The Rebel Wife by Donna Dalton

before pointing to a stack of journals. “What is kept in those?”
    “Mostly prisoner transactions. Anything that comes in or goes out of this building gets recorded.”
    Just the information he was looking for. He tapped the ledger marked C-D-E. “May I?”
    “Certainly, sir. You can look at all of them if you’d like.”
    “This one will do for now.” He thumbed through the pages and found neatly written entries containing name, rank, and unit along with notations of items received. Even dollar amounts were listed.
    “Everything goes in here?” He looked up, watching the soldier closely.
    The corporal held his stare. “Yes, sir. Everything.”
    Either the soldier was a practiced liar, or he was telling the truth. He returned his attention to the journal, flipping through more pages. No entry for Lance Carleton. Not that he expected to find the boy’s name listed. Kitty had sent herself instead of money or goods.
    Lieutenant Whitlock filled the doorway. “If you’re done here, Mr. Porter, we should be getting on with our tour.”
    He returned the journal to the desk, then followed Whitlock out of the supply building and into the nearby hospital ward. Though each end of the huge canvas tent had been propped open, the inside baked with a nasty cocktail of mid-afternoon heat, the sharp smell of antiseptic, and festering flesh.
    Bile burned in his throat. He clenched his teeth, pushing back the nausea and the memory of his own hospital stay after the loss of his eye. He would not give in. He’d promised to find out anything he could on Lance and Jeb, and by God, he would.
    His stomach contained, he continued onward. Cots occupied by heavily bandaged patients lined either side of a center aisle. He stopped at the foot of one bed, the dark-skinned occupant clearly out of place among the sea of white prisoners. Odd how some slaves fled captivity, while others fought by their master’s sides against the very army sent to liberate them.
    The Negro lay on his stomach, head turned to the side on the thin mattress. His eyes were closed, but his sleep was fitful. Long legs jerked beneath the bed sheets as though he were running a footrace. Thick, white bandages swathed his bare upper torso.
    Took a bullet in the back. Could this be Kitty’s companion? He pointed his pencil at the patient. “What unit was this one with?”
    Whitlock shook his head. “None that we know of. He was shot while fleeing from a Yankee Patrol about twelve miles north of here.”
    “Why was he running?” He pointed to the white scars fanning out from beneath the bandaging. “Looks like he might’ve been a slave.”
    “We’re not sure what he was up to. He was in the company of a woman. A possible rebel spy.” Whitlock prodded the Negro’s foot, then frowned when he got no response. “He hasn’t come ’round long enough for us to get any answers. Appears the fever’s got him for now.”
    “And the woman?”
    “Still looking for her.”
    “Major Brady mentioned you were searching for a female spy...” He flipped through his notepad, pretending to search his notes. “A Miss Lou Carleton?”
    “Yes, that’s the one. We had a Corporal Lance Carleton on the prison roster. This woman may just be a hysterical relative hoping to contact him. If that’s the case, she’s wasting her time.”
    Damn, that didn’t sound good . “Is the corporal dead?”
    “No, at least he wasn’t two weeks ago. He and four hundred other prisoners were shipped to Elmira to relieve the overcrowding here.”
    “Elmira, New York?”
    “Yes. Odd thing about that...” Whitlock lifted his hat and mopped the sweat from his brow with a neckerchief before continuing. “Just before the prisoners shipped out, the Major received a telegram from the Elmira Provost requesting we include Corporal Carleton in the shipment.”
    “Why was that odd?”
    “Our initial instructions were to send officers first. Strange that the Provost would specifically request a