An Uncivilized Yankee

by V. V. Wedding

  Just as Travis was preparing to twist the air and eavesdrop, the civilian said something, spat on the ground, and began to gesture wildly. The soldier replied, looked around, then pointed straight at Travis. Smiling, the other shook his hand and strode purposefully towards where Travis stood.

  Uh oh, he thought. What did I do now?

  As the man came closer, something clicked in Travis’ head: this must be the infamous Jake. The man’s greeting confirmed his suspicions.

  “Good morning, Yank,” he said pleasantly enough. “The name’s Jacob Bancroft. I was told you might have information as to the whereabouts of my cousin, Estella Anderson.”

  Travis felt a flame of anger ignite deep inside. His fingers flexed involuntarily, gathering cords of Air. He forced himself to let them go—not a wise thing to do, killing a Reb while a prisoner. Though Stuart and his officers would probably not blame him. Play dumb, as dumb as possible. He managed a puzzled look.

  “I don’t think so, sir. That name’s not familiar to me.”

  He saw a flicker of light behind the pale brown eyes, a look he had seen somewhere before. Where? Then it was gone, and Jake was grinning at him.

  “Oh, she probably wouldn’t be using that name. You might know her as Starla, or even just plain Star.”

  Scratching his head, Travis tried to look deep in thought. “Nope. I think I would recollect a name that odd.”

  Jake didn’t seem at all surprised; he simply began to describe her. “Young woman, just turned eighteen, about this high,” he said tapping Travis’ chest.

  Actually, I can barely see over her head, Travis wanted to say. You can’t even get that right.

  “Long brown hair and big blue eyes? Sharp tongue? Rides a feisty white mare?”

  Each question Travis answered with a shake of his head. I know very well what she looks like, you son of a bitch. And what she looked like with the bruises you gave her….

  “No, sorry, sir. Being a prisoner and all, I don’t get to meet many of the womenfolk. And I would certainly remember meeting a girl like that.”

  Jake’s face fell. “Damn. I thought I’d finally found her. Those rumors were awfully promising. I suppose I will just have to keep looking. You see, she has a little problem with telling stories,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Who knows what kind of trouble she’s gotten herself into this time. I do hope she is safe.”

  She would have been safe, had you kept your filthy hands off her! Telling stories? You’re the only one telling stories here! The fire in his chest began to rise, choking him. He bent over, masking his fury in a fit of coughing.

  “Say, are you all right?” Jake pounded him on the back. Travis tried hard not to wince as Jake’s hand grazed his still tender arm. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  “Well, I must be off. Keep up the search and all. So long, Yank.”

  Travis straightened up to watch to him go. Suddenly Jake whirled around, unexpectedly fast for his build. The crutch went flying and Travis was on his back on the ground, held up by his shirtfront in one hammy fist. Tiny wisps of smoke trickled from around the clenched fingers.

  “I can tell you’re lying, Yank,” Jake hissed. “Estella is here, and you know her quite well. It would be like my beloved cousin to take up with a damned Yank. So you just pass on this little message to her. She can’t hide forever. I found her this time, and I will find her again. And I will make her regret ever having run away, you have my personal guarantee on that.” His lips drew back in a snarl, eyes wild.

  Then Travis knew where he’d seen that look before. It had been in the eyes of his Uncle Ezra, right before he’d flung an eight year old Travis into the mounting block. He’d dragged Aunt Jo away, while Travis lay there stunned, blood streaming down his face.

  Dropping him in the dirt, Jake stalked off, mounted his horse, and rode out of camp.

  Travis lay still a long moment, too livid to move. Aunt Jo’s anguished whimpers echoed through his memory. And again I can do nothing! He pounded the dust with both fists, ignoring the pain that shot up his arms, conscious only of the frustration and anger that gnawed at his insides. He rolled over and snatched up his crutch, struggled to his feet, and hurried off in the direction he had last seen Star.

