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28. The Raid

1864 OCTOBER 19, WEDNESDAY

28

Clara asked for me to call on her under the pretense she wanted to show me her wedding gifts, but in truth, she wished for me to speak to her brother.

"He has not been himself since the summer," she explained. "Not since … you know … the storm." No one spoke to me about that night, and I was grateful for it. I already relived it every time I closed my eyes, wondering how I could heal this abyss between Brett and me. "I'm tired of seeing him moping about. He has been too eager to return, especially after seeing Matthew depart, and Ma and I are not ready to let him go. Can you please speak to him?"

"Does he know I'm here?" I asked.

She looked sheepish. "Please, Ella. I know you once had affection for him, and you treated him so well, so tenderly. You made him happy. I daresay your care is what saved him."

"I'm not sure of that, but I'll try to speak to him if he'll allow me."

Clara showed me to the porch balcony outside his upstairs "sick" room. He did not turn to see who approached, his messed-brown head bowed over a book, his shoulders covered by a beaver-pelt coat to ward off the autumn chill.

"Brett," Clara spoke.

He turned to look over his shoulder, our eyes meeting for an instant before he returned to his book.

"I'm in no mood for company today."

"Brett, this has gone on long enough." Clara put her hands on her hips. "Ella's here now, and you will speak with her."

"Clara, I don't know—" I began.

"Ella! He's acting childish and stubborn. I'm closing these doors, and you both are staying out here until some reconciliation has been made."

Before Brett or I could say a word in protest, she closed the double doors, locking them behind her.

"I'm sorry. She doesn't know when to not meddle," he said.

I stood there in silence until Brett gestured to the chair beside him.

"We don't have to speak if you'd rather not. We can just tell Clara we have agreed to remain civil."

Brett shook his head. My heart clenched with disappointment. I missed our friendship.

"I'll be returning to my regiment soon. I need to be with the other men through this last stretch." He closed his book. "So much is happening right now, and I'm missing it all. Sherman's marching toward the sea through Georgia. Petersburg remains under siege and soon it will break, then we'll march into Richmond. Early still poses a threat. He's a stubborn Southerner, that Jubal Early. He doesn't know when to give up, does he?"

"No, I guess not."

"The Rebs will be surrendering soon. We're reclaiming land and freeing their slaves, and they will soon be able to do nothing but surrender. Everyone is saying this war might be over by the New Year. All I have to say is, I better be involved before it's over. The blockade is getting tighter by the week, and the Mississippi is practically ours …"

I stared out toward town, trying to find the words I wished to speak. Brett was a good man, kind and passionate. I cared for him—and there was an attraction there—but he knew I could never love him. Not the way he wanted me to.

The view of the town from here was obscured by trees, but church steeples and rooftops separated the landscape from the gray sky. The trees were turning now … yellows, oranges, and reds. My eyes strained, attempting to see beyond the horizon, beyond the hillsides. Everything seemed so far away, like I was nestled back in the wooded hills of another earth, forever distant from the conflict. It neither seemed real nor right that I sat here in comfort when men were fighting to the death, murdering one another for freedom, injustice, preservation, or rights they believed in.

"Who's that?" Brett broke the silence. "Seth Mathis?"

Seth ran toward the house, Moses barking at his heels.

"Seth!" I stood to wave at him.

He stopped below the balcony, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath between words. "Rebels … cavalrymen … in town!"

Brett barreled out of his chair and leaned against the railing. "What?"

My heart pounded against my ribcage.

Seth raised his voice over Moses's barking, straining through his labored breathing. "Rebel cavalrymen are in town! They're robbing the banks and burning houses and killing people! Their officer is claiming he will shoot the first man to offer resistance. They're in possession of the town now!"

Brett and I both looked toward town and saw, to our horror, a Confederate flag now waving on the Village Green above the treetops. Smoke trailed skyward.

I gasped. "They'll burn down the town."

Brett gripped my hand. The tough muscles of his hand squeezing mine. "When did this happen, Seth?"

"Just a minute ago! They herded a bunch of people onto the Village Green, and they're going to shoot them all! I'm off to warn Ma and my sisters."

