Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (44 page)

             
The guard ushered them east toward the canal and the waiting Flag of Truce boat.  The other men around him grinned in happy excitement to be free.  Matthew wanted to join in but knew it was still too soon.  When the boat had pulled away from the dock and was steaming down the river, he would celebrate. 

             
He began to relax a little as the group reached the waiting boat.  Surely if the guards had missed him, he would know by now.  He watched as the Confederate guard finished his check of the paper and ran a gaze over the assembled group.  There was no cause for concern here.  The guard had never seen Dr. White.  He was just checking to make sure the number of prisoners matched the number on his paper.  All was going well so far. 

             
“All right, men,” the guard called loudly.  “Get on the boat.  Your vacation in the South is over,” he grinned.

             
Matthew grinned in return and joined in the line of men filing onto the boat.  He could feel freedom within his grasp. 

             
“Stop that boat!  Stop that boat!”   A faint shout floated to them on the breeze.

             
“What the...?” the guard muttered, holding up his hand to stop the line.

             
Matthew felt his heart begin to pound again. 

             
The shout was louder this time.  “Hold those prisoners!  Hold those prisoners!” 

             
Matthew looked around wildly, searching for an avenue of escape.  Suddenly the guards pressed closer.  There was no way out.   The whole group turned to watch the prison policemen racing toward them.  Several of them looked at Matthew anxiously.

             
Nichols raced up to the line and grabbed Matthew’s arm.  “This man isn’t a doctor,” he shouted.  “His name is Matthew Justin.  A journalist from Pennsylvania.  He’s trying to escape!” 

             
The four guards who had accompanied the doctors to the boat immediately surrounded him.  Matthew forced a grin and held out his hands casually for the guard to handcuff him.  “I guess the game’s up, boys.”  He took a deep breath.  “I almost won.”

             
Nichols stepped up close to his face. “You’ll wish you had, Justin,” he snarled.   “If you thought you were uncomfortable before, you don’t know anything.  We have special treats for men who scorn our hospitality.”

             
The rest of the doctors were silent as Matthew was led away, but he could feel their sympathy reaching out to him. 
Tell the story
, he pleaded silently. 
Tell the story.

             
Men were crowded at the windows as Matthew was escorted back to the prison.

             
“What are you staring at?” one of the guards called angrily.  Seconds later shots rang out from his pistol, crashing into the walls and spitting out chips of brick.  He laughed loudly.

             
When Matthew glanced back up, all the faces had disappeared.  He took one final breath of fresh air before the darkness of the prison swallowed him again.   

             
“Ever heard of
Rat Dungeon
?” one of the guards taunted.

             
Matthew fought to control the bile rising in his throat.  His punishment for trying to escape would be confinement in the east cellar room known as
Rat Dungeon
.  He wildly considered trying to break away and run for it but knew he would be shot instantly.  The guards would be happy for any excuse to kill the man who had almost outsmarted them.

             
It might be better.

             
Matthew fought the hopelessness threatening to engulf him.  For a few brief minutes, he had almost been free.  It would have been better to have never experienced it, he told himself bitterly. 

             
Don’t let them win.  Choose life.

             
Again, Matthew considered running and making himself a target.  The thought of the dark hole teeming with rats where he would only be served bread and water sickened him.  He himself had passed food down to the men unfortunate enough to be confined there. 

             
Choose life.

             
The persistent voice would not be ignored.  Matthew cast aside the idea of running and straightened his shoulders.  He was not beaten yet.  They would not keep him down in
Rat Dungeon
forever. 

             
Somehow he would find a way to escape.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Where to, Miss Carrie?”  Spencer asked cheerfully.

              Carrie took a deep breath and looked down the street.  She wasn’t expecting her father, but there was a chance he would come home early.  “I’d like to go out on Poplar Street,” she said firmly.

             
Spencer glanced back at her.  “Out past the navy yards?”

             
“That’s right,” Carrie said calmly.  “And I’d like to go now.”

             
Spencer stared at her for a moment then picked up his reins.  “Yes, ma’am.”

             
Carrie settled back in the carriage and took deep breaths of the air.  Fall had finally descended on Richmond.  While she welcomed the refreshing coolness, she also knew winter was close at hand. 

             
Spencer drove down Broad Street, turned left onto 18th, then turned right onto Cary Street.  Carrie finally began to relax.  Her father would have no reason to be in this part of town.  She could imagine his anger and dismay when he found the note she had left for him.  She sighed heavily.  She was doing what she had to do.  Janie would undoubtedly catch the brunt of her latest escapade, but her friend had agreed she was doing the right thing.

             
“I will deal with your father,” Janie had promised. 

             
Carrie grimaced.  She didn’t envy her.  She loved her father dearly, but he was no longer the same man.  Every day seemed to deepen the anger and bitterness seeking to destroy him.   She tried to conjure up images of her father when he was loving and reasonable, but they grew dimmer each day.  She struggled to hold on to them - to hold on to the hope he would be that man again someday when the war was over. 

