He was as she had imagined him to be, back in the forest: as young as the others and as dirty, but with a faint spark of kindness he could not keep from his deep hazel eyes, a spark that kindled in Cass the first glimmerings of hope.
“Slowly, ma’am,” he said when she choked on her first grateful swallow. “I know it’s a mite awkward, your bein’ like that and all, but it’s for your own good, you know.”
She drank again, more carefully, relishing the taste of the tepid liquid that settled uneasily in her stomach. She ached over every inch of her body, it seemed, but still she was wary enough not to complain. Despite her trancelike existence over the past two days or so, she knew they had not touched her again, and had even clumsily covered her nakedness with what remained of her dress. Not wishing to arouse them into repetition, she kept her tongue, nodding only when she was given a few pieces of stale bread and additional water, all fed to her by hand since Cal apparently was under orders not to loosen her bonds. Josh, she imagined, still recalled those blows she had sent to his midsection; she vowed silently that he would have a lot more to remember before this was over—if, that is, she did not kill him too quickly.
“We thought you was a man, y’know,” Cal said after she had finished the meager meal. “You sure fought like one, I don’t mind tellin’ you.”
Cass, however, would only glare at him, and he shrugged as if her reaction did not concern him.
“Suit yourself. But you did a mighty fine job on us, just, the same. That, uh, man back yonder that was with you, he your poppa?”
The shot … the fall … the orange and crimson and bright blue flames curling down to lick at his clothes and his flesh. She swallowed hard and nodded. Cal nodded in return.
“He never shoulda stood by that window like that. We never woulda seen him otherwise. You too, y’know.
“You mighta got clean away and we woulda thought you was all burned up.” He shook his head. “Clean away. ’Course, Josh woulda been awful mad.”
“I don’t think I really give a damn,” she said, quietly, since her throat was still raw from screaming, and from the smoke of the fire.
The carriage struck a deep rut in the road then, and she was bounced hard on the floorboards. Cal saw her wince painfully, leaned down, and grabbed at her shoulders. She tensed, readying herself for another assault on what was left of her dignity, but he merely lifted her effortlessly until her back was against the opposite door. It was better, though not much, but at least when he pulled the curtains aside she could see the outlines of the trees as they whipped past, and the moon that washed them in silver. The world is still out there, then, she rejoiced to herself; and as long as the world is there, I can still have some hope. Some, she decided, was better than none.
“We was with Ewell, y’know,” Cal said, throwing his legs up onto the seat and resting his back in the corner. “You ever heard of Pegleg Ewell? Damn, but we got whupped! Never saw anything like it in my life, so help me.” He patted the wall by his shoulder. “Josh’s idea this was. Get us the hell out of the North and back home agin. Carolina. You ever been to Carolina? Used to be it was a nice place for folks what got land and nigras and a yen to work. All torn up now, though.” He shook his head mournfully and scratched idly at his chest. His Confederate jacket was torn jaggedly in several places, and was covered with blades of grass, dead leaves, the blotches of insects he had squashed with his hands. “All torn up, yep. Well, I’ll tell you, ma’am, I’m done with fightin’. Lee’s a great man, lady, no mistake about it, the greatest in the whole damned world. But he sure can’t beat an army what fights like that one. Damn!” He sniffed, wiped a sleeve under his nose and dug a finger into his ear. A moment later he leaned over with the canteen. “Here,” he said kindly, “but make it last, huh? Can’t always stop when we wanta. Never know when them Yanks are gonna show up. Like spooks they are sometimes, y’know?”
Cass took a long, slow drink, savoring it, feeling her lips moisten and loosen at last. This Cal was a strange man, she thought as she watched him wriggling around for a more comfortable position. He rapes me one minute, treats me like someone’s whore, and the next he’s talking as though we were cousins sitting on the back porch and waiting for supper.
“Why?” she finally said, shifting to ease the cramps in her arms still bent behind her.
“You’re a lady, ma’am. Hate to see a lady thirst. The, uh, thing we done back there, you mean? We was crazy, y’know. Scared. If some Yank trooper saw us where we was, he’d kill us before we could blink. Seen enough killin’, if you don’t mind. Don’t particularly want t’die, m’self.”
