Faith (4 page)

Faith hurried ahead of him and Honoree as if to distance herself from the conflict.

Dev followed her while the black girl turned toward a nearby group of escaped slaves. He overheard Honoree say, “I’m bringing an offer of work, but I’m also looking for someone. Her name is Shiloh Langston. . . .”

Then he couldn’t hear any more as he accompanied Faith toward a cluster of women with small children just inside the depot entrance. She introduced herself as a nurse. “I am looking for laundresses. Do any of thee have experience doing large loads of laundry?”

“What you need large loads for, ma’am?” one very thin woman asked.

“The hospital needs more workers. If thee can do the work, it would be a job.”

“It a payin’ job?”

“Of course.”

“You a Quaker?” another woman interrupted.

Faith nodded.

Dev could not help but notice the way the slaves relaxed at the revelation that Faith was a Quaker. These abolitionists were hated throughout the South by virtually everyone but the slaves. How did they even know about Quakers?

“Again, I’m looking for laundry workers,” Faith continued. “It is an arduous and demanding job, so I must find strong women.”

“I’m strong.” A large woman wearing a ragged, soiled dress loomed up beside Faith.

Faith studied her and held out a hand. “Thy name?”

The woman shook Faith’s hand with a kind of wonder. “I’m Cassie. I been praying God would bring me work to do. I hate this lying around and beggin’. I work hard for you.”

In short order, Faith hired four women as laundresses and three young women to work in the hospital as maids. Then she moved toward a group of young black men under the overhang of the depot roof.

Dev followed, observing how she treated all with the same respect.
Be not a respecter of persons,
his memory prompted.

“Gentlemen,” Faith said, “I need to hire a few men able to lift patients and carry stretchers and just generally help with the heavy work at the hospital.”

A few moved toward her. But more looked to Dev. “Sir,” one young man said, “some of us want to ’list in the Union Army. How we do that?”

Dev gazed at the hopeful faces, his gut twisting. The idea of blacks becoming soldiers disturbed him at a deep level. But he dismissed his marked reaction. The Union needed every willing recruit. “I will ask the sergeant in charge of enlistment to come and speak to you.”

“Thank you, sir.” This was repeated several times by many there.

Dev bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and watched as Faith hired three strapping young men who looked as if they could use a few more good meals. But then, his own belt was tighter as well. At its best, camp food was never anything but filling. But being on the move meant
hardtack and coffee instead of regular meals. And some of the canned beef the Army had bought could kill a man.

Faith stopped at the depot entrance and spoke to a few more women, asking about their needs and whether they had families in the North whom they could go to.

Dev tried to hold in his frustration. He needed Faith to come help Jack. Was she deliberately delaying?

Finally the three of them left the contraband camp, an entourage of new employees in tow.

Within a few yards of leaving the sentries behind, Faith turned to Honoree. “Will thee take these people to Dr. Bryant so he can make certain the captain hires them?”

“And you’re off to help . . .” Honoree pursed her lips and glared at Dev. “Very well. I’ll do what you ask.” After leaning closer and whispering something in Faith’s ear, she waved to the new hires. “Follow me. We need to get you all on the payroll.”

Faith’s expression had lit up at Honoree’s whispered words. “Thank thee, Honoree, for taking care of this. I will come to thee as soon as I am able.” She gripped Honoree’s forearm for a moment, their gazes meeting, communicating
 
—what? Then she turned to the group of contraband she’d recruited. “And, friends, I will see thee soon to discuss thy duties and make certain thee are given quarters and new clothing.”

There was general approval of her words
 
—grins and thank-yous and curtsies.

“Colonel,” she said, turning to him, “lead on.”

Dev began to guide her away. “Who is Shiloh Langston?” The unexpected words bubbled up, surprising him. “I sense that your . . . friend’s dislike of me has something to do with that woman, whoever she is.”

D
EV WAITED
for Faith’s reply, sensing that he’d brought up something she didn’t want to discuss. As she continued to walk beside him in a silence that became heavier with each step, he was more aware of all the soldiers they passed, sitting in the shade, laughing or silent. The smell of sweat and tobacco smoke and worse filled the air. He regretted upsetting her and nearly reached out to touch her shoulder.

Then he watched as she unstoppered the small vial she wore on braided twine around her neck and lifted it to her nose. So near her, he also breathed in the sweet and soothing scent of lavender.

