Chapter 7

Must I be carried to the skies

On flowery beds of ease,

While others fought to win the prize,

And sailed through bloody seas?

— Isaac Watts

 

From out of the darkness came the sound of hoof beats—not one or two, or even a dozen—but more like those of an entire cavalry troop. The clattering caused Sarah to run to the window in a panic, fearing she had misled Colonel Benton in her last message. She had told him all was clear, and feared for the soldiers she may have put in jeopardy on the strength of her word.

When nothing but angry voices greeted her ears, she pressed herself against the wall and watched shadowy figures appear from the bosom of darkness. In moments, the yard was illuminated from the torches being waved wildly in the air.

Quickly extinguishing the candles that were burning, she grabbed the shotgun and stood with her hand on the door latch, nerving herself for the confrontation to come. The violent force gathering outside the door was palpable—she could feel it without even seeing it—and she knew there was no one within miles to protect her. She was utterly alone.

“Come out and face your enemy!” someone yelled.

Sarah took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. Taking a few steps onto the porch, she searched the angry faces of the crowd for any sign of kindness or compassion. Finding none, she tried to alleviate the tension. “I see only faces of neighbors and friends.” Her voice was strong at first, but faded in the end. “I see no enemies.”

“The hell you don’t!” another person responded. “You give aid to the Yankees and let the rest of us bear the brunt of their violence! Some kind of neighborly friend you are!”

“Burn her house down, like they burned my mill!” a man yelled to shouts of agreement.

“Yes, burn it down. Serves her right!”

Sarah watched the crowd surge forward, the torches waving wildly and creating a streak of light against the blackness of the night. She was experienced at reading the signs of drunkenness, but it took no expert analysis to see that these eyes glowed more from frenzied hate than from too much liquor. She continued to hold the gun plainly in one hand, yet made no attempt to use it or to defend herself.

The sound of hoofbeats thundering through the darkness caused the mob to pause and seek their source. A horse soon sailed over the garden gate at a reckless speed, scattering some of the crowd, while the rest parted like a great sea allowing the horse and rider to approach the house.

Sarah heard whispers and astonished mutterings, though all she could see at first was that the rider was a magnificent horseman, broad-chested and splendidly proportioned. As he drew closer to a torch, she recognized the figure, calm and unruffled, the very picture of a soldier.

His gaze met hers only briefly in the soft glow of torchlight before he turned back to the crowd, which had stepped back and made room for him in evident respect and regard. Not a man spoke or raised his voice, yet the eyes of all were upon him. The composed tone, the bold stance, and the gallant bearing revealed a man who knew no fear. His very presence shrouded her in comfort, and brought a sense of calm to her pounding heart.

 

* * *

“What is the meaning of this?” Colonel Benton grabbed a torch from someone’s hand and waved it across the heads of the mob as if to light their upturned faces. Although his horse was heaving from its frenzied ride, he continued to pivot and paw the ground apparently sharing his rider’s wrath.

“We’re doing onto others as they do onto us, Colonel!”

“We do not wage war against women and civilians.” Benton sat his prancing horse with casual ease, though his voice revealed his anger. “No matter what low acts our enemies thrust upon us.”

“Well, Col’nel, you know what this woman’s been up to well as anybody. We’re here to give her what she deserves.” Rounds of cheers rose up from the crowd as the torches flamed and spit.

“Gentlemen, I have been given orders to keep the peace in this territory, and I demand that you depart.” Benton talked slowly and calmly, but his tone did not hide the anger that was evident, as he handed back the torch. “We cannot lower our good standing as a civilized society by perpetuating the same crimes we so ardently detest.”

“But the wretches burned down my barn!” one man angrily protested. “And she was the cause of it.”

All heads turned toward Sarah, who had moved to a corner of the porch to watch the events from the shadows. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on the stalwart figure who sat with one hand on the reins, the other casually on the back of his saddle, as he turned to face the speaker. He radiated an image of power and strength, mixed with tremendous intensity and composure. She had never beheld such boldness before.

“If you have evidence to support that claim, I’ve yet to see it,” Benton replied sharply. He paused, but only for a moment. “Regardless, the time for discussion has passed. General Lee has better use for his cavalry than to protect the rights of civilians from a mob of marauders. Again, I ask you to disperse.”

His tone, demeanor, and reputation were such that, although many mumbled and complained under their breaths, none made an outright protest. In a few minutes time, the yard had cleared and the night had turned black again.

 

Sarah turned to enter the house and almost immediately heard spurs clanking up the steps behind her. Once inside, she attempted to relight a candle with a shaking hand, but failed until a hand grasped her wrist from behind and held it steady. When the candle finally flared, he removed his hand but made no effort to step away.

