She had much concern about her wardrobe.Never in all the days of her village belleship had she been so anxious to be well-dressed as now, when about to embark upon the greatest act of her life.She planned and schemed as women will in such times, and rising early the next morning she visited the stores in the city, and procured the material for a superb riding habit.A cutter form a fashionable establishment in Cincinnati was found in an Orderly Sergeant in one of the convalescent wards, and enough tailors responded to the call for such artisans, to give him all the help required.By evening she was provided with a habit that, in material and that sovereign but indescribable quality called "style," was superior to those worn by the young ladies who cantered about the streets of Nashville on clean-limbed throroughbreds.
As she stood surveying the exquisite "set" of the garment in such mirrors as she could procure, she said to herself quizzically:
"I feel now that the expedition is going to be a grand success.No woman could fail being a heroine in such an inspiration of dress.
There is a moral support and encouragement about a perfectly made garment that is hardly equaled by a clear conscience and righteousness of motive."The next morning she came forth from her room attired for the journey.
A jaunty hat and feather sat gracefully above her face, to which excitement had given a striking animation.One trimly-gauntleted hand carried a dainty whip; the other supported the long skirts of her riding habit as she moved through the ward with such a newly-added grace and beauty that the patients, to whom her appearance had become familiar, raised in their beds to follow the lovely spectacle with their eyes, and then turned to each other to comment upon her beauty.
At the door she found an orderly, holding a spirited young mare, handsome enough for a Queen's palfrey, and richly caparisoned.
She sprang into the saddle and adjusted her seat with the easy grace of an accomplished horsewoman.
A squad of "Convalescents" standing outside, and a group of citizes watched her with an admiration too palpable for her to be unconscious of it.
She smiled pleasantly upon the soldiers, and gave them a farewell bow as she turned the mare's head away, to which they responded with cheers.
A few hundred yards further, where an angle in the street would take her from their view, she turned around again and waved her handkerchief to them.The boys gave her another ringing cheer, with waving hats and handkerchiefs; her steed broke into a canter and she disappeared from view.
"Where is she going?" asked one of the soldiers.
"I don't know," responded another gallantly; "but wherever it is, it will be better than here, just because she's there."The sight of an orderly, coming with the morning mail, ended the discussion by scattering the squad in a hurry.
Rachel cantered on, her spirits rising continually.
It was a bright, crisp morning--a Tennessee Winter morning--when the air is as wine to the blood, and sets every pulse to leaping.
Delicate balsamic scents floated down from groves of shapely cedars.
Gratefully-astringent odors were wafted from the red oaks, ranked upon the hillsides and still covered with their leaves, now turned bright-brown, making them appear like serried phalanges of giant knights, clad in rusted scale armor.The spicy smell of burning cedar rose on the lazily-curling smoke from a thousand camp-fires.
The red-berried holly looked as fresh and bright as rose-bushes in June, and the magnolias still wore their liveries of Spring.The sun shone down with a tender fervor, as if wooing the sleeping buds and flowers to wake from a slumber of which he had grown weary, and start with him again through primrose paths on the pilgrimage of blossoming and fruitage.
Rachel's nostrils expanded, and she drank deeply of the exhilarating draughts of mountain air, with its delicious woodsy fragrance.
Her steed did the same, and the hearts of both swelled with the inspiration.
Away she sped over the firm, smooth Murfreesboro Pike, winding around hillsides and through valleys filled with infantry, cavalry and artillery, through interminable masses of wagons, hers of braying mules, and crowds of unarmed soldiers trudging back to Nashville, on leave of absence, to spend the day seeing the sights of the historic Tennessee capital.In the camps the soldiers were busy with evergreen and bunting, and the contents of boxes received from the North, preparing for the celebration of Christmas in something like the manner of the old days of home and peace.
Like the sweet perfume of rose-attar from a bundle of letters unwittingly stirred in a drawer, rose the fragrant memory of the last of those Christmases in Sardis before the war, when winged on he scent of evergreens, and the merry laughter of the church decorators, came to her the knowledge that she had found a lodgment in the heart of Harry Glen.
Was memory juggling with her senses, or was that really his voice she heard in command, in a field to her left? She turned a swift, startled look in that direction, and saw a Sergeant marching a large squad at quick time to join a heavy "detail." His back was toward her, but his figure and bodily carriage were certainly those of Harry Glen.But before she could make certain the squad was merged with the "detail," to the obliteration of all individuality, and the whole mass disappeared around the hill.
She rode on to the top of the rim of hills which encircle that most picturesque of Southern cities, and stopped for a moment for a farewell to the stronghold of her friends, whose friendly cover she was abandoning to venture, weak and weaponless, into the camp of her enemies.
Above her the great black guns of a heavy fort pointed their sinister muzzles down the Murfreesboro road, with fearful suggestiveness of the dangers to be encountered there.