Finally she replied without looking at him. “Shiloh is Honoree’s younger sister. Born free, she was kidnapped and sold south three years before the war.” She recited this in a way that did not invite him to pursue the topic.

Shock hit him. No wonder the black girl hated slaveholders. “I’m so sorry.” The words were totally inadequate to address the seriousness of this evil act. Why couldn’t people just obey the laws? Follow orders? And then he recalled that he himself was breaking military law by harboring the enemy in his tent. But for most of their lives Jack had been both family and enemy.

They arrived at his tent and he waved her inside.

“Miss, I am so glad to see you,” Armstrong said, sounding worried. “I have been following your instructions, but he’s . . .” He gestured toward Jack.

“His fever must be very high,” the Quakeress said, hurrying toward the patient. She bent over Jack. “Oh, he is burning up. Does thee have any alcohol here?”

“Whiskey,” Dev replied and turned to retrieve the bottle from a small open trunk.

“No medicinal alcohol?” she asked.

“No.” Dev handed her the whiskey bottle.

She opened it and drew out a square of cotton from one of her apron pockets. Kneeling beside the cot, she began to swab Jack’s red face with the alcohol. She pushed back the sheet and swabbed his bare chest too.

“Has he been able to drink anything?” she asked, not looking up.

“Some coffee early this morning,” Armstrong replied, standing over her. “Nothing since.”

“We must bring down his fever so he can drink or he’ll die
 
—especially in this heat,” she said with urgency.

“I’ll help,” Dev volunteered, moving to the narrow space on the other side of the cot. He drew out his own handkerchief.

“Armstrong,” Faith said, “will thee go to the hospital, find my friend Honoree, and discreetly ask her to give thee a bottle of wood alcohol? We need this whiskey for other purposes.”

“I didn’t kill Bellamy,” Jack muttered through lips so dry they stuck together, staring at them with unseeing eyes. “Father!”

The words chilled Dev; the old pain and unreasoning guilt clutched at him. But why would Jack say he hadn’t killed Bellamy? Jack had always been hot at hand and undisciplined. Did he regret it or was it just delirium?

The Quakeress rose and poured water into the speckled blue-and-white washbasin. “We’ll just use water till Armstrong returns.”

They worked together, swabbing down the heated flesh with wet cloths. Then she undid the soiled bandages and applied new poultices to both festering arms. “I must continue to draw out the infection. And bring his fever down.”

Taut with worry, Dev concentrated on swabbing his cousin’s chest, trying not to react to the fiery inflamed skin on each arm. “Is he suffering from blood poisoning?”

“He’s coming close, but the poultices should work . . . if we can keep him alive long enough. If thee sees streaks of red going up his arms toward his heart, we’ve lost the battle.”

That would mean death or, nearly as bad, amputation. What man wanted a helpless life without arms? He wouldn’t wish that on the worst man alive. Despair swallowed Dev whole.

They fell silent, Dev grieving over what might come.

Finally Armstrong returned. “I have it.” At the Quakeress’s instruction, his man poured an inch of the wood alcohol into the empty basin.

Dev and Faith began swabbing with the alcohol, its pungent smell wafting over the tent.

“Armstrong,” Faith said, “please mix a glass of water and whiskey with a few drops of laudanum.”

He handed it to her.

“Colonel, please lift your cousin’s head.”

He did so, and she started to dribble the liquid into Jack’s mouth. Jack choked at first but then, without opening his eyes, began to swallow.

“Good,” she said when he’d drunk most of the glass. She rose. “I must return to my duties in the hospital.”

Dev stood too, almost desperate. “Do you have to go?”

She met his gaze with a sad smile. “I must. I will be missed otherwise, and I don’t want to be forced to explain where I’ve been.”

He nodded reluctantly, conceding.

“Just continue doing what I’ve shown thee. Bathe him to bring down the fever. Offer him whiskey-water often. He needs fluid in this heat and in his fever. The laudanum helps him cope with the pain, and the whiskey offers some nourishment. And continue the poultices. No one can do more than this. As long as thee cares for him, I’m not needed.”

Yes, you are.
But she was right. She must leave or draw unwanted attention. “Thank you,” Dev said, trying to load the words with all the gratitude he felt.

She merely nodded and left them.

Now he felt a glimmer of why the slaves felt safe around Quakers. They helped even when it was illegal. Or at least this Quakeress did.

Feeling the loss of her presence, Dev dropped to his knees to continue bathing his cousin.

