The Wounded Yankee Read online

  The Wounded Yankee

  House of Winslow [10]

  Gilbert Morris

  Baker Publishing Group (2005)

  * * *

  Zack Winslow, The Wounded Yankee, had served the Union Army for exactly one year and been wounded twice, surviving the battles of Bull Run and Shiloh. But when he is sent home, Zack discovers some devastating news about his fiancée and his livelihood. Having seen the worst of war and tasted the disappointments of love and friendship gone sour, Zack decides he must get away from it all. Striking out for the wilds of Montana, Zack resolves to live as a hermit in Alder Gulch. On one hundred acres in the shadows of the Rockies, he can build a cabin and raise sheep the promise of a better life, free from the entanglements of other people. But Zack can't seem to keep them away from his door. Yet how can he take on these unwelcome people? But if he doesn't provide for them, who will? Book 10 in The House of Winslow.

  © 1991 by Gilbert Morris

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-7036-8

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Cover illustration by Dan Thornberg

  Cover design by Danielle White

  To Mike Haley

  If, once in his lifetime, a man has a boss who is also a brother, he is fortunate. If only once, a man has a friend he can trust, admire and respect, he is blessed. If once along the way, a man finds a confidant worthy of all trust, he is to be envied.

  And I have found all three of these in Mike Haley—

  Brother—Friend—Confidant

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  THE HERMIT

  1. A Farewell to Arms

  2. A New Vocation

  3. Choiya

  4. “He’s Like All Other Men!”

  5. A Night Visitor

  6. A Trip to Town

  PART TWO

  THE MISSIONARY

  7. A Committee of Three

  8. Bron and Billy

  9. Bron’s Dream

  10. “God Brought Us Here!”

  11. Just for a Few Days

  12. Zack’s Choice

  13. A Cry for Help

  14. New Development

  PART THREE

  THE INNOCENTS

  15. Holdup

  16. A Visit From Yeager

  17. A Monument to Injustice

  18. At Dancer Creek

  19. Buck and Lillian

  20. A Bitter Harvest

  21. A Certain Notice

  22. The Fight

  PART FOUR

  THE VIGILANTES

  23. What Love Means

  24. Two Visits for Billy

  25. Shoot Out

  26. The Trial of George Ives

  27. The Posse

  28. “I Thought I’d Lost You!”

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  A FAREWELL TO ARMS

  Zacharias Winslow said goodbye to the Army of the Potomac July 4, 1862, after serving one year. During that time he had risen to the rank of sergeant. He had fought at Bull Run, Shiloh, the Peninsula Campaign, and The Seven Days, and been wounded twice—first at Bull Run by a sharpshooter who severed the right middle finger, and then two days before his discharge by a shell fragment that penetrated his right buttock, leaving a deep track.

  It wasn’t the first but the second injury that bothered him. In the first, the loss of his finger, he had simply wrapped his bleeding hand with his handkerchief and continued fighting. Observing this, Captain Futrell ordered, “Winslow, Yates has been killed—take over as sergeant!” Despite Zacharias’s inward protests, he complied.

  The second wound, however, affected Winslow deeply—not physically but psychologically. The ribbing he endured from the men grated on his nerves. On the day of his discharge as he bent over to gather his personal belongings, a streak of pain shot through him. He grunted, straightened up carefully and twisted his head to see if any blood had soaked through the thick bandages the surgeon had applied. Seeing none, he tossed his razor and socks into a small carpetbag, turned and left the tent to join his squad for a late breakfast of bacon and bread. His discomfort did not go unnoticed.

  “Hey, Sarge—sit down here and have some of this fresh bread,” Nate French yelled, then snapped his fingers as if he had just remembered something. “Well, shoot, I forgot about your wound. Here, we saved standin’ room for you, sure enough!”

  Zack grimaced and took the food Jimmy Little handed him. Biting into it hungrily, he glanced sourly at him.

  “Now, Zacharias,” Little said, winking at French, “how you gonna show that girl of yours the scar when you git home? If she’s nice, why, it’ll be plumb embarrassin’, won’t it?”

  “Don’t think I’ll mention it, Jimmy,” Zack said, ignoring the men’s laughter. “How about a cup of that stuff you call coffee?”

  “But won’t she think it’s a little unusual?” French insisted. “I mean, you ain’t gonna sit down, that doctor says, for maybe a month. How you gonna explain that to her?”

  “Won’t take her anyplace except dances where nobody sits,” Zack answered. He let the men have their fun, for he had grown close to them the past few months, especially French, the young man from Michigan, who had been with him the entire year. The three-month volunteers had gone home after Bull Run, with new men replacing them.

  After the meal was over and everyone had said goodbye, Nate French walked with him to the gunboat waiting to take the wounded to hospitals in Washington.

  “Shore do hate to see you go, Zack,” French said as they waited in line at the gangplank while the wounded were carried aboard. “Don’t see why you can’t sign on for another year.” His long face and beak-like nose squirreled around to scrutinize the sergeant.

  “What for, Nate?”

