Northern Star

Chapter 2

As dawn glistened through the cracks and danced on the far wall, Perry awoke with a start. Noma had not returned. Slowly, Perry's groggy mind realized that the constant thunder around her was cannon fire, not a storm. She crawled to the window and looked out. She could see nothing but blackness, but judging from the sound, the fight could be no more than a mile away. Noma was easily frightened. She was probably hiding somewhere, waiting for a chance to get back.

Now Perry felt not only fear but guilt as well. She'd spent the night dreaming of the way Hunter had touched her so tenderly and looked into her very soul with his gray eyes, while Noma had been somewhere outside, hiding. For one night Perry had been removed from the war, with no rules or fears to inhibit her. She'd cherished each moment. Now, in the morning light, she feared their time together might end before nightfall and she would be unable to spend another night in his arms.

The bandage across Hunter's shoulder was a bloody reminder of death's waiting vigil. Some spots along the white cloth were bright red, and others were already drying to a dark purple. The bandage had to be changed before the material stuck to his flesh and caused more damage.

Perry felt bonded to Hunter. Though they'd never talked, his life was as vital to her as her own. She would do whatever was necessary to see that he lived; then she would try to find Noma.

Afraid of seeing the searing pain in his eyes again, she pulled off the soiled dressing as slowly and gently as she could. Blood oozed from the torn tissue on his right shoulder, calling an abrupt halt to Perry's progress. She took a deep breath, fighting to control her nausea. She knew that the hot redness, spreading like scarlet weeds beneath the skin from the bloody injury, meant infection.

Hunter slept, unaware of her touch. She slowly bathed his shoulder, remembering how he'd touched hers in the darkness. Whether he lived or died would depend on her keeping the wound clean until a doctor could be found. The jagged rip in his skin and muscles stood in sharp contrast to the other smooth shoulder. Perry watched as his chest rose and fell slightly with each breath. In the light his undamaged skin shone golden to his waist.

She wrapped his arm where sections of the skin were rubbed away. Hunter moved in pain, clenching his teeth, yet made no sound. Perry finished her work as rapidly as possible, binding him with clean strips. She lifted his head gently as he accepted the water she offered. Even as Hunter's fever raged, anger boiled in her own veins. Dear God, how she hated this war! How she hated not being able to help him. She longed to see those gray eyes filled with something other than pain.

Hunter held out a hand toward her. "Angel, where's the Star?" he mumbled. "Angel… my angel, was the Star captured? Is Abram alive?"

Perry grabbed his long fingers and pulled them to her cheek, wishing she could answer his questions, but they made no sense. "I'm here," she whispered as she moved his fingers along her face.

Hunter looked up, his eyes half closed, his mouth tight with struggle. His hand slowly crossed her cheek and circled to the back of her neck, as though touching her were the medicine he craved. His ringers caressed her flowing black hair as he pulled her face near his own. "My angel, you are so…"

Pain clouded his eyes. Perry lowered him to the hay and reached for a scrap of cloth to bathe his feverish face. She wrapped the only blanket around him, softly whispering words of care, though she knew he could no longer hear her.

She sat, chin resting on her knees, watching Hunter for most of the morning and wondering what he'd been about to say. She was lost in thought and didn't react at first to the creaking sound of the old barn door. In her mind the sound seemed faraway, unreal. When the noise did register, she would have bolted to the edge of the loft to welcome Noma, but panic's cold fingers gripped her. It might not be Noma, and the visitor might not be welcome.

Pulling her hat down securely, Perry inched her way to the loft's edge. Lying on her stomach, she slid over the stored ladder and pulled herself close enough to peer down at the intruders below.

Three soldiers milled around beneath her. They poked, inspecting the hay, searching every corner of the dusty floor. Luckily not one bothered to look up. With the ladder removed, the tiny loft rose unnoticed in the late-morning shadows. Perry stared at the three blue uniforms moving beneath. Blue! They were wearing blue. Her mind raced. Somehow, since dawn, her haven had changed hands. She was no longer in Southern territory but in Northern-occupied land.

Perry glanced at Hunter, then back at the men below. He had to have a doctor. If she couldn't tell which side he was on, neither could they. The fact that she'd found him hiding should be strong evidence to any Southerner that he was a Yankee.

