Erin's Rebel Page 21

  “You’re serious?” Hope surged through him.

  Doc nodded. “High time it came off.”

  Sighing in relief, he said, “Thanks, Doc, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  “Mind what I told you.”

  “I know, I know. I promise to take it easy. You have my word.” He smiled. “I’m not all that anxious to go back to the trenches, anyhow.”

  Doc’s jaw tightened. “The Yankees will break through, and it will be all over for us.”

  Will said nothing when Doc rose and left the room. There was nothing to say.

  ****

  Will woke to Jenny Claymore’s voice. She hummed, Rock of Ages. His eyelids felt heavy and gummy, and his head throbbed when he tried to focus on the girl.

  She carried a towel and basin filled with water. Setting it on the table beside his bunk, she said, “Thought you’d like to wash up before breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” he croaked.

  “Yes, Momma’s making hoecakes. We still have a small reserve of flour left, and I churned up some fresh butter.”

  The thought of food made him queasy.

  “Are you all right, Captain? You look flushed.”

  “I...” He struggled to sit up but couldn’t rise from his prone position. “I don’t feel well.”

  The young woman reached out and placed her hand against his forehead, her palm smooth and cool. Her eyes widened. “You’re burning up. I’ll get Doc.”

  Sinking back on the bunk, Will found it impossible to focus. The room faded, he was back in the trenches. Explosions screamed all around him. The corporal lay at his feet. He bent down to tend him, but his face had changed.

  His brother’s face stared back at him. Glancing around, he realized he wasn’t in the ditch, but in a cornfield. This was Antietam. They’d mowed down the Yankees in the cornfield, but Sam...

  “Sam, no!” He reached for his younger brother. Will had promised to protect Sam, who’d just turned eighteen when the war started. Now he lay so still with a gaping, bloody hole in his chest.

  “Sam,” he groaned.

  “Will.” Doc’s voice cut through his dream, or had it been a vision?

  “What’s happening?” Will asked.

  “You’ve got a fever. We need to cool you down.”

  “Sam,” Will said.

  “Who?” Doc asked.

  “I couldn’t save him. Or Anne.”

  “He’s delirious.” Doc’s voice sounded far away, like he was speaking from the end of a long corridor.

  Cool towels pressed against his face and chest. He couldn’t focus on anything. His hearing went in and out.

  I’m dying. He’d never have the chance to see Erin again. He had to tell her...what? Doc hovered over him, and Will reached out, clasping his hand. “Be honest with me, Doc. Am I dying?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Doc answered. “You likely developed an infection.”

  “The splint...”

  “I’ll take that off after I get you cooled down some.”

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I want you to find Erin and tell her I’ll always love her.”

  Doc’s brow furrowed. “You can do that yourself.”

  “But if I don’t make it...”

  “I’m not losing you now. Not like this.”

  Will tried to say more, needed to, but he couldn’t form any words. His vision blurred until all he saw were shapes hovering over him.

  His hearing dimmed. His senses shut down.

  He was dying.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  After what had seemed an endless ride over bumpy, rural roads, Erin and Brody arrived near the outskirts of Petersburg. Their press passes got them into a Union camp a few miles north-west of the town. The reverberations of cannon fire shook the ground reminding Erin of her harrowing stay at Gettysburg.

  “Ever been to a war zone?” she asked Brody.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered, distracted by a group of Federal soldiers passing by.

  “C’mon.” Erin pointed toward a large wall-tent with a Pennsylvania State flag stuck in the ground beside it. “There should be an officer who can help us in there.”

  They approached the tent entrance where a young yellow-haired soldier stood at attention.

  “Who’s in this tent?” Erin asked.

  “Colonel Thompson, ma’am.”

  “We need to see him.” She glanced over her shoulder at Brody, who fidgeted behind her.

  “May I ask what this is in regard to, ma’am?”

  Erin pulled out the passes she’d obtained from Mr. Radley. “We’re war correspondents. We need to get into Petersburg.”