  His leg pained him fiercely, and forcing his way through the briary undergrowth took some time. He was sweating profusely, gritting his teeth. When he finally had to stop to catch his breath, he heard a tiny voice at his shoulder.

  “Pssst, two legger. You look for doe?”

  It took him a minute to figure out the speaker was a small gray squirrel sitting on a nearby branch, staring at him with bright little eyes. He nodded. How did it know I’d understand? Then, Oh yeah. Squirrels will talk to anyone, whether they can understand or not.

  “She down there.” The squirrel jabbed its tail sideways. Travis finally spotted Star huddled at the bottom of a small ravine.

  “Thank you.”

  The squirrel just bobbed its head and disappeared up the tree.

  Had I not known where to look, I would never have found her, Travis thought. Her brown hair and gray skirts blended far too well into the brush. He called down softly from the top of the gully. “Miss Star? You’re safe now. He’s left the camp.”

  There was no answer, no movement. Was she even conscious? I’ve got to get down there. But how to do that without killing myself in the process? He scouted along the rim, seeking an easier path. In the end, he was forced to move further into the woods, back where the ravine began, before coming to where she hid.

  She sat in a heap, knees drawn up tight against her body, head buried in her arms. There was no response at his approach; the muddy, brush torn figure could have been carved of stone.

  “Miss Star?” he asked again, reaching down and lifting her chin gently, revealing a bramble wealed, tear streaked face. She jumped at his touch, shrinking further back into the undergrowth. “It’s just me, Miss Star. Just me.”

  She stared through him, eyes flat and dark, seeing nothing, then blinked rapidly as her body started to shake.

  “Is he…?” Her voice, barely audible, trailed off.

  “He’s gone. I watched him leave.” How he wished he could sweep her up in his arms and carry her away. Instead he gave her his hand. “Come on, Miss Star. Let’s get you back to camp.”

  She took his hand and followed him, silent. Too silent, he thought. She should be crying, or angry, or anything but this nothing-ness. She’s like a wraith…. Travis began to curse Jacob Bancroft under his breath.

  He was so preoccupied that he scarce realized they had reached her tent. Bringing his mind back to the here and now, he held open the tent flap.

  Very slowly she walked forward, obviously reluctant, then froze. “What … what if he comes back?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She still hesitated. Against his better judgment, he offered, “Why don’t you get clean, Miss Star, then I’ll come in and sit with you for a bit.”

  Her pale face brightened momentarily; she nodded and let the tent flap drop.

  Travis paced outside the tent, refusing to acknowledge the burning in his leg, using the pain to feed his anger. A child’s oath, spoken long ago. “I swear upon my father’s sword and upon my honor always to act when a lady needs help.”

  He’d been too young to help Aunt Josephine. Now he had no excuse for failure.

  The cold, quiet voice he had heard last night piped up in the back of his mind. Is that the only reason why are you so protective, so upset, over this girl?

  Isn’t that enough of a reason? No woman should have such empty eyes.

  The voice fell mercifully silent as Star’s voice floated out to him. “I’m finished.”

  She had changed into her only other outfit, her old blue dress, and now sat stiffly on her blankets. At least that terrible vacant expression was gone; she looked calm and under control. But her hands belied the composed façade, twisting and pulling at her braid nervously. She didn�
��t look up at him. “Brittle” was the word that came to his mind; she might snap at any moment.

  He stood there at the entrance, holding the flap open with one hand and looking in at her soberly for a few moments before saying, “Miss Star, lie down and get some rest. Please?”

  She glanced over at him, mouth opening slightly. For a moment there was a flash of her old stubbornness. Travis thought she was going to argue with him; he would have welcomed any sign of life, even that. But just as quickly the blue light died. She lay down without a word and closed her eyes. He waited, listening to the steady sounds of her breathing. She was asleep within minutes.

