Faith (6 page)

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She quickly assessed his injuries, tied a tourniquet around his arm, and bandaged his forehead. “Thee is still able to move. I’ll help thee up.”

“What?”

“Thee has suffered the shock of being injured, but I think thee can walk.” She helped him rise. “Try a few steps.”

He did so, then stood leaning on his rifle. “Which way?”

“I think west.” She gestured.

“Thank you, miss. I was . . .”

“Stunned. Thee has lost blood and is weakened.”

He stared at her, registering her words. “You a Quaker?”

She turned to the next soldier who showed movement. “Yes, and one of those vile abolitionists.”

The Rebel moved away, staggering a little and muttering in disbelief, “A Quaker.”

“What good does that do?” Honoree protested. “He’ll just go on and kill some of ours.”

They’d had this type of exchange many times before. But Faith had an aversion to sending men to prisoner of war camps. “Or be killed himself. It is all in God’s hands.”

Shaking her head, Honoree moved farther on, bending or stooping here and there.

Faith tried to keep track of her amid the not-so-distant sounds of gunfire and cannon.

Then more troops
 
—blue and gray, firing at each other
 
—poured up the road and over the open field. Men screamed, bellowed. Gunfire exploded. Faith threw herself facedown among the wounded and dead, her face buried in the wild grass. Grapeshot pelted down all around her. As if caught outside in a violent storm, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.

But troops rarely stayed in one place long. Soon the gunfire had moved southward, away from them. Faith rose cautiously, scanning the area, seeking her friend. “Honoree! Honoree!” she called.

She received no reply save the groans and cries of the wounded. Panic fluttered to life. She’d lost Patience and Shiloh.
I can’t lose Honoree too.
The urge to run pell-mell
nearly overwhelmed her. She stilled herself, swallowing down the panic, and began threading her way through the bodies around her. A few men grabbed her skirts as she passed, and she stopped to minister to them.

“Honoree!” she cried again and again. And finally she found her, lying unconscious. But breathing. Faith dropped to her knees, lifted Honoree’s head, and put the canteen to her lips. “Honoree, please wake up. Please.”

In the summer twilight of a long day, Dev led his men and their horses to a creek they’d glimpsed through willow trees. His head still ached and he’d jarred his shoulder when he fell from his horse. But he was alive.

Hot and dry, he and his men took their mounts farther downstream to drink. After a time, they drew their horses away from the water before they could drink too much. They secured the horses to the trees.

Then the men found an area upstream for themselves. Some, like Dev, dropped to one knee to scoop the cool water up to their mouths, and others lay down on their bellies to lap up the water. The scene reminded him of the story of Gideon. But Dev surely hadn’t been called by God. He was no judge, just a soldier.

The battle had been a maddening dance. Just trying to stay within the Union lines had been tricky. His mind, now free of battle tactics, let his worries surface. Had Armstrong been forced to take Jack to the hospital? Were the Quakeress and her black girl safe?

Soon he and his men had filled their empty canteens and
bellies with water. He wet his handkerchief and wiped his gritty face and neck, wishing he could shed his fatigues and float in the cool water. But no. They must get back.

“Let’s try to find headquarters and get food and any new orders,” Dev said. His men mounted and he led them away, hoping he was taking them in the right direction. He did not want to surprise any Rebel stragglers now that the sun was nearly down.

After they’d traveled a few miles eastward, he heard his name called repeatedly. “Colonel Knight!”

It was the Quakeress.

He turned his horse toward her voice. “Miss Cathwell?”

“Here!”

He directed his men to go on while he headed toward her, picking his way through the carnage left by the battle. Many of the bodies, lying in a haphazard maze, were beyond human help. He glimpsed Sanitary Commission wagons in the near distance, where men on stretchers were being lifted onto wagons like cordwood.

“Thank heaven I saw thee,” the Quakeress greeted him with audible relief.

He slipped from his saddle, wondering what she needed.

“I have been busy giving immediate aid to the wounded, but I’ve stayed here near Honoree.” She gestured to her friend, lying motionless nearby among the wounded men. “I think something struck her head when the battle veered around us. I need to get her onto one of the wagons back to the hospital.”

He almost asked,
Why have you waited?
Instead he offered, “I can take her to the wagons on my horse.”

“Thank thee, but also I need someone to watch over her. I must remain here, nursing. There are still men who need me. But I don’t ever let Honoree become separated from me near the enemy or a battle.” The last sentence was embellished with fear.

“I don’t understand. The wagons will take her back to the hospital tents, won’t they?”

“I told thee what happened to Shiloh.” She moved toward him. “I’m not losing Honoree.”

“You think she might not be safe,” he asked, “even among our troops?” Or perhaps she thought the girl wouldn’t get good care.

“I can’t take that chance, or I would have sent her back already. I hoped she would regain consciousness by now, but she hasn’t.” The final words were touched by panic. She clutched his sleeve. “Please, will thee take her to the hospital? The wounded men will take precedence. And don’t let anyone but Dr. Bryant
 
—he’s the head surgeon
 
—treat her.”

Dev owed this woman
 
—period. “Very well. I will take her and watch over her. But won’t you be coming in soon? It will be dark anytime now.”

