Wild, Beautiful, and Free(72)

Suddenly Poney and I looked at each other. The ground now shook fiercely, like a giant was pounding it with his fists. He slapped the reins, and we went faster. I thought I glimpsed movement off to my right—someone, maybe many someones, running. A tremendous boom split the air, and I grasped the sides of my head, pressing my bonnet to my ears. Then a series of shots volleyed through the trees. We were riding into danger, but there was no way to tell which way to go to get out of it. A sidetrack veered off to the right, and Poney took it, still urging the horses on. It took us alongside a field, off the main road, but still the ground rumbled beneath us.

Then a sound like a rattle being shaken over us. A small piece of wood from the side of the wagon splintered and struck me on the right side. On my left—Poney fell against me.

“Poney!”

He grasped his left side and sank down to the floor. The reins slipped from his hands, and I grabbed them. I stood to reposition myself and put my weight behind the horses. I pushed them on. Poney groaned.

I was turning us when I saw a man in gray running toward me, his musket in one hand. With the other he was trying to grab the bridle of one of the horses. I pulled up the horses and pulled the pistol from my pocket. I stood and fired. Miss Maude would have scolded me. I didn’t aim for his leg. He had a weapon, and he was trying to control the cart. I had to aim high.

The shot got him in the shoulder. He fell backward and seemed shocked. That was his arrogance, I suppose. I got the horses moving, and in a moment Poney and I were past him.

Suddenly a horde of men advanced on my right, some firing, some running with bayonets on the end of their rifles. I was relieved to see a swath of navy blue. Union soldiers. One of them ran up alongside and yelled, “That way! Get behind us!”

I nodded, and as I turned, I saw now how the positions were. I pushed through the line and went a few hundred yards until I was past the fighting but still close enough to hear the commotion of gunfire. I stopped the wagon and climbed into the back to find a parcel of bandages.

Poney’s face had turned gray. He pulled open his shirt and looked down.

“Good God,” he said.

I pushed him to lean forward. He bled from two places, front and back. The musket ball must have gone through him. I bound up the wounds using what were probably the bandages I’d made that night with Belinda Chamberlain.

“It’s all right, Poney.” I kept repeating it because I didn’t know what else to say. “You’ll be all right.”

I climbed up and took the reins again. There had to be doctors somewhere. And they couldn’t be far. I figured that they would be behind the battlefield, so I kept going in the direction away from the rear of the advancing soldiers.

Soon I came upon a large pavilion made of canvas, and I could see people moving about underneath it. Then I saw the rows of cots—it was a field hospital.

“Help!” I cried out. “Help us!”

Two men reached us first—one white with a thick beard and wire spectacles and the other a colored man who jumped up to help Poney to the ground. The white man examined his wound.

“We brought supplies from Dayton for the Union soldiers,” I said. “Got caught in the fight just over there.” I climbed down from the wagon.

“Get him a bed,” the white man said. He seemed to be a doctor.

“Thank you, sir,” Poney said. He looked at me.

“Go on. I’m all right,” I said.

He leaned into the colored man, and they walked carefully toward the tent.

“Are you all right, ma’am? Do you need food?”

My legs felt weak beneath me. “I want to sit down.”

I took his arm, and he led me to the front of an enclosed tent. A small folding table and a few chairs made of wood were set out there. I sat, and he went into the tent and returned with a small metal cup filled with coffee.

“Drink this,” he said.

The warm liquid revived me. “Thank you,” I said.

He went back in the tent and brought out a bound cloth that he put in my lap.

“You’ll be hungry soon if you aren’t already. Eat those.”

The cloth contained two biscuits. My stomach suddenly rumbled to see them.

“Take your time. Not like you’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”

He walked away. The wounded were coming in quickly now. Some walked, and some were carried on makeshift gurneys. There was yelling everywhere, filling the air—men yelling commands, men yelling in pain.

And yet I fell asleep in that chair.

I awoke to the sound of my name, from a voice that was warm and familiar. But it wasn’t Poney’s.

“Jeannette! Jeannette Bébinn!”

I opened my eyes. The face, now weathered and bearded, was still handsome. He pulled off his hat. I would have known him anywhere.

“Silas! What are you doing here?”

“I assist Dr. Nelson. Probably be a doctor myself after all this. I help him, especially when we get colored patients like the man who came in with you.”

“Poney—is he all right?” I blinked, and the events of the afternoon began to come back to me. I sat up in the chair.

“He’s gonna be fine.” Silas went into the tent and returned with more coffee. He knelt down and looked at me while I drank. “You did a good job getting him bandaged and all. Wound like that, a man can bleed to death.”