”I’ve been praying,” Armstrong said. “It’s all up to God.”

Dev didn’t bother to reply. Words meant little now.

Faith walked away from the colonel as quickly as her voluminous skirts would let her. She didn’t like the attraction she felt to this colonel, nor did she appreciate the questionable situation he’d drawn her into.

And his saying Shiloh’s name had felt like someone dashing water in her face. Through the heat of the day she hurried toward her tent, where Honoree was waiting.

She and Honoree chafed daily at the lack of progress they’d made toward their goal. Before the war, the South’s hatred of abolitionists, Quakers, and free blacks had been virulent and often violent, and had prevented not only Faith and Honoree but everyone in their families from coming to seek Shiloh. And now they were at a standstill once more.

But before Faith had left the contraband camp with the colonel, Honoree had whispered that she had news of Shiloh. This was not the first time they had questioned escaped slaves about Shiloh, a light-skinned woman of color with distinctive green eyes. But it was the first time they’d received any information.

Oh, Lord, where is she? Lead us to her.

Even as she hurried to Honoree to find out the news, she couldn’t help wondering who Bellamy was and why the Rebel’s father thought he’d killed him. And
had
Jack killed him? Faith wanted to run but forced herself not to draw attention.

Faith saw that Honoree was waiting for her outside their tent, pacing. Faith rushed up to her. “What did thee hear about Shiloh?”

Honoree grabbed her wrists. “A woman said she heard tell of a light-skinned slave with green eyes at a plantation named Annerdale.”

“Where’s that?”

“Northeast of here in Madison County.”

Faith absorbed the report, fighting the excitement of this first lead. “Does thee think this news is credible?”

Honoree released her grip on Faith’s wrists. “I don’t know. I hope so. Shiloh’s green eyes do make her stand out.”

Faith pulled Honoree to her and they rested their heads on each other’s shoulders. Faith, Patience, and Shiloh all had the same green eyes. The bond between the families was stronger than friendship. “We will follow up this lead.”

Honoree let out a sound of disgust. “As soon as the Army lets us.”

“Battles must be fought. Our private quest is unimportant to generals. Thee knows that I, a Quaker abolitionist
 
—”

“And I, a free woman of color, aren’t safe in enemy territory, away from the Union Army.”

Faith nodded against Honoree’s shoulder. “Yes. We might be close, but until Vicksburg falls, we must wait.”

They stepped apart then and turned to go back to the hospital, where they were needed. Neither spoke. Faith allowed hope to flicker within. Annerdale Plantation in Madison County. When they finally were able to go there, would they find Shiloh?

Nearly two weeks later in the surrounding predawn gray, Dev and one of his crack companies of close to a hundred saddled up their horses. Jackson, the state capital of Mississippi, had just fallen. Standing beside his mount, he finished adjusting his saddle and turned back to Armstrong. “I have a feeling I may not see you for days. Depending on events, you may have to take Jack to the hospital near here.” Jack was still feverish but lucid again and taking nourishment, seeming stronger. “Keep that incriminating belt buckle and hat hidden.”

“You want me to continue to pass him off as Union?” Their conversation was buried among the sounds of restless horses and men speaking to their mounts and to each other.

“Don’t offer information,” Dev said. “But if asked, tell the truth.”

Armstrong nodded.

“If anyone challenges you for this, say you are acting upon my orders.”

Armstrong grinned. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man. I plan to turn him in as a prisoner of war when I return.” He nodded once and mounted his horse.

“Just come back in one piece,” Armstrong said
 
—his usual farewell.

“I always do,” Dev replied in kind, knowing someday he’d break his word. He led his men out to the road they were about to head west on.

Up the road, he paused to take stock of everyone and explain their mission. “We are to range over the roads toward
Vicksburg. According to the map, there are three. Keep close in your groups. I will stay upon or very near the southernmost road. Ride back to me with any report of Rebel sightings. Keep your carbines loaded and your heads down.”

A few chuckled at his familiar advice, and then they were riding down the road and soon spreading out over the waking countryside.

Dev reflected on the days before, and again the face of the lovely Miss Cathwell lingered. She would probably remain at the hospital near Jackson. He hoped the black girl
 
—the one the Quakeress called a friend
 
—wouldn’t give away Jack’s secret. But he couldn’t do anything more than he had. As his horse moved under him, Dev hoped for a keen eye and ear, to live through another day.