Chapter Fourteen
Abigail yawned widely behind her hand as James secured George into the traces. It was still early but she suspected it was going to be a warm day. And a sunny one, she thought happily. It could prove a good day for travel, but she hoped it did not get too warm. She was especially pleased that the night had not grown too cold, however. She had bundled the baby up as well as she could but had not really needed to. Abbie prayed her good fortune would continue. Jeremiah was still too young to fight off the illnesses a chill could give him.
Matthew braced for some pain but experienced little as he sat up and rested up against the back of the driver’s seat. He did wish his arm was not still a bit sore and useless. Abigail knew how to drive the wagon very well but he had seen all the signs yesterday of sore shoulders and arms. It was too much for a woman to do for any length of time, especially if it was not something they did regularly. If he tried to do the gentlemanly thing and take over for her he would no doubt pull out all his stitches, which would just make more work for her.
“We’re set to go,” said James after patting George’s neck. “I’ll take point.”
“Ready,” said Boyd as he climbed up into the wagon seat next to Abigail and placed the pistol he carried on his lap.
Abigail made sure her rifle was in reach, then checked her ammunition, and picked up the reins. Her shoulders protested a little at the start and she knew, at the end of this journey, they were going to be very painful, but she said nothing. James was the only able-bodied man and she could not call on him to give her a respite. They needed him scouting for trouble and able to deal with it. She only had to do the job today, she told herself.
By the time they halted for a midday meal, Abigail was no longer so happy about the sun. It was much too hot. Good weather for the baby to travel in, if properly shaded, but not so pleasant for someone stuck on a wagon seat with it beating down on her head and in her eyes. She searched through her chests and dug out an old sunbonnet her mother had liked. It would not only cover her head but shade her eyes and, she hoped, that would ease the pounding headache she was getting.
Eating a little food, which her stomach protested about, she then tended to Jeremiah and got him back to sleep. She settled him back in his bed under the shade of the canopy she had stretched over it and paused to take a few minutes for herself in the hope of getting rid of her headache. Lying down next to the baby’s bed, she held a cool damp cloth to her forehead and closed her eyes.
* * *
“Our wagon is stuck,” said James as he sat on a rock next to Matthew.
Matthew looked at the wagon and frowned. “Doesnae look stuck.”
“It’s stuck right where it is until the driver wakes up.”
“Then wake her up.”
“Nope. I have a rule. Never wake a woman.”
“Stupid rule,” Matthew muttered as he got up to walk over to the wagon, the other two men quickly following.
Matthew stood by the side of the wagon staring down at Abbie, his companions flanking him. He noticed she had put a canopy over the baby’s bed to keep him shaded. The cloth spread over her forehead told him she had gotten a headache and he suspected that was also why she was sleeping. He felt an odd feeling in his chest and sighed. He was well and truly caught and, he had to admit, he had not fought it at all.
“Why won’t ye wake a woman?” he quietly asked James.
“Because every time I would be sent to wake up my sister, Rebecca, she would punch me in the face.”
“Ye probably deserved it.”
“My sister Nell screamed and kicked,” said Boyd. “I’d just give her a little shake and she’d scream as if I was killing her, then kick me. My mother always said she was probably having a nightmare.”
“I complained to my father,” said James, “and he said my mother punched too so he just gave her a poke with a stick, a long stick. So I started doing that, right up until she got married. My sister’s husband doesn’t have bruises so I have to wonder if he does the same. Pa might have warned him.”
“My mother told me to just stare at her, that a person can sense that and wake up. Just to be sure, I had my brothers and sisters come with me and we all stared at her. It worked,” said Boyd, and nodded as if it had been the greatest hint of knowledge he had ever been given.
“How many brothers and sisters do ye have?” asked Matthew.
“Four brothers and three sisters,” Boyd answered. “The girls were the worst at waking up. Boys just cursed you, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep.”
Matthew shook his head. “I just have brothers but, while they might not wake up cheerful, they do wake up without any trouble.”
“Then you wake her up,” said James.
“Why not just let the lass sleep for a bit?”
That sounded like a good idea, Abigail thought, but doubted she would be able to after hearing their ridiculous conversation. For grown, battle-hardened men, they could certainly talk a lot of nonsense. Then she wondered if they had these moments of silliness because of how ugly their lives had to be sometimes when caught up in a war. It was a sad thought and she quickly shook it away.
“What is that on her head?” asked Matthew.
“A sunbonnet,” replied Boyd. “My mother always wore one.”
“Looks like a coal scuttle.”
Abigail decided that was more than any woman should have to endure and, fighting the urge to grin, she grabbed her rifle. She heard James curse and, when she rose up on her knees, she saw that all three men had ducked down, hiding by the side of the wagon. She put her rifle aside, moved to the side of the wagon, and peered over. It was nearly painful to hold back the urge to laugh.
