Hearts Under Siege (Civil War Collection) (14 page)

“You might say we’re old friends.”

“Humph. Can I see?”

She handed him the notebook and held her breath as he scanned her pictures.
They wer
e
good, so lifelike.

“We’ll never want for money,” he said.

She exhaled and smiled.

“You’re good,” he said.

“Just wait until I get my hands on some paints.”

“Your talents astound me,” he said, tucking the sketchpad beneath his arm. “You’ll be a household name before you know it.”

“I don’t care about that,” she said soberly. “I just want to be with my family and be able to paint whatever I want.”

“I’m working on that, ma chérie,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“There’s a camp ahead,” one of the soldiers said.

“Is it ours?”

“Someone needs to go check.”

“I’ll go,” Thomas said, feeling that old need to take charge surging in his blood as he set his knapsack on the ground beneath a large oak tree, its branches sweeping toward the ground.

“Thomas,” Alexandra said, grasping his sleeve. “Please don’t.”

“It’s all right. I won’t be long. You stay here with the men,” he said, sending a meaningful look to Private Henry
.
Protect her.

Private Henry nodded and then turned his back to them.

“You don’t have a weapon,” Alexandra insisted.

“I’m going to take a look. I won’t need a weapon.”

“Here,” she said, pulling his knife from her waist. “At least take this.”

He closed his fingers around hers that held the knife and kissed her firmly, lingering over her soft lips. Then he took his knife from her and strode away.

****

“Here, Miss,” Private Henry said, “let’s see what that Yank handed us to eat in this bag.”

Food? Who could eat when Thomas just took off?
Private Henry handed her a biscuit. She took it without thinking.

“Look at that,” he said. “A real biscuit. Not that pea bread mess we’ve been eating for weeks.”

Alexandra sat next to the tree and held the biscuit, listening for Thomas’s footsteps, stretching her neck to see any sign of him.

“Here now,” Henry said. “If you aren’t going to eat it, I will.”

Alexandra looked down at the biscuit
.
What do you know?

She took a bite without tasting it. Henry’s lips moved in conversation, but she didn’t register his words. He handed her a canteen. Finally, something penetrated her thoughts.

“You don’t want Captain Thomas to come back and find you lost like this, do you?”

Alexandra blinked and focused on Henry. “I’m sorry, Private Henry,” she said, lightly touching his sleeve. “You’ve been so kind to me, and I’ve only been rude in return. Lost in my own thoughts and fears.”

“Don’t you worry. Just eat your supper and keep your strength up.”

Alexandra finished the biscuit. It filled her. Leaning back against the tree, she glanced at Thomas’s saddlebags then closed her eyes and waited for him to come back. Her ears caught the rhythm of the men’s footfalls marching home.

“It’s a Federal camp,” Thomas said, in a loud whisper.

Alexandra’s eyes flew open. She jumped to her feet and moved to stand next to him. He was breathing heavily.

“They’re blocking the road,” he continued. “We could circle around, but it’s getting late. I think we should make camp off the road a piece and wait for them to pass in the morning.”

“Aren’t we safe from them?” Alexandra asked. “I mean, we have papers swearing that we won’t fight. And we couldn’t even if we wanted to. They took our guns.”

“That’s true,” Private Henry said. “We do have papers.”

“Chances are good that they’ll honor them,” Thomas said. “But I’d rather not tempt them. Let’s go get some rest in the ravine over there,” he added, taking Alexandra’s hand.

He led them up a low hill and down the other side. Only half a dozen men remained in their vicinity. The others had scattered, heading toward their homes.

Alexandra sighed
.
Thank God we’ve stopped.
She swayed on her tired feet.

They reached the bottom of the hill and spread out in search of a place to sleep. They could risk no fire tonight.

“Someone needs to keep watch,” Thomas said. “I’ll go first. Billy, I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

To his credit, Billy didn’t grumble. He nodded and stretched out on the ground. Within minutes, his snores rent the air.

Alexandra chose a spot half a dozen yards from the others, and, dropping to the grassy ground, heaved a sigh of relief. Thomas joined her and dropped his bags next to hers.