"What should we do?" I asked Brett.

"You need to hide somewhere, Brett!" Seth called up to us. "They're going to kill every soldier in the hospital!"

"What's going on?" Mr. Chisholm asked, coming out onto the front porch below us.

"There are Rebel cavalrymen in town, sir," Seth replied. "You need to hide Brett. I don't know if they'll stop with the hospital. They may be raiding, searching for any young men."

My chest tightened as I stared back at Brett. "Where should we hide you? The cellar? The barn?"

Brett shook his head. "I can't endanger my family. I need to leave the property and hide in the woods. I can't have the Rebels finding me if they search the area for Union soldiers."

"You can't just hide out in the woods, especially if the Rebels are here to stay, Brett." Fear gripped me, but my mind went into action.

"Seth and I will take horses and go hide in the old Williams' cabin. Go tell the Mathis women, Seth, then meet us by the road west. Come on." Brett pulled me with him.

Reaching the door, Brett rattled the handle. "Clara!" He hit the door with his open hand. "Goddammit! Let us in!"

The lock turned, the door flinging open. Clara met us with wide eyes.

"You'll hide in the barn," Mrs. Chisholm demanded, rushing into the room.

"I won't let you be accountable for hiding Federals on your property, Mama. I will leave and hide in the Williams' cabin. I know the way, and we can take horses. If I need to, I can continue toward the Notch."

"You'll hide in a cave? I think not! You're my son, Brett, and you will do as I say. You are staying on the property where it is safe, and we know you're nearby."

Brett crossed the floor and gripped his mother's arms. "Listen! I will not have this family in danger. I can't stay here. Do you want to have the enemy raging in here and searching every corner and turning every bedsheet to only find me? Do you know what they would do if they found me? This is war, Ma. They would drag me out to the driveway and have me shot in front of you. I won't have that happen, you hear?"

"Fine, Brett. Go to the cabin. But if you don't come home, I don't want to live the rest of my life wondering if you're alive or not." Mrs. Chisholm surrendered, withdrawing her arms from her son's hands. "But we can't have you keep a horse up in the woods. They're needed, and if the Rebels spot it, they will know someone is hiding there."

"Then someone will have to go with me to bring it back."

"Have your father take you."

Brett fastened his holster with dueling pistols. Clara handed him his hat to shove onto his messy hair, and we all followed him on his swift feet outside. Mr. Chisholm met us at the door, a hunting rifle in his hands and his lips pursed with anger.

"What's the plan?" Mr. Chisholm asked.

"I'm going to hide out in the old Williams' cabin." Brett turned to his father.

"Ah, good idea." Mr. Chisholm set to loading his rifle.

"Pa, we're going to need horses, but you'll have to bring the horses back."

Mr. Chisholm's head jerked up from the rifle, his face aghast. "I can't go with you, Brett. I have to be here to protect the women. There is no one else to do it."

"I'll do it. I know the way to the cabin and back," I volunteered.

"No, it's out of the question," Brett said. "I won't put you in danger."

"Brett." I pushed past the Chisholms, ready for battle. "I won't have you going up there by yourself. You need someone to bring the horses back, or they will discover you. I'm a fast rider, and I know the way. I can do this."

"It's not a matter of whether you can do this or not because I have no doubt that you can, but I won't put you in danger. You must stay here until it's safe to return to the Mathises' home."

I lost my patience. "I don't care about the danger. I'm coming along whether you like it or not, and we're only wasting time arguing. Now, come on, or you'll have no time to hide."

I pulled Brett's arm and led him off. Brett brushed off my hand, angry with me again, but acquiescing.

We ran across the lawn to the barn. Jersey was watering the horses, unaware of the invasion. Brett called for two horses to be saddled, and without delay we mounted. Brett glimpsed back at me, checking I was securely in place, before we took off through the back property and toward the worn road, toward the hills.

We galloped at full speed, the horses lunging forward. We leaned close to our horses' manes, hoping to conceal ourselves from the enemy. Seth joined us at the bend of the road on his nut-brown horse, a hunting rifle across the saddle. We slowed only for a moment so he could ride alongside us.

