Chapter 14

IT HAD HAPPENED SO QUICKLY. One moment, she and her fellow soldiers were trudging toward the river to catch the boats preparing to cross. The next, chaos erupted.

And she knew who was to blame.

Her traitorous eyes had turned to glance behind her for the twentieth time to ensure Gabe was managing his cumbersome equipment as he crept down the bluff behind the exhausted regiment. She shouldn’t care. He had spurned her completely, making it clear that he found her transgressions unpardonable.

Yet she did care all the same.

It seemed he was lagging behind. Was he attempting to capture an image, or was he struggling to bear his load and traverse the rocky terrain? She wanted to fall back, longed for some small assurance that he would make it without mishap.

When she realized he was setting up his tripod for a war image, she sighed, frustrated at herself for noticing. He’d taken the cap off the lens, and she blinked, squinting as the sun reflected off the glass like a lighthouse between the rocky crevices.

The thought had just crossed her mind that if the enemy were lurking about, the light would be a flag to mark their location.

Then the Rebel bullets started flying.

Her heart hammered to a stop. Gabe had inadvertently given their position away.

Men shouted. She’d ducked, covering her own head as a man to her left screamed when a bullet whittled into his arm.

Feet scrambling. Rocks and twigs snapping. Rifles gripped in white knuckles.

At the captain’s shrill cry, “Engage the enemy!” she should have obeyed, but her feet would not move. She whirled around, her heart pounding in her throat when she realized Gabe’s tall silhouette no longer stood on the rocky ledge. Instead, he lay in a motionless heap at the feet of his tripod.

A wave of soldiers pressed against her, slamming her shoulders, propelling her body into battle, but she fought the crush attempting to distance her from the ledge. From the camera. From Gabe.

Pushing, shoving, clawing her way through, she stumbled as she panted to climb the steep bluff. Hand over hand. Pull. Heave. Sweat stung her eyes. Her lungs burned with need.

At last she reached his sprawled, motionless body and dropped to his side, slinging the rifle against her back as she allowed her hands to inspect his limp form.

A nasty bullet to the leg, just below his knee. A few cuts. No other wounds that she could see. Crimson blood pooled in the sand below his leg. She must get him help before the blood loss was irreparable.

Licking her lips and tasting salt, she sucked in deep, tight breaths and surveyed the area around her. She could not take the camera and his equipment. It would have to be retrieved later or counted as a loss. She could do little more than manage him down the steep hill. If that.

With a quick prayer for help, she hooked her forearms under his shoulders and started dragging him backward with strained grunts. Moving his deadweight to the river would be close to impossible without Providence’s blessing.

His head lolled to the side and she gritted her teeth, her muscles burning as she moved him a few more feet. Grunt, drag, strain, drag.

“Gabe . . . it’s a mighty good thing . . . you’re . . . already out,” she panted. “Because this trip . . . is going to be . . . no picnic.”

Sounds invaded. Far away at first. Muffled and watery. Murmuring voices. Sloshing water in a basin. Groans. The clink of metal against metal. The sharp sting of medicine snagged his senses, pulling him out of the darkness.

Yet he was helpless to find light. His tongue felt thick. A burning agony pulsed from his left leg.

His throat was dry. Swallowing, he groaned when the pain scorched sharper. As he turned his head to the side, a matronly voice that sounded like gravelly pebbles came from somewhere up above.

“There now. Come back. You’re safe.”

Summoning all his strength, he opened his eyes. White canvas loomed overhead. His gaze roamed over the strange space. How did he get here?

Last thing he remembered was positioning his camera over the valley. A valley filled with tired, blue-clad soldiers. An army contingent retreating. And then . . .

Shot!

He gasped, his muscles tensing as the memories came roaring back. A calloused hand pushed against his chest, forcing him to lie still. Pain radiated up his leg in waves. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.

