Abigail shivered in the lean-to. She was both trying to take up as little space as possible so she didn’t crowd the men and keep herself away from the cold air at the edge of the shelter. The snow fell so thickly that it was filling the opening and spilling inside. The fire had long since gone out, making the night darker and colder than she could have believed.
She and the others had agreed that remaining together was a better option than sending away one of the men to stand as sentry. He’d not be able to see farther than a few feet anyway, and they were safer as a group.
In spite of his protests, Luke lay between the two of them, wrapped in the quilt. With the amount of blood he’d lost, as well as his body still mending from the fever, he should be kept the warmest. But he still shivered, and from the sound of their breathing, neither of the men was able to sleep. The ground was simply too cold.
Finally, Abigail rose up onto her knees, holding the blanket tightly around her. “We must move about or our body temperatures will drop too low.”
She heard the sounds of the other two moving.
“I think we should start walking,” she said.
“Might as well freeze going somewhere as lying here.” Luke’s voice was shaking.
“Shall we start for Detroit?” Barney asked.
Abigail had considered this very question for hours as they’d huddled in the cold. She had an idea but worried the men wouldn’t go along with her plan. She was determined to try. “I think we should go to Frenchtown.” She held still, waiting to see how they’d react.
Both men were silent, and she could feel their discomfort as if they’d spoken it aloud. They were caught between the options of obeying their captain’s orders and obliging a lady’s request.
Finally Barney spoke. “But Captain Prescott said—”
“Captain Prescott gave his command out of worry for my well-being. And Luke’s. We are closer to Frenchtown than Detroit, are we not?”
“Suppose so,” Barney said.
“Luke cannot stay here in the cold,” she said. “He will be cared for in Frenchtown. And the army will return me to my father more quickly and safely than if the three of us spend the next few days tromping through the forest.”
She thought her argument was sound. And her points were truthful. Luke’s care was foremost in her mind. In Frenchtown, the regiment was bound to have a surgeon, and certainly there was a house where he could be kept warm as he recovered. Or at the very least, the British would take him in a wagon to Detroit, where her father would care for him.
But she had another reason for wanting to go to Frenchtown, one she didn’t say aloud. She must know what happened to Emmett and the others. If there was truly to be a battle at dawn, she wished to be there to provide medical care, and though she knew it was silly, she felt like being near was important. Not that she’d be able to protect anyone in battle, but she couldn’t just sit here in the cold forest or set off for Detroit without knowing how they’d fared. She simply could not.
The men didn’t speak, so Abigail continued. “At any rate, we must move, or we will freeze. We may as well move in the direction that will be most beneficial to the others as well as Luke.”
“Captain did say ‘take suitable measures for Abigail’s safety and Private Hopkins’s health’,” Barney said. “Can you travel, Luke?”
“If we move slowly.”
“Very well, then it is decided.” Abigail crawled out of the shelter and put on her bonnet, pulling her cloak and the woolen blanket tightly around her shoulders.
The men followed, grabbing the packs they’d prepared for travel the next morning.
“Here, Abigail,” Luke said. “Take the quilt.”
She shook her head, though she knew he could not see it in the darkness. “You need it more than I.” Hearing his intake of breath as he prepared to protest, she touched his arm. “We can trade soon, once you are warm.”
They set off, trusting Barney’s sense of direction to get them to the road. Moving through the thick snow in the dark forest would slow them so much as to be pointless if they hoped to reach Frenchtown the next day. And besides being easier for travel, there was a good chance they’d be found on the road by soldiers—from either army—and taken to the town.
They walked in silence, with only the sounds of Abigail’s rustling skirts and an occasional grunt from one of the men, until they finally emerged from the tree line. Abigail could only see shadows, but she could hear by the change in acoustics that they were in an open space. After the security of the forest, she felt exposed and vulnerable. And seeing the way Barney and Luke held their guns and looked from side to side, she imagined they felt the same.
She supposed conversation might set them at ease. “Barney,” she said. Her voice was much louder than she was used to with the trees muffling the sound. She spoke softer. “Tell me about your family in Ohio. You mentioned your mother, and there’s Luke, of course. Have you other siblings?”
“Two sisters,” he said. “Younger than me, older than Luke. Both married.”
“And do they live near you?”