“You are very kind,” she said, not turning around.

“And you are very brave.”

Sarah held onto the back of a chair for support, not wanting him to see her distress. After a moment to restore her frantic nerves, she turned to him, and noticed how pale he appeared in the candlelight.

“I fear for your safety.” He spoke so softly and sincerely that she began to scrutinize him more closely. For a moment she was stunned at the concern that lined his handsome face. She had not considered the possibility that he cared for anyone but himself, yet his countenance revealed a look of anxiety and worry, as if he had been visibly shaken by the experience. Sarah looked down at her own hands and clasped them to keep them from trembling. “I do not know how to thank you as you deserve.”

“You do not need to thank me, Mrs. Duvall,” he said, somewhat coolly now. “I have no hesitation about rendering a service to one who has rendered so much service to me.”

“But how did you—”

“How I discovered it is a matter that needs not be told.” Benton seemed suddenly uncomfortable and moved to the window where he slid aside the curtain. “I believe they have dispersed, but I am willing to stay or post a few men, as you wish.”

“No. That really won’t be necessary.” Sarah made an effort to smooth her skirt, pretending to be undisturbed. Through these long years of war, she had learned well how to mask her fear, to hide her desperation. “I am sure there will be no more trouble tonight.”

Benton gazed at her a moment, seeming to deliberate before being nerved to continue. “If I may be so bold, Mrs. Duvall, I feel I must report to General Lee this duty has become too dangerous.”

Sarah took a step toward him. “You cannot. I accept the burden because I know what is at stake.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I know you did not wish this obligation, but you cannot continue to hold my gender against me.”

“It is not that,” he said, his brow furrowed. “It is no longer safe.”

“A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are for.” Sarah’s brow wrinkled with consternation. “I have accepted this duty, and I intend to perform it to the best of my abilities.”

“Mrs. Duvall, I beg your pardon, but those people out there can start more rumors in a week about you than I could stop in a year.”

She shrugged dismissively. “I would rather forfeit popularity forever than deny my countrymen a chance for freedom.”

“That is not the point.” His voice grew loud, drowning out the chimes of the mantle clock. “What if I had not arrived when I did?”

Sarah shrugged again, having no answer to his question. “It would be weak and disgraceful for me to say I cannot endure that which is my fate to bear.” She looked up at him. “And you, sir, have no right to interfere with fate.”

Benton moved away from the window, his face drawn with tenderness for her and with anger for a situation that caused her hurt. “I have no intention of interfering with fate, Mrs. Duvall. It seldom does any good. But neither will I stand by and allow you to place yourself in unnecessary danger.”

Again, Sarah had no answer for that and so attempted to change the subject. “You are here at great peril to yourself.” She turned and began to light another candle as if dismissing him. “You risk your standing and reputation by being with me. It would be wise for you to go.”

“I will not leave until you answer my question.” His expression was stern, and his voice carried a tone of anger in it. “What if I had not arrived when I did?”

Sarah turned to face him, and seeing the nerve throbbing near his temple, she began twisting the fabric on the sleeve of her dress. “At worst it would have been my life, and that is worth little to me and nothing to anyone else.”

Benton took an abrupt step toward her. “Do not say such things so lightly.” His voice was very low, but there was a strange and frightening edge to it. “Surely you are aware your threat is twofold. At any moment you may die at the end of a rope from one side—or at the hands of an angry mob from the other.”

“I must dare to do what my conscience dictates.” Her eyes, seemingly of their own accord, fell upon the open Bible lying on the table. “My life is in far wiser hands than my own.”

Benton sighed in apparent exasperation, his gaze following hers to the mark of rich ribbon that lay across the pages, bearing in silver text the words “Be not frightened for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” – Joshua 1:9.

Seeming to sense that arguing any further was futile, Benton returned his attention to her and became calm and businesslike again. “Is that your final word, Mrs. Duvall? I will not press the matter further for now if you are certain of your stance.”

Sarah forced a smile. “Duty is not an option, Colonel Benton. It is an obligation. That is my final word.” She met his gaze for a moment, and then, fearing that her emotions were getting the better of her, she did not venture to speak again. Instead she turned her back to him and waited for him to leave.

“Very well then,” she heard him say. “Good evening.”

Sarah listened to the creak of the door as it opened behind her and to the familiar click of the latch as it closed. The awful finality of that sound caused loneliness and despair to surge through her again. Unable to suppress her emotions any longer, she buried her face in her hands and let loose a deep, racking sob. She had taken great pains to repress her tears in front of him, but now…

It was not until she felt a hand on her shoulder that she realized Benton had tricked her and never left the room. He had simply opened and closed the door behind her.