  The cynicism in Winslow’s answer reflected in his keen blue eyes, and French hesitated. He had known for sometime that his friend had been disillusioned with the war, but had hoped the officer would stay with the outfit. “Why, Zack,” he said, “we all get fed up with the army from time to time. But we got to settle this slavery thing, don’t we?”

  “Not me,” Winslow said adamantly, then asked, “Did I ever tell you how I happened to be in the army, Nate?”

  “Don’t recall as you did.”

  “Well, I was doing real well in the hardware business with a good friend named George Orr. We had one store in Cincinnati free and clear, and were getting ready to open another one when this blasted war came along.”

  Although Zack was three inches under six feet and looked almost fragile, there was a solid quality that was deceptive. He had heavy thighs and a thickness to his upper body, rather than breadth. The strength of his long smooth muscles constantly amazed the men.

  Zack took off his forage cap, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then moved closer to the boat as the line of men crossed the gangplank.

  The sun was hot, and his wound was
beginning to itch, but Winslow gave no indication of his discomfort. A wry expression curled his lips upward as he continued his account. “I had it all, Nate—good health, money, and was engaged to a beautiful girl named Emma Lawson. Then Lincoln sent out a call for 50,000 men, and I was one of them.”

  Nate nodded, “So was I, Zack.”

  “But you didn’t join up at the flip of a coin, Nate,” Winslow countered. The old memory raked across him, and he spouted the next words out rapidly. “Emma got all patriotic, as most of us did. We thought we’d run down to Richmond, whip the Rebels, then come back home by fall. Both my partner and I wanted to go, but one of us had to run the business. So we flipped a coin—and I won.”

  “Move on down, will you, Sarge?”

  The walking wounded had moved from in front of him, so he stepped back and let the private in charge pass. Zack stuck out his hand to French. “So long, Nate. I’m sick of it all. We ran away like rabbits at Bull Run. The Rebels pushed us all over the map at Shiloh. And now with 100,000 men in our army, Lee’s slammed the door in our face—so we’re headed back to Washington like whipped curs!”

  “Why, everybody in our outfit knows you’re the best fighter in the whole company!” French said, knowing all the officers had tried to persuade Winslow to stay. “We’ll whip those Rebels yet!”

  Winslow picked up his bag. “Not me. I’m going to get married, make a mint, and have ten kids. I’ll never fight again. And if you’re smart, you’ll get out when your enlistment’s up.”

  French watched in dismay as his friend limped across the gangplank and disappeared through the narrow door. “He shore was a fighting man when the show started,” he mused. “But I guess he figures he’s done enough for a lifetime.” French turned and made his way across the camp, half wishing that he, too, could leave.

  ****

  The gunboat was crowded, and Zack stood most of the time. When he did lie on the straw ticking given him, he favored his right side. The men wanted to talk about the battle, what McClellan would do next, but Zack never joined in. They were interested in only one thing—war.

  Zack looked down at the muddy waters of the James River, his thoughts on Emma, a petite brunette with sparkling black eyes and provocative lips. She had moved to Cincinnati only a few months before the war started, and Zack fell for her the first time he saw her—at the Fireman’s Ball. Winslow had never been seriously interested in a girl until he saw Emma. There he instantly vowed, “I’m going to marry that girl!” Several other men contested, but he went at his courtship like everything else—single-mindedly and aggressively—and beat every suitor. His persistence finally won her.

  His partner, George Orr, had been attracted to Emma, too, but realizing Zack’s determination, he disqualified himself. When Emma finally agreed, Orr said, “Zack, you just didn’t give that woman any choice—she either had to marry you or go crazy! When you want something, you put everything into getting it!”

  The boat docked at Washington a few days later, and the wounded were taken to a small military hospital located on the edge of town. Since Zack’s wound was not as serious as most of the others, he had to wait two days. During that time he took a lot of ribbing about his injury. He finally withdrew, keeping to himself and daydreaming about Emma.

  The doctor eventually attended Zack’s wound, his fat sausage-like fingers moving deftly over the area. He started to make a joke about its location, then changed his mind when he saw his patient’s steady eyes fixed on him. “Guess you’ve taken some ribbing, eh, Sergeant?” he said.

  “Just about all I’m going to, Doctor,” Winslow nodded. “Nobody thinks a wound is funny—unless it’s in the rump. Put that bandage on tight. It’s going to have to last all the way to Cincinnati.”

  “Well, the wound is in good shape, but don’t let a few jokes cause you an infection. Keep it clean; that’s the main thing. And you’re going to have trouble if you sit all the way to Ohio.”

  A week later he got his discharge marked “Wounded, Honorable Discharge,” and took a train headed north that afternoon. Making the long trip without sitting for long periods had worried him, but he discovered a way. He found the conductor, a small man named Ezra Plunkett, and said, “Caught a fragment in my backside in the war, and I can’t sit, but I’ll pay extra for someplace to stretch out.”

  Plunkett’s suspicious eyes bore into him. “What outfit?”

  “Third Ohio.”

