She blinked and swallowed hard. “Why? You didn’t even know who I was until a minute ago.”
“Three rebel surgeons are now my prisoners. They’ll spend the remainder of this war in prison. Do you want to join them?”
“They all turned you down.” There was no humor in her voice, no pride, only a statement of fact.
He crossed his arms and stared down his long, straight nose, past the scar where she knew a bullet had grazed him. “One of you will go.” There was no gloating in his voice either, only the steely command of a general. The threat no longer hung in the air. It smacked her in the gut.
She swallowed hard again before asking, “When do I leave?”
5
Washington City, 1864
In the afternoon, Charlotte and a small company of Federals traveled east on the Ashby Gap Turnpike, leaving Winchester behind. She had no choice but to go with them. Her ancestral home was at stake. If it was destroyed, it might possibly wipe out her existence, and her brother’s as well.
Jack had to be frantic with worry, and Ken, too. How long had she been gone? An hour? A week? A month? When she went into the fog, she had dropped her haversack. Would Ken find it? What would he think happened to her?
Fear struck yet again, bringing fresh waves, unending waves. This was not a game. Her life was in danger. What would happen to her when they reached Washington? The bigger question haunted her as well. How was it even possible to go back in time? But the how didn’t matter right now. Neither did the why. Surviving took her total focus.
The Union Cavalry treated her well enough, considering she was the enemy. Soldiers guarded her, but she wasn’t restrained. For safety reasons, they had also given her a Union jacket to wear. She had cringed when she put on the smelly, bloodstained coat. Being inconspicuous came with a price.
Riding a horse through the fall chill without any privacy wasn’t easy either. She had a miniature case in her pocket to freshen her stage makeup, but the wig and beard itched. Fortunately, early in her reenacting days she had perfected the art of taking care of personal needs without drawing attention. It was all part of the gig.
The Union forces had control of the area, so the threat of being shot out of her saddle was low. She took her cues from the battle-hardened soldiers who formed her escort. When they eased their shoulders and talked about their homes in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, she relaxed, too.
As Washington drew closer, a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Nothing good could come of this.
The small party rode down the Columbia Road toward Fort Runyon, one of many earthen forts surrounding Washington. Before they were allowed to pass, their traveling papers were thoroughly inspected.
Charlotte and her escort then crossed the Potomac River by way of the Long Bridge and entered the city. Mud covered the streets and clung to wagon wheels and horses’ hooves. The animals slung the gloppy mess onto the sidewalks and her trouser legs. Open ditches were filled with carcasses and sewage, which poisoned the air, gagging her with the stench of death and decay.
Although she’d had little sleep in the past two days, she was awake enough to know the Washington she knew was barely recognizable beneath the dirt and grime. They trotted their horses down Maryland Avenue toward the Capitol Building with its partially constructed dome. In the distance, the Washington Monument was an unfinished, truncated shaft.
The dull rumbling of heavy army wagons across cobblestone and the steady tramp of marching feet met them as they turned down Pennsylvania Avenue. The grand city of the future was nothing more than a grimy military fortress and an incubator for typhoid and other diseases.
Charlotte’s stomach growled, but she was afraid to eat anything unless she personally witnessed the food cooked, boiled, baked, or burned. The coffee, however, was cooked so black and thick germs couldn’t survive. She wasn’t so sure her stomach could either.
Her vaccinations wouldn’t completely protect her from the onslaught of germs which she knew outnumbered and outgunned the enemy here. Under such unsanitary conditions, disease could wipe out the city’s entire population. Wherever she was going, she prayed for a hot bath and thoroughly cooked, edible food. She was as grubby as she’d ever been in her life.
The patrol continued along the avenue toward the White House. She knew Lincoln walked over to the War Department several times a day, and she hoped she might see him going by. She studied the faces of the men on both sides of the street, searching for the tall, gaunt president.
Her escort stopped in front of the White House. Although the building didn’t have the additions made in the 1900s, the mansion was clearly recognizable.
“Are we…going inside?” Charlotte asked in a halting voice. The last time she’d been in the White House was six months before her mother died. Charlotte never thought she’d return. Never wanted to, in fact.
“Those are my orders,” the company captain said.
She dismounted and stretched. Although horseback riding had been part of her life growing up, her busy medical practice didn’t leave much time for riding. As a result, she’d be saddle sore for the next few days.
Days? She didn’t have days. Jack would be sick with worry, and her absence would create havoc at work. What about her own distress? She’d fallen through some kind of frigging time warp and her life and her family’s property had been threatened. Whatever the Union Army wanted her to do, it had better be quick.
She marched after the captain in charge up the steps, through the front door, and into the entrance hall. They made their way through the crowd into the cross hall, then turned and went up the
