Faith by Lyn Cote Page A

too much. They secured the horses to the trees.
    Then the men found an area upstream for themselves. Some, like Dev, dropped to one knee to scoop the cool water up to their mouths, and others lay down on their bellies to lap up the water. The scene reminded him of the story of Gideon. But Dev surely hadn’t been called by God. He was no judge, just a soldier.
    The battle had been a maddening dance. Just trying to stay within the Union lines had been tricky. His mind, now free of battle tactics, let his worries surface. Had Armstrong been forced to take Jack to the hospital? Were the Quakeress and her black girl safe?
    Soon he and his men had filled their empty canteens andbellies with water. He wet his handkerchief and wiped his gritty face and neck, wishing he could shed his fatigues and float in the cool water. But no. They must get back.
    “Let’s try to find headquarters and get food and any new orders,” Dev said. His men mounted and he led them away, hoping he was taking them in the right direction. He did not want to surprise any Rebel stragglers now that the sun was nearly down.
    After they’d traveled a few miles eastward, he heard his name called repeatedly. “Colonel Knight!”
    It was the Quakeress.
    He turned his horse toward her voice. “Miss Cathwell?”
    “Here!”
    He directed his men to go on while he headed toward her, picking his way through the carnage left by the battle. Many of the bodies, lying in a haphazard maze, were beyond human help. He glimpsed Sanitary Commission wagons in the near distance, where men on stretchers were being lifted onto wagons like cordwood.
    “Thank heaven I saw thee,” the Quakeress greeted him with audible relief.
    He slipped from his saddle, wondering what she needed.
    “I have been busy giving immediate aid to the wounded, but I’ve stayed here near Honoree.” She gestured to her friend, lying motionless nearby among the wounded men. “I think something struck her head when the battle veered around us. I need to get her onto one of the wagons back to the hospital.”
    He almost asked, Why have you waited? Instead he offered, “I can take her to the wagons on my horse.”
    “Thank thee, but also I need someone to watch over her. I must remain here, nursing. There are still men who need me. But I don’t ever let Honoree become separated from me near the enemy or a battle.” The last sentence was embellished with fear.
    “I don’t understand. The wagons will take her back to the hospital tents, won’t they?”
    “I told thee what happened to Shiloh.” She moved toward him. “I’m not losing Honoree.”
    “You think she might not be safe,” he asked, “even among our troops?” Or perhaps she thought the girl wouldn’t get good care.
    “I can’t take that chance, or I would have sent her back already. I hoped she would regain consciousness by now, but she hasn’t.” The final words were touched by panic. She clutched his sleeve. “Please, will thee take her to the hospital? The wounded men will take precedence. And don’t let anyone but Dr. Bryant   —he’s the head surgeon   —treat her.”
    Dev owed this woman   —period. “Very well. I will take her and watch over her. But won’t you be coming in soon? It will be dark anytime now.”
    She pointed toward a lantern at her feet. “There are still wounded who need my help. The wagons will carry the wounded till the horses can no longer walk.”
    “What about you?” he said as he lifted Honoree and laid her facedown over his saddle. His horse was also nearly spent. He hoped the walk to camp would not be far. He was nearing the end of his strength too.
    “When I can no longer work, I will lie down in one of the wagons. Don’t worry about me. God will protect me.”
    He hoped she was right. He turned his horse, and on the eastern horizon, opposite the setting sun, he glimpsed high the smoke from campfires. And he saw one of the hospital wagons heading that way, creaking and groaning