A Place of Peace (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“The axle is broken
,” announced Holcomb as he surveyed the overturned wagon.  “We won’t get anywhere with this.”

Lilly and Colby stood a ways off watching as Holcomb circled the wagon, and then circled again.  Each time he circled, he said the same thing.  “The axle is broken.”

Their possessions were scattered along the grass near the road: the result of the reckless fleeing from the Union troops.  They had covered about ten miles at almost full gallop when there was a sharp crack, and the horse and wagon tumbled over.

Lilly looked at Colby.  She thought he was looking paler than normal in the warm afternoon sun.  She felt his forehead, testing for fever.

“John,” she called to him sweetly as he circled the wagon one more time.  “Colby needs to sit down.  We’re going to go over here in the shade for a moment.”

“Fine,” muttered Holcomb.  He glared at them as she looped her arm through Colby’s and helped him limp to a shady patch of trees, where they sat in a pool of shadow. 

Holcomb took off his hat and wiped his brow.  By his estimate, they were still too far outside of Columbia to try walking the distance, especially with Colby’s leg, and the Union cavalry could still come looking for them.  They weren’t so far away that they couldn’t be found in a matter of hours if the Union really wanted to pursue them.  In the meantime, their belongings were scattered around the road free for taking by whomever decided to wander by, and Lilly was only concerned about Colby. Colby, however, didn’t seem concerned about much at all… except for that damn locket.

Perhaps there was a sympathetic farm nearby, thought Holcomb.  One that could help them in exchange for some trading in… let’s see… medicine?  Food?  Anything they had would be worth a lot to a family in need.  In fact, they might even get another wagon or a horse out of the deal.

He looked over at the two in the shade.  Colby was staring off into the distance, while Lilly was sitting beside him leaning her head on his shoulder.  He spat in the road and replaced his hat.

“Hey, you two,” he shouted.  “What do you want to do now?”

Lilly frowned at him.  She slowly unwound herself from Colby’s side, although Holcomb thought it was very reluctantly, and walked out of the shadows into the sunlight, leaving Colby propped against the tree.

She coolly surveyed the wreck and then narrowed her eyes at Holcomb.  “Can’t you fix it?” she asked.

Holcomb almost laughed. “I’m a newspaper man, not a wagon fixer.”

Lilly looked down the nearby road.  “We’re near
Franklin,” she said.  “I used to travel up here with my father sometimes.”  She glanced back at Colby, then stepped up to Holcomb.  “This is what you do,” she said.  “Take what you can and take the horse.  Ride up this road until you get to Franklin.  Colby and I will stay here until you can come back for us.  I’ll watch out for him.”

“What if I don’t come back?”

“You will,” said Lilly.  “You’re too honorable not to.”

“We’ll push the wagon off the road and you and Colby can at least use it if it rains, perhaps.”  Holcomb looked at the sky.  “But it probably won’t.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lilly sounded eager for Holcomb to get on his way.  “You just go on now.”

Holcomb grumbled but slowly began moving supplies around and packing up things he thought he would need.  The rest of the items he assumed that Lilly could gather and store near her new favorite spot over there in the shade next to her new interest.

It took almost two hours for Holcomb and Lilly to gather up what had been spilled and take inventory of everything.  They ended up placing most of it in a neat stack near the trees, and Holcomb took his prepared bag over to the horse.

“It shouldn’t take you more than an hour or so to get up to
Franklin,” said Lilly as Holcomb mounted the horse.  The horse, glad to be free of the wagon, now seemed irritated of having to carry a rider.

“More than likely it’ll be dark before I can get back,” said Holcomb.  “Might have to wait it out until morning.”

Lilly nodded.  “We’ll be fine.”

Holcomb shook his head and he and the horse trotted off down the road and left Lilly standing in the center of the road.  He looked back once and saw she was holding her rifle.

Colby might be safe from the Union, thought Holcomb as he rode.  But that’s all he’s probably safe from.

***

Lilly had lit a
fire as the shimmering heat of day dissolved into the cooler darkness of twilight.  She cooked some slices of salted ham and scrambled some potatoes she pulled out of one of the small boxes from the ruins of the wagons.

“I’m worried about you,” said Lilly, looking across the fire at Colby.

“How so?”

“Your leg, your farm.  The fact that you’re going to be looking for a girl you’ve never seen except in a picture.  You’re going to need someone to help you, Colby.”

“How can you help me?” he asked. 

Lilly sighed and stretched her legs out near the fire.  “I think you should abandon trying to deliver this letter.  You’re never going to find her.  And if you do, she’s not going to like what you have to tell her.”

“I will find her,” said Colby, and his voice grew soft.  “I will.  I made a promise to her father.”

Lilly moved around the fire to crouch near Colby.  “I need to check your dressing,” she said as she moved even closer to him.  He could smell the faint perfume on her that she had applied days ago.  It reminded him of an autumn day, crisp and light.  She calmly touched his leg, checking for tenderness around the amputation.

“Does this hurt any?” she asked as she prodded.

It did hurt a little, and Colby winced, but the gathering darkness concealed his grimace.  “No…”

She sliced away his bandage with a small pair of scissors.  The sudden air felt cool and good on his stump. 

“It’s healing pretty well,” she said as she looked at it.   She looked up in his eyes.  “How does it feel?”

His eyes locked onto hers.  “It’s a little sore,” he finally said.  Her touch along his leg was sending shivers along the rest of him.

“What is it about this girl?” she finally asked.  “Why her?  How can a man fall in love with a picture?”

“She looks… kind, I guess,” said Colby, feeling suddenly strange discussing Melinda with Lilly.  “I can’t explain it.”

