Page 83 of After 5

“Who is your division commander?”

“Hood, First Texas sir,” Marco answered, adding a Texas drawl to his words.

“I do admire my Texans,” he said, holstering his pistol. “You men did a good job taking these woods. Another victory in our pocket.” His eyes took in the structure behind us. “I declare, I’ve not seen one of these so far from the farm.” He removed his frockcoat, handed it to Gertie, who clasped it in her hands and gave a clumsy curtsy. His steel blue eyes sparkled as he spoke to her. “Thank you, my dear.”

He moved toward the outhouse and opened the door. “Carry on, men,” he said and paused, regarding Marco. “Please guard me as I use the Johnny hole.”

Gertie’s face screwed up in disbelief. I took a deep breath, ready to protest, but Marco jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow.

The man entered the outhouse, and we took a step back, expecting my vessel to eject the general with his pants around his ankles.

“Was that who I think it was?” I asked Gertie.

She stood speechless for a moment. “General Robert E. Lee.” His name came out in a whisper.

The outhouse gave a shudder. We moved a few steps backward. The air around us began to swirl. Leaves and debris from the forest floor rose from the ground. My vessel shook and moved like a contestant in a dancing contest. A crack of thunder and it vanished. The swirling debris dropped to the ground as if it were never disturbed.

“Jesus H. Christ, what happened to the general?” Gertie held her free arm out in question as her other squeezed General Lee’s coat folded over her forearm to her chest.

“Jen get it back!” Marco hollered.

I touched my key and beckoned my ride.

Nothing. The air around us stood still.

Marco grabbed me by the shoulders. “Why didn’t it come back?”

“I don’t know!” I yelled up at him.

Gertie moved toward the empty space my vessel had occupied. Marco released my shoulders when Gertie yelped.

“Y’all, we have another problem.” She covered her mouth and pointed at the ground. A shallow grave housed the body of a man directly under the spot my outhouse had vacated.

“Did I l-l-land on that man?” My words tumbled out in a frantic slurry.

“Nice work, Dorothy.” Marco brushed by me to view the dead guy.

“Is he…dead?” My voice caught as we gathered around the man.

Marco bent down and felt for a pulse. “Yeah, but you didn’t do it. He’s been shot.”

The man had a deep scar from temple to jaw. The bullet went through his right temple above the scar and exited out the back of his skull. Blood pooled behind his head. His ripped trousers and stained jacket of a mismatched uniform made it difficult to tell which side he fought for. I had read many soldiers wore their own clothing, but nothing about this man revealed he was part of a regiment or that he had participated in a battle, except the gunshot wound that ended his life.

Relieved I hadn’t killed a man, I took stock of his dark skin and husky frame. “Who do you think killed him?”

“Jen, we’re in the middle of the Civil War.” Marco sat back on his haunches.

“Do you think he was a traveler?” Gertie asked.

His shirt lay open and his neck bare. “If he was, his key is gone.” Marco pointed to his neck.

“Based on the clothing, he might be someone’s slave.” Gertie said.

I winced at the idea.

A glint of steel winked at me from the side of the soldier. I knelt next to him and pushed him to his left. He laid on his unsheathed sword as if the weapon was tossed carelessly aside. The handle had the same design as the one I remembered from my bedroom. I pulled the sword away from his body.

“It looks like the sword from Caiyan’s treasure room.” I ran my hand across the blade. “But maybe not, there’s no message on the blade.”

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