  Plunkett nodded, satisfied. “I got a boy in the First Michigan,” he said, considering Winslow’s request. “You can spread your bedroll in the crew car.” Zack followed him to the last car, and the conductor motioned toward a lower bunk built into the side of the car. “Take mine,” he said, pointing. “Won’t use it much. Me and Johnson can sleep on the top one. Help yourself to that coffee, Sergeant,” he added as he bustled off.

  Zack became well acquainted with Ezra Plunkett and the brakeman, a muscular young fellow named Sid. Had it not been for Plunkett’s kindness, Zack would have had to stand all the way in the crowded train. At noon when the train stopped to take on passengers, he stepped outside and bought three box lunches and some fresh fruit. As the train got under way, he called Plunkett and Sid to join him. They plunged into the food eagerly. “Boy,” Sid said, “these peaches sure hit the spot!” After they finished, the two railroad men lit up pipes, leaned back and sipped the bitter black coffee they kept hot on the small stove in the car.

  War was the topic of conversation. Sid, all fire and enthusiasm, was on the verge of enlisting. He waved his pipe wildly as he spoke of the battles that had taken place, and when he discovered that Zack had been in most of them, he latched on to him, pumping him for details.

  Zack related his war experience to the news-hungry brakeman. Not wishing to encourage the man, yet trying not to show his own disillusionment with the war, he spoke in an impersonal manner.

  When Sid left, Plunkett stared at Winslow shrewdly. “Not too happy with the war, are you, Winslow?”

  “Well . . .” Zack hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders. “I’m glad to be out of it, Ezra.”

  “You think we’ll lose?”

  “No. I think we’ll probably win. But it’s going to be a long war, and lots of deaths—both sides.” He leaned against the side of the car to ease his cramped legs, his eyes thoughtful. “When I signed up, the worst thing I could think of was that the war would be over before I saw action. Most of us did, I guess. But no more. Those fellows from the South mean business, Ezra! They’re going to fight as long as they’ve got breath.”

  Plunkett nodded, his eyes sad, thinking of his son in the First Michigan. “Always felt it’d be that way.” He got to his feet, replaced his cup, and regarded Zack thoughtfully. “Don’t let it make you bitter. Nothing worse than a man who’s gone sour.” Then he moved away, saying, “Thanks for the lunch.”

  For the rest of the trip Plunkett’s words kept returning to Winslow: Nothing worse than a man gone sour. He finally blocked them out by rationalizing that he had done his part of a dirty job. Now it was time to get on with living and let some other fellow take care of the war.

  When they reached Cincinnati, he said to Plunkett, “Thanks a lot. You really took care of me.”

  “Take care of yourself, Zack. Marry that girl and have a family.”

  “Hope it’ll go well with your boy,” Zack replied, then limped along the car, easing himself carefully down the long step to the platform. It was early in the afternoon, time enough to go to the store before it closed. He walked through the nearly empty station, recalling his last time there. That was July, a year earlier, and the place had been packed. He and the other recruited privates had worn their new uniforms proudly. A picture flashed into his mind as he spotted the newsstand where he’d pulled Emma aside and kissed her.

  “Oh, Zack! I can’t bear it!”

  “Don’t take on so, Emma. We’ll whip the Rebs and I’ll be back in three months! Then we’ll be married.”

  “How c
an I wait—I love you so much!”

  He remembered the pressure of her firm lips on his, the urgency in her voice, and her arms around his neck as he had held her until the train had uttered a warning blast.

  He picked up his pace, excited by the thought of seeing her again. He chose a cab and climbed in carefully, and leaned to one side, saying, “You know where the Cincinnati Hardware Company is?”

  “Over on Washington? Sure, I do.”

  Cincinnati looked different to him, busier and with more of a purpose. There were almost no empty buildings, and people seemed more serious and intent as they plunged along the street. He had heard in one of his rare letters from George that the war had created such a demand that businesses were springing up all over town. That had been over three months ago, and he had heard nothing since. His letters from Emma had been frequent at first, but the past few weeks, during the hard campaign, mail had been difficult to get through, so he assumed hers were somewhere in a stack with the others.

  “Here you are, soldier,” the cabby said, adding, “Welcome home!” as Zack tipped him.

  Zack turned toward the sign on the large building: Cincinnati Hardware Company. He recalled the day he and George had stood here looking up as the last paint was added to the sign. The two had worked hard and furiously to get the business started. It was now theirs! George had thrown his arms around Zack, tears in his eyes, as he cried excitedly, “We did it, Zack! We did it!”

  Zack smiled as he remembered how they had celebrated by going to a carnival in town, where Zack had been pulled into a boxing and wrestling show with a promised reward of a hundred dollars if he stayed in the ring a certain number of hours. He had won!

  Now, standing under the sign, he shook his head, thinking of that wild night. Being in the army had at least taught him not to crawl into a ring and get his face smashed.

  Laughing joyously, he pushed through the door. Three clerks worked busily along the counters, but he recognized only one—Alex Southerland. Business must have increased, requiring new help, he thought. Alex was weighing out nails for a customer, so Zack walked through the store, noting the new changes, with several added departments. George sure has been busy, he mused.