That page was the only thing left in the room.
*****
24th of October 1864
Mosby’s Confederacy, Virginia
She couldn’t even remember the number of raids she had scouted for, or the number of skirmishes she’d been in.
Mary had heard that Colonel Mosby was in desperate need of scouts who could ferret out information on Union positions, scouts daring enough to risk execution by Federal troopers if they were caught.
Despite the initial worries of the men, who worried that women were too soft for war, she had never had a problem pulling a trigger. The men in blue all had one failing, a failing that made it all too easy to shoot.
They weren’t her Jeremiah. And they were alive and her Jeremiah was dead. That was all the rational she needed.
If her companions could have seen inside her, they would have been chilled to realize that she could just as easily pull the trigger on them. They weren’t her Jeremiah either, so they were nothing at all to her.
Some of the Confederate Partisans talked about being able to hate, and how it made fighting easier. But Mary felt nothing, just that howling darkness inside, one that seemed to make the world flat and meaningless. She’d hoped to find a cause, hoped to find some meaning when she sought out Colonel Mosby, but she found nothing. She scouted and fought because that was what she could do in an eternal war with nothing else to live for.
Mary only admitted to herself that she was simply waiting for a Union bullet to find its mark and send her on to her Jeremiah. Or perhaps the bullet would send her to the Devil’s side. She was beginning to think even that was preferable to this pointless world with its endless, meaningless war.
Colonel Mosby himself had called her to his headquarters to tell her of the price on her head. The Yankees had no name, just words like “spy” and “Hellion.” The description had her as dark-haired, or occasionally blonde and she was variously described as tall or short. The most popular name on the flyers sent out by the Federals was “The She-Devil,” which made her laugh darkly. Maybe she would be the Devil’s bride after all. A widow, after all, can remarry.
Colonel Mosby had pushed the flyer over to across the desk. “Miss Green, be aware that you will almost certainly be hanged as a spy if you’re caught, and there’s nothing I can do about that. It is well within the conventions of war. Under normal circumstances, even the Yankees would pardon a woman for spying, but in your case, I doubt that applies. Custer is outside the bounds already, hanging my men, as he has already done; that is why I have had to issue the orders I have. He appears to have a special hatred for you.”
“I shot his aide in battle, I didn’t execute him or kill him while he was a prisoner. I didn’t kill him in his sleep.” Mary said it stonily and Mosby eyed her for a moment.
“That may well be true, but you are not a uniformed soldier, and that alone would be justification for him to order your execution. I am considering discharging you from my service for your own safety.”