Novel Treatments / The Road to Home: Mary's Story-Chap. 3 and 4

                                                                     Three

Callao, Virginia

April 7, 1864

     Tom tied Lancelot to a post outside of a pub just outside of Callao. He saw Mary's horse tied just over by the general store and decided it better to have a stiff drink before facing-off with her again. He had been following her since the day before, staying close enough to protect her, but staying far enough behind her that she did not know he was there.

     He walked through the double doors and toward the counter where the owner stood with his arms folded across his chest. He eyed Tom suspiciously, wondering what kind of riff-raff his pub had attracted this evening. Tom had signed on with the army as a civilian Doctor so he wore a simple pair of brown trousers and white shirt.

     He tipped his hat at the man behind the counter.

     “What'll it be?”

     “A brandy, if ye would be so kind.” Tom spoke with his thick Scottish brogue causing the man's eye brows to rise.

     The bartender chuckled. “A brandy ya say...how 'bout a glass of our house wine while yer at it?” The man laughed again and set a shot glass in front of Tom.

     “We ain't got no brandy...whiskey?”

     Tom nodded and looked down at the glass as the man filled it to the top. He thought in that moment that he had never been much of a drinker. But when he did drink, it was usually the Bryant women that drove him to it.

     He picked up the glass and raised it in a cheers motion.

     “Bottoms up.” The man said with a chuckle.

     Tom drank it down with one swift gulp and slammed the glass back on the counter. His eyes began to water and his throat to burn. He asked for another and then wondered why he had. As horrible as the curious liquid felt going down, why was it that one always wanted more of it?

     Just as Tom lifted the third shot to his lips, Mary opened the door of the pub. She stood there knowing that those back in Ellenton would have been appalled that she walked in this far to what her mother had called the 'Devils Den'. She turned that thought into a devious grin, in Jessie's uniform she was not just plain Mary from Shady Creek. She was a soldier, an Officer in the Confederate army and she wanted nothing more than to give Tom a taste of his own medicine.

     She walked up to the counter and slammed her well manicured hand down in front of Tom.

     “I'll have what he's havin'.” She said in the deepest voice she could muster. This out to make him choke on his Scot values.

     “Jesu!” He exclaimed.

     “Excuse me.” She glanced leisurely in his direction. “Do I know ya?”

     Tom grabbed her arm and leaned to whisper into her ear. “What are ye doin' 'ere? This is no place fer a...”

     “My friend here would like another drink,” she interrupted.

     “It'll be no charge, Sergeant. I don't charge our soldiers. Is this man with ya?”

     Mary looked at Tom, his eyes glazed over and no doubt feelin' the affects of the whiskey.

     “Yeah, I guess.”

     The bar tender placed a glass in front of Mary and filled it to the top.

     “What do ye think yer doin'?” Tom whispered.

     Mary shrugged and lifted the glass.

     “Yer not gonna drink that.”

     “I've had wine before,” she said casually.

     “This is hardly wine.”

     “Course, it ain't none of my business. Let the boy drink is what I say.”

     “Tom shot him an angry look. “Yer, right. It's not any a yer damn business.”

     Mary gave Tom the same look that she gave her mother when she was in trouble. The kind where her eyebrows knitted into a 'v' and her lips pursed together until they turned white. His eyes, she observed, told her that she, a moralized southern girl, who had never caught a glimpse of southern comfort, would not dare drink the 'Devils spit'. She lifted the glass toward Tom as if she were excepting a challenge and then downed the shot.

     Her eyes widened as the burning liquid left a fiery trail down her esophagus and into her stomach. Her lips turned numb and her throat burned. She then understood why it was nicknamed ‘Devils spit.’

     Tom had a look in his eyes that said 'I told you so'.

     When the burning sensation seemed to cease, she decided that the stuff wasn't all that bad. Well, the taste was detestable but she would have another just to get the better of Tom. She signaled for the bartender to refill her glass and he obliged. She raised her eyebrow and looked him right in the eye as she swigged down the second shot.

     Once again the fire traveled down her throat, setting all of her senses a flame. Despite the discomfort and urge to vomit she kept a victorious grin upon her face. Much to her disdain, a burst of laughter came from him. Her face turned hot with anger, or was it the whiskey? After all she had been through to prove him wrong, he was laughing at her?

     “Why are ya laughin' at me?”

     “Ye shoulda seen yer face, lassie.” His body shook with laughter as mimicked the face she had made when she drank the whiskey.

     Angrily Mary stood up from the bar stool only to be struck with a sudden dizzy spell.

