Echoes of Dark and Light (33 page)

Without waiting for an official dismissal from Captain Truckey, I pushed past the lieutenant and bolted from the tent. The captain and Toby followed on my heels, keeping pace with my race through the dark camp.

Thoughts ricocheted through my mind.
Was she hurt? Was she dead? Who did this? And why?
I knew none of my questions would be answered until I reached my friend’s side. I plowed through a couple of guards, knocking one roughly to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

“Why don’t you start doing your job,” I barked over my shoulder.
Where had the guards been during the attack? And for that matter, where had I been? Fooling around in the river.
I knew she’d been more vulnerable since her pa died. Not that she would ever admit the fact.
Why hadn’t I protected her?
Guilt added to my urgency. Sharp stones and firewood splinters dug into my bare feet, but I hardly noticed. I zeroed in on the lantern light up ahead like a fluttery moth.

I flung aside the tent flap, shoved the waiting guard out of my way and knelt by Cora’s side. She sat at her desk, back straight and shoulders set. But I could see a hint of tears in her eyes. Mud stained her nightgown, and the shoulder hung open, ripped at the seam. A dark purple bruise darkened one delicate cheekbone.

“Cora?”

I hesitated to touch her for fear of causing more pain, but she grabbed hold of my hand as soon as I knelt beside her. A smile did appear, though wobbly and unsure.

“I’m okay, Bobbi.”

I glanced over at Toby who squatted down on her other side.

“How bad are you hurt?” he asked, gently brushing her bruised cheek with his fingertips.

Cora flinched slightly, but then nodded her head. “I’m fine, really.”

“What happened?” Captain Truckey demanded, squaring off in front of her.

Cora took a deep breath before answering. “I was asleep on my cot. Something woke me up, a noise I think. Before I could light my lantern, someone clamped his hand over my mouth and pulled me to the ground. I fought back,” she said to me as if looking for approval. “I got in a few good kicks, one of which knocked him down, doubled over, groaning. I scrambled back to my cot and pulled out the pistol I keep under my pillow.”

Cora keeps a pistol under her pillow? Maybe she didn’t need protecting after all.

“I pointed the barrel towards the moaning, and quickly lit the lamp. I recognized him at once. I don’t know if that’s why he said those words or not.”

“Said what?” I asked Cora.

“He whispered ‘I’m so sorry’ and then slipped from my tent.”

Anger had slowly been building up behind my worry and guilt, and at that, the powder keg burst, burning every fiber of my bones like a white-hot flame.
Jimmy. It had to be Jimmy.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I spit.

“What? Who?” Toby jumped up beside me.

“Jimmy will pay!”

“No, Bobbi, wait!”

Cora’s words trailed after me as I bolted from her tent, but I barely heard. Jimmy had broken his word; he said he’d leave Cora alone. Now he would have to deal with me. Now he would see how a victim felt on the other side of a fist!

The sun began climbing over the horizon, lighting my determined path through the sleeping camp. I vaguely heard Toby and Cora’s protests behind me, but I plowed though the scattered tents with my thoughts targeted on Jimmy.

I found his bare, dirty feet sticking out the end of his tent. I clamped a hold and dragged him out, yelling “Get out here, you piece of human waste! How dare you!”

“What the,” he sputtered, struggling to his feet and brushing his greasy hair out of his sleep-crusted eyes. “Rivers! What’s your problem? Get off of me!”

“You attacked Cora!” I yelled.

“Attacked Cora? I didn’t! I didn’t touch her.”

“Liar!” I lunged at Jimmy, plowing him back to the ground. I hammered my fists into his stomach, his chest, his face. Jimmy defended the attack and a blow caught my eye, but the pain barely registered, my anger flowed so thick.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that my fists attacked not only Jimmy, the bully, but also my pa, for hurting my ma for so long, and the Rebels who had killed Kenny and kept my brother from me. I pounded all of those people with my one insane attack.

Then someone grabbed me around the waste and yanked me off of Jimmy.

“Bobbi, stop!” Toby pinned my arms to my sides as I continued to struggle.

“Bobbi,” Cora’s soft voice filtered through the rage. “Jimmy didn’t attack me.”

“What?” I asked, gasping for breath as I jerked around to look at her.

“I said, Jimmy hasn’t laid a finger on me.”

I suddenly collapsed against Toby’s chest, too tired to struggle anymore. “Then who?”

“Preacher.”

On June 14
^th
, as the 2
^nd
Corps crossed the James River on transport boats at Wilcox’s Landing, guards scoured the surrounding countryside for Preacher. But as night began to embrace the camp, they returned empty handed; Preacher had disappeared. Searching his belongings, they did discover a bottle of liquor and a Bible hidden away in Preacher’s tent… a bottle and Bible that matched the descriptions of the ones stolen from the sutlers.

Though extremely painful, I managed to apologize to Jimmy. He surprisingly accepted my apology, though he threw in a menacing threat to stay out of his way or else. The throbbing, swollen black eye displayed on my face served as a painful reminder to do just that, and I avoided Jimmy and his gang with unerring precision.

Everyone who’d known Preacher wandered around in a bit of a fog. Shocked and feeling confused, hurt and betrayed, no one knew quite how to react, and whispered rumors circulated the camp.

