SEVEN #2
McDewitt raised his eyebrows in disapproval. “No. Now, let’s move this wagon,” he ordered Tucker. Tucker at once clicked at the horses, and the wagon lurched forward.
“Wait!” Maggie cried.
Adams turned in his seat, “Hush, now, my dear. I will find out what’s to do,” he patted her hand. “Lieutenant, may we be privy to know where we are headed? My companion is a little distressed.”
McDewitt sighed. “Maybe next time you’ll reconsider traveling with a woman, Reverend.
For your sanity alone, I shall answer—nearer Five Forks.
We’ll arrive by nightfall if we hurry.” He picked up his reins to ride off, but almost as an afterthought, threw one last piece of importation over his shoulder. “The order came from Sheridan.”
Sheridan was near. Which meant… they were that much closer to finding Henry.
Maggie’s knees nearly buckled. Cynthia caught her by the elbow and helped her sit down. But McDewitt was already gone, riding back towards the front. Tucker urged the horses onward to keep up.
“Calm yourself, Margaret. When we arrive, Tucker and I will find him. Take these last few hours and compose yourself in prayer.” Adams spoke without condemnation, but with spiritual authority. She understood that he knew what this meant to her, even if he didn’t understand the exact reason.
As the wagon jostled violently behind the battalion, Maggie tried to heed his advice. But at best, all she could utter was, “God, please let him be here. Please help me find him.”
Her heart seemed to beat to the sound of the hooves pounding the dirt. The long journey to find him would soon be at an end.
The shadow of darkness fell, but they didn’t stop. The men and horses were weary, and there was a strange tension in the air. The Reverend seemed to sense it too. His lips moved wordlessly in prayer throughout the journey, though his eyes stayed fixed on what lay ahead.
Another mile passed and Maggie could swear she heard gunshots. When the horses' ears twitched at the sound, she knew she wasn’t imagining it. McDewitt picked up the pace, urging the men to make haste. The sounds got louder, though more sporadic.
“Get down,” Tucker urged the women.
Is McDewitt going to take us straight into battle? Maggie couldn’t imagine he’d forgotten them.
McDewitt began to give orders, and the men positioned themselves accordingly. Tucker hung back, keeping a hundred yards between the last line and their wagon.
Small flashes of orange, red, and white were visible no more than a mile away. Gunfire.
“Rebels are retreating, sir,” someone shouted to McDewitt.
“Hold position,” McDewitt commanded. “Greenwood, ride out and see if you can find Sheridan or another general. Relay our position.”
Maggie watched through a gap in the wood, seeing the sparks of gunfire. Each shot echoed in her bones. If Henry were here, he would be fighting. Right now, bullets could be flying in his direction. Men armed with swords, muskets, and bayonets charging towards him.
In the time that they’d been apart, and even before they’d met, he had faced the same dangers that every battle brings. Yet the thought of his close proximity to her and being unable to stop the potential harm to him threatened to undo her.
She thought she’d healed from the trauma that had been inflicted on her, but the images raging in her head sent her into panic mode.
“Maggie,” Cynthia whispered, pointing out. ‘Greenwood’ was back. Maggie shot up to listen better.
“…head for Dinwiddie. Reinforcements are gathering there. Sheridan was pushed back, but the rebels are withdrawing to Five Forks,” He addressed McDewitt but respectfully relayed the information loud enough for others to hear.
McDewitt nodded. “You heard our orders, men.” Motioning onward, the troops began to move, following behind the gunfire.
Not being told otherwise, Tucker released his grip slightly, letting the horses walk slowly, maintaining the distance until they were within sight of the union pickets.
At McDewitt’s command, they parted, allowing the battalion in, but stopped their wagon. “The reverend may enter with his man for support. But these two women stay here until my order says otherwise— they don’t enter, and they don’t leave.”
The guards, now fully apprised of the situation, kept their eyes on the newcomers. One approached Captain McDewitt and whispered something to him atop his horse.
Whatever was said sparked in the captain's eyes. With a quick motion to move out, he spurred his horse on, disappearing inside.
“The horses need tending,” Tucker murmured to Cynthia. He unharnessed them and led them away to find water.
Maggie hadn’t taken her eyes away from the town before them. She wanted to run through and find Henry.
The reverend noticed. “When Tucker comes back, we’ll venture in and see what information we can find on Officer Farrow.”
She couldn’t speak for emotions had thickened her throat. The best she could do was nod her head.
True to his word, despite physical and mental exhaustion, the Reverend hobbled into the camp with Tucker’s help as soon as he returned.
With only the pickets guarding the road, Maggie could see clearly into the town.
Victory noise, such as Yankee Doodle, rang out.
But there were also sounds of pain. Men groaning, a few screams. Injured men were still being brought in.
It tore Maggie’s gut. She paced, yearning to be allowed in herself. Waiting for the Reverend and Tucker to return was agony. What if one of the screams belonged to Henry? What if he is lying in one of the piles of bodies being carried away from the battle?
“Stop that,” Cynthia chided her.
The remark brought Maggie out of her head. “Stop what?”
“The pacing. It’s drawing attention,” Cynthia discreetly pointed over to the sentinels.
She was right. They were looking in their direction. “Sorry,” Maggie muttered. “I just wish—”
“I know. But you’re going to have to be patient. There’s nothing we can do.”
For now, Maggie mentally amended. She would give them until daybreak to return. If they were back by then, she would find them. Even if she had to find a way to sneak inside.
She was sure she was on the verge of insanity when Tucker returned carrying the Reverend.
“Is he alright? Did you find Henry?” Maggie ran to meet them at the picket line.
Adams was quick to cut to the chase. “I’m fine. My legs just simply gave out.” Tucker set him down on a fallen log nearby. Maggie knelt beside him, uncaring that the mud seeped through her skirt.
“Henry wasn’t among the wounded. I was careful to solicit names; none were Henry.
As we were leaving, one of the nurses approached, and I asked if she had heard of Officer John Henry Farrow under General Sheridan.
She hadn’t, but she did think that there was a man from Sheridan’s army who had just been brought in to the surgeon.
As my legs grew numb, I prayed for God to give me the strength to continue.
If we left for the night, that man might likely vanish.
As if God were standing next to me, my feeling in my legs was restored.
I felt younger than I had in years. I knew we would find him. ”
The reverend paused, holding Maggie’s hands. “We didn’t find Henry tonight, but as of this morning, Henry was here.”