"… Call Me Eldon, Please."

By Bill MacWithey

A man before his time, Eldon MacCauley, after being wounded in a Civil War battle in which all his comrades are killed, is nursed back to health by a farmers adopted daughter. Although she confesses her love for him, he must flee the killing. On his way west, not only does he rescue a young, starving black boy from a tyrant master, but leads a wagon train of freed slaves to Texas to start a new life.

Going against all conventions of the day, the young Scottish immigrant sees racial hatred as a terrible sin, and being a man of not only huge proportions, but also large ideas, through trials and tribulations he carves out a place for himself and his charges. Over many years, he never forgets the woman in West Virginia who saved his life and fell in love with him. One day, he must somehow repay her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 29, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462841288

Bill MacWithey

Bill MacWithey has written many articles and columns on everything from writing to politics. A political advisor and newspaper columnist for 15 years, he conducts fiction writing seminars and teaches creative writing in adult education programs. With fourteen novels in various genres to his credit, Bill MacWithey is one of today’s most prolific authors.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Far Western West Virginia—1864

Yesterday, cattle grazed on thick green grass, surrounded by a neat, painstakingly erected rail fence. The only sounds disturbing the tranquillity of the countryside were the birds hunting for their first meal of the day and an occasional bawling calf. The blue spruce, bending slightly in the light breeze, reached unparalleled heights, undisturbed by man since their birth. Blooming honeysuckle wound its way around the entire length of the fence and added its distinct sweet fragrance to the odor of pines. Deer roamed freely and safely in the surrounding forest, they too, undisturbed by man. But, that was yesterday.

Today, as the sky began to lighten, what should have been a pastoral setting worthy of the finest artist’s brush had become a death-filled horror from one’s worst nightmare. The carcass of man and beast lay side by side in the two hundred-acre-meadow, a tribute to man’s stupidity of making war on one another. On opposing sides of the wide, grassy slope, the neat rail fence lay blasted into scattered kindling. The pines beyond were felled or charred to burned bark and bare, broken limbs. Some fifteen hours earlier, cannon fired back and forth across the meadow, musket fire rattled endlessly and the screams of dying men and animals alike, filled the small valley.

Now, as the sun made its way above the horizon behind the forest, total silence. Not a bird calling to its mate or a bawling calf crying out for its mother. The sounds of both nature and battle muted by death. Only a few ribbon-thin trails of smoke drifted skyward to alert the distant observer of last evening’s carnage. Huge, silent birds soared high overhead, circling above the corpse-littered meadow, amidst the thick forest of the West Virginia countryside.

Eldon awakened to the quickening light in the eastern sky and a pounding pain in his head. Lying on his back, he stared straight up, trying to make sense of where he was and what had happened. The drumming in his head was unbearable. When he rolled onto his side in an effort to get up, the light hurt his eyes and a sharp pain shot up through his leg, all the way up to his side. Eldon gasped loudly, then groaned, while rapidly blinking his eyes, trying to shake the pain from his head. Falling back onto the bed of pine needles, his breath seemed not to want to pass through his throat. The pain was nearly paralyzing, and he tried to focus on the leg to see why it hurt so badly. But his eyes refused to cooperate. He needed water to calm the burning in his throat. The inside of his mouth felt as if it was made of leather.

Eldon’s thoughts were a jumble of horrible pictures, his breath came in rapid, short gasps, and the fire in his leg nearly caused him to faint. Not yet able to remember where he was or what had happened to him, Eldon was overcome by panic and fear. Finally, he managed to drag himself to the trunk of a burned tree and force his body to a sitting position, aware that he was dying. What had happened? He held his hands tightly against his temples, trying to stop the pain, thudding like a blacksmith’s hammer with every heartbeat. Where was his canteen?

He was unaware how long he sat against the charred bark, trying to control his breathing and ignore the pain, before his vision began to clear. Then, he wished it hadn’t. When he looked uphill, where the fence and Union cannon were the previous evening, he quickly turned his head away, covered his eyes with his arm and cried out loudly. My, God! Oh, my, God! Tears streamed from his eyes, as the battle came back in all its fury. Again, his breath was but agonizing gasps that hurt his throat and chest. But, he finally had to look back up the hill from where the explosion of his own cannon powder had thrown him.