  The young soldier blinked. “Never seen a woman war correspondent before.”

  “Nevertheless, I am one. Our editor from the York Dispatch sent us to cover the Petersburg front. Now, can we see the colonel?”

  “Ah...” The soldier seemed nonplussed. “I’ll ask for you, ma’am.” He pulled back the flap and disappeared inside the tent.

  She turned to Brody. “He has to let us at least see him.”

  Brody nodded, eyeing the soldiers milling around them.

  The young soldier returned. “The colonel will see you.”

  “Thank you.” Erin motioned for Brody to follow her inside.

  Colonel Thompson sat behind a scarred, wooden table with official looking papers scattered across the top. They were ushered before the thin, balding man. He scratched at his sparse brown hair and studied them with clear hazel eyes.

  He removed the cigar from his mouth. “And you are...?”

  “Mrs. Erin O’Connell.” She gestured toward Brody. “And my associate, Mr. Nathan Brody.”

  Thompson took another puff on his cigar and raked his gaze over her. He glanced at Brody. “You’re both reporters?”

  “War correspondents.”

  Thompson sighed. “An unusual pair, to say the least. What can I do for you?”

  Erin leaned forward, planting her palms on the table. “We need to get into Petersburg.”

  “Impossible.” Thompson shook his head. “You can’t get past the Reb line.”

  “Why not?” She was not about to be denied.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, ma’am, there’s a war on.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic with me, Colonel. The war’s the reason we’re here.”

  “We can’t get anyone across enemy lines.” He scowled. “You can do your reporting from the Federal camps.”

  “That won’t be satisfactory.”

  “It’ll have to be,” the colonel said, irritation in his voice. “I can have a military escort take you to the front Federal lines, but that’s all I can do. And, frankly, I wouldn’t advise even that.”

  Defeated, she nodded. “I guess we’ll have to accept your offer, Colonel.”

  When they left the colonel’s tent, Erin turned to Brody. “This isn’t what I’d hoped for, but once we’re at the front, maybe we can find a way to get into Petersburg.”

  The young man nodded but seemed uncertain. No doubt, he wondered why she was so hell-bent on getting inside. Well, he didn’t need to know her real reason. As long as he didn’t object or try to stop her, she’d take him along. Otherwise, she’d ditch him and get past the Confederate lines by herself.

  ****

  Erin held her hands over her ears to block the noise of cannon blasts as she and Brody approached the front. Federal soldiers had dug trenches that faced Petersburg. Between them and the town, the Confederates had also dug trenches. No wonder the colonel had said it was impossible for anyone to get inside.

  But Will was in there. She had to find a way to get to him and, damn it, she would.

  The commanding officer’s tent sat well back from the trenches to keep him out of the range of enemy cannon fire. A corporal escorted the pair into the tent, but the colonel was out, likely up at the line.

  The corporal inv
ited Erin and Brody to have a seat and wait for the officer to return. Once they’d been left alone, she sighed. “I hope this guy can help us.”

  “Pardon me, ma’am?” Brody seemed puzzled.

  “The colonel,” she corrected. “I hope he can get us into Petersburg.”

  He nodded but still seemed uneasy. “I still don’t understand why we need to report from the enemy side. This,” he said, gesturing around them, “seems to be the ideal location for our story.”

  Erin didn’t have an answer for that. He was right. Her request to get inside Petersburg must seem unreasonable to him. But she’d only come here for one reason—to find Will.

  ****

  A half hour later, Colonel Barnett entered the tent. He removed his dirt-encrusted hat and brushed his dust-coated uniform and auburn beard. His eyes widened in surprise when his gaze rested on Erin. His puzzled glance shifted to Brody.

  “Mrs. O’Connell.” He reached out his hand taking hers and bowed over it. “I never expected to see you back in Virginia, my dear. At least not until after the war ended.”

  “Ah...” Erin wasn’t sure how to respond. She certainly hadn’t expected to find anyone who knew her. This man had known her as an Irish Yankee spy...with a brogue. She couldn’t affect a brogue in front of Brody.

