"Look, lady. If you want to get over the mountains, I'm your only option."
I looked at the kid, he was tall and lanky, wiry rather than muscular, bad haircut, and was young. Not bad looking, but not my type.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Eighteen."
I had six years on him.
"Why aren't you in the army?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but I intend to sign up once I get you to the garrison on Timber River. That's where your husband is. He's an officer. I figure that if I transport his ever so pretty wife to him, safe and sound without a scratch, he'll be ever so grateful, he'll enlist me as something higher than a private and will ensure that I see some action."
I couldn't argue with his reasons, still, he seemed so young and inexperienced.
"Those are valid points Mr..."
"Devon Thatcher, Ma'am."
"Mr. Thatcher, I appreciate your eagerness, but you are rather young."
"I'm a man! In every way that counts. I may not be as old as you or even other trailblazers, but I was raised in these hills. I know all the trails and all the dangers. Who knows how many snipers and enemy scouts are still crawling over them? Why it is so important for you to get to the garrison so fast in the first place, Ma'am?"
"Hamilton needs me. He's a Captain. We have been apart for nearly a year. The new fort now has excellent officer's quarters, so there is a place for me by his side, where I belong. I miss him desperately as well. There is a general peace around Timber River. Hamilton feels I will be safer there."
"Sure, lady provided you are not captured or killed trekking through the mountains to make it that far. The Blue Backs are not known for their gentility."
"By the time I got Hamilton's letter, it was too late for me to join the convoy."
"Yeah, every able-bodied man is involved in mopping up operations. The older guys are maintaining the rear guard, and the old men are sitting on their porches telling everyone that if they were younger, they'd show us all how to do it properly."
That got a chuckle out of me.
"What it boils down to, Mrs. Officer's wife is that your pickings for an escort over the mountains are slim to none. I'm the slim one."
He gestured towards his lean frame.
"Why didn't you join the convoy?"
"My horse needed reshoeing and I figured there would be stragglers and thus a large payday to get the stragglers where they wanted to go."
"My but aren't you the bright one."
"Obviously! This is as good a time as any to state my fee. Three hundred. Half now. Half when we get to the Timber River garrison."
"As much as that?"
"It's a seller's market lady. There are a few other stragglers and more money for me if I take more people. But. Your husband's an officer. He'll be happy to pay me that much again upon receipt of blonde five three or four-foot pretty you. Best parcel he'll ever receive in the post."
I didn't like the way his eyes lingered on me as he spoke the second sentence.
"It's not about the money."
"Then what is the problem?"
"How do I know that I can trust, you?"
His head tipped back, and he laughed.
"I have no designs on you, lady. I want to get to that fort your husband's stationed at as much as you do. It strikes me that shepherding one straggler is easier than two or a larger group. We'll make better time that way. As for my background, my father was sheriff here for a number of years. My uncle is in the militia. Between errands for the two of them, hunting trips, and logging expeditions, I'm as familiar with these hills as anyone in the valley. I can survive there like nobody else and I am a crack shot. If you would like to read the letter of recommendation my uncle wrote for me to give to the commander of whatever regiment I end up joining, be my guest."
He reached into his satchel and removed a document wrapped in leather and oilskin. The letter was effusive about his nephew's honesty, fortitude, marksmanship, and military bearing. His uncle was only a master sergeant and not an officer, still, it was an impressive testimonial. I swallowed my doubts.
"Very well, Mr. Thatcher. I accept your offer. My name is Maria, Mrs. Hamilton Yeats. The army has packed up most of my belongings. They will be sent out with the next convoy in a month or so. After being apart for so long, I simply can't wait that long to see Hamilton once more and be in his arms. I will return to my home and get you your money and the things I will need for the journey."
"With luck, we can shave a day or two off that."
"Splendid. I'll be back in three hours."
"Make it two, so that we can make headway while it's daylight."
"Fine."
I hurried home. Fortunately, most of my things were already packed. I told Mrs. Mayes, the woman who cleans for us, as I handed her her final payment, that I would send word if I discovered that I had overlooked something. I promised to pay her postage in advance if anything needed to be shipped. I took the money I would pay Devon and slid it into my bodice. The rest of the money Hamilton had provided I hid in the secret compartment of the largest bag. I walked around my now-empty living room and savored the memories. Here was where the General sat when he came to dinner. This is where Hamilton's medal for valor was displayed. Here stood the easy chair where I often slid onto my husband's lap while he was reading. For a scandalous amount of time when I did this, I wore nothing under my petticoat! The memories were all good. And soon, I would be back in his arms! I felt positively tingly!