She pointed toward a lantern at her feet. “There are still wounded who need my help. The wagons will carry the wounded till the horses can no longer walk.”

“What about you?” he said as he lifted Honoree and laid her facedown over his saddle. His horse was also nearly spent. He hoped the walk to camp would not be far. He was nearing the end of his strength too.

“When I can no longer work, I will lie down in one of the wagons. Don’t worry about me. God will protect me.”

He hoped she was right. He turned his horse, and on the eastern horizon, opposite the setting sun, he glimpsed high the smoke from campfires. And he saw one of the hospital wagons heading that way, creaking and groaning under its load. He sucked in air and started off. “Keep safe!” he called over his shoulder.

“Thee too!”

He shook his head. He didn’t care what anybody said. A woman did not belong here doing this work, especially not this lovely young lady. Her family was derelict in their duty to keep her from such dreadful scenes. He wished her father were here in front of him. He had
several choice words
he’d voice.

T
HE MILES BACK
to camp in the deepening twilight pushed Dev toward the limit of his endurance. All the energy and excitement from the battle had left him. He felt drained, sucked dry, yet he had to get Honoree to the doctors. He owed Faith Cathwell.

To the sound of distant moans and occasional sniper fire, he staggered beside his horse, keeping himself up by holding on to the reins and pommel, and often leaning against the horse as it plodded down the dusty road. He felt himself almost falling face-first. He fought to remain upright.

As he limped along, he often checked Honoree’s neck for a pulse. Her heart was beating and she was breathing, but she was deeply unconscious. He spoke her name several times: “Honoree, wake up.” But she did not move or even groan.

Finally he saw the Union camp and smelled the campfires where, after a hard day, men were heating coffee and beans over the coals and sitting very still, gazing wordlessly into the flames.

Dev headed toward the camp hospital with its tents and coming and going Sanitary Commission wagons. He tried to close his ears to the sounds of suffering, but he couldn’t. Mindful of Faith’s request, he remained with Honoree. In the turmoil around the hospital and tents, he stood apart with his horse and tried to pick out a doctor or surgeon.

Finally, in the last light of day, he spoke to one of the men at a Sanitary Commission wagon, who directed him to a particular surgical tent. Dev waited outside till the doctor exited for a brief break between patients. “Dr. Bryant, will you help me, please? Miss Cathwell sent me.”

The man looked up, appearing exhausted, his surgical apron bloodstained. “Yes?”

“This is one of your nurses.” Dev motioned toward Honoree on the horse. “She was struck unconscious during the battle, and we can’t wake her up.”

Dr. Bryant came over, pressed his fingers to Honoree’s neck, and then turned to Dev. “I have seen this before. I can do nothing. She will either wake or she will not. I think she will wake. But she may suffer some memory loss or confusion.”

Someone summoned Dr. Bryant from inside the tent. “I’m needed. Just watch her and pray.” The doctor turned away.

Left with nothing to say and on the edge of exhaustion, Dev led his horse to his tent. Armstrong, as usual, was waiting outside for him. “Help me get her down and carry her inside, please.”

Armstrong looked surprised but moved to receive Honoree’s shoulders and help Dev carry her into the tent.

Dev was about to suggest that they lay Honoree on Armstrong’s cot, when he saw that his own cot was empty. He nearly dropped Honoree’s ankles. Had his cousin died today? He’d been almost well enough to turn in as a prisoner of war. “What happened? Where’s Jack?”

Because Dev had stopped, Armstrong also paused. The manservant looked and sounded strained. “I went to fetch water, and when I returned, he was gone.”

A punch to the gut. Shock shuddered through Dev in waves. “He broke his promise? He broke his word?” He couldn’t believe it. A gentleman did not go back on his word, no matter what.

“I looked for your cousin, but I couldn’t find him in the turmoil with the battle and all. He took a white shirt of yours too.”

“I didn’t think he was even strong enough yet to join the prisoners of war.” Bewildered, Dev couldn’t help himself. He glanced around as if Jack were hiding in the corner.

The girl moaned.

“Let’s set her down on my cot,” Dev urged.

They did so. She lay still. Jack’s betrayal goaded Dev into action overriding his exhaustion. “I can’t stay. I’ve got to go find Jack if I can.”
And make him sorry for betraying my trust.
But he felt himself staggering with fatigue. Armstrong gripped his arm, holding him up, guiding him to a three-legged stool. Dev sat down, too tired to move.

Deep in the night Faith lifted a soldier’s head and dribbled onto his lips the last of the water from the last of her canteens.
She tried to speak but her dry throat scratched. Finally she managed to whisper, “It’s empty.” And so was she.

The man nodded in the waning lantern light and closed his eyes in resignation.

Rising higher on her knees, she glanced around. No one moaned anymore. The wounded had fallen asleep for the night. Or for good.

She tried to see where the Sanitary Commission wagon was, but in the dim moonlight she did not find it. The lantern oil gave out and the light winked off. Utterly depleted, she could not go on. She reached into her pocket and brought out a peppermint drop, unwrapped it, and slipped it onto her tongue. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A bit of sugar often steadied her.