     Her hand flew up to her head. She wondered how it could feel so hot in the middle of the early spring.

    “I...I don't think it's funny at all.”

     “Come on, Sergeant.” He gently grasped her arm to lead her out and she almost lost her footing.

    “Tom, I don't think I can walk,” she said as she fell into his arms and he swept her up off her feet. “It's so hot in here. He really should open a window or somethin'.”

     Tom carried her outside and lifted her up onto Lancelot's back and then climbed up behind her. They rode to where Skye was hitched and attached her reigns to the back of his saddle. Mary leaned back against him.

     “Tom, please don't tell Jenny...or Tristan. I don't know what they would think of me.”

     The garish sun disappeared just beyond the Potomac , making room for the incoming ebony sky. Tom knew that there was no crossing the river that night with Mary tipsy on the whiskey. He grinned as he thought about the stubbornness of his wife's little sister. He felt sorry for her, she was at such a confusing age in very confusing times. She had no real grasp on the realities of war, nor should she have to. War was better left to those fighting on the battle field, not a beautiful young woman just figuring out who she was in this world.

     He laid her down in the soft grass on the banks of the Potomac River . Just across its depths he could see the campfires of the Union Army of the Potomac . Jeb should be there by now, he thought. Tomorrow we will give Mary her chance to find Tristan. He hoped that with Jeb's connections he might be able to at least get inside the prison to see Tristan. She would have to be satisfied with just that. Tom met Jeb in 1862, when the 50th Georgia met up with the army of Northern Virginia just outside of Richmond . Jeb was very mysterious and secretive and often in and out of the camp on missions known only by higher ranks in the Confederate army. He did not know much about him, but he trusted him with his life.

     “Tom?” Came Mary's sleepy voice from the darkness. “I liked the wine much better.”

     Tom smiled. “Aye lassie.” He pulled his coat off and lay it over her legs. “Rest now; we'll cross the river in the mournin'.”

 

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     In her slumber she could hear their cries. Jenny, Emily and Mama screaming in anguish as a small group of soldiers marched toward the house. Behind them was a cart and in that cart, the body of Matthew James Bryant, her father. Her father was among the 50th Georgia Colquitt county marksman, when they were ambushed as they marched for Manassas Junction in 1862.

     “No!” Mary cried out in her sleep, jarring Tom awake.

     He rushed to her side and found her still in a deep sleep.

     Mary was standing on the porch steps holding her mothers hand as the soldiers approached with her father's coffin. John was marching next to them, his head and eyes covered by a white bandage. Her father was dead and her oldest brother left blind. Was this cause really so great? She remembered thinking as tears streamed down her cheek.

     “I don't know what we're gonna do without him, Mary.” Her mother told her that day. “Matthew was my rock.”

     From the porch steps she watched as Emily, just weeks away from giving birth to William, rushed to her husband’s side. Tad ran and jumped onto the cart and threw himself over the coffin of his father. Jessie and Jenny both tried to pry his little hands from their tight grasp on the wooden lid. It was all too much to bare. Hatred welled up from deep within Mary that day. She wished that she was a man and could kill her share of those Yankee bastards. It was because of them that her family would never be the same.

     Not long after, after weeks of being ill, her mother died in her sleep. Poor Tad was the one to find her. Doctor Hynn's told Jenny that it was the dropsy that killed her, but Mary knew better. She knew that her mother died of a broken heart.

     “Mama!” She cried out in her sleep again and Tom frantically tried to shake her awake.

     “Mary, wake up...wake up, lass.”

     Mary sat up with a start.

    “It's okay, lassie. Jess a bad dream.”

     She looked at Tom with tears streaming down her face. “I miss my mama, Tom. I miss them all so much.”

     Tom hugged her. “I know.”

     She placed her dainty hand on his chest and lightly pushed away from him. “I can't lose Tristan too.”

     “Well find him. Hush now an' try ta get some sleep.”

     To weary to argue, Mary and laid back into her grassy bed. She tried to close her eyes again but sleep would not come. She sighed and sat back up, hugging her knees tight to her chest.

     “Tom, do you ever pray?”

     “Aye...in this war even the non-believer prays. Do ye speak with the Almighty?”

     “Well.” Mary bit her lip and looked up at the sky. “After Papa's death I did. Then Mama and Shad were taken from me and I began to wonder what kind of God could allow for so much sorrow. What kind of God just takes and never gives back? And John will never see his son...He and Emily never could hurt a soul, they're good people. What could they have done to deserve such?”