Lilly nodded and her fingers continued to skate along his leg.  “You’ve been alone too long, Colby,” she finally said.  “Your life before the war.  You were alone.  You were going home alone to what?  An empty house and a farm.  You like the idea of this girl because it’s what you think you should have.  A good little farmwife to help you.  One that might give you sons to help on the farm.”  She cleared her throat.  “How did you know her father?  What did you owe him?  Nothing.”  She finished dressing his leg as she spoke, her voice growing tighter.

“What do you want, Lilly?” asked Colby. 

She looked away from him and when she stood to put her medical supplies back in their boxes, there was a sudden coldness that filled the space between them.  She had retreated to her spot across from him on the other side of the fire.  All he could see of her were her eyes glittering at him and reflecting the firelight.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” said Lilly.  “I don’t need a man to take care of me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”  He saw her hand absently creep up to rub at her neck.  “But… after my father died, I didn’t know what I was going to do.  Everyone was gone off to the war, and there was no one left.  Until you and John came by…”  Her hand dropped back into her lap.  “That was it.”

“Lilly…”

“Wait, Colby, don’t say anything,” she said, her words coming out rushed.  “I’m not saying there has to be a future with you and me.  In fact, I am very naïve to think there could be.  But what I am saying is that I am here, and that girl is not.  She’s a ghost.  She’s an ideal.  If you find her, your illusion of her will be forever gone.  Will you be able to live with that?  Most people couldn’t.” 

“Lilly, I think you’re looking for someone to run to, and it just happened to be me that wandered by in your time of need.”

“You think that?” she laughed a little.  “Now you’re the one who is naïve.”

“You never answered my question from before.  Not really.”

“What is it that I want?” she repeated.  Now her eyes were glittering, not from the firelight, but from the sudden tears welling up.  “I want a home,” she said.  “I want to find a place of peace.  I don’t want to live in fear.”  She looked at him.  “And I want someone to share that with.  That’s all.  If it’s with you, that will be wonderful, I think.  But if it’s not, I will find it on my own.”

“
Shiloh,” said Colby.

“What about
Shiloh?”

Colby smiled a little, rubbing at his leg.  “Just funny that the word ‘
Shiloh’ is a Hebrew word.  It actually means ‘place of peace.’”

“Well,” said Lilly.  “That is something.”

“I want to go home,” said Colby.  “I am very tired, and I just want this to be over.  Forget the war.  Try to move on.  I could do it, I think, with the help of a good woman.”

“I’m not a good woman, Colby.”

“You saved my life,” he said.  “More than once, I think.  I owe you everything.”

Lilly smiled, and Colby saw the careful, strong façade she had built up around herself crack and fall away.  Now she looked beautiful and radiant in the flickering light.  He felt the memories of the touches on his leg stir him.

“That’s kind of you to say,” she said.

“It’s just the truth,” he replied. 

She moved away from the fire and vanished in the night shadows.  When she reappeared, she was beside him at his shoulder.  He turned to speak to her, but then she was kissing him.  He leaned backward and pulled her over him.  She fell over him, straddling him and leaning over him, trapping him.

“Now what?” she asked.  She leaned down and kissed him again. 

“Surrender,” he replied.

The fire burned down to embers, but neither one of them noticed.

***

He could have left
them there and just ridden to Murfreesboro.  He thought about it, but then Lilly’s words echoed in his head: 
You’re too honorable. 
Holcomb frowned and kept riding forward.  The horse was too used to being hitched to a wagon and didn’t like the rider he had on his back.  Because of this, the horse kept pulling and not responding well to Holcomb’s commands.

It was dark when he saw the lights of the first farmhouses ahead.  He didn’t know if anyone would take kindly to him riding up on them at night. People were much more approachable in the daylight.  A few dogs started barking and alerting their owners to the presence of a rider.  Holcomb hoped a shotgun blast from a startled farmer wouldn’t be the next thing he heard.

He thought he would have better luck riding on into Franklin proper rather than stopping at one of the outlining farms.  He would be much more likely to find what he needed in a bigger town.  There would be a much larger customer base for what he was peddling.

The town of
Franklin only held about a thousand citizens, Holcomb knew.  But even though it was a small town, they would have what he needed, unless the Union had already marched through and taken everything, which was very likely considering they had come through on their way to Shiloh earlier that year.

After skirting the outlying farms and their barking dogs, Holcomb saw the collected storefronts and little houses that made up the town.  As it was dark, there was not a lot of activity outside tonight.  Lamp light streamed through the windows and caused strange patterns of light along the ground outside.  A small hotel was the first main building Holcomb rode up to, and he fastened his horse on the outside post and stepped inside.

The lobby of the hotel was also a bar of sorts, and some of the locals were here drinking amber liquids out of square bottles.  Most of them ignored John Holcomb as he walked in, but there were a few who turned.  Holcomb still wore most of the tattered gray of his Confederate uniform, so he was seen with friendlier eyes perhaps.

“Sir?” the plump woman behind the bar addressed him.  “What can I do for you?”

“Is there anywhere nearby that might have a wagon for sale or trade for?  I am in need of one, or at least an axle.  Mine busted outside of town.”

The woman smiled.  “Depends,” she said.  “How much are you looking to spend?”

Holcomb came closer and sat at the bar.  “Truth is,” he leaned forward, almost whispering.  “I don’t have any money, but I have some goods that might be worth it as a trade.”

“Like what?” the woman’s curiosity was peaked.

“I would have to see a wagon first,” said Holcomb.  “I don’t know if I can tell you.”

The woman laughed and poured Holcomb a shot of whiskey.  “On the house,” she said, pushing the glass at him.  “In hopes that you will tell me after a few rounds when your tongue is refreshed.”