CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THEY CAME ACROSS the first dead body about three miles from where they exited the river, just as the sun’s glow seeped up from the horizon. It was a British soldier, his face twisted in death, fingers loosely wrapped around his rifle. The twins paled, Jacqueline reached for her brother’s hand, but he put his arm around her and pulled her close enough she could bury her face against his shoulder as they passed.
“I should like his coat.” Julian shivered as they stepped around another fallen soldier. The boy’s thin shoulders were covered with a fine frost.
Jacqueline had finally swallowed her fear and squeamish tendencies, determined to be as calm and stoic as Eva. “It’s soaked in blood and muck, Julian,” his sister said in a hushed tone. “You’d regret it. Besides, taking it wouldn’t be right.”
Beatrice made the sign of the cross over the man. “The British will soon be back for their dead.”
Eva rose from another futile effort to check for signs of life. “We must keep going,” she added, shifting her satchel to the other shoulder. They each had one, filled with medical supplies. She cast a sideways glance at Sister Beatrice, worried about her ability to walk such a long distance. Had they reached the Chalmette landing, they’d have been placed on a hospital wagon straight away. No one had anticipated a sloppy trek through the frigid mud.
They trudged in silence. Almost silence. The sound of teeth chattering interrupted the surreal tranquility. Eva’s feet were no longer cold since they were now numb. Jacqueline was slogging in a mud-covered stocking because her foot had come out of her boot when the muck wouldn’t release it. Julian wrenched it free, but not until after his sister tripped forward. Their lips were blue and shivering.
The guilt of being the one responsible for their misery leaked acid into her stomach. She prayed to God for protection and their safe return. For Drago and his men too, uncertain if they were alive or dead. Her heart twisted and sank, leaving a raw gaping hole in her chest. She wanted to scream her grief and anger into the cruel new light of the dawn.
Like a specter in the mist, a gray horse limped a few yards to the right, heading in the opposite direction. Julian tried to capture the creature, but it spooked and ran. The harsh winter wind cut across their faces with brutal nonchalance.
They stayed as close to the water as they dared, thinking the British, might avoid the river, in case there were any more gunboats drifting along.
Julian picked up an abandoned pouch of musket shot and tossed it into his satchel. Jacqueline followed behind, warily scanning the trees. “It’s too quiet.”
“That’s because every living thing’s been driven away by the battle.” He surveyed the devastation around him. “Or destroyed. Look at this tree.”
A young oak with a circumference of a barrel was sprawled across the ground, Its trunk had been shredded by a cannon shot, great splinters flared in a fan of jagged spikes; its top hidden in a tangle of brush.
A low moan perforated the stillness.
Jacqueline’s eyes widened and she stopped. “Did you hear that?”.
Julian tapped his finger to his lips. Together, they listened.
His sister pointed to a cluster of willow bushes. “It’s coming from in there.” Her voice trembled.
Eva shifted her supply bag to the other shoulder. “It’s probably someone who’s wounded.”
Beatrice grabbed her arm. “Or it could be a bear or an alligator.”
She gave the elderly nun an exasperated look, and whispered, “It sounded quite human, Sister Beatrice.”
Julian picked up a short branch and threw it into the bushes. “If it’s a critter, it’ll run.”
No bear ran off, no alligator thrashed its tail.
Another moan, louder this time.
Eva started toward the noise. The boy bravely stepped up to join her, pushing branches out of her path. She came upon a soldier, his blue coat and orange facings indicating he belonged to the British Light Dragoons, a mounted regiment. The lower half of his body was hidden within the leafy top of the downed tree. He looked to be near twenty, by the sparse covering of blonde whiskers on his cheeks. Blood streaked his face.
“How badly is he hurt?” Jacqueline knelt beside Eva and used the corner of her cloak to wipe away the blood. “He has a wound on his forehead.”
Sister Beatrice leaned in. “How bad are his injuries?”
