SEVEN
The other side of the river seemed to explode.
Flashes of gray popped from the woods. One or two dozen soldiers eager to get their hands on the animal.
There are many things that become infinitely more valuable during a war.
Gold, food, weapons, and even sometimes blankets or boots. A horse was definitely on the list.
It didn’t take long for them to register Maggie and Henry. Even less for them to see the blue hue of Henry’s uniform.
Henry propelled Maggie onto Samson’s back and leapt up behind her before the first shot rang out.
Spurring Samson into the forest, he zigzagged, attempting to dodge the bullets aimed at them.
Henry leaned forward over Maggie, sheltering her with his body, and kept both of their heads low.
One final shot echoed through the forest, and Henry jerked against her.
His body weight pressed her further forward into the saddle, and she sucked air between her teeth from the sting of her still-healing wound. At this angle, she couldn’t turn around to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
Henry sat up slightly, relieving the pressure off her. “Keep riding. They’ll be hunting us.”
He kept a hard pace, putting another mile or two between them. As they rode, she started to notice something wet and warm against her side. The sun had mostly dried her clothes, but this was different. She put a hand to it and lifted it in front of her to see. Blood.
“Stop. Stop,” she cried.
Grabbing the reins herself, she pulled Samson to a halt. One look at Henry’s ashen face confirmed the blood was his.
“You’re bleeding. I think you’ve been shot.”
Gritting his teeth, he held a hand to his side. “We need to keep going. I’ll be fine.”
“If we keep going, you could die. We need to get you down so I can look at your side.”
Shaking his head, he argued. “Not here. It’s too open.”
“We’ll have to find a place to hide.”
They rode on and the blood continued to spread. Within another half hour, he was practically slumped over, leaning fully against her with one hand pressed against his side.
A familiar sense of panic crept in. What would happen if he died?
Out of desperation, she prayed. “God, I don’t know if you’re even there or listening, but if you are, we need help. I know you aren’t all that interested in my well-being, but this man is a strong advocate for you. Please—help him.”
A breeze drifted through the trees.
Turn right, a voice in her head seemed to say.
Startled, Maggie whipped her head around to see who spoke. Seeing no one, she looked down towards the right side. Through the trees, a small patch of light showed, like a small clearing.
Only one way to find out. She turned Samson.
The trees opened, showing an abandoned shack or the remnants of an old cabin. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d have to do. A small barn stood behind the structure with a tree growing out of the roof. Most of the boards were missing, but it looked sturdy enough.
Maggie slid out from under Henry. He looked nearly unconscious. “Henry, wake up. Give me your hand and I’ll try to help you down.”
When he lifted his head, it was apparent how pale he’d become. Wincing as he swung his leg over, he grabbed her hand and crumbled to the ground. She tried to catch him, but his weight crushed her. Her tiny frame was no match for his tall, solidly built physique.
“Whoa!” She yelled as she felt the sting of her own injury.
Pushing himself up, he groaned. “Not my most graceful moment, eh?”
“Not really the time for jokes,” she grumbled as they made their way to the door.
Spiderwebs lined the walls of the empty one-room. It smelled musky, but otherwise better than expected. Leaving him inside, she rushed back out to grab the saddle bag.
He’d removed the canvas bag from his shoulders and coat by the time she returned. His white shirt was stained red and a small puddle of blood had already formed on the dirt floor.
“Lie down,” she instructed as she ripped the blanket from the bag and spread it on the floor.
“Can you find some cloth to staunch the bleeding?” He asked as he weakly obeyed. “Hand it to me and then go hide Samson.”
Her fingers touched the skirt she’d removed earlier at the river and she had a brief realization that she was still only in her shift and pantalettes. Without a second thought, she ripped off a two-inch-wide strip of fabric along the bottom. She flung it at him and dashed back outside.
Tugging Samson towards the dilapidated barn, she watched over her shoulder for any signs of the soldiers. The horse dug in his hooves when they reached it, balking at the rundown structure, but she managed to coax him inside.
Strange to see a tree growing in the middle of a barn. She’d have to return later to tend to the horse. Right now, she had to make sure Henry stayed alive…
By the time she ran back, the puddle had begun to spread underneath him.
Her heart dropped when she saw his eyes shut, and for a moment she feared the worst until he gruffly whispered, “Thought you’d run off.”
She released the air she hadn’t realized she’d sucked in. “You’re on my blanket. I’d at least take that before I left.”
A tiny smile showed on his face. “It may be ruined after this.” He lifted pressure off his side and blood steadily trickled out.
She bit her lip. “Tell me what to do.”
Maggie flexed her blood-coated fingers, each sticking slightly together as it dried.
The bullet had traveled along his side, deep enough to nick a rib. A vein, too, if the amount of blood was any indication. But his blood began to clot as she worked—he’d been lucky.
Henry remained stiff as a board throughout cleaning and stitching. The most pain he’d shown was when she’d doused it in the alcohol, and he’d hissed through his teeth.