“I just don’t get it,” Woody mumbled for the fifth time.

“I know,” Toby agreed. “None of us do.”

“I mean, Preacher was just so good and—”

“Maybe that was part of the problem,” I injected. “Maybe he tried to be too good, better than a mere human can be, and he just snapped.”

“You mean he went crazy?” Woody’s eyes grew round at the thought.

“No, not crazy exactly,” Toby tried to reason, “just lost his grip on reality for a moment. Cora said he apologized before taking off into the wilderness. Maybe he suddenly broke through his confusion and realized his mistake. You know, just as a snake isn’t immune to his own venom, neither is mankind immune to his own poisons.”

I thought about Toby’s words as I hefted another bushel of corn from Mr. Wilcox’s supplies and transferred it to the nearby waiting wagon. Foraging for supplies had become a necessary task, one especially approved of if the owner happened to be a southern Rebel sympathizer like Wilcox. His farm, on which we currently crossed, had produced a good crop last year, his storage barns housing hundreds of bushels, which the Army of the Potomac had graciously seized to feed the mules and horses.

“Do you think we’ll ever see Preacher again?” Woody asked, heaving up a heavy bushel.

But before Toby could answer, Woody moaned in pain, loosing his grip on the basket, spilling corn kernels across the dusty pathway.

“Woody? What’s the matter?” I dropped my own basket and hurried to his side.

Toby pulled back the sleeve of the arm Woody cradled, the same arm that a musket ball had tracked at Cold Harbor. An angry red gash oozed a bit of pus along with a faint, rotting odor.

“Woody, your wound is festering!” Toby scolded. “How long has your arm been like this?”

“Maybe this morning or so. Honest, Toby, I didn’t think the scrape would get so bad.”

“He should go to the hospital tent,” I advised.

Fear crept into Woody’s eyes. “No, I don’t wanna, they’ll cut off my arm!”

“Not necessarily,” Toby edged, but even Woody heard the uncertainty in his voice.

“No!”

“Let’s take him to Cora,” I quickly suggested. “Maybe she can clean the wound up good. Besides, the task might help get her mind off of last night.”

Woody reluctantly agreed to go see Cora, but asked one of us to go with him. Toby quickly volunteered to continue hauling out corn bushels. I suspected that he wanted to spare me from the physical labor. My body ached from skin through muscle and bone, bruised head to battered feet. I hadn’t dared mention the pain; I was no whining sissy. But I couldn’t bite back the occasional groan and grimace that escaped. Part of me breathed a sigh of relief to leave the corn hauling behind, but the other part had actually welcomed the pain. Maybe as a sort of punishment for not being there to help Cora…and for not yet being able to find Robert.

Woody and I found Cora in her tent, packing up her trunk.

“You’re leaving?” I asked, surprised. I didn’t think Cora would have let someone else chase her away.

She shook her head and smiled. Then she hesitated a moment before continuing. “I’m a bit ashamed to admit this, but I did consider leaving after last night. The encounter did shake me up a bit. Then I remembered our chat from after my father died, and I know I’m still needed here. Besides, if our brave soldiers can face their fears marching straight into a storm of musket fire, surely I can confront my own little fears.”

“Nurse Davis,” Woody hesitantly spoke up with a slight blushing of his cheeks, “excuse me for differing with you, but being whomped in the black of night is no little spook. That would scare the britches off a anybody.”

Cora looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, Woody. That makes me feel better.”

Poor Woody grinned and blushed brighter than an early morning sunrise.

“So, why are you packing?” I asked, still concerned despite her reassurance.

“The hospital tent is crossing the James tomorrow along with the rest of the army. We’re setting up closer to Petersburg where the next round of battles will commence.”

“Are you gonna cross over on the boats like the 2
^nd
Corps?” Woody asked.

Cora shook her head. “I think the engineer Crops have something else planned for our crossing, from what I’ve heard.” She closed her cedar chest with a thump. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?”

Woody’s grin faded from his face and he took a step backwards towards the tent flaps.

I grabbed his elbow before he could slip away, and practically dragged him back up to Cora. “A musket ball grazed his arm at Cold Harbor; and the wound is festering.”

“Don’t make me go to the hospital tent, Nurse Davis,” Woody’s voice quivered in fear. “They’ll be sure to cut if off, and I don’t wanna lose my arm!”

“Why don’t you take a seat right here, Woody, and we’ll take a look?” She gently steered him over to her father’s desk chair in the corner and knelt down next to him. Then, with words of comfort and well-trained fingers, she rolled up his sleeve and examined the wound.

I carefully watched her face to judge her initial reaction, but she held her features in a neutral position. Cora bent close to examine the festering wound, and I found myself holding my breath in apprehension.

When Cora smiled at Woody, my breath gushed out in relief.

“I’ve seen worse,” she reassured him with a pat on the shoulder. “Now, don’t get me wrong; your arm is infected, but there are some things we can try. Sit tight.”

Cora returned to her cedar chest and removed a smaller wooden box, which she carried back to Woody’s side. “Bring me the water pitcher and basin, please,” she directed to me.