“It’s hard to tell, half of him is hidden,” she said.
The man’s eyelids flickered and then opened.
“You have very blue eyes,” Jacqueline stated calmly, sitting back on her heels. “What is your name?”
The young man blinked and stared at her a moment before he answered. “Blackwood, miss. Major Ethan Blackwood.” He tried to raise his head and winced. “At your service.”
She flattened her mouth. “That appears unlikely. You’ve got a gash on your forehead.” She pointed. “Just there. It doesn’t seem to be terribly deep. I’m Jacqueline Louisa Sauvage, at your service, since apparently, you’re the one in need.”
His baffled gaze hopped from one face to the next. “What happened?”
Jacqueline gestured at the surrounding foliage. “It appears you have been felled by a tree.”
Eva attempted to pull away a branch for a better look. “Don’t move just yet, try to find your bearings first.” She scanned as much of him as she could looking for wounds. If his lower body is unscathed, with no injuries or breaks, they may be able to help him merely by freeing him from the tree.
With a grimace, he raised to his elbows and looked down at his body. “Can’t move my legs.”
Eva’s heart sank. Not good news.
“In fact,” he said wincing, “there is a sharp pain in my left thigh.” He took in the splintered trunks nearby and his face paled. “Do you suppose it’s been blown off?”
Eva gave him a small smile, hoping it was reassuring. “Not likely,” she said.
Jacqueline piped up. “If it had, you’d have bled to death by now.”
The man dropped his head back to earth. “Well, that’s a comfort.”
Julian crawled into the thick brush. “It doesn’t look like you’re under the trunk, but there is a rather large branch across your legs.”
Beatrice straightened and flexed her gnarled fingers. “Well, we should attempt to move it, should we not? Come. If we all heave up, we should be able to lift it enough to free him.”
The four broke branches and cleared brush away until they could grasp it. On Julian’s count, they heaved. It was no willowy thing, but instead the size of a man’s torso. Had his legs been pinned closer to the trunk, it would have been impossible to clear without an ax.
As it was, Eva strained until her muscles began to shake. She wasn’t sure how long her grip would last. The shredded limb dug into her palms until they burned.
Julian grunted, his face red with exertion. “Can you move?”
The soldier squirmed then grimaced in pain. “No.”
“Jacqueline, crawl in and see what’s wrong!” Beatrice gasped. “Quickly and with a will! I won’t be able to keep my hold much longer.”
The energetic girl dropped to her hands and knees and scurried in. “Oh, my... It appears a smaller branch has punctured his leg. You must lift it higher before he can move away.”
Eva groaned and rolled the load of the tree from her palms to her forearms. They braced their feet and shifted their weight for one final effort.
“We almost have it,” Jacqueline shouted. “I’m going to wedge my shoulder under it from down here.” The branch jerked upward. “Move, Mr. Blackwood! Now!”
The soldier dug his right heel into the ground and scooted himself back.
“My hands are slipping!” Sister Beatrice grunted, her face scrunched with effort. Once the limb slid from her grasp, neither Julian nor Eva could support the weight. It drove both of them to the earth and a short scream burst from the foliage.
Eva cried out in panic. “Jacqueline!” Her heart rammed against her ribs, sending blood pounding through her ears. The terrifying image of the young girl crushed by the tree had her frantically clawing desperately for a better handhold. The muscles in her arms and back screamed in pain.
Beatrice struggled to gain a new grip on the limb, her hands were bleeding and a small branch whipped across her face, leaving a bright red welt.
Ethan Blackwood’s left thigh oozed blood. Ignoring his wound he rolled to his stomach and squirmed into the foliage of the tree until only his boots showed. A second later, he wiggled back out with Jacqueline clinging to his arm.
With a collective groan, Eva, Julian, and Beatrice collapsed. She started to crawl forward, to look for signs of injury or blood, but her palms protested. The splintered wood had punctured the skin in several places, and it looked as if some of it was still there. She heaved her shrieking body vertical and staggered over to the brave girl and Blackwood then sank back to the ground.