“Within a few miles. Close enough to help Pa and Ma with the farm while we’re gone. Not much to do in the winter, anyway.”
“And when will your militia contract be served?”
“We’ve a month more,” Barney said.
They paused, brushing off the snow from a stump for Luke to sit on. Resting when Luke was tired had become so natural that they did not even discuss it—just paused in their walking, waited a few moments, and carried on. Marching on the tramped-down snow of the road was so much easier than trudging through the thick drifts that he rested less frequently.
The two sat on either side of him.
“What do you intend to do when you return home?” Abigail asked.
“Barney has a sweetheart,” Luke said with the teasing inflection of a pestering brother.
Abigail was glad to hear it. If Luke had the energy to tease, he must not be suffering too badly.
“What is her name?” she asked.
“Winnifred Morgan.” Both men replied at the same time, one sounding playful and the other affectionate.
“I think Winnifred Morgan is a lucky woman,” Abigail said.
They rose and continued along the road.
“I hope to marry her,” Barney spoke in a low voice, meant for her ears only.
“I am happy to hear it,” Abigail said. “You will make a fine husband, Barney.”
She couldn’t see his expression, but she thought he held his head taller. Slowing her pace, she walked beside Luke.
“And what do you plan to do when you return home?”
“I hope to go to school. Perhaps attend a university.”
“What will you study?”
“I’d like to do doctoring, like you.” He sounded nervous as if worried she’d disparage his idea.
“I hope you do, Luke. And I hope you write me letters and tell me all about it.” Abigail felt the familiar longing to attend a university, but of course for a woman, wishing for such a thing was useless.
“I will,” Luke said. He sounded much more animated than he had the entire journey. “Do you know, Pa met a man in Cincinnati who said the outer settlements are desperate for doctors? Some will even pay the university fees.” He was quiet for a moment. “I wish I’d been awake to see you tend to my arm, Abigail. I was certain it would have to be amputated.”
“I’m glad it didn’t.” She realized the young man would have no hope of a career in medicine with only one arm. She was once again grateful that Emmett had brought her to the camp and the men had entrusted her with Luke’s care.
After another rest, they continued on. She imagined each in the party was caught up in his own thoughts. Barney was thinking of the woman he’d left behind, Luke of his future plans, and Abigail could not keep herself from remembering Emmett’s parting kiss. Her heart was heavy with worry about Emmett, Jasper, and Murphy. Had they made it to Frenchtown? Or had they been captured before they were able to deliver their warning? Her mind turned over different scenarios, each causing more worry than the previous, until she finally had to stop. She distracted herself by mentally reconstructing the chemical compositions of all the sheet silicates she could think of.
More hours passed, and Abigail thought it must be near dawn. She wondered how far they’d gone. Surely they’d covered close to seven or eight miles, maybe more.
The thought had no sooner entered her mind than she was startled by the sound of gunfire followed by explosions. She gasped and looked around as her body started to shake. Barney took her arm, and she could barely see his face in the dim predawn. His mouth was drawn into a grim line, his brows furrowed. The battle had begun.
Once the initial terror passed, Abigail felt frantic to reach the town. Emmett could at this moment be lying on the ground, the victim of one of the blasts.
They hurried along, stopping less often in their impatience to reach Frenchtown. The sun rose, and though they still could not see the town with the forest on either side of the road, a cloud of brown smoke floated in the sky ahead. The cannon discharges became so loud that Abigail could feel them shaking the air. And in between blasts were the noises of gunfire and the indistinctive sound of turmoil. She could not see the battle, but she could smell it. Gunpowder stung her eyes and made her cough, and even though it was likely her imagination, she was certain she could smell blood.
The cannon blasts stopped, but the gunfire continued, and now she could hear shouts and the roars of hundreds of men locked in battle. But eventually this stopped as well, and only the smoky smell remained, becoming thicker as they neared the town.
Shapes and movements appeared between the trees, and suddenly the way ahead was cleared and Frenchtown and the aftermath of the battle came into view.
In spite of herself, Abigail drew back and took Barney’s arm. In the eerie silence, evidence of fighting was everywhere. The ground was a mess of dirty snow. Clumps of material that she realized were injured or dead men were strewn about as if a giant had dropped his collection of wooden soldiers haphazardly around the clearing.