     “Nothing.”

     “Then why?”

     “Tisn't the good Lord that caused this, but his adversary. War is man's travesty.”

     “But He let it happen.”

     “God gives us choices. If He controlled everything we do then we'd be like slaves.”

     Mary looked at him with a questioningly raised eyebrow.

     “Aye, slaves,” he said again. “It's wrong Mary, there's no question about it.”

     “We never owned any slaves. My Papa would never allow for it. But Eva owns them, and Tristan too. Does that mean he was fighting to keep them?”

     “Some, like your father were fighting for a much greater cause. They liked the way things were before the war and most think it isn't right fer the government ta have ta much power over local matters.”

     Tom's thoughts were interrupted by a rustle in the bushes. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his pistol from beside him.

     “What is it?” Mary asked, her voice filled with terror.

     “Shh!” Tom said as he walked slowly toward the bushes.

     “Don't shoot, I'm not armed.” Came a gruff voice from the brush.

     “Come out of there with yer hands held high.”

     Mary watched as a short-chubby man came out from his hiding place with his hands up as Tom commanded. He was very ruggish and unkempt, Mary observed, but perhaps at one time he might have been handsome.

     “Are you the Doc?” He asked he looked over at Mary. He spoke with a thick Irish accent and his eyes stayed locked on Mary causing shivers to run down her spine. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

     “Who is asking?” She said before Tom could.

     He grinned. “A friend of mine sent me...though I shan’t say his name case the wee folk be listenin'.” His eyes trailed to Tom. “Jamis O'Hare.” The Irishman took a bow. “You need a way ta cross the river and I just seem to have a boat.”

     Tom lowered his pistol and reached out to shake Jamis's hand. “Doctor McCrea. This is Mary, my wife's sister.”

     Jamis looked at her again. Mary still could not put a finger on what it was about him that made her shiver. She managed a smile. “Our friend sent a dress for you miss. I think it best for you if you forget that uniform. Them on the other side of the river won't take kindly ta’it.”

     He walked back to the bushes and pulled out a beautiful dress. It looked like a dress that a plantation mistress might wear to tea, not cross the Potomac River . It was lavender with long gathered sleeves topped by long caps. The skirt was lace lined and pleated and the waist was accented by a band that Mary knew would not allow for much movement. Thank God he did not think of the undergarments, She thought.

      She longed to feel like a woman again but there was nothing in this world that would make her desire the confinements of a corset. Just when she started to smile at the thought of it Jamis held up all the undergarments that a proper Southern Belle should wear. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly took them from him.

     After Mary changed Jamis helped her into the boat he had waiting on the shore. Tom followed and sat just opposite of her, taking the oars.

     “Our friend is waiting on the shore. Good luck.” The strange Irishman pushed the boat away from the shore and quickly disappeared into the brush.

     Mary surveyed the water as Tom rowed. The river was eerily calm and the morning fog hovered just above its surface making their crossing seem like a dream in a mystical world.

     “Tom.”

     “Keep yer voice down. It'll echo off the water.”

     “Who is it that we’re meeting?” She lowered her voice to a whisper.

     “Sergeant Waters.”

     “But Tom, why?!”

     “Shh!”

     “We can do this without help. He is so...so rude and ill-mannered.”

     “No, Mary. Havna a clue, do ye? Jeb is a good man. He has connections across this river that might help us get into the prison.”

     “What kind of connections?”

     “The Yankee kind.”

     Her eyes widened. “Yankees?! Are ya crazy?”

     “Mary, listen to me. Jeb is waiting in a Union camp fer us.”

     “I'm not setting one foot in a Yankee camp!”

     “Ye will lassie. If ye really want ta see Tristan ye are gonna have ta act like the lady I know ye were brought up ta be.”

     Mary knew that he was right. She turned back toward the shore as they approached. Through the mist she could see three Union soldiers standing on the bank. As they neared she saw his familiar face. Sergeant Waters was standing in the middle of the others dressed as they were, in the blue of the Union . He stood tall, lean and proud in his cover, as if he belonged in their ranks.

     Jeb watched the boat approach the shore and her gaze met his, the deep blue of them seemed sparkle against the light of the rising sun. He watched as she accepted the hand of Captain Hawkins as he helped her from the boat. The dress that he sent for her was indeed perfect in fit and color. She seemed to move like an angel, but he reminded himself that she was anything but that. Underneath that soft Southern Belle smile and delicate features accented by the lavender day dress, he knew that she was witch. A witch that indeed knew how to use her powers on a man. He did not want to believe that she was as beautiful as he had remembered her.