Where his comrades bravely fought, there was but a jumbled mass of fence, shattered cannon and their carriages, mangled horse carcasses and human remains. He stared, transfixed, at the torso of a Union soldier, draped over the broken wheel of a gun carriage. The soldier’s upper body was impaled on a broken spoke, his eyes and mouth wide open, as if in horror or disbelief. Eldon threw his head to the side and vomited.

Now, remembering what had taken place, the thought suddenly occurred that someone else might still be alive. He had to drag himself uphill and through the tangled, frightening mess, though he would rather travel away from this madness. Eldon was frightened that he might be all alone out here in the middle of nowhere and prayed he would find at least one other soul still alive. But, after an hour of painful crawling amongst the bodies, his search was in vain. He was indeed alone. And there were no canteens to be found. They had disappeared along with his fellow soldiers.

Sitting against a carriage wheel, he stared out across the meadow. Bodies in blue and bodies in gray littered the two hundred acres from side to side, their weapons tossed about in disarray by the fierce cannon fire.

Eldon’s thoughts turned to the creek his company had crossed some fifteen minutes before reaching this place. If he was to survive, he had to have water. How far was it? He shook his head, squinting his eyes, trying to think clearly. Perhaps he could use a musket as a crutch. The sun moved ever higher in the sky, hurting his eyes, and he realized they had likely been burned by the furious explosion.

Still somewhat in a fog of unreality, he was afraid to try a first step. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks—not only from the pain of his wounded body, but from the pain in his heart, as well. He wiped a filthy sleeve across his eyes as he sobbed, threw his head back and screamed, My God, why did you let this happen? Then, in a quiet, chopking voice asked, Why did they make me do this? He asked it over and over, as he slowly made his way toward the trees, leaving the carnage behind. One last look across the field of pitiful corpses. He had to remove himself from this horror. What had it gained anyone? Nothing left of either army but rotting flesh to fertilize the meadow and make it green once more.

Stumbling down the slight incline one pain wracked step at a time, using a musket for a crutch, he was but half-aware of what he was doing or where he was going. Then, he fell to his knees in front of the shattered wooden barrel. The cask held scant water at its bottom, but it sufficed to cool the parched lining of his throat. He scooped the water up in his hands and sucked it into his mouth. The powder smoke of the two-hour killing frenzy had burned his lungs and charred his throat to make swallowing excruciatingly painful.

The smoke seemed still to cling to everything. He had to work his way between the felled trees, broken limbs and additional victims of the furious artillery barrage, which had come their way.

If he could but make it back to the creek . . . He was sure his company had crossed a creek shortly before encountering the enemy. Perhaps some of the horses fled there for water. Maybe the few soldiers who ran from the battle in panic were at the creek. Had the cannon caught up with their cowardice? His head hurt. His vision blurred again, and he fell to the ground. Now, on hands and knees, he crawled in the direction of the creek, dragging the musket and the bag containing the makings of death—powder, wadding and forty caliber balls.

His hands and knees bleeding from the torture of the sharp rocks, he reached out with his huge hands, grasped the trunk of a small tree and slowly regained his feet. For a time, he rested, wondering if the fog was real, or if he was dying. He had to get to the creek. Once more, he staggered forward.

The last thing of which he was aware was falling face first into the water and the good feeling of floating in coolness. The battle disappeared. The corpses, the stench, the cannon thrown on their sides, the blood soaked ground, the vultures—all disappeared. He was at peace.

* * *

When eighteen-year-old Eldon MacCauley opened his eyes to darkness, he screamed out, Blind! My God, I'm blind! As tears again filled his eyes, he saw the million tiny dots of blurred light. He rose to a sitting position and found himself in the muddy bottom at creek's edge. His throat no longer burned. He tentatively sniffed the air. Only the scent of pine needles. Had it all been some terrible dream? A soft, cool breeze gently ruffled the leaves of the sycamore and cypress trees hugging the banks of the small stream. The sweet smell of greenness, of grass and pine needles, floated on the air. He laughed the laugh of insanity and splashed his hands in the water to see if it was real. Eldon cupped his hands in the water and brought them to his mouth. Then, he looked around, listening intently, hoping he wasn't alone. His hopes were dashed by the nothingness of utter silence, save the sound of the wind in the surrounding trees.