  “I figured you might be tired,” he said, crouching down to finger a long wisp of hair that had escaped its braided confinement. He softly traced the red line a bramble had left across her face. “I’ve got some people to see, but I will be right back. I promise.”

  She slept on.

  Travis limped across the camp, almost dragging his leg as he went. At General Stuart’s headquarters, an aide with an improbably large moustache tried to inform him that General Lee was meeting with Stuart, and they were not to be bothered under any circumstances. Travis didn’t care if Jeff Davis himself was in there; he pushed the man aside and thumped into the room. There were at least a dozen officers, some bent over maps, some seated around the table. All eyes looked up at his unannounced entrance. He ignored them, focused his attention on Major Lewis and General Stuart. The aide, following close behind, pulled on his arm, and started to apologize, but Travis interrupted.

  “Jacob Bancroft was just here.”

  Lewis was on his feet in an instant, gun already half drawn from its holster.

  “Where’s Star?”

  “She’s in her tent, asleep. She saw him first and hid in the woods.” His voice was taut with anger. “But the devil knows she’s here. Threatened her outright.” He was unsure how much Will Lewis had told his commanding officer, but by the furious light in the general’s blue eyes, he knew plenty. “How do we protect her now, sir?”

  Stuart exchanged glances with Lewis. “We’ll figure something out. Meanwhile, don’t let her out of your sight. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” He saluted briskly, as if there were nothing unusual in walking into General Lee’s planning session and taking orders from an enemy officer.

  General Stuart allowed a faint smile. “Dismissed, lieutenant.”

  Travis was nearly back to his post when he heard Star start to scream.

  Starla perched gingerly on her trunk in the back of the railcar, still half asleep, and stared out the window at the passing scenery. Trains are always so dull, she thought as trees and fields blended in one long gray green streak. There was a howling outside, then a sudden jerk, a snap, and she was falling, falling, falling…. Blackness surrounded her. And in the darkness, voices. Her voice, shouting.

  “Once and for all, Jacob Bancroft, get it through your bloody thick skull—I will never, ever marry you. So just leave me the hell alone!”

  Then Jake’s hated voice, whispering through the blackness. “And you hear me, Estella Anderson. You are mine, Woodhaven is mine, and cursed is any man who comes between me and what is mine.”

  She backed away from the voice, feeling blindly around her, seeking a way out of this all too familiar nightmare. Her hand touched something. Soft, yielding, damp, then a spark. She held her hand up in front of her face, watching in horror as little red flames flickered across her palms, feeding on the blood that dripped down her hands.

  She could see them now, see the faces of her dead. Papa and Grandpapa, Uncle Charles and Cousin Alec, Tommy and Josh. They were always here in this dream, glowing like fallen angels as the fire wrapped its gold and orange arms around their still forms. Papa was barely visible under stacks of luggage that crushed him, the flame of his red hair blending with the flames that lit the train car. His body shifted, twisted within the flames—Travis lay where Papa had been, buried beneath trunks and satchels. Beside him another body, Will, already burning black.

  “No!” she screamed. If they were here, then they were in danger. The others were dead, all dead. But not Will. Not Travis. She struggled towards them, calling for help. But the floor had no substance; it shifted under her feet, writhing with fire snakes.

  “You can run, but I’ll still find you,” Jake said, appearing suddenly before her. Hands gripping her, branding his fingers into her shoulders. She struggled, kicked, screamed, but he drew closer still, leering. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to get you alone like this, cousin dear?” Fingers of fire stroking her face, strangling her throat. Can’t move, can’t breathe. “Bancroft men take what they want.” His hair burst into a crimson halo of fire, firelight reflecting off golden eyes.

  She tried to flee, but her feet had grown roots, body ringed by fire. The flames licked greedily at her skirt. Oh no Oh God no please no let me wake up now please….

  “NO!”

  With a strangled gasp she bolted upright in bed. There were arms around her, holding her. She screamed again, thrashing in their circle.

