An Uncivilized Yankee

by V. V. Wedding

She shuddered away from his supporting arm. “I … I don’t remember. A while.” He looked up at the captain.

  “Go ahead and get her something to eat. I sent Schuman ahead a ways, and he just got back.”

  “You just rest a bit, understand?” Travis said. She nodded, eyes shut tight against the tears he could see leaking from under her lashes. He rummaged through Meg’s saddlebags for something—hopefully better than hardtack—and was pleased to discover he’d saved a hunk of bread from their last foraging party.

  She didn’t look up as he came near; only when he squatted down next to her and handed her the bread and his canteen did she open her eyes.

  “Eat it slowly,” he advised. “No need to go making yourself sick.”

  No response.

  “By the way, I’m Travis Black.” He paused expectantly.

  “Starla Anderson,” she said, head still down.

  “Starla? What kind of a name is that?” Travis could have kicked himself for saying that out loud. Her head snapped up, big blue eyes hard with suppressed anger, jaw jutting out in a very unladylike fashion.

  “It’s my very own name, Yankee boy,” she spat. “You will call me Miss Anderson.”

  “Mister Black.” Captain Logan was back, and he did not sound pleased, but Travis was still glad for the interruption.

  “We’re moving out. Schuman says the road was open as far as he could see, so we’ll keep heading that way.” The captain glanced over at the girl and grimaced. “I guess we’ll have to keep her with us for the time being. Just stick to the rear.”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis acknowledged, then turned to the girl. “Miss Anderson…?”

  She got unsteadily to her feet, glaring at him when he offered a hand to help. Munching on the last of the bread, she watched him check Meg’s gear.

  “Pardon me, lieutenant, but am I expected to walk?”

  “Of course not,” he answered, surprised. “I was going to take you double on Meg here, since you’re really in no condition—”

  “No!” Her refusal came out in a squeak. “I can ride by myself just fine. If you will just give me a horse…?”

  Her reaction startled him, until he thought about it for a moment. No doubt she considered Yankees a short step above that son of bitch— His thought broke off. “Give you a horse? Wasn’t that your horse with you? She was here just a minute ago.”

  Her whole bearing changed; she stood straighter, as if some load had been lifted off her thin shoulders.

  “Iris is here? Oh, thank God. I thought they’d taken her,” she added in an undertone. Placing two little fingers at the corners of her mouth, she gave a piercing, extremely unfeminine whistle. A glad whinny, and her horse appeared. Miss Anderson wrapped her arms about the mare’s neck while the horse nuzzled her hair and let out soft whuffs of welcome.

  “Sorry, Star,” he heard the horse whisper. “Had to take care of some business. That deserter hadn’t bathed in a long while.”

  The response was lost in the command to mount up.

  “Time to go,” Travis told them. It took her a couple of tries to pull herself into the saddle, but when he stepped forward to assist, she ignored him. Finally he swung himself easily onto Meg’s back and led them to the end of the line of horsemen.

  He had to admit that the girl was a good rider, despite her weakened condition. She was quiet, except from time to time she’d say something to her horse, who’d prick her ears up and reply, though too softly for Travis to hear. He could have eavesdropped easily enough, but didn’t think it was worth the energy. Instead he silently admired the mare. A gray so pale as to be white, clean lines, and a marvelous floating gait. He’d never seen a horse move like that, and he considered himself something of an expert on horses. He decided to try one more time to speak with her rider, if only to learn more about the mare.

  “You talk to your horse too?” he asked, friendly-like.

  She stiffened before nodding reluctantly. “At least I know I can trust her.”

  “Why is she named Iris?”

  “Iris was the messenger of the gods, and my Iris is just as sure-footed as she. Not that I would expect an uncivilized Yankee to have had that much of a classical education.”

  Travis drew back as if slapped. “Fallaces sunt rerum species,” he quoted angrily under his breath. ‘The appearances of things are deceptive.’ Uncivilized indeed. What a little shrew, he thought. Then, I don’t have to put up with this. To hell with my childish oaths. He sighed heavily and settled deeper into the saddle. Next time I will ask her horse directly. Perhaps I’ll get a more civil answer from her.

