Page 64 of Christmas at Carnton

The man’s eyebrows arched, then he nodded, gradually, as if working to figure something out. He motioned to the fire. “Dinner’s all ready, Lieutenant. Think you could see fit to eat a mite?”

Ridley looked at the pot of beans and meat bubbling over the flame, then at the tin of biscuits set off to the side, his stomach already answering. The man was offering to feed him? All whilst knowing what he was here to do? Ridley eyed him again, not trusting him by any stretch. Yet he had a long journey back to camp, and the dried jerky in his rations didn’t begin to compare. “I’d be much obliged. Thank you.”

They ate in silence, the night sounds edging up a notch as the darkness grew more pronounced. The food tasted good and Ridley was hungrier than he’d thought. He’d covered at least seventy-five, maybe a hundred miles since leaving camp in Nashville.

Just four days earlier, Union headquarters had received rumor of a slave out in these hills, reportedly hiding prized blood horses for his owner. Word had it the horses were bred for racing and were worth a fortune. Ridley would’ve sworn they’d confiscated every horse there was in Nashville when they first took the city. But he’d bet his life that the man across from him right now was the slave they’d heard about.

He lifted his cup. “You make mighty good coffee. Best I’ve had in a while. And this is some fine venison too.”

“Thank you, sir. My master, he got the finest deer park in all o’ Dixie. Least he did ’fore them no-good, thievin’—” The Negro paused, frowning, then seemed to put some effort into smoothing his brow, though with little success. “I’s sorry, sir. I ’preciate all your side’s tryin’ to do in this war, but there just ain’t no cause for what was done at Belle Meade last year. ’Specially with Missus Harding bein’ delicate o’ health, and Master Harding packed off to prison like he was. Them Union troops—” He gripped his upper thigh, his eyes going hot. “They shot me! Right in the leg. I’s just tryin’ to do what I’s been told, and they shot me straight on. Laughed about it too. And here we’s thinkin’ they come to help.”

Reminded again of another reason he hated this war and why the South no longer felt like home and never would again, Ridley held the man’s gaze, trying to think of something to say. Something that would make up for what had been done to him. But he couldn’t.

Ridley laid aside his tin and, on impulse, reached out a hand. “First Lieutenant Ridley Adam Cooper . . . sir.”

He knew a little about the slave’s owner—General William Giles Harding—from what his commanding officer had told him. To date, General Harding still hadn’t signed the Oath of Allegiance to the Union, despite the general’s incarceration up north last year at Fort Mackinac—a place reportedly more like a resort than a prison—and the lack of compliance wasn’t sitting well with those in authority. Not with Harding being so wealthy a man and holding such influence among his peers. It set the wrong precedent. Union superiors hoped the outcome of this scouting mission would provide General Harding with the proper motivation he needed to comply with the Union—or suffer further consequences.

The Negro regarded Ridley—the crackle of the fire eating up the silence—then finally accepted, his own grip iron-firm. “Robert Green, sir. Head hostler, Belle Meade Plantation.”

“You been at Belle Meade long, Mr. Green?”

“Since I’s about two years old, sir. My folks and me, we was a present to the first Missus Harding on her and my master’s weddin’ day. Been at Belle Meade ever since.”

Ridley nodded, then stared into the fire as the man’s comment settled within him. We was a present . . . It didn’t settle well. According to a proclamation from the president eight months earlier, most of the slaves had been freed. But words on paper didn’t always match the reality of a situation. Especially when newly freed slaves attempting to exercise their freedom ended up shot in the back or hanging by a rope.

“You must’a met with some of them Rebs, Lieutenant.”

Ridley looked up to see Robert Green gesturing toward him.

“Seein’ them bruises, sir, looks like somebody got a piece of you ’fore you took ’em down.”

Ridley fingered his cheek and chin, his jaw still tender and now roughly bearded with several days’ growth. “Actually this was from a fellow officer. He and I had a . . . difference of opinion, you might say.”

Green chuckled. His laughter had a comforting sound about it. “From the size of you, Lieutenant, I be guessin’ that man looks way worse off than you do.”

Ridley shook his head. “He got a few good punches in before he went down.”

“That may be, sir. But with one good lick from you, I’m bettin’ he done stayed down. For a week!”

Ridley allowed the trace of a grin, then felt the need for sleep creeping up on him and sat straighter to keep his wits about him.

“Lawd . . .” Robert Green sighed and stretched. “I used to love me a good fight. I used to could hold my own too. Don’t you think I couldn’t just ’cause I’s built low to the ground.”

“No, sir . . .” Ridley shook his head, humored at the way Green described himself. “I wouldn’t begin to think that.”

Robert Green locked eyes with him then, and the man’s smile faded. Green blinked, as if just now seeing Ridley in his uniform again and remembering why he was here.

The brief ease of conversation between them left as quickly as it had come.

Feeling precious time slip past, Ridley rose, bringing his Winchester with him. “I thank you for dinner, Mr. Green. And now . . . I need to ask you to show me the horses.”

Robert Green rose as well, reaching for a knobby cane to steady himself. He grabbed a nearby lantern and lit it, then picked a path through the darkness. Ridley followed, still wary and more than a little watchful.

Slivers of moonlight fingered their way through the trees, lending the night a silvery glow. When they reached the top of the ridge, Ridley peered over and counted three—no, four—horses. His gaze narrowed in the pale moonlight. Their size and stature. Their build . . . Though he wasn’t an expert on horse flesh, he knew enough to realize everything his commander had said was true. Magnificent was the foremost word that came to mind.

If these horses were worth a dollar, they were worth a thousand. Each. Easy. And they flocked to Robert Green like newborn pups to their mama. All of them. The man whispered low and stroked their necks, scratched them behind their ears. The gentleness of the animals in contrast to their brute strength was something to behold.

“You open to me askin’ you somethin’, Lieutenant Cooper?” Robert Green turned back, and as if on cue, the horses lifted their heads. All seemed to look directly at Ridley.