“Why are you down there?” she asked.
“Checking on the goat,” said Matthew as he awkwardly stood up.
“Is she all right?”
“Looks fine,” said Boyd.
He brushed off his coat and frowned at her. “Where is your rifle?”
“Over there.” She pointed to where it was always set, away from the baby but still within reach, and allowed herself a small grin since her face was turned away from them.
Matthew glared at James who just shrugged and grinned. “I panicked.”
Ignoring them, Abbie checked to be sure Jeremiah was still safely shaded and asleep then climbed into the driver’s seat. “I think we ought to put the goat into the wagon,” she told Boyd when he climbed up beside her.
“Why? She really did look just fine. Only a bit dusty.”
“Because I need her milk for Jeremiah and I don’t think it is good for her to be trotting along under there. It is too hot and dusty. Even a goat has to be bothered by that.”
“Ah, I suppose it is possible it could affect her enough for her milk to dry up.”
He climbed into the back and used her chests to form a pen for the animal, pushing them to the sides and angling them to make a square with the wagon side. Abbie climbed into the back and stretched a blanket out to shade the area. She hoped the goat wouldn’t eat it as she secured it to the wagon. She got down to drag the goat out and heft her into the wagon, placed her in her newly constructed pen, then tied her rope to the back of the seat.
As Abbie got back into her seat she decided she needed a new name for the animal. She could not understand what had possessed Mrs. Beaton to call the goat Delphinium. Perhaps the animal ate some of hers, she decided as she picked up the reins and they started on their way.
“Are ye going to wear that hat all the way?” Matthew asked as he rode up by her side.
“At least until the sun sets, the coal scuttle stays on.”
Matthew winced, realizing she had been awake longer than he had suspected. Boyd hid a faint smile behind his hand but James was grinning widely and he knew the man was fighting not to laugh. Matthew tried to think of something to say, something that sounded like an apology, but he could not think of a thing. He did really hate that hat on her.
“Does the sun give ye freckles? I have heard women try to avoid those.”
“No. It burns me. I don’t get freckles but I get badly burned skin. So it does not even make me get darker in color, just peels horribly.”
He decided he would try to forget about the hat for a while. It was more important for him to concentrate staying on his horse. It was proving far more difficult than he had thought it would be.
Matthew sighed and fought to ignore how his wounds felt. James was acting as their scout because he could not ride hard, but it was beginning to feel like he should not be riding at all. The doctor had warned him but he had not listened, had not wanted to. He could tolerate the ache in his arm and leg but the pinching pain and ache in his belly was a bit more than he could bear, especially since every movement of the horse caused it to ache or sting.
Abbie glanced at Matthew and suspected he should not be riding his horse so soon after being wounded. He was looking a little gray. She just hoped he had the sense to get in the wagon if he got too sore or weary. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him cover his stomach and then she silently cursed. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from yelling at him to get in the wagon. Since she could see no sign of renewed bleeding she would just leave him to his misery for now.
“Has the goat left enough room for me?” Matthew asked a half hour later.
Abbie looked at him. “I believe so. Shall I halt the wagon?”
“Aye. It was too soon for this,” he muttered.
“I thought it might be,” she said quietly as she halted the wagon.
“What’s wrong?” asked James as he rode up and then he looked at Matthew. “Ah. Giving up.”
“Too soon,” Matthew said as he dismounted with as much help as Boyd could give him. “Arm and leg are all right but the damned stomach wound isnae cooperating.” He climbed into the wagon and leaned back against the wagon seat back. “It complains with every move.”
“Harvey said it would,” said James as he unsaddled Matthew’s horse and tied it to the back of the wagon. “Maybe you ought to have listened to him.”
“As ye would have, I suspicion.”
James laughed. “Not at all. To my way of thinking, if it is sewn up and blood’s not flowing, it’s mended. Always been proved wrong and survived. Pa always said ‘grin and bear it’ and I took that to heart. Then again, Pa never went to a real doctor. Probably should remind myself of that from time to time.” James remounted his horse. “Going to be riding around you for a while. Want to check the rear, your flanks, and be sure we don’t ride right into something. Just have a feeling it would be best.” He turned his horse and road off.
“He gets a lot of ‘feelings,’ doesn’t he?” said Abbie as she started the wagon moving again.
“Aye, and we always heed them. My mother would have said James has the gift.”
“Gift? What gift?”
“Gift of sight or some other thing. She had belief in all the old ways. James has some instinct that warns him of trouble, a kind nay everyone else is blessed with.”
“Ah. My brother had something like that. It was one reason we were so stunned when we were caught by surprise by those men on the day they took him. It must have failed him because he was caught and taken.”
“Or it didnae fail him at all. He might have kenned about the attack but thought he could save his kin.”
