Chapter Two

12 Years earlier, Fall 1862, Outside Benton's Crossing

Nick held up his hand to quiet and stop his men, taking a cautious step to look around a tree. Confirming that there didn't seem to be any sign of movement from the shack, he moved silently through the swamp, careful to find firm footing with every step. At the sound of the dog's baying, he cursed their rotten luck. The last thing they needed was to lose the element of surprise. After four days in the swamp, his men were tired, hungry and ready to be back on the Union side of the line but he was willing to settle for a few hours rest and maybe a night's sleep on a spot of dry land. Ducking back behind the tree, he debated whether to throw the dog some of the little rations they had, hoping it would provide enough of a diversion to let them get that much closer to the shack. Watching through the stand of palmetto, he squatted down, careful to keep his butt out the water, his eyes fixed on the door when it swung open. He froze and stared back at the ramshackle building, the beads of sweat that were rolling down his face and back not even registering with him any more. A woman stood in the doorway, her eyes cutting this way and that as she surveyed the swamp. She stepped boldly out onto the porch, the rifle comfortable in her hands as she looked right and left. Leaning down, she pet the dog, scratching him behind an ear before she stepped back out of view, slamming the door behind her.

One woman alone. Surely if there were a man with her, he would have come out instead. But even if she was alone, she sure looked like she knew what she was doing with the rifle. Nick wasn't eager to pull a gun on a woman, it went against everything he'd been taught, but when behind enemy lines like this, you didn't have much choice. Too many good men he knew from the beginning of the war had trusted their lives to someone who didn't seem to be a risk and had lost their lives to that misplaced trust. Glancing back at his men, he knew he had to get some rest for them, if only for a little while, and this looked to be the place. Surely she would have some water, and maybe they could scrounge up some provisions that he and his men so desperately needed. Anything other than the hard tack that they had been surviving on the last couple of days. Hefting his carbine over his shoulder, he reached into his saddle bag, pulling out a piece of jerky, throwing it to the far end of the clearing and he watched, satisfied as the dog bounded off the porch and beyond the edge of the trees, off in the direction of the noise of the jerky hitting the underbrush. Nick pulled his revolver from its holster and carefully cocked it, ready to use it if need be, certainly ready to threaten the woman, hoping that he could use the least amount of force necessary. He motioned to his men to move left and right, then he glided closer, finally close enough to peer in through a crack in the curtains, seeing only the young woman smoothing the tablecloth and an older man who was dropping into a rocking chair. Easing his way up the steps, he quietly held the handle for the door, then, motioning to the other men, he barreled into the cabin with his revolver leveled, his eyes meeting hers as one of his men immediately followed into the small building. "Keep your hands where I can see 'em," he ordered, his eyes and voice cold. "We're not looking to hurt anyone."

He was surprised at the calm acceptance in her eyes, not the slightest bit of surprise showing on her face. "Pointing a gun at my head, you could have fooled me," she answered, her voice soft.

"Sorry, Miss, but I've learned you can't be too careful."

"And your men?" she asked, tilting her head toward the door. "A couple of them looked desperate."

Nick stared at her, realizing she must have seen them outside, part of him relieved that he hadn't faced a rifle pointed at him when he entered, the other part wondering why not, his tone warming the slightest bit even as he kept his gun cocked and ready. "My men follow my lead," he said as he stepped to the side, checking the couple of rooms that made up the cabin. His careful eye took in every detail – the cabin was neat, some few examples of creature comforts, the quilt at the end of the bed, curtains still at the window, but he had to guess that his was not the first raiding party to come through the area. Turning back to the pair, Father and daughter? Maybe, maybe not, he knew they were both watching his every action. It wouldn't have surprised him if they were nervous and suspicious; in these circumstances, that was normal. What bothered him most was the relative calm they both seemed to project.

Almost as if she were reading his mind, she offered, "There's not much. Some fresh bread in the pie safe. You're welcome to it, although," she added, a touch of sarcasm in her voice, "I don't suppose that there's much I could do to stop you. Other than that . . . you . . . you Yankees have been through already," she added with a touch of disdain.

"Yes, Ma'am," Nick acknowledged, stepping over to the pie safe, glancing in at the several loaves. He turned back to her, his eyes studying hers. "That's an awful lot of bread for two people."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's far too hot out and it uses too much wood to bake every day." She stared back at him. "Take it and go," she challenged him.