“No,” she said, holding back amazement that he actually seemed to be apologizing for what had happened. “I mean, why me? Why are you taking me with you? I’m nobody important. I only lived on a farm.”
“Y’ mean … Josh didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head.
He started to laugh, then checked himself abruptly as he glanced toward the windows. “Well, see, Josh figures that if we have some trouble, y’know—if we run into some damned troopers what don’t like the color of our clothes, so to speak—well, y’see we can hold you up, see, and then they can’t—”
“Hostage,” she said. “You want to use me for a hostage.”
“Y’know, you talk awfully smart for just bein’ a farm girl,” he said, his eyes narrowing, his voice colored with suspicion.
“I can read,” she said sharply, “and I can write, if you must know. I was going to be a schoolteacher when the war was over, but that’s—”
“Well, good for you, lady,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d kinda like to sleep some. I got to drive come midnight, and I want to be able to see where I’m going.”
He propped his heels on the opposite seat and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes closed almost instantly, and added his raucous snores to the noise of the carriage’s creaking, the pounding hooves that raced through the night. Cass thought of a dozen different and desperate ways she might be able to escape, and thought of another dozen ways she would be killed if she tried. They were light sleepers, all of them—as if anyone could truly sleep in this miserable thing, she thought sourly—and a single wrong move would mean the end of the truce. So she gave up the idea, as she had innumerable times before, and allowed herself to fall into a light doze, waking with a start and a mumbled curse whenever the carriage lurched over a deep rut or around some obstacle in the road.
Cal was replaced by Bobbie, then by Josh, but none of them spoke to her, not even a grunt. They had done what they had done, and now they were deeply involved in the business of fleeing for their lives. Cass had hours ago given up the hope that they might run into some soldiers or locals, realizing that the trio would be keeping well away from the major roads. Now and then she could hear, or thought she could hear, the crackle of firing in the distance, but it faded so rapidly that she often wondered if it were mere wishful thinking.
There had been a fragment of a dream, too: that Geoff in his captain’s splendor came riding up to the carriage, reached inside and pulled her out in one swift motion, setting her astride the magnificent Falcon and riding away with her like some Godsent spectre. But it had only been a dream, and she wished she had the resources to weep when she realized it.
B
y the evening of what she reckoned was the third day since her capture, she made herself understand that she had no idea of where they were now. Maryland, perhaps, or even the swollen hills of northern Virginia. It was useless trying to pinpoint her location, however, because even if she knew it, it would do her no good. It was merely another waste of speculation, of time, but she grinned bitterly as she told herself that time was all she seemed to have left.
When Cal scrambled back in through the door to relieve Bobbie with a kick and a grunt, she allowed herself to relax more than just a little. Despite her sullen hatred for the three of them, she still found Cal much the easiest to take. He was the only one who bothered to feed her and to give her drink, and to talk to pass the lonely, painful hours. But she noticed now that his face had grown more worn from lack of proper sleep and a decent meal. He said little, only taking care of her water and bread, then stretched out as best he could and fell promptly asleep. He groaned sometime later, and his hands reached out blindly as they grasped for his lost sword and rifle. It was not the first time. She had seen him caught in the throes of an embattled nightmare, and at such times she felt an odd urge to wake him gently and brush away the fear with soft words or a touch. Then, with a start, she would remember his part in her abduction and scold herself angrily for the weakness of compassion
She stared at him thoughtfully, remembering that afternoon when he had fairly bounced on the seat with excitement as they passed swiftly into the Southern hills. He talked of his family’s farm and how well it had been doing before the call to arms had come two eternally long years before. He became excited, almost boyish, when he spoke of the battles he had participated in, waving his arms wildly about the narrow cabin in a gallant attempt to convince her of his deeds of heroism under fire, most of which, she decided with a hint of reluctance, were more imagined than real.
And when he had done, the storytelling putting him in an almost holiday mood, he worked over her until her hands were now in her lap and her bonds loosened slightly to give her some brief comfort. Thus, she was able to handle the cup of water when it was handed down to her, to hold the bread and the small cuttings of fruit he dug out from a sack he’d brought in from the top of the carriage. She thanked him, smiling, and ate and drank carefully, preserving the precious water as though she were struggling across some vast Western desert. Strength was what she needed now, and a clear head for quick thinking. More through instinct than from verifiable fact, she had known since that morning that they were now traveling through the relative safety of rebel country, and her value as a hostage was diminishing at a rapid rate. Soon she would be tossed aside as worthless—either dead, or near enough to it to make little difference.
