The Velvet Shadow (55 page)

In the next few hours, Flanna plumbed the full breadth and depth of fear. The four Rebels pursued her and Alden with fiendish glee,
shooting randomly into bushes and beyond trees, once sending a bullet through Flanna’s sleeve as she and Alden crouched behind a huckleberry bush. The forest rang with their taunts and a yipping, nasal version of the Rebel yell, and if Flanna had once imagined that these men were military, she knew now they were not. The captain was either an impostor or a renegade; the other three probably bounty hunters on the lookout for deserters.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, missy!” one of them shouted as he took a moment to reload his rifle. “You looked awful sweet! Come on out here and let me show you what a real man looks like!”

Huddled beside Alden behind the huckleberry bush, Flanna felt a bead of perspiration trace a cold path from her armpit down her ribs. What were they to do? She and Alden could not outrun them in the open, for the Rebels were healthy and well fed. She, on the other hand, was half-petrified by fear and the shock of Roger’s sacrifice, and Alden was breathing so heavily that the heaving movements of his chest might open his wound at any moment.

“Come on out here, sweet thing!” The man in the Confederate uniform walked slowly ahead of the others, his rifle cradled in his arms. “I won’t hurt you. Why are you hiding with that whipped-looking son of a pup? Why, he isn’t even worth dragging to the recruiting office, but we’ll do you a favor and put him out of his misery. So you come on out now, and let’s say a proper how-do-ye-do.”

He paused less than thirty feet away, and glanced down at a spindly oak seedling. Flanna watched, transfixed by terror, as he smiled and broke off a small branch, then lazily twirled it between his fingers. “Your man’s bleeding, sweet missy,” he called, his eyes roving through the woods. “He won’t last much longer. But if you come out, we just might help you patch him up.”

Flanna tore her eyes from the tormentor and looked at Alden’s chest. The wound had opened and bled through the bandage, for a red spot bloomed on Alden’s white shirt, bigger and brighter than a full-blown rose.

“Alden!” Panic stole her breath, which came in short, painful gasps. “What are we going to do?”

Alden’s eyes were abstracted in thought, but they cleared as she gripped his hand. “Three choices,” he said in a clipped, low voice. “Stay, run, or hide.”

Flanna blinked. Stay here? Out of the question! In another fifteen steps that phony Confederate would be upon them. Run? Impossible! Alden couldn’t run another hundred yards, and she could never outrun her pursuers in this long, heavy skirt. Hide? Where?

“Come on out, little sweetheart!” The leader came closer, so close that Flanna could see the red smear of Alden’s blood on the oak leaf.

She looked at Alden then, too afraid to speak. Silently he lifted his hand and pointed toward a rotting log ten feet to his right. The log was partially obscured by a leafy screen in front, and some animal—Flanna didn’t want to imagine what kind—had hollowed out a space in the mud beneath the log.

It was a small trough, barely five feet long and three feet wide. But the log lay over it, and it was their only chance.

“Sweetheart!”

She could hear the renegade’s heavy breathing now, so Flanna nodded. Alden took her hand and crept forward in a crouch, then knelt and rolled into the hole. Flanna crawled in after him, filling the space between him and the log. With her last remaining strength, she pulled at the log, managing to roll it a few inches to the right, obscuring the opening even more.

A twig snapped beneath the renegade’s foot. From inside her hiding place, Flanna could see his heavy boots. He stood at the huckleberry bush and glanced down, then wiped another drop of blood from a huckleberry leaf.

“What’s that you got there, Will?”

The sudden voice seemed to come from Flanna’s left ear, and she felt Alden shudder against her as a heavy weight fell against the tree. One of the other Rebels stood right above them, his boot resting against the fallen log.

“The man’s bleeding pretty bad.” The one called Will rubbed Alden’s blood on his coat as he scanned the woods. “Don’t think they’ll make it far, but we’ll keep looking.”