Her stomach rumbling, she lay down on her back on the already-dew-wet grass and stared up at the starry sky, sleep coming for her wrapped in waves of fatigue. When Vicksburg fell, as it must, then they might be able to continue searching for Shiloh. Her last thought was a prayer for Honoree. And Shiloh, wherever she was.

Dev woke in the very early hours of the new day and realized he was lying on the ground in his tent, a blanket covering him. About to try sitting up, he heard voices nearby. Squinting, he could see the shadow of Armstrong in the low lantern light, moving toward Dev’s cot.

“Miss, you’re safe,” Armstrong said quietly.

Dev saw the black girl raise her hand and touch his servant as if making sure he was substantial, real. “Mr. Armstrong?”

“Just Armstrong, miss. May I offer you some cold coffee and hardtack?”

“If that’s what you have, that’s what I’ll take,” she murmured with a touch of humor.

“I wish I had better to give you.” He turned to pour the coffee, which splashed against the bottom of the tin mug. “I was worried about you, miss. You’ve been unconscious for many hours.” He helped her sit up on the side of the cot.

“I was not completely unconscious,” she admitted, taking the cup and holding it in both hands, which still trembled. “My head hurt, so I couldn’t open my eyes. And my mind . . . was scattered like scraps of paper on the wind.” She shook her head, moaned, and then pressed a hand to the back of her skull. “Must have been part of an exploding shell that hit me.”

“You’re lucky it didn’t shatter and the shrapnel kill you,” Armstrong said, sitting down on a camp stool close to her.

The girl sipped her coffee. “Where’s Faith?”

“She is still on the battlefield, I believe.”

Dev knew he should make his wakefulness known, but lethargy muzzled him.

The girl rested her head in one hand. “I should be with her.”

“You couldn’t help being struck unconscious and dazed.”

Looking around, the girl suddenly stiffened. “Where’s the Reb?”

“He ran off yesterday while I was out.”

“The dog,” she snapped. “I suspected that’s how it would end.”

Dev cringed at her comment.

“Mr. Jack was never one to trust,” Armstrong said.

Dev held his breath. The judgment was just.

“Then why did the colonel trust him?” the girl asked with asperity in her voice. Her scathing tone cut Dev to the quick.

“My master always hopes for the best, especially from his family.”

She started to shake her head again and then stopped, wincing with obvious pain. “After the Emancipation Proclamation, why do you stay a slave?”

“The proclamation came in January. I will be forty on June 9 this year. The colonel has always promised to free me on my fortieth birthday.”

“You believe him?” she asked tartly.

“I trust him. And it means something to me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I want
him
to free me, to show me that regard.”

Dev did not want to hear any more about his family or himself or Armstrong’s upcoming birthday, which would profoundly change their relationship. Forty had seemed so far away at twenty. He forced himself to rise to a sitting position. “You’re awake . . . miss. I’m glad.”

The girl looked at him in the gray morning light without any welcome in her face.

For some reason her dislike of him sharpened his distress over Jack’s betrayal.

“Yes, sir,” she said at last as she dipped the hardtack into the coffee. “Now I’m worried about my friend Faith.”

Her reference to a white woman as a friend jarred him once again, but then he looked to Armstrong and admitted to himself that his manservant was the nearest thing he had
to a best friend. But he’d never said that out loud, nor had Armstrong. One didn’t.

The girl proceeded to nibble the edges of the hard bread.

“Miss,” Dev continued, “she asked me to bring you back to camp and to keep you safe. She said that when she could no longer nurse, she’d get on one of the wagons.”

“I hope she did so. But it’s just as likely that she didn’t. She might still be out there, but no one would hurt her.” Uncertainty touched the final few words.

The three of them stared at each other as if silently communicating concern over the Quakeress. But they could do nothing. Certainly no honorable man, Reb or Yank, would harm a decent woman, a nurse. Then again, not every man was honorable. “I’ll go and look for her after breakfast,” he promised.

The girl started to rise. “I should go to our tent
 
—”

“No!” Dev blurted out. “I promised to look after you. I know it isn’t proper for you to stay here with two men not of your family, but you must. I promised her. Lie back down. I’ll bunk on the floor like I’ve been doing.” He held up a hand, forestalling their objections.

Armstrong accepted the empty coffee cup from the girl and helped her recline again. Then he went to his cot and snuffed the lantern light, each of them trying for whatever sleep was left to them. The drums would sound wake-up soon enough.

Wrapping himself in his blanket, Dev lay in the dimness on the hard, still-warm earth, exhausted, embittered by Jack’s escape. He attempted to wrestle down the outrage that roiled in his chest. Jack would pay for his treachery, pay for dishonoring his family. Dev would make certain of that.

Shiloh was weeping. “Where are you, Faith? I need you.” Faith tried to move, but her feet were frozen to the ground. She stretched out her hands, trying to catch hold of Shiloh. . . .

A red glow through her eyelids woke Faith. Dawn. The bad dream ended abruptly and she lay still, absorbing waves of sorrow like cold water washing over her. How long would it take the Union Army to capture Vicksburg so they could finally go to Annerdale Plantation to look for Shiloh?