Edward had moved ahead to scout but now came back at a somewhat hurried step, his face void.
“Sergeant, you might wanna come see. You, too, missy.”
Puzzled, Francois murmured for Ada to stay just behind him as he pulled out his LaMott and checked the cartridge. “Lead the way.”
The slave led them through a copse of trees. On the other side was another gangly sight of one downed horse and two slumped bodies. The stench was underlying, as the slow decay started. Francois continued scanning the area. One saddled horse but two riders didn’t make sense. Then he heard the shallow moan and Francois shot a glance in the direction it came from. It was to the right, far away. There lay another body, only this one moved. Francois started that way but Ada over reached him, getting there first.
It was a dark-skinned man, wearing a Yankee uniform. Blood ran from his mouth. His eyes had a terrified look and his shirt and waistcoat was in disarray. Francois saw why. He was gut shot and his reaction was similar to many who ripped their clothes to shred, trying to find their wound, fearful it was fatal. Ada shook her head, confirming he was dying as she saw the wound.
“Soldier, Francois Fontaine at your service. What happened?” He opted out of telling the poor soul the secesh were here again, especially since his first rapport with them was fatal.
“Carrying dispatch,” he grinded, before he started to cough up blood. “For…” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was gone.
Ada moved the boy’s hat over his eyes and bowed her head to pray. Francois inhaled and waited a minute before he took the boy’s dispatch bag.
“What are you doing?”
He snorted, flipping the opening flap back. “Looking to see what’s in here, of course.” He rummaged through the pages. “To General Schofield, Army of the Ohio.” He raised his brows. “There’s also letters here.” One caught his eye and he pulled it out. It was labeled to Jack.
“Brig Gen Fontaine?” Ada queried. He didn’t realize she was off to his side, veering over his back.
“Yes. My brother.”
“Your brother is in the Union Army?”
“Yes,” he snapped. What the hell was a letter going to Jack out here? Army of the Ohio? The return on the post was his sister’s writing. He’d recognize that curve on their surname anywhere. But why was she writing him and not Emma? The letter was marked three days prior. Finally, curiosity took control of him and he ripped the seal and scanned the letter.
“That isn’t your property to open!” Ada cried but he ignored her.
“…Jack, it’s been worse since you left. Emma hasn’t been herself and then the spring rains have brought on a dire case of the fever. Please, if you can, send us a doctor. With your promotion, surely you can do that, right? The babies are in trouble if it gets to them. And Mama looks like she’s a touch unwell. In my condition, I’m in no state to care for her and the rest. Please help! With love and affection, Cerisa”
A rock fell into his stomach. Yellow fever. Rarely did they get hit with it at Bellefontaine. What had happened?
“What’s wrong?”
He refolded the letter, a scowl on his face. “Illness. That’s my family. My mama is apparently sick. Fever. And my sister writes that most the physicians are at war, meaning only a small handful left. Our family doctor has fallen ill as well, and he isn’t a young man.” Jabbing the walking stick into the ground, he stood, still clutching the bag.
“You can’t take that!”
“Why the hell not? You all up North have no problem taken our what’s ours.”
She gasped. Francois shook his head in disgust. He’d been nursing a wounded heart for too long. First Emma and now this vixen, who had his heart but acted as if it were nothing more than a patient, feeding it when needed but nothing more. To hell with them!
But that silent feud in his head over his heart brought a reality to light. Ada was a physician. She could help.
“You need to return it!”
He frowned at her words. “To who? A dead dispatcher?”
“No, of course not.” She huffed. “I could take it to the Union.”
“On what? Rose can’t be ridden at the moment.”
She growled. That made him want to laugh. But reality was, he needed her help and she deemed the Union more important to get dispatches. He toiled over the idea in his head before he blurted out the solution.
“Look. Edward could, in theory, take these to the nearest authorities – Union or Rebel depends on who he sees first. However, I need help for my mother. Will you help?”
She stopped mid-pace and stared at him. His fiery abolitionist looked perplexed. He’d be taking her into the heart of slavedom on a mercy mission to save his mother’s life. Would she?
How dare he! First, he claimed to love her, then ignored her and now, after illegally opening mail not meant for him, he was begging her to help his slave-owning family! She wanted to scream, but her medical side jumped into the fray.
“You get him to take it to the North, I’ll go help.” Of course, she would, regardless of the mail’s ultimate drop-off. She gulped. She’d argued against the world she was riding into, could she stay quiet enough to help the woman before they drove her out of town on a rail?
Francois took her hands, kissing the back of them. “Merci.”
She wanted more than her hands kissed but she held back the retort and started to look for the mounts these soldiers had. “Where are their horses?”
“I see only one downed horse, so I’d reckon whoever shot them, stole them. But let us see if we can find them.”
As he turned, using a limp to step, which made her insides clench, Edward appeared and in his hands were the ribbons leading back
