by Vikki Vaught
He lost count of how many French soldiers he had killed. The horror of this day would live on in his mind for many years to come. The fierce fighting continued well into the evening.
The carnage all around him twisted his gut.
Wave upon wave of Frenchmen kept coming, with no relief in sight. He slashed and stabbed dozens of soldiers, fending them off, determined to aid his men.
A Frenchman rode toward him with his bayonet raised, while it missed him, the blade plunged into Jupiter’s neck. His faithful steed crashed to the ground. He managed to jump clear, but another enemy was upon him.
Then more Frenchmen joined in. He drove his saber in the first man, killing him, but another soldier took his place.
His arms grew heavy as he continued to ward off his attackers.
Another Frenchman stepped toward him and raised his pistol.
A bullet tore through him.
Pain beyond anything he had felt before exploded in his thigh.
His last conscious thought before he hit the ground was of Melody. Her image flashed through his mind. His head struck a rock, and then he knew…no more.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sanderford Park
June 1815
The weather grew hotter every day now that summer had arrived. Beads of sweat broke out on Melody’s brow when she took her afternoon walk with Kathryn. They used to walk in the morning, but she could no longer handle that. Each day, she slept in much later for some reason, and she also awoke nauseated to the point that she cast up her accounts most mornings. She started to wonder if something was wrong. This troubled her, since she rarely became ill. She wished she had someone to talk to. If it continued, she would write her aunt.
The tone of Henry’s letters had changed. He seemed to believe a fight was imminent. While the thought of Henry in battle terrified her, once the conflict ended, it would bring him back to her.
On the twenty-sixth of June, Nelson returned to Sanderford Park. His mouth had new creases around it, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced. What alarmed her most—deep pain filled in his eyes. He asked her to accompany him to his study. After entering, Melody sat on the sofa by the window, her heart pounding so hard she feared it would burst from her chest.
He sat beside her and took her hand. “I need to speak with you, my dear.” His solemn tone set her pulse racing.
Oh, Lord, please let Henry be all right.
She could see Nelson was having a difficult time speaking, and it increased her anxiety tenfold. Chills ran through her body, and her stomach rolled.
“I’ve received news from the continent, and I came here immediately. I wanted to be the first to tell you.” He hesitated. “There’s been a great battle…in a little place called Waterloo. We won…but there were terrible losses.”
“What’s wrong? Has Henry been hurt? Tell me what…what’s going on.” she cried as she ripped her hand from his and jumped up from her seat.
He stood and met her gaze. Tears glistened in his eyes. “My father received a letter from Henry’s commanding officer. Henry…he was shot down in this battle. He…he didn’t make it.”
She could not breathe.
Her ears rang.
Her stomach twisted in knots.
Her legs gave way, and she collapsed on the sofa.
Nelson sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. Tears streamed down her face, and her terrible high-pitched scream echoed through the room.
“No…no…this can’t—” She gasped for air. “It can’t be true. There has to be a mistake. I would feel it! I would know—” she pounded her chest, “here in my heart if he were dead. I don’t believe you. Please…please tell me this isn’t true!”
Nelson rubbed her back gently, trying to comfort her. “His friend, Captain Hayden…he saw him fall during the battle, when it was over, he looked for him. He searched for hours all through the next day and found Jupiter dead…and Henry’s body next to him. His face…damaged beyond recognition. One of your letters lay on the ground next to him. It was Henry…there’s no doubt. I’m so sorry, so very sorry, please know, I’m here for you. Anything I can do…all you have to do is ask.”
Although Melody continued to weep, she did not cry out again. The pain ate all the way to her core, leaving a huge, gaping wound that would never heal. After a time, Nelson carried her up to her bed, called for her maid and had her sit with her. Nothing could ever take the agony away. Only time could do that.
They held Henry’s funeral on the thirtieth. All his family and many of his friends attended. Melody remained in a daze through it all. She still had a difficult time accepting that he was gone. She tried to keep the tears from falling, but it was impossible. Burying her head into Nelson’s chest, she sobbed. When they slid his casket into the mausoleum, her knees collapsed, and her brother-in-law kept her from falling.
She did not understand how he could be dead. Surely, she would feel it in her heart if it were so. Captain Hayden had been the one to bring his body back. While painful to hear, she made him tell her what he had seen. At last, she had no choice. She had to believe.
Henry was indeed dead.
He would never come back.
Once the funeral ended, she went to her room and sent Millie away, then locked the door. Once she was alone, she fell to the carpeted floor and pounded her fists, sobbing, angry at God.
Why, why did you take him?
He’s too young.
He belonged to me!
Although Helen begged her to open the door and let them in, Melody ignored their pleas. At last, her sister-in-law had the housekeeper unlock the door and came in. Helen dropped to her knees and held her in her arms. They cried together. Eventually, the tears stopped. She had no more left. Helen sent for her maid, and they helped her to bed.