The situation had been more mentally taxing on her. Outwardly, she had tried to match his bravery, while internally, she wanted to run away. She was no healer and the thought of inflicting pain was unbearable.
He’d seen right through her mask. As she’d hesitated to pierce his skin with the needle, he’d said, “Think of all you’ve faced. Of all the times you probably wanted to kill me in the beginning. Find the fire, Maggie.”
Breathing in and out through her mouth, she’d tried to pretend she was back home, sewing one of the boys’ shirts with Mama. Stitching cloth instead of flesh.
She’d worked quickly using muscle memory. The stitches were evenly spaced and not one more than necessary. Mama would be proud of her work.
Watching Henry’s sleeping form now, she exhaled in relief that it was over.
His chest rose and fell gently and his color was beginning to return. Deciding to take advantage of unconsciousness, she looked him over.
The hair near his temples was still damp from perspiration.
Blonde stubble covered his lower cheeks, jaws, and chin, giving him a rugged quality that suited him.
His nose had a slight bump in the middle of his bridge, as if he’d broken it before.
Someone must have set it because it was still straight as an arrow.
His mother, perhaps. His dark brown eyelashes were so long they curled up at the ends.
If he’d had acne as a teenager, his perfect skin bore no trace.
Eyes traveling down to his hands folded across his belly, she could see several scars across his knuckles and arms. Limbs of a fighter.
His half-nakedness unnerved her. She’d seen her brothers without shirts countless times, but this was different.
Snapping herself back into reality, she chided herself for her wayward thoughts and stepped into what remained of her skirt.
The bottom now hung well above her ankles after she’d ripped several more strips from it.
More than ever, she wished for her bed back at the cabin. Adrenaline had flooded her body during the escape and surgery. Now that it was over, she was drained.
It was nearly dark, and they were concealed. For now, at least. She could afford to shut her eyes for a moment.
Henry stifled a groan when he awakened. His side throbbed but was bearable.
His gaze easily found Maggie. She sat slumped against the wall, her mouth slack. The ordeal had been stressful for her, but she’d done well and needed rest.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rose to his feet and wobbled out to the barn.
Samson lowly nickered at the sight of him.
Henry rubbed his muzzle. “I’m alright, old boy.” He noticed the empty stall. “Let’s get you some water.”
Finding a bucket, he was walking back from the well when Maggie sprinted towards the barn. As if sensing his presence, she squinted in the moonlight.
“Maggie?”
She nearly leapt out of her skin. He walked toward her, and the look of fright turned to anger.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting water for Samson.”
Her gaze shot down to the bucket he held. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.” She took the bucket from him. “How do you feel?”
“Like a bullet tried to burn through me. But better, thanks to you.”
An odd look crossed her face, and she mumbled something. Turning around, she stalked into the barn.
Dawn was beginning to creep up, the sky softening.
Henry hung in the doorframe. “Have I done something to offend you?” Her mood perplexed him.
She rolled her eyes and responded sharply. “No. I just don’t want to have to stay here any longer if you further harm yourself by being stubborn.”
“Stubborn? Ha! There’s the pot calling the kettle black. I went out only so that I wouldn’t have to wake you. I’ve had worse injuries before.”
Fire danced in her eyes again. “Your sister can patch you up next time. That is, if we ever make it to her. You won’t tell me where exactly we are going.
You just keep checking that stupid map. If you’d died, I wouldn’t have a clue where to go.
But then again, I guess I’d just be able to go straight into a Confederate camp and be safer there. ”
He knew a fight when he saw one. She wanted him to argue with her. But, as her speech continued, he realized she was right. She would have been fine with the rebels. It was his presence that had put her in danger.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. You’re right. Saddle Samson and find the camp. I will only hinder you.” He conceded, keeping his voice flat, determined not to make her feel obligated to stay.
But his response seemed to have the opposite effect. She was almost spitting with rage.
“Ugh! Are you trying to be a martyr? You think you’ll be saving me by letting me just take your horse and go away?
Say what you really feel—that this whole thing is an excuse to be rid of me.
You’ve been stuck with me since you found me in the woods.
Here’s your chance to make your Christian heart feel good by ‘helping me’ and you can make your own way. ”
Was she insane? There was no way she could actually believe that he felt that way.
Henry’s brow furrowed. “Are you through? Do you feel better getting that nonsense out of your head?” He walked over to the saddle bag and pulled out the map.
Kneeling with a soft groan, he unfolded it on the dirt floor and pointed.
Albemarle. “There. That’s where we are going.
Roughly guessing, we are somewhere around here,” moving his finger down.
“We are only a few days from it, at most.”
If she’d recognized the area, he couldn’t tell. But her face slightly softened, and she cast her gaze away from him.
He waited for her reply. Seeing none was forthcoming, he folded the map and handed it to her. “A few days and then you’ll be safe. If you can’t wait that long, the offer still stands to take the horse.” Without another word, he walked out of the shack.
He’d barely heard her mutter, “This would’ve been easier if he’d just been a monster.”