No one said a word as they slipped out of the battleground. Edward led them, though they weren’t moving fast. Francois’s leg ached enough that he had to stop at times. Neither the slave nor Ada complained, so he pushed forward, determined to beat the pain. But he noticed his angel, Ada, rarely looked at him. He’d seen her coming, afloat it appeared, but since Rose was there when he came fully to, he’d bet her floating was via horseback. He knew she was in turmoil over the slave. Her abolitionist side, no doubt, wanted him to run away, free, but then again, the man was leading them out of the flames, so her speeches remained silent. How long would that last, he wondered.
One thing he did know was that he was thirsty. He looked for his canteen and found all he had was Wiggins’s haversack and it weighed way too light to be holding his. “Damn!”
Ada shot him a glare. “I don’t see the need for such vulgar language.”
Francois couldn’t help but sputter a stilted laugh. “We’re trying to get away from a fire, on a battlefield no less, during a war, and you’re worried about my language?” He laughed again, only this time, he couldn’t stop.
Edward gave him a questioning look, but couldn’t contain himself either. It only took another moment for the doctor to join them. It was the laughter that made Francois finally feel alive again. As if he’d had his foot on the precipice of insanity—or worse. It was dark now and he bet, by the glow of the fire, they looked like specters. All seemed strangely right until the flames caught another screaming victim. The cry stopped abruptly as did their laughter when the severity of the time shocked them back.
“I’m parched,” he finally squeaked out.
Ada picked up her canteen. Francois saw her hand shaking. He frowned, confused, until he saw the color escape her face.
“Here,” she offered shakily. “All I’ve….” And she crumpled to the ground.
Francois threw his stick aside and hopped as fast as he could to her. Edward beat him by a second, stopping her head from hitting the rock beneath her.
“She looks ghostly, sir,” the slave muttered.
Francois picked up the fallen canteen. “She doesn’t have much left. Probably on this field a long time, looking for wounded, I’d reckon.” He opened the water container and slowly tipped it toward her lips. A little went in but she was still out. “Ada, Ada.”
She slightly opened her eyes but looked too exhausted to speak. Silently, he swore again.
“Damn! You’re doing too much. Edward! Help me get her on Rose here. And we need to find a place to go. Not sure where either army is at this point.”
“This way, sir. I found a shack, looks like an old slave shanty not far up.”
“Away from this mess? We don’t want any place near the fire.”
Edward scooped her up. “Massa Francois, best if you get up there too. She’s got all these skirts…”
The blindfolded mare wasn’t happy to move but did Francois get her turned to mount. Up in the saddle, he couldn’t help but sigh. The pressure off his leg was miraculous. Holding out his arms, he lifted Ada out of the slave’s hold and onto the saddle. Adjusting her took a moment. Edward was right. All her petticoats and the skirt made finding her legs a bit harder but he got her on so his arms wrapped around her as he held the reins.
As they started moving, Francois inwardly groaned. With her snuggled up against him, he couldn’t stop his body from responding to her, even through this fire. Every curve, her scent, sparked the memory of how she felt when he buried himself inside her. Grinding his teeth, he nudged the mare to keep walking.
Yes, this was hell itself.
Every ounce of energy was gone. Zapped. She couldn’t think anymore, nor stand, it appeared. Ada realized she was not only exhausted but her throat was dry, the taste of sulfur on her tongue, since the air was filled with it thanks to the gunfire and smoke in the air. And now they were inside a dry, dirty room with no glass in the windows.
“Here.”
A tin cup was in front of her. She took it and looked above to find Francois, leaning on the stick. Also, to the side, she glimpsed a black man bent over, the sounds of metal on metal grinding on her nerves. Curious, and won over by thirst, she took a sip. The favor shocked her. It wasn’t just water, but tasted like vinegar, berries laced with honey and it quenched her thirst, enough so she downed the whole contents at once.
Francois snorted, giving her an amused look. “Now how do you feel?”
She blinked and sat upright. “Surprisingly better. What all was in that?”
“We call it a shrub, or switchel, I believe,” Francois answered, with a small shrug. “Got a bit of vinegar, honey and whatever else can be found. Wonderful quench when lookin’ for relief from the heat.”
The black man turned, the knowing smile on his face answered who had made the concoction. He reached out. “Take these. I will make another.”
She stared at the almonds in her hand. “And these. Where did you get these?”
The man didn’t answer so Francois gave her a wicked grin. “You all in the North don’t know our darkies like we do. Many of them have secrets that can help us in dire straits.” He gave the other man a look. “Or kill us, if they like. On that, better white men acknowledge. It is the white trash and the ne’er do wells that need watchin’, right Edward?”
“Massa Francois speaks the truth, Miss Ada.” He grinned.
She blinked hard. “Why do you call him master? You know, you are free. You don’t have to be on that side,” she pointed
