SIX
Maggie watched Henry walk towards the edge of the clearing and disappear into the woods. She frowned. It was clear that her words had hurt him. She didn’t expect that revelation to hurt her in return.
His words struck deep. It was almost as if her mother were speaking.
She’d uttered similar words to Maggie all her life—referring to God as their Heavenly Father and His omnipresent existence.
And Maggie had believed—right up until she saw what good it did for her mother.
She couldn’t believe in that. She refused.
Still, Henry clearly lived by the same values that her mother had. It was disconcerting to think that, were the world different, she might have enjoyed him getting to know her family. Not that he would want to know her under normal circumstances. After all, she was a sparrow, and he was an eagle.
The physical strength he’d displayed fighting off James and his accomplice was seared in her mind.
His taunt broad shoulders were evidence of a man used to hard labor.
The hands that’d rendered one man unconscious and ended another.
The same hands that were surprisingly gentle as he tended her wound.
And she recalled how he’d looked in the sunlight, asking for her trust as they fled. His brown-blonde hair shining, curly ends golden. Specks of gold in his hazel eyes.
By all accounts, this man would be considered handsome.
And therefore, very unmatched to her. While she watched her brothers begin courtships, she never once had a gentleman call upon her.
Mama had tried and failed to make her more ladylike to overshadow her plain features.
They’d baked, sewn, and instructed on all manners of running a household, but to no avail.
She would never reflect her mother’s beauty.
Her mother had raven black hair that she’d meticulously swept up, while Maggie’s coarse, dull-brown hair was always hastily braided back, frizz ends poking out.
Mama’s eyes had resembled deep ocean water, while Maggie’s resembled mud from the marsh.
The only thing she’d inherited from her mother’s appearance was her figure.
But the war had ruined that. Starvation had taken her womanly curves and made her into a skeleton.
She’d gained a few pounds back from the food Henry scavenged, but she could still see every rib.
Flicking away a bug that landed on her dress, Maggie turned her frivolous thoughts away and walked aimlessly along the river.
The water flowed slowly, the lack of rain evident.
The bank was dry, sandy bottom showing. She could see several tracks in the sand where wildlife had come down for a drink.
A few twigs and leaves floated along the surface, heading downstream.
Birds called in the distance. All black and they seemed to be circling something on the other side of the river…
Buzzards. Squinting, she held a hand up to block the sun.
Something was among the weeds near the bank.
Probably just a dead fish that floated up, but curiosity got the best of her. Walking further down, she stopped again and tried to see what it was. The buzzards flew away at her presence, revealing what they were feasting on.
The exposed leg bone made it very clear that it was not, in fact, a dead fish, but a dead man.
Hurling up the few muscadine grapes she had consumed earlier, she emptied her stomach. As quickly as she could get her feet under her, she was moving. She was heaving for breath when she saw Samson.
Gathering up their few supplies, she saddled Samson and pulled the reins in the direction Henry had gone. She wasn’t deep into the woods when she saw him, setting a rabbit trap out of sticks.
Henry ran towards her. “What’s wrong?”
Swinging herself off the horse, she handed him the reins. “A man. I saw a dead man.”
“Where?”
“Down the river. I went walking… just a little. Near the bank.”
Stalking over to Samson, he untied the bag and pulled out a knife. Seeing the weapon in his hand, she was mentally transported back to the attack and felt the fear course through her. The sharp slice of the knife on her chest. The dirt under her fingers as her skirt was lifted up.
No. No. N—
“Maggie. Maggie. Maggie!” Finally, hearing her name brought her back to the present. She didn’t realize she’d squeezed her eyes shut. Opening them, she saw Henry looking at her, anxiety filling his face.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. I-I’m fine.”
He tucked the knife into his belt. “Stay here and keep hold of Samson while I check it out. If I’m not back in one hour, ride as fast as you can. Head north. Stay out of sight, eat from the land. If you see any soldiers, try to run, but if you can’t, surrender.”
She nodded, but her face felt numb.
Silent as a fox, he was gone. Samson’s ear flickered at the departure of his master. Maggie rubbed his nose and whispered, “He’ll be back.”
Whether or not she voiced that as much for herself to believe, she didn’t know.
Together, they waited. Every second felt like an hour. The canopy of trees above her blocked the sun from view. How could she accurately measure time?
