Above and Beyond Read online

  Whirling around, Benton stared into the same blue eyes he had last seen in Richmond. For a moment, he was so stunned to see her that he forgot his state of undress, but when he saw long lashes touching the top of her crimson cheeks, he began re-clasping his shirt.

  “Major, I beg forgiveness for the unannounced visit.” She finally raised her gaze. “But I do bring urgent news. There was no other way to deliver it.”

  Partly confused, partly suspicious, Benton stared at her with a forbidding look intended to warn her that whatever she wanted was out of the question. Dressed as a man, she wore boots obviously not designed for her and that appeared painfully too large. Even more noticeable was the mud with which she was covered from the knees down, and splattered with from the waist up. The depth of mire she had traveled through to reach him was clearly visible by the amount of it she still carried upon her.

  “Have you no horse?” His gaze lifted from her mud-coated boots to her eyes. Although her beautiful face seemed out of accord with her ragged and dirty clothes, she somehow appeared attractive and alluring.

  For the first time she looked uncomfortable and slightly unnerved as she looked down at her soiled attire. “I was forced to travel most of the way on foot,” she said. “My horse is old and lame.”

  “Yes, so it appears.” Benton tried to keep the humor from showing in his eyes. Never before had he met a woman who valued her patriotism over outward appearance and clean clothes. Yet even in her state of disarray, he had to admit she possessed a poise and grace that were slightly unnerving. He turned his back to her a moment to light a cigar, waiting until the end glowed red to speak. “Out with it. What brings you?”

  “They are taking to the torch, sir. The plan is already in motion.”

  He spun back around to face her, puzzled by her calm composure. Her tone indicated neither excitement nor fright, and her frank gaze confirmed she felt neither. She seemed to be offering the information candidly, without giving him the impression he was obligated to accept it. “I have received no intelligence that would show or even suggest that attempt.” He studied her closely, looking for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty.

  “Nevertheless, it is true. The plan was conceived and put into action in my parlor not four hours ago.”

  “Are you sure?” His voice was tinged with suspicion. “You will have to excuse me. I am not accustomed to consulting with women on the status of the field.”

  “I have traveled a great distance and at great peril.”

  “Show me.” Benton took her by the arm, suddenly forgetting his reluctance to work with a woman, and pointed to a map on a table.

  “Most of the Union troops will be vacating Glenville.” She pointed immediately to the small town that had been in Union hands for months. “Captain Daniels moves here, to torch barns and granaries. Major Pittman is here, to the east, to do the same. Others will fan out in this direction to begin the destruction of Newton. They know these families are assisting you. They are to leave nothing for them to subsist upon.”

  Benton rubbed his hand across two days growth of beard as he paced back and forth. “I’ve not the men to go after them all,” he said as if to himself. “And the ones I have are worn from two days riding.” He paused and faced her. “But if they have abandoned Glenville, it should be occupied by us at any cost.”

  “Colonel Beckham is here, is he not?” Sarah pointed to a remote spot on the map.

  “Yes, but I’ve no men to spare to alert him. And a lot of good he will do me with no direct roads between us.”

  “I know the way,” Sarah said. “If you give me a horse, I’m certain he can be in Glenville by first light.”

  Benton failed to suppress a laugh, as he shot her a look of patient tolerance. “Please do not take my hesitation personally, but I do not feel that a battlefield is any place for a lady.”

  She nodded and gazed over his shoulder. “Yes, I’m familiar enough with your reputation to know where you believe a lady’s place to be.”

  There was no sarcasm in her voice, only disappointment, but Benton’s temper got the best of him. He walked up to her and shook his finger in her face. “Allow me to assure you, I am not going to send a woman into that countryside alone!”

  “And why aren’t you?” She stared straight into his eyes, unblinking.

  Benton lowered his cigar for a moment and favored her with a martial stare. “We have rules here. Be they unwritten, they are no less binding.”

