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 sinceshe 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? Orwas 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
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 sinceshe 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? Orwas 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
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