Chapter 35 #2
Wearing Confederate captain bars and a slouch hat, Jeremy led them west at a trot. Every crunch of their horse hooves raked across Devon’s nerves. Any second, someone could sound the alarm, and they’d all be running for their lives. Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
A man staggered to his front porch and waved at them, almost falling over in the process. On another corner, a dog padded across the street. Farther down the lane, a candle burned in a shop window. A small buggy rattled by. Devon’s breath caught at every movement.
Scrubs and trees. The last of the buildings. Still at a steady pace, they rounded a bend.
Jeremy moved his mount closer to Devon’s.
“A couple of the men are going to head back home. They have families there. They plan to act as if they had nothing to do with this. The rest of us are going to take off at a gallop and head south across the next field, cut across the Cotton Road to throw off any pursuers, and head for Matagorda.”
“And Morning Fawn?”
Jeremy shifted in the saddle. “She’s nowhere near here. And the best thing you can do for her is stay alive.” He raised his hand, swept it downward in a sharp, swift motion, and snapped his reins, bolting forward and cutting off any opportunity for further discussion.
Two men cut sharp to the north through the shrubs. The rest followed Jeremy, picking up speed. Devon pressed his thighs to the mustang. Back straight, he lowered his elbows close to his knees and pressed the animal to a gallop.
Thump, thump, thump, he rode with the movement of the horse, his boots snug in the stirrups.
Down the road, then a cut to the left, gravel and dust flying.
Another road and then a field. A sliver of orange peaked above the horizon.
They shifted through a wooded area, slowing their pace to a canter, driving forward, creeping to a walk when they came to a creek, splashing through the water for a couple miles before heading up the other side of the bank.
They sped up again, then galloped as they crossed to another road, the morning sun on their left.
When they reached the wide, dusty trail known as the Cotton Road, they stuck to it for four or five miles, letting their hoof prints mix with the hundreds of others that marred the dirt.
Wisps of cotton clung to the scattered grasses, sage, and the claw-like branches of the mesquite trees, leftover traces of the tens of thousands of bales which had made this trek since the beginning of the war.
As the afternoon sun hit their backs, they peeled off into the brush two by two. Hopefully, leaving the road in such small numbers, it wouldn’t garner any tracker’s attention.
Late afternoon, they stopped in a wooded spot close to the Colorado River. Devon slid out of the saddle and shook each man’s hand, seven in all, thanking them heartily.
Jeremy swiped his brow with his neckerchief. “We’ll give the horses a rest and then start again at dark. Travel all night.”
One of the cavalry troopers Jeremy had brought along glanced up from pouring feed into a canvas bucket for his horse. “Be quicker to take the river down to Matagorda.”
“Too bad the Rebs will think of that too.” Jeremy grabbed his horse’s lead rope. “No fires. And by the time we leave this spot, I want every trace of Confederate uniform gone. No use inviting a firing squad.” He motioned for Devon to follow him to the river with his horse.
Devon limped along the way. Hours in the saddle had left his injured hip worse for the wear. Pecan, hickory, and oak lined the banks. The sluggish river swirled around a downed tree branch and cattails as the horses drank their fill.
“I had a chance to survey your work from a distance.” Jeremy swigged from his canteen and passed it to Devon. “That supply depot looks like a Gettysburg cannonade struck it—”
“I need to know about Morning Fawn. Now.” Devon guzzled the sweet liquid. His sandpaper throat rejoiced. “I’m done waiting.” He swiped his hand over his mouth. “Where is she? Did she find the horse in the woods? Did she get away from Moyer?”
Jeremy shifted his gaze to the river and dragged a hand down across his thick brown beard. “Morning Fawn got the information from Moyer and sent Lucy to Alleyton to deliver it. Morning Fawn was determined to save you at all costs.” Jeremy’s words thudded like handfuls of dirt on a grave.
“At all costs?” A chill swept over Devon. “What is that supposed to mean? If I need to turn around right now and go after her, I will.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll have my men tie you up, gag you, and take you prisoner for real.
” Jeremy jutted his finger at him. “As far as I know, she left Colorado County last night. The way to save her is to get to Federal-held territory as quickly as you can before you end up with a bullet in your back and get all of us killed trying to protect you. Get to Matagorda Peninsula, then work on a plan.”
“A plan? For what?” Devon flexed his hands at his sides. His pulse strummed in his head. “If you don’t tell me the whole story right now, I swear—”
“There’s a letter.” Jeremy fished a note out of his shell jacket pocket.
Devon’s stomach dropped to his toes. A letter wasn’t good. She wasn’t here in person. She’d left Colorado County. Where the devil was she, and how had she gotten the information from Moyer?
“I’ll leave you to read it.” Jeremy slapped his dusty slouch hat against his leg and took the canteen.
“I’ll wait around the bend and have some hardtack and salted beef for you when you’re ready.
No one else but me and Lucy know how Morning Fawn got the information and what she did to save you. I imagine the letter will explain it.”
Devon sank onto a rock and unfolded the paper.
My dearest love, I can’t bear to stand by and let you be executed without doing everything in my power to save you.
I’ve agreed to marry Nick Moyer in return for his assistance.
We will marry shortly before we set sail for England.
If you’re reading this, you escaped, and you’re alive.
That’s what matters. It is worth the cost. I will love you forever.
Dear God. There were no other words. A flash of memory. Him tired, hungry, and eager to see his wife, eager to take her in his arms, hurrying through the care of his horse, only to be greeted at the door to his quarters by the doctor with a bloodstained apron. The end of hope. For so very long.
He crumpled the paper in his fist. He wouldn’t let her throw her life away for him. Limbs shaking, he jumped to his feet, already smoothing and folding her declaration of love as he walked.
“Where is she?” He rounded the point. “What else do you know? I don’t care what she agreed to. That man is slime.”
Jeremy glanced up from his meal, fine lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes.
“From what Lucy heard, Moyer’s taking Morning Fawn to Galveston.
Plans to set sail for England after he marries her.
They were in his carriage. They stopped by the slaver’s.
He bought Lucy and then allowed Morning Fawn to send her off to Alleyton with the information and the letter. ”
“I’m not going to let him have her.” His jaw clenched. “A promise made under such duress isn’t worth the spit it takes to speak it. She’s not going to throw her life away for me.” His words rang out as solid as a hammer striking an anvil. “I’m going after her.”
Jeremy stood. “I figured you’d say that.
But you need to get to Matagorda and then take a boat to Galveston.
Quicker and more unexpected. And safer than traveling over land considering the Rebs are probably going to plaster your face on posters all over East Texas.
I’ve been giving it some thought. Columbus to Galveston is around fifty more miles than Columbus to Matagorda.
And they’re traveling by coach. You’ve got time to get to Matagorda and recruit a few volunteers.
I’ll round you up a dinghy and come with you. Moyer might be expecting you.”
“I hope he is, and I hope he’s man enough to settle our differences between the two of us without bringing in help.”
“Don’t count on it.” The creases deepened across Jeremy’s brow.
Devon nodded. “I didn’t ask, but are Lucy and Miss Schramm safe?”
“They’re at the safe house. Our friends plan to help them work their way down to Brownsville after everything settles down. Miss Schramm sent you a letter too. “Jeremy reached in his jacket.
Devon stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to read it. My girl is in Galveston. She’ll be somebody else’s over my dead body.”