Echoes of Dark and Light (48 page)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I hesitated to touch him for fear of causing more pain.

Toby produced a grin, though obviously forced and unsteady. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is. And it will definitely be much worse if we don’t skedaddle right quick.”

As I gently pulled his arm around my shoulder to support him, a moan escaped his lips and he clutched his middle.
Bruised ribs, eh? More likely broken.
But we couldn’t take the time to wrap his ribs or discover the extent of the damages; that would have to wait until we arrived safely in Mr. Davis’ hidden cellar. I could only pray a rib wouldn’t puncture his lung or some other horrendous tragedy while I risked moving him.

The grounds still offered a clear getaway, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. One glimpse inside the office at Jonathon’s tied up body, and we would be the objects of a man hunt…again. I sighed heavily.
These Rebels are becoming a real pain in my rear.

We managed to stumble to the prison boundaries before we heard the shouts of outrage.
Crud! I’d hoped we’d make it at least to the boat.
One horrified glance at each other, and we doubled our awkward shuffling pace.

We stumbled and tripped over the uneven ground in our haste, not taking the time to find a clear path in the darkness. Then I felt the angel-light kiss of tiny snowflakes against my hot cheeks. A good omen or bad? Snow-covered ground would easily betray our path, however I doubted seriously that the ground had cooled enough for the snow to stick. On the other hand, visibility would be hampered. Either way, the frozen flakes felt wonderfully refreshing on my burning face. I popped my tongue out, hoping to snag a few to wet my sandpapered throat.

Just as our straining eyes caught sight of
Little Betty
, our ears picked up shouting.

“Over here! I’ve found them!”

As we stumbled down the bank, I heard a loud, familiar explosion and a whizzing inches from my ear. They were shooting at us, and aiming to kill. They didn’t mean to take prisoners, only fillers for the cemetery.

I half dumped, half threw Toby into the bottom of the boat and then rammed my shoulder against her hull, heaving with all of my strength to push her into the swift current. I sloshed through the frigid water, hopping over the edge and falling into a rather ungraceful heap next to Toby. More gunfire followed us into the river, and we instinctively kept our heads down and covered, praying no bullet found its mark.

Unfortunately, one did.

A dull thud rocked
Little Betty
, and within mere seconds, frigid water flooded her wooden planks.

“Oh, crud!” I mumbled

Little Betty
sank like a blacksmith’s anvil, and the James River enveloped us in her icy embrace.

“And now we swim,” Toby barked the obvious. “Get moving; we won’t last long in this cold water.”

Hard to keep track of each other in the dark, wet confusion, I paused every few seconds to make sure Toby still managed to stay afloat near me. Now and then I caught a soft moan of pain escaping from my friend.
Soon, Toby, we’ll be safe soon!
It became a kind of crude pattern: stoke, icy breath, stroke, Toby check, stoke, icy breath, stroke, Toby check…

And then my pattern broke.
No Toby!

I jerked around, treading water as best I could in the dragging, dancing currents, and peered into the snowflake-filled darkness.

“Toby!” I screeched, in near panic.

And then I spotted him a few yards away, struggling to keep his head above the surface.

“Toby!” I raced over to him, grabbing his arm to help keep him a float. And then I felt a warmth drift around my legs. I pulled a hand out of the water and found a dark, sticky, oil-like substance clinging to my fingers.
Blood!

“Toby, you’ve been shot!”

“I kind of noticed,” he mumbled around the pain.

“Can you swim?”

“I—I can try.”

“I’ll help.” I threw an arm across his chest and pulled him on his back. As my remaining limbs awkwardly kicked and pulled at the river, Toby weakly attempted to help. But after a few exhausting moments, I noticed Toby hung limply in my grasp.

“Toby? Toby! Answer me you highfaluting, pig-headed, stubborn, mulish, southern pile of arrogance! You’d better not pull a stunt like dying on me now!”

He stirred, shifted his lips closer to my ear and whispered, “I love you, too.”

Then his head dropped limp in my arms and he didn’t move.

I dragged my frozen and numb body up onto the bank by my hands and knees, each inch a tremendous effort. My muscles cramped tight with the cold and exhaustion, and every movement required a conscious and forceful command. I climbed painfully to my feet, grabbed Toby’s arm and lunged backward, dragging his limp body out of the water. I collapsed down into the mud next to him, begging my body not to give up just yet. But if I could only rest a few minutes…

“No!” I jerked my eyes open, forcing myself back to my knees. Toby needed me…if he still drew breath.

I hesitantly placed my numb fingertips against his neck, praying to find a pulse.
Nothing.
I moved my fingers to the right, then to the left. In desperation and growing panic, I dropped my ear onto his chest…
There!
The faint, yet steady beating of his heart. Relief overwhelmed me, and I slumped back on my calves, trying to slow my own racing heart. But I couldn’t rest yet, not with our lives still in danger.