Eldon ran his hand down his leg to the bandage the doctor had wrapped around it after cutting away his pant leg. The bandage was there, along with the pain. He hadn’t dreamed it. As Eldon fingered the bandage enveloping his knee and upper leg, he thought about the doctor. That brave soul had just finished wrapping his leg when he ran toward another wounded man, and the cannon fire hit. The doctor was no longer there—just gone! Only a shallow crater in the reddish clay soil, a monument to his bravery. The doctor had moved rapidly from one wounded man to another, as enemy cannon continued to explode all around. Lest he drive himself insane with the pictures of death, Eldon knew he must put it from his mind.

After calling upon the last of his strength to force his way up the shallow embankment, he sat with his back against a tree and listened carefully for the nicker or footsteps of a horse. Then, he whistled several times, hoping a horse would come to see who called. None did. It seemed he would be forced to walk or crawl away from the killing ground. But, to where? Eldon knew he must be delirious, when he laughed uncontrollably. The irony of it—conscripted into this war that wasn’t his fight—now, the only survivor of this horrible battle.

Eldon’s head hung down, his eyes closed and he dreamed of the young Scot lad signing onto a ship in Liverpool as a cabin boy, then jumping ship in New York Harbor. He awakened suddenly in the middle of the dream, but it continued in his wakefulness. How long ago did he board the ship? Three years? Two? Four? Again, he knew he must have been cursed into insanity when he laughed at his inability to think straight.

Eldon’s mind wandered, and he thought back to his first encounter with the enemy. The men in gray had been vastly outnumbered and ran away after a brief skirmish. But, not this time. Neither side was willing to concede their position or admit defeat. It seemed each side in this battle was determined to commit suicide to destroy the enemy. And, in the end, it seemed their wish had been granted. Perhaps those who ran away and would be branded cowards were the smartest among the combatants.

There would be no more war for Eldon MacCauley. He had a musket, powder, ammunition. All he needed was a horse. He would head for the frontier. That had been his plan when he started working in the New York City shoe factory. He would work only long enough to buy a gun, a saddle and a horse, with a few dollars left over for sustenance. The frontier—Oklahoma Territory—or California, that’s where the makings of fortune lie. But the War Between The States was growing, and every able-bodied man, citizen or not, was expected to fight for the North or the South. Now, if the good Lord allowed him to recover from his wounds, he must be about his original plan.

Eldon lay back on the grass and again closed his eyes. As he thought about all he’d read in the letter his friend sent back to Scotland from a place called St. Louis, Missouri, he fell asleep. The sound of crickets was replaced by his mother’s sweet lullabies. His last conscious thought was that his face was on fire.

* * *

YOU ALIVE, BOY?

The loud, gruff voice jarred him awake. Eldon tried to rise, but couldn’t. Fire and pain enveloped his entire left side, and he could breath only with great effort.

Another voice said, He’s alive, but maybe not fer long.

Again the gruff voice. Put ‘im in a wagon and get ‘im outa here.

Yet another voice, Yas, Suh. Lor . . . dee, he shore be a big un, don’t he, massa.

Eldon was barely aware of being roughly dropped into a wagon, then bouncing for what seemed like forever along a rutted trail. Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out if he was being taken north or south. What did the rebels do with prisoners? He’d heard some frightening stories about prisoners being tortured to death. Eldon prayed that the people hauling him away would be Yankees. But the voice had called the first speaker Massa.

The pain in his entire body was so intense, it seemed the tortuous jarring about on the rough boards of the wagon would never end. But finally, the wagon stopped, and he was carried into a house and laid on a bed. Then he lapsed into darkness once more, surprisingly peaceful in the knowledge that he was dying. And it hadn’t even been his war.

But there was no peace in sleep. The war raged on. The battle which had killed so many began anew. Men screamed for their mothers. Blood splattered across his face when his mate was hit squarely in the head with a ball from a rebel gun. As a man fell at the gun position just in front of him, he rose up from his hiding place behind a fallen tree to aid the crew. His leg went out from under him, and pain shot throughout his body as he fell to the ground, screaming. The gun and its crew disappeared in a blinding flash when their powder supply received a direct hit. Eldon screamed out for it to stop! Then, everything was blackness again.

* * *

His eyes popped open, and he was aware he wasn’t alone. An angel hovered over him. The bright light made him squint.

In a definite Irish lilt, the angel said, Let me quickly close the shutters. The day is terrible bright. Do you still feel great pain, Sir?

What manner of speech for an angel? He’d heard it before . . . in his homeland. Was heaven, after all, a place like Scotland? Who are you?

