This is the second of two drabbles I've posted today. Make sure you don't miss "The Skate"!
Private Kurt Hummel swayed in time with his horse's stride to he could level his pistol and aim true at the Confederate spy escaping through the woods with General Sylvester's battle plans. He shot once, reloaded and then shot again, managing to nick the spy's arm, but failing to bring him down.
Kurt's platoon mates, Hudson and Evans, rode beside him, also shooting at the spy, but not quite bringing him down. If he got back behind the line with those plans, Union soldiers would die by the thousands. Kurt couldn't let that happen.
It was just after Kurt's third shot landed, hitting St. James in the thigh, that Kurt's horse turned a leg and stumbled, falling to her side and throwing Kurt to the forest floor. His head hit a particularly hard log when he landed and everything went black.
When Kurt woke up, it was beside a crackling fire and covered in blankets that smelled musky, like they belonged to another man. The fire was in an actual hearth and there was a roof above his throbbing head, so Kurt assumed he was in someone's house. Turning his head toward the room, Kurt saw that it was a single room cabin and its owner (presumably) sat in a rocking chair, determinedly picking at his guitar. The man's dark hair was shorn almost as close as a sheep's and his broad, muscular shoulders spoke of years of manual labor.
When he realized he'd been watching the man for far too long (a habit Kurt's father had tried and failed to coax out of him), Kurt looked away and cleared his throat. Acting as if he'd just woke up, Kurt blinked a few times, slowly, and yawned before turning to meet the stranger's eyes and asking, "Where am I? Who are you?"
"Hey, fella," the man replied, setting down his guitar and standing up. "How's the head?"
"Sir," Kurt began, sitting up and glad he wasn't dizzy from it, "my head will be fine. Please answer my questions."
Taking the few steps between them, the man held out his hand to be shook and replied, "Noah Puckerman, and this is my house."
Kurt returned Mr. Puckerman's handshake and asked suspiciously, "What side are you on?"
"Neither side," the man replied with a friendly grin. "Dodged the draft, built myself a cabin out here in the woods, and everything was fine until your war stumbled onto my property."
Incredulous and wondering if the man was some sort of coward, Kurt got out of bed and stood up to Mr. Puckerman, crying, "Don't you even care that the South seceded from the Union?"
"No," Mr. Puckerman scoffed. "They can do what they want. Plus, this whole war and draft and everything has got in the way of me going into town and entertaining the ladies, if you will."
Kurt scoffed, which Mr. Puckerman seemed to take offense to.
"You take issue with my conduct?"
A dangerous look glinted in Mr. Puckerman's eyes, which made a sharp thrill run up Kurt's throat. He stammered, "N-no. Of course not, sir. Why would I criticize the man who has taken care of me when I was in need? Now, which way do I go to get back to the road and my regiment?"
"Oh, no," the man said, "I ain't just letting you walk outta here so you can lead your friends back here and force me into fighting. No, sir. As soon as you can walk, I'm takin' you outta here blindfolded."
"Fine, then," Kurt replied, standing up and noticing that all his weapons, along with his hat and his cravat, were nowhere to be seen. . "I'll be on my way. My effects, please?"
Mr. Puckerman handed over Kurt's things, his eyes vigilant as Kurt put himself back together. His head throbbed a little, but otherwise it was fine and soon he was ready to go. "Shall we?"
"Of course," Mr. Puckerman nodded, taking a scrap of dark cloth - it looked like it might have been part of a uniform at some point, and tied it around Kurt's eyes. His elbow was grasped and soon they were out of the cabin, walking through the woods, Kurt's boots crunching dried leaves and fallen twigs. Eventually, the man spoke, hot in Kurt's ear, "I'm not a coward."
Confused and wondering if the nervous twitch in his stomach and the shiver down his spine were due to his head injury, Kurt replied, "I assumed no such thing." He had, in fact, come to that very conclusion.
"Why would I fight in a war that killed my wife and daughter?"
Kurt stumbled a little, still unnerved by the voice in his ear while he was unable to see the unspoken words on the man's face. A strong arm caught Kurt around the middle and set him back on his feet as he said, "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."
"Besides," Mr. Puckerman continued, "were I to fight, I'd probably have to kill handsome young soldiers like yourself," and set a light kiss on Kurt's surprised lips.
With that, the arm on Kurt's waist retreated and the air around Kurt grew silent. Kurt stopped and listened for Mr. Puckerman's footsteps, but didn't hear them. Curious, he ripped off his blindfold (which upon inspection was a scrap torn from a Union uniform) and found himself on the edge of a road, the forest to his back.
Kurt was intrigued, but he knew it was his duty to get back to his regiment as soon as he was able. So, he built a little cairn by the side of the road and promised himself that as soon as the war was over, he'd come back to this spot and venture into the woods in search of Mr. Noah Puckerman's humble cabin.