A stout woman with a mop of springy gray curls appeared overhead, her face lined in a scowl. “You try to get up again and I’ll put a bullet in your other leg.” She tsked under her breath, but despite her harsh threat, her eyes were warm.

Before he could rasp out a word, she saw his need and placed a tin cup to his mouth. Blessed water trickled into his parched throat.

“Not too much at once, dearie.”

When he’d had enough, she whisked the cup away and studied him sharply. “Do you remember what happened?”

He lifted trembling fingers to his temple, kneading the skin. It was hard to think above the pain in his leg.

“A little. I was on a bluff somewhere above Leesburg when a scout told me Captain Philbrick had been mistaken. There was no Confederate camp. I was heading down the slope, and I remember stopping to take a view with my camera.” He paused. “Bullets started flying all around.” He glanced up at the gruff woman. “Was the scout wrong?”

She shook her head, jowls swaying slightly and gray curls bobbing like corks on a pond. “No, from what I hear, the captain indeed made an error. But it appears you and the soldiers you were with somehow alerted a different Rebel contingent to your whereabouts.”

He sank back into the lumpy cot with a groan. “How? Where did they come from?”

“Don’t know. Word is spreading it was a Confederate troop from Mississippi and Virginia. Not sure. They must have seen something that made them aware you were nearby.” She swirled a cloth through a basin of water, squeezing the excess water free before pressing it to his brow. He let his eyes slide shut in pleasure at the cool contact. “It’s an awful mess, though. I know that much.”

He sighed, attempting to glue the hazy pieces together. “So I was shot in the leg. How did I get here?”

A small smile creased her cheeks. “A scrappy soldier somehow managed to save your neck. Pulled you down the bluff and rowed you across the river before finding a litter to carry you here.” Her brows furrowed. “Poor fellow looked like a beat dog when he showed up lugging you behind him. Took more pluck than most men have, I’d wager.”

Gabe’s heart thumped slowly. Who on earth would have done that for him? He’d made many friends, but this? Willing to get shot to pieces to save him? His throat tightened. He wasn’t worth it. He had done nothing to aid the cause. Nothing.

“Did you speak with the man who saved me? Get his name?”

His nurse frowned. “Can’t say that I did.”

“I must find out. Thank him. Repay him if at all possible.”

She snorted. “Good luck to you, then. I’ve never seen such chaos in all my days.”

He braced himself, dread coiling within. “Why? What happened?”

The nurse glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice. “It seems quite a melee ensued. Most of the men were dodging bullets. A small group tried to row like the devil across the river, but it took too long. Them only having four boats didn’t help a whit either. By the time Colonel Devens got word sent that reinforcements were needed, it was too late.”

His stomach tightened, cold fear seizing his breath. “Too late? Were they all killed?” Please, God, no . . .

“Not all. But most of those who didn’t make it back across the river were captured by the Rebs.” She grimaced, her eyes softening as she broke the news. “Some of the men drowned trying to make it across the Potomac without boats.”

The breath in his chest dissolved. What of his friends? Weeks, George, Selby, Briggs, Sven? A sudden crush of fear washed over him. Cassie?

A cool gust of wind rippled the walls of the surgical tent, tugging the fat curls framing the nurse’s face. He turned away from her probing stare and slammed his eyes closed. The pain in his leg refused to cease its scalding throb.

But the ache in his chest at the thought of Cassie’s death cast a far more painful blow.

“I hear tell you’re a photographer.”

He nodded dumbly.

“Should have had your camera in here hours ago. It was a sight to behold.”

A niggling unease clawed at him. “What of my personal possessions? My camera and equipment?”

She frowned. “I’ve not seen anything delivered here. I’m sorry.”

Gone. His livelihood. Jacob’s sacrifice. His dreams. Shot down in an instant.

Yet it was Cassie’s face that kept stabbing him with fresh waves of misery. He moaned.

“Here. Take some medicine. It will help with the pain.”

A spoon slipped between his lips. Something sticky and bitter coated his tongue before he succumbed to merciful nothingness.