My Mother’s American husband brought you from the battle. He be the baron of the land where you fought.

I’m not dead? I’ve not gone to heaven?

The face smiled, then laughed softly. My adopted father would say it be heaven. No, it is not in the Lord’s Heaven you be. Would you be hungry?

Yes . . . yes, I’m very hungry.

The mutton bullion should be just the thing for healing your wounds. You have been burning with a fever. Do not try to move. I’ll return shortly. Before he could ask anything further, she hurried from the room.

Eldon glanced about and realized this was no ordinary home. The expensive papering on the wall was like that he’d glimpsed in a wealthy farmer’s mansion once, when his company had camped on the farmer’s land. And the furniture was more than a simple straw bed and night basin. The bed on which he lay looked to be carved from cherry, and the comfort of the fine feather filled mattress was more than he’d ever known. The balance of the furniture in the large room matched the bed. Finely woven curtains hung over glass windows. A stand holding a pitcher, a washbasin and a towel matched the giant chest of drawers.

Suddenly, he was overcome by a wave of panic. Why had they brought him here? Was he south of the battle, or to the north? Or was the baron of this land neutral in the conflict? Surely, he must be a Christian man to have retrieved him from death and brought him to such a fine featherbed. His thoughts were interrupted by the girl’s return.

She placed a fine china bowl on the small table next to the bed and helped him to a semi-sitting position, tucking extra pillows behind his back. Then, she did the unthinkable. She tried to spoonfeed him. He’d have none of that!

Miss, I am capable of feeding myself.

She quickly handed him the spoon and set the bowl in his lap. Her actions and voice betrayed her nervousness at his outburst. Please forgive me, Sir. I only meant to help.

Eldon closed his eyes momentarily and was immediately sorry he’d been so rude. She was a slight person, and probably a few years older than he. At age eighteen, Eldon stood six feet and seven inches, weighed two hundred, sixty pounds and measured broad across the shoulders. He must seem a giant to this wee, small lady.

Working in the fields of his father’s tenant farm in Scotland had built huge muscles on Eldon’s large frame. His size had many times been a blessing, saving him from having to fight. The lower east side of New York City was a tough place to live. Of course, some fools, especially when drunk, had to tackle the largest man in sight to prove their own manhood. Eldon had never lost a fight, but had many times worried he would be shot in the back by someone, who could not face him man to man.

Even though still bloodshot, his deep blue eyes seemed to smile as he apologized. I’m so sorry, miss. I should not have been so rude. Please forgive me?

She smiled broadly and fluttered around his bed to prop the pillows up behind him once more. Then she laid her hand on his forehead. You are having a good bit of fever, still.

Suddenly a dreadful thought struck him. Perhaps her father had saved him because he saw a big man to wed his rather plain daughter, and at the same time, become a slave to work on his farm. And, once trapped, her father could hold it over him that he was a deserter and could be shot or hanged at any time. The thought of it all made him nauseous. As pleasant as this place was, he would have to escape as soon as possible.

Was he a deserter? Eldon supposed he was. Would the Yankee army find him, tie him to a fence post and shoot him? He’d heard of such. For now, he would be nice to this lady. But when he was healed some and the chance came, he would make his escape.

* * *

Over the next weeks, it seemed the young woman had no duty as important as tending to him. She fed him breakfast, lunch and dinner in his room, and usually brought her own food along to keep him company while he ate. She re-dressed his wound every day after washing it thoroughly and soaking it in iodine. Eldon hovered somewhere between being well and being half-sick for days. Then, the fever took hold of him for sure, and after three days, Eldon knew he was finally going to die. He was unaware of the young woman being in the room most of the time. And, he didn’t know she had stripped him naked and kept towels soaked in cold well water covering his body to lower the fever. For five days he lay thusly, drifting in and out of a semiconscious fog. Even when he managed to keep his eyes open for a time, all he saw was shadows.

But finally, the fever eased. When, for the first time, he could see her well he thought, My God, I don’t even know her name. His voice was raspy, and it hurt his throat to speak, but he managed to get out, What is your name, Miss?

My name is Sarah, Sir. And may I ask the same of you?

Eldon . . . Eldon MacCauley.

She clasped her hands in front of her, smiled broadly and said, Ah, Eldon MacCauley. That be a fine name, Mister MacCauley. It is so good to see you feeling better.