There were very few goodbyes as most of the other officers' wives had left with the convoy. If Hamilton's letter had not been delayed, I would have been among them. It was all academic now. I closed my front door behind me, picked up my ever-so-heavy bags, and scurried to the departure point.
Devon met me halfway. I was so grateful when my arms were unburdened. I put down my bags and withdrew the money from my bodice. I didn't like the way Devon paid rapt attention as I did so. I chose to ignore his unwanted glances. I could now move much faster. I was on the edge of losing my breath as we arrived at the departure depot. Three horses stood tethered in a line. The trailing horse was laden with bundles and a trailing cart. Devon secured my bags in the cart, mounted the leading horse, and spurred him into motion. We headed toward the setting sun. I thought the landscape of hills and forest quite beautiful.
We passed the limits of town, the tanner's works, the night soil man's sieves, and the militia checkpoint. Here I showed my husband's letter and Devon his pass, with a salute from the militiamen we were in the wilderness. It was hard not to consider what had transpired in these hills. The Blue Backs had come out of the west and tried to take the great fertile valley. My beloved Hamilton had seen action on the western periphery. It was a hard-fought conflict, but the Republic had held. Devon's warning me about Blue Back stragglers in these hills and beyond was quite legitimate. I took comfort in the weapons he carried. Surely, I wished the man leading me to my husband had more experience, but I took some comfort in the letter he had shown me. I felt he was competent enough. I also know that these hills would be the most precarious part of the journey. The Fertile Valley had been purged. These hills were the only place enemies could seek cover as they snaked their way west, creating mayhem as they did so. I was glad that we would be out of these hills in a few days. The Fertile Valley was mostly grassland and sloped gently to Timber River. It would be easy to cross. I've heard that the valley is quite pretty with charming villages of settlers and farmers. The first hours after sunset turned out to be quite uneventful. The sky darkened, crickets and frogs burst into song, and a chill set in.
Devon stopped the train to collect a blanket and wrap it around me.
"We'll stop in an hour or so. I hope you like my cooking."
"I am hungry. I only had a light breakfast."
True to his word, he set up camp a short time later. He made me wait until he had a fire going before he allowed me to stride off into the darkness to answer nature's call. I use water from the canteen he supplied me with to wash up afterward. Already he had something cooking in a pot. It smelled scrumptious! He set up a little tent and placed a bedroll inside.
"Where will you sleep?" I asked.
"On the ground."
"You, poor dear."
"I'm a woodsman, lady!" he said as though I had insulted him. A moment later her smiled and said,
"Dinner should be ready."
Whatever it was, it was quite good. He offered to share his whiskey. I politely declined and stuck to water. The trip left me weary and a bit saddle sore. I could not wait to go to bed. I performed my evening ablutions and crawled into the tent. I laced the flaps closed and partly undressed. I retained my shift after I had removed everything else. I even unrolled and removed my stockings. I disliked wearing clothes to bed. With Hamilton, I usually slept in the raw. I slid into the bedroll, and I was dead to the world almost immediately.
The sound of Devon banging on a pot with a wooden spoon woke me. I poked my head out of the tent.
"We need to get moving Mrs. Yates. I'll have coffee ready post haste."
I put on a new dress, combed my hair as best as I could, and made my way out to the fire. The coffee was hot, black, and bitter. Not at all how I like it. The eggs and bacon went down easier and were well-cooked. I washed my hands and face in a nearby stream. We mounted up and started off again. We followed the streambed for a few miles. The morning mist burned off. It promised to be a hot day.
I lost track of time as I swayed in the saddle. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was very late in the day. Our train of horses came to a stop.
"You have to dismount Mrs. Yates. I need to water the horses."
I complied and stood in the shade by the water's edge. I was still drowsy.
A hand appeared behind a bush. Before I had time to scream, A huge man stepped out of the shadows. He grabbed me and placed his body close to mine. "What have we here?" I could smell the liquor on his breath as he placed the point of the dagger against my throat.
"A filly," said another voice. It belonged to a stout bearded man with a livid scar on his forehead, "And a right pretty one at that."
"Take your hands off me!" I cried.
"Now why would you want us to do that, darlin'?" said the man holding me. His left hand squeezed my breast. It was disgusting.
"I told you I would deliver prime goods!" it was Devon Thatcher's voice!
"Devon?" I asked.
"Did you think I was interested in enlisting -- on your side! Hardly!"
"But I thought...."
"Exactly what I wanted you to think."
"You are a disgusting boy!"
"I'm a man Mrs. Yates. In every way that counts."
The man holding me spoke next,
