Chapter 1
Camelann, June 30, 1863
Two Union officers halted their horses at the edge of the forest and peered through the feathered branches of pine, considering the lake beyond. Daniel removed his hat, squinting against the sun, then wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He used the brim to fan his face, ignoring his sun-streaked hair as it flopped back over his eyes. Though the air, heavy with the scent of pine tar and heat took his breath away, the soldier in him noted the undisturbed sand, the circling hawks, the echo of a distant woodpecker’s rat-a-tat-tat, the sound of the water. Nothing hinted of human.
Chester blew and snorted. “Good boy,” Daniel murmured, running his hand down the stallion's sweaty neck. He urged the animal into the sunlight, but neither the horse nor his friend and fellow officer, Hal, needed any prodding. As they eased nearer the water, Daniel blew out his breath, ruffling his thick blond moustache and making a sound much like what the horse had just done.
Two days before Custer’s spies had reported Lee, deep in Pennsylvania. Word from York County had come of Confederate cavalry helping themselves to barrels of whiskey and brandy, bacon and hams, and horses. One Pennsylvania housewife told of being forced to use all her reserve flour to bake bread for the rebels. Rumors said the secesh were ready to pounce on Harrisburg. Where in the devil are they? Daniel and Hal hadn’t seen even one enemy soldier. Stay smart, stay alive, whispered a voice in Daniel’s head.
Free of the smoldering humidity of the forest and roused by the breezes off the water, the air temperature had dropped several degrees. Daniel’s face cooled a little, but sweat had soaked all the way through his wool uniform. Hal pulled up beside him and Daniel couldn’t help flinching. His friend smelled rank. No surprise. Daniel supposed he did, too. They edged forward another step and the entire lake and valley came into view. In the distance, two ribbon waterfalls, one at least a hundred feet tall, cascaded from the sheer granite walls of the hills. Nearer, an island strewn with boulders and ancient pines, beckoned.
In a voice fit for church, Hal declared, “Good lord. Is that beautiful?”
Daniel nudged Chester toward a patch of grass and dismounted. He removed the tack and gear, and both he and Hal let the horses amble across the sand into the lake. Just like the men, the animals needed water and rest.
Daniel glanced at Hal, who nodded. Without a word, they stripped to the skin. They’d been friends since before they could walk. Most times Hal didn’t even need to open his mouth. Daniel blinked away a bead of sweat and wiped his sleeve across his brow. Hell, he thought, he knows as well as I do that taking a dip in this lake is stupid, irresponsible, and dangerous. But I’m so hot I can’t think.
As they stepped into the water, Daniel spotted the familiar birthmark on Hal’s left hip, a port wine stain in the shape of a flying wild goose. Daniel had teased him about it ever since they could first talk. “You better be careful. Some sharpshooter will line up that goose on your ass and put you out of commission.”
Hal chuckled, settling low in the cooling water. “You’re just jealous. Every girl at Mary Hall’s loves my wild goose. In fact, they fight for a wild goose ride.”
Daniel snorted. He and Hal had a running argument about Washington’s whorehouses. Hal spent many spare hours there, Daniel didn’t.
Daniel pointed toward the island. “How far do you think that is?”
“A hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty yards.”
Hal stood and dove. Daniel followed. The cool water cleared his head as the long muscles of his arms and legs stretched into a rhythm. He heard Hal splashing beside him, and they tagged the island beach at almost the same instant. Daniel stretched out in the shallows, feeling the pebbly bottom tickle the tight line of his back. His lungs strained and burned, but the cleansing swim had been worth it.
“God, this feels good.”
Hal was sitting, skipping flat stones over the water. “Wonder what this—”
Gunshots: one, two, then a quiet pause. A third shot rattled up in the hills. Daniel reacted out of instinct, shoving at Hal’s shoulder and pushing him deep into the water, then sinking beside him. After a few seconds, Daniel raised his head, cleared the hair from his eyes, and checked the far shore. The shots had been far enough away, maybe a mile. Their horses still stood in the water, apparently undisturbed.
Hal whispered, “Sounded like a shotgun to me.”
Daniel nodded. They both knew that a sharpshooter with a good rifle and a scope would have picked them off by now. He turned, shading his eyes, and quickly surveyed the hills. “Some farmer’s hunting.”
Daniel’s attention dropped to the rocks and trees on the island, and he smiled. The place was perfect. He settled back down on his elbows and let the water cool his body.
Hal sighed. “Imagine coming out here on a moonlit night with a girl. Just listen to those falls.”
Daniel’s lack of interest in Washington’s brothels didn’t mean he didn’t like women. Not at all. He adored the fairer sex. Philly and Washington considered him a most eligible bachelor, and he was all but engaged. Being with a girl was about the only thing that kept the war at bay in his mind. Even then, thoughts of what he’d seen and done never entirely left him.
He slapped Hal’s back. “Maybe we can do that in another lifetime. Better swim back now.” His eyes lifted to the hills and he frowned. “Somebody’s around. Keep your ass down,” he said with a grin. “I swear that damn goose will get us both killed.”
He swam back slowly, searching the breeze for any sound out of the ordinary. Once on shore, he dug soap out of his saddlebag, returned to the water, and gave himself a good scrub and rinse. All clean and fresh, he tossed the soap to Hal, dried himself, tugged on his pants, then rolled up the legs. Hal did the same. When they were done with themselves, they waded into the water and retrieved the horses, knowing well that a cavalryman was only as good as his horse. The animals seemed in much better spirits than they had when they’d first arrived, and they stood calmly as they were groomed. Daniel cleaned and checked Chester’s shoes, then hobbled both animals before repacking his saddlebags.
Now that all the important jobs were out of the way, he sat in the shade and cleaned his boots while Hal read a book. When the sun lowered and the air began to hum with the war cry of mosquitoes, they shrugged into clean shirts and socks, pulled on their boots, and rolled down the legs of their pants. Daniel surveyed their surroundings, on alert as he always was. Some part of him never relaxed.
Daniel lit a small fire and set some coffee beans to roast in a pan. Hal’s mother had sent them, and Daniel intended to thank her for the treat in person. Hal pulled out a fishing line and dropped it into the lake while Daniel swirled the fragrant beans around on the hot metal.
After many attempts but no nibbles, Hal returned to the fire and watched Daniel pour the roasted beans onto a piece of cheesecloth, which he’d smoothed out on a flat rock. He smashed the beans with the butt of his revolver, tied up the ends of the cloth then tossed the bundle into a pot of boiling water. The aroma bloomed. Even the horses looked over. Hal took a deep, appreciative sniff, then stood and checked his rifle. When he sat back down he leaned it against his leg. Real coffee, as opposed to the Union Army’s dehydrated stuff, which tasted like boiled paper, could alert rebels for miles. But they’d decided earlier on that the risk was worth it. They might only be living off jerky and hardtack, but they had coffee.