Northern Star

Chapter 4

The night was foggy and moonless. The three moved out of the Union camp onto a road that faded to invisibility only inches ahead of them. Abram sat alone on the bench seat, straining every muscle, alert to any danger that might spring out of the darkness. Hunter lay cradled among blankets and supplies, a new Union jacket folded over him. Perry rested against the sideboard as she sat curled up in the back of the wagon, her eyes fixed on Hunter. She could see the pain in his face each time the wagon swayed from side to side and wondered if he would survive yet another move.

Captain Williams had made certain everything was packed and ready by the time Abram had dressed and carried Hunter the few hundred feet from the ruins to the wagon. The captain seemed to be pushing the mismatched threesome out of the camp. Yet at the same time he carefully saw to every detail. Perry wondered what lay behind the curt captain's attitude and behavior.

Now, with the jostle of the wagon, Hunter's eyes grew heavy and he whispered, "Boy, better hang on. Hate for you to fall out when we hit a bump." Then all she heard was his rhythmic breathing as he slept.

Cuddling among the supplies for warmth, she longed for home. The fighting seemed endless. She'd been only a child when it had erupted, yet the war had hastened her steps into adulthood. When Andrew left, Perry willingly assumed more responsibility at Ravenwood. By the time her father died, she was able to run the large plantation effectively by herself. Now, riding in a wagon with two men she'd only known a few days, she felt far from home and somehow like a child again… as if she no longer had any control over her life.

Perry's thoughts drifted to her grandfather. She remembered very little about him. Though he came to Ravenwood before the war, she'd never been invited to visit him. The old man had always seemed saddened in Perry's presence. She was a painful reminder of his only daughter, who died giving birth to Perry. Andrew jokingly referred to him as "our crazy old grandpa," but she'd seen a lifetime of heartbreak in the wrinkles of his face. If he did behave a bit oddly, perhaps it was because the pain of life had been too great for him.

Now he was Perry's only living kin except Andrew. He was her one hope of refuge. She wondered how she would be received when she turned up penniless on his doorstep. Times were hard, but he was her grandfather. Surely he would take her in. If he was dead, she'd find some way to stay at his home until Andrew found her.

Perry turned her worried eyes skyward in desperation. The gold disk Hunter had given her moved between her breasts, and she felt oddly comforted by its presence. She wrapped her arms around her knees and fell asleep as the wagon rolled northward at a slow clip.

Just after dawn, Abram drew the horses to a halt in front of a small water crossing. Walking around to the back of the wagon, he offered Perry a hand down. "We'll rest the horses a few hours and I'll fix some breakfast." Then, as if reading her mind, he added, "You can probably find a spot to wash up over yonder."

Smiling warmly, Perry rubbed her sleepy eyes and nodded her approval at his suggestion. It had been days since she had washed properly. As she stretched toward the warming sun Perry's spirits lightened.

Before leaving, she turned to check Hunter. He lay sleeping peacefully among the blankets, his disorderly blond hair covering half of his tan face. She pictured what he would look like in his uniform. He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen-even now as he lay dangerously near death. He reminded her of a sleeping prince in a fairy tale. Never could she picture him as a soldier killing others.

"He's all right. Sleep's the best thing for him," Abram said, as if reading her thoughts. "I'll keep an eye on him. You run along."

Grabbing a towel and washcloth from a stash of supplies, she disappeared around the first bend in the shallow stream. She walked along the grassy bank, enjoying the peaceful surroundings. The air smelled clean and new. The stream looked untouched by man and beckoned invitingly. Here there was no war, no killing, no dying. She passed between large rocks that were strewn amid the grass, as if God had deliberately tried to confuse the stream in its path to the sea. Between two such rocks, Perry nestled.

Throwing her hat off, she lay in the velvety grass, stretching her muscles after her long, cramped ride. The soft earth felt wonderful against her back. She watched the white clouds above her as they drifted to nowhere. Languidly she rose and removed her coat, shirt, and boots. The rush of the water called to her and she hastily ripped off her pants, leaving only her light camisole to cover her.