Scrambling like a mouse at daybreak, she moved across the loft and shoved a small pouch of valuables between two rafters. Her tiny treasures would be safer in this loft than on her body. Then, with a sigh of resolution, she lifted the ladder and shoved it through the opening before she had time to change her mind. Blue or gray, Hunter needed help.

As the ladder hit the floor with a thud, the three men bolted into a defensive action. They moved swiftly and cautiously, with catlike grace. Each showed the skilled training one obtains only with years of practice and war. They wielded their weapons as if the metal were an extension of their arms. The trio seemed more like animals of prey than men. Perry pulled her hat low and set her mind to enlisting their help.

All three were staring, guns cocked, as Perry slowly descended the ladder. Her own personality vanished like an actor's must as he steps into a role with each curtain's rising. "You dirty Yanks haven't started killin' kids yet, have ya?" Perry's voice was low and rough. "Y'all wouldn't want to kill me, anyway. I've done you blue bellies a favor."

She reached the bottom of the ladder, squared her shoulders in the oversize jacket, and faced the men with all her mustered bravery. She kicked at the dust, as she'd often seen young boys do when they spoke to their elders around the churchyard. Perry didn't look the men in the face for fear one might suspect her gender. She cleared her throat. "Like I say, I done you boys a big favor, and I'm hopin' you'll be grateful."

One man, larger and stockier in build than the other two, moved forward. His large bulk seemed caked with enough layers of dirt to cultivate a crop. Perry curled her nose at his odor, but she forced herself to stand firm. The man grunted and smiled with a mouthful of yellowed teeth. "Well, little Johnny Reb, what have you done to make us ail grateful? Did you stay out of the war so we'd have a chance to win?"

His two companions laughed at his joke and lowered their guns. They, too, were dressed in worn, dirty uniforms of faded blue. Both had slim, weasel-like bodies and dull eyes that reflected no love of life. Like men Perry had seen in the South, they'd done too much killing and not enough living.

Perry rubbed her nose on her sleeve and purposefully boasted, "I've been keeping one of your Yankee officers alive all day, sir. Found him nearly dead, I did. Knew he be one of your officers, so I thought somebody might just come lookin' for him. Figured if I kept him alive, there might be somethin' in it for me," she lied.

The huge soldier's eyebrows raised questioningly as he surveyed the room. Perry pointed upward. "He be up there, sir. I figured it was drier. He needs a doctor bad, 'cause he's lost a lot of blood."

The stout soldier motioned for his comrades to watch Perry while he climbed the ladder. Sweat beaded across her forehead as her heart thumped past the minutes. Her hands were in tight fists inside her huge pockets, her right fingers gripping her small knife. If this lie didn't work, maybe she could run for the door. Her heart pounded as she realized what nonsense that would be. A woman with a four-inch knife was no match for three men with guns. If they didn't shoot her, they'd surely discover her to be female in the scuffle. Perry had heard stories of lone women found by soldiers, and these three looked capable of any crime.

A booming voice echoed down the ladder. "The kid's right. There is a wounded man up here. Looks half dead." The stout man appeared at the edge of the loft. "Catch, Jack," he yelled, throwing his rifle down at the same time. "I'll carry him down."

"Fine, Luke," the man who caught the gun answered in a hollow, dead tone. Perry studied the two men before her and realized neither cared if Hunter lived or died. They must see men die daily; one more was of no consequence.

Brusquely descending the steps, the huge man returned with Hunter flung over his shoulder. Perry cringed as blood once more stained the outside of Hunter's dressing. She wanted to yell out for the man named Luke to be careful but was afraid her voice would give too much away. As she saw Hunter's pale face she blinked threatening tears away. How she wanted to comfort him. If only she could tell him that soon he would have a real doctor. If only she could brush the blond hair from his face-but there was no time, and three men were watching.

Luke turned to face Perry as he stepped off the ladder. He seemed unhampered by the burden on his shoulder. "Where's his uniform jacket and cap, kid?" he demanded gruffly.

Swallowing hard, she tried to think of an answer. She lowered her head and kicked at the dirt again. "Well, sir… well," she said, stammering, stalling for time.

"Well, what?" Luke demanded, moving within a foot of her. His breath fouled the air between them.