             
Suddenly she leaned forward.  “You can stop here.”

             
Spencer looked at her in surprise.  “What’s out here, Miss Carrie?”

             
Carrie was already swinging from the carriage.  Hobbs, who was waiting for her on the side of the road in a wagon, waved. 

             
Spencer looked from one to the other of them in confusion.  “What’s goin’ on here?  What you doin’ here, Hobbs?”

             
“I’m going out to the plantation.  My father has refused to let me go so I’m afraid I’ve had to resort to other means.”

             
“He don’t know you going?”  Spencer asked in a shocked voice.

             
“He will when he gets home,” Carrie assured him.  “I left him a letter.”

             
“It ain’t safe!”  Spencer protested.

             
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Carrie exclaimed.  “You sound just like my father.”

             
“Ain’t you heard them reports of Yankee cavalry still around the city?”  Spencer persisted.  “You think they’s just gonna let you roll through?”  He rolled his eyes toward the sky and glared at Hobbs who just shrugged.

             
“Hobbs agrees with you,” Carrie said.  “If that makes you feel any better.  But it doesn’t matter.  I’m going.”

             
Spencer groaned.  “I done heard you use that tone of voice before.  I know there ain’t no talking sense to you when you talk like that.”   He gazed at Hobbs sympathetically.  “You be headin’ for a heap of trouble, man.”

             
“All we can do is try,” Hobbs replied. 

             
“What’s so all-fired important out there at that plantation?  I don’t reckon you just got it in your head to go out for a visit.”

             
“Hardly,” Carrie laughed then sobered.  “It’s going to be a hard winter, Spencer.  Without medicine, too many people down in the black section of town will die.  There is no regular medicine to be found. Any making its way through the blockade is snapped up by the medical hospitals.”  She paused and looked at him pleadingly, silently begging him to understand.  For some reason it was important to her.  Maybe because her father had refused to even listen.  “I have a basement full of herbs and plants at the plantation.  It will be enough to last the winter.”  She took a deep breath.  “I have to do what I can to try to save as many lives as possible.”

             
“Even risk your own?”  Spencer muttered then smiled.  “You a good woman, Carrie Borden.  You go on out to your plantation.  I reckon I’s just pray for you every day.”

             
Carrie hugged him impulsively.  “Thank you!”  Then she sobered.  “I’m sorry to pull you into the middle of this.  I just couldn’t quite have Hobbs show up in the wagon.  If Father had happened to be home, it would have all been over.”

             
Spencer nodded.  “Ain’t you takin’ nothing with you?”

             
Hobbs reached over the seat behind him and held up two large bags.  “I went and got them last night.”  He also reached down and held up a rifle.  “We won’t go down without a fight,” he said grimly.

             
“Lot of chance you stand against a bunch of Union cavalry.  A man on a crutch and a woman!” he snorted.

             
“Who also happens to be a good shot,” Carrie reminded him, holding up her own pistol.

             
Spencer just shook his head.  “Get on with you.”  He glanced up at the sun.  “At least you be travelin’ mostly at night.  Maybe that’ll keep the cavalry from finding you.”

Carrie was glad when the sun sank below the horizon.  They were several miles out of town and had not been challenged, but she yearned for the protective covering of night.  She thought longingly of all the trails weaving through the woods that were unknown to all but locals who used them.  There was no way the wagon would fit on them. 
The only choice was the main road, appallingly open and wide.  She fingered the pistol in her waistband and wondered whether she could really use it to shoot a Union soldier.  She shuddered and turned her mind to other things. 

             
Carrie could hardly wait to get to the plantation.  Fall was always one of her favorite times of the year.  Trees were turning in Richmond, but she longed for the wide open spaces of the plantation, burnished by the gold, red, and yellow leaves of autumn.  She tried to relax enough to enjoy the canopy of colorful trees she and Hobbs were rumbling through now but finally gave up.  Every muscle in her body was strung tightly in anticipation of Federal soldiers

             
“What you thinking about over there?”  Hobbs asked quietly.

             
Carrie knew it would do no good to talk about her fears.  “I’m wondering whether Sam and Opal and the kids are still there.  Wondering how many of Father’s people have stayed.”  She paused.  “I’ve heard so many stories of plantations being destroyed.  I guess I’m mostly just hoping our home is still there.”   She heard a sharp crack and snapped her head up but then relaxed as a deer bounded across the road in front of them.  “I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to go home and tell Father that Cromwell Plantation has been burned.  I think it would completely kill him.”

             
“He’s living to go back there, ain’t he?”

             
“I think so,” Carrie mused.  “He left the plantation to bury himself in politics after Mother died, but I think he dreams of going back every day now.  The war has drained him.  It’s turned him old.  I think he hopes the plantation will give him back some of what’s been taken.”  Hobbs nodded then concentrated on his driving once more.  Carrie was content to be left with her thoughts.