     But she was.

     Even wearing that ugly-tattered home spun gray she had been a remarkable beauty. Jeb watched as she greeted his Captain and the private that accompanied them. The melody of her voice seemed to flow like the water of the river. Watch it boys, he thought, for she will bewitch you as well.

     He had to hate her for who she was. But he could not ignore the graceful way which she moved or the way that her dark hair felt when he ran his hand through it.

     “Do you have your papers Sir?” The private did not let Mary's charm deter him from business.

     Tom fumbled into his pockets and withdrew his passport. Jeb at once intervened and took the papers.

    “Ah, Doctor McCrea” he said. “We have been expecting you. The hospital is in need of your expertise.”

     “Aye.” Tom followed along. “This is me wife, Jenny.” He pulled Mary to him and smiled.

     Mary's eyes widened. Wife?!

     “Yes, well,” Jeb said as he smiled at her reaction. “I am Colonel Samuel McBride. I will see you to your quarters and take you to the hospital as soon as you and your wife are settled.”

     Jeb led them to a large canvas tent. He opened the flap and held it for Mary and Tom to pass through. He followed them inside and secured the flap behind him.

     “Well, I knew ye were good, Sergeant. But this is exceptional.” Tom said as he looked around the tent. It was furnished with a bed and even a vanity.

     “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He grinned and looked at Mary. She stood there with her arms folded across her chest. “It's good to see you again Ms. Bryant.”

     “So,” she said with as much kindness as she could muster, “McBride is it?”

     “For the time being,” he answered as that same mocking grin rose to his lips. The one that made her want to smack him right in that smug-handsome face. “I must say that dress I picked fits you perfectly.

     Her face turned hot with anger...or was it embarrassment?

     “When do we go to Point Lookout?” Tom asked, seemingly feeling the tension between them.

     Jeb's eyes turned to him as if he were drawn from a day dream. “We can leave first light, tomorrow. If we go sooner it might seem suspicious. Tonight, we will have dinner with the other officers.”

     “I'm not eating dinner with a bunch of Yankee scoundrels!”

     “Mary, you have to. Think about Tristan.” Tom said with a certain tenderness in his voice.

     Yes, Jeb thought, think of Tristan.

 

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                                                                      2

 

                                                                Bleeding

 

                                                                   Heart

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                             Chapter    Four

 

     Tom left her in the tent almost all day and she did not dare venture out. She was afraid that Jeb might come back to torture her but he did not. Having not slept the night before, she decided that she would take a nap. Perhaps, sleep would make the time go by faster and then maybe she would take a bath.

     Yes, a bath, she thought, surely someone in this camp might be able to locate a bath of some sort. Maybe Sergeant Waters would know. No! Not him. She hated how her thoughts kept turning to him.

Sleep.

      She stretched out on the bed and tried to think about Tristan and how close she was to seeing him again. She wondered if he still looked the same. No doubt, being in that prison for so many months must be making him thin and weak, but she would soon be there to nurse him back to health. She smiled as she thought about how she would take him into her arms, run her hands through his sandy-blond hair and stare endlessly into his golden eyes.

     “Oh Tristan,” she said as the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. She rolled over and soon sleep came.

     Flames! Her dreams were filled with the flames and smoke that rose from her family's farm on Shady Creek. They all gathered in the clearing and watched as their memories burned to ashes in the black Georgia night.

     They could hear the whoops and hollers of the Yankee stragglers as they rode away into the night.

     She dreamed that she was running. Running toward the little cabin in the clearing on her family's property where the Bryant's Negro servants lived. She opened the door and screamed, for there hanging from the rafters were there bodies; dripping with blood and their dark eyes looking upward toward the heavens.

     “No!” Mary screamed as she sat up, waking from her nightmare. She looked around the tent and saw that it was now dark. Suddenly a dark hand came from the shadows and clasped over her mouth.

     “Ms. Bryant, it's me.” Came Jeb's voice from the night. “I'm going to take my hand from yer mouth. Don't scream.”

     She nodded and he took his hand away. “What are ya doin' creepin up on me like that?!” She scolded.

      “I had no choice. You were making so much noise in your sleep. I was afraid someone might come in here. I didn't mean to startle you.”

      “Where is Tom?”

      “He's gone to Point Lookout alone. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen to me.”

       Mary jumped out of the bed and began fumbling with the buttons of her dress. Her blood boiled with anger and she almost said out loud exactly what she thought of Tom McCrea in that moment.