  She tilted her head curiously. “And what are these rules of which you speak?”

  “Gentlemen do not ask ladies to send for reinforcements alone.”

  She smiled politely. “But, Major Benton, you need not ask. I just volunteered.”

  Benton’s temper erupted at her calm and composed persistence. “Why you tormenting, headstrong little pest! Must I tell you that if you are caught in those clothes, you will be tried as a spy?”

  He didn’t say “hanged as a spy” because he knew it was not necessary. They both understood what the ultimate outcome would be.

  “That is of little concern to me,” she responded simply. “I do not stand here asking if you will let me, but only that you will not stop me.”

  Benton began pacing in front of her, the ashes from his cigar falling unnoticed to the floor as he silently assessed the danger and the need. “The main roads are picketed and the minor ones patrolled.” He stopped right in front of her. “How would you get through?”

  She seemed to take the question as full acceptance of the venture rather than reluctant approval to consider it. “I have lived here all my life and am familiar enough with the land.”

  He cocked his head and studied her. “But I wonder if a woman is capable,” he murmured under his breath.

  “You may wonder all you wish,” she snapped, apparently tired of his stalling tactics. “But do not doubt it.”

  Although the words were spoken softly enough, Benton took issue with her tone. He took a step toward her and did not even attempt to keep the condescension out of his own tone. “Are you sure you know your way?”

  For the first time he saw the usually composed countenance flash with anger. “Major Benton, I would not be here nor request the service if I did not know the way. Cast aside your reservations for the sake of the local citizens!”

  Now it was his turn to voice anger. “Look here, Mrs.…Sid.” He stood and shook his finger at her again. “I never asked for your service, nor requested your assistance.”

  He watched her take a deep breath. “You have little choice.” Her voice was calm. “You forget, perhaps, that I am a lieutenant in your command.”

  Benton sat down and squeezed his temples—not sure if he should be angry or appreciative for the help. “Does Colonel Beckham know you?”

  She looked down and fumbled with her coat sleeve. “No, of course not.”

  “That will never do. He won’t believe you for a moment, and I won’t risk writing anything down.”

  He stood and started pacing again, then turned to face her.

  “Here, take this. We graduated from the Point together. He’ll recognize it.”

  She looked at the ring he held in his outstretched hand and nodded. “Very well.”

  Benton strode to the door and called to an orderly, turning his head toward her after doing so. “You can ride a strong horse?” Benton didn’t know why he asked. He instinctively knew she could handle any animal, if not with those small hands, then with the strength of her will. Before she could answer, a young soldier entered the room. “Private Jenkins, I need you to saddle Sultan for this boy.”

  The man nodded, saluted, and turned to leave, but Benton stopped him. “And when he returns, I want you to instruct Lieutenant Haines to give him his choice of the remounts. Do you understand?”

  Jenkins looked for a moment at Sarah and then nodded again. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell Lieutenant Haines your orders.”

  When the door closed behind him, Benton sat on the edge of his de
sk and brushed the end of his cigar against a small bowl. “Spare not your speed, yet take no unnecessary risks. Do you understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but strode to the door and opened it for her. “I’ll send one of my men to help you through the pickets. You’ll be on your own after that.”

  “Yes, I understand. Have no fear. Beckham will be in possession of Glenville no later than dawn.”

  * * *

  Despite his fatigue, Benton called together his officers, dispatching his freshest toward the hamlet of Newton and reserving others to fan out as the Union troops had reportedly done. Taking a small detachment, he hurried toward Kingston, knowing the granary there would not go untouched by the enemy’s vile torches.

  The fast ride in the cool night air did Benton good, but he could not help but question his judgment in permitting his unasked-for recruit to ride for reinforcements alone. The Virginia countryside was a maze of unmapped roads and trails, and as such, even he had to rely on the guides in his command. He could not spare his best from the perilous business that lay before him. Misgivings and second thoughts began to creep into his mind, despite the animosity he felt toward his newest officer. He found it hard to repel the remote, stealthy fear that crept into his wandering mind—what if something happened to her?

