Francois mounted his horse, sliding his cane into the straps off the pummel as she rode up.
“Former slave of yours?”
He wouldn’t look at her right away but she saw him purse his lips, as if trying to find the right words.
“Ada, we’re heading into lands of my family. Southerners. Yes, there’s an illness plaguing the land, and a sickness brought by war and famine. What I’m asking is for you to leave your abolitionist’s views here, tucked away until this is all done. No point making the people you’ve come to help refuse because you want to damn them for their lives as they know it.” He finally looked at her. “If you would, please.”
They hadn’t talked about this, as if the subject was like walking on eggshells for their upcoming marriage. She had agreed to come to help, medically speaking. Could she keep her tongue quiet on the depravity of slavery? With a deep breath, she nodded.
“Merci,” he whispered. Then he gave her his handsome smile. “Now, let’s go, before Charlie heads out without us!”
He tried really hard not to smirk when they landed on the Louisiana side of the Mississippi River safe and sound and with the horses. He paid the old man with a Confederate bill he had, with a silver coin underneath, the coin worth far more than the paper the currency was written on, then turned to his horse. Ada gave him a slanted gaze.
“I thought Louisiana and Mississippi were occupied, and the Union controlled the river,” she said. “So how did a wayward Confederate and a doctor, with two horses, manage to cross without issue?”
He eased into the saddle, happy to relieve the pressure off his foot. “That’s why I went to ole Charlie Bloom. That man can make magic happen!”
“Uh, huh, I see. Back to that magic again.” She inhaled and looked around. He couldn’t help but watch her. She was so beautiful, even in a dirty and frayed dress with her hair straying from the few pins she still had, something else that made him want to laugh. He’d sown into her so much, removed all those clothes and pins to get to her, he was sure she was missing some due to him. He was a lucky man. Of course, she hadn’t said she loved him, but she liked him enough to agree to marry him. He’d get her love later.
“Francois, how close are we to your home?”
He frowned, trying to collect his thoughts from his current desire for her back to the overall plan. “We’ll pass the town if we head down this path,” he said, pointing to the trail that swung right. “Bellefountaine is straight ahead, about an hour, give or take.”
“A town you say? Perhaps there might be an apothecary still functioning there. Supplies might be good, if there are as many sick as you’ve claimed,” she stated bluntly.
He shifted in the saddle. At this point, he couldn’t tell how many that might be. Their bustling plantation no doubt lacked a good number, thanks to his brother Jack, but he swallowed that bitter pill. A quick look at his beloved made his decision, because she’d be meeting his mother and he doubted his future wife would want to look like the ragamuffin she did, thanks to the hard traveling. “Yes, ma’am. Your wish is my command. Though, we have a stop to make first.”
He veered them to the right side of the town and out, looking for the outcroppings he knew were there. Ada, riding next to him, scanned the area and sighed.
“So this is the rich South?”
He grimaced. “The soil is where the money is. It’s rich and fertile. But this area, its not farmed but settled by yeoman farmers and craftsmen.” He swallowed hard, memories of the 9th flittering through his mind. “Many a man from the Tigers lived in this area, if not right from New Orleans itself.”
“And there are sick here?”
He shrugged. “Probably, though my mission isn’t to find the ill.” He glanced at her. “One of my good friends died while we were fighting in that wilderness area, he was too wounded to move. Died before my eyes. Made me promise to give his belongings to his missus.” He fought the shudder that built up inside him as his mind replayed that day in his head, with Wiggins begging him to check on his wife. A deed he didn’t want, but was obligated to perform. After all, the man put up with him trying to adjust to soldier life from that of planter.
Up ahead, a small group of women dressed in black, stood conversing, or mourning, Francois decided, as the priest wearing memorial vestments stood with two young boys carrying the holy pieces for a funeral mass, stood in front. There was no coffin, no sign of burial and that twisted Francois stomach.
“They look as if in mourning. Did they just return from the cemetery?” Ada asked softly.
“No,” he answered, his tone sharp. “I’m afraid this is the scene for most of the South. Bodies not found and if so, not able to get back to loved ones to bury.”
He saw her shudder and a layer of his own uneasiness eased. She might be familiar with death from the hospital, but for a family to not be able to do a full burial, the pain was tenfold. He slid off his horse, taking his time to land and protect his foot. With a yank, he had cane in hand, maneuvering it to help her off as well. It was improper to ride up to the party, though to hobble could be worse, except his mind was set and therefore, he managed to make it to one of the boys, whispering, “Who is this memorial for?”
The boy looked up, his vision glazed, as if he was vacant. Francois inwardly groaned, believing he’d had to help the priest to several of these lately. “Its for several, sir.”
Francois grinded his teeth,