As she pranced knee-deep in the water, a shot rang out from the direction of the wagon, rattling the quiet air and filling Perry with dread. She splashed toward the bank, all thoughts of the bath forgotten, rolled onto the grassy bank, and pulled on the rough pants. Running, she buttoned her shirt and shoved her hair into the hat.

Could it be that Abram had been shooting game? Or was the sound a signal of approaching danger? Fear was a parasite within her eating away all the peace she'd felt only moments before.

Just before turning the last bend, Perry slowed to ensure that her hat completely camouflaged her hair. She froze in mid-stride as unfamiliar voices drifted through the brush.

Perry trod silently, crouching beside the brush, straining her eyes to see between the leaves.

Two strangers were with Hunter and Abram. One was unhitching the team while his companion held a rifle point-blank at Hunter's chest. Their dress told Perry they were probably two of the thousands of men who had grown sick of fighting and deserted. They were men without a cause, without a country. Their dirty blue uniforms were stained with the blood of others and the dust of a hundred miles of marching.

Searching the small camp for Abram, she finally spotted his legs on the far side of the wagon. The men had tied him to the wagon wheel. Judging from the fresh blood on both deserters' faces, Abram hadn't been bound without a fight.

The deserter nearest Hunter pushed the rifle barrel into Hunter's gut and said, "Now, Captain, 'pears you're bein' sensible. We ain't meanin' to hurt you or your man, but we're powerful tired of walkin' and thought we'd borrow your horses." He flashed a smile at his partner, who was approaching with both horses. "This blackie of yours must think somethin' of you. Only thing that kept him from breakin' both of us in half was my pokin' this gun in your gut. So I suppose you'll return the favor and sit real still while we go through your supplies."

She could only see the back of Hunter's head, yet she noticed he held it high.

"Now, since you were real neighborly in offerin' us a ride when we strolled up," the deserter continued, "Tim and me's gonna leave you some grub and the wagqn. Not that it'll do you much good without horses. At least you got your life."

Abram's low voice cut the air. "Unless you leave us one horse, the captain won't live. He's been hurt bad."

Hunter's voice was ice cold. "Forget it, Abram. They'll not reason, and we'll not ask anything from them."

Perry heard no fear or panic in Hunter's voice, only a deadly calculated calm. She could tell from his tone that he was a man who set his standards and would never beg. Even though he was very near death, he wouldn't lower himself to plead with these men.

The stranger continued, "How right you are about that, Captain. Why should we ride double? We're in a bit of a hurry. Might as well be shot for stealing two horses as one." Both robbers laughed.

Perry listened to their talk as she lowered to her stomach and crawled to the back of the wagon. She had to do something immediately or they would be stranded. She had to reach the wagon and slide under. Her only hope was to get to Abram.

As Perry crawled forward, rocks scraped her arms and legs through her rough clothes. The sun was at her back, so it would be in the strangers' eyes should they chance to look in her direction. Without a sound Perry rolled onto the road and slid under the wagon. Inching her way, she crept toward Abram's back as it rested against the wheel.

The two intruders were discussing what they should take. She could see their legs only a few feet away as she slid behind Abram's bulk. Perry touched his shoulder softly to indicate her presence. She felt his muscles tense, yet he made no move. Frantically she examined the rope, but all the knots were tied out of her reach. She rummaged in her pockets for her knife.

Finding her weapon, Perry's fingers molded around its smooth handle as she removed it from her baggy pocket. Jerking the knife from its concealment, she rapidly opened it and applied the small sharp blade to the thick rope. The two men were mounting their stolen horses and panic seized her. Frantic now at her labor, she placed her hand firmly behind the rope to steady her work. With all her strength she slid the silver blade back and forth across the coarse rope.

Suddenly the knife slashed free through the rope and dug into Perry's palm. A crimson line formed across her hand as she heard Abram jerk free. Relief and pain struck her as one. Tears clouded her vision, making the scene above her more a dream than reality.

Abram bounded in smooth pantherlike strides toward both men. They were busy loading the horses down with the stolen provisions and were unprepared to face an attack. Abram managed to land a heavy blow upon each before either could react. The two thin soldiers were no match for this angry mountain of muscle. He knocked the rifle from one intruder's arms and sent it crashing among the rocks.

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.