      “What are you doing?”

      “I'm going to the prison, what does it look like I'm doing?”

       Jeb tried to keep his composure as she played unwittingly into his trap.

      “Don't think you can stop me either. I'm going. I'd be there by now if it wasn't for you men trying to control everything.”

      She quickly tied her hair up into a simple twist and secured it to the top of her head before tying a lavender ribbon into a head band to keep her curls from falling into her face. Jeb moved out her way as she pushed past him and out of the tent.

      Not long after she left Tom came riding back into the camp. Jeb grabbed Lancelot's reigns.

      “I thought I left ye to watch over her?”

      “She's gone.”

      “What?!”

      “She found out that you went to the prison without her and well, she just left.”

      “I left ye in charge of her?!” Tom's jaw tightened with anger as he looked around him. “Couldn't ye stop her?”

      “I tried,” Jeb lied. “But ya know her better than anyone, she's stubborn.”

     “He's dead,” Tom said abruptly, catching Jeb off guard.

     “What?”

     “She's headed to nothin'...Tristan is dead.”

     Jeb's mind scrambled. How could this be? Captain Lawrence was in a heavily guarded prison and as far as I know, no one else is out to get him. It's my mission, my orders, my kill...Well; he still had Captain Lawrence's fiancée to take care of.

 

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The road to Point Lookout

That same evening…

 

     Down the path a bit, Mary neared a Union Picket line. Angrily she pressed on, not knowing the danger that lurked just beyond the bend.

 

     “Halt, who’s there?!” Came a voice from the darkness.

 

     Mary froze, afraid to speak.

 

     “Speak, or we will be forced to shoot ya down in yer tracks.”

 

     Mary tried to speak but the words just would not come out.

 

     A figure emerged from the tree line.

 

     “Well, well. What do we have here?” As he neared she could see his Union uniform. He was a tall-skinny man, probably middle aged, and his hair hung long down his back. “What is a woman like yerself doin’ out in these roads, all alone in the dark of night?” He licked his greasy lips as he eyed her.

 

     She had seen looks like that before, along the slum streets in Moultrie . She remembered her father’s warnings not to venture down the roads unaccompanied. It was there that gentleman did not exist and a lone girl would be seen as nothing more than something to pass the time with; a fresh piece of meat.

 

     Her eyes widened as he starred at her.

 

     “Ya don’t say much, do ya Angel?”

 

     Some where deep within herself, courage was summoned. “Who says I'm unaccompanied?”

 

     “I do, Angel.” He reached out to touch her cheek and she jerked her face away from his calloused-greasy hand. The man grinned and Mary could see his rotten teeth.

 

     “Yer a feisty gal, ain’tcha? Well, let ol’ Harvey boy take care of that.”

     Mary’s heart about beat from her chest as she turned and tried run but the man called Harvey seized her arm and threw her to the ground and before she knew it he had all his weight on top of her. Mary screamed and kicked as he tore the buttons at the neckline of her dress.

 

     Tom and Jeb heard her screams and galloped their horses down the road. They caught Jeb’s eye first and he rode beside them and threw himself off the horse, tackling the soldier off of Mary.

 

     Tom rushed to her side and saw that they had made it just in time. He helped her stand. “Are ye okay?”

 

     She nodded and tried to straighten her dress.

 

     “Did he,” Tom swallowed, afraid to ask the looming question, “Hurt ye, Mary?”

 

     She shook her head and Tom turned his attention to the soldier, Jeb pinned to the ground. He drew his pistol and pointed it against the man’s temple.

 

     “Tom, don’t,” Jeb said firmly.

 

     “He has ta pay fer what he has done…and what he tried ta do.” Tom’s jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth together and cocked the pistol.

 

     “If ya pull that trigger, both armies will come running,” Jeb pleaded. “Put down the gun, Doc. He will be put up on charges. Let his commanders be the judge.”

 

     Tom stood silent as the hand that held the pistol began to shake. Slowly he lowered the gun and put it back in his holster. He turned his back on them and then his gaze met Mary’s. Her dress was ripped, hair disheveled and her face was pale as a ghost.

     His eyes were a blaze as he balled his fist at his sides and grit his teeth together. He reared back and delivered a swift punch, slamming his fist into the soldier’s skull and knocking him to the ground. He turned back to Mary almost out of breath as he felt some relief in the adrenaline that surged through him.

 

     “Get on the horse, ye are goin’ home.” He barked.

 

     “Tom, I…”

 

     “Leave it alone Mary and just get yer arse up on the horse. Yer goin’ home.”