Sarah continued to spend most of every day with him. They talked of their homelands and how each happened to be in America. Eldon could feel his body slowly mending, feeling stronger each day.

He told Sarah of his plans to buy a horse and saddle and head for the frontier and how those plans were interrupted by his being dragged, against his wishes, into this terrible war. Sarah told him of journeying to America as a three-year-old with her mother. The American her mother married had paid their passage from Scotland. It had been an arranged marriage.

After weeks of staying in bed or sitting in a chair most of the day, Eldon could handle it no longer. With Sarah protesting that he might reopen his wound, he began taking short walks about the farm to strengthen his leg. All this time, he saw her stepfather and stepbrother a number of times, but they ignored him, as if he were as transparent as a freshly cleaned windowpane.

Two months after being wounded, he took his longest walk yet. Always, Eldon was accompanied by the kind, caring Sarah. As his leg became stronger, and he no longer felt dizzy each time he stood, Eldon could think of little but running away to the frontier. He had to escape whatever plans her father had for him, and also get far enough away from the war, that he wouldn’t be shot as a deserter. As they topped a rise this morning, he saw his salvation far below in the valley. A railroad! Sarah, what is that railroad?

That’s the railroad that runs to Cumberland to the left, and Harrisburg to the right. Being that you fought with the Yankees, I shouldn’t ride it to Cumberland.

He looked at her quizzically. What do you mean? Why do you think I would be riding the railroad?

The look of sadness on her face brought on an immediate attack of guilt for all the times he’d worried about being trapped with her forever. For the first time, he assessed her as a woman. Sarah was a full foot and a half shorter than himself. Her hair was typical Irish—medium red, and she kept it braided and wound about her head. She was not unpleasant to look at, but was not what one would call pretty.

Sarah stared down at the ground and twisted her hands together nervously. Now, Mister MacCauley, I know you are anxious to get away from here. But you must wait ‘til you are fit enough. She never looked up at him, but raised her eyes to stare at the rails winding amongst the trees in the narrow valley below.

It seemed he had been filled with guilt since first being aware of Sarah in the room with him, two months earlier. He took her tiny hand in his and was surprised to find there was pleasure in doing so. It was the first contact of this sort they’d had. Sarah, I’m truly sorry. You are a good woman. One a man would be proud to have for his own. But, I cannot stay. I’m a deserter. I’ve thought not of going back to the army to fight again . . . only to escape the madness of it. And, I cannot stay here. You do understand?

Sarah nodded and looked down at the huge hand holding hers. When will you be leaving, Mister MacCauley?

You wouldn’t tell your stepfather, would you?

Now, she raised her head and stared directly into his beautiful blue eyes. His sandy brown hair had grown to the point of ringlets of curl tumbling down his forehead. She smiled broadly, and though Eldon had not known the love of a woman in his young life, he recognized the love in her eyes.

I’d not do anything to hurt you, Mister MacCauley. Certainly, I’d not tell my stepfather. He’d likely turn you over to the army. I will help you escape this place, Mister MacCauley. Would that I would be going with you.

It would be tempting to take you along, Sarah. I know how trapped you must feel. But I might be runnin’ hard to escape. If I’d had a horse, I would have been gone before.

The sadness in her voice showed, as she once again lowered her eyes to escape his seeing the moisture there. Do you feel up to riding, Mister MacCauley?

Yes, I believe so. He quickly added, Due only to your excellent nursing. But I have not the means to obtain a horse. Seven months in the Yankee’s army, and not once have I been paid a pence.

Sarah turned away to hide the tears that eased from her eyes and made their way slowly down her cheeks. She quickly wiped at them with her hands and tried to hide the tears in her voice. Mister MacCauley, my mother left me a sizable inheritance. It included a number of fine horses. I would be honored for you to choose one of them as a gift.

Eldon again took her hand and turned her back to face him. His voice was soft and caring, his smile genuine. Sarah, it is my deepest regret I cannot accept such a gift. It would not be a gentlemanly thing to do. You’ve nursed me back to health and given me a chance to live again. I’ve done nothing for you. I could not accept. As badly as he wanted to run away, he certainly couldn’t tell her he was too proud to take from a woman.

Now, a firmness in her voice he hadn’t before heard. Mister MacCauley, I understand your reluctance. But you must remember, this is not our homeland. To accept such a gift from a woman would be bad manners and unacceptable there. But, Mister MacCauley, this be America. Things are not the same here. You must accept my gift. You have no other way.