“Henry has food,” she said.

“Yeah? Anything besides that nasty pea bread?”

She smiled. “Yes, he has real biscuits that some Yankee gave him as we left the city.”

“Yes, I saw a lot of that going on. I think they were truly impressed that we could hold out that long.”

“Do you think we could have held out longer?”

“Why?”

“I heard some of the boys saying we never should have surrendered. That Pemberton did it on purpose because he’s really a Yankee.”

“You talked to Pemberton. What do you think?”

“Talking to him has nothing to do with what I think. He did the right thing. Soldiers and civilians alike were starving. And the stress of dodging those shells could kill anyone.”

“How are you handling it?” he asked, sitting next to her and stroking her cheek.

“I’m just happy to be out of those unmentionable conditions.”

“Did you ever find out what your grandfather’s message to Pemberton contained?”

“Yes, something about a man named Taylor planning to secede from the Confederacy? It didn’t make any sense to me. First of all, why would anyone want to do that? And secondly, why was it so important to let Pemberton know?”

“There’s probably more to it than we know. Than we’ll ever know. How did Pemberton react to it?”

“He said it was probably too late to do anything about it. He didn’t seem surprised at all.”

“You did everything you could.”

“I still don’t know anything more about Jeffy.”

“We should have some news when we get back.”

Thomas put his arm around her and drew her against him and ran his fingers through her dark hair, smoothing some of the tangles.

“Your hair is growing,” he said.

“I should probably cut it again.”

“You like it short?”

“In some ways I do. But mostly my disguise isn’t working anymore.”

“I think it’s just because you’re too pretty and too sweet to pass for a boy.”

“You just think I’m sweet,” she said, pulling his hair. “You should talk to Jeffy about that. He’ll set you straight.”

Her playful mood left her as quickly as it had come.

“You miss your family a lot,” he observed.

“Yes, I do. I don’t know where Jeffy or Grand-père are now or even if they’re all right.”

“I know, ma chérie,” he said, stroking her head. “I’ll get you home soon. Close your eyes and get some sleep. You’ll feel better then.”

They stretched out on the grassy ground, and Thomas held her close, cushioning her head with his shoulder. Cozy and safe, she drifted into sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

They woke to a commotion that put the shelling to shame. Whoever had been on watch must have fallen asleep. Thomas passed along the responsibility and had been asleep for hours. Still curled beside him, Alexandra opened her eyes. A hint of dawn cast its early morning glow through the darkness of night.

Four riders burst through their camping area with a couple of braying hounds at their heels. They came from the direction of the enemy. Thomas knew guerilla forces when he saw them. Less formal than commissioned soldiers, they had a rougher look. He’d been one himself on occasion. They had obviously attacked the Yankee camp, but why were they here now?

Gunfire erupted, and Thomas sprang to action. Sheltering Alexandra with his body, he pulled her behind a fallen log. It didn’t provide much protection, but it would do. Henry and the other men joined them. A few trees stood nearby, but he wouldn’t risk trying to get there.

One of the riders skidded to a halt near them. “We could use your help,” he said.

“We’ve just come from Vicksburg. We have no weapons,” Thomas told him.

The guerilla soldier pulled a spare pistol from its holster and thrust it at Thomas. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“What do we do?” Henry asked. “We signed an oath not to fight.”

“I don’t know about you, Henry, but my countrymen have released a soldier on my behalf,” Thomas said.

Henry squinted and scratched his head. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

The guerilla soldier returned with what looked to be an armory of guns and ammunition across his lap. He dropped them on the ground at the feet of the small group.

“We’re leading them this way,” he said. “You can pick them off as they come through.” Seemingly going on faith that they would help them, he turned and went back to assist his fellow soldiers.

Each man chose at least one weapon, and then they spread out behind trees and brush to prepare to ambush the Yankees.

“Lay down behind the log and keep clear of the fighting,” Thomas said to Alexandra.

She opened the cylinder of the Colt Navy revolver that had found its way into her hands. Then she peered over the log and held the weapon in front of her, looking down the barrel.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked.