“I will end this agony with but a word from you, Mrs. Duvall,” he said in a low, gentle voice. “Permit me to tell General Lee.”

Sarah had successfully controlled the sorrow she did not wish him to see, but now she indulged in the tears she no longer had the will to restrain. Unable to suppress what she could no longer endure, she wept passionately, the long pent up agony bursting forth with relentless strength. When she did not answer, Benton turned her around and pulled her hesitantly against him.

“Please don’t cry.” His voice trembled. “They have behaved shamefully toward you.”

Sarah had little choice but to lay her head against his chest and take comfort in the strong arms that held her. “I understand the feelings that impelled them,” she said. “I cannot blame them.” Embarrassed at her emotional display, she tried to straighten and move away, but he tightened his hold on her tenderly—yet powerfully.

“The trial is heavy to all, particularly so to you,” he said softly. “It pains me to watch you suffer so while I reap the glory.”

The anguish in his voice made Sarah wish to console him, yet her pounding heart and racing thoughts would not allow her to voice the sentiment. From the first hour of their acquaintance, she had been aware of her fascination with this man. Now, being held by him, she could barely remember to breathe.

“You must go,” she murmured weakly while allowing herself to be comforted. When his embrace only increased, she stopped trying to resist and rested passively in his eager hold. He smelled of smoke and leather and gunpowder and felt like safety and solace and support.

“Sarah, Sarah,” he whispered. “You cannot continue this dangerous game.”

His words gave Sarah the will to draw back. She broke away from him and hastily wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Others have suffered as much. Please don’t give me more credit than I deserve.”

“But you have received no credit, save a commendation from General Lee.” His voice grew loud again. “My victories will never be attributed to you or your sacrifices.” He paused and stared at her as if not understanding how she could serve her country to the detriment of her own happiness and reputation. “I shall have the honor of dying covered in glory as a soldier—”

“And I with the scorn of a traitor,” she finished for him.

When her eyes welled up again, he leaned forward and wiped away a fresh tear as it splashed down her cheek, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. She accepted the offering and dabbed her eyes. “I’m sorry to be so weak. I was so made.”

“Weak, my dear?” He stared at her with a look that was both admiring and respectful. “Your courage and calmness are unearthly. I equate you with a heavenly being if there is such a thing.”

Sarah looked up at him, blinking away her tears. “If there is such a thing?” She did nothing to hide the shock of his admission. “Can you doubt that there is a God who rules our affairs?” Her gaze remained transfixed upon him, as if trying to ascertain his sincerity.

Benton looked at her uneasily. “You do a much better job of communicating with the Almighty than I do,” he said softly. “The pure of heart are provided a leg up, I suppose.”

“But surely you believe in the protection of the men you send into battle—that they will be rewarded with eternal life.”

He chuckled and smiled at her as if to lighten the mood. “My dear, my duties are many and varied, but trying to get my men through the gates of Heaven is not among them.”

With furrowed brow, Sarah turned to the table and picked up her Bible. “Here, perhaps this will help you.”

The smile faded from Benton’s face as he stared thoughtfully at the well-worn book. “I cannot accept such a personal gift from one who has sacrificed so much already.” He handed the offering back to her. “But I will take this.”

Sarah looked at him questioningly as he took the handkerchief from her hand. He proceeded to unbutton his coat and thrust the damp piece of cloth into his shirt. “I wish to carry your tears close to my heart,” he said, learning forward and brushing away another that had wetted her cheek, “so I may be reminded in the heat of battle that courage and sacrifice are not for the soldier alone.”

Sarah studied his sincere expression for a moment, and then spoke to the floor, unwilling to gaze into the liquid brown eyes that studied her. “It is kind of you to say.”

“Not kind, just the truth.” He walked over to her fireplace, poked at the wood a moment until new flames sprang to life, and then turned to her, saying in a relaxed and casual tone, “Hesitate to ask nothing of me if I can be of service to you, Mrs. Duvall.”

Sarah nodded and smiled contemplatively. He seemed very much changed from the haughty domineering man she had once thought him to be. Although still arrogantly domineering at times, tonight he had proved capable of displaying genuine warmth and affection. She had to admit he was no longer an irritation to her. He was her only ally in a friendless world—he was strong, calm, consoling comfort.

Benton walked to the door and laid his hand on her shoulder. “And take care. That is the only thing the Confederacy asks of you that you do not seem willing to grant.”

Before Sarah could think another thought, or say another word, the door clicked shut, and this time, he was really gone.