“He’s on the way here from Charleston with some folks in a rented surrey. They should be spending tonight in Gadsden and get into Columbia sometime tomorrow.”
“Why Gadsden? Ain’t that a little out of the way?”
“Yep, but the road’s better.” Rufus scratched his head in deep thought. “Tell you what, call Chopper over here. I got a job for ’im.”
“Sure, brother. What you got in mind?”
“Need him to do what the army calls re-con-oy-ter.”
“Sounds like a disease.”
“Means to look around.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I did. Now call Chopper over here and Fat Man too. I need to find out which way Thompson’s coming, and fast. Him and the people he’s with’ll be here tomorrow.”
“They’ll want to know what’s in it for ‘em,” Floyd said.
“And for you, brother?” Rufus asked with a sneer.
“Maybe you ain’t heard, but the costs of things’s gone up considerable since the war began. Thomson got money?”
“He’s a doctor, ain’t he? Besides, I ’spect the folks he’s traveling with have plenty too.”
“You always could sniff out the soft touches, Rufus. I’ll get Chopper and Fat Man.” The sixteen-year-old motioned to the proprietor behind the plank bar. “Two more beers, Shifty, for me and my brother here.”
“He better have cash. You still owes me for the last two.”
Rufus snorted. “Still free loading, huh, brother.” He removed a leather purse from inside his shirt and produced a small silver coin.
Floyd let out a whoop. “Yankee money! Where’d you get that, brother? Ah, never mind. It’s better than rebel paper.”
“Enough for another couple of rounds, you think?”
“Ooo-eee! Come on, Shifty. Start pouring.”
“Speaking of Sally Mae,” Rufus said after his first gulp, “how’s the boy?”
“Job? Oh, he’s still with old Emma, far as I know.” Floyd snickered. “Favors his daddy, they say, with that yellow hair of his.”
“His daddy’s hair ain’t yellow no more.” Rufus picked up the foamy tankard of beer and downed half of it in one gulp. “Ain’t yellow now.”
#
“Momma, you must be exhausted, and Poppa can barely keep his eyes open.”
“I’ll be glad when this journey’s over,” Ruth said, feeling every bit as tired as she probably appeared. “The food gets worse and the beds lumpier. I’ll never put your father and me through a trip like this again.” She went over to the wash stand, poured water from the pitcher and patted it on her cheeks and neck. “Surely Dr. Meyer will be able to recommend a physician in Charleston to treat your father.” She pulled the combs from her hair and let the thick gray-streaked braid fall down her back. “Too bad Dr. Thomson doesn’t plan to practice there.”
Sarah chuckled softly as she removed the veil covering her head and dropped it on the trunk in the corner of the room. “I must say you interrogated the poor man enough in the last two days to know everything about him.”
“The character of the people you’re traveling with is important, dear. Besides, what else is there to talk about when you’re on the road—or what they call a road—for hours on end?”
Sadly she regarded her husband sitting on the edge of the one chair in the room, his head down, his hands dangling between his knees. Dear Jacob. I wish I could restore you to the man you were. But, alas, I think that may never happen.
“Let me help you put him to bed,” Sarah offered. “Sweet Poppa. I wish . . .”
“Hush, dear,” her mother cut her off. “There’s nothing we can do, except do what we can.”
Five minutes later the lethargic old man was stretched out under the thin counterpane and snoring softly. The women moved to the other side of the room to disrobe for bed. Sarah’s was a straw cot on the floor next to the wash stand.
“Something’s been troubling me, Momma. Did Poppa go to Colonel Steward and arrange for Randolph’s transfer to the regiment in Virginia?”
“No, he did not.” Ruth paused and studied her daughter. Such a lovely young lady. She didn’t deserve the treatment she’d received at the hands of the man she’d pledged her life and love to. “No, he did not,” she repeated. “I did.”
The expression on Sarah’s face wasn’t shock, as Ruth had expected, but more like disbelief.
“You? You arranged for him to be sent off and killed?”
Ruth shook her head. “No, sweetheart, I didn’t send him away to be killed. I was trying to save him from being murdered.”
Sarah sank onto the straw mattress and stared up with wide eyes. “I don’t understand, Momma.” She covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “What . . .” Her voice quavered. “What are you talking about?”
Ruth pulled the chair over and sat before her, reached down and clasped Sarah’s cold hands. “After confronting Randolph, I learned your father had bought a handgun, a Colt—”
“The one in his luggage?”
“Yes. And he’d been practicing with it. He’s never had any use for fire arms, so it took me a while to figure out what he was up to.”
“Are you telling me he was planning to kill Randolph? That was why you had Colonel Steward send him away, to save him from being killed by Poppa?”
Ruth shook her head. “No, dear. Not to save your husband’s life, but to save your father’s.”
“Momma, you’re not making sense,” Sarah cried out.
“Calm down and listen to me for a minute.” She massaged her daughter’s hands. “If your father had killed Randolph, as he planned, he would’ve been arrested for murder and put in jail. I couldn’t let that happen, sweetheart. He wouldn’t have lasted there more than a few months. He’s a good man, an honorable man, and I love him. He deserves better than to spend his last days in a cage for taking the life of a scoundrel like Randolph. No, I wouldn’t have it.”
“But . . . But Poppa still had the gun when we went to Maryland. He was going to kill Randolph after we got him released, wasn’t he?”
“He never told me, but I’m sure that was his intention. So I stole the cartridges.” She smiled proudly. “I still have them in my purse.”
Sarah stared up at her mother as tears began to well, then she sprang to her feet. Ruth rose too, but more slowly.
“Oh, Momma,” she cried and she embraced her mother. “You did all this for me?”
Ruth whispered, her voice unsteady, “I did it for all of us.”
The two women hugged each other tightly and wept.
#
“You might as well tell the ladies they can relax,” the driver reported to Buck on the last morning of their journey. “We ain’t gonna be leaving anytime soon.”
“What’s wrong now, John?” Buck asked in exasperation.
“Old George is sleeping in.”
Buck eyed him sternly.
“I tried waking him,” John insisted, “but he’s out for the duration.”
“Where is he?” Buck demanded, his temper rising.
“The barn.”
Buck marched toward the gray, weather-beaten wooden building.
The driver struggled to keep up with his long stride. “Come on, mister, just let him sleep it off. Even if you wake him, he’ll be worthless.”
They found the foul-smelling guard curled up in a pile of hay in the corner of an empty horse stall. His snores were keeping more sophisticated animals at bay.
“Give him a few hours, and he’ll be all right,” the driver urged.
“We’ll go on without him.”
“I ain’t going nowhere without a guard.”