Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 (66 page)

And then her shoulders slumped as she admitted to herself it was all a game. Travis did mean something no matter how sternly she told herself he never had and never would. In spite of the bad memories, there had been good times, tender moments, reflections that overshadowed the bad. Kisses, caresses, murmured words of endearment, shared laughter and sorrow. In spite of the bitterness, there was sweetness that could not be denied—nor forgotten.

The ride took longer than Kitty had thought it would, but then she’d never been quite sure of just where the Federals were located, nor the Confederates, Virginia was still unknown territory and she was quite turned around. But then it dawned on her quite suddenly that they were nowhere near a city or even a town. They seemed to be melting further and deeper into the wilderness.

She kicked her horse’s flanks and pushed forward, calling out to the soldiers, “Where are we going? We aren’t headed into town.”

They both laughed at once. One said, “Lady, do you really think we’re just going to ride you right into Richmond after you come out of a Yank camp? No siree bobtail. We ain’t stupid. We’re takin’ you to our Captain.”

“I don’t want to go to your Captain,” she protested angrily. “I told you, I want to go to Major Nathan Collins.”

One of them reached over and grabbed the reins from her hands, giving them a vicious snatch. And when he spoke, he almost snarled. “You’re goin’ where we want to take you. Now you just ride along and keep your mouth shut.”

“You have to listen to me! I am a true Southerner…”

“Tol’ you to shut up!” He raised his voice, whipped around in the saddle. “Want me to make you shut up?”

A voice boomed out of the darkness at the shrubbery thick to the right of the road, “We don’t hit women, soldier. Now you just get hold of yourself.”

They all stopped instantly. The soldiers slid down from their horses and stood at attention, giving the man who stepped from the shadows a smart salute. Kitty tried to make out his features: he was bearded, stout, on the short side. He wore a uniform tunic, but she could not tell his rank.

The soldiers were pouring out the story of the Yankees sending her across the river. “A spy no doubt,” they said anxiously. “We weren’t about to take her into Richmond. It’s a trick, Captain.”

The officer stepped closer. Someone near him was carrying a lantern and in its illumination, she could make out his expression of concern. “I’m Captain Ben Allison and I would like to hear from your lips, madam, what brought you across the river from your Yankee camp.”

She slid from the saddle unceremoniously and faced him defiantly. “It isn’t ‘my’ camp, sir. I happen to be from the state of North Carolina and I am a Southerner.” Then she told him her story and asked for his services in seeing that she reached Nathan.

He held out his arm to her. “I will send a courier immediately into Richmond to find your officer, but until then, I will have to ask you to be my guest. I assure you, every effort will be made to provide you with comfort and respect while we verify that you are, indeed, telling the truth. In times like these, I am sure you can appreciate our being so cautious.”

Kitty had four days to appreciate the Captain’s reluctance to accept her word as truth. Finally, the courier returned with the news that yes, indeed, there was a Confederate officer by the name of Nathan Collins, a Major, and he was, unfortunately, no longer in Richmond. Assigned to General Johnston’s Army of Tennessee, he was somewhere along the low mountain ridges northwest of Dalton, Georgia. The courier had also checked out Kitty’s story about having worked at Chimborazo—and it had been verified by doctors there who remembered her well—and the fact that she had, indeed, been engaged to a Major Collins.

Captain Allison was very unconcerned as he gave her the news, adding, “If you are unduly distressed, I apologize, but we are in the midst of a war, and—”

“Oh, I don’t want to hear anymore.” Kitty waved him to silence, chewing a fingernail as she tried to rationalize her next move. They would, undoubtedly, escort her to the hospital in Richmond if she wanted to go back to work there. Or, they might even take her all the way to Goldsboro. But she had this unexplainable urge to get to Nathan. She did not want to admit it, but it was there, smoldering just the same—the compelling thought that if she were with Nathan once again, they might find what they had once lost and she could then forget Travis wholly and completely.

Captain Allison almost choked on the brandy he was sipping when Kitty faced him defiantly, eyes sparkling little purple dots of determined fury as she said crisply: “I wish to be escorted to Dalton, Georgia,
and
the Army of Tennessee
and
Captain Nathan Collins.”