"Here," Seth said, handing me the handle of my Colt revolver.

"Thanks." I could feel Brett's eyes on me.

The wind blew, causing the trees to sway and orange leaves to scatter. With our speed, we reached the cabin in under an hour. The little house no longer looked eerie but lonely among the trees.

"Now return posthaste," Brett told me as he and Seth dismounted. "And if you fear any danger, hide. Can you shoot?" His eyes went to my lap where I hid the revolver.

"You bet she can!" chimed Seth.

Brett gave me a lopsided grin.

"I'll take the tree line," Seth offered, double-checking his rounds.

Brett came to my side and gripped my hand. "Take care of yourself, angel."

Warmth flooded my chest at the use of his endearment for me. I didn't realize I missed it. "You, too, Brett."

Brett tethered the horses to my saddle, and the two men disappeared to their posts without another word. Fear and anxiety pounded against my temples, pushing me back down the hill. I rode as swiftly as I could with two other horses in tow. The wind whipped my hair, causing strands to escape the pins. Everything seemed like a blur, for there was only one focus, and one focus only—to reach the Chisholms' house and hide from the inevitable danger.

I turned off the trail and headed down the dirt road, winding back through the trees. My heart thumped in my chest. I would have vomited if I had stopped our canter. The other two horses trailing behind prevented me from breaking out into a gallop.

Without warning, three men in civilian clothes on horseback came up the road. We saw each other at the same moment, and I found myself pulling up on the reins. They stopped in the road, smirks on their lips. My mind rushed, trying to find a way around them.

"Why, look who we have here?" the man in front said, his horse inching closer, causing my own horse to back up a pace. "Where do ya think yer goin'?"

"Home." My voice cracked.

"And in quite a hurry."

"What's yer name, li'l darlin'?" another man asked, his beard smeared with dried tobacco juice.

"Move aside, sirs!" If I was to feign courage, I would do it to my death.

"Oh, the poor thing is scared, Sam. What do you say we help her relax?" They exchanged lascivious grins. "Should we call in Harris?"

"No need to call me in, gentlemen."

That voice. So familiar.

My blood ran cold.

How did he find me?

"Ethan," I bristled. I hope he felt the visceral anger seething from my voice.

"Seems she knows you!" the bearded one, Sam, teased.

He perched on his black stallion, his Confederate-issued, wide-brimmed hat shading his eyes. His newly grown beard made him look fierce.

"Hello, Ella. My luck is better than I thought," he sneered. "No matter how far you run from me, fate brings us back together, now doesn't it? I do believe, my dear, that you have underestimated my abilities and my determined desires."

The cavaliers seemed to be closing in on me.

"How did you find me?"

"It wasn't difficult. He just fell right into my grip. Don't worry, it took a lot of effort to break him."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

A sneer crept across his mouth, and a guttural laugh escaped.

"He's been reported missing for some time now, hasn't he? I suppose it's been since last spring when my plan went into motion." He looked at his men, who nodded in confirmation.

My hand flew to my mouth in realization. "John!"

"Yes, I suppose that was his name. Well, let me put your mind at ease as to his fate. There is no way he would have survived my ministrations."

Shock scoured my insides. My breath caught. And my muscles clenched. John …

Before I could regain composure, Ethan was off his horse and grabbing me around the waist.

"It's time we end this!" Anger raged through his voice as he yanked me off the horse. Blood pulsed through the blue veins that accentuated his neck.

"No!" My senses returned.

Several shots echoed from town, and my mind reeled with images of assassinated men, women, and children in the Village Green. Ethan and the Rebel cavaliers barely flinched from the distant explosions. This was all part of their plan. I wondered if this was how my life would end. This was not how I pictured my death.

I writhed in his vicelike arms. "Don't, Ethan! Please, don't do this!"

Ethan turned to the men. "You three! Keep watch! Listen for Young's signal, and shoot anyone who approaches."

"Leave some for me," one cavalier hollered. And the others laughed and made lewd comments. Ethan ignored them as he pulled me away from the road, toward the cover of the trees.

