Cal
Cordia had considered stopping by the Adams Farm to see if Julia wanted to go with them. But she remembered how pale and fragile her friend had looked yesterday, and she didn’t think this trip would be good for her tuberculosis. And, though Cordia had never been on a battlefield before, if it was anything like the one she had walked in her dream, she knew the air would quickly get to delicate Julia. So, here she was, driving the horses before her with a purpose, Frieda beside her, rambling on about stubbornness and the likelihood of them both getting killed. Cordia ignored her, deep in her own thoughts.
Frieda mentioned that she was glad they had taken the whole cart. She said she was only doing this one time, so if there was something (and by that, Cordia knew all too well that she meant someone) to haul back, she was doing it now. She also mentioned she was glad that this way they would have to stick to the roads, which Cordia would be much more likely to do in a wagon then if she were riding on horseback, where she might be liable to try to take shortcuts. Springfield was about 75 miles from Lamar. They would be close to arriving there that evening. But she had been warned against riding into an army camp yesterday when Cal was leaving town, and she assumed that applied to an army hospital as well, particularly after dark. Cordia decided she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she was just leading the horses on as fast as she could.
August 12 was not any cooler than August 10 or 11, and had Cordia been capable of feeling anything, she might have known just how boiling hot it was. Frieda kept going on about it, but Cordia wasn’t even listening to her. She was lost for hours at a time in her own thoughts. She kept replaying that dream in her mind, wondering what did it mean? She just could not sort it out. She was hoping and praying that Jaris was not angry at her and that he would know, somehow, that she was coming for him.
The sun was rising high in the sky when they saw a single rider coming down the road ahead of them. He was at a full gallop, and both women were alarmed at first. Frieda reached under the seat and grabbed the rifle. Cordia squinted and shaded her eyes and realized that she recognized him. “Cal!” she yelled, standing up. At first, the boy looked just about as scared of them as they had been of him, until he realized whom it was. He slowed his horse down and eventually brought it to a stop alongside the wagon.
“Cordia Pike?” he said in disbelief. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Well, we’re headed to Springfield,” she explained. “Got tired of waiting. Same as you. Did you find anything out?” she asked.
“Some,” he nodded. “Found my brother. He’s okay. I don’t know about Jaris though, I’ll tell you that right up front.” He took off his hat and wiped his head. Her face fell with the news. His horse seemed thankful for the moment's rest. “My brother’s all right. Said he ain’t never imagined war could be as bad as that.”
Cordia nodded. His brother was in the Confederate Army. She had hoped he would know something about Jaris. She was certain that if he hadn’t heard about Jaris, he wouldn’t know anything about Will, but she had to be sure. “Did your brother know anything about any of the Union boys from home?”
The boy nodded. “The McCarthy boy, George, serves in his unit. Said that he got his head banged up a little. He went to get it bandaged up. Saw Frank Glen, shot in the leg. Okay though. That’s all I know.”
“I see,” Cordia said. Well, it was worth a try.
“Why do you ask? I can’t figure on whom you’d be asking about from the Union side.”
“My friend Julia Tucker’s brother’s fighting for Col. Sigel,” she explained.
“Oh, that ain’t good,” Cal said, as his horse became restless, telling him he was rested up now. “My brother said most of them boys didn’t make it out of there. Said that a whole regiment of Confederate soldiers walked right across the battlefield in front of them, and those Sigel boys never even fired a shot, till it was too late. Then, most of them got it when they was high-tailing it out of there. That’s how Frank Glen got shot, I reckon. He’s one of Sigel’s boys.”
Cordia felt her stomach turn over. All the blood seemed to be draining from her face. Frieda seemed to have suddenly remembered that she was there to take care of her, rather than give her a hard time. “You all right, Miss Cordia?” she asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She took a deep breath; her eyes had gone blurry for a moment. Finally, she recovered herself. “Yes, I’m fine. Probably the sun,” she said, trying to force a smile. She could tell then that Cal was ready to go. “I’m sorry to keep you,” she said, turning back to him. “Can you tell me, once I get to Springfield where I will need to go to find the hospital?”
“Oh, it ain’t inside Springfield. Here, I got a map,” he said, pulling his horse over closer to Cordia’s wagon so she could see. “When you get to about here, on this here road, you’re gonna cross a creek. Called Wilson’s Creek. Around there, that’s where most of the dead and wounded still are. Very few of them actually got moved with the army back to Springfield. Some of the Union wounded got left behind in town when they retreated to Rolla yesterday, but most of them are out here in the farmhouses and buildings nearer the battlefield. There’s the Ray house, and a little church, some other houses. Some of them are in tents; some of them are just out on the ground. Really not something a woman probably needs to be a’ seeing miss, if I do say so.”
She had grimaced at the idea of thousands of dead and wounded men, but she couldn’t let that bother her. “Well, I’m sure I will make it just fine,” she said, holding her head up. “Thank you very kindly for your help, Cal. I hope you have a safe trip back home.”
“Yeah, miss, you have a safe trip, too. And I would be careful if I were you. There are lots of Confederate skirmishers around the closer you get to Springfield. I don’t think they’d harm you on purpose, but make sure they know what it is you’re a’doin’.”
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