“You cannot be serious…”

“Oh, I am quite serious, sir. The war is coming to a festering head. I can see that. And when it does, I want to be at the side of my fiancé.”

“But a woman’s place is not on the battlefield. It’s…”

“Damn it, don’t tell me where my place is!” Kitty exploded, turning on him with all the fury of a defending tigress. “I imagine, sir, that I have seen more battle than
you
have. I can tell you tales of blood and gore that will make your eyes bulge out even more. I may be a woman, but I do not need a man to remind me. And I certainly need not be told where my place is, for my place is where I want to be and right now that place is with General Johnston’s army, and if you do not provide me with an escort, then I will steal a horse and ride out of here by myself and try to find a place called Dalton, Georgia!”

The Captain looked at her, stunned, amazed. And he could only nod. “Yes, of course. Whatever you wish. I’ll have my courier return to Richmond and find out if any troops are leaving to join General Johnston. You may certainly go where you choose.”

Swishing her skirt, Kitty left his tent to return to the one assigned to her. Her place was where she wanted it to be, not where someone thought it should be. Once and for all, she was through with being mentally placed in a pen like a cow or a fat hen merely because she was a woman. Men like Travis had used her, scoundrels like Luke Tate had abused her—and now it was over. Nathan could accept her like she was or she would walk away from him finally, for good. But at least he would be there to help her through the rough spots, get over the bum Travis had so freshly given to her. Staying in Richmond alone would give her too much free time to brood and remember and blame herself and possibly regret and, worse, grieve.

At supper call that night one of the soldiers asked her if she was afraid to go near the battlefield. She merely shook her head, not wanting to discuss it. But she could have told him she was afraid of
not
going for the real battle was waging where no one could see it—within the recesses of her own soul.

Chapter Forty-One

The Confederate company had been told to avoid skirmishes and battle. Not only did they have a woman traveling with them, but the few supplies and ammunition they carried were valuable to General Johnston’s Army of Tennessee, which lay entrenched northwest of Dalton, Georgia. So they had to move slowly, riding the lower hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains along little-traveled rocky paths and through jungle-like stretches of second-growth timber.

Two weeks into their journey their advance scouts came across a small band of Confederate deserters and brought them back to the commanding officer as prisoners. Kitty stood nearby and listened to their hysterical tales of horror.

“Lord, it was terrible. Gen’rul Grant and Gen’rul Lee fought it out in the wilderness. Then the woods, they caught fire and you could hear the wounded screaming as they burned to death. They couldn’t move.

“I seen one man with his legs blown off and both arms hit, and he couldn’t do nothin’ but scream when the fire caught hold of his clothes.”

The officer in charge, a Major Jack Boykin, glowered at the five bedraggled men. “You boys look fit.”

“We were lucky, sir,” one of them spoke up.

“I guess you were, you sons of bitches!” he exploded furiously.

“I wonder how many of our men died because you bastards high-tailed it and ran at the first shot? You make me sick. You know the law! Take them out and shoot them before a firing squad.”

The men screamed, tried to run, but were quickly surrounded by soldiers who dragged them away. Posts were quickly made from trees rapidly hacked down. Kitty watched in horror, and finally finding her voice, she clutched the Major’s sleeve and said, “You can’t just shoot them.”

“Oh, yes I can. And we’ll leave their bodies here for the vultures to pick. Goddamned deserters! I’m sick of them. I intend to shoot every son of a bitch that runs. It’ll make a fitting example for my men, too. We’re heading straight into the thick of the war and I want them to stand and fight Yankees, by God.”

“But you need every man. Talk to them. They’ll promise never to run again. They probably got scared. Let them join this company…”

He wheeled on her, a weary-looking man who showed the reflection of seeing the anguish of many years in battle. “Miss Wright, I am in charge of this command and I will command it as I see fit. I do not need, nor want, your advice. Now I suggest that you take a walk until after the executions take place.”

“No,” Kitty said, quite calmly. “I’ll stay. I want to see just how cruel you can be, sir.”

