The One Who Waits for Me by Lori Copeland

Their clothes dripped water.
    Bear motioned with the gun. He focused on Beth, who defiantly met his eyes. “Make a sound, and I’ll blow your sister’s head clean off.”
    Nodding wordlessly, she reached for Joanie’s hand.
    â€œWe got horses waiting.”
    â€œWhat about the others?” Had he taken them too? Were Trella and her baby waiting ahead in the thicket to return to the plantation? She was tempted to ask about the soldiers, but she bit her tongue. For all she knew, they were all dead at the campsite—though she would have heard the shots.
    â€œHold on.” Joanie reached for her rucksack and slipped her arms through the straps. Both women put their socks and boots back on. “Okay, now we can go.”
    Beth and Joanie started through the thicket, assisted by the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun at their backs.

Seven
    P ierce glanced up when the setting sun receded behind a cloud bank. “Shouldn’t Beth and Joanie be back by now?”
    â€œYou know women. They like to take their time prettying up,” said Preach.
    â€œYeah.” The captain sat back and stared at the fire. “It’s been a good long time since I’ve seen women that pretty.”
    Preach gave him a good-natured punch. “It’s been a good long time since you’ve seen a woman, period.”
    The men’s easy camaraderie filtered through camp. Smoke from yesterday’s field fire still hung in the distance, but the wind had died and the flames would eventually burn out. No sign of the uncle and cousin so far, but Pierce really wasn’t expecting trouble. What were three soldiers and three women to a plantation owner and his son? The man probably had hundreds of pickers. He surely wouldn’t miss the women, even if two were kin.
    The campfire crackled. A metal coffeepot gave off the smell of perking coffee. Pierce wasn’t concerned that the grounds were bitter chicory. He’d drunk nothing else for the past few years. Glancing toward the stream where Beth and Joanie had disappeared more than an hour ago, he said, “Think one of us should walk downstream and check on them?”
    â€œAnd have them accuse us of lechery?” Gray Eagle laughed. “Not me. The one called Beth would be the first to take your head off.”
    Preach reached for the coffeepot. “They’re all right, Captain. Let them enjoy their bath.”
    Pierce’s gaze strayed to the women’s pallets. “Seems real quiet without their chatter.”
    Checking his pocket watch a few minutes later, Pierce stood up and stretched. “I think I’ll walk down that way and check on them.”
    Rolling to his feet, Gray Eagle said, “Okay, Mother Hen. I’ll walk with you.” The two men started off carrying their rifles.
    River ferns and tangled vines grew thick along the shoreline. Pierce filled his lungs with the honeysuckle-scented air. He’d missed this—the smell of rich fertile earth without the stench of war. He’d waited a long time to plant his boots on home soil. Dread filled him again when he thought about facing his father and having to admit he’d been wrong about the fight and his father had been right. Freedom came with a price, and from what he’d seen the price was steep. He wasn’t sure if his conscience would ever let him forget his part in the war. The reminder of those he’d hurt rather than helped daily confronted him. His father would forgive him; God would forgive him. Now he had to reconcile his thoughts and forgive himself.
    Once I claim my land, I’ll find peace .
    Parting the thicket, Pierce listened for the women’s voices. Other than the music of the water, a night bird calling to its mate was the only sound that met his ears.
    â€œStrange. I would have thought we would be able to hear them this close,” Gray Eagle observed.
    â€œThose two don’t talk all that much.” Unless Pierce