Songs of the Shenandoah (41 page)

“Davin?” Even in her work clothes, Ashlyn remained as rustically elegant as she had been when he first saw her at the Whittington mine back in California many years ago. Her long wavy auburn hair, her slender build, those deep brown eyes—it was clear her return to the Shenandoah Valley had indeed been kind to her.

Muriel made her way out of the back of the wagon, and Jacob followed shortly behind, hopping awkwardly as he landed.

“What is this all—?” Ashlyn turned and shouted back toward rows of tall cornfields. “Grace!”

“You may not remember me,” Muriel said in a voice that matched Ashlyn's intonations of the South. “But I lived with your sister Clare. I cared for her children.”

“Yes.” Ashlyn looked to Davin for some explanation as Grace emerged from the husk-tipped corn stalks. Mavis and Tatum with alarm expressed on their dark faces followed behind.

“We brought your husband home.” Muriel put her hand on Ashlyn's shoulder.

“Where is he?” Ashlyn moved toward the wagon. “Is he? Oh dear God, please tell me he is not.” She put her hand over her mouth and moaned.

“My father?” Grace put her arm around her mother, and it surprised Davin to see how much she had grown up. She was a young woman now.

“No. He is still alive. But he might not have long.” Muriel spoke with both firmness and compassion. “We must get him inside.”

Davin lunged toward Ashlyn as he saw her beginning to buckle.

But then she regained her footing and sprung free as Muriel, Jacob, Mavis, and Tatum pulled Seamus out of the back and loaded him onto the gurney.

“Oh, my dear sweet husband!” Ashlyn leaned over and stroked Seamus's pale, clammy face. Grace circled around to the other side.

Muriel gave orders to anyone who would listen, and Davin took hold of one end of the litter. In short order they had Seamus lying on his bed inside the house, and there was a scurrying as food was being prepared and water was being boiled.

Ashlyn came to Seamus's side and clasped his hand. “How long has he been like this? What happened?”

On the other side of the bed, Muriel seemed to be taking advantage of finally having room to work on Seamus. She removed his clothes and checked his wound, which had a red glow to it. Davin couldn't help but be grateful he had Muriel here with him.

“There was a battle in Pennsylvania.” Davin spoke with tenderness. “He was injured when he was ministering to his fallen soldiers. Seamus is a hero.”

Ashlyn sobbed. “I don't want a hero. I just want my husband.” She turned to Muriel. “Should we fetch him a doctor?”

“She is a doctor,” Davin said, which drew an appreciative smile from Muriel and then she went back about her work.

“Mother,” Grace said. “There are no doctors in town or anywhere near us.” She turned to Davin. “They are all on the battlefields.”

Ashlyn took out a handkerchief. “Will he be all right? Please tell me you can make him better.” She clasped her hands and leaned over Seamus's face. “Speak to me, my love.”

“He hasn't said much.” Davin adjusted a pillow under his brother's head. “But when he does speak, it's to ask for you.”

Mavis came in the room with a basket full of steaming towels. Muriel pulled one out and cleaned Seamus's face.

This must have startled him because his eyes opened. “Ashlyn?”

“Seamus!”

“Da!”

Muriel and Davin stepped back in amazement as the man who was on the precipice of death reached his hand up to Ashlyn's cheek and she cried.

“Da.” Grace had made her way to the other side of the bed and was now resting her head against his bare chest. Soon both she and Ashlyn were on their knees at Seamus's side and the three of them were in a sobbing embrace.

Davin became overwhelmed himself and lifted his hand to his face. He had never really believed this would be possible. And now that this euphoric scene was unfolding before him, tremendous relief came upon him, followed by a dizzying swoon. He fell back against the wall, and the room started to spin.

Muriel was lifting him under his arms, her concerned eyes just inches from his. “You need rest, Davin . . . and something to eat.”

The large bowl of corn-and-bacon soup and the drinks of water had rejuvenated Davin. And almost as soon as he regained his senses, he remembered the present danger and was a soldier once again.

He was alone outside, peering into the darkness beyond the front porch railing, with his rifle tucked under his arm. A summer breeze rose up every so often among the corn husks, causing them to bend and appear as dark shifting figures under the star-filled sky.

His military training taught him to appreciate the loud boasts of the katydids and crickets and those other creeping evening dwellers. It was a sudden turn to dead quiet he was listening for, because it would be the harbinger of approaching boots.

A noise behind him snared his attention and he saw through the window that Jacob was getting his ankle tended to by Muriel, who unlike him never seemed to have tired from the journey. He turned back, but after a few minutes the front door opened behind him.

Davin wanted to be bitter. He wanted to hate her. But he couldn't muster the emotion. Maybe he was too exhausted to care. Perhaps he was distracted by the greater danger lurking somewhere out there.

Muriel came alongside him while she wrapped a scarf around her neck and then crossed her arms as if to squeeze off the evening chill. They stood silently together, looking out into the same darkness.

She spoke with a quiet voice that sounded almost like an apology. “I can't explain it in any other way than a miracle, but it seems like your brother is going make it through this. It was as if seeing Ashlyn's face brought him back to life.”