  Captain Logan rode up and fell in beside Travis.

  “I don’t like this, Black. Even this probably isn’t the safest place for her,” he observed, staring at the girl. She shifted away, putting Travis between herself and the lanky captain.

  “What else would you like me to do with her, sir?”

  “I know, I know. But still....”

  “Still, I might be a spy and riding back here I can escape easier.” Travis twisted to face her. She laughed bitterly. “I heard your conversation. Don’t worry. As the lieutenant so kindly pointed out, I’m in no condition to be running off any time soon.”

  Logan fixed her with a hard green stare. “‘Come, come, you wasp. You are too angry, my dear Kate,’” was his cryptic comment. “Just keep a close eye on her,” he told Travis, moving forward once more.

  Travis saluted, then scowled. Great, now I have official responsibility for you, on top of my over developed sense of chivalry.

  The girl turned to him. “What was that supposed to mean? Who’s Kate?”

  He shot back at her, “Surely a highly educated Southerner like yourself can recognize Shakespeare when you hear it. Or did you think we Northern barbarians had never read the Bard? He was quoting Taming of the Shrew, if I’m not mistaken.” A play that might do you some good to read. “But then again, since I’m only an uncivilized Yankee, I’m probably wrong about that too.” He nodded curtly, then held Meg back a couple of paces, allowing the girl to slip ahead of him. In disgust he asked, “Did it never occur to you that the captain might actually be concerned for your safety? We’re not exactly well liked down here.”

  They continued on without further conversation, the girl riding with shoulders slumped; Travis could hear the horse scolding her rider, but said nothing. It’s none of my funeral.

  The road dipped sharply down as it approached the Totopotomoy. As the company entered the thick stands of oak and sweetgum that overshadowed the road, Captain Logan pointed across the thick brown river.

  “Look. Friends.”

  Travis could see blue coats behind an abatis of fallen trees and bridge planks. The dryad had been correct on that point too. Not that he had doubted her….

  “Buíochas le Dia,” he said in a quiet voice. Thank God. It didn’t look like a large group, but any amount of Union troops was certainly better than being by themselves.

  Captain Logan was already hailing the troops on the far side and motioning his men into the muddy water. It was fordable, to a point. They’d all be getting rather wet, and Travis didn’t really want to think on what, or who, might live in those dirty waters.

  Then one of the men let out a shout and pointed back the way they had come.

  There was a horseman on the ridgeline behind them, a single gray figure watching. The Confederate stood motionless, as if considering his next move, then waved a pistol and charged.

  One of Oma Black’s favorite German oaths ran through Travis’ mind as there came the crack of rifles, first one volley, then another and another—infantry following the mounted Reb. And then the roar of a field gun. A shell exploded nearby.

  Infantry? Artillery? Who the hell’s behind us? Travis thought. The entire Reb army? He urged Meg down into the water, feeling like he was forgetting something. He tried to think, but his mind felt … foggy.

  A shrill neigh behind him—the girl! He whirled Meg around with a
muffled curse, shaking his head to clear it.

  She held Iris in the shallows, the mare dancing nervously under the tight reins. The horse at least had the good sense to try to head for shelter. He could hear them arguing as he approached.

  “Miss Anderson, come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Her mouth hardened. “I’m not going into that filthy water. Besides, I’m no Yankee. These are my people.”

  Meg stomped over to the girl; Travis glared down into her belligerent face. “You little fool,” he said, biting off each word. “In case you haven’t noticed, your pretty blue dress looks an awful lot like my uniform. And those shells aren’t going to stop and inquire as to your loyalties before blowing your stubborn little head off.”

  She glanced down at her mud-spattered dress in shock, then back at him, but still didn’t move.

  He looked up—the Rebs were far too close and his troops on the opposite side finally opened fire. So much for being a gentleman. Reaching over, he hauled the girl out of her saddle, fully intending on carrying her to safety forcibly. The wail of a Miníe ball, and a fierce burning through his arm. He dropped her into the dirty water with a grunt, blood dripping down into her hair. That got her moving. She grabbed Iris’ reins and splashed up the bank towards the sheltering treeline.

