Faith (24 page)

T
HE REST OF THE DAY
Dev spent walking from one office to another at the Union headquarters in Jackson Square, where Andrew Jackson’s statue stood proudly. Step by step, Dev obtained permission to leave the city and gained a comfortable number of cavalrymen to join them. General Grant’s note, which had accompanied their military passes, asked for all requested assistance and smoothed the way.

Early the next morning, which promised another muggy, uncomfortably hot day, Dev and Faith waved good-bye to Honoree and strode down the gangplank and onto solid ground again, bound for Cypress Bank. Not far from the quay, they met the cavalrymen provided him for the day.

Keyed up, Dev led her to the horses he’d also procured for them and helped her mount. She had borrowed a sailor’s extra pair of trousers, which she wore under her dress. He
ignored the cavalrymen, who looked shocked at a lady riding astride. These weren’t his men, and they didn’t know what a special lady Faith was.

At Dev’s gesture, the captain in charge of the soldiers rode up beside him. “You know our destination, Captain?” Dev asked.

“Cypress Bank Plantation, sir. I consulted a local map and know how to get there. It’s over an hour’s ride away.”

“Very good, Captain,” Dev praised him. “Lead on.”

The captain saluted smartly and soon the company was moving through town traffic and then beyond into the thick, lush forest surrounding the city.

“I love the oak trees here,” Faith said, gazing around her, “with this gray, feathery moss hanging from them.”

An alligator slid out of the bayou along the road, making the horses skittish. Faith eyed it curiously but did not comment.

The sounds of insects and strident birdcalls filled the air. Dev’s senses remained alert, seeking the subtle sounds of humans who might be intent on harming them. The tropical forest around them took on a sinister presence. Dev noted that the cavalrymen were on edge. Did they fear bushwhackers here too?

The master of Cypress Bank was said to be off to war. That meant they would meet with the lady of the plantation. He worried about their reception and the touchy nature of the topic of Shiloh, no doubt bought as a mistress.

Finally, after they had passed two other widely spaced plantations, a grand sign near the road read
Cypress Bank
. They turned onto the lane that swept up a rise away from the bayou. At the far edge of the green slope, black willow trees
marked the line of what must have been a creek. Ahead sat a traditional one-story French plantation house with a wide veranda on all sides. The house was raised up off the ground with two steps leading onto the porch.

Here and there, slaves stopped what they were doing and walked toward the house, watching silently. A white woman in her thirties, wearing a tattered yellow summer dress, came out of the main door onto the veranda, observing Dev’s party intently, arms at her sides, hands in the folds of her skirt.

When they reached the house, Dev leaned over to Faith.

Before he could say anything, she raised her hand to forestall him. “I want to speak to her. You’re with the Union Army. One woman might tell another woman more.”

Dev sincerely doubted this, but he knew enough about Faith to give in. He’d told her to stay back at Annerdale, and that hadn’t worked. And anyway, what could this woman do to her except for perhaps a slap?

He slid from his saddle and helped Faith down. The nearest soldier slipped off his horse to stand and hold their reins.

“Good day,” Faith greeted the woman.

The woman, unmoving, just stared at Faith.

As Faith approached the woman, Dev stayed close to her.

“Thy house is lovely,” Faith continued conversationally.

“You’re not welcome here, Yankees,” the woman finally spoke. “Go back to where you came from.”

“We were wondering if thee could help us.” Faith ignored the hostility and mounted the steps onto the porch. “I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

“I said you’re not welcome here. Leave.”

“Is this the home of William LeFevre?” Dev asked.

The woman stared at him, her eyes dark pools of fury. “Mr. LeFevre isn’t at home.”

“My friend is named Shiloh,” Faith said in a soothing voice. “Mr. LeFevre
 
—”

“How dare you?” The woman’s hand whipped up, clutching a knife. She slashed Faith’s face.

Faith screamed.

Dev leaped forward. Tried to wrench the knife from the woman’s hand. The woman fought him like a wounded, rabid animal, shrieking and clawing, trying to get to Faith.

Dev was finally forced to knock her unconscious and lower her to the porch floor. He then claimed the knife and pocketed it. Several soldiers had surged up around him.

Faith had staggered over and was leaning limply against a porch column. She had her hand pressed against her cheek, blood seeping between her fingers from ear to nose. She stared at him, her jaw loose, eyes wide with shock.

He turned at the sound of running footsteps, drawing his pistol.

“Don’t shoot, sir!” an aged butler in faded livery said, holding up a hand. “I brought some clean rags. Your lady’s losing blood. You need to bandage that wound quickly.”

Dev helped Faith sit down on a wicker chair on the porch and, with the butler’s help, folded a thick pad, which he pressed and then bound around Faith’s blood-drenched face.

“Thank thee,” Faith whispered, her face white.

“Sir, you best leave while the mistress is unconscious,” the butler said. “Our master took Shiloh with him
 
—” the man
shook his head, looking pained
 
—“as his laundress. That’s why Miss Alicia struck out. She hates Shiloh.”

Dev didn’t need to ask any questions. A man didn’t pay over two thousand dollars for a laundress. “Thank you.”

“Please,” Faith whispered.

Dev leaned close and then relayed her whispered inquiry to the butler. “What is LeFevre’s rank, and who is his commanding officer?”

“He’s a captain,” the butler replied, leaning over his mistress, “and he’s with Braxton Bragg.”

