Erin's Rebel (35 page)

****

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.”

“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.

Then it stopped.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Gentle currents lapped at Will as if he were floating in water. Voices called to him. Voices he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“Sam? Is that you?” The other voice was female and very familiar. “Anne?”

Am I dead?

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn’t obey. He couldn’t move or feel anything, but he could hear.

“Anne, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s Anne.” Her voice was low and melodious.

“Am I dead?”

“No, it’s not yet your time. You have to go back. Amanda needs you, and you have the chance for love again.”

Another voice penetrated the darkness. He focused and realized it was Erin. But how could she be here? She talked about a newspaper job, Jenny and Amanda, traveling on a train...her hands touched his face...then her warm lips pressed against his mouth. He longed to respond, to come back to her, but he couldn’t move.