"Ethan, please. Please. You don't want to do this."

"Shut up!"

"I'm untainted, Ethan. You know this. Please."

"You saved yourself for me, did you? My bride-to-be? I hope you are telling the truth, for your own sake. Or are you a lying, deceitful bitch after all? You and your family have only sought to ruin me!"

"If you're ruined, it is your own doing!"

I wiggled my hands free, attempting to scratch his face, but he retaliated with a quick slap across my cheek, causing a searing, burning pain to shoot across it.

"You'll think twice before you speak back to me!" Ethan's grip tightened; he trapped my arms against my sides to keep them restricted. I tried to kick as he pulled me into the brush, but his palm came across my cheekbone again. "You're going to make this worse for yourself if you keep fighting."

Without warning, he pushed me down to the ground, his entire body weight against me. His hat fell off in the struggle, and his blond hair flopped into his piercing, gray eyes, gleaming with lust and rage. His hand darted under my skirt and crawled up my leg.

"Help! Help!"

I prayed Seth or Brett might hear me. Hoped my voice would echo through the trees.

"Shut up!" Again, another sound slap crossed my cheek. This time, a bitter, metallic taste bloomed in my mouth and my ears rang.

"This will only go one way. It's time I end this curse once and for all."

He rent my stockings. The tear of fabric brassy in my ears. He paused, and I prayed he was rethinking his plan. Instead, he pushed the Colt revolver into my face.

"Still have my brother's Colt? It was of little use to him and will be of little use to you too."

Ethan flung it away from us, crashing through the bushes.

His weight crushed the whalebones in my corset into my ribs.

"Please, oh, please, Ethan. Please, don't do this," I panted.

His hand gripped my throat. "Not another word, darling. Not another fucking word. Or you're as good as dead. You owe me for the trouble you've put me through." More fabric ripped as my bodice was torn to my waist.

"Oh, dear, why have we waited so long?"

I sobbed as his hands searched under my skirt once more, pushing fabric aside until his fingers touched my most private place.

Oh, Lord, this can't be happening. Save me from this. Please, save me.

Gunfire went off nearby, and men began to yell.

"Help." My voice came out a strained whisper. I lifted my hips to try and push him off. "Help!"

Ethan backhanded my face. Gripping my neck, he banged my head against the ground. I struggled to breathe. His hand on my throat. Blood in my mouth.

More shots and shouting. The cavaliers called after Harris for reinforcement.

He growled in exasperation. "Stay here!" he commanded as he rose. "Move from this spot and you're dead."

Drawing twin revolvers from his holster, he pushed through the brush back to the road.

I sucked in air. Rolling onto my side to cough and spit blood. The shock of the encounter left me raw and numb. The revolver glinted in the weak, gray light, beneath the bushes. I fumbled to my knees and pushed myself through the brush. Pushing back the branches, I reached in and grabbed the revolver. Cold and heavy in my hand, it was like a spurt of energy in my veins, propelling me to my feet and out to the road.

"Ella! Don't move! Get down!" Brett yelled as bullets whizzed past me.

My knees buckled at the sound of Brett's voice, and I flattened to the ground. What was he doing? He was supposed to stay hidden. He was going to get himself and Seth killed.

The three Rebels climbed on to their mounts, still shooting.

"No!" Ethan bellowed. "Don't retreat!"

A signal sounded in the distance, and the three men turned, galloping toward town. Ethan, still exchanging fire with Seth and Brett, hesitated, his eyes locking with mine before mounting his horse.

"They're getting away!" Seth shouted.

Brett rushed to my side as Seth reloaded his pistol, firing after them.

"Ella." Brett helped me to my feet.

I refused to live in fear if Ethan survived this. Blood rushed in my ears. The whole earth tilted, but I managed to cock the hammer. Aiming it at Ethan's back, I squeezed the trigger.

Ethan jolted forward against the horse. The bullet hit. The horse galloped on. I prayed it was a fatal shot as he disappeared down the road.

Brett draped his coat around my shoulders, bringing me close. My head spun, and my whole body burned with nausea. My vision dimmed around the edges, but strong arms were there to catch me.

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