Perry tried to make her voice whine as she whispered, "I sold 'em to a Negra woman for food." She closed her eyes, praying she sounded convincing. If Hunter was a Union soldier, he would be safe. If not, maybe he could get doctoring before anyone discovered otherwise.

Perry's eyes flew open as she heard the soldier's laugh. "Enterprising little bastard, ain't he, fellows? Sonny, you may come out of this war rich, after all," Luke said, chuckling. "Well, come along with us, Johnny Reb. If this officer of yours does live, maybe you will get somethin' out of it. In the meantime, reckon we've got enough grub in camp to feed the likes of you a meal. Lookin' at those puny arms, I'd say you haven't been fed in weeks."

The other two men glanced at each other, as though wondering why Luke was bothering with a wounded man and a kid, but they didn't seem to find it worth the effort to comment.

With Hunter still folded over his shoulder, Luke moved out of the old barn that had been Hunter's refuge for two days. Perry followed quietly behind the men. She knew they glanced back often to ensure her progress. It would be foolish to run. Where would she go? How could she leave Hunter now without knowing if he lived or died? Her best plan of action seemed to be to follow along, then backtrack when she wasn't being watched. Luke was a gruff fellow, but he cared enough to carry a wounded man to camp, which was more than she could say for the other two.

Conflicting thoughts battled in Perry's mind as her feet plodded in the oversize boots. Maybe the camp wasn't too far from the barn and she could sneak back tomorrow to see if Noma had returned. Surely Noma would wait in the barn, or would she? Perry pictured Noma arriving, finding both Perry and Hunter missing. She wasn't sure Noma would remember to go to Granddad's old place. As one mile turned into another, then another, Perry planned.

Cannon fire rumbled around her in low moans. At first it seemed as harmless as the thin trails of smoke that drifted slowly into the clouds. Then the smell of impending death blended with the odor of a campfire. Early spring was paled by the winter of war.

Bodies scattered like litter beside the muddy path. They lay as a silent reminder of earlier battles. Blue and gray, with their blood blending together in death. Ragged, ghostlike characters knelt over the remains. Whether they were mourning or robbing, Perry could only wonder. Somehow the vulture or mourner brought the same sadness to her. The sight of the twisted bodies only strengthened her determination to help Hunter. She was a fighter and she'd fight to the death for this man who'd touched her soul with his gray eyes. Somehow for her there was nothing left but this one quest. If she lost it, she'd snap and vanish as quickly as the puffs of smoke from a gun blast.

His bandage was bright red now, and his face the yellowy paleness of lye soap. As she moved closer to check his breathing, they entered a clearing and the temporary Union camp. She looked up and froze for a moment. The Stars and Stripes flew above them. She hadn't seen a Union flag in years, but after her long walk it was somehow a homecoming sight.

Luke marched past the tents and mess wagon to the back of the clearing. Perry had no choice but to follow. The campgrounds melted into a shady, wooded area. Wounded men lay everywhere under the shade of the trees. Most were asleep or unconscious. A few moaned or cried in pain. Perry's heart ached for them. She could hardly bear to look at the field of suffering surrounding her. Men were bleeding where limbs had been torn from them. The dying were all around, and no one was helping to ease their pain. Perry wondered how Hunter could possibly be better off here than in the loft. At least there he could die in silence, without the stench of rotting flesh around him. He could sleep until death without the cries of another's agony ringing in his ears.

Luke bellowed at a lone man moving among the bodies. "Where's the doctor?" he inquired.

The thin, overworked soldier moved toward them. His limp was pronounced and his slow stride showed exhaustion. His voice was dull and lifeless. "Doc left just before the last battle with a load of wounded. I'm the orderly in charge till he returns." As he spoke, he lifted Hunter's head with only passing interest. "Anyway, this one probably won't make it till Doc gets back. Put him over there with the worst." He pointed with his bony finger.

Perry guessed the orderly was too old to serve as a soldier and wasn't particularly fond of his duties among the wounded. How could they assign such an uncaring man to this job? But then she realized the position would drive a caring man mad.

Luke nodded to the old man and motioned for Perry to follow. She admired the way Luke had carried Hunter all this way, seemingly unmindful of the extra load. His stockiness was due to a wealth of muscles. Though she noticed his two companions had complained several times during the walk and dropped in exhaustion as soon as they'd entered camp, Luke hadn't said a word about his burden.

