Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (56 page)

             
“Yes, but I’m not going far.  I should be back here by Christmas.  This year I get to spend it with my family.”  Moses voice was suddenly husky. 

             
Rose smiled up at him.  “There is someone waiting to meet you,” she said softly.  “He’s becoming quite a big boy.”

             
“If he’s like his daddy, that boy will be a tree,” one of the men chuckled.

             
Moses grinned.  “See you later,” he called, swinging Rose up into his arms and striding down the wharf.  His men cheered and whistled.

             
Rose stared up at him.  “What are you doing?  I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

             
“Probably are,” Moses agreed easily.  “I just want to keep you close to my heart.”

             
Rose was quiet after that with her enjoying the feel of Moses strong arms and pounding heart. 

It was past midnight before Moses stood up again.  He gazed down at his sleeping son snuggled into his arms.   “My son,” he said in awe.  “He’s beautiful.”

              “As handsome as his daddy,” Rose said softly.  Her weariness was forgotten in the joy of seeing John and Moses together.  She blinked back tears as she watched the tender way Moses held and looked at his son.  She had waited so long for this moment. 

             
June had been thrilled to see Moses.  The three of them had talked for hours while little John and Simon had played on the floor in front of the fire.  When John had gotten sleepy, Moses had scooped him up in his arms.  John had slept contentedly for the last several hours. 

             
“You want to put him to bed?”  Moses whispered. 

             
“I think that’s your job tonight,” Rose whispered back. 

             
Moses smiled and carried John over to the small mattress on the floor where he laid him down carefully.

             
“He’s not going to break,” Rose laughed quietly.

             
Moses stared down at him with the same awestruck expression he had been wearing all night.  “He’s kinda big, isn’t he?”

             
“He’s bigger than the other boys his age,” Rose agreed.  “He’s almost as big as some of the two year olds.”  She shook her head.  “He gets heavier every day.  He’d better start walking early, or soon I won’t be able to carry him.”

             
Moses looked up.  “Aunt Abby sent a stroller.”

             
“A what?”  Rose asked in disbelief.

             
“She told me she thought he would be big, so she sent a stroller.”

             
“I can’t use it,” Rose said firmly.  “I would feel bad having something the other women couldn’t have.”

             
Moses nodded casually.  “That’s what I told her,” he said, looking at her lovingly.  “She said she would send it anyway.” 

             
Turning, he swept her up into his arms.   “So now that everyone’s asleep…,” he said huskily.

             
Rose smiled up into his eyes and lifted her arms.  “I thought you’d never ask.” 

             
Moses left Fort Monroe early in the morning, two days later.   He hated to leave Rose and John, but at least he knew he would be back within three weeks.  He could bear it that long. 

             
“You be knowin’ this land round here pretty good?”  Pompey asked, riding up next to him. 

             
“Pretty good,” Moses agreed easily.  He could still hardly believe he had been given command of twenty men on horseback and instructed to raid at will through the Confederate countryside. 

             
He led his men a few miles from the fort then called them together.  He gazed at them proudly.  They were veterans of several battles now.  Gettysburg had strengthened and sharpened them.  He would trust his life with any of them.  “I haven’t told you all the reason we’re here,” he began.

             
“Me and the men figured you be holdin’ something back,” Pompey replied knowingly.  “We goin’ after men, ain’t we?”

             
“How’d you know that?” Moses asked, astonished.

             
“We hear thin’s,” Pompey said smugly.  “We done heard ‘bout them raidin’ parties sent out to get more of us coloreds to fight.  Them slaves took one look at some of them white men and hid.  I’m afraid they done heard some bad thin’s bout how the Union treats coloreds.”

             
“Some of it is true,” Moses said grimly.

             
“Yeah,” Pompey agreed.  “Sometimes it just like bein’ a slave. Only one thin’ be different.” He paused then grinned.  “When this all over, we be free for good.  Then we gonna make thin’s change in this country.”

             
“We just got to keep fightin’,” Mort chimed in.  “I reckon we can get some men around here to join up with us.”