I quickly searched his body, looking for the bullet wound. I found it in his upper thigh, still leaking blood out of the jagged hole. Awkwardly, with numb fingers that seemed to refuse directions, I wiggled out of the cotton strip of cloth pinning down my bosom, and tied it snuggly around his wound. Hopefully that would stop the bleeding while I moved him. Next step,
how
to move him…

Tall and strong, but also exhausted and frozen, I seriously doubted being able to carry Toby more than a few steps. And who knew how far we’d floated downstream in that swift current. With any luck, the Rebs would believe us drowned and not even send out a search party. But I doubted that. With any other escaped prisoner, maybe; with Jonathon’s disowned and so-called traitorous little brother, no. They’d be searching for us, and I didn’t have much time to spare, with avoiding the searchers or with Toby’s life.

Making sure Toby lay free of the river’s greedy clutches, I clamored up the bank to find something, anything to help transport him. I dare not knock on anyone’s door; no one in his or her right mind would help an escaped convict, especially an escaping Yank in Confederate territory. We’d drifted far enough downstream to be out of the busiest part of town. A few houses scattered the river bank, all dark with sleep. A nearby dog growled a warning, and barked an alarm, but quickly quieted, his focus most likely a fox near his henhouse or such. But that gave me an idea.

Farmers, especially small time farmers on the edge of town, usually had wheelbarrows to transport the feed and manure of their limited livestock, as opposed to the bigger farms using wagons. If I could just find one and borrow it…

It took a few minutes to locate a rickety wheelbarrow leaning against a closed barn. I grabbed the handles, instantly lodging a big splinter painfully in my palm. Ignoring it, and the strong smell of manure, I hurried back to Toby.

I took one precious second to make sure his warm breath still flowed past his blue-tinted lips. Squatting low, I pulled his weight on to my shoulders and then heaved to a bent over position. Taking wobbly, unstable steps, I inched my way up the bank and deposited Toby into the wheelbarrow. It tilted precariously, almost spilling Toby back on the ground, but I caught the edge, righting it in time. I grabbed the handles, getting pierced with another branch of a splinter between my thumb and forefinger. My muscles balked at the commands. However they eventually obeyed, forcing my load up to the road.

Unsure of our location, I followed the dark street up river, searching for a familiar landmark. A handful of misty sunbeams began poking their way over the horizon, along with a few glowing lanterns peering sleepy-eyed out of curtained windows. Straining for breath, and the strength to endure, I found the way back to Mr. Davis’ cabin. I burst through the door, wheelbarrow and all.

Mr. Davis leapt from his chair, hurrying over to close the door behind me. Without wasting words, he pulled the cabinet away from the wall, summoning Cora from the hidden cellar. Together, we carried Toby down the steps and onto a mound of blankets.

“I need to return the wheelbarrow,” I whispered, too exhausted to form the words properly.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cora commanded. “Every time you leave here, you come back dragging in another half-dead patient.”

“And besides, dawn looms near and you need to stay hidden,” Mr. Davis advised. “Forget the wheelbarrow; I’ll hide it and return it later.”

Mr. Davis didn’t wait for an argument. He slipped back up the steps and shoved the cabinet closed, leaving us in the half-gloom and dancing shadows of the lantern.

Cora immediately began inspecting Toby. I watched uneasily for a few moments, and then looked away to check on Robert. He lay as quiet as death except for a steady rise and fall of his chest. However, in just the few hours I’d been gone, he already seemed more alive, with a bit of color and a slightly more peaceful expression on his face. Maybe due to the thorough clean up job, fresh clothes and a bit of food that Cora had managed to accomplish; perhaps it would be enough, for now.

I backed up against the wall, slowly sliding down to collapse on the floor. I fought my eyes from drooping closed, but lost; the tiny room, almost my entire world, slipped away into an exhausted sleep.

I vaguely recollected Cora nudging me awake and urging me into some dry clothes, and then blissful nothing once again. But it didn’t last.

A chilling cold seeped up through the seat of my britches bringing me to a grumpy start which jerked my aching muscles into awareness. A crick in my neck shouted complaints, trying to out compete the grumblings of my belly. I tried to ignore it all and rediscover the oblivion of sleep once again, but Robert’s voice pulled me into consciousness.

“I said, are you planning on sleeping the entire day away?” Robert repeated.

I climbed stiffly to my feet, fighting off the fog. “Well, at least I’m out of bed before you are.” I couldn’t help grinning down at him as I slumped into the chair next to his cot. “How you feeling?”

He sat propped up against the wall, blankets tucked in around his stick-like legs. He tilted his head back and forth. “Fair to middlin’, thanks to you and your friends.” Blue eyes clamped on to my matching ones. “You saved my life.”

I shrugged off his words. “I guess now we’re even.” I thought back to the day so many years ago when Robert freed us from Pa’s angry grasp.

A moan from the other side of the room caught our attention.
Toby.
We both glanced over at the second cot that had been brought down while I’d slept. A pile of blankets concealed Toby’s form. I clung to my chair, too afraid to approach him.

“So, he’s still alive,” I murmured.

“So far,” Robert agreed. “Cora had a heck of a time removing the bullet.”