  She swallowed, and her pulse raced. “Ah...” She enunciated carefully, hoping the colonel would think she was carrying on another mission in disguise as a newswoman. “Colonel, I’d like you to meet my associate, Mr. Brody.” She gestured toward the young man, while watching Barnett’s eyelids narrow, and wondered if he’d play along. Or would he think Brody was a spy, too? There was no way to tell what would happen next.

  She plunged ahead. “We’ve been sent by the York Dispatch in Pennsylvania to cover the battle in Petersburg.”

  “Reporters for the York Dispatch,” the colonel repeated. “I see.”

  Erin smiled. He was going to go along with her story. Now, she just had to hope he didn’t say anything about her past to Brody.

  “Madam, how can I be of assistance to you?” the colonel asked.

  “We have to get into Petersburg.”

  The colonel’s brows knitted together. “Behind the Reb lines?”

  “If that’s the only way in, then, yes.”

  “Surely, you’re not serious.”

  “I am.” She stood to emphasize her point. “It’s urgent.”

  Barnett shook his head and glanced at Brody, who’d remained quiet through the whole exchange. The colonel studied her, as if trying to read something in her face.

  “My men can take you as far as the Union trenches, but beyond that, I’m afraid, you’re on your own.”

  “I understand, sir,” she said. She glanced at Brody, who had a questioning look on his face. “It’ll have to do.”

  If she were to get into Petersburg, she’d have to find a way to sneak through the lines herself.

  ****

  “Captain?”

  Will cracked an eyelid and found Mrs. Claymore’s thin face hovering over him.

  “An army chaplain is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Will whispered. He hadn’t asked for a chaplain, had he?

  Mrs. Claymore ushered in a large, burly man with a heavy beard wearing a mixed uniform of butternut, gray and pale blue. When he removed his hat, his light brown hair stood out in wiry disarray.

  “You don’t look much like a preacher,” Will said.

  The big man laughed. “Nevertheless, I am. I’m Reverend Paulson with the Twenty-third Virginia, but the men serving with me just call me Pappy.”

  “It fits.” Will liked the jovial chaplain. “Who let on that I needed a preacher?”

  Pappy glanced toward the door Mrs. Claymore had exited. “The lady of the house ran into me in town and thought I might be of some help to you.”

  “Reckon she thinks I’m going to die.”

  “Are you, son?” Pappy’s eyes demanded honesty.

  “I surely hope not,” Will said, “but I have been feeling poorly. Doc says I have an infection.”

  “Do you have any loved ones waiting for you at home?”

  “Yes, I have a daughter, Amanda. She’s seven now.”

  “And her mother?”

  “She passed on just after the war started.”

  “Ah, I see.” Pappy nodded in sympathy.

  “But there is a woman...”

  “A woman you love?”

  “Yes.” Will grimaced at the memory. “But I sent her away.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It was for her safety. You see, she’s a Northerner.”

  “Times of war cause conflicts. Enmity develops between those who would call each other friends in other circumstances.” The big man studied Will. “Do you plan to reunite with her after the war is over?”

  “I very much hope so, if I make it through to the end—” He broke off in a fit of coughing. Although Doc had told him his ribs had healed, they still ached from time to time.

  Pappy drew a dipper of water from the bucket Mrs. Claymore left behind and helped Will drink.

  Jenny Claymore burst into the room, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “My dear,” the preacher asked, “what’s wrong? Is it your momma?”

  “It’s over!” She lifted her apron to dab her eyes.

  “What?” Will asked.

  “The war is over.” Her reddened eyes told the story. “The Yankees won.”

  ****

  Erin and Brody settled in among the Union troops, to learn what tactics they were using against the Confederates. Shortly after, a cheer rose from a scattering of men nearby.

  “Lieutenant, have you heard?” A young soldier poked his head into the tent. “I’ve just come from the trenches. Lee’s surrendered.”

