The One Who Waits for Me (6 page)

Beth eyed him, torn with emotions. She didn't know him. Yes, he had fought to save her and Joanie from Walt and Bear's clutches, but she didn't know his true intent. In her desperate need she had asked him to help, yet now that they were free of Uncle Walt and Bear, she couldn't decide if she could trust him. He was a man. No man she'd ever met had good intentions. Her eyes skimmed his uniform. Not only was he a man, he was the enemy.

“You're going to poison her,” she accused.

“Why would I poison her?”

“Because…you…you…” she paused and then said, “because you're a man.”

“I'm
not
your enemy. The war's over.”

Beth blinked. She'd never met a man yet who didn't lie and cheat and beat and dominate.

“I speak the truth, Beth.”

Her eyes focused again on his uniform. Lee had surrendered his army to General Grant in April. The North won.

She shook her head, feeling unsure and helpless. She didn't know enough about war to dispute his claim that he was not now her enemy. She'd heard the workers fretting over their future. Where would they go if the plantation owners no longer provided jobs? She'd heard the refrain over and over, and she had envied their pending freedom. If only she were black, she'd thought, and could walk away from her uncle and Bear, what a blessing that would be. But she didn't believe in blessings. One had to take one's own interests in hand.

Stirring, Joanie coughed. Her body was weak with fatigue from the rattling that hadn't left her chest in weeks. “I'll drink it, Beth.”

“I can't let you drink something that might harm you.” She glanced again at Pierce before looking at her sister. “We don't know these men.”

Joanie caught her hand. “I'm going to die, Beth. If I don't get some air I'm going to die. Let me take it. I don't have a choice.”

Beth glanced up a second time, meeting the captain's eyes. He was trail worn, but his blue eyes were filled with compassion. Her gaze shifted back to Joanie.

Biting her lower lip, she consented. “Go ahead.”

Pierce slowly brought the steaming tea to Joanie's mouth. The young woman fixed on him with trusting eyes.

“Sip slowly. The liquid will open your air passages.”

Joanie obediently sipped. “Are you a doctor?”

“No.” He smiled, and Beth noted that he was older than her. Dark blond hair hung to his collar. He was sturdily built but not fat like her uncle and cousin. His bulk was rock-solid flesh. She glanced away when he caught her staring at him.

“Here.” He stood and handed Beth the cup. “Have her drink this slowly. Once she gets it down, she'll be able to sleep.”

Joanie closed her eyes. “Sleep. What a joy that would be.”

Beth took the cup and then looked at her sister. “Don't get your hopes up, Joanie. We don't know that this will work.”

Settling his hat, Pierce smiled. “I can assure you, ma'am, that it will. I am not in the habit of poisoning women.”

Beth fixed him with a cold stare before turning to help Joanie sip her tea. “I can only hope for your sake that you're telling me the truth.”

“I'm also not in the habit of lying to women.”

“I'll be the judge of that.”

B
y early morning Joanie had stabilized. Because her breathing had eased, the small group decided to push on a bit to get beyond the reach of Uncle Walt and Bear. Gray Eagle's early scouting indicated that the men had managed to free themselves of their bonds, but as of yet there was no sign of any pursuit by them. Given that the sisters had their horses, it was unlikely they would make a surprise appearance, but the soldiers still felt it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

After some twenty or so miles up the road, Pierce and his friends decided they were safe enough to take the day to rest and recover. Trella's and Joanie's weakened conditions made a respite necessary, but it was welcome to all. The men set up camp on the east side of a stream, suggesting that the women take the north end, where it was cooler. Beth approached Pierce once they had a fire was going. “If you'll shoot some game, we'll cook it.”

It had been a spell since Pierce enjoyed feminine company, and this one was easy on the eyes. “Thank you, ma'am.” He tipped his hat. “We would be much obliged. We get tired of our own cooking.”

“We have no supplies—”

He inclined his head to Preach, who was bent over the campfire arranging a large soot-covered coffeepot along with breakfast. “He'll give you anything you need.” He glanced toward the women's side of the camp. “How's Joanie?”

“Weak, but alive. After we eat, would you see that the men stay well downstream? We'd like to wash off the road grime. I'm sure both Joanie and Trella would feel better if they could clean up.”

“I'll do that.” He tipped his hat again. When she walked away his gaze followed her. She was a looker, the exact opposite of Joanie in temperament and features. She had sun-streaked hair that had come loose from a braid and now hung to her waist, and green eyes whose centers turned dark when she was angry. And she was little. Feisty but little. His hands could practically span her waist. She seemed to want to keep her distance from the men, unlike Joanie, who welcomed a man's company with smiles and kind words.

Preach approached. “Heard the ladies are cooking today.”

“Beth offered. I didn't ask.” His gaze shifted to the female camp. “You got to admit that those are mighty good-looking women.”

“Haven't you got someone waiting for you at home?”

He shrugged. “There was one girl, but we had no real commitment when I rode away. I can't even remember her name.” He patted his pocket where the deed rested. “Footloose and fancy-free. Isn't that what they say?”

“I believe it is,” Preach said.

“What about you? Got anyone waiting for you?”

