The hollow in the dead oak was so deep, Tom couldn't see the bottom. In the half light of the cloudy morning, he stripped the Union coat from his shoulders and dropped it down into the musty depths. Even with the chill at night, it was getting too dangerous to keep it. Truth be told, he should have rid himself of it much earlier.
It was a miracle he wasn't shot in his tracks in Tennessee by a vengeful Johnny Reb. Most veterans he saw on his way home were as tired as he was but there were still a few here and there. The Union Blue had been safer to wear up north.
He trotted back to the horse and cart where Mrs. Watts was waiting. They had bought the animal and litter off the man Brooks back in Tennessee with the money Mrs. Watts had hidden in her belongings. It hadn't been difficult for Tom to earn the lady's trust. She didn't have many other options.
Tom neatened the brim of his hat over his shaggy curls. He had been obliged to take it from the thief he had shot and killed. That and the man's boots to replace his own that had long since blown their soles. The woman had gone pale and looked the other way which kept him from taking anything else from the body. Now he wished he had also grabbed the man's coat. That cold corpse had no use for it anymore.
“Mrs. Watts?” He called out to where she stood at the muddy river's edge.
They had finally made it to the Mississippi after days of travel. It would only be a day till they reached St. Petersburg. The Yankee woman glanced over her shoulder, blinking as though she were awaking from a dream. Her black garb made her look sickly white, her face like a mournful full moon with dark craters for eyes. Meandering down to the bank, he held out a hand to help her up the slope to the road.
“Yes, of course,” she murmured, taking his fingers. “I've just never seen it.”
“Seen what?” Tom asked as he gently supported her elbow.
With a backwards shrug, Mrs. Watts gave a faint smile. “The Mississippi River.”
The horse whinnied softly in response to the distant roll of thunder. They would have to ride hard to get to St. Petersburg that night to beat the worst of the weather. The humid air was heavy, hard to breathe. A bad omen for nasty weather.
“C'mon, mam, I'm fearing this sky,” he sniffed, eyes scanning above as he hurried her along the road. “The Mississippi is a fickle thing, pretty now but in an hour's time with these storm clouds, it could drown us easy before we can cross. There is a ferry up yonder we can catch if we make it in time.”
Mrs. Watts was silent, neatening her skirts as she settled beside him on the cart. They hadn't run into anymore trouble on the road thankfully. There was a chance their luck could still hold out. They were getting onto land he knew, where he was known. Sawyer wasn't a hard name to recognize in those parts. Not after he had terrorized most of the Mississippi in his boyhood. Though he dreaded how he would be perceived these days by some folk.
“So when did you leave for war, Mr. Sawyer?” Mrs. Watts broke the silence.
Tom ran a hand over his clean chin. He had finally gotten to shave the day before and felt a little more like himself. He flashed a confident smile in her direction, “Signed up in '61.”
“If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?”
“Nineteen later this year.”
She nodded. “Me as well. I know, awful young to be a widow.”
Tom snorted. “And I was awful young to put on a uniform and go fight grown men. We all were too young.”
“We?”
Leaning forward on his knees, he peered overhead once more. The thunder was growing in ferocity. The clouds in the distance glowed with lightening. “Me and my friends.”
“Missouri was a border state. Did you all fight...on the same side?”
“No. We did not.”
Thunder rolled over them and a dusting of a muggy rain accompanied it. If it picked up anymore, the river would flood and make crossing more treacherous. Tom snapped the reins and hooted out to the horse to pick up speed. The cart jolted. Mrs. Watts grabbed his arm to steady herself. A spark of adventure throbbed in his brain like an old friend.
Tom grinned down at her. “Now this is where things get fun.”
Mrs. Watts arched her black eyebrows. “I don't know you well, Mr. Sawyer, but I believe you might be little confused about what is dangerous and what is fun.”
“No difference 'tween the two, Mrs. Watts.” He snapped the reins and they rode hard to beat the storm.
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