Chapter 10: Caroline

Seth sat quietly beside Jefferson rubbing his wrists and flexing his cramped fingers. The trooper lay sprawled on his back with his arms extended. He did not seem to be breathing.

"Didn' mean to hit him so hard," whispered Jefferson, still holding an ax handle in his huge fist. "We jus' sort'a run together at the corner there. He turned an' I whacked him. I heered you comin' up the hill, Seth."

The boy put his ear to the man's chest. "He's not dead, Jefferson. His heart's still thumping."

"What we gonna do wif him?"

"Don't know. Maybe we should ask Mr. French."

"He's in town. Went Sattidy an' hain't come home yet. We's all worried 'bout him. There's trouble. We heerd shootin' an' there were some smoke comin' from over near the Pike a while back." Jefferson waved his ax handle toward the southwest, in the direction of Seth's home.

"We could tie him up and put him in the barn," suggested Seth, trying not to think about his mother and hoping to remember what they did with prisoners in the Walter Scott books. "Or we could drag him back down into the woods and leave him there."

"Drag who into what woods?" demanded Caroline French as she rounded the corner of the barn and almost stepped on the soldier's hand. "Gah!" she said, and she jumped back as if she had seen a copperhead snake. "Who is that, and what happened to him? An' what in the world are you doing here, Seth?"

"Long story, Caroline." Seth nudged the man with his toe. "He's a Rebel soldier, a scout, and Jefferson knocked him out with that ax handle."

"I don't believe it!" said the girl who moved back another step when Wainder's foot twitched. "Not a word of it, Seth Williams." Then she looked at Jefferson and asked, "Did you really hit him?"

"Yes'm, Miss Caroline, I surely did. He was plannin' on hurtin' Seth here, chasin' him, so I stopped him." He clamped his lips together and looked worried. "Didn't 'tend to hit him so hard."

"We were thinking of tying him up and putting him in the barn. Would your father mind?"

Caroline stared at Seth as though she had never seen him before. Was this the same boy she had known since they both were eight? The boy who rode to school in her wagon day after day and never said "boo" to her? The same one who had gotten in fights by being called a Reb by some and a Lincoln-lover by others? The daydreamer and story teller?

"Goodness," she said, holding back her long hair as she leaned down toward the supine Wainder. "I don't know. Shouldn't we try to do something for this poor man? And Seth, you're bleeding all over the place. My goodness."

"I've got to get home. Jefferson says there was a fire over that way. And then maybe get down to Washington, to the forts. I know some things, important things. And I got to go see my mother 'cause she'll be worried about me. I've been traveling with this Reb here since dinnertime yesterday."

"Miss Caroline," said Jefferson quietly as the girl shook her head. "I believe him. This feller a'laying here says he's tellin' the truth. Seth was tied; I loosed him, cut him free."

"This man isn't even dressed like a soldier. Well," she looked from Jefferson to Seth and down to the man at her feet. "All right, let's put him in the barn. I'm going to get some stuff to put on those cuts."

Caroline turned with a swish of her long skirt and ran back toward the French's large, white farmhouse. Seth and Jefferson hoisted the unconscious soldier by his shoulders and feet and half-carried, half-dragged him onto some hay in the barn. One of Wainder's eyes popped open when they moved him, and Seth tried not to look at it. Jefferson tied the man's hands and feet with some cord and then placed his callused hand on the man's chest for a minute or so. He rose with a more worried look.