People moved about, carrying wounded men toward the town. Some simply sat and stared; others helped comrades. The chaos still existed, but it was subdued and a feeling of misery hung heavy like the cloud of gun smoke.
Abigail could not make any sense of what she was seeing. Which side had won the battle? She started to ask Barney but felt him stiffen. Looking up, she saw a group of Indian warriors approaching.
The men were muscular and bare-chested with painted skin and sharp weapons, but it was the scalp patches they carried that snatched the air from Abigail’s lungs and made cold terror spike through her veins.
She clung to Barney’s large arm, her mind feeling sluggish and alert at the same time as utter fear covered her, cold and heavy.
The Indians reached them and grinned menacingly, motioning for Luke and Barney to drop their weapons.
The men complied. Barney stepped forward, moving himself to stand in front of both Abigail and Luke. Abigail could see his fists were tight, but he still shook.
Two of the warriors aimed their guns at Barney, and the man who appeared to be the leader of the Indians drew a knife and started toward him, an evil expression curling his lip and making his dark eyes glint. Abigail put her hands over her face and closed her eyes, bracing herself for her friends’ pain nearly as much as her own. Her breathing was jagged, and all of her muscles tensed.
“Hold, there!” a voice called from behind them. “You, stop immediately!”
Abigail peeked through her fingers and saw a man in a British uniform approaching with hurried steps. He waved his hands in a shooing motion, and the Indian warriors moved away, looking back with disappointed glares.
Realizing the man had saved them, Abigail let her breath out, and her body slacked with relief. The man caught her arm, perhaps fearing she would swoon. At this point, it wasn’t out of the question, Abigail thought. She’d never in her life felt such all-encompassing dread, and the utter relief that followed it made her light-headed.
“Thank you,”—she noted the chevrons on his jacket—“Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant Sebastian Fox at your service, miss.” He gave Barney and Luke a quick glance then called a pair of soldiers over, instructing the two Americans to be taken to join the other prisoners.
The soldiers took their weapons, and Luke handed the quilt to Abigail.
“This man is in need of medical care,” Abigail said to the redcoats, but they gave her hardly a glance before her friends were marched away.
So the British were the victors, Abigail realized. A week ago, this would have been her preferred outcome, but today, knowing Emmett and his men had been defeated wrenched her heart with anguish. She had to find them.
Still holding on to her arm, the lieutenant studied Abigail. “Now, if you please, miss, explain who you are and what you were doing.”
Abigail didn’t like the man’s demanding tone, but she figured he had a right to be suspicious of anyone during wartime.
“My name is Abigail Tidwell, sir. Perhaps you know my father, William Tidwell. He is a physician-surgeon in Fort Detroit.”
“Yes, I am acquainted with the doctor. And if I remember rightly, his home is in Amherstburg. So, that begs the question, ‘What is his daughter doing on a battlefield more than twenty miles away, with two American soldiers?’”
Abigail definitely didn’t like the lieutenant’s tone now. And the way he looked at her made her wary, as if he were trying to discern the best way to use any information she might give against her. The man was very handsome. His speech was that of an aristocrat and his uniform impeccable, which she thought strange after a battle in the dirty snow.
“I am a healer, Lieutenant. I have come to assist with the wounded in hopes that I might travel safely with the army back to my father.”
His eyes narrowed. “That is not an explanation.” He took the bag off her shoulder and opened it, poking through her medical equipment with a bored expression.
“It is rather a long story, and I think now my time would be better spent tending to the injured, if you don’t mind, Lieutenant.”
“Perhaps I do mind.” His lip curled into a sneer. “I find your presence as well as your behavior highly suspicious, Miss Tidwell. And as you are no doubt aware, His Majesty’s army has no mercy for spies, nor traitors.”
He leaned toward her, perhaps meaning to intimidate her, but Abigail had just survived an encounter with scalp-collecting Indian warriors. She’d slept in a cold forest surrounded by wolves and walked miles through the darkness and falling snow. She wasn’t about to let one snooty British officer frighten her.
The impasse lasted only a moment before a young man approached. He saluted and stood to attention. “If you please, Lieutenant Fox, General Procter sends his regards and requests your presence, sir.”
Lieutenant Fox’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded, his gaze still boring into Abigail. “Corporal, please take this woman to the field hospital.”