A Heart Renewed (23 page)

Quickly the noise of rifle fire and cannon blasts faded to the background.  All he could hear was the heavy breath of the horse beneath him, sides heaving from the strenuous pace.  A four foot fence loomed before him.  Squeezing the horse’s sides, he urged her forward.  Leaping effortlessly over the obstacle, the horse clearly understood his intent.

Blood racing through his veins, he pressed on, clearing several more obstacles.  When the enemy line pressed close, he leaned over the side of the horse.  Crossing his right hand with a pistol over to balance on his left arm, he fired off a few shots in defense.  As the space between Union and Confederate lines widened, Thomas returned the pistol to his side.

Ahead a captain waved for him to stop.  In that moment, the foolishness of his action sank in.  He pulled to a stop as the captain of the guard said, “Ladies fair lose their hearts on a night such as this.”

Blinking, Thomas realized the cryptic phrase was some sort of passcode.  Scrounging his mind, he tried to think if the dying dispatcher said anything that would have been helpful.  Thinking of nothing, he stalled.

“Yes, um…  I suppose you are looking for some sort of response.”

Crossing his arms, the captain of the guard repeated the words.

Playing forgetful, Thomas took off his forage cap and rubbed his forehead.  “Um… was that the one that had something to do with pirates?”  He muttered to himself.  “No. No.”  He shook his head.  “That’s supposed to be a reference to a book.  I know it,” he stumbled to silence, as a frown formed on the captain’s face.

A few minutes passed quietly as the captain scrutinized him.  “Who’s the dispatch for?” the captain asked.

“Major General Smith, sir.”

“From?”

Thomas cringed inwardly as his mouth suddenly became dry.  Not only was he going to hang for abandoning his post, he was going to be shot by this man for stealing a dispatch.  Why did he always seem to get into these impossible situations?

 Only, the situation hadn’t turned out to be impossible, Thomas thought, swallowing the last bite of his tasteless rations.  His horse snorted, signaling she had finished her meal as well.  Standing, he removed the feed bag from the mare.

That day in March set his life on a new course.  Thomas decided to come clean to the captain, explaining in detail what happened to lead him to pick up the missive.  He offered to let the captain verify the authenticity of the communiqué.  Leaving him under armed guard, the captain went to discuss the situation with Major General Smith.  In a few minutes, he returned, letting Thomas deliver the message instead of shooting him.

Major General Smith was rather nonchalant about the whole affair, until he read the dispatch.  It had been pivotal that he receive the message before sundown as it contained orders for the men to march to a new line by morning.  If not for Thomas’s swift action, that battle could have turned out much differently.  The Major General recognized that fact.  He instructed the captain of the guard to send word back to Thomas’s commanding officer that he was being transferred to the brigade’s command to become a dispatcher for Colonel Woods.

Thomas could not believe his fortune.  Things never turned out that way for him.  At least they hadn’t growing up.  They hadn’t when he was hanging around with the Rogers gang, either.

Yet, here he was, going on his eighth month as a dispatch rider for Colonel Woods and occasionally for Major General Smith.

Strange job, dispatch riding was.  When he was not out on a run, the colonel often sent him on special assignments to gather information about enemy activities.  Last week, he and two other scouts pinpointed the Confederate General Hook’s position, heading for Franklin, Tennessee.  After Thomas reported back to Colonel Woods, Woods sent a report via Thomas to Major General Smith.  Major General Smith then sent Thomas with the same report to Major General George Thomas at headquarters in Nashville.  When Major General Thomas finished reading the report, he composed a new report and Sergeant Anderson was sent to deliver it to General Grant—the current dispatch secured safely across his chest this very moment.

Stretching out on the floor of the cabin, Thomas pulled his wool blanket around him to ward off the chill.  He wondered what General Grant might think of a former failed bank robber being entrusted with a critical communication.  Would he be shocked?

While completely trustworthy since entering the war, he had been a different man prior.  He was young and made many foolish choices, the biggest one—getting involved with Ed and Sam Rogers.  But, he had been so angry after his father died.  He was just fourteen then.  When his older brother, Drew, left for medical school, Thomas was forced to live with his Uncle Peter, who vacillated between being too controlling and not caring at all, depending on his mood.  He certainly never cared enough to keep him completely out of trouble.  Over time it seemed as if Uncle Peter preferred the nights Thomas stayed away from home.  It was one less responsibility he had to deal with.

Thomas’s downward spiral did not seem like a dangerous or bad path when he started.  In school, he joined the Rogers’ when they bullied other kids.  It made him feel powerful and in control, something he never felt at home.  Then, as the three of them grew older, they grew bolder.  They would steal petty items from the mercantile, the very one his father had owned and his brother had sold.  He had been so angry with Drew when he sold it.

Two years after Drew left, he discovered alcohol and he enjoyed it.  He and the Rogers would spend time well into the night at the saloon drinking and gambling.  He had a keen mind and quickly became an expert poker player.  He earned enough money to support his drinking and kept it hidden from Uncle Peter.  By the time he was eighteen, Thomas planned to make a career out of gambling.

Then, Drew returned home.  At first Thomas was going to live with the Rogers, but after Drew married, he convinced Thomas to live with them.  The six months he lived there proved contentious and ended in the two never speaking again. 

Well, at least not until after Thomas tried to rob the bank and was in jail.  As it turned out, his actions caused Drew and his wife no small amount of hardship.  Drew was a doctor and from the day of the failed bank robbery until the day they left Cincinnati, he had but a handful of patients—and all because of what Thomas did.  It was just weeks before Drew and Hannah left that Drew paid Thomas a visit in jail.  He started to feel some remorse for his actions, but hardened his heart when Drew showed up.  He felt Drew was holier than him and had come to gloat.  Many times Thomas thought back to that conversation and knew that was not the case at all.  Drew told him they were moving to La Paz in the Arizona Territory and that if Thomas ever got his life together, he would be welcomed.