  “Starla! Wake up! Wake up, sweetheart!” Travis’ voice. Not Jake’s. She began to cry with relief, great tearless sobs.

  “Shh, shh. It’s all right,” he comforted, rubbing her back.

  Travis. He had been in her nightmare this time. Travis and Will. By now she knew all too well what that meant. I can’t let him get any closer, she told herself dully. Too dangerous. Dangerous for him. Push away, pull away, now. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Her treacherous body was too content where it was to move.

  He was still talking in the soft, lulling voice used to soothe a child. “Don’t worry, Miss Star. You’re safe now. I’m here, and I’ll watch out for you.” She stiffened suddenly in his arms, the peaceful feeling shattered. He released her, shifted so they were facing. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

  Her mind was a whirl; she could not think of the right words. She just stared up at him, willing him to understand. She could see him going over his words in his head.

  “I said I would watch out for you,” he said, slowly.

  “Don’t say that,” she begged, her plea all but lost as she hid her face in her hands, unable to look at him as he stared at her, his expression caught between anger and concern.

  “Why?” he demanded. “Is your independence that important that you’ll not allow anyone to look out for you? Are you still too proud to admit you might need help?”

  “No!” she shouted, pushing him away in frustration, the truth finally wrenched out of her. “It’s that I’m unlucky, or cursed. Dangerous. Every man who has ever promised to look after me is dead. Every one of them. Except Uncle Will, and now you.” She’d lost them all—to fire, to water, to “accidents”—but lost them all the same. And her dreams had presaged them all. She curled in on herself, fetal, and whispered, “Please. Just go away before you get hurt too. Before I get hurt. Again.”

  There was a heavy silence in the tent. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, struggling to stem her own weeping.

  There was a touch on her shoulder, a gentle but irresistible drawing back into the warm security of his strong arms. She fought against herself for a few moments. I shouldn’t trust you. I mustn’t trust you. You’re twice my enemy—a man, and a Yankee. But I’m so tired. So very tired. And I do trust you. God help me, but I do. Just please, please be careful. Her brittle self control vanished, and she buried her head in his chest, crying as she had not cried in years.

  “Oh, Starla, a cailín crogá, shh, shh. It will be all right.”

  7. Yankee Go Home

  August 17, 1862

  Orange Plank Road, VA

  Starla yawned broadly and leaned her head up against the porch post. I really ought to be asleep, she thought. Supper was long over, and inside the general’s staff was getting down to business. She could hear Stuart’s booming voice, Will’s soft tones, the guttural accent of von Borcke. The Prussian sounded unhappy, proba
bly worried about the general’s safety again. Not that I blame him. We are rather isolated out here. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable place on the wooden step.

  General Stuart had decided to spend the night there in Verdiersville, a tiny grouping of houses not even worthy to be called a hamlet, while the rest of his command continued on. “We are to meet Fitz Lee here,” the general had said. “We might as well do our waiting in relative comfort.”

  So there they were, nearly five miles from the nearest cavalry troop. Starla felt more than a little defenseless. She shrank a little closer to the post and patted her pocket carefully. The heavy metal shape nestled there reassured her only slightly.

  That morning she awoke with the dawn, feeling sapped of energy, but strangely calm for the first time in a long while, as if finally letting the tears out had washed away some of her fears. She beat the worst of yesterday’s mud from her uniform and got dressed in a hurry. Outside, Travis was waiting for her, propped up against the silver trunk of a beech and rubbing absent mindedly at his leg. Iris and Vulcan cropped grass close by, already saddled with bridles hanging about their necks. He smiled as she approached.

  “Good morning, Miss Star,” he said cheerfully enough, but she thought he looked drawn and tired.

  “Did you not sleep last night?” she asked.

  “Not well. Leg hurts like the dickens.” He grimaced, then struggled to his feet. “Major Lewis stopped by earlier to look in on you. Said we’d be heading out this morning, so I thought I’d get the horses ready.”