Surrender to the Fury (21 page)

Nick said he would return, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that he would, if only to plague her with questions she didn’t want to answer. He’d as much as said that he expected to raise his own child. If he learned that Brand was his son, it would threaten her very existence. Where did that leave her? Aimee wondered dismally. Not once had she heard the word “love.” He made love to her as if he truly cared for her, but nothing was said of marriage. At least a marriage between them would allow them both to raise Brand.

But you hate Nick Drummond
, a little voice whispered.

Aimee made a derisive sound deep in her throat. How could she hate a man, yet love him to distraction? How could she yearn desperately for his touch yet despise him?

When had her hatred turned to love?

In the final days of August 1864, stragglers began showing up at Tall Oaks. All were Rebs evacuating the city with General Hood’s army. Some were wounded, some merely dazed by the three-pronged attack waged by Sherman’s army against the railroads and the city, and some were just plain tired of death and destruction. Most came in search of water and food on their way to an unknown point to regroup to fight another day. Yet nearly every man Aimee spoke with seemed convinced that the South was doomed. After conversation with a Reb captain and his aide, Aimee learned just how far the South had sunk in its battle to remain a separate unity. She also had some vague idea where Nick had been sent to fight.

“The battlefield is littered with dead,” Captain Feldon said when questioned by Aimee. The faraway
look in his nearly expressionless blue eyes frightened Aimee. His face was as gray as his tattered uniform, and he appeared weary beyond endurance.

“Is the Confederate army in retreat?” Aimee asked.

“Sherman withdrew his entire army from the trenches surrounding Atlanta and moved against the railroads at Jonesboro,” Feldon replied in a voice fraught with anguish. “The day still could have been saved if General Hood, who replaced General Johnson, knew what was happening. But Hood thought Sherman was retreating north. The Federals could have been routed if Hood had attacked while they were changing positions.

“But it wasn’t until Sherman sliced across one railroad and on to another that Hood learned where the Federals were. Hood sent two corps south to stop the Federals. Losses were heavy and the attack unsuccessful. The next day Sherman counterattacked and mauled us dreadfully. To avoid being cut off and trapped, Hood ordered Atlanta evacuated.”

“Were casualties heavy on both sides?”

“The casualties were severe at both Atlanta and Jonesboro, but Confederate forces suffered the greater loss. I heard Atlanta was set on fire and a large part of it burned. Most of the civilians had already left, but the military casualties were enormous. Both Confederate and Union soldiers lay dead or dying in the streets.”

After partaking of the food and drink she offered, Captain Feldon and his aide continued on their way, leaving Aimee deep in thought. Was Nick at Jonesboro or Atlanta? Was he dead or
alive? She was unable to dispel the feeling of dread that lingered in her heart.

Brand recovered from his bout with measles and, for some unexplained reason, spent hours each day sitting on the porch staring down the long driveway toward the main road. When Aimee asked him what he was looking for, his response startled her.

“I’m watching for Captain Drummond, Mama. He promised he’d return. You don’t suppose anything happened to him, do you?”

Aimee was at a loss for words. She knew Brand was fond of Nick, but when had the Yank come to mean so much to her son? Though they were joined by the common bond of blood, she had no idea Brand would recognize those ties. If Nick perished in the war, Brand would have been denied his natural father as well as his surrogate father. Nothing in life was fair.

On the second day of September, Brand, perched on the porch railing, spied a wagon moving slowly down the driveway. “Mama, someone’s coming!”

Assuming it was more refugees from Atlanta, Aimee joined Brand on the porch. The food Nick had left was nearly gone, and she worried that she had nothing but water to offer the poor men stopping by for rest and nourishment. What little was left must necessarily be conserved for Brand.

When the wagon ground to a halt, Aimee was surprised to see it driven by a Federal soldier. Until now, everyone who had stopped by had been a Reb. Then she recognized Sergeant Jones, and her heart thumped furiously. Was it Nick? Had Sergeant
Jones brought back Nick’s dead body? She was running toward the wagon before it stopped.

“What is it, Sergeant Jones? Is it Captain Drummond?”

“No, ma’am,” Jones said, refusing to look her in the eye. “It’s Lieutenant Dill. Took a bullet at Jonesboro. The makeshift field hospital is so crowded, I brought him here. It’s not serious, but I feared gangrene would set in if the bullet isn’t taken out soon.”

