Perry cradled her hand to her chest and slowly crawled from beneath the wagon. She stood watching as Abram slammed his fist into one deserter's face, sending him flying backward into unconsciousness. Turning, Abram began his thunderous assault upon the other.
Blood spilled from the soldier's mouth as Hunter's voice interrupted the attack. "Enough, Abram, enough," he said calmly.
Without even a glance back, Abram dropped the deserter's body in the dirt. Perry turned to Hunter, amazed at his control over Abram. He hadn't commanded, only requested. Few words seemed necessary between these two men. Wide-eyed, with tears dribbling down both cheeks, she looked into Hunter's gray eyes. She saw again the puzzlement in his face she'd seen when he regained consciousness back at camp. He was searching for something or someone. He looked deep into her eyes, as if looking for a piece of a puzzle.
Finally he glanced down at her bloody hand. For an instant Perry watched sorrow cross his face, as though he could feel her pain as well as his own. "My God, boy, what happened to your hand? Abram, get a bandage."
Perry stared at Hunter as he frowned at her bloody hand. She marveled how only moments before, when he'd faced two desperate men, his voice was without emotion; however, anger and concern echoed now in his words. Caring had replaced courage in a blink of his gray eyes.
Within seconds Abram was at her side, examining the knife cut. He lifted Perry effortlessly into the wagon beside Hunter so the captain could examine her hand.
"Your palm's as soft as a girl's." Hunter laughed as he supervised the bandaging.
Abram grunted at Hunter's remark but said nothing. The cut wasn't deep, and soon the pain subsided as Hunter talked to her. He seemed to be rambling to keep her mind busy while Abram cleaned the blood away.
"Boy, have you ever seen one of our balloons?" Hunter asked.
Perry shook her head. She'd read about the North using balloons to observe battles but had never seen one.
"The only thing greater than watching them drift into the sky is being in one as it lifts. I first saw one six years ago in the summer of '59. Abram and I traveled over two weeks to watch Professor Wise launch his balloon, Atlantic. It beat anything I'd ever seen. It was a huge balloon, bordered on either side by smaller ones, lifting a gondola with four men inside. Just think, kid, it covered over eight hundred miles in less than twenty hours.
"Old Professor Wise plans to cross the Atlantic soon, if Lowe doesn't beat him. When the war's over, I bet Lowe tries again." Hunter was speaking half to himself as he watched Abram wrap Perry's hand.
Perry raised her head. She remembered hearing the name Lowe before. Captain Williams had said something about a Professor Lowe needing Hunter back fast. She'd known by the tone of Williams's voice that Professor Lowe must be someone important. "Who is this crazy man, Lowe, who wants to cross the ocean in a bubble?" she asked, hoping to encourage Hunter, for his face was already tight with fatigue.
"I wouldn't call the chief of our Army's aeronautical division a crazy man. He's a genius. He put a telegraph up in a balloon in '61. He attached it to a cable holding the balloon. We can send information down from five thousand feet up."
Abram said, "It was a telegraph cable that almost got us killed a few days ago."
Hunter laughed, forgetting his own pain for a moment. "Maybe so, but it's not usually dangerous. Men have been going up in balloons for almost a hundred years now. I've heard Marie Antoinette watched the first test flight in 1783."
Perry was fascinated by Hunter's story as he told of early ballooning. He examined Abram's work on her hand while he talked. She saw that tiny lines wrinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Fine job, Abram. You may have missed your calling. Instead of floating around with me, maybe you should have tried doctorin'." Hunter's voice was light as he teased Abram.
Abram agreed. "I'd have had plenty of patients traveling with you."
Hunter smiled at his old friend. "We'd better get the horses hitched up before our friends wake up." Then, to Perry, he added softly, "Why don't you strip that shirt off and wash the blood out of it before we start moving."
Hunter leaned back, and within seconds his eyes closed in sleep, as though his few sentences had exhausted all his energy. Perry watched him curiously, studying the lines of his face for any signs of laughter. Could he have suspected her gender? Perry smiled to herself, thinking of the shock Hunter would have if she did remove her shirt. She wondered if the sight of her bare chest would stir his blood, as his had warmed hers. It was an outrageous thought, for he was a Union officer and she was wanted for treason. Yet she couldn't stop watching him. His facial muscles were relaxed, his lips slightly open, giving his mouth a slight pouting expression. His strong character showed even in the lines of his sleeping face.
Perry climbed carefully out of the wagon, nursing her bandaged hand. She moved to Abram and the horses, watching idly as he hitched the team. She knew the blood would remain on her shirt, for she had no intention of undressing. Glancing at the two unconscious bodies in the dirt, she asked, "What about them?"
"Oh, they'll come around in a few hours. They'll be mighty sore when they do." Abram chuckled to himself. "Thanks for cutting me free, boy." Again emphasizing boy, as though it were a private joke he found greatly amusing. "I may have to teach you something about using knives."
The knife! Perry whirled and ran to the wagon. Bending down, she retrieved her pearl-handled treasure from the dust where she had slung it. Very carefully she bent the blade into its case, using only her good hand and her leg as a brace. Caressing the knife gently, she slid it into her pocket. She prayed she wouldn't have to use it again, but somehow the hope seemed lean as she moved deeper and deeper behind Union lines.
Chapter 5
As Hunter's party traveled north, the early spring air grew cool with evening and a mournful, silent fog crept around them. Abram finally turned the horses toward a cluster of trees in the distance. "There's a plantation up the road where we might get that hand doctored properly. Maybe we could even spend the night there. Looks like we're in for a storm."
Perry didn't comment. Every bone in her body ached from bumping around in the wagon. She watched the last bit of watery yellow light pass from the horizon and hoped she could stay awake long enough to find a corner to curl into for the night. The brooding sky blended with her mood. She felt that if the wagon hit another bump, her weary bones would snap in two.
They passed through the gates of the large plantation. The grounds were massive but the house looked old and in need of repair, even from a distance. A brick kitchen and one ancient barn huddled behind the dilapidated main house. It looked as though someone were slowly removing the walls and fences for firewood.
Abram maneuvered the wagon with tireless skill. "During the first part of the war hundreds of troops were housed here. Before we were soldiers, Hunter and I came over to watch a balloon ascent. Now it looks like no one's around."
Abram slowed beside the deteriorating back steps. A soldier, not out of his teens, bounded from the kitchen. He struggled awkwardly, trying to put his coat on and hold his rifle at the same time. "Who goes there?" he yelled as his rifle twirled like a baton and fell in the dirt before him.
"Captain Hunter Kirkland and party," Abram answered formally with no hint of laughter in his tone. "We need a doctor.''
The soldier picked up his gun and straightened to a formal stance. The tiny smile on his pimply face told of his thanks for Abram's kind disregard of his clumsiness. "Don't have no doctor, but you're welcome to come in. Me and the boys were left behind last week to guard this place, and we haven't seen more'n a jackrabbit. If you got news, we'd be glad to share our grub."