  Meg reared and squealed as another round exploded nearby, shards peppering her with bloodspecks.

  “Damnation!” Travis muttered through clenched teeth, trying to control the terrified horse with one hand. “Playing nursemaid is not what I signed up for!”

  The girl hesitated, turning to stare at him. “Into the trees,” he shouted, starting towards her.

  Another roar, thunder. A wave of fire across his side. Meg shuddered violently beneath him, and he was falling. There was a burst of color as he hit the bank, then a deep, cold darkness. From very far away he again heard screaming.

  2. “Jine The Cavalry”

  Starla screamed as the Yankee and his horse went down. The horse rolled and thrashed, dying. The lieutenant lay motionless, half in and half-out of the water where he had fallen.

  Dear God, what have I done? she thought wildly. If I hadn’t argued, if I had just done as he said … he was just trying to help me. Again. There was blood on her face from when he’d dropped her.

  Horsemen raced through the ford, chasing the Yankees—she threw herself out of their way and huddled on the ground for a moment. Another nearby explosion elicited an involuntary shriek. What to do? What to do? She took a deep breath, then picked herself up and darted down the slope to crouch by the trooper’s side. Admit it, Star, she told herself. You owe him your life. If he hadn’t stopped them … rough hands, rancid breath in her face….

  She shook her head violently to clear away the memories, turned her attention to the Yankee.

  He lay face-up on the muddy bank, right leg twisted in an unnatural position. Blood stained his jacket from the ragged wound in his upper arm. She reached out a tentative hand to him, and instantly withdrew it as if burned.

  “Coward,” she said aloud, angry at her fearfulness.

  A movement in the water, a hint of an arm, caught her eye. Without further hesitation she grabbed the man, and dragged him as far from the water as she could before her strength gave out. Last thing she wanted to deal with was an angry naiad, or worse, a hungry glaistig.

  What now? Blood. Stop the blood.

  She gritted her teeth and held both hands over his arm, pushing at the blood, trying to staunch the flow, but collapsed almost immediately. Mercy, but I am exhausted. Can’t even do a simple thing like slowing blood. Fine then.

  The nearest dry cloth was her half-torn sleeve. Ripping it off the rest of the way, she wadded it up and pressed it hard into the arm. The blood quickly stained both the cloth and her hands. More cloth. Need more cloth. Where? Everything else is soaked with swamp water. Blast. Can’t be helped. Petticoat. Annoying thing anyway. She pulled and tore at the wet cotton, mentally cursing her weakness as she applied the new compresses to—What was his name? I can’t very well keep calling him Yankee. Travis. That was it. Travis Black. She took a closer look at him. He’s awfully young looking to be an officer.

  “Well, Lieutenant Black, looks like I’ve gotten us in a bit of a fix, but that’s nothing new,” she muttered.

  As if in answer, the lieutenant twitched and moaned. His eyelids flickered open and he stared up at her blankly, his face almost as gray as his eyes. He struggled to sit up, then collapsed.

  “Don’t move,” Star cautioned. “It’ll just hurt more.” He seemed to understand, or at least he lay unmoving, breathing hard. She released pressure. Good. The bleeding had slowed. Holding back a shudder, she slid a hand over his shoulder and felt carefully down his arm. He turned paler still, but held in a cry as her fingers found nothing but raw flesh. Raw flesh was good—an exit wound meant no probing was necessary.

  She snatched her hand back to safety, then froze. Male voices, horses’ hooves, coming up behind her. She looked back down at the Yankee uneasily.

  “Yours or mine?” she asked quietly.

  “Of course they’re yours. I’m sure mine are long gone,” he hissed back.

  Oh dear, she thought. How do I get out of this one? She reached up to wipe the sweat off her face, managing to smear blood instead. Squaring her shoulders, she started to rise; a hand on her arm caught her off guard. She gasped and flinched away from a slight, clean-shaven cavalryman with a lieutenant’s bars on his collar.