Jacqueline was gasping for breath, sprawled across Blackwood’s chest, hair a tangled mass of twigs and leaves. She opened her eyes, and Eva marked the exact moment she realized her physical location. With a horrified gasp, she tried to push herself off the man but ended up floundering like a minnow out of the water. He pulled her off and to his right, where she landed on her backside with a very unladylike oof.
Relief had Eva sending up a short prayer of thanks.
Blackwood gasped for air with the rest of them. “It’s a good thing...Miss Jacqueline...you are... not portly in the slightest,” the young officer panted. A light sheen of sweat coated his face, giving it a grayish cast.
For once, the sprite had no retort.
Ignoring her own bloodied hands, Eva opened her satchel and drew out a small bottle and several bandages. “Let’s have a look at that leg, major.” She removed the cork. “This will sting, but it is necessary.” She splashed a small amount of whiskey over the wound, before wiping away the blood. To his credit, he only let out a soft hiss of pain, although his face was drawn and pained. She prodded around and removed several splinters of wood before coating it with salve, bandaging it tightly.
“Thank you, sister,” he whispered.
“You must care for this wound diligently, Major Blackwood,” Eva instructed. “Otherwise you may yet lose your leg.”
Julian crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose he’s our prisoner then.”
Jacqueline rolled her eyes and gave him an exasperated look. “What in the world would we possibly do with a prisoner?” She gestured at the soldier’s long frame. “It’s not like any of us are strong enough to carry him.”
Beatrice slammed her eyebrows down. “There’ll be no taking of prisoners, young man.”
They were here as healers, not soldiers. Jacqueline brought up a tricky dilemma, however. Eva took in the landscape around them, trying to get a better sense of how far south of Villeré they were. The fog made it impossible, though.
Jacqueline was running her fingers through her hair, pulling out debris. “We can’t very well just leave him here, can we?” She said in that practical tone of hers. “The gators will get him for sure, lame as he is.”
Blackwood swiftly shoved himself into a more upright sitting position. “Alligators? Here? This far from the swamp?”
Jacqueline shrugged, her eyes crossing as she focused on unknotting a tiny twig from a tangled lock of hair.
The soldier let out a piercing whistle, startling them. At their looks of surprise he apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m calling Ferret, my horse, in case he survived and is near enough to hear.”
Jacqueline wrinkled her nose. “You named your horse Ferret?”
Ethan Blackwood just gave her a small smile. “I didn’t name him. However, he is quite intelligent. Much like a wily ferret.”
The sound of a horse’s hooves on the soft ground drew their attention. A gray gelding trotted into view, the same one they noticed earlier limping through the fog. But, this time he had a rider. Or apparently, someone who was attempting to ride him. The man mostly bounced erratically on the beast’s back.
The redcoat soldier on his back cursed. “What the devil, you blighter of a horse!” In one hand he gripped the reins, in his other hand a rifle fixed with a bayonet. His uniform was filthy and torn. Several coats, some red, some darker shades of brown and blue, and one made of buckskin, were tied behind the saddle, along with a pair of boots, and a half dozen rifles.
The animal stopped before them, its flanks heaving. The man looked up and narrowed his eyes at the small group in front of him. “What ‘ave we ‘ere?”
Jacqueline gestured to the horse. “Is this Ferret?”
Blackwood gave her a slight nod, his expression had darkened; cool, flinty eyes never left the soldier on the horse.
Julian brushed his hands on his britches. “Well, this works out then. You can ride back to your camp.”
Blackwood’s mouth was pressed into a rigid line. He shifted and addressed the redcoat. “Your mount shows signs of abuse. He is injured, and should not be hard-ridden.”