“What about the other one?”

Will shrugged, then leaned his rifle against the huckleberry bush and paused to bite off a chaw of tobacco. “No use to us dead, is he? But the woman might be a pleasant diversion, and the man worth a dollar or two—more if he’s a runaway.”

The second man stepped over the log and sat down, his weight pressing the heavy log onto Flanna’s anklebone. She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry out.

“Should we go on?” The second man rocked slowly on the log, each movement grinding against Flanna’s ankle.

“Yep.” Will spat out a brown stream of tobacco juice. “I suppose we could check a little further, then double back. She couldn’t have got far.”

The second man stood then, relieving the pressure on Flanna’s leg, and she wanted to weep with relief. The two men called out to the other two, who were searching the woods farther to the east, and soon the sound of their voices faded.

“Alden?” Flanna whispered.

He did not answer.

Turning in the confines of the shallow pit, Flanna wriggled her hand up to Alden’s shoulder and drew in her breath when she encountered a warm stickiness. Alden was still bleeding, and there was nothing she could do about it. The Rebels were going to double back, they’d said, and they would undoubtedly return to their campfire to gather their things before moving on. She and Alden could do nothing but wait.

Sighing in surrender, she let her head fall upon his shoulder, taking comfort in the steady warmth of his breath on her face. If they were to die, at least they’d die together. And perhaps death in this shallow grave would be more merciful than death in prison or at the hands of the renegade Rebels.

She lay still for so long that she lost all sense of time. Something—an insect or spider, she couldn’t tell which—crawled across her cheek, and she steeled herself to ignore it. Her arms felt too tired and heavy to even bat it away.

A chorus of crickets had begun to sing by the time Alden began to stir. “I’m sorry, Flanna,” he apologized, his hand falling upon her neck. “But I think I fell asleep.”

“You passed out.” Flanna’s hand moved to his shoulder and felt the stiffness of dried blood. Good. The blood had coagulated while they rested. If Alden didn’t push himself, perhaps the wound would remain sealed until they found shelter.

Flanna squirmed out of the pit, then turned and helped Alden up. He moved slowly, like an old man, and once he straightened she examined him in the fading rays of the sun. The colors of health had completely faded from his face, leaving him wounded and ghostly in the shadows.

She didn’t feel very steady herself. She took a step away from the log, then felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Alden caught her, and together they sank to the gnarled surface of the log.

“Why did you let Roger do it?” The question had been uppermost in her mind all afternoon, and only now, when she could see Alden’s face, could she ask it.

Alden stared at the ground, his eyes like blue ice. “I don’t know if you’ll understand.”

“Give me a chance.”

He winced at the sharp tone in her voice. “I didn’t want him to do it. I could have stopped and made a scene, reminding him that I was responsible for him, that I had promised Mother that I’d look after him…”

His voice trailed off, and Flanna gave him a moment to compose his thoughts. “So why didn’t you stop him?”

“I did it for Roger.” Alden’s mouth pulled into a surprised smile, as if he had just realized the truth himself. “Don’t you understand? Roger wanted to be a hero. You knew him, but I knew him far better.

It wasn’t patriotism or even boosting his chances of election that drove him to enlist. He came to the war because he wanted to be brave—he needed to stand for something and test his mettle. He couldn’t do it at Ball’s Bluff, and he didn’t do it at Fair Oaks, but he rose to the challenge today. He couldn’t seem to summon the courage for going into battle for the intangible things like patriotism and honor, but he didn’t hesitate to give his life for you and me.”

Alden’s expression softened into one of fond reminiscence. “You didn’t know him as a child, but Roger always had to be the brave one when we played war games. But when we boys got into real trouble, he found it far easier to step back and let me handle things—which I always did.” He frowned, as if responsibility were some great sin.

“Alden,”—Flanna took his hand and quietly checked his pulse—“you did what every big brother does. My own Wesley used to tease me unmercifully, but when the cousins ganged up on me, Wesley was quick to intervene. You saw it yourself—he still feels responsible for me.”