  The pungent odor of burning wood dragged him from his thoughts, and a feeling of vengeance welled in his breast. He heard the first yells of his advance guard, soon followed by the sound of gunfire as they came upon a small group of the enemy’s torches. These were not army stores being destroyed by fire, but the homes and barns of citizens he was sworn to defend.

  The discovery of the enemy and the attack by his men occurred within an instant of one another. Benton’s heart pounded with anger and vengeance as he whipped his horse into the fray, both guns blazing.

  * * *

  Major Benton rode into Glenville, exhausted beyond measure, but wearing a large smile of satisfaction. Hundreds of residents lined the streets, and ladies of every age and shape waved their handkerchiefs in appreciation. It was obvious they deemed Benton the author of the victorious affair that had freed their town from the invading forces—and at the moment, he had no thought of dispelling that partial truth.

  “This is the house, sir.” One of his aides nodded toward a stately mansion to his right. “Colonel Beckham is waiting inside.”

  “Benton, you old cuss, it’s about time you get here.” Colonel Beckham stood on the porch, greeting him before he had even dismounted.

  Benton smiled and grabbed his friend’s hand. “Much obliged for the help. I was spread a little thin to do it all myself.”

  “Indeed!” Beckham laughed. “By God, you’re going to make Colonel for this, Benton. Wait ’til you see my report.”

  “My thanks for the endorsement, but you’re the one that took back the town. It’s been in Yankee hands for far too long now.”

  “Bah. We both know I had the easy part.” Beckham paused to retrieve something from his coat pocket. “That reminds me. I have something of yours.”

  When Beckham handed him the ring, Benton stared at it a long moment before placing it back on his finger. True to her word but perhaps contrary to his expectations, she had succeeded in her mission. “Is the boy still here?” Benton looked up at the crowd of men on the porch as if she would be among them.

  “My, no. Never even took a rest. Said he was in a hurry to get back to wherever he came from.” Beckham began walking toward the house, talking over his shoulder as he proceeded up the steps. “Glad you gave him that ring, though. Not sure I would have believed the dirty rascal without it.”

  Benton nodded thoughtfully as he pushed away the foreign feeling of regret. Knowing that she had recognized and accepted a veiled role that would never allow her name to be praised made Benton pause. “Excuse me, Beck. I need to talk to one of my men a moment.”

  Making his way to the picket line of horses, Benton finally found the face he sought. “Lieutenant Haines, did a boy find you looking for a remount?” Benton scanned the horses on the picket line.

  “Why, yessir. Private Jenkins said it was by your order.”

  “Yes, yes, it was by my order. Which horse did he take?”

  Haines laughed. “Funny thing. You know that high-strung, Roman-nosed, bag of bones you told us not to bother with?”

  Again, Benton’s eyes scanned the line. “You let him take that good-for-nothing colt?”

  “Well you didn’t want him, sir. Thought you’d be happy to be rid of him.”

  “Why didn’t you suggest one of the others? The boy needed a good mount.”

  “Oh, I tried, Major.” Lieutenant Haines put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “He went over each horse inch by inch. Said he wanted that one.”

  Benton walked over and laid his hand on the rump of a large bay. “What could possibly be wrong with this horse?” he growled, not really expecting an answer.

  “Well, that one, suh, he did point out that old low bow on the right fore.”

  Benton’s gaze went down to the slight swelling on the leg that indicated a tendon had been damaged. The blemish was barely recognizable, though the condition would leave the horse vulnerable to future injury. “Well what’s wrong with this one?” He moved to the next horse.

  “Didn’t like the high, straight pasterns on that one. Said he’d go lame sure with any kind of hard riding.”

  Looking over the horse, Benton took in the conformational flaw that only a well-seasoned horseman would notice. “And this one?”

