Gabriel's Journey Read Online Free PDF

“Brigadier General Fry is plagued with Negro women sneaking in to camp. He sure ain’t going to invite one in. Even a
lady,”
he adds with a smirk, “who’s wearing fancy clothes—likely stolen from her mistress.” He jerks his thumb toward the refugee shanties. “Be on your way.”
    Annabelle opens her mouth to protest, only for once, she’s speechless.
    A commotion causes all three of us to look toward the entrance. A cluster of black women, tied together with ropes around their waists, is being herded from the camp. Union soldiers flank them. When one woman stumbles, a soldier prods her with his rifle butt. “Quit stalling,” he snarls. “Mister Wilkes will be here any minute to fetch you.”
    Just then, an open-bed wagon rattles down the pike from the direction of Lexington. A ruddy-faced man with a clipped beard and derby hat is driving the team, cracking a whip over the horses. I hear sobs from the women and one cries out, “Lord save us!”
    The wagon thunders toward us. Grabbing Annabelle’s elbow, I swing her out of the way. Her parasol slips from her grasp, and the wheels crush it flat.
    â€œWhoa!” The man saws on the horses’ bits with the reins until the animals halt in front of the soldiers and women.
    â€œGabriel, what’s happening?” Annabelle asks.
    I shush her with a finger in front of my mouth. The unfolding scene reminds me of the first time I visited Camp Nelson. That day, slaves were marching into camp as recruits, and masters were demanding that they be returned. There was a heap of confusion. If this turns into a ruckus, too, I aim to take advantage.
    â€œThank you, Lieutenant Sawyer, for securing my property,” the man tells one of the soldiers. “They all belong to me. Load ’em up.”
    The soldiers roughly escort the bound group of women to the end of the wagon. “Get in!” Lieutenant Sawyer orders as he drops the hinged end gate. The soldiers begin lifting and shoving the women, who are still lashed together. They struggle mightily, and one cusses and kicks out. Immediately the others start screeching, and the sentinels at the entrance rush to help.
    I nudge Annabelle. “Quick, follow me.” Ducking, I run to the camp entrance, momentarily unguarded. Basket bobbling and skirts flying, Annabelle chases after me.
    I make it through the gap in the fortifications without losing my bundle or the valise. Turning, I gesture to Annabelle to hurry. One hand holds her straw hat, and I can see the fear on her face.
    I hear the crack of a whip outside the gates. It sounds like someone is thrashing a horse—or a human. A woman screams. My guts jump into my throat.
    I shove my bundle under my arm and grab Annabelle’s gloved hand, and together we race into Camp Nelson as if the Devil himself is after us.

Chapter Four
    H ands linked, Annabelle and I pound past the White House, where the officers bunk. I’m bent on making straight for Ma’s tent, but Annabelle stumbles. “Gabriel,” she pants. “I . . . can’t . . . run . . . any . . . farther.”
    I pull her behind a stack of timbers, and we stop to catch our breath.
    â€œMy heels have blisters, and oh, look at my dress!” Annabelle lifts her skirts a trace. The hems are muddy and torn. “How can I present myself to the brigadier general like this?” she wails.
    She’s so upset, I don’t tell her that her hair’s as wild as weeds, the black-eyed Susans are droopy, and
there ain’t a chance in heaven she’ll ever get a meeting with the brigadier general.
    A short distance away, three Negroes are splitting logs. They halt their ax swinging to stare at us. One winks at Annabelle, and another calls to me, “Boy, you sure caught yourself a purty gal. Better not let go of her unless you want me to take her.”
    I yank Annabelle back onto the road, cursing