Abbie sighed and shook her head. “That would be just like Reid. Trying to be the hero and instead running right into a trap. Do you want me to check your wounds?”
“Nay. They just ache. I cannae feel any hint of bleeding and that’s good, aye? It is that stupid grin on my belly causing me pain but no bleeding there either.”
“Good. So all you did was use them all too soon. You may be stitched up but the skin is still broken over the wounds, held together only by stitching—delicate, expert stitches done by a skilled and steady hand.”
Matthew struggled to keep his chuckles smothered. He liked her bite but, at the moment, he was feeling too battered to show her just how much. Perhaps after he was home for a few days. The sound of someone approaching quickly yanked him out of the delightfully bawdy daydream he had been indulging in.
He turned to get a clear look behind them and cursed himself for letting pride make him ride the horse. That bit of vanity had weakened him at a time when he could be needed to fight.
“Why is James riding up so fast?” asked Abbie, glancing behind her and then tugging on the reins to slow them down. “I have a feeling right now and it is telling me that’s not good.”
“Keep going!” yelled James. “Don’t slow down!”
“Go, Abbie,” ordered Matthew as he picked up his gun. “What’s coming?” he called back to James.
“About two dozen armed men. They are wearing a mix of regular clothes and Confederate uniforms.”
“So, marauders or whatever name they want to use this month.” Matthew carefully moved until he was poised to fire out the back of the wagon. “Why the hell didn’t they choose to go south?”
“Because all the folk down there are Confederates and they are keen on slaughtering blue bellies?” He just laughed when Matthew gave him a rude gesture.
James rode up and untied his horse. Matthew waved his thanks and watched the road behind them. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and noticed Abbie had slumped in her seat enough to protect her back some. With a final look at the baby and the sleeping goat, he prayed no shots could reach them and turned his full attention to the men rounding the bend in the road, shifting enough so that his own body also provided some protection for the baby.
The wagon began to move faster but was still moving at a pace that could easily be caught by a man on a galloping horse. All it did was make steadying his rifle harder. All the men following them were pushing their mounts hard. His job was to kill anyone who got too close so he took aim and fired. He cursed at the pain using his rifle caused his injured arm but was pleased that he had hit a man.
Abbie secured the reins, confident that George would keep on the road, and then climbed into the back of the wagon. She grabbed her rifle, checked to be certain it was loaded, and took up a position next to Matthew. She could hear Boyd struggling to get into the back of the wagon himself, but could not lend him a hand. Abbie suspected he would be sorely embarrassed if she tried. Aiming carefully, she fired, and a man fell out of his saddle.
“The horse,” Matthew said, glancing back at George who was staying steady on the road even though his pace was a lot slower than Matthew was comfortable with.
“George will stay straight on the road. It is what he is very good at. He really doesn’t like turning off a road. Doesn’t this lead to your home?”
“Aye, right to the gates. We’re going by the Jones brothers’ cabins now.” He switched to his pistol and fired it, hitting a man who was getting too close to them.
James rode up beside them even as Boyd finally managed to get into the back of the wagon. He leapt from his horse onto the seat and the horses he left stayed close, running alongside George. He then picked up the reins to hold the animal steady.
“George wouldn’t have veered off the road, James,” Abbie said.
“George is a contrary beast, isn’t he? I just thought he’d feel better knowing someone held the reins.”
“Quite possibly. Thank you.” She shot another man at the same time Boyd fired his pistol and a man screamed.
Abbie was just reloading when she heard shots sound from behind them, from behind the men chasing them, too. She frowned as the men pursuing them began to slow their pace and search behind them and to the sides. Puzzled, she was just about to ask Matthew what was happening when he whooped in glee.
“I was hoping they would come,” Matthew said and grinned. “The sound of shooting must have brought them.”
“Who would come?”
“The Jones brothers. Our shepherds.”
“Shepherds?” said Boyd in what sounded very much like horror to Abbie.
“Sorry, lad, but our family raises sheep.” Matthew laughed at the look of sheer disappointment on Boyd’s face. “Makes a nice living.”
Boyd just shook his head. “Is that them?” he asked and pointed to two men riding hard through the trees on the right. “How much help can two shepherds be?”
“Yup, that’s them. And they are Welsh. Trust me, long history of fighting with the Welsh. Although I think those two have been practicing their shooting,” he mumbled as two men fell out of their saddles. “Owen and David Jones.”
The men chasing them hesitated only a moment before they finally noticed how many of them were dead. Helping up the ones wounded, they fled. Abbie had no liking for killing or wounding actual people so made no attempt to shoot at anyone trying to pick up the wounded, but she did wonder why they left. Even with the addition of the shepherds and accounting for the dead and wounded, the men were not yet outnumbered. She shrugged thinking that they had probably thought they had found an easy target only to have it turn out to be not so easy at all.