“Waiting,” she said.

“No,” he said, pulling back the gun in her hands. “Use that only to protect yourself.”

“It’s a little late to be protecting me from the horrors of war.”

He cupped her chin, smiling inwardly at the determined expression on her face. She never ceased to impress him. Where did the innocent southern belle he had rescued only weeks ago disappear to?

“I haven’t done a very good job of protecting you, but that doesn’t keep me from trying,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips. “If we get separated, do whatever you have to in order to keep yourself safe. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“I know you can do it, and I’ll find you.”

“Thomas,” she said, “you keep yourself safe, too.”

He smiled. “You can count on it.”

Within minutes, the guerilla soldiers, some on horseback and others on foot, stormed past them, true to the man’s word. Though they fired with gusto, the enemy propelled them backward, forcing them to take shelter.

As Thomas gripped his pistol, steeling himself to defend their position, the soldiers dismounted and walked toward them. The retreat had been a ploy to scatter the enemy and catch them off guard.

“Forward!” the commander bellowed. The guerilla fighters fell into step. Thomas and what he now thought of as his men joined them.

****

Alexandra didn’t think she had ever heard such caterwauling as the soldiers put up. Their rebel yell mixed and curdled with the deafening roar of musket fire. Alexandra watched, mesmerized as shivers ran along her spine. She counted her blessings at being on the same side as those producing that cacophony.

A bearded and grizzled man stopped and knelt beside her to reload his army Springfield .58 caliber rifle. He could have been sixteen or sixty. He glanced askance at her, doubtless not seeing beyond her boyish garb.

“Come on,” he said. When she didn’t move, he grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” she answered, trying unsuccessfully to resist his steely grasp.

“Snap out of it,” he demanded, stopping long enough to shake her.

“No, but I—”

He released her to thrust his bayonet into the heart of a blue-coated soldier. Propelled forward by the momentum of movement and sound, she lifted her pistol. Her companion broke into a yell as he went forward, leaving her to follow on her own. She leaned against a tree and lifted her weapon, her hand trembling just a little.

A Yankee braved the wrath of the enemy and rushed toward her yelling. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she swallowed the panic in her throat. A smudge of gunpowder slashed across his cheek under his eye. Had he wiped away a tear?

She pulled the trigger. He fell back with a scream like an animal fatally wounded. Someone’s brother. Someone’s father. Someone’s son. Those waiting at home would never see him again.

Because of me.

She slid down against the tree and sat down. The sound of leather jarred her attention, and she looked up. A half dozen or so regimented and self-sure Yanks circled around and came at them from behind. Alexandra darted glances left and right. The yelling rebels seemed unaware. The Yankees in front engaged them in battle.

She lifted the revolver and aimed at one of the Yankees moving toward them. He paused, and with a shocked expression, crumpled to the ground. He gasped and pressed his hand over his heart, blood leaking from beneath his fingers. Yankees looked over. Her fellow soldiers checked behind them.

Then hell broke loose. A cannon shell exploded behind them, and it rained shredded tree leaves and limbs. Musket balls sprayed from every direction. Horses. Dogs. Men ran.

Someone grabbed Alexandra by the arm and pulled her hair. In the air thick with smoke, she couldn’t see whom; though the man smelled of tobacco and rotting garbage.

“You bitch, now you’ll pay,” he said with a gravelly and familiar voice. A fist came down on her jaw and, before her vision blurred, the blade of a knife glinted before her eyes.

She screamed. A slicing pain cut across her upper arm. The rebel yell of her fellow soldiers enveloped her. A loud whack sounded behind her, and the man fell away from her.

The last thing she remembered was someone lifting her from the ground.

****

Birds chirped. Something wet slid down her throat, and she swallowed. Alexandra stared at the backs of her eyelids and wondered why it was so dark. Did birds always sing at night?

“Come on, Alexandra. Come back to me.”

She frowned. Thomas? What was he talking about? Where was she? She lifted her arm to rub her eyes, but the searing pain in her arm halted her movement.