“That is . . . good to hear.” He didn't feel comfortable cheering on any news she had to share, but what else could he say? Was this all part of her skill? To bewitch him once again?

“Do you believe that two people can be that much in love?” Muriel looked heavenward. “So much so that their very lives depended on one another?”

Davin turned and glared. “If they trusted one another.”

She dropped her head. “I deserve that . . . and more.” Muriel put her hand on his arm, but he shook it off. “Oh please, Davin, Let us not end things this way. We have so little time left together.”

“Are you leaving?” This thought disturbed him. He meant to punish her with his words, but he wasn't ready to see her go.

“Me? No. I am in no danger. It is you who are leaving.”

He was surprised at this for a moment, but then understood by looking into her deep, mysterious eyes. “You saw we were being followed.”

“Yes.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and this time he surrendered to her touch. “There was nothing we could do to shake them. At least that wouldn't have endangered our chances of getting your brother back in time.”

“I thought they had let us be out of respect for your uncle, the legendary slave catcher.” The words were more accusatory than he intended.

“They knew my uncle was dead. But he had many friends, and a few even more feared than him. I am sure they followed to see if I was working with anyone else. No. The bounty on a runaway slave and a Union spy will attract more vultures than these.”

“Now I am the spy?”

“So strange how it all depends on the ground we stand on, the flag we wave. Isn't that so, Davin? We cross a border, an invisible line, and all of the deeds we committed, the murders, the lies, the betrayals—they are forgotten and forgiven because once again we are patriots.”

“I will never forgive you. No matter where these feet stand.” What was he saying? He didn't mean it, but there was a reaction he was seeking. What was it?

Something came over Muriel's face. Her resolve returned and a sudden distance came between them. He regretted what he said, his tone, but he couldn't get himself to say it.

“You may hate me, Davin, and for this I cannot blame you.” Muriel stepped back. “But the facts are that I am home, on friendly ground now. It is you who are in great danger.”

“I just can't leave Seamus.” But it was Muriel he didn't want to leave. Did he despise her or love her? What was happening to him?

“Davin. You must listen. If you can't protect yourself for the sake of your family and those who care for you and love you, then at least think of Jacob, who has risked so much on your behalf. Both of you need to return to northern soil.”

He squinted. A light was approaching in the distance, and before long he saw it was lantern dangling on the front of a wagon. Muriel wasn't alarmed. “You know about this?” he asked.

“I told Ashlyn we were being followed. And that you and Jacob needed to leave right away. She sent one of her servants to fetch someone. Someone she said would be able to help you.”

“What about you?”

“I won't leave your brother's side. He will either get better . . . or . . . I already promised Ashlyn. This is my gift to you. Whether you're willing to accept it or not. It is all . . . all I have left to give.”

This was all happening so fast. But Muriel was right. Not only was it dangerous for Jacob and him to be here, but the longer he tarried, the more risk Davin brought to everyone in the house. He needed to leave immediately.

But what about his brother? Davin had so much to tell him, and now he wouldn't get the chance.

And what about Muriel? Was this how it would all end between them? Yes. Because he felt it deeply and it was confirmed in her eyes.

He would never see her again.

Chapter 49

The Outpost

The burlap sack tied over Davin's head made him want to scratch, something he couldn't do with his hands tied with heavy twine.

He could see obscurely through the pores of the sack and knew it was dark outside, that they had traveled far, and the last stretch of the journey had climbed to a higher elevation based on the angle of the wagon.

With his vision limited, his other senses were enhanced and he could hear the playful taunts and laughter of men, and someone playing, or more accurately tinkering, with an out-of-tune banjo. He could smell pine resin, a campfire burning, and venison being roasted.

He felt a tug and then was guided out the back of the wagon. “Is this really necessary?”

“They kill men for knowing the whereabouts of this place, son,” Fletch said. “This is me doing you a favor, and not even for you, but your brother. So give thanks and shut your yapper.”

Davin stood for a few moments, taking in the chill air, and then he felt the presence of another beside him and he knew it was Jacob. They were being tied together.

“What is this place?” Davin asked, hoping Fletch was close enough to hear him.

“This is a place that don't exist.”

He was pulled forward and tried to slow the pace since Jacob's ankle would be throbbing with pain. “Are you all right, friend?” He received no answer.

“What do you have there, Fletch?” The unfamiliar voice was gruff and raspy. “That don't look like no shine and that is depressin' me some.”

Through the filtered vision of his sack, Davin saw the flickering light of what seemed to be more than a dozen fires, and he could see better than surely his caretaker would have wanted. Shadowy shapes of men gathered around tables, some eating and others playing cards. A few others gathered around the pits, with their hands reaching over the flames and passing bottles among themselves. Their entrance into the campsite drew the attention of most of them.

“You dealin' Negroes now, Fletch?” shouted a voice in the distance.

“Or bawdry women?” Heckling laughter and whistles broke out. “I'll give you two bales for 'em.”

“Judson,” shouted Fletch. “A word with you.”

Catcalls and hisses came next. “Jud ain't got nothin' for you.”

Davin felt the tug on his elbow and they were being led away from the fires. Then they were joined by another man who sounded young.