Patricia Potter (38 page)

She stretched out with Adrian, her hand touching a drenched, untidy braid. She could imagine how she looked. A drowned rat would probably benefit from comparison, and yet Adrian looked uncommonly attractive with his sleepy eyes and slow, languorous movements.

The rain had stopped, although water still found its way from the blanket above. The forest was shrouded in fog, a silver-gray mist that made the leaves sparkle with crystal drops. The heaviness was gone from the air, and now there was a sweet, fresh smell.

Socrates scampered off into a tree, and Lauren saw him lick moisture from the leaves. Her stomach groaned with emptiness, and her throat was parched. She moved and discovered that all of her was as stiff as a board.

Adrian’s hands drew up the wet dress and rubbed her legs. He kneaded and rubbed until she felt life flow back into them.

“I think our first order of the day is food,” he said as his stomach grumbled.

“What about finding the river?”

“I think I heard it last night … we can’t be too far away. But we can’t cross until nightfall.”

“Where can we get some food?”

“Do you have any money?”

Lauren nodded.

“The Yanks confiscated all mine. At least that’s what they called it,” Adrian said. “But I have an account in Charleston, and I can get my hands on it in Wilmington. In the meantime, I suppose we’ll have to use yours.”

“It’s sewn in my dress.” Lauren liked the look of admiration she found in his face.

“I’ll see if we can’t find a farmhouse.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“So is starving to death,” he said with a wry grin. “But I’m thinking this area has been raided so much, almost anyone would be too grateful for money to raise an alarm.” He put a hand to his head. The bandage had come off long ago. “Can you fix a new bandage for this addled soldier?”

“But … they’re looking …”

“They’ll probably be looking southeast of here. We’ve been traveling north, parallel to the Potomac. And I suspect most of the residents around here, being just across the river from Virginia, are Confederate sympathizers.” He turned and looked at her. “You’re from Maryland, aren’t you?”

Lauren nodded, hating more and more each lie.

But he didn’t pursue the subject. “A wife and her injured husband … Perhaps you can fashion a new bandage.”

She did that, with part of her petticoat, and after a few uncomfortable moments seeing to their more intimate needs in the woods, they mounted again. He looked around with frustration. “I would sell my soul for a compass,” he said. But compass or not, Lauren noticed he moved with assuredness, and it wasn’t long before she heard the sound of rushing water.

Adrian found a path, almost overgrown, and they followed it for a long time, hearing the sound of the water growing louder and louder. The woods thinned out, and Lauren saw some fields. Like the farmhouse they’d left, these fields were trampled, and whatever food they’d once nourished had been stolen or destroyed. They went by a burned-out foundation and continued on, still following the path to where it once more wandered into the woods.

The mist had lifted, but the sky was still heavy with clouds and the air damp. Rainwater lingered on leaves, and another rain seemed not only likely but inevitable. Still, they traveled, her hunger growing sharper. Finally, Adrian veered off the path toward an almost invisible opening in the brush, and Lauren followed.

She saw him take the pistol from the saddlebags and tuck it in his trousers and then stop abruptly. As she looked beyond him, she spied a rough log cabin.

There was a sudden shout, and her horse shied.

“Stop right thar,” she heard a voice say.

Adrian pulled up his horse, his hands reaching up where they could be seen. “We don’t mean any harm.”

“Who are you?” the disembodied voice demanded.

“Just a man and his wife … we need help.”

“What kinda help?” The question was suspicious.

“Food … we can pay.”

“Ken you now?”

“My wife is wet and tired and … with child.”

Lauren started.
With child.
With Adrian’s child. If she hadn’t been so hungry and tired and wet, she might savor the idea. As it was, she hoped with him it would engender help and safety.

“Git down. Real slow like.”

But Socrates, sitting hidden in the saddle in front of Adrian, apparently heard the threat in the voice, and he reacted as he had before to threats against those he considered his. He suddenly leaped, mouth open and paws outstretched.

The man yelled, as much in horror at the hairy beast coming at him as in surprise. The gun dropped, firing as it hit the ground, and then Adrian was down, grabbing for Socrates with one hand while taking out his own gun with the other.

Lauren looked around. The shot had gone wild, and the man, now on the ground, was eyeing Socrates with something akin to terror. The monkey, obviously feeling that he’d done his part, scooted several feet away and was thumping his chest in a self-congratulatory way.

Adrian held the gun loosely. “I mean you no harm,” he said. “We just need some food, and we’re willing to pay for it.”

“What … what is that … ?” The man, a wiry white man with red hair, trembled slightly.

“A monkey,” Adrian said easily. “He’s … protective …”

“Gol damn, I ain’t never seen anything like that!” The man looked at Socrates with wondering eyes. “And you ken put that gun down … now I see the missus. Cain’t take any chances ‘round here.”

Adrian eyed the man carefully for a moment, then he stuck the gun in the waist of his trousers.

“My wife’s cookin’ some bread and fish now … You say you have money. Gold? Not that worthless Confederate stuff?”

“Gold,” Adrian said, not quite sure where the man’s sympathies lay.

“This way,” the man said, and started to pick up his musket.

Adrian beat him to it, leaning over and taking it. “I’ll carry it for you,” he said with a charming smile, though there was a warning edging it.

The man merely nodded, his eyes warily watching Socrates, as he led the way to a small cabin. Adrian laid the musket carefully against a log and then helped Lauren dismount, holding her protectively for a fraction of a second before a woman, tall and worn-looking, emerged from the doorway.

The woman eyed them both cautiously, and then her eyes softened at Lauren’s bedraggled appearance. Lauren leaned against Adrian, trying to steady herself, but her legs weren’t cooperating. She was too sore, her leg muscles too tired. She swayed, and he caught her in his arms.

