When the Yankee nurse's wagon overturns, she does not expect a captain of Confederate cavalry to rescue her. Unable to reveal her identity to the enemy, Lydia remains silent until Brinton's tender care overcomes her fear. In the final days of the Civil War, Lydia and Brinton strive to serve their causes in East Tennessee and find something more powerful than hatred. The bondage of war gives way to freedom in their love for each other.

BONDAGE and FREEDOM

A Civil War RomanceBy Nikki Stoddard Schofield

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Nikki Stoddard Schofield
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-0670-3

Contents

Acknowledgements.............................................................viiChapter 1 - Their Meeting Tuesday, March 28, 1865...........................1Chapter 2 - The Men Wednesday, March 29, 1865...............................21Chapter Three - The Ambush Thursday, March 30, 1865.........................45Chapter 4 - The Meadow Friday, March 31, 1865...............................63Chapter 5 - Manskerville Saturday, April 1, 1865............................83Chapter 6 - Ezra's Rescue Sunday, April 2, 1865.............................97Chapter 7- Piddletown Raid Monday, April 3, 1865............................113Chapter 8 - Battle of Plockton Tuesday, April 4, 1865.......................133Chapter 9 - Lydia's Trial Wednesday, April 5, 1865..........................151Chapter Ten - Ambrose Captured Thursday, April 6, 1865......................173Chapter 11 - Sutler Furnell Friday, April 7, 1865...........................185Chapter 12 - The Mud Slide Saturday, April 8, 1865..........................199Chapter 13 - Exchanging Prisoners Sunday, April 9, 1865.....................213Chapter 14 - The Homecoming Sunday, April 9, 1865...........................223Epilogue.....................................................................237

Chapter One

Their Meeting

Tuesday, March 28, 1865

The Confederate captain heard the wagon thundering along the dirt road, a mile north of Friendsville, Tennessee. Fearing the enemy, he reined his horse into the trees lining the deserted roadway. In the next instant, the clattering wagon appeared over the rise.

Where is it going in such a hurry? Captain Brinton Good asked himself. Then he saw the driver. A woman. Was this a runaway wagon? Quickly, the gray-clad officer darted into the road, which frightened the oncoming horse. Raring, the skittish animal lifted the front wheels of the empty wagon off the ground. The dappled chestnut horse veered. The wagon turned on its side, pinning down the driver.

Oh, no! The wagon! Ow.

Brinton leapt from his saddle and rushed to the wreckage. "Are you all right?" he shouted to the young woman.

I cannot answer him. He's a Confederate. The enemy. Oh, my head hurts. I'm trapped. The wagon. The wagon's on top of me.

The wagon's horse, its nostrils flaring, was straining in its harness, dragging the overturned wagon across the body of the silent woman. Brinton grabbed the halter of the horse and spoke to calm it. "Hold still there. Hold still. Let's get you out of this." As much as he wanted to go immediately to help the woman, he knew that first he had to release the mare from its attachment to the broken wagon. As soon as the chestnut horse was unhitched, Brinton threaded his rope quickly through the halters of both horses, his stallion and her mare, and tied them around a nearby tree.

"I'm going to lift this wagon up. When you feel the weight off you, crawl out from under!" Brinton grabbed the broken wagon bed and lifted. He felt a sharp pain in his back. Nevertheless, he pulled the vehicle slowly upward. His muscles strained.

"Crawl!" he ordered when he knew she was free. But she did not move.

Crawl, he said? No, I won't. Why should I? Why bother? Let him drop the wagon on top of me. What does it matter? Drop the wagon. Let it all be over. Let darkness engulf me. That's the reason I came racing down the road - to end it all. Let it end now.

Because Merari Wadsworth remained unmoving, Brinton reached down with his free hand and grabbed her arm. He yanked her away from the wagon, which he let down slowly, as he winced from the pain in his back.

"What's wrong with you?" he yelled at her. "Why didn't you crawl when I told you to?"

Sitting up, she hugged herself to stop the inner trembling. She refused to look at him, but stared at the grass beside her yellow skirt. Her head throbbed. She groaned, and moved her right hand up to rub the back of her head where it had hit the ground.

Quickly, Brinton knelt beside Merari, and felt a twinge of pain in his lower back. He had been riding long and hard. His horse was snorting and pawing the ground, in response to this new horse so near.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked, impatiently.

She did not answer, but continued rubbing the back of her head. Her pale green bonnet had fallen off and was held only by the ribbons around her neck. Brinton put his hand on the back of her head, pushing her hand aside, and lacing his fingers through the thick curls.

"Is your head bleeding?" he wanted to know. She gave no reply. He felt no blood in her soft hair. The bun she was wearing had fallen partially down. Brinton's hand brought the remainder of the hairdo out of its pins and curling over her shoulders. Merari moaned again, as he moved his big hand over her sore head. He noticed the dark circles beneath her brown eyes, which were now staring vacantly.

"Where does it hurt?" Brinton asked her again. "Tell me." He moved around, on his knees, so that he was directly in front of her, and she could not ignore him. The afternoon sun glinted off the identity badge on his jacket, catching her attention.

A silver disk. A gray uniform. A stranger. A dangerous man. What are the words on the disk? What's happening?

Brinton, leaning close, saw that she was staring at his identity badge.

"No need to read it. I'll introduce myself. I'm Captain Brinton Good, Company B, 61st Regiment, 3rd Tennessee Cavalry." He was studying her face as he spoke, but she kept her eyes fixed on the oval disk and refused to meet his eyes.

"What is your name?" Brinton asked. Merari remained silent.

My heart isn't racing now. It's slowed down. I don't feel so shaky. I cannot stay here. I must get away from him. I'm afraid. Afraid of him.

She turned from Brinton, and attempted to stand, pushing against the ground.

"Let me help you," he said, reaching for her, as he stood up.

But Merari jerked away from him, and when she did, her legs collapsed.

"You're hurt," he said, embracing her before she fell. Holding her firmly against his chest, he wondered how badly she was hurt. He thought the wagon wheel had kept most of the weight off her, and perhaps her petticoats helped as a cushion. He knew her head was not bleeding, but maybe her legs were. "Tell me where you hurt." He was becoming impatient with her silence. He could not waste time here. He needed to get back to camp.

She said not a word to his entreaty. Her body was stiff as a board. Brinton repeated himself. When still Merari only stared straight ahead, tightly pressing her lips together, Brinton wondered if she was knocked senseless by the fall, or was deaf and dumb. Without waiting further, thinking she might be bleeding, he pulled her back down to the ground, onto the grass at the side of the road.

"If you won't tell me, I'll have to see for myself if you're injured." With that, Brinton pulled up her skirt and fumbled through her ruffled petticoat. Merari let out a yelp, as though he had struck her.

He should not be touching me. I must keep his hands off me. I cannot. He is too strong. Who is he? Why is he doing this? I must stop him. I cannot.

"I mean you no harm." As he spoke, he felt of her ankles encased in dusty black leather...