 

     She folded her arms across her chest. “Not until I get Tristan.”

 

     Unable to tell her about him, Tom turned to Jeb. “Take her back to the camp to get her things. We’re leaving tonight.”

 

     “I said I’m not goin’ home. Tristan needs me. He may be sick or hungry…”

 

     “Where he has gone, hunger does not exist,” Jeb interrupted.

 

     “What?!” Mary suddenly felt weak. “What did you say?”

 

     “His name was listed among the dead in the infirmary.” Jeb put his hand on her arm but she jerked away from him, shaking her head.

 

     “No, this can’t be.”

 

     “It’s true,” Jeb said softly.

 

     “I don’t believe you.”

 

     “He speaks the truth Mary. I saw his name on the list with me own two eyes.” Tom finally added.

 

     “Well, did ya see his body, a grave…anything?”

 

     “No.”

 

     “Well there you go. You see, it can’t be true. Those Yankees are all a bunch of liars…” She grabbed her side, finding it hard to breath. It felt as if her corset were tightening. “He can’t be dead…I…I came all this way…”

 

     “He’s gone Mary. I’m truly sorry.” Tom embraced his sister-in-law.

 

     “All Yankees lie! They are all just bunch of filthy savage swine.”

 

     “That’s not true ain ye know it.”

 

     “Then how do you explain what that soldier tried on me? Our Southern gentleman would never…”

 

     “Actually we shot a man last week for the same offense,” Jeb told her.

 

     “Well, I bet it was a Yankee woman.” She argued not thinking before she said it. When she said the words she hardly knew why she had. Perhaps it was just for the sake of the argument? Or to distract her mind from the crushing feeling in her stomach.

 

     “Actually, she was from Richmond,” Tom added.

 

     “Miss Bryant, we’re fighting the government not the people. Most of the Yanks think they are just fighting to preserve the nation.”

 

     “And you would know, yer the spy!” She hissed.

 

     “Mary enough!” Tom shouted. “You’re goin’ home, right now.”

 

     “Maybe I’ll just stay. Yeah, I’ll put Jesse’s uniform back on and maybe just kill a few Yankees myself.”

 

     “Open yer damn eyes!” Tom grabbed her shoulders and shook them lightly, trying to get his point across. “People are dying all around, can’t ye see it? If ye stay then ye will most certainly join ‘em. Now, how am I gonna explain ta yer sister about how I let ye stay an’ ye went an’ got yerself killed.”

 

     “Well, I just don’t care if I die. I have nothing ta live fer anymore.”

 

     No tears. Stay Strong.

 

     “Yer just getting started, Mary. Ye have your whole life ahead of ye. Go home, Mary…please.”

 

     She looked at him, her eyes watering. Don’t cry. The weight on her chest seemed to intensify.

 

     Reluctantly, she agreed.

 

     Jeb helped her up onto the horse and Tom mounted Lancelot at her side.

 

     “Jeb, I have a favor to ask of ye.”

 

      “Anything, Doc.”

 

     “There is no one I trust more than ye, lad. Can ye escort her home?”

 

      This was just getting to easy. How convenient to have Tom’s permission. Jeb liked Tom; he respected even him having witnessed his surgeries during and post-battles. Tom took the same care with the Union soldiers as he did with the Confederates. Tom did not join the ranks of either army, though he traveled with the Rebels. He did not discriminate when it came to saving lives and for that Jeb never wanted to have to hurt him. Mary, on the other hand, was another story. By agreeing to escort her he would be able to save the struggles involved in taking her with force.

 

     “I would be honored, Sir.”

 

     “Wait, Tom. Please, don’t send him with me.”

 

     Jeb looked at her, with his lips curved upward into that mocking smile.

 

     “He’s a good lad…and he knows the roads.”

 

     “I made it this far without help.”

 

     Tom acted as if he did not hear her; he was tired of arguing. “Take her into camp Jeb , let her get her things and leave as soon as the horses are watered.”

 

     They made it into the camp and Jeb helped Mary from her horse. She looked back and saw that Tom had not dismounted.

 

     “What about you, Tom?” Mary asked him.

 

     “I am needed back in Richmond . I canna go home now.”

 

     “But Tom, Jenny needs you. Think of your daughter.”

 

     “I canna. Lee needs good surgeons now more than ever. My wife an’ Rose are safe but the lad’s fightin’ on the front need me. The Union keeps pushin’ on Richmond and I fear that we will not see much more of this war. We are running out of soldiers and supplies as fast as they can attack…I fear our cause is lost.”