“This way,” the man said. “You ken bring her in.” He saw Adrian eyeing the musket. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that. It’s to keep looters and riffraff away.”

The man brushed aside the woman and waited for Adrian to follow. The smell of baking bread assailed Lauren as Adrian set her down in a chair.

“Our name’s Cooper. Henry and Betsy Cooper. Used to tenant farm not far from here, but people who owned the land got killed, and we kept gettin’ unwanted visitors. Seemed safer to move down here, out of everybody’s way … lots of fish.”

“You have a boat?”

Adrian’s question was easy, but Lauren knew him well enough now to notice a sudden tension in his eyes.

“You Reb? Don’t talk like any Reb.”

“English,” Adrian said. He’d decided it was useless to say anything else; his accent, he knew, was impossible to disguise. “I have some business on the other side.”

The man’s eyes narrowed speculatively, and Adrian could read the questions there. Spies? How much was it worth? Adrian concluded that Cooper’s loyalties could be bought. He also thought he was probably not the first to buy them.

“How much is it worth to you?” Cooper said.

Adrian looked at Lauren. He had no idea how much gold she had with her.

“Our two horses,” he said finally, knowing there was no way of getting them across the swollen river.

Cooper hesitated, sensing there was more to be had. “You said you had gold,” he countered.

Lauren looked at Adrian. Her eyes told him that she was leaving the bartering to him.

“Just enough for food. I’ll give you five dollars.” It was an outrageous fortune, but Adrian wanted no trouble.

Cooper eyed them greedily. “Couldn’t take the horses with you, no way.”

“No,” Adrian said, “but we could go farther upriver.”

Cooper still hesitated.

“Another five dollars for some dry clothes for my wife,” Adrian said, and there was a note of finality in it.

The man shrugged. “My wife has one other dress … ain’t as nice as the one yer woman has …”

“If it’s clean, we’ll trade,” Adrian said.

The woman nodded, her eyes enviously taking in Lauren’s battered but mendable dress.

“And we can leave soon?”

“At dusk,” the man said. “Too dangerous during the day.”

Adrian nodded, turning his attention to the food now being placed in front of them by Betsy Cooper. There was fish stew and bread, and both Adrian and Lauren ate hungrily as their hosts darted apprehensive glances toward Socrates, now sitting peacefully on Lauren’s lap.

When they finished, it was late afternoon. The two men went outside and Lauren changed into Mrs. Cooper’s simple homespun dress. She asked for a needle and thread, since the dress was large, and she extracted the gold from her own dress and sewed it into the hem of the newly obtained one. Mrs. Cooper’s dress was plain, ill-fitting, and threadbare, but it was clean. And best of all, it was dry.

When Lauren finished and emerged from the curtained changing area, there was an awkward silence. “We stayed in a farmhouse last night,” Lauren said finally to break the quiet. “Not far from here. It was partially burned out.”

“The Kendall place?” The woman’s voice was surprised. “Folks hereabouts think it’s hainted.”

“Why?”

The woman shrugged. “People claim they hear crying. You hear any?”

Lauren shook her head. “Who lived there?”

“Man named Randall Kendall and his wife, Melissa.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know much. Just know she wuz killed there. Deserters, some say.”

“And her husband?”

“Fought with the Yanks. Not much sympathy for that ‘round here.”

“You and your husband favor the South?”

“Don’t favor no one. One’s bad as the other. Killin’. Destroyin’. We just try to live.”

Lauren sat down in one of the chairs. The past few days were catching up with her, and now the warm food in her stomach and the deep weariness in her bones were dulling her senses.

“Why don’t you jest git yerself some sleep,” Betsy Cooper said. “You look plumb worn. And ain’t no one going anyplace ‘til t’night. You really with child?”

Lauren had forgotten that Adrian had said that. A whole new set of lies. So many now to remember. So very many …

She nodded and followed Betsy’s suggestion, lying down on the corn-husk mattress in the corner. In minutes, she was asleep, her last thoughts about the mysterious Melissa Kendall.

Lauren didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to do it at all.

She looked at the storm-swollen river, the rickety boat, and then back at Adrian.

Drat him. He didn’t show the slightest apprehension. He stood there looking commanding as always and holding the saddlebags, which contained what little they could take with them. At the last minute, she had thrust the small book she’d found in the farmhouse into the bags. They also held some food prepared by Betsy Cooper, and the Deringer. The other gun was tucked into Adrian’s trousers.

If anything, his grin was cockier than usual as he offered her a hand into the boat. Socrates, bless him, eyed the craft with the same suspicion that was in Lauren’s heart. Only Adrian’s coaxing lured him into Lauren’s arms, and then he clutched at her neck as if his life depended on her.

Just as she wanted to clutch onto Adrian.

But she held her protests silent within herself. Nothing was more important than getting Adrian to safety.

“Patrols been light the last couple weeks,” Henry Cooper said. “Hear tell of a big battle north of here.”

Adrian nodded. “We heard about it too.”

“Any news … who won or lost?”

Adrian shook his head.

“Guess it don’t matter none,” Henry said. “Folks still need crossing the river.” Greed was back in his eyes, and Lauren knew he didn’t care from which side the money came.

Cooper put the oars in the water, and the boat swung away from shore, Lauren holding on to Socrates with one hand and the side of the boat with the other as it rocked with the current. It was twilight, and a mist was floating up from the river. Nothing was visible on either side of the river, nothing but a green haze.

Socrates started rocking, making tiny keening noises, and Lauren tried desperately to quiet him. The noise mixed with the sound of oars hitting the water, moving them to the other side, to Virginia. The thought should have been comforting, but it was not. The other side was the Confederacy. Her enemy. Adrian’s sanctuary.