TWO
Day one passed by quickly. Maggie pushed through the tiredness and continued, stopping every couple of miles to check the maps and ensure she was on the right track.
The most helpful map Elijah had pulled from the cache was hand-drawn, with landmarks leading her out of the cove with the least amount of altitude change.
It also skirted around towns and well-known farms, keeping her concealed in the forest.
It was the same path that Isham would have followed, she realized with a mournful heart.
She was forced to stop when darkness fell, despite knowing that she hadn’t reached her goal of twenty miles. She would have to pick up the pace.
It might be early spring, but there was still a nip in the air.
She gathered twigs and a few small branches and quickly made a fire as Henry had taught her.
Grateful not to have to worry about cooking, she ate half of the food from the Browns.
When she was finished, she cleaned up the site and placed the extra food back into her pack and threw it up in a tree, far away from her.
Elijah had said that there were plenty of food sources out right now for animals, but to be cautious.
She made her bed on pine needles, spreading her blanket over them, using the pack for a pillow. It was eerie sleeping out in the open.
There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just squirrels, birds, maybe a deer, and an owl around. Bears will be far away, eating trout. The armies are still miles away... I hope.
In her fear, she was glad that Elijah had insisted she take the pistol. She brushed her fingers over the handle she had slid under the edge of the blanket. It was loaded, so all she had to do was point and shoot, but as a last resort, of course.
She was uneasy thinking of the situation that would require her to use it, so she withdrew her hand and turned over.
Clutching her knees to her chest, she whispered, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Repeating it over and over, she finally drifted to sleep.
Day two came and went in much of the same manner. She rose when the first rays of dawn touched her face, sipped some water, relieved herself, and packed up. It’d been wise yesterday to double-layer her stockings, but her feet and legs already ached. The muscles were unaccustomed to such exercise.
Thinking of Henry, Levi, and Abigail, she walked. Mile after mile, she thought of little else. It was the only way to push herself. They depended on her.
She collapsed that night, exhausted, but she’d done it. Twenty-two miles. With no energy for a fire, she pulled the blanket around her and went to sleep. The noises of the night couldn’t have woken her.
Day three came, and Maggie stretched, her muscles tighter and sorer than ever.
The pack’s weight only added to it. She walked slowly, hoping to warm up before picking up the pace.
The map had guided her well, thus far, but she remained alert for any others that might be hiding in the woods.
It was unlikely that she would encounter anyone left other than women, children, and elderly men, but she kept to the tree lines anyway.
The wad of money she had sewn into her dress was concealed. As was the pistol in the pack.
She guessed that she’d be near Ashboro later in the day or tomorrow.
It’d be the first time she encountered ‘people’, and she had to tread carefully.
The confederacy could just as easily occupy the town as the Union, and she was carrying a Union uniform.
Elijah had instructed her to find the New Market Inn and asked to speak with Mr. Joseph Newlin, a Friend.
If Newlin still resided in Randolph County, he’d help point her in the right direction. North, after all, was the goal.
Maggie had stopped for a drink of water when she heard the dogs.
The first bark sent a shiver up her spine.
The second had her sprinting down the wooded hill.
Slipping in the leaves that blanketed the ground, she slid the last few feet.
She scrambled to her feet and took off running.
Even if she could reach the pistol, one shot wouldn’t be enough.
The dogs were getting closer now. Their howls pierced the air.
A few feet ahead was a large oak. She threw the pack down and quickly grabbed hold of the bottom of her skirt and tucked it into the waistband.
Then she climbed. Her fingers clung to the tree, and she pushed herself up with her feet.
She’d just made it up on the lowest branch when the dogs bounded out of the thicket.
Four of them circled the tree. One, which she suspected was the alpha, jumped up at her. But then they caught the scent of her pack and turned their attention to it, pawing at it.
Maggie leaned back against the tree, trying to catch her breath. Thank God they hadn’t come upon her when she was sleeping.
Cautiously, she peered down at them. They didn’t look wild. No evidence of starvation and they seemed fairly clean. Now that they had her pack, they weren’t violent towards her.
Maggie’s thoughts were interrupted by a shrill whistle.
“Come ‘er, boys,” a woman called further down the hill.