It came back to her in a rush: the yelling, the blood, and the pain. The eyes of a wounded animal. Only it wasn’t an animal. It was a man. A human. She was a murderer.

She turned her head to the side and, wracked with grief, shoved herself to a seated position, turned her head, and spewed the contents of her stomach. Loving hands pressed a cool cloth to her face.

She sobbed. The tears came and didn’t stop. She cried over the death of a soldier she didn’t know, her missing brother, her aging grandfather, her parents, and her childhood cat. She cried for the loss of all the men she had known who died in this war. She cried from the pain of her wounds. She cried because of Thomas’s kindness and the love for him she knew was growing inside her.

He watched her. Though she hadn’t even opened her eyes, she knew it was him, murmuring soothing words to her, holding her close, and rocking her.

She cried until her head throbbed and every muscle ached. With no more tears, she drifted off to sleep as Thomas dabbed at the gashed wound on her arm.

****

Thomas hovered over her for two days, gazing down at her pale form
.
So much blood. There had been so much blood.

He supposed he was a deserter, sweeping Alexandra away from the battle with a singlemindedness that precluded his own duty. As he had told Major Griffin, his primary duty lay to protect the women of his country.

After he rescued Alexandra from the attacker, he gathered her in his arms, unsure of how serious her wounds were. He feared the worst. He didn’t know what direction he ran in, or even for how long. He ran until the battle became a distant murmur.

He later realized he had followed the quiet Mississippi River. He came upon a hunter’s leanto and looked to the sky in a silent prayer of thanks. Under the meager shelter, Alexandra shivered under the July sun. He pulled a frayed cloth from his saddlebag and staunched her wound, cleaning away the blood with muddy river water. He withdrew a small flask of brandy and poured it over the inch-long gash. He bound it with a strip of cloth torn from the clean shirt in his haversack. He then bathed her face, seething at the caked blood at the corner of her lip from where the man had struck her. An ugly purpling bruise marred her cheek.

He should have killed her attacker. How could anyone do this to a woman? But of course the man hadn’t known whom he attacked. He had thought her the enemy.

Thomas shook off his anger and focused on soothing Alexandra with soft words and a gentle touch. She needed his attention. The attacker wasn’t worth the time of day.

She tossed and turned, muttering nonsense in her sleep. She called out, “No!”

A nightmare.

He stroked her hair and held her, murmuring into her ear. “It will be all right, love.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her face expressionless. His heart pounded
.
Oh my love, shell shock.
Visions of traumatized men never finding peace washed over his imagination. He drew in a deep breath.

“Good morning,” he said, forcing cheerfulness into his voice.

She didn’t respond.

“You must be hungry. You’ve been asleep for two days.”

He pulled a dry biscuit out of his bag and dampened it with water from his canteen.

“How about some biscuit?” he asked.

When she still didn’t respond, he broke off a small bite and placed it between her lips. She accepted it but just held the food in her mouth.

“Chew,” he demanded, moving her jaw up and down. She chewed. “Swallow,” he said, and she did.

He fed little bites of biscuit and sips of water into her mouth while she stared at nothing in particular.

After feeding her, he held her to him and whispered to her, about what, he neither really knew nor cared.

After some time, she brought confused eyes to his. “Where are we?”

He related events to her. She looked away and seemed to go back into her inner world.

“Alexandra, love, you do know he would have killed you if you hadn’t killed him first. I want you to think about that and remember it. You were only protecting yourself. I know you didn’t want to fight. You had no choice. Remember that, ma chérie, you had no choice.”

She drifted back to sleep and, this time, her brow was smooth, her breathing even. He cleaned her wound again and wiped her face with a cool cloth.

Soon it would be time to take her home.

****

He woke alone beneath the trees. For a second time he faced death because of the slut and her man. He slammed his fist against the soft cot. Unsatisfied, he gathered his strength and grabbed the porcelain pitcher from the nightstand. Heaving with fatigue, he knocked it against the far wall. It shattered into tiny shards. Catching his breath, he made his choice. He’d kill the bastard before he killed the bitch, and wouldn’t rest until the deed was done.