Then the wagon slowed to a halt and she scrambled over to pick up a now-screaming Jeremiah. It took her several moments to quiet the baby. He was sucking furiously on his fists so she knew the quiet wouldn’t last long. Hunger might not have woken him up, but he would feel it now. The noise and the rough ride were proving to be upsetting for him. Yet she could do little about that. She just hoped they did not have that far left to go.
She got out the nursing jug and moved to the goat only to find one of the Jones brothers petting the animal. “I need to fill his nursing jug.”
“I’ll do that for you, miss.”
He took the jug and easily milked the goat, talking softly to the animal in some language she did not recognize. “Which Jones brother are you?”
“Owen.” He grinned. “The smart one. Ow!” He cast a glare at his brother who had slapped him on the back of the head. “This is David.”
“Nice goat,” said David. “What’s her name?”
“I fear it is Delphinium.”
“Oh, that’ll never work. Got to call them by a name they might answer to, if they are in the right mood to listen.” Owen handed her back the full nursing jug. “Didn’t like all the shooting, did you?” he said to the goat, who nuzzled him and then grabbed his hat in her teeth.
As Owen fought to get his hat back from the stubborn goat, which caused his brother to laugh heartily, Abbie sat down and fed Jeremiah. The Jones boys were a handsome pair in a rough way. Thick, unruly black hair and striking blue eyes in a faintly rugged face made for a look any woman would appreciate. It was not a surprise that David’s wife was trying to help get the other brother for her sister. Not only would the woman be getting her sister a very fine-looking man but it would keep them sisters.
She listened to the men talk as she fed the baby, Matthew and the brothers exchanging news about his family, and she began to feel nervous. There were so many of them. She always felt awkward meeting new people and it was beginning to sound as if there were a lot of them at Matthew’s home. By the time she was patting Jeremiah’s back, Matthew had moved to sit beside her. She noticed he was looking a bit flushed and had beads of sweat on his forehead. Both could be the result of heat and exertion, but she was worried.
“Ready to head out?” he asked.
“In a little bit. He was badly upset by all the gunfire but I think he will settle down well in a minute now that he is full.”
“Settle him now,” said James. “I’m getting the feeling those idiots have found friends or courage.” James jumped on his horse.
“Another feeling?” she grumbled. “Am I going to have to make George run again? He really hates that.”
“I fear so,” James said, his voice full of laughter. “He’s strange, but he is a big boy. He can handle it.”
“We’ll go and make certain the gates are opened for you, Matthew, and that they know you are running in,” said Owen and hurried back to his horse, his brother following him. “Be back to lend you a hand in a bit so don’t get shot.”
“That was kind of him,” she said and then sighed because Matthew was laughing. Abbie decided she would never understand the things men thought were funny.
She settled Jeremiah in his bed, prayed the baby would be allowed to sleep, petted the goat, and got back in the wagon seat. Abbie really hoped that this time James’s feeling was wrong. She just wanted to settle somewhere for a little while before there was any more danger. She was not so naïve she believed there was any place on earth where there was not some danger, but she really wanted just a little while to enjoy quiet and safety.
“He really needs to stop having feelings,” she muttered as she picked up the reins.
“Until he does, we will listen to them,” said Boyd as he sat down next to her. “Matthew and Dan say his feelings have saved their hides many times.”
“Then let’s head for these gates,” she said, and urged George into a quick pace.
Boyd clutched at the seat. Abbie noticed that even the hand on his wounded arm was working to hold him in his seat but she said nothing. The young man was just too afraid to knowingly try it out but she suspected that would change soon. It would have to occur to him soon. She idly wondered if there was any trick she could use to make him notice it faster.
Her eyes widened with a touch of fear as she glanced back and saw more armed men running after them. Abbie wondered where they were coming from since she had heard that a lot of the army had left the area. She also wondered what they thought they could gain from them as there was nothing obvious that would tempt their greed.
Matthew and the others were doing a fine job of holding them back but she worried about them, especially when she saw that Matthew was back on his horse again. She was going to smack him when she got off the wagon. She understood his need to stand by his friend James but the fool was going to rip his stitches open.
She heard Boyd curse and looked at him but he was staring forward. Following his gaze she frowned as she saw the large stockade come into view. The Jones brothers stood on either side of the open gates and she urged George toward them even though she knew the animal was tiring. The moment she did so, the men ran to leap onto their horses and rush to aid Matthew and James.
“I didn’t think we were going to a fort.”
“This is his home,” said Boyd. “He told me they had put up a fence.”
“A fence.” She shook her head. “He probably thinks that is funny. Are those men up on the walls?”
“I think so. Like coming to a castle, ain’t it, only this one is made of wood.”
“Right now what it looks like to me is safety.”