Digging her fingers into the tree bark, Maggie pushed herself as far back as she could go, trying to hide, but it was no use. A heavy-set, middle-aged woman walked right up to the dogs and looked from Maggie’s pack up to the branch where she sat. The woman whistled again.
Finally obeying their master, the dogs moved away from the pack and sat in front of the woman.
“Good boys,” she muttered, giving them a pat on the head. But her eyes never left Maggie. “Are you alright, gal?”
It took Maggie a few seconds to recover before she could answer. “Y-Yes.”
“You can come down now.”
Maggie didn’t move. The woman must have seen the disbelief on her face. “They won’t hurt you. They were only hunting squirrels and chased you because you ran.” When Maggie still didn’t move, she asked, “Can you get down?”
Unclenching her fingers, Maggie nodded and slowly climbed down, watching the dogs over her shoulder. True to the woman’s word, they didn’t move.
When Maggie had both feet on the ground, she shook out her skirt and dusted her hands off. She marched over, reclaimed her pack, and brushed dirt and slobber off as best she could before shouldering it.
The woman took it all in with her eyes. “Far from home?”
The question put Maggie on edge. The first person she had encountered and already too curious about her whereabouts. “Sort of. I’m headed to Ashboro. Do you know it?”
“Indeed, I do. What brings you here?”
Another question, Maggie silently fumed.
“Looking for work and heard there might be a mill nearby. I thought I’d inquire in town. How far are we from it?”
The woman pointed over her shoulder. “Just a few miles that way down the wagon road. You’ll be wanting to speak with Mr. Newlin, yes?” Her dark blue eyes intently rested on Maggie’s face.
Feigning indifference, Maggie shrugged. “No clue. Does he run the mill?”
The question tossed back didn’t faze the woman. “I’ll take you to him. We’ve gotten enough for today.” She pat the dead squirrels she had tied together, hanging from her belt.
She was resourceful, Maggie would give her that.
At Maggie’s nod of approval, the woman signaled the dogs ahead. “Come on, boys. Home.”
The four hounds ran ahead, leaving Maggie to follow the woman.
Maggie had been a quarter of a mile from the wagon road, hidden by the underbrush.
They stepped onto the packed dirt and continued downhill.
The woman said nothing, and Maggie was content to remain in silence if that meant no more questions.
Before long, the town came into view. It was a larger community than Maggie expected, but she trusted Elijah.
Close to the town’s square, the woman signaled her dogs and stopped.
Instantly, Maggie was wary. The woman unclipped a few squirrels from her belt and held them out to Maggie.
Not understanding what she wanted, Maggie stood there looking at the little beady eyes. All appetite dissolved.
“Are you going to take them, or not?” The woman asked critically.
“Erm… Are you sure?” Maggie hesitated.
The woman rolled her eyes and pushed the cord holding the squirrels into Maggie’s hand. “They’re for Mr. Newlin, not you. Go down Main Street, third shop on the right, and you’ll see the postmaster. It’ll either be him or his daughter working. They’ll help get you sorted.”
“Third shop on the right…” Maggie repeated, scanning in that direction. When she turned back, the woman had already begun walking away in the other direction. “Wait, I didn’t get your name.”
The woman answered without turning around. “Mary. Mary Burson.”
“Thank… you?” Maggie started to say, but Mary was too far away to hear her.
What a strange woman.
Maggie started into town, carefully holding the squirrels out so they didn’t brush up against her skirt. If she already didn’t look conspicuous enough, she did now.
A few townspeople stared at her when she passed.
But Maggie remembered the old trick, act like you belong.
Keeping her head high and gaze straight, she marched to the building with a painted sign “New Market”.
A bell dinged when she opened the door, making her jump.
Inside, though, it resembled what was once probably a normal shop.
There were still odd pieces of tin lying about, and a few goods, but mostly empty shelves.
A woman came from the back to stand behind the post counter. She stared at the squirrels in Maggie’s hand. “Can I help thee?”
When she spoke, Maggie forgot all about the string of rodents she held and nearly collapsed with thanksgiving. A Friend. She smiled for the first time in days.
“I’m a friend of Levi and Abigail Howard… I’m looking for Mr. Newlin?”