Carterson Prison, January, 1865

Bentell looked around the empty root cellar with distaste. It was dim, and stuffy, and it smelled of mold and the sweat of his guards who had preceded him into the chamber. Two of them had gone ahead into the tunnel to retrieve whoever or whatever might be hidden there. Bentell was willing to remain in this unpleasant space for long enough to see what the guards found, but then he planned to get topside as soon as possible.

There were sounds of a scuffle within the tunnel, short-lived, and presently the light of the returning guards' lamps could be seen flickering on the earthen walls. They rounded the last bend and entered the root cellar, dragging their dirt-covered captive between them. They tossed him onto the ground at Bentell's feet. "Guess no surprise we found this one, sir." Bentell quickly took a step backward, putting some distance between himself and the filthy prisoner.

Heath stirred, raising a small cloud of dust, then sneezed. He looked up from the ground. "Hey, Bentell!" He looked up at the glowering officer and gave him a sunny smile. "Where's your puppies?"

"Solitary." Bentell jerked his head toward the trap door. "And give him a little something to think about once you get him there."

Up in the yard, Mike watched as the guards hustled Heath once more across the yard toward the storage building. As he passed by, Heath caught his eye and gave him a hand signal and a quick smile. All clear? Really? How is that possible? His feeling of relief was short-lived, however, as he saw the two guards wrapping their knuckles as they disappeared inside, preparing to give Heath "something to think about".

It was getting on toward sunset when Heath came back to himself in the solitary cell. Those two guards had given him a good beating, one his Uncle Matt would've been proud of. He waited a good while before he tried to move, because he wasn't in too much pain where he lay. He was sure there was plenty more waiting for him once he started moving himself around.

He used that time to stare up into the dark and worry about the family hiding in the cave. The news of approaching Union troops had raised the level of vigilance at the prison. Round-the-clock watches were posted on the perimeter, as well as intermittent scouting runs through the surrounding territory. The lookout was for an incoming threat, but it still presented an enormous obstacle for two women and two small children. Rivka and Hadassah were aware of this - Heath had made sure they understood the hazards they faced. They could hold out in the cave for a few days to a week with their access to fresh water, but the twins wouldn't be able to go much longer than that without food.

They were out of his reach now. There was nothing he could do to protect them, and chances were he'd be looking at a firing squad himself by tomorrow. Not for the first time, Heath wondered if he could trust Sam to tell him about the Levis. Maybe he could find a way for them to thread the needle and make it safely to the river valley.

Rivers. Heath liked rivers, liked to hear the water moving, see the water flowing around and over and under whatever came in her path. There was a beautiful river ran through Strawberry, bringing the mountain snow west down to the big valley. He hadn't laid eyes on a river for over six months now, except for that monster that almost killed them on New Year's Day. That wasn't a river. That was more like the Wrath of God. Heath turned his mind instead back to Strawberry, remembering one beautiful Sunday in springtime, him fishing trout out of the river and his Mama and Rachel cooking them up for lunch on the riverbank. He sighed, smiling, loving his Mama and his Aunt.

He heard the outer door bang open, and there was a commotion as guards brought in more prisoners. Heath moved himself closer to the door of his cell, wanting to hear who they had.

The first voice he recognized was Mikey, castigating the guards for their clumsiness. "Hey, careful! To look at you, boys, a person would think you're deliberately trying to bash up this busted leg of mine on purpose!" There was a thud, and a yelp of pain. "Oh, I see. You are doing it on purpose. Well. That's diff - "

"Shut up, Yank." Heath heard the cell door slam shut.

"Peterson! You ok?" That voice would be Lt. Bradley, further down the row of cells. The outer door banged open again as a third man was brought in from the yard. No sounds of struggle. Heath's heart sank as he heard Sam Green. He was, of a wonder, singing. His voice was low and rough, gentle and sad.

"Mine eyes have seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord - "

"Goddamn turncoat," barked one of the guards, and the hymn became muffled as the fourth cell door slammed shut. Heath closed his eyes and added his voice.

"Glory, glory, hallelujah - "

Mike joined in, and Bradley,

"Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel - "

and they sang together, hoping for deliverance, looking for some courage, holding close to this one small bit of comfort.

"He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,

He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,

So the world shall be His footstool,

and the soul of Time His slave,

Our God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah - "