Her group and Jeff’s traveled together for a while. Jeff said he didn’t intend to camp with them, since Federal troops certainly followed him, not far behind. He and his little group would help settle them in for the night, eat supper, and then ride on to divert the marauders. Head for the Gulf and decide whether to catch a boat to Texas. But maybe he’d see her in Havana.
THEY MADE CAMP at the edge of pinewoods above a clear creek down in a swale. A cool breeze came out of the south, and John Wood said he caught a hint of Gulf to the nose, salt air, though they were still two weeks away.
V recognized the place immediately from a dream. It happened there, where the road dipped to a creek bordered with dark pinewoods and then a dry rise toward old open pasture. She begged Jeff to go, keep moving.
He said, Shortly we will. But remember, not all your dreams come true.
—But some do, V said.
Late afternoon, Jeff and V wandered up the creek and bathed alfresco.
They all ate supper right before dark and talked plans—where to go from here, the safest route. John Wood knew people in Florida. A man in Fernandina owned a boat capable of making a run down the Indian River and the coastal lagoons and skipping through the Keys and jumping across to Cuba. Or they could go the other way, hit the Gulf below Madison. Wood knew a reliable man with a boat there too. Except for a few forts, that western path was mostly wilderness, and Federals lay thin on the ground. In his little journal he wrote the names and towns of trustworthy people who owned boats big enough to make it safely across the Straits and tore the page out and gave it to V.
AFTER SUPPER, Jimmie and Jeffy went to the men’s fire for a few minutes and then quickly backed away. That ring of faces lit red by firelight scared them. Gentlemen all, the men looked like a gang of bandits and killers and brigands, which some of them had become after four years of war. The Federals considered John Wood a pirate, and except for lacking a black eye patch he looked the part—long hair, face like a blade, and an exhausted level stare that examined the world with cool indifference. A useful man as long as you could keep him aimed away from you.
Long after dark, Jeff still hadn’t left. His horse remained tacked and his pistols in their holsters over the saddle, hobbled to graze between the tent and the creek. Jeff and V took the tent on the far side of the road and the children with Ellen took the other. Bristol went across the creek and spread his bedroll somewhere out in the pines. The other men stayed by the fire, dozing but ready to ride.
V AND JEFF LAY ON A PALLET of quilts in the tent and he told her how much she would like Cuba. She would learn the language quickly, and with the sea breeze, summer weather was nice in comparison to Mississippi. He talked about his grieving and devastation in Havana after the loss of Knoxie and described the old city as a beautiful feast of loss and sad remembrances.
—That’s fine for you, V said. But children need a future to imagine. They don’t thrive on nothing but memories.
—Well, he said.
—You should go on. You can’t travel at our pace if you plan to escape. Our best day this week was twelve miles. You can go double or triple that.
He said, Maybe I’ll head out tomorrow or the next day.
—If you’re waiting around to be captured, say so now.
—I’ll go soon.
—Don’t use us as an excuse. We’ve dealt with marauders, and we’ve made it this far. We can make it to Florida and on to Havana, but we can’t outrun the men chasing you. You need to go.
—Soon. An hour of sleep and we’ll ride the rest of the night and all day tomorrow.
He fell asleep almost immediately, and V lay awake trying to remember the details of her dream, trying to recall bits that didn’t correspond—maybe the creek had been more like a river or the trees were oaks instead of pines or the swale had been deeper—hoping to convince herself this was not the place.
Sometime in the night she walked across the road to the men’s fire and pulled Burton aside. She said, When they leave, you decide whether you go with them and travel fast or stay with us and go slow. Do what’s best for you. I won’t think less of you for going on.
—I’m seeing you all the way through, Burton said. No arguments on that point. Go sleep.
BEFORE DAWN, unaware of each other, two separate Federal cavalry units converged from north and south. Daybreak May 10, in a light rain, they burst upon the fugitives yelling and firing. Ellen had started cooking breakfast, and the first she knew of the attack was a ringing spang as a rifle ball struck the skillet from her hand. The confused Federals fired their weapons with such degree of enthusiasm and inaccuracy that the only casualties were self-inflicted—killing two of their own before they stopped firing at each other.
The next few minutes became a matter of contention and pride argued over in print for decades to follow. Jefferson’s horse was down near the creek, and to escape capture he either disguised himself