They moved among the dying men until Luke found an empty spot near the edge of the clearing. He laid Hunter next to a large elm, showing more gentleness than Perry thought him capable of. Turning to Perry, he said, "You can stay with him if you'd like, kid, but don't see much use myself. About dark, if you wander back over to that mess tent, I'll see you get some grub."

As she knelt beside Hunter in the grassy shade Perry nodded and muttered, "Thanks." She watched Luke pick his way through the wounded and disappear into the distance. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on the damp grass. What a mess she was in! Perry had never felt so lost. A few days ago Captain Williams had issued orders for her arrest, and now she found herself surrounded by Union troops.

Hunter's bandage was blood-soaked and dirty, his face ghost-white beneath sweaty blond hair.

The old orderly moved toward her, a half-filled bucket of water sloshing at his side and a ledger book under his arm. Setting the bucket at Hunter's head, he opened the ledger. "Kid, you know this soldier's name?" he asked without interest.

Perry nodded as she drew the dipper from the bucket and gently lifted Hunter's head to give him a drink. "Hunter Kirkland is his name. He needs a doctor bad," she blurted in one breath.

The old man scribbled in the ledger book as he shook his head. "Ain't no doctor around, I already told you. I got me hands full with nearly fifty wounded to care for. You'll have to tend him best you can. You're welcome to use any bandages you find over yonder in the wagon." He waved his bony hand in the general direction of a supply wagon. "But as for me, I'm not wastin' my time on any that looks as bad off as him." He rumbled with an ugly chuckle. "I hear tell there's a Johnny Reb sawbones over among the prisoners, but any man'd be better off dead than to let one of them boys work on him."

Perry fought off the quick surge of defensiveness that filled her. When she made no reply, the old man closed his ledger and moved away.

For a few minutes Perry sat like stone. Hunter was dying, and she'd done nothing to help him. She was miles away from Noma and not sure she could locate the barn again, even if she did find a way to slip back. She had no friend to turn to, and her only valuables were hidden away in the barn loft.

Hunter's low moaning jerked Perry back from self-pity. His head moved slowly from side to side, each moan tearing at the roots of her heart. With a sense of urgency she ran to the wagon and rummaged for bandages and blankets. To her surprise there seemed an abundant supply. She thought of her brother and how he'd written about the shortage of supplies in I^ee's army. This war seemed so unfair.

Minutes later she returned, loaded with a blanket and fresh bandages. For more than an hour she worked to make Hunter more comfortable. First she removed the dusty, blood-soaked wrappings and gently bathed the swollen flesh, now more infected than before. She rubbed the damp rag over his chest and face, hoping to cool him down. Carefully she wrapped his shoulder in clean cloth and covered him with the blanket. Hunter's hand covered her own as she pulled the blanket across his chest. He was now in too much pain to speak or open his eyes, but the feel of her hand within his relaxed him as no medicine could. His breathing slowed and he slept, now much weaker from loss of blood than before he'd been moved.

Perry sat back, exhausted, as the sun melted into the hills to her left. Men silently moved in the twilight, building small fires among the wounded. As more men returned to the camp, Perry noticed several helping the wounded around her.

The last rays of daylight disappeared. Smelling the cook fires, she felt strong hunger pains batting like crows in the pit of her stomach. She decided to follow the smell to the mess tent. Reluctantly she moved away from Hunter toward the campfire in the center of the clearing. Without much effort she found Luke squatting by the fire with a mug in one huge hand. He smiled at her and signaled her to fill a plate. He was the only one who paid any attention to her as she filled a tin with beans and bread. The meal wasn't much to tempt the taste buds, but in her famished state, any food would seem wonderful.

Moving to the edge of the campfire light, Perry devoured the meal like a hungry animal. Wiping her fingers on her pant leg, she smiled at her own behavior. She was a far cry from the Southern lady she'd been raised to be.

A shadow moved between her and the fire. Perry stared up at the black outline in the darkness, every muscle tense as the huge, blackened form moved toward her. She slowly pushed her hand into her pocket and gripped the knife. The mountain of blackness stood above her, only a foot away when he spoke. "Get enough to eat, boy?" Luke inquired, his face entirely hidden in darkness.