             
Moses nodded.  “I told Captain Jones we would.  I told him he could count on you men.”  He watched as they straightened with looks of pride on their faces.  He had grown to love these men fiercely.  He longed for the day when they could all stand together with white men - equally.  The day was still far off, but it was getting closer.  At least legally.  He knew it would be much longer before attitudes of people’s hearts changed. 

             
Pompey seemed to be reading his mind.  “You reckon white folks will ever think we not be less than them?”

             
“I hope so,” Moses replied.  “They’ve got to change a lot of their thinking.  It’s going to take more than a sheet of paper saying we’re free for white folks to see us the same as them.  This war is just the beginning for us.  Once we win our freedom, then the real battle will begin.  And I’m afraid it will last a lot longer than this war.”

             
“Yep,” Pompey agreed.  “But I reckon thin’s will get better.”

             
“They’d better,” Moses replied as he gathered up his reins.  “If not, we’re all wasting our time.” 

             
Moses led his men down a dirt road headed east on the finger of land that went inland from Fort Monroe.  It was the same road he and June had followed when he had helped her escape.  He much preferred the circumstances now.  The air was cold, but the air was dry and clear.  There were no bugs to harass his men, and there was a plentiful supply of wood to stay warm on the coldest nights.  Moses reveled in the feeling of freedom.  For the first time, there were no white officers around to throw subtle digs and sarcasms.  It was just Moses and his men.  He threw back his head and laughed. 

             
His men entered into the spirit quickly.  Songs poured forth as they rode underneath the canopy of live oaks spreading out over the trail.  Towering pine trees lent their own splashes of green among the leafless oaks and maples. 

             
“Hey, Moses,” Mort called out.  “You done heard the new song them white soldiers wrote?  That one they call ‘Sambo’s Right to Be Kilt
’
?”

             
Moses shook his head.  “Sing it for me,” he called back. 

             
Mort willingly broke into song with several of the men joining him.  Their voices echoed through the trees. 

             
The men who object to Sambo

             
Should take his place an’ fight

             
And it’s better to have a naygur’s hew

             
Then a liver that’s wake and white.

             
Though Sambo’s black as the ace of spades,

             
His finger a trigger can pull,

             
And his eye runs straight on the barrel-sights

             
From under his thatch of wool!

             
So hear me all, boys, darlings, --

             
Don’t think I tippin’ you chaff, --

             
The right to be kilt I’ll divide wid him,

             
And give him the largest half!

             
“What you think of that song?”  Mort called when the voices dropped away.

             
“I think that the black man would have fought for his freedom long ago if given the chance,” Moses called, swallowing his anger.  He knew many white men were all for the black man fighting.  What their motivation was - whether he thought the black man was capable or simply a good substitute for white men - didn’t really matter.   The white people who disagreed were quickly being shown how wrong they were.  The black soldiers recruited by the army were fighting hard and fighting well.  Their critics were being silenced. 

The first plantation house Moses and his men approached was obviously empty.  Shutters banged against the peeling paint
, and the front door swung open freely.  Moses motioned for silence and edged forward cautiously.  Now was not the time to get careless.  The blue of their uniforms would be a welcome target for any loyal Rebel in the area.  Add the blue to the color of their skin, and Moses knew that any of his men would be hung on the spot.  The singing was over.  They were far enough away from the fort to be well entrenched in Confederate territory. 

             
Moses lifted his pistol from his waistband and eased up onto the porch.  He heard nothing.  He motioned to his men to join him.  Moments later they were standing in the foyer of the forlorn house and looking around at the deserted opulence.  It was obvious no one had lived in the home for a long time.  A thick layer of dust covered everything.  Cobwebs filled corners and lampshades. 

             
“Looks like these people just up and run,” Pompey whistled.

             
“They probably found out their house was in the wrong place,” Moses said.  “McClellan brought his men right through here a year and a half ago.  From what I heard, Rebels cleared out as fast as they could.  Left everything and haven’t come back.  Most of them are in Richmond, I imagine.”