She listened intently for his return and jumped at every twig cracking, every noise. Samson stomped his legs in irritation like he could feel the anxiety palpating off of her.
Surely half an hour had passed.
“Come back. Please come back,” she whispered, staring into the distance. She didn’t have a clue where they were, much less which direction was north.
Then, just as silently as he disappeared, Henry emerged from the woods. Stifling a scream, she covered her mouth. How he moved like that, she didn’t know. If the situation wasn’t serious, she’d hit him.
“I found the body—he’s been dead a while. But I don’t like the feeling of it... It’s too close. There are still a few hours left of daylight to keep moving.”
“You still haven’t told me where we are going yet.”
“Yes, I did. I told you we are going North.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Where North? How far?”
“To the Quakers.”
She’d heard of Quakers, but her brows knit in confusion. “But how do you know they’ll help us?”
He climbed onto the saddle. “My sister is a member of the Society of Friends. That’s where we are going. To her house.”
Maggie barely had a moment to comprehend what he just told her before he kicked his heels to Samson, and they bolted away.
The days blurred as they traveled on, stopping only to rest and eat.
Maggie’d never been more tired in all her life.
Every inch of her body ached. The trail was merciless.
The landscape began to change. The flat plains were traded for mountainous hills.
She hated those hills. The steep incline was too much for Samson to carry them.
Maggie and Henry had to dismount and walk, toes digging in to gain purchase.
Every night when they stopped to sleep, Maggie pulled off her shoes to count how many new blisters she had. Henry had given her some of the bandages to wrap around her feet, but they only helped a little.
Food was scarce. Henry gathered what he could find, not wanting to risk a shot to alert any passersby to their presence.
Still, it was more than she’d had in those final days with Mama.
They’d long eaten what he had stuffed into his canvas bag.
One creature comfort he’d packed was a small blanket from the cabin.
He’d given it to Maggie on the first night, so she didn’t have to lie in the dirt.
She’d uttered a soft, “Thank you,” and accepted it. It smelled like home. She felt a small measure of guilt as she watched Henry lie down on the grass, several feet away. His head rested on the canvas bag.
Grateful for once for the summer heat, they hadn’t needed to light a fire. As they traveled farther north, the nights grew colder but not cold enough to be uncomfortable.
She didn’t have to worry about conversations.
Every breath was needed to make the hike up the hills.
When they were lucky enough to ride Samson, they usually broke into a canter to make up for lost time.
The constant movement made it difficult to speak except for a few words here and there.
By the time they made camp at night, both ate what they could and fell asleep as soon as they hit the ground.
Henry frequently studied the map he carried. Maggie was fearful of the answer, so she never asked how much further they’d have to go. Every day, she focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.
“Our biggest hurdle is going to be remaining out of sight until we reach her homestead,” Henry said. “We’ll travel off-road and as deep into the woods as we can.”
So far, they’d been lucky. The few homes that came into view either seemed abandoned or poorly defended. At this point in the war, many of the men had either volunteered, been killed, or forced to fight by either side. It left only women and children to run the farms.
Their luck ran out when they crossed the North Carolina border.
Although it had to be September by now, it’d been an unusually hot day.
The trek was wearing down on all of them, the horse included.
Maggie tried to cover how shaky she had become, but she knew Henry noticed.
She wasn’t in great health when they began and now, she was close to collapsing.
Henry tried to bear the brunt of the trip, but elements were beyond his control.
They had just dismounted next to the Pee Dee River when they heard it.
Voices. A lot of male voices and close by.
They froze. Panicked, she watched Henry sweep the area with his eyes. The wide river was at their backside. The woods weren’t an option—a thousand-pound horse stepping on crunchy leaves was bound to be noticed.
“Can you swim?” Henry whispered quickly.
Eyes wide with fear, she nodded.
She hastily untied her skirt, stepped out of it, and rolled it into a ball.
Henry took it from her hands and stuffed it into the canvas bag.
She’d swam with Hugh and Joel enough to know that she didn’t need it weighing her down.
Clad in her shift and pantalettes, she stepped into the river, knowing Henry would be right behind her.
Halfway across, the water reached her head, and she started to swim.
Please don’t let me lose a shoe. Walking barefoot the rest of the way would be worse than the blisters.
When her toes touched the sandy bottom again, she waded out and turned around. Henry had Samson by the reins. They’d just crossed the middle when Samson squealed.
All hell broke loose.