“Had a neighbor girl sweet on me when I rode out. Don't know if she made it through the war…”

Nodding, Pierce watched as the campfire grew stronger. Most of the men he'd served with hadn't heard anything from home in years. When he'd ridden off five years before, he recalled seeing his father standing on the verandah, hands on his suspenders, sadness filling his eyes.

Lex Montgomery owned one of the largest cotton plantations in North Carolina, and he begged both his sons to fight to keep slavery—not because he was an evil dictator, but because he loved his slaves like family and feared that if the North had its way, families would be separated and displaced. The blacks would have nowhere to go and no means of support. Yet Pierce believed that freedom was a God-given right, and no man should be another man's slave. Father and son spent hours arguing the matter as the war drums beat louder.

When the fighting broke out, Pierce rode off to defend freedom, while his father remained to give his slaves a home and food on their table.

He blinked back painful memories. What would his father say when he rode home? Would he turn away in disgust? Already Pierce was starting to notice an influx of displaced servants. Families with hopeless eyes, hungry men and women with no assurance that they would fill their children's belly that day. Some joined hands and sang spirituals while they wandered the back roads.

Guilt tinged Pierce's once rosy perception as the hard truth started to hit home. A man was only as free as the means he had to provide for his family. Most blacks in the area could not afford freedom.

“Well.” Preach stretched. “Let's find some game, and Beth can put the meat on the spit.”

His remark pulled Pierce's attention back to the spirited young woman. She was pretty all right, but instinct warned that she could be a handful.

And what was it about men that apparently set her teeth on edge?

“Miss Trella?” Preach loomed above the new mother's pallet.

“Yes?” Soft, trusting eyes met his.

“Are you comfortable? Can I fetch you anything? A cup of cool water?”

“No, thank you, Preach. I'm doing well.”

Removing his dusty hat, Preach took the liberty of sitting down next to her. “You must be real hungry. Can I bring you something to eat?”

Giving him a grateful smile, Trella nodded. “I would deeply appreciate a bite of something.”

The young mother must be exhausted, yet she never spoke a word of complaint. His eyes centered on the tiny bundle she held close to her heart. “How's the little one faring?”

“She's good. Fine as pure silk.” Trella gazed at the infant. “She's so perfect.”

“Yes, ma'am. I can't recall ever seeing a prettier child.” And that was the honest truth. He'd been around kiddies all his life, and he'd yet to see an infant so instantly beautiful.

Trella glanced up to meet his eyes. “Had you noticed? I thought it was just me, but do you see how well her head and hands and feet are formed? She's—”

“Perfect,” he supplied. “Yes, ma'am. I'd noticed. The good Lord shined on you with this baby girl.” He wondered about the papa. Shame he had to miss this moment so filled with pride and the incredible awareness of how God had created this sweet child. Life breathed into something so tiny, so innocent. It was a memory a man would carry to his grave.

His eyes refused to leave the miracle. “She's something, all right.”

The pair just sat and admired the infant in silence.

Finally, Preach shifted. “I'd best be getting back. I shot some game earlier, and the minute it's cooked I'll bring you a plate.”

“Thank you.”

As he stood and turned to leave, Trella said softly, “I wanted to thank you…Preach? Is that your real name?”

“No, ma'am. My name's Samuel. Everyone just calls me Preach.”

Her eyes softened. “Thank you for helping me to bring my child into this world.”

“Don't be thanking me, ma'am. It was an honor.” His eyes focused on the squirming bundle. “Seems the good Lord wanted to give Preach a special blessing.”

“Seems the good Lord always knows what we need and when we need it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” His gaze caught and held hers. “That shore is the truth.”

I
n the last part of the day, after the meal had been prepared, eaten, and cleaned up, Beth and Joanie went downstream, picking their way through a tangled path. Rest and some good food, combined with the herbal tea, had eased Joanie's symptoms. Color had returned to her sister's cheeks, and she'd been breathing a bit easier all day.

The men provided a bar of lye soap and a couple of towels, but after close inspection, the women decided to wade in with their garments on. Trella had stayed behind to nurse her infant, encouraging Beth and Joanie to take their time and enjoy the luxury.

When they arrived at the water's edge, Joanie said, “You search for gators while I look for snakes.”

Nodding her agreement, Beth concentrated on the task. She detested reptiles of all sorts. The long slimy coils of snakes that filled the swamps and bayous close to home were a constant source of aggravation. Shuddering, she tasted the fear that rendered her nearly paralyzed as her eyes scanned the banks and shallow reeds. Fortunately, this stream appeared free of creatures.

“All clear?” Joanie called.

“All clear.”

Joanie had brought along the bag holding all their things—everything they had in the world except the clothes on their backs—and she set it down on the bank. After joining hands the sisters cautiously entered the water, Beth's gaze still shifting back and forth for possible critters.

“We can't be overly trusting,” she said when Joanie's gaze met hers. Then she realized she was talking about more than the possibility of snakes in their bathing hole. “The men seem harmless, and they did come to our rescue, but we don't know if we can fully trust them.”

“Because they are men,” Joanie clarified when she sank into the cool stream and lay back. “I understand your general distrust for males, Beth, but do you honestly think we can't trust these men? Perhaps if they fully knew our situation…”