Images floated, then, before her weary eyes: of her father as she had last seen him before the ball shattered his brain; of her mother and poor Geoff disappearing into the cellar that was to be their grave; of her brothers lying unclaimed, and unknown, on a battlefield strewn with tens of thousands of their kind. Though she had long ago condemned the infamy of one man’s keeping another as a slave, she found herself wondering at the seeming futility of the fighting, and the price the country was paying for something it called freedom. But it had to be worth it, she thought in her confusion, or Rafe and Greg had been killed for nothing.
Her first tears since she had been abducted welled up, then, and snaked warmly down her cheeks. They were few, however, and bitter. Soon, she promised herself, there will be a time when I can cry as I should; but for now, with this man, with these men and their—
“Any time now,” Cal said suddenly, struggling to sit upright as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked down at her, staring at but not commenting on her not-yet-dry tears. “Yep,” he said, “any day now. One, maybe two.”
She looked at him blankly, afraid to ask whether he meant they would be at their destination, or at the moment of her execution.
“You’re gonna be a problem, y’know that?”
She almost laughed in his face. How could she not know it? And if the truth be known, she had realized it a lot sooner than he. But, though a gnawing fear began to work at her insides, she was paradoxically glad that it was all now out in the open. When that fear had been but a nebulous thing, it was the stuff of nightmares not easily shaken off; now that the matter had been broached, however, it was something almost tangible that she could work toward dealing with.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, trying not to grin when he jumped at the sound of her voice.
He considered, then shrugged, and the coldness of the gesture made her fear his apathy more than the calculated evil of Josh or Bobbie. “Maybe. That depends on if one of us wants to take you or not.”
The studied offhandedness of the comment made her lose control of her tongue. “And what in hell makes you think I would want to go with any of you?”
She was further incensed when, as he raised his eyebrows in surprise at her outburst, she saw his lips tremble in a suppressed grin.
“Don’t think you have much choice, ma’am,” he said. “If we let you out now, you’ll probably die anyway. Lots of troops hereabouts, I think. They been known to do a woman to death. Fightin’ does strange things to a man.”
So I’ve noticed, she thought acidly, but kept the comment to herself. More importantly, his mention of troops gave her hope that she was not as deep in enemy territory as she’d thought.
“What about you?” she asked. “Would you take me?”
It was not an idle question. Of the three, if she were to have any hope of surviving long enough to get back home, she would rather take her chances with Cal. In spite of his hardness, she still was able to sense a spark of humanity beneath his gruff exterior. With him, she felt she could deal with words instead of force; the other two only knew their lust and their fear, nothing more.
“Well?” she said when he did not answer.
“Don’t need you,” he said, one hand toying with the door curtains. “I already got a wife of my own.”
Cass looked down at her lap, trying not to let her dismay show. So, she thought with resignation, it would be Josh or Bobbie. Most likely the former. She needed little imagination to envision her fate with that rebel outlaw. She would become nothing more than his sexual slave, rape upon rape, until he had done with her and cast her aside like so many rags.
The carriage slowed, rocked violently, and she recognized the familiar sensation of crossing: they were approaching a stream or river, and the team of horses was preparing to ford it. Cal stuck his head through the window and yelled something to the men above. As he did, Cass’s eyes lighted on something she had not noticed before—a sheath tied to his wide black belt, and from it the worn handle of a hunting knife protruded invitingly. Her resignation was shattered. Slowly, while an overconfident Cal traded coarse insults with Bobbie, she drew up her legs until she was kneeling, waited for the carriage to steady momentarily, then sprang forward and snatched the knife from its home. Cal snarled and ducked back inside, but his head struck the window frame and he slumped onto the seat, stunned, his eyes glazing briefly. By the time his head had cleared, Cass had already sliced the sharp blade through her ankles’ bonds and was working her wrists free with her teeth.