  Lieutenant Jamison, who’d been answering their questions, stood and squinted at the man. “I’ve received no official word of this, soldier.”

  “Word’s spreading through the trenches, sir. The war is over.”

  The lieutenant exchanged glances with Erin and her companion.

  “Could this be a trick?” Brody asked.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Jamison said, “but I’ll sure as hell find out.” Blushing, he tipped his cap in Erin’s direction. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

  “No offense taken,” she said. “Just find out what’s happened.”

  The lieutenant nodded, then strode off.

  She looked at Brody. “If the war is over, do we have a scoop for the Dispatch.”

  “Scoop of ice cream?” He frowned.

  “Story,” she corrected. “Guess they didn’t use the word ‘scoop’ in this time,” she muttered.

  “Pardon me, ma’am?”

  “Never mind, Brody.” She smiled and rose. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

  They left the tent to find more blue clad soldiers cheering, shouting, and racing about.

  “Lee’s surrendered. We won!” one soldier yelled lifting his rifle over his head.

  ****

  Union troops escorted Erin and Brody into Petersburg. They found Confederate soldiers, looking not much better than scarecrows, in the process of handing over weapons to Federal soldiers, who in return, offered water and rations.

  Seeing the state of the Confederate soldiers, Erin worried over Will’s fate. Months had passed since she’d laid eyes on him. Mrs. Driscoll had assured her he’d live if she went to him, but what if she’d arrived too late?

  The pair went from house to house, inquiring about wounded soldiers. At the house of a middle-aged woman named Claymore, Erin learned a few soldiers remained in residence.

  “I’m looking for Will Montgomery,” she said.

  “Oh, the captain. Yes, he’s here.”

  Erin’s breath hitched. “I have to see him. Is he all right?”

  The woman frowned, her eyes clouding over. “I’m afraid he’s bad off. The doctor’s in with him now.”

&n
bsp; “Take me to him, please.” She glanced at Brody’s perplexed expression. “I know the captain,” she explained.

  “Obviously,” he said. Mercifully, he didn’t ask any questions.

  Mrs. Claymore led them to a downstairs room off the kitchen. A gangly man leaned over a stretched-out form on a bunk. The man straightened and turned in their direction. Erin sighed in relief.

  “Doc.”

  “Erin!” He embraced her.

  She turned her attention to the form on the bunk. He lay so still. Her eyes stung, and her throat constricted. “Doc, is he...?”

  After a glance at Will, Doc turned back to her, pain etched on his haggard face. “I don’t know if he’ll pull through. He was buried alive in the trench. One of his men found him and pulled him out, but he broke his leg and a couple of ribs. I thought he was nearly healed, but he’s developed an infection from a deep cut in his leg. He’s feverish and has been in and out for days.”

  “I don’t know if he’d even want to see me.” Her breath caught.

  “Believe me, not only will he be happy to see you, but he told me—”

  “What?”

  Doc grinned. “He told me he loves you and should never have sent you away.”

  Relief washed over her. “Can I talk to him?”

  “Go.” He gently propelled her to the bunk, then stepped back to stand beside Brody.

  She knelt and touched Will’s face. His eyes, dark and sunken, and his features stood out in sharp contrast on his pale, thin face.

  “Oh, Will.” She ran her hands along both his cheeks, where a new growth of stubble had sprouted. “You can’t die on me now. Not after what I’ve gone through to find you.”

  He lay still. Only his breath against her fingers and the slow rise and fall of his chest under the sheet showed he still lived. She kissed his dry, parched lips, then turned back to Doc. “He’s so cold. Will he wake up?”

  “Talk to him. Maybe the sound of your voice will pull him back.”

  She nodded and started talking. She told him she loved him, talked about her job at the paper, the mysterious Mrs. Driscoll, the trip to his home, Jenny’s baby, and the news of the war ending.

  “Now you can come home,” she told him.

  Silence met her words. She laid her head against his chest listening to the slow beat of his heart.