“Thank thee.” Faith looked to the butler. “Does thee want to leave?”

“I can’t. I have no family to care for me.”

The woman on the porch floor moaned.

“Now go,” the butler urged.

Dev swept Faith into his arms and carried her toward their mounts. The captain held Faith while Dev mounted; then the captain lifted her up to Dev, who settled her behind him. She wrapped an arm around his waist, resting her uninjured cheek against his back.

Another soldier led Faith’s horse as the column turned and headed away from the plantation house.

“You filthy, vile Yankees!” the hysterical woman screamed behind them. “I hope you all die! And all your children too! I hate you! I hate you!” Then she began shrieking curses.

Dev felt Faith sobbing against his back. He should have seen the attack coming. But he hadn’t thought the woman would have a weapon. And she hadn’t seemed deranged. He tucked Faith closer and focused on returning to the city.

The ride back to New Orleans went much faster than the
one to Cypress Bank. Though still vigilant, the men urged their horses forward at a steady pace. No longer was this a mere ride into the country.

The quay came into view at last. Dev turned to the captain. “Where’s the nearest army doctor?”

“No,” Faith said with feeling, though muted and faint. “Take me to Honoree. I want no stranger treating me.”

“Miss Faith,” Dev protested, “you’re injured. You need a doctor.”

“No, I need careful nursing.” Faith was forcing out the words against his shirt. “The only doctor I trust to operate on me is Dr. Bryant.”

“But he’s in Vicksburg.”

“I know.”

Dev turned to the captain. “Please follow me to the gunboat. I’ll dismount there and you can return this horse then.”

The captain looked pained. “Of course. I’m just sorry this happened. We should have taken better care of the lady.”

Yes, they all should have
 
—himself included.

Dockside, one of the sailors on the
Rattler
, exclaiming about Faith, hurried down the gangplank. Faith slipped down to him. After dismounting, Dev claimed Faith again.

“I can walk,” she protested.

But he felt her weakness. Her voice quavered.

“Faith!” Honoree shouted and ran toward them.

Forestalling the questions, Dev spoke up urgently. “Her cheek was cut with a knife. I want to take her to the nearest doctor. Honoree, help me persuade her. Quickly.”

“Bring her to our cabin and let me see how bad it is.” Honoree didn’t wait for his reply but ran ahead onto the boat.

He followed, chafed by this delay. But he laid her down on her bunk and watched as Honoree removed the blood-soaked bandage.

Faith looked up at her friend and behind her, at the colonel. “How bad is it?” She was surprised at how weak her voice sounded. The pain in her face took all her effort to bear. She realized Honoree was tending her as gently as she could, but each touch sent a shard of pain through her. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. “Thee knows what to do.”

Honoree leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I do, but it’s going to hurt you.”

“Hurt me and save me,” Faith said, hearing the whimper in her tone.

Faith lay on her side with her wound uppermost, watching dully as Honoree prepared to clean and treat the gash.

“I need to get her to a doctor,” the colonel insisted once more.

“No,” Honoree said. “The cut didn’t sever an artery, so she isn’t going to bleed to death. She needs to go to a very good surgeon, and the only one we’re sure of is Dr. Bryant.”

“But we’re in New Orleans!” he nearly shouted.

“I know where we are, Colonel. I also know Faith could die in the wrong hands. Now I’m going to clean the wound and put a clean bandage on. Fentress was just waiting for you two to return, and we’ll be on our way back to Vicksburg.”

Fentress himself spoke from the doorway. “Miss Cathwell has been wounded?”

“Colonel, why don’t you explain everything to the captain as he gets us started on our way north?” Honoree said without looking toward the men.

Thus dismissed, the colonel hesitated, plainly disgruntled, but then moved out onto the deck.

Faith watched him go and braced herself for what Honoree would soon be doing. Faith had done the same so often to others and now she was going to suffer the application of alcohol, followed by iodine. She closed her eyes against the coming ordeal.

“Here, sip this,” Honoree said, holding a spoon to Faith’s lips.

Faith didn’t ask. She knew Honoree was giving her laudanum to help make the pain more bearable. She sipped the nasty liquid. “Dr. Bryant,” she whispered. The engines below began quivering to life, even the remote motion hurting her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anybody else touch you,” Honoree promised.

Faith sipped all the opium liquid in the spoon and put her arms behind her back, clasping her hands together so she wouldn’t fight Honoree. The laudanum was doing its work. She shut her eyes and began praying for herself
 
—for fortitude and healing
 
—and for Shiloh, wherever she was now. When the iodine splashed her cheek, she shrieked.

The shipmaster beside him, Dev stood facing Honoree at the railing outside the women’s cabin. Faith’s scream just moments ago still echoed in his mind. The ship was moving.

“She fainted,” Honoree was saying.

“She should have been taken to a surgeon,” Dev insisted, his anger still bubbling.

For the first time, Honoree touched him, resting a hand on his sleeve. “Faith and I have seen many surgeons and witnessed what harm they can do. Faith has studied and read much and knows that if she falls into the wrong hands, she could die of infection and complications.”

“She could die.”
The words caused Dev to stop breathing.
This is my fault. I should have protected her.

“This isn’t your fault,” Honoree said as if reading his mind. “She knew she was taking a chance. But she won’t rest till my sister is found. Neither of us will. What did you find out? Anything?”