 

     Mary’s gaze fell to the ground. Tom reached out a lifted her chin. “Go home with your head held high. Pray ye safe travel and tell my family I love them.”

 

     “I will.”

 

     Jeb watched her as she said good bye to Tom. Watching him ride into the darkness, she stood there with her hands balled into tight fist at her side. He had never seen such a despondent look upon her face. When he first saw her that day on the Danville train, she was full of vim and vigor. She had her sights set in one direction and was not going to let anyone stop her from getting there. Now she seemed lost; like a scared child with no where to turn and her one friend in this war torn country was riding away into the darkness.

 

     He wanted to go to her and wrap his arms around her shoulders to let her know everything would be okay, but he knew that it was a lie. The road to home would never be just that. He knew she would never reach her ancient farm again and for the first time since their meeting he felt bad for her. Sorrow made a woeful attempt to creep its way into his heart and he was quick to dismiss it.

 

     “Miss Bryant.”

 

     She didn’t respond to him.

 

     “Miss Bryant!” He said louder.

 

     She whirled around, her dark curls whipping around her as her icy blue eyes locked with his. “What?!”

 

     He held back his anger, knowing it useless to lash back at her. “Get your things.”

 

 

*                                                                  *                                                          *

 

Livingston, Virginia

May 24, 1864

 

 

      Mary sat heavy in the saddle as the miles began to wear on her every muscle. Jeb cantered his horse to the side of hers and looked at her tired face.

 

      “We can stop here Miss Bryant.”

 

      “No Sergeant Waters, I’d like to keep going.”

 

      “With all do respect miss; the horses could use a break as well.”

 

      “Alright.” She agreed unwillingly. “If we must.”

 

      He dismounted and then lifted his hand to help her. She ignored his kind gesture and lowered herself to the ground.

 

      “Have youalways been so stubborn?”

 

      She looked at him crossly. “Well I made it all the way to the river James without help. I don’t see why Tom thinks I need it now.”

 

      “You’re lucky you made it that far dressed as ya were. They might have hanged you as a spy if they caught you.”

 

      “Let them hang me then. I don’t care anymore.”

 

      Jeb was taken aback. Her bitterness stemmed from somewhere deep within, yet, he felt a compassion for her that he knew he should not. How could he do what was expected of him? His orders were to bring her to Atlanta , to Sherman . But, he felt sorry for her. What made her so different from any other assignment? His hatred for her fiancé must out-weigh any thought of her beauty. Oh, but she was just that; a beautiful southern Belle full of fire and life. She was much like Isabelle, his wife killed by Captain Lawrence and his band of rebels.

     He clenched his teeth and focused on Mary. “I think you would care.”

 

      “I wouldn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she looked down at the ground and sighed. “I’d give anything just to see him again.”

 

      He paused for a moment wondering what it was that made him want to reach out to her. She looked so helpless, so forlorn that he couldn’t help the compassion he felt in that moment. “I know what you're going through.”

 

      “How could ypu…unless, oh Sergeant Waters you must think me plain awful.” She put her hand on his shoulder as he stared away from her gaze. “You’ve lost someone close to you?”

 

      “My wife,” he hesitated, “and my unborn child.”

 

      “I’m sorry.”

 

      “Never mind it, Miss Bryant. It was a long time ago.”

 

      “What was her name?”

 

     “Isabelle. Please, I don’t really like to talk about it.”

 

     Mary nodded and turned away from him, fumbling with the strings on her bonnet.

 

      Jeb eyed the sky. “We must make camp before the weather turns on us. Looks like we have a frosty night ahead of us.”

 

      “I don’t understand such cold in spring. Why in Georgia it is blazin’ hot by now.”

 

      Mary sat by a tree and watched Jeb assemble the canvas tent they brought with them. The wind began to blow briskly through the Black Pine forest as they finished securing the sides of the tent down.

 

      “I’ll get the supplies off of the horses and make a fire. Why don’t you get inside the tent and keep out of this wind.”

 

      “What about you?”

 

      Jeb smiled. “You’re worried about me now?”

 

      Mary blushed and turned from him. “Ya forget yer place Sergeant.”

 

      “Please, call me Jeb.”

 

      “It wouldn’t be proper of me to be so informal.”

 

      “These humble surroundings hardly call for formalities. I insist.”

 

      “Alright…Jeb.” She smiled demurely. “But don’t read into it too much.”