  “I do beg your pardon … miss?” There was surprise in the officer’s voice as he backed away a step. Then, politely, “Might we be of assistance?”

  Behind him others waited on horseback. All wore gray. Her side. Then again, the deserters had also worn gray….

  Her voice trembled as she answered, “I’m looking for my uncle, Will Lewis. He’s a major with the cavalry, with General Stuart I think, but I don’t know much more than that.” How like me to ride all the way down here with so little information, she thought, rubbing her remaining sleeve across her face to cover a hysterical giggle.

  To her amazement and relief one of the men called out, “Major Lewis is back with the general. I’ll go get him,” and trotted past them up the road.

  “Might I ask, miss, why you are here with this Yankee?”

  “I got lost trying to find my uncle,” she said bluntly. “I had a … a problem with some deserters. The lieutenant here came to my aid. He was trying to keep me safe when you attacked.”

  The Confederate looked thoughtful. “Did you know that General Jackson’s headquarters is just over that hill?”

  She blanched, though it could barely be seen under the blood and dirt smeared on her face. Does everyone think I’m a spy? “No, sir. And I don’t think the Yankees did either. They mentioned being lost. All I know is that I didn’t get out of the way like he told me to, and he got hurt coming back to help me.”

  There was a jingling of harnesses; she squinted up through the hazy sunlight at the approaching group of horsemen.

  “Starla?”

  She scrambled off the ground and rushed into the safety of her uncle’s arms.

  “Oh, Will,” she said, clinging to him, tears held in too long finally breaking free.

  “What are you doing here, Star? And what happened to you? You look like—” He broke off as fresh sobs burst from her. “Peidiwch â wylo, cariad. Shh, don’t cry,” he comforted, wiping tears and grime from her face before hissing in her ear, “What are you up to this time, Estella Anderson? Imagine my shock when I was informed that my darling niece had suddenly shown up with a troop of Yankees.”

  She winced at her hated name. “I’ll explain everything, honest, Will,” she said, still trembling against him. “But can it please be later? And elsewhere?”

  He nodded warily and started to lead her off.

  “Major?” That was the cavalryman she’d been talking with. “What would you like us to do with this Yankee, sir? Send him on with the
others?”

  Star clutched at her uncle’s sleeve. “Will, please ... I….” She paused. “I’d be dead, or worse, if not for him.”

  At his skeptical expression she shook her head, vision spinning slightly as she did. “I’m not exaggerating.”

  He stared at her hard, brown eyes wide with questions. Mother’s eyes.

  “No, you’re not,” he said after a moment. Then, louder, “Bring him along with us, Mosby. Carefully. It seems I might be rather beholden to him.”

  Another trooper reached down to lift Lieutenant Black up. She heard a muffled gasp, then the Yankee crumpled. She didn’t dare do more than ask worriedly, “Is he all right?”

  The officer nodded. “Just fainted, miss.”

  She had to be content with that, for now. Whistling softly for Iris, Star mounted and accompanied Will, the others following closely.

  They stopped at a large house not far from the ford.

  “Richardson’s place,” Will explained, dismounting. “We’re waiting for our general to finish meeting with General Jackson. Put the Yankee over there until someone can see to him,” he ordered, pointing under a nearby tree. The trooper did as instructed, saluted, and disappeared among the men crowding the yard.

  Starla unhooked her leg from the pommel and slid out of her saddle, experiencing another moment of dizziness. She leaned her head against Iris’ warm neck. How much longer can I keep pushing myself like this? She straightened quickly before Will could realize anything was wrong and unslung a rather bulky saddlebag, dragging it over to where the Yankee lay.

  Will sighed. “Don’t tell me you still play that game, Star. It’s not proper at your age. Just wait for a real surgeon.”

  She poured water from her canteen over her still-begrimed hands, too tired to argue with him about it. “I’m not playing a game, uncle, and you of all people should know. I need a fire and more water.”

  “Whatever you want, my dear,” but his voice was the one used to humor a sick child.

  Wincing slightly, she settled in by the Yankee’s side. Will returned with a small pot and some wood. He looked at her, waiting.