  “Well, you can see, suh, he is a little cow-hocked behind.”

  Benton drew a deep breath. “I still don’t know what he saw in that Roman-nosed colt.”

  “Well, he said there wasn’t nothing wrong with him a little food and care wouldn’t fix. Said he liked his heavy frame and the spark in his eye.”

  “Heavy frame? Why he was a bag of bones! Spark in his eye? Why that horse was the commonest piece of horse flesh I’ve ever had the misfortune to come in contact with.” Benton whirled around and stomped back toward Beckham’s headquarters, trying to control the anger that flooded his veins. Was she trying to make him look bad in front of General Lee? Would she tell him she’d been offered an ornery, malnourished mule for a mount?

  He looked at his own sleek warhorse that was a living legend for his sense on the battlefield and swift and powerful gaits. Benton depended on him for both companionship and his natural abilities, and could not fathom what the blue-eyed spy had seen in the wild-eyed colt she’d taken. Although malnourished, he had been a handful even for the best of his veteran horsemen to ride and had been discarded as an unsuitable mount for the cavalry. Surely he would require a more powerful arm than hers to keep him under control.

  Then again, the girl had succeeded in riding Sultan to Glennville and back—no easy task even for a man. Perhaps he had underestimated her abilities—and overestimated his ability to read them. Perhaps he’d been wrong about her all along.

  Chapter 4

  Mystery, mystery is the secret of success.

  —General Thomas Jonathon “Stonewall” Jackson

  Major Benton stumbled out onto the porch, squinting against the bright sunlight, and trying to ignore the thumping in his head. After enjoying a long night of revelry and celebration over the great victory he and his men had achieved, it was time to get back to business.

  “Majah Benton! What a nice surprise!”

  Benton wheeled at the feminine voice. He recognized it as familiar, but could not place where he had heard it last or to whom it belonged.

  “The girls told me you were in town, but I didn’t darah believe it!”

  “Mrs. Grimes.” Benton bowed as recognition set in. “A sight for sore eyes, indeed.” The words were a lie, but he said them convincingly enough.

  The woman apparently did not see the need for formality and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come now, Douglas, away with all this ceremony. When last we met, you called me I
sabella.”

  Benton cleared his throat nervously at the display of public affection, but could not deny the encounter. “I was a much younger man then, Mrs. Grimes,” he said, peeling her hands from his neck. “I was not a soldier. And you were not a wife.”

  The sound of loud voices reached his ears just then, but it was not so much the noise that drew his attention, as the straight-backed figure sitting in a wagon surrounded by armed men. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the familiar drab, black attire, and his jaw stiffened at the realization of what was occurring.

  “My pardon, Mrs. Grimes. There is something that needs my attention.”

  With long strides, Benton closed the distance to the wagon, wondering as he walked how much of the affectionate scene the woman in the wagon had witnessed. At the moment, her gaze was focused straight ahead. She appeared as indifferent to the tumult of a bustling headquarters and the commotion of surrounding spectators as if she were in her own parlor.

  “Colonel Beckham,” Benton said loudly with a jovial grin upon his face. “What have we here?” By this time, a large crowd had gathered, and many were jeering and taunting the wagon’s lone occupant.

  Beckham nodded for the provost guard to step forward and take the lady inside before answering. “She’s the widow of a Yankee.”

  “That so?” Benton pulled a cigar out of his pocket unconcernedly, though he was somewhat surprised by the announcement. “I will have to be more vigilant in the future. I did not realize being a widow was a crime.”

  “It may not be,” Beckham replied, walking toward the provost’s office, “but the locals wanted her brought in. Said she might have played a part in the burnings.”

  “Interesting.” Benton controlled the urge to glance in her direction. He knew without looking that he would be able to tell nothing from her expression and even less from her eyes. “Mind if I accompany you?”

  “Not at all.” Beckham motioned him inside. “Your views will be welcome.”