“But last night he left you to stand on your own.” Alden’s free hand fell over hers, alarming her with its chilly touch. “I had never allowed Roger that same freedom. But today, he asked for it. And as hard as it was for me, I had to give it.”

He looked at her, his eyes large and fierce with pain, and Flanna pulled him into her arms. Burying his face in her shoulder, he went quietly and very thoroughly to pieces.

They waited until the sun set and the moon rose high enough to light their way through the woods. Logic urged her to keep walking eastward, but Flanna knew without being told that Alden would want to return to the place where his brother died. Roger deserved a decent burial, and Flanna desperately wanted to reclaim her knapsack. Inside were her journal, her medical bag, and at least three loaves of cornbread—and Alden desperately needed food. The conscription agents, or whoever they were, would certainly have moved on by now.

A shining net of stars spanned the ebony dome of heaven, and in the west a silvery glow outlined the curving hills around Richmond. Flanna and Alden walked slowly, her arm about his waist for support, until they found the edge of the woods where Roger had fallen. His body lay there still, unmolested and untouched, and for a heartbreaking moment Flanna wondered if she could have done something to save him. But as Alden dropped to his knees and turned the body, she saw the dark circle in the center of his forehead. If ever a man had died instantly, Roger had.

Alden sat on his knees and leaned forward, using his hands to shovel away the layer of dead leaves. “No, Alden.” Flanna touched his shoulder, stopping him. “You haven’t the strength for digging.”

Tears sparkled in his lashes, and a silver trail marked his pale cheek. “I must.”

“Then let me help.”

She knelt across from him, cupping her hands as she pushed the earth aside. They worked in tandem until they had hollowed out a shallow trench, then Flanna helped Alden lift Roger and place him inside.

Alden prayed and Flanna listened, her own heart overflowing with unspoken thoughts and feelings. She was burying a man who had loved her, a man who had influenced her life for more than two years. Roger had been the truest of all friends, loving her even though he knew she loved his brother.

She looked up at Alden’s shining face. He prayed in a quiet and composed voice, his countenance lifted toward heaven, and his eyes glowed with love and understanding as he asked the Lord to say his farewells to Roger.

What had Nell Scott ever done to deserve such a man?

When Alden had finished praying, Flanna picked up her knapsack and led Alden to a stream where she forced him to eat and drink.

She couldn’t tell whether it was because of the food or simple relief that Roger’s burial was over, but Alden’s spirits seemed to rise as he sat in a patch of moonlight and ate. He insisted that Flanna eat, too,
but she merely nibbled at her loaf of cornbread, knowing that Alden needed the lion’s share.

“You’re looking better,” she finally said, leaning over the creek bank as she swished her hands in the water. “Nell will probably write me a thank-you note once you’re married.”

Alden stopped chewing, and one of his brows shot upward. “Nell who?”

“Nell Scott.” Flanna folded her hands in her lap and gave him a controlled smile. They had been through so much together, they might as well bring this secret out into the open. “I know she loves you. Will you be married in Boston or Roxbury?”

He shook his head back and forth, like an ox stunned by the slaughterer’s blow. “I’m to marry Nell Scott? This is the first I have heard of it.”

Flanna laughed. “What is this, selective amnesia? Of course you’re going to marry Nell. You’ve been writing her since the war began. I have one of your letters to her in my medical bag.”

“I remember her writing me.” Alden’s face suddenly went grim. “But I don’t remember anything about a wedding. How could I marry her when I—” His voice broke off, and he narrowed his eyes at Flanna. “You think I’m engaged to Nell Scott? You’ve always thought so?”

Rattled by the pressure of his gaze, Flanna felt herself flush. “Of course I thought so. One does not write a young lady for months without holding certain intentions—”

“Who wrote the young lady?”

“You did!”