Who has their life forever changed by someone—forced to move from his home—and, then offers to welcome that person back, forgiving everything? 
I guess Drew would.

For the past month, Thomas toyed with the idea of actually taking Drew up on his offer once he was finished in the army.  Would Drew really welcome him back as he said?  If he did, would his wife, Hannah?  Guilt stabbed him in his chest.  What must it have been like for his sister-in-law to leave her home because of him?  Would she hate him?

Well, he was not sure what he would really do once the war was over.  Right now, it did not look like it would be ending soon.  Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes.  Pushing the familiar guilt away, he fell asleep.

The next morning just before dawn, Thomas startled awake.  Quietly, but swiftly, he jumped to his feet while pulling his pistol from its sheath.  He grabbed his carbine with his other hand.  His horse’s ears’ twitching indicated that he was no longer alone.  Flattening himself against the wall, he moved to peer out the door.

Rebels!

He counted three of them walking toward the cabin.  His heart started pounding.  He would have merely seconds to plan his escape before they were upon him.  Having slept with the copper message tube strapped to his chest, as he usually did, he would just need to get his horse and his blanket. Leaving either would be unwise.

Crouching down to the ground, he slid the wool blanket towards himself.  Once he had a firm grip on it, he mounted his horse, securing the blanket under one leg.  He would stow it properly later, if he made it out of this.  Slowly turning his horse toward the door, he ducked his head to clear the opening as he dug his heels into the mare’s flank.  Hunched over the mare’s back, horse and rider burst forth from the cabin.

The action had the intended effect.  He surprised the three rebels.  He shot the closest one in the arm, keeping him from shooting back.  Then he shot the second in the leg, before charging the third.  Once upon the third man, he used the butt of his now empty pistol to knock the man to the ground unconscious.

Digging his heels into the mare’s flank again, Thomas pushed the mare into a full gallop.  He rode at the fast pace for a good thirty minutes before stopping to rest his horse and secure his blanket.  That had been close.

After a quick break, he mounted his horse and continued on at a gentler pace, now certain he was alone and the rebels had not followed him.  He rode through dinner and continued on until suppertime when his stomach would allow him to wait no more.  Seeing a farmhouse off in the distance, he debated whether or not to stop.  One never knew which side these folks were on.  Choosing to make your presence known to someone sympathetic to the enemy could prove deadly.  Deciding the morning’s encounter was enough for one day, Thomas rode past the farmhouse and found a place to stop in the forest for the night.

The routine of feeding his horse and feeding himself was familiar.  He was glad he chanced bringing his blanket, for the air was colder tonight than the previous.  Sleep came fitfully, perhaps from dwelling too much on his past.  Several hours before dawn, he finally gave up and decided to press on.

Mid-afternoon he arrived at Grant’s camp.  Giving the appropriate signal to the captain of the guard, he was escorted to the General’s tent.  General Grant was much quieter and less imposing than he thought.  He softly asked for the correspondence.  He instructed Thomas to see the captain of the guard for rations and a place to stay for the evening.  Then he was to return to the General in the morning.

Following the captain of the guard, he stopped short, recognizing his old friend, Mixford, from the 89
^th
Regiment.  The man simply went by his last name, too low ranking to matter and too informal to care for giving his first name.  The two had served together through the march from Tennessee to Louisiana and then during the Red River Campaign.

“Mixford, how are you?” Thomas asked.

“Tommy, is that you?  Them rebels ain’t got ya yet? Hee, hee.”

“Naw, I’m too fast for them.”

“More like your guardian angel is lookin’ out fer ya!”

Thomas had shared some of his past with Mixford, at least the part about his strange sentencing for the robbery.  When his friend heard the details, he insisted it was Providence and not fate or luck that spared him from jail.

“When we heard that ya were transferred to the Brigade, I wasn’t t’all surprised, Tommy,” Mixford said.  “Providence must got something special planned fer ya, the way he keeps ya outta trouble.”

“I wouldn’t say he keeps me out of trouble.  I have the scars to prove it.”  And scars he did have—many visible reminders of near misses with death.  He had been shot on four occasions.  Although most were flesh wounds and healed quickly, they still left a mark.

“Ah, but yer still here and sassy as ever, I see.”

They spent the next hour swapping tales over the fire before the long trip caught up with Thomas.  Knowing his day would start early and likely involve a return trip to Nashville, he took his leave.

What if someone is really looking out for me?
  His last thought for the night faded as sleep settled around him.

Chapter 17

Colter Ranch

November 15, 1864

Agitated.  Confused.  Edgy.  Cooped up.

Argh!

Julia had to get out of this ranch house.  Working the horses with Adam, as she had earlier in the week, would not help soothe her anxiety.

She had to ride—far from her thoughts and jumbled feelings.

As if spending days looking at Will and being reminded of her other brother wasn’t bad enough, now she had to deal with the strange—dare she call them romantic—feelings she was having towards Adam.  Something about the time they spent dancing at the Governor’s Ball made her see him in a different light.

She would talk to Hannah, but she seemed consumed these last few days with planning for her baby.  Will and Hannah finally told her they were expecting a son or daughter sometime around June.

If she couldn’t talk to Hannah about Adam, and she couldn’t talk to Adam for obvious reasons, who could she talk to?  Certainly not God.  He got her into this mess to begin with.