“Bring him inside,” Aimee ordered crisply. “Put him in his old room upstairs. I’m no doctor, but between Savannah and myself, we should be able to get the bullet out. Where was he hit?”

“Left thigh. He lost a lot of blood, but I got it nearly stopped.”

Dill groaned as Jones lifted him out of the wagon. “I’m sorry to be a burden, Mrs. Trevor, but I was afraid I’d lose my leg if I lay on the ground until the doctors could get around to me.”

“It’s all right, Lieutenant. A wounded man is a wounded man no matter the color of his uniform.” To Jones she said, “Get his clothes off while I help Savannah assemble the things we’ll need to extract the bullet.”

“Have you seen Captain Drummond?” Brand asked. His small voice startled Aimee, who had forgotten he was there as she took charge of the situation. But now she turned to Jones, waiting breathlessly for his answer. She had wanted to ask the same question the moment she saw Sergeant Jones.

“Yes, Sergeant, what about Captain Drummond?”

“He led us at Jonesboro, Mrs. Trevor,” Jones
said, choosing his words carefully. Every man in Nick’s company knew of the curious relationship between the widow Trevor and their captain. “We were part of General Howard’s forces, intending to join up at Atlanta later with the rest of Sherman’s army.”

“Then he’s all right!” she said, elated.

“I … well, that is … I’m not sure.”

“What!”

“Lieutenant Dill saw him fall in battle.”

“And you left him?” Aimee was aghast. “How could you do such a thing?” Suddenly she froze. “He’s not dead, is he?”

Beside her, Brand began to wail, bringing Savannah rushing from the house.

“What is it? What’s wrong with Brand?”

“It’s all right, darling,” Aimee said, taking the child in her arms. Truth to tell, she wanted to cry herself. To Savannah she said, “Lieutenant Dill saw Nick fall in battle. Please take Brand inside while I speak further with Sergeant Jones. Lieutenant Dill is wounded. Boil some water and prepare instruments to take the bullet out of his thigh. When they’re ready, bring them upstairs.”

Brand put up a fuss, but when Aimee assured him that no one said Nick was dead, he went quietly with Savannah.

She didn’t question Jones again until he had carried Dill upstairs and placed him in bed. “Now, Sergeant, tell me all you know about Captain Drummond.”

“I don’t know much, Mrs. Trevor. Lieutenant Dill was the one who saw him fall.”

“Why didn’t you look for him?”

“I did, but you can’t imagine the carnage out
there around Jonesboro. I even checked the field hospital, but he hadn’t been brought in.”

Suddenly Dill opened his eyes and gasped out words that sent Aimee’s heart plummeting. “I was nearby when he fell from his mount. From the looks of him, the wound was mortal. I’m sorry, Mrs. Trevor. I wasn’t able to get to him before I took a bullet myself, but Sergeant Jones walked through the dead and wounded without finding him.”

“If he’s not on the battlefield, what could have happened to him?” Aimee asked.

His eyes downcast, Jones said, “We think he was picked up by a burying detail before I could find him and shipped out with the dead.”

“No, I don’t believe you!” Aimee cried. She couldn’t believe that Nick was dead.

Just then Savannah arrived with the boiling water and a sharp knife which would serve as a scalpel to remove the bullet from Dill’s thigh. There was no ether. Dill was given a piece of wood to bite on, and Sergeant Jones held him down while Savannah probed for the bullet. After the first few minutes Dill passed out, making it easier on all concerned. Though he had lost a considerable amount of blood, he was strong and likely to recover. The bullet was lodged against the thigh bone, and once it was removed, Jones magically produced a small bottle of whiskey from inside his jacket and offered it to disinfect the wound. One of Aimee’s petticoats provided the bandage. Afterward, Aimee spoke privately with Jones.

“Savannah thinks Lieutenant Dill will recover.”

“When the lieutenant is himself again, I’m sure he’ll thank you.”

“I’m not looking for thanks, Sergeant,” Aimee said brusquely. “I want your help.” While they had been working over Dill, Aimee had come to a decision. It might not be a wise decision, but she had to take action.

“Help, ma’am?”

“What are your plans, Sergeant?”

“As soon as Lieutenant Dill is able to travel, I intend to take him back to the field hospital, where he’ll be sent to a northern hospital to recover.”

“He won’t be fit to travel for several days.”

