Soldier Boy

this fic originally answered a June 2002 Challenge:Assuming that the Seven get together in the 1870's (my personal date is 1878, but you don't have to go with that): Write a story in which one or more of the guys encounter a historic figure. This may be a Wild West character (Wild Bill Hickok, Bat Masterson, the Earps, Quanah Parker (!), any famous outlaw you favor), a Civil War figure, anyone who would fit into their timeline. The encounter can take place before or after the group comes together, whatever works for you. And it has to be a *story*--something *happens* in it.

Ezra held his breath, searching the dark forest's barely visible path for any sign that he'd been followed. Once he was certain that he was on his own, he turned and scanned the way in front of him. The rendezvous was set for a small clearing just ahead and as his bright green eyes strained in the night, he was unable to see if his contact had arrived yet.

Sweat rolled down the back of his neck as the humid night's heat weighed heavily on him. His brown hair was damp and matted to his head and his clothing stuck to his body uncomfortably. Though aware of his physical state of discomfort he ignored it all, his sole focus on his current task.

With a racing heart, Ezra moved forward again. Soundlessly he stepped over an exposed root and slipped into the tall grass of the clearing. Through the open trees, the full moon lit the area well enough that Ezra had no difficulty seeing the dark form step from the forest and move towards him. Taking a deep calming breath, Ezra quickly reminded himself of his mother's many lessons in self-control and hurried toward the approaching figure.

They met in the center of the tiny field, the waist high grass swaying in their wake, as they each silently sized up the other. Ezra had never met the same contact twice, nor had his contact ever been a woman.

She was barely as tall as he was and his eyes swept from her feet to her head taking in everything from her sturdy worn shoes and simple skirts to her turban wrapped head. The tiny shadow of a scar stood out on her dark skin just beneath the edge of the turban and as he took a closer look at her features he realized he had seen her face many times before…on wanted posters throughout the South.

Her serious, weathered face broke into a pleasant expression complete with a small smile the moment his eyes widened in recognition.

"You're…"

"And yer but a child," she cut him off, her deep voice low and soft as she held out her hand, palm upward.

Shaking his head and remembering the reason for their clandestine meeting in the middle of the South Carolina woods, Ezra pulled the small, unmarked package from the interior pocket of his jacket and passed it to her. She took it, her brown eyes never leaving his face as the package of valuable Confederate secrets slipped into the folds of her skirt. "Git now." She ordered, turning back in the direction she'd come. She'd only moved a few steps when he saw the slight movement in the forest beyond her. Moonlight reflecting off metal.

"Get down!" he cried reaching forward and pushing her into the grass, leaving himself exposed just as a sudden explosion pierced the woods. He didn't remember getting hit or falling to the ground, only the instant and total pain that ignited in his upper arm. He heard the gunfire and then hands were on him, causing him to cry out as one clamped down on his wound. Another sealed over his mouth preventing him from making any more noise.

"Hush now, child. I got ya." The soft voice was both harsh and comforting in its command.

Forcing his eyes to open Ezra met her gaze and tried to peer around her toward the direction the shot had come from. "I took care of the one," she told him. "But there might be more of 'em. We need to move and ya gotta trust in me." Without giving him a chance to make his own decision in the matter her hand moved from his mouth to under his good arm as she easily pulled him up just enough to drag him. They moved through the grass quickly, Ezra biting his lip to keep from crying out through his pain before a sudden jolt over some rough ground merging into the forest took him into oblivion.

"Bout time you woke."

Ezra blinked heavy eyelids open to see the now familiar dark face looming close to his. He swallowed with some difficulty. "T-the package," he whispered hoarsely.

A canteen was pressed to his lips and carefully tilted so he could drink before he received an answer. "It's not yer responsibility no more." She reminded him.

"But…" he knew how much they were both risking for the information to get into the right hands.

She raised a hand, hushing him. "I'll take care of it. Tend to make sure my deliveries get where they're going."

He caught the implication and chuckled softly, leaning back against the make shift pillow she'd made from his jacket.

"Yer arm'll be fine," she told him, wiping his brow. "hurt for awhile, I reckon but I got it sewn up good."

"Thank you," he watched her recap the canteen. "Where are we?"

"Place I found to bide my time when needed. I'll lead you out when I'm sure we're safe."

He nodded his acceptance of her words, his eyes darting around the wooded area for any sign that they weren't alone. He realized that she was watching him and met her gaze again.

"How'd a young southern boy like you end up working for Grant in this hell?" She voiced finally.

Ezra shrugged and then winced as pain raced through his arm. "Something to do," he offered. "I like the adventure." He didn't know how to explain why he'd chosen to spy like he had. He'd seen too much on both sides of the campaign to approve of everything either did and yet this was the way he'd found to help those he could and…he was good at it.

He was fairly certain that his caretaker wasn't buying into his shallow explanation but she didn't press further. There was something about her eyes that made him feel like she was staring straight through him.

"Find something safer, yer a babe." Distractedly she checked the bandages on his arm.

"Am not." He denied adamantly. "Near 16 now."

She merely hmmphed in reply and sat back, obviously satisfied in her work.

"Why do you do it?" Ezra found himself asking as a shiver went through him, despite the heat.

She looked at him, her eyes full of passion for her cause. "Same reason I've always done what I done," she explained without excuse. "Harriet Tubman does what she wants."

They fell into a comfortable silence then, Ezra drifting in and out while Harriet kept watch. He didn't know how long they'd been there when she helped him to his feet, draped his jacket over his shoulders and proceeded to lead him through what to him was nothing but circles in the woods. After an hour of walking she stopped him. "Right through those two trees there you'll find a path. Follow it to yer left and you'll know your way." She pointed. "Watch your arm for signs of it going bad and find someone you know you can trust if you need help."

He nodded, accepting her advice without complaint. "Thank you for helping me," he said sincerely, knowing that if she'd wanted to she could have just run off and left him to fend for himself. The package was the most important thing after all.

"Haven't lost any of my people yet." She smiled, touching his cheek gently. "Thank you for saving my life, soldier boy."

It was only after he'd found the path just as she'd directed that Ezra realized she'd never asked his name.

"So are you going to tell us or not??" Nathan prodded the shallow knife wound just above Ezra's collarbone gently, pulling the Southerner from the past to the present with painful clarity.

"Pardon me?" Ezra looked up at the healer and then at Vin who was seated in a chair across the room, a rag pressed to his nose.

Nathan stepped back a minute and looked at Ezra's eyes. "You get hit on the head too or something?" His frustration over the latest saloon altercation was obvious.

"No, I…"

"He asked you how you got that scar there on you arm." Buck filled in from where he sat on the cot in the corner, trying to stop the bleeding of a small cut above his right eyebrow.

"Oh." Ezra glanced down at the scar, realizing suddenly why he'd been caught up in the memory. "It's nothing," he shrugged. "Something I picked up in the war. OW Nathan!" he hissed out as Jackson pressed an alcohol soaked rag against the cut. "Warn a man, next time."

"Oh quit yer complaining, and sit still so I can stitch this up straight."

the end