“Oh, hell, woman, I’m merely following orders. How would you feel if your fiancé were killed because the men fighting in front of him turned and ran and left him exposed? Would you be so concerned then?”

She thought a moment. “Perhaps not,” she said finally, deciding that perhaps she had been guilty of thinking like a woman again. They were at war and it was a cruel, ghastly war; and men could not turn and run away like cowards. They had to stand and fight. She looked around at the soldiers lining up for the firing squad. It was obvious they didn’t like what they were about to do. The others watching looked frightened, as though they had never been sure of whether or not they would desert until this moment, this hour—and now they knew they would never run from fire and were frightened because they had even toyed with the idea.

The five deserters were tied tightly to the posts, which had been driven into the ground about a foot apart. Scarves, rags, shirts—anything to keep them from seeing— were tied around their faces. At a distance of perhaps fifty feet, the firing squad stood at attention.

“Please, God, no…” one of the men screamed. The others were sobbing hysterically.

“Ready!” the Major barked. Rifles clacked.

“Aim!” A dozen guns pointed at the men.

“Fire!” The air split with the sound of gunshots.

The men tied to the posts slumped. Blood oozed from their chests and stomachs. Kitty gasped as she realized several of them were still alive.

“Again,” Major Boykin roared. “Ready…aim…fire.”

And when the last explosion quieted, no sound came from the men. “Leave them there,” he Major ordered, “so others may see and know the fate of deserters!”

Would the horror ever end, Kitty thought as they prepared to continue their journey? Would all the pain and anguish ever cease? Perhaps somewhere along the way the war had ended and all had died and gone to hell and throughout all eternity they would walk in agony and in bloody war. Life no longer existed. Only war. Only hell.

Receiving word along the way that Johnston’s army was moving down through Georgia, Kitty traveled with the company trying to get to them. A report came of a battle on the slopes of Kennesaw Mountain and Sherman’s men were said to have been pushed back.

“We’ll overtake them soon,” Major Boykin told Kitty one night. “It’s just a matter of days. They’re all around Atlanta and we’re going to be right in the middle of the fighting. How you will ever find your Major Collins is beyond me, Miss Wright, because once we reach the battles, I must admit I will have little concern for seeing that you reach him.”

Kitty told him not to worry. “I’ll work with the hospital units as I’ve done in the past. I just ask that when your courier reaches General Johnston that he ask the Commander that word circulate that I am present. Nathan will find me, I’m sure.”

And they moved on toward Atlanta, Georgia, the thick woodlands and the red clay hills beckoning amid the smoke and sulphur clouds. Several times Kitty would be yanked from her horse by a nearby soldier and thrown to the ground for cover as shots rang out and a brief skirmish ensued. Then, without really being aware that they had reached the core of the war, Kitty saw suddenly that it was all around them. Major Boykin sent a soldier to take her to the ambulance wagons. There was not even time for a goodbye or a promise to try to get word to Nathan that she was in the vicinity. Things happened so fast. The war was exploding all about. There was no time for concern over a young Southern woman seeking a Confederate officer.

She was taken to a wooded area where hundreds of men writhed on the ground in wounded agony. Her escort could not lead the horses further and they dismounted. Taking her arm, he all but jerked her along, stepping over the bloodied bodies which reached out, pleading for help. Several were already dead, Kitty noted; flies crawled about their faces and into their oozing wounds while the victims lay still, mouth gaping, eyes staring upward blankly.

“This here woman knows somethin’ about doctorin’.” The soldier thrust her into the first tent they came to. “She’s all your’n.” And then he was hurrying away, back to Major Boykin’s company.

A man with a thick beard and wearing a bloodied apron was hunched over a board set up between two barrels. He barely glanced in her direction as he barked, “Get the hell over here and get to work. We’re shorthanded and even if you don’t know
anything
, you can do
something
to help.”

She moved forward, not flinching at the sight of the bowels protruding from the soldier on the table. “Hell, I can’t do nothing for him.” The doctor sighed wearily. He mapped to a soldier standing nearby who looked as though he might faint at any moment, “Get him out of here. Give him a dose of whiskey to ease his pain. He’ll die soon.”