny had never seen in her life. His chest was well muscled and broad. Despite his pallor, she had seen that his skin was tanned and smooth. A line of dark hair narrowed gradually down a flat, ridged stomach, disappearing into the top of his waistband. In short, he was beautiful!
“Jen, what’s the matter? Are you sick?”
With effort she dragged her attention back to her little brother. He was frowning at her so she smiled at him, hoping to reassure the boy.
“No, honey. I’m fine. Let’s go get dressed and join Papa for breakfast.”
It was late afternoon before Jenny could return to her bedroom, pleading a headache. The day was bright and cool, a perfect late autumn day, which meant there was plenty of work. It took all of her powers of concentration to make it through Benjamin’s lessons and supervision of the not-always-cooperative kitchen and house slaves. It seemed like there was a never-ending supply of petty, inane things that she, and she alone, had to deal with.
Feigning a headache was just another small lie in the string of lies she was te
lling—another black mark on her soul. She knew she would have to spend time praying and asking for God’s forgiveness when this was all over, but for now Papa could not know anything. God would forgive her for helping to save a man’s life. But if her father knew, he would forbid her to go near the Yankee soldier and may even turn him over to the Southern forces. She couldn’t bear the thought of that happening, despite her desire to see the South triumph in this war. Too many horrifying tales of starvation and death in the Rebel prison camps had made their way to Pleasant Run Manor. Captain Reynolds was in no condition to survive that kind of treatment.
It only seemed moments later when Madeline came to help her prepare for the evening. Madeline was Cordelia’s thirteen-year old daughter, a skinny, cheerful girl, who helped Jenny bathe and dress for dinner. The girl pulled out the hip tub and began to bring buckets of hot water to the room.
Stretching and yawning widely, Jenny collected the soap, homemade shampoo, and other items for her bath. When the bath was full, she undressed, stepped into the warm water, and sank down in the tub so it covered her almost completely. This was sheer bliss. Sighing, she laid her head back, caught up in her thoughts.
“Why, Miss Jenny,” Madeline’s high voice broke in, “I ain’t never seen you so tired befo’. That headache still botherin’ yo’? Why doesn’t yo’ go see Miz Kizzie for a potion after yo’ dress?”
Blinking at the young girl blearily, she decided to do just that. She needed some healing ointments and fresh bandages for the injured soldier who had so occupied her mind.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Madeline. I believe I will do that.”
* * *
Tonight Jenny didn’t need the wagon. Quietly she saddled her own roan mare, Star, and filled the saddlebags with food and supplies. Leading the horse silently out of the stables and down the path, she didn’t mount up until she was sure no one was following.