Chapter 11
Rhett Butler had ridden hard from the coast, making a two-day journey in little under a day. His legs aching, he halted his tired mount in front of the townhouse and hastened to the doorway to see with his own eyes that Scarlett, Melanie, his sister and the baby were indeed unharmed. He had known that the raid was coming, but he had had no idea that the women would have been in any danger. Still, a feeling of dread manifested itself from the pit of his stomach, and it intensified as he beheld the fence along the side street, which had clearly been set ablaze some time before.
Upon entering the house, he dashed toward the settee, where a manly form was crumpled up, unconscious.
"Bonham!" he cried, turning him over to examine the bloody gash on his head.
He glanced around him. "Well, Luke, you're alive," he muttered aloud, "but whoever did this meant for you to be out awhile."
"Scarlett?" he called out. "Miss Melly? Rosemary? Scarlett?" His tone became urgent as he bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time. Shards of ice-cold dread were shooting through him as he cautiously opened the nursery door. Nothing. Even the cradle was missing.
Perhaps they had left in the night? But why take the cradle, too?
He snatched the pistol from his belt and readied himself to enter the master bedroom. If the bastard Yankees had inflicted harm upon his sister…or Scarlett…
Again, there was nothing. The bed was empty and unmade, the cradle set next to the bed, unmoving.
His despair reached unparalleled heights as he turned to leave, but then, out of nowhere, he heard the loud wail of the outraged babe.
"My God! Wade!" Rhett dashed toward the cradle and picked up the squirming child. He was clearly hungry - who knew how long he'd been left unattended.
"What the hell am I going to do with you?" Rhett addressed the small one, who wriggled happily in the familiar set of strong arms. "I just wish you could talk, Wade Hampton. You could tell me what happened to your mother."
The baby squirmed again and let out a mighty cry, which startled Rhett.
"Alright, alright. You're hungry, I understand. My aunt has fled for Charleston, along with her darkies. Where am I going to find a bloody wetnurse here in town? What am I going to do with you?"
Wade's little eyes blinked as he stared up at Rhett, his fists clenching in outrage as his tiny stomach growled.
"Well, I suppose there are camp whores. Bound to be one or two with a babe on them. We can ask your father what he wants to do with you, I suppose. Ha. Comical. Well, you can come with me look for your mother. Come on, Wade. Let's find some help for Luke and you some food. Then we'll find your mother. Just us men."
. . . .
The wide and muddy river lapped against the side of the riverboat as she heaved lazily into Washington Harbor. There was a chill in the air which could take a person's breath if they lingered in it overlong, and for the last several minutes of their journey, Scarlett, Melanie, and Rosemary had been forced to endure it along with the rest of the prisoners. A mixture of black and white, there were about thirty total, although they were the only women. Together they huddled closely as the water did its dance, as if each lurch was a pointed reminder of how much danger they were in. They had gathered in the front of the line in anticipation of landing, Rosemary, for her part, had whispered plots for escape, which Melanie had shushed resoundingly.
Scarlett was unable to formulate any coherent thought over the churning crush of people. It had been about six hours, by her count. Six hours since Wade had been left alone. He woke every two or three, hungry. He couldn't die, surely, Scarlett attempted to reassure herself. After all, he had just been fed eight hours before. He wouldn't starve to death before someone heard his cries. Luke would send for Mrs. Butler, and surely she would take care of Wade. Yes, Scarlett thought, she would do that. Satisfied briefly by the realization that Wade's situation wasn't completely hopeless, she began to turn to her own rather desperate one.
The men who had captured them had mentioned Washington. And hanging.
Surely even the Yankees didn't hang women. And for what - helping a wounded soldier? Scarlett looked down at her fingernails, bitten to the quick. At first, she had been frightened more by the prospect of what Charlie would say when he learned they had allowed themselves to be taken prisoner, but now it was becoming clear that their predicament was dire. Confederate boys got hung all the time; it was all over the papers. Surely the Yankees wouldn't be remiss about hanging a woman. I don't want to die, Scarlett thought in a panic. I'm seventeen! I'm too young to die.
She looked at Melly's face, ashy grey in color. Her hands alone betrayed any sense of fear, they shook as she clasped them tightly together. Her shoulders were drawn, emphasizing the smallness of her frame.
Suppose they throw us in prison, Scarlett thought. Why, they'd starve us and torture us and rape us - she grimaced at the idea of getting with child by a filthy Yankee. She'd rather die than face that sort of shame.
Rosemary was completely stoic. Her lean face was smudged with the soot from the street where she had been thrown so brutally, and there were large bruises forming on her arms where she had been handcuffed. In truth, she looked more a swarthy piratess than damsel in distress.
"Bring forward the women," a man's voice pierced Scarlett's thoughts. "Clear a path."
Avoiding the curious stares from around them, they stood up and made their way through the crowd as best they could. They walked to the front of the hold until they came face to face with a group of twelve Yankees, the foremost of whom had addressed them.
"Rosemary Elizabeth Butler, Melanie Clarice Wilkes, Katherine Scarlett Hamilton, you are all of you Rebel spies and you shall be held as prisoners of war until you are sentenced."
"Sentenced? What happened to our right to a fair trial?" Rosemary snapped.
The Yankee captain laughed. "Madam, this is a war we're in. Move them out, Sergeant."