"You seem in an awful hurry for us to leave."

"Why is that a surprise?" she asked, shifting her stance as her hands formed into fists and she crossed her arms in front of herself. "Like I said, I don't know about your men and the longer you're here . . . well, after all, it's not like you were invited. You'll excuse me if I don't offer you the standard southern hospitality."

Nick fought back a smile. Under other circumstances, this would be a girl who would pique his interests. She was pretty, her clothes simple, but still showed off what he would describe as a very nice figure. Chocolate brown hair, striking blue eyes, she even looked about his age. As it was, he found himself admiring her spunk. "Cornell," Nick said to the man who had come through the door with him, "take the bread in the pie safe and give it to the men. All except one loaf, we'll leave them that," he added, garnering a thankful nod from her in response, but he watched her jaw tighten as the soldier gathered up the loaves and carried them out the door. The number of loaves nagged at Nick. There would be plenty for his men and the woman and the old man, almost as if she were planning on feeding several mouths. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at her. "Cornell," he barked, "tell the men to look for signs of anyone else around."

Cornell looked back in from the porch. "The men are already checking in the woods, Sergeant."

Nick tilted his head to one side, studying the woman carefully, looking deep into her dark blue eyes, trying to discern whether she had, in fact, steeled herself at the suggestion of them checking the woods. "Tell them to check and check again. And tell them that we may be settling in for the night." He narrowed his eyes, certain that he had noticed the slightest change in her posture but he nonetheless shifted his weapon to seem less threatening. "Miss, my men are tired and we need a place to rest for –" He quieted, his eyes darting about, certain he had heard something, a muffled noise. He listened intently, his eyes questioning hers when a low moan seemed to come from beneath them. Immediately, he raised his gun, all of his senses alert as his eyes once again darted around the room, looking for a hiding place. He cast a quick glance to the old man, Nick's glare warning him to stay where he was. He looked back to the woman, his eyes questioning hers.

He watched her grimace and shake her head. "Drat it all," she muttered, then she looked Nick square in the eye. "We're a station on the underground railroad," she stated calmly, as if she were a shop girl telling him they would get his order together. She took two long strides to the table in the middle of the room. "Don't shoot anyone," she ordered, then she pushed the table hard, moving it to one side. She threw another look at Nick, then added, her voice pleading, "Just wait," and she leaned over and pulled at a knot hole in the floor, pulling back a hidden trap door.

Nick cocked and pointed his gun down into the opening. In spite of her comment, he was fully prepared to see grown men, Confederates, hiding out, and so he was shocked when he found himself looking into the faces of a woman and several children. Dark faces all. "How in Blazes?" he demanded.

"I'll thank you not to curse in front of the children," the young woman said primly. "Bessie's in labor, can you help me get her out?" she asked even as she moved forward, pulling the woman up, the older children in the hole pushing up from below. "Surely you've heard of the underground railroad," she insisted. Stunned, Nick hesitated for a moment but then holstered his gun and hurried to the pregnant woman's side, taking the moaning, very round woman by the waist and helping her to stand, noticing out of the corner of his eye as the old man who, up to that point had been placidly sitting in a chair, suddenly sprang to life, pulling child after child from the hole in the floor.

"Viola," the elderly gentleman asked, "what do you want me to do?"

Nick stared at her, Viola, the man called her, as she took the woman's other side and led the way into the next room, calling back over her shoulder, "Uncle Jack, settle the children down in the parlor, please." She turned her attention to Nick. "Sergeant, you don't happen to have a doctor or medic with you by any chance?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm sorry to say."

"What about whiskey?"

"That I'd have."

"Could you get it for me?" she asked as she hurried about the room, pulling supplies seemingly out of thin air - sheets, a pan for water. "And if you could keep your men away from the house. We find it best if as few people as possible know the details of what we do here. And try to keep them from killing the cow or the chickens, we need the milk and eggs."

"Milk and eggs?" Nick demanded, his voice cracking. "You have a cow out here?"

She glanced up at him with a grin, her blue eyes twinkling. "Just for the milk. The chickens give the eggs." She stared at him for a moment, amused that she had stunned this man who seemed so self-assured just moments before. "Sergeant, the whiskey if you would," she added calmly before turning back to the bedside.