 

      He returned her grin and turned toward the horses. God, help me. What am I doing? It was rumored that she was a spy as well, yet how could such a beautiful and innocent creature be such? Perhaps, he thought, she might be involuntarily a pawn used by both sides. As she smiled at him, flashing that one dimple he tried to remind himself that she was not the sweet innocent Belle she seemed. No, she was a like a coral snake; beautiful on the outside but filled with venom.

 

       That night the wind began to blow so violently that keeping the fire going was impossible. They were unable to cook and the hunger in their bellies made the nipping cold that much more unbearable.

 

       Mary nestled into the warmth of her quilts inside the confines of the tent. The canvas whipped back and forth as the wind blew outside. Suddenly she felt terribly about the way she had been treating him. It was not like her to wish ill on others. Clearly he too was suffering the loss of loved ones. She began to feel guilty that he was outside at the mercy of the chill while she was inside basking in the warmth of her blankets. She sighed and opened the secured flaps of the tent.

 

      “These humble surroundings hardly call for formalities,” she said with a timid smile.

 

      Jeb did not hesitate before accepting the invite. Snake or not its damn cold outside.

 

      He crawled into the warm tent and Mary secured the canvas flaps again. She wrapped a blanket around his shivering shoulders as he blew his warm breath into his cold hands.

 

       Mary had never been alone with any man aside from her brothers and Tristan. Even with Tristan she was closely guarded by a chaperone. What must mama think of me now? She thought as she sat across from her handsome escort. I could not let him freeze out there. Times such as these, war in it self, made the need for decorum less of a necessity.

 

      His eyes locked on hers and she found herself lost in their gold depths. How is it that I am mourning the loss of my fiancé and I can still feel an attraction to this man? She prayed that he could be trusted. Well Tom must have thought so or he would not have asked him to escort me home. In conclusion she decided to trust him with her virtue alone; her heart was another matter.

 

       Jeb too, was fighting a battle within himself. He wanted to feel nothing for his clueless captive. But how could he be so hardened? She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He could never have dreamed that Mary Lou Bryant, the fiancée of his target and most hated foe, could be so captivating.

 

      “You needn’t fear for your wellbeing Miss Bryant, you’re safe with me.” Safe? It was a lie that burned through his very soul. With him she was anything but safe. He guarded his heart as did she.

 

      He blew out the lantern light as they both settled on opposite ends of the tent floor. As the night dragged on Mary awoke shivering. The bitter air seemed to seep through the blankets, under her skin, hitting her very bones with its chill.

      “Jeb,” She whispered. “Are you asleep?”

 

      “How can I sleep. It’s freezing.”

 

      “Please don’t think wrong of my intentions, but maybe if we sleep closer we might stay warm.”

 

      “Ma’am?” Jeb tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

 

      "I just thought we might get some sleep if we weren’t shivering so. You said that I could trust you.”

 

      “Of course.” Jeb opened an arm and she nestled next to him and they piled her blankets on top of his. At last they were warm. The curve of her body conformed to his as she soon drifted off to sleep.

     Sleep? How could she expect him to sleep with her so close? She felt so right next to him. Her body relaxed as her breathing became slow and even. As her body relaxed her head turned so that her face was upturned toward his. He could feel her warm breath upon his cheek. No, sleep would not come easy for him that night.

     Lord, forgive me, he prayed silently.

 

      The next morning Mary awoke to find her self encompassed in the arms of her escort. She was suddenly embarrassed by the closeness and vulnerability she felt in that moment. Quickly she pulled away and adjusted her dress.

 

      Jeb’s eyes opened and fixed on her as she stared down at him.

 

      “Good Morning,” he said with a smile.

 

      She turned from him and began to open the tent flaps. “Good Morning.”

 

      “Did you sleep well?”

 

      “I did, thank you kindly. I trust you did as well?”

 

      “Not as well as I would have liked. It’s been a long time since I have slept next to an attractive woman.”

 

      She felt the warm-crimson flood her cheeks and her defensives were raised once again. “You shouldn’t speak of such things. It was a most improper situation we found ourselves in last night.” Her tone was harsh.

 

      “Don’t you worry, Miss Bryant. What happened last night is no one else’s business.” He almost laughed but he could see that she was in no mood for humor. “I apologize,” he said without arguing further.

 

      She gave him a half smile and nodded.

 

      Mary opened the tent flaps and stood up, taking in her surroundings. The morning was cool and the skies were clear.

 

      “I’ll make us some breakfast and then we’ll strike camp. We should make it near the Carolina border by nightfall.

 

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