Perry let out a long breath and relaxed her grip on the knife. As she nodded, she decided maybe Luke wasn't as evil as she had first marked him to be. After all, he'd carried Hunter to camp. Maybe he'd help again. She ventured a question. "Sir, the orderly says there's a Confederate doctor in camp. Think you could get him to look at my officer? Reckon I'll never get nothin' if he up and dies on me."

Luke chuckled. "Don't see any harm in asking, kid. But are you sure you trust a Confederate doctor not to butcher him up even worse?"

Perry bit her bottom lip before replying softly, "Way I see it… he's gonna die if n he don't get some doctoring. Might as well take the chance."

Luke nodded. "All right, kid. I'll check around. You go on back to your soldier and I'll meet with you later. And by the way, if I ever get shot in this damn war, I hope you find me." He disappeared, making her blink as the firelight danced where he'd stood.

She stood and moved unnoticed back toward Hunter. Small fires placed every thirty feet between the wounded did little to add warmth or light. There was no mistaking the foul smell of dying as she walked among these men. The orderly had placed a blanket over each patient. Perry carefully edged toward the huge elm, knowing its shadow lay across Hunter.

Within a few feet from where she had left him, Perry glanced up from the path to observe a man kneeling over Hunter's body. He was a large black man with one arm in a sling. Light played across his face from the fire a few feet away. The firelight also reflected the gold disk he turned in his fingers. Hunter's disk. Perry's emotions exploded as she realized Hunter was about to be robbed of his only possession.

In one animallike spring she threw her body full force into the bulk of the black man, throwing him backward into the brush. Catching him off-guard, Perry plunged her arms and legs into his mass on the ground. She fought wildly. The man groaned in pain and shielded himself with his good arm.

"You filthy Yankee. Stealin' from a dying man. May your soul rot in hell. You scum." Perry spit out the words as she continued to rain blows on him.

Slowly one huge arm encircled her small waist and pulled her down. Using a leg to still her kicks, the black man pinned her to the ground. "Stop. Enough," he said in an educated voice that shocked her.

Perry stopped. He could break her back with a little more pressure.

"I don't know who you are, or what Hunter is to you, but I assure you, I wasn't stealing from him. I was only trying to make sure of his identity in the darkness, without forcing his face to the light. He's my commanding officer and my friend." With this the black man released her legs and pulled her into a sitting position. He studied her quietly for a moment as Perry quickly stuffed loose strands of hair back up under her hat. "The orderly said a dirty kid came into camp with Hunter. Said the boy nursed him all afternoon." The emphasis he put on the word boy left no doubt that he knew her secret. "What's your name, boy?" he asked quietly, amusement in his voice.

Perry stared directly into his eyes. She might as well use her own name; it was a boy's, anyway. "I'm Perry, and I found this here Yankee almost dead."

"Pleased to meet you, Perry. I'm Abram Johnson. I thank you for helping my friend. I owe my life many times over to him." Abram spoke as an equal to Hunter, not as a slave.

Suddenly his name registered in her memory. "Abram. That's the name Hunter kept saying, 'Hold on Abram.' You must be the one he keeps calling for.''

Abram nodded. She saw kindness in his smile as he looked toward Hunter's sleeping form. "We were separated during a storm. We're balloon surveyors. We were up, just over into Confederate territory, when the storm broke. The cable holding us snapped, then the wire whipped into us mightily and tore Hunter's shoulder wide open. I was thrown out and Hunter tried to pull me back in the basket, but with his shoulder hurt, it's a wonder he held himself in. I landed safe enough in a muddy field, but Hunter drifted another few miles with our balloon, the Northern Star. I'd about given up hope he was alive."

Both were silent for a moment as understanding passed between them. Both knew the other desperately wanted Hunter to live. Abram had been impressed by the small woman's fire as she'd fought for Hunter, and Perry could almost see the intensity of Abram's feelings toward his friend.

Abram offered his hand. "Thank you for helping Hunter. Let me know if I can return the favor.''

Raising her hand slowly, she looked past Abram and noticed Luke's form moving toward them. Quickly she leaned close to Abram and whispered, "There's the soldier who found us and brought us here. I sent him after a doctor in the prisoner camp."

Both turned to watch Luke's approach. Perry's tears reflected the firelight in the warm brown depths of her eyes. Luke was alone! She knew without asking that no doctor was coming. Her hope for Hunter dimmed. Abram, watching her out of the corner of his eye, saw the pain she felt.