He didn’t answer, but stared into her eyes for a moment, then turned to stare at the valley and railroad below. Sarah stood beside him, neither speaking for some time.

Finally, without looking at her, Eldon said, I fear I should have to swallow my pride, Sarah. Of course, you speak the truth. I have no other way.

CHAPTER TWO

Eldon awakened early the next morning. When he looked out the window, he saw Sarah’s stepbrother and stepfather leaving with a wagon filled with fuel cans. He had barely enough time to dress before Sarah knocked loudly on the door and yelled, Mister MacCauley, are you awake? I must talk to you at once.

Eldon quickly finished tucking his shirt in. When he opened the door Sarah said, Mister MacCauley, come quickly with me. I overheard my stepfather talking to his son early this morning. They intend you shall stay and work the land in repayment for them rescuing you and saving your life. They would enslave you, Mister MacCauley. Mister Oakley is not an evil person, but he is far from a saint. You must take the horse and leave. She hung her head down and added, And, ‘tis much to my displeasure that you go . . . but you must.

Eldon knew he must accept Sarah’s help, pride aside. He had been right about the master’s plans. And, he certainly would be no man’s slave after having been forced to fight alongside the Yankees to free the slaves in the Southern States. He would take the horse. There was no other way unless he could sneak a ride on one of the trains passing through the valley. But that would be dangerous. If a railroad detective caught him, it would surely mean being shot as a deserter, or rotting in some rebel prison. Sarah, I find myself in no position to refuse your offer. Where are your horses?

We’re in the best of luck . . . Mister Oakley has taken all the men to burn over the far meadow. That is the smoke you saw yesterday. The horse farm is in the opposite direction, a half-hour away if we hurry. I have a bag of breakfast breads for you to eat as we walk, and a tin of coffee. Come, I have a fine horse in mind for you. She rushed down the stairs, grabbed the food and coffee and opened the rear door.

It took Eldon some time to negotiate the stairs. His leg was stiff, and still somewhat painful, when he put all his weight on it. As they walked through the trees, still dripping from the night’s heavy dew, Eldon breathed the scent of clean, fresh-growing grass and early spring blossoms. He was excited at the prospect of at last beginning his journey to the frontier.

Sarah led him through the woods, as he ate the breads and finished the coffee. When they were some distance from the house, Sarah slowed so he might catch up to her. I believe you will like the horse I have selected for you, Mister MacCauley. Mind yerself, he’s a handful, but big and strong. And, he can outrun the wind. I’m sorry I got so far ahead, Mister MacCauley. I forgot your grievous wound.

Forty minutes after leaving the house, they reached the horse barn. It was easy to see Sarah was proud of her fine brood of mares and three stallions. A large shiny black stallion, with white stockings, romped playfully in a small coral, wanting more room to run. It was about as beautiful a horse as Eldon had seen. The stockings matched exactly, and a perfect white diamond filled his forehead.

When the stallion saw Sarah, he nickered, ran to the wooden rail fence and put his head over the top rail. As Sarah patted his neck she asked, Have you ever seen such a beauty, Mister MacCauley? I raised him from a mere baby. He is my favorite of all. His name is Prieto. That ‘s Latin for dark-haired. When she spoke his name, the stallion nodded his head up and down and nickered. This, Mister MacCauley is the horse you will ride.

I could not take such a fine animal, Sarah. Sad enough I find myself in a position to accept such a gift at all, but this would be too much. I can see he is your favorite.

"Nonsense, Mister MacCauley. As I said, this is no time for pride. You must have the finest horse to escape from here. You must go like the wind to whatever destiny awaits you.

Prieto can take you away faster and farther than any. I beg you, Mister MacCauley, take Prieto as a favor to me. She stirred the toe of her shoe around in the dirt and said, He is the horse I would have given to my betrothed as a dowry. But I would like very much for you to have him. You are kind and gentle, Mister MacCauley. I know my beloved Prieto could never hope to be ridden by a finer man."

Without further argument, Sarah walked around the coral toward the tack room. Prieto followed along inside the fence, prancing and dancing, as if he knew he was about to be saddled and ridden from his small prison.