Jones looked puzzled. “I realize that.”

“Take me to Jonesboro, Sergeant; I want to look for Captain Drummond.”

Jones looked astounded. “I can’t do that, Mrs. Trevor; it’s too dangerous.”

“The battle is over, isn’t it?”

“The battle is over, but the war goes on.”

“If you don’t take me, I’ll go alone. Don’t you understand? Nick could be lying wounded out there somewhere.”

“No,
you
don’t understand, Mrs. Trevor. There’s still fighting in the area. Atlanta has fallen, but Hood’s army is out there regrouping. We may run into some of his men anywhere between here and Jonesboro.”

“You can’t stop me,” Aimee said defiantly. The stubborn tilt of her chin made Jones realize she’d do exactly what she said whether or not he accompanied her. For the sake of his dead captain, who he knew harbored tender feelings for the widow, he decided to honor her request.

“Very well, Mrs. Trevor, I’ll take you. But first you must promise that if we don’t find the captain’s
body on the battlefield, you’ll return home without a fuss.”

“I promise,” Aimee said, having no intention of keeping her word. Once in Jonesboro, she wouldn’t be content until she found Nick alive or had definite proof of his death. Even if she had to go to Atlanta, she’d learn what happened to the man who had stolen her heart without her realizing it. Intuition told her that Nick was alive and needed her. Other than that, she couldn’t explain the urgent need that drove her to attempt such a dangerous journey.

They left early the next morning. It wasn’t a long trip. Tall Oaks was actually closer to Jonesboro than to Atlanta, but traveling by wagon was considerably slower than by horseback. If a wagon weren’t necessary to transport Nick back to Tall Oaks should they locate him, she would have insisted on the faster mode of travel. And to her credit, Aimee never considered the possibility that Nick was dead. It was late afternoon when they reached Jonesboro.

“Shall we go to the field hospital first, Mrs. Trevor?” Jones asked as they approached the juncture of the railroads where the battle was fought.

“No, take me to the battlefield,” Aimee answered without hesitation.

They had arrived too late. Most of the Federal wounded had already been gathered by medical orderlies and taken to the hospital. Only a few wounded remained amid the many Reb and Federal casualties. The stench was appalling, but Aimee was undaunted, merely covering her nose with her handkerchief and proceeding forward. She walked among the dead, forcing herself to
look into their bloated faces, asking Sergeant Jones to turn over a man when she couldn’t see his face. She thought of all the mothers who would never see their sons again, and sweethearts waiting for lovers who would never return from war.

As an eerie dusk settled over the ravaged land, Sergeant Jones suggested they leave.

“Maybe he was brought to the field hospital after I left,” he said hopefully. “It’s getting dark; there’s nowhere else to look out here.”

Aimee stared around her, seeing the carnage, the destruction, and fearing Jones was right. They had been searching for hours, and Nick wasn’t among the dead. “Very well,” she acquiesced wearily. “Take me to the hospital; we’ll continue to look there.”

A thorough search of the field hospital proved just as fruitless. Nick wasn’t among the wounded, nor was there any record of him having been brought in with the dead.

“Shall we return home now, Mrs. Trevor?”

Aimee couldn’t say yes. Something deep inside her refused to surrender to the inevitable. “No, not yet. Please, Sergeant Jones, take me back to the battlefield. I have a feeling that Nick is alive and needs me.”

Jones shook his head. “For a Reb, you sure have a strange way of showing your hatred for the enemy.” He recalled hearing Aimee say she hated Nick on more than one occasion.

“I—I don’t hate Nick,” Aimee said in a strangled voice. “You—don’t understand about us. I don’t even understand myself. I just know that I have to keep looking.”

Aimee looked so distraught, Jones didn’t have
the heart to deny her. “We’ve still an hour or two before dark. But if we find nothing by then, we’re going back to Tall Oaks.”

Aimee nodded miserably.

She felt like a scavenger as she and Jones walked among the dead again. She peered closely into faces stiffened by death, and vomited into the dirt time and again from the sight of maimed bodies and blank eyes. She prayed constantly even though these men were already in the hands of God. They encountered an orderly with a pair of stretcher bearers and learned little beyond the fact that nearly all the wounded had already been carried to the field hospital.

“We’ve inspected every body left on the battlefield, Mrs. Trevor.” Jones’s voice was filled with pity.