"You want Hunter to live very badly, don't you?" Abram whispered.

Before Perry could answer, Luke waved toward them. Abram stood to address him. "The kid said you were bringing a doctor."

Luke frowned. "Wouldn't come, said he had all he could handle with what we shot up of his men."

Perry's heart sank as he continued, "Don't know as it would do any good to try and push him. Might end your friend's sufferin' earlier. Besides, the redheaded bastard hates Yankees. He took great delight in tellin' me where to go for just suggestin' he leave his men and come doctor one of us."

Perry's heart quickened for a moment. The doctor was redheaded. Could her brother be the Confederate doctor Luke had talked with? She hadn't seen Andrew for so long, but she'd heard he was near. Could he be this close?

"Sorry about him, boy." Luke shook his head and moved away.

Perry stepped forward, timidly reaching to touch Luke's arm. "Did ya get the doctor's name, sir?"

"Nope, didn't see it mattered none, anyway," Luke replied with a wave of his mighty hand.

As soon as Luke was out of sight, Perry turned to Abram, her face filled with hope. "I may know the doctor. Abram, he'd come if he knew I was here. You've got to get to him and ask him to help." Perry realized how desperate she sounded to this huge black man. All Perry knew of Abram was that he called Hunter his friend. Her only prayer lay in a hope that he cared a great deal about Hunter's life.

Abram backed off, skeptical of her plot. "First I need a few answers before I get in league with the likes of you. You're no boy, but I guess I can understand why you'd want to hide that. Also, your speech goes from being illiterate to refined. You give me some answers and I'll decide whether to trust you."

Perry plopped in an unladylike manner beside Hunter's sleeping form and waited for Abram to join her. She had no choice but to trust Abram. He knew too much already, so why not?

Softly she began her story of the past three days. She described to him how she had burned her fields to keep the Yankees from getting her crops. In so doing, she'd marked herself for hanging as a traitor. When she told of walking for a day and night before finding the barn and discovering Hunter, Perry omitted Noma from her story. She might have to trust this man, but Noma could remain unknown. In this small way Perry felt she was protecting Noma. She ended by telling him the redheaded doctor might be her brother, Andrew.

Unshed tears floated in her brown eyes as she whispered, "You have to swear to tell no one who I am or that I'm a woman. If the doctor is Andrew, I know he'll come when he finds out I'm here."

Both were silent for several minutes before Abram spoke. "I'll keep your secret. Don't want to do you any more harm than this war has already done you. Appears to me you're in need of a friend, and I do owe you something. But for God's sake, don't go jumping on anyone else; one feel of you gives you away as a girl."

Perry blushed as Abram continued. "I'll go have a talk with the doctor, and if he's your brother, maybe I can convince him to take a look at Hunter." With this resolution Abram stood and dusted his blue uniform. "Don't know what Captain Williams would have to say about this if he got wind of it.''

Perry's heart turned to ice inside her breast. "Captain Williams?"

Abram nodded. "He's the officer here, though he spends most of his time chasing traitors." His last words were a whisper as he looked into Perry's frightened face. "He's the one after you, isn't he?"

There was no need for Perry to answer. Abram was making a statement, not asking a question.

"Stay with Hunter, boy." Again he placed the emphasis on the word boy. "We'll see about Hunter, then worry about getting you out of this place fast. I don't want to think what Captain Williams would do if he caught you here." Abram walked away, shaking his head.

Perry tried to curl into the darkness behind Hunter. Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to run. Somehow she'd walked right into Williams's hands. He'd never seen her, and she wasn't sure she'd know him if he walked up. All she knew about him was from what she'd heard, and it was all bad. She'd been told he was handsome enough, except for a small scar over one eye and a love for hanging Southerners.

The evening grew cooler as the hours passed. She spread out on the ground a foot from Hunter, longing for the privacy they'd had in the loft. Tired and frightened, she longed to move nearer and feel Hunter's touch along her flesh. As her eyelids grew heavy, Perry placed a protective arm over Hunter's undamaged shoulder.

Finally sleep covered her, and she became oblivious to everything around her. She no longer heard the moans of the wounded or the soft hoof falls of horses against the muddy ground as the camp's officers arrived.