Without so much as a rope around his neck, when Sarah slid the gate aside, Prieto walked beside her to the tack room and stood stark still, as she threw the saddle blanket and saddle atop his back. Eldon watched, fascinated that she knew exactly what she was doing. And her being such a wisp of a woman. After cinching the saddle tightly, she placed the soft bit into a willing mouth and buckled the bridle about Prieto’s head. He stuck his head into the doorway of the tack room, where she emerged with a set of large saddlebags and threw them over his rump. After fastening a strap from the saddlebags to the saddle on either side, she laid the reins across Prieto’s neck and presented them to Eldon.

I have placed enough food in the left bag for several days and two changes of clothes in the other, along with a blanket. I came in the wee hours, while Mister Oakley still soundly slept. It is the best I could put together, Mister MacCauley. You’d best go now to get a goodly start. If Mister Oakley finds you gone, he could decide to come looking after you.

Sarah, I . . . uh . . . He wanted to say something meaningful to let her know how he felt and how grateful he was, but the words wouldn’t surface.

She laid her hand on his arm and said, Go with you, Mister MacCauley. Think kindly of me in your dreams. The pleasure be not in your thanks, but in knowin’ you. Go now.

Eldon took her in his arms, held her tightly for a moment, then whispered, You are truly a good woman, Sarah. I shall never leave you out of my thoughts or prayers, be assured.

When she pushed him away and told him again to be on his way, her eyes were again filled with tears. Eldon put a foot in the stirrup, and with her help, swung his injured leg over the saddle. Again, Sarah, thank you for everything. You are so very special. He patted Prieto on the neck and said, Let’s go to the frontier, friend.

Mister MacCauley?

Eldon turned back and answered, Yes?

Sarah stared up at him and spoke softly. I have a confession to make to you that is terribly hard to speak. I could not help but fall in love with you, Mister MacCauley. Do you believe perhaps when this war is over you might come back to see me one day?

Eldon felt so guilty for leaving. He stared at Sarah a moment, wanting to jump off the horse and hold her again, but knew he had to leave as quickly as possible. Finally, he said, Yes, Sarah, I promise. Some day, I’ll come back. He reached down from his mount and brushed his fingers across her cheek, wetting them with the tears she couldn’t hide. His voice was unusually soft as he repeated, I promise, Sarah.

He turned and clicked his teeth at the eager Prieto. At the top of the hill, he stopped, turned in the saddle and waved goodbye to the nicest person he’d met since leaving his home in the Highlands of Scotland. He truly would never forget Sarah. But now, he must ride like the wind, as she had put it. Prieto, my friend, it’s just you and me. We have a long journey ahead, to be sure. The horse nickered, turned his head back toward the farm and bobbed it up and down, as if saying goodbye to his beloved Sarah. Eldon urged him forward, and the big stallion trotted down the other side of the hill, through the trees.

When they reached the railroad, Prieto stopped and turned his head to look at Eldon.

What’s the matter, big boy? Do you not like the rails? Come now, you and I are both too large to worry over a tiny small thing like that. As if Prieto understood what he said, he moved forward, gingerly stepping across the rails. Once across, he shook his head, whinnied and trotted away from the fearsome steel.

Eldon wanted to avoid the towns, as they traveled along a creek running generally northwest. He was eager to get to the less settled hills Sarah told him lie a distance ahead before stopping for the night. The small stream offered not only water for the horse, but a place to refill his own small canvas water bag. If he had not so recently been in the middle of the mayhem of war, Eldon could have believed the entire world was at peace. He had a fine horse, the woods were clean smelling and quiet, and he had a truly exceptional friend back at the farm, where he had his life handed back from sure death.

Several times before darkness fell, he skirted around farmhouses built close to the stream and around people working the hillsides, doing the spring plowing and planting. He wanted to avoid contact with anyone who might point the way he had gone. Not only might the Yankee army want him, but Sarah’s stepfather was probably going to be fearsome mad that he’d lost a slave. Of course, perhaps he was being ridiculous thinking the Union army might come looking for him. Why would they bother with one man? Yet, technically, he was a deserter, because he hadn’t tried to return to the headquarters his company had left before running into the southern troops.

* * *

Prieto truly was a magnificent horse. He seemed to know on his own which way Eldon wanted to go, weaving steadily in and out of the trees abutting the stream. As the sun lowered itself behind the mountains, Eldon stopped for the last time this day. He figured he was at least twenty to twenty-five miles from the farm. The creek here ran swift and clear over a rocky bottom about waist deep. The sycamore trees seemed to abound with wildlife. All along the creek, birds had skittered from tree to tree, seemingly to