A shot came through the window, shattering it and scattering the glass all over the floor. The women screamed and huddled against the wall. Abigail checked Noah to make certain he had not been harmed then told him to go back with the other children who were huddled down in one of the cells. She sighed, ran, and grabbed her rifle then loaded it before going back to the window and quickly brushing the glass on the floor aside. She knocked out the rest of the glass with the butt of her rifle. Looking out, she spotted a man in gray on the roof of a building across the street. He was shooting soldiers as they ran toward the battle that was raging at the end of the street, shooting many of them in the back. Abigail aimed carefully and shot him. She was a little surprised when he fell screaming into the street for she had not thought her shot was that accurate.
She reloaded her gun and when she looked back out a Union soldier was crouched over the Reb, relieving him of all weapons. He then grabbed him, put him over his shoulder, and hurried to the house being used as an infirmary. Abigail wondered what the man was thinking as he gave aid to the enemy, one who had killed a number of his fellow soldiers. She swiftly prayed that both men survived the day.
“I think I smell smoke,” said Julia and hurried over to crouch down near Abigail.
“You do. Someone set the Boardman house on fire. Set the fire at the back from what I can glimpse through the windows.”
Mrs. Beaton suddenly appeared at Abigail’s side, knelt down, and looked out at the burning house. “That is Betsy’s house. I pray her and her children can get out. There she is!”
Abigail watched as a woman rushed out carrying a baby, three other small children following her. A man came out behind them. Mrs. Beaton stuck her head out the window to call to the woman. Abigail quickly yanked her back inside and looked out in time to see a Reb come around the side of the house and shoot the man who fell onto his stomach and clutched at his leg.
The soldier stepped closer and Betsy obviously told her children to run because the three bigger ones started racing for the jailhouse. Betsy stood by her husband, baby still clutched in her arms, and appeared to be arguing with the soldier, as she moved her own body between him and her husband. Abigail had to wonder what the woman thought she could do.
Using the confusion to her advantage, Abigail again took careful aim. Betsy clearly decided arguing was getting her nowhere and had begun to hurl insults if the look on the man’s face was anything to judge by. The soldier abruptly aimed his weapon at her and the angry look on his face told Abbie the woman had only succeeded in making sure she died next to her husband. Abigail shifted her aim a bit and fired, hitting the soldier in the arm he was using to aim his gun. All the ladies in the room stared at her as she reloaded.
Mrs. Beaton recovered first and yelled at Betsy to get moving. Still somehow holding on to the babe, the woman put her husband’s arm around her shoulders, then put her arm around his waist and they started moving toward the jail quickly if awkwardly. They presented a very easy target and Abbie tried to keep a close watch on every possible way an enemy could come at them. Then there was another shot fired. Abbie cursed and looked around even harder to see who she had missed spotting. Betsy’s husband was hit in the arm. It caused him to stumble into his wife, nearly sending them both to the ground.
Abigail cursed because now the pair was nearly helpless. Finally she saw there was another soldier in gray in the alley next to the burning house. He was in shadow but she took aim and hoped for a good shot, good enough to put the man down long enough for Betsy to get inside the jail with her wounded husband.
Taking another steadying deep breath, she fired. The man should have fallen backward if she had hit him but, instead, he fell facedown. Abigail was puzzled by that until a man in a blue uniform stepped out of the same alley and ran toward Betsy and her husband. When he stopped to put his arm around the man, she could see it was Matthew. She was wondering where he had come from when she realized there were far more important things to worry about. Matthew was now exposed to anyone who was still able to shoot.
“Mrs. Beaton, you should let them in and make sure the children are not standing right in front of the door.”
The woman glared at her but did what she had asked. Abigail shook her head and returned to watching the street to make sure no one attacked Matthew while he helped Betsy save her husband. Mrs. Beaton might have once been rich and pampered, but by the time this war was finally over, Abigail had to wonder if the woman would still be. When she heard the sound of Matthew’s voice just outside the room, she relaxed.
“Someone get a couple of blankets to put on the floor,” she called out, and heard the women hurry to obey what even she recognized had sounded like an order. “And try to stay out of the line of the windows.” She did not move from her post until Matthew crouched by her side.
“I can watch now,” he said. “The man needs help.”
Abbie set her rifle down and looked toward the man he had helped inside. The women had not only brought blankets, they had found a cot in one of the cells to spread them on. It was going to make it easier to tend his wounds. His wife knelt beside him after handing her baby over to Maude, gripping the hand of his unwounded arm and whispering what were probably encouraging words. Abbie quickly studied the man’s wounds and decided if she did not have to dig around for a bullet, they would not prove to be too much trouble for her. Even better the wound on his leg was not so high up that there would be any difficulty in maintaining his modesty. Bracing herself for what was to come she took a closer look that told her both bullets had passed through and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I need his shirt off,” she said and the wife quickly complied. “Julia? My sewing basket, please, and some whiskey if there is any to be found.”
A quick look told her the bullet had not only gone through the arm but appeared to have missed anything vital. “I hope you have no sentimental attachment to these pants,” she said as she knelt by the cot and took scissors from her basket to cut off the pant leg above the knee then cut the long johns he wore beneath them.
“You are a very lucky man, sir,” she said when she saw that the bullet had passed right through his leg as well.
“Lucky? I got shot! Twice!” he said, his voice hoarse with pain.
“True, but both bullets had the courtesy to leave cleanly. I don’t have to go digging around for them, sir.”