The man dismounted. “Is ‘at so?” Small, hazel eyes darted back and forth, examining the scene in front of him. He glanced at the bandaged leg of the major, then switched his attention to the women and children. He ignored sister Beatrice, gave a look of mild interest to Eva, before perusing Jacqueline. A sickening chill spidered down Eva’s spine at his lingering stare.
He turned back to Blackwood, and she took that opportunity to shove the girl behind her.
“Why did you do that?” Jacqueline whispered.
Eva reached back and gripped one of her wrists. “Just stay behind me,” she hissed. “I want you to run and hide the first chance you get, understand?”
“An’ who be you what knows about horses enough to say?” The redcoat sneered.
The officer answered in a voice steely and flat, his eyes flashing like an approaching storm. “I am Major Ethan Blackwood of the Duchess of York’s 14th regiment, and that is my horse.”
It was obvious that Blackwood outranked the soldier, but by the redcoat’s demeanor, that seemed to carry little weight. He’d been traveling along the river also, toward New Orleans. Had he been heading back to Villeré, he’d be further from the Mississippi. That could mean only one thing.
Deserter.
The redcoat barked a harsh laugh. “This ain’t yer horse no more. And it don’t look like you’re in any position to right a challenge fer it.” The deserter spread his arms wide and spun in a slow circle. “This be the land of the free, an’ I be stayin’ as a free man. We ‘ave fifteen thousand men, no one will miss me,” He jerked his chin at Ethan. “Or you.”.
That was a not-so-veiled threat.
He whirled and pointed his gun at Jacqueline. Eva’s stomach lurched. How did she get all the way over by Blackwood? Why didn’t she listen and stay behind her?
“Get on the horse, missy,” the man raised the rifle to his shoulder.
The girl sucked in an angry breath and scowled. “I will not.”
Run Jacqueline.
He waved the gun at Julian. “Put her on the saddle, or I’ll shoot her, then you.”
Julian glared at the soldier, his jaw clenching as well as his fists. Fear skittered through his sister’s eyes and she locked them on the rifle. He shuffled up to her and muttered something as he helped her up. The blood drained from Jacqueline’s face so fast that even her lips turned white.
Julian quickly spun and charged the soldier, who brought the butt of his rifle down then up in a wicked arc, catching him under the chin. Jacqueline screamed as her brother fell to the dirt, motionless.
Eva was too far away, or she’d smack the horse hard enough to make it bolt. Instead, she grabbed a foot-long shard of the splintered tree trunk and threw it, hitting the horse’s shoulder.
Ferret was a warhorse. A little piece of wood didn’t even make him flinch.
The deserter swiveled the rifle to point at Jacqueline, catching her just as she attempted to dismount. “Stay where you are, missy.”
She glowered a death glare at him and slowly settled back in her seat.
Sister Beatrice shook both fists at the soldier. “You wicked man, you have only the courage to attack children?” She took a limping step toward him, but Eva grabbed her tunic.
He’d kill the old woman without thinking twice about it.
The elder nun whispered over her shoulder. “He can only shoot one of us. You have scissors in your satchel. Follow me and when I fall, you must strike.”
Eva’s heart hammered in her chest, even as the hopelessness of their situation weighed down her shoulders. There had to be a better plan. There just had to be, but none came to mind in this moment of dire need.
Beatrice gave her no time to argue; she spun and jolted toward the soldier as fast as she could hobble. “I shall not permit you to take that child!”
He raised his rifle and aimed down the barrel toward the nun. “I’ll shoot. I won’t hesitate.”
“Neither will I.”
The report of the gunshot cracked through the air. Eva screamed and started to run at the redcoat, but stumbled to a stop. Beatrice remained upright, dumbfounded.
The redcoat was face down in the dirt.
Jacqueline held one of the rifles that had been strapped on the saddle. She slid off the horse and ran to her brother, who was sitting up rubbing his jaw.
Major Ethan Blackwood reclined against the trunk, the pistol in his hand still smoking.