The following morning, she confronted Nelson in his study. As soon as she entered, she marched to his desk. “I want to go to my parents. I can’t stay here with Henry gone. I need…my mama. Please, I beg you…please take me to my mother.”
He came to her and placed an arm around her shoulder. “I can understand how you feel. Please stay here. My brother would expect me to make sure you are all right. I will be unable to do that if you go to Lincolnshire.”
Resolved, she stiffened her spine, determined to have her way. “I must go to my mother. It’s too difficult to stay here where there are so many memories of Henry. I know you and your sisters love me, and I, you as well, but please understand, I must go home.”
He sighed. “If this is what you truly want,” his tone, resigned, “I will take you to your parents. I’ll make the arrangements to leave in two days. Will that give you enough time to pack?”
Having convinced him this was her wish, she lay her head on his shoulder and sniffed but kept the tears at bay. “Thank you. Millie can have everything ready. Please understand, I have to go. I need my mama.”
Two days later, Nelson and Melody left for Lincolnshire. The trip was grueling for her. Nelson had to stop the carriage several times. She would barely make it out before she lost the contents of her stomach. Each night, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Every time she tried to eat, she cast up her accounts.
On the third day, Nelson took her hand, worry showing on his face. “I’m growing concerned for your health. You haven’t eaten anything for days, and I can tell you’ve already lost weight. Henry would not want you to grieve so.”
The thought of food caused her stomach to roll, and bile rose up in her throat. She blurted out, “Stop the carriage!”
Once the conveyance came to a halt, she dashed to the woods, dropped to her knees and retched. Because she no longer had any food in her stomach, she heaved over and over again, only bringing up bile. At last, it stopped. Nelson handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her mouth and stood on shaky legs as he helped her return to the carriage.
Once seated inside, she asked, “Isn’t there any way we can hurry this trip along? I…I need my mama.”
“I’m sorry, my dear.” His troubled gaze met hers. “With all this rain, the coachman cannot travel any faster. The roads are rutted, and at times he has to take a different route because it’s washed out. Why don’t you lie down on the other seat and try to rest? Millie can sit over here with me.”
Melody traded seats with her maid and eventually settled enough to fall asleep. Each day was a repeat of the day before. She was living in hell and believed she would never get home. Nelson was so patient and kind, but she had a terrible time being around him because he looked so much like Henry. Every time she looked over at him, her heart splintered into a million pieces again.
Oh God, please let this trip end.
They finally arrived on the tenth of July. Her parents rushed from the house when they saw her climbing out of the carriage. Her mother took her into her arms, and she sobbed, grateful to at last feel her mother’s comforting arms around her. The tears blurred her vision, and her head began spinning.
Before she collapsed, Nelson swept her up in his arms. “Where should I carry her?”
“Follow me.” She heard her mother speak, but it barely registered. “I shall show you the way to her chamber.”
When they arrived, he gently laid her on her bed. She rolled on her side with her back to them and mumbled, “P-please, I j-just want to be l-left alone.”
She slept the rest of that day, and most of the next day as well. The only person she wanted around her was her mother. Nelson visited each day, but she cried every time she saw him.
On the morning of the third day, her brother-in-law left. As much as she cared about him, relief swept through her once he departed. While she would miss him, his resemblance to Henry reopened the wound in her heart.
She arose on the fourth day and attempted to eat. It immediately came back up. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she noticed her sunken cheeks, her ashen skin tone, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Her grief so unbearable, she could not care. What did it matter? Without Henry, she did not want to go on living. After she washed her face and hands, she wearily climbed back in bed.
Her parents expressed their concern, encouraging her to eat. No matter how she tried, the food would not stay down. The thought of it set her stomach rolling. After two days of this, her father sent for the doctor.
Once Dr. Clark finished his examination, he assured her she would be better soon and just patted her hand, then left the room. Shortly after he left, her mother entered, and she sat on the edge of her bed. “The doctor talked with us, and part of your illness is to be expected. Honey…you’re with child. He informed us that you’re three months along. Did you suspect this at all?”
She sat up and shook her head. “I never imagined…oh, a babe.” A flicker of joy shot through her. She clasped her hands to her breasts. “Oh my, part of my husband will live on. I need to gain back my strength for the child’s sake. Henry would have been so happy.” She began to cry. This time, the tears were cleansing.
Every day, she grew a little stronger, and by the end of the following week she had gained some of the weight she had lost. She spent her days in the garden on the bench in the arbor where she’d been sitting when Henry proposed. She spent much of her day reliving their time together.
The time in Canterbury was her fondest memory of all. She had loved that cottage. She’d received several letters from Helen and Kathryn over the next few weeks. They wrote that they missed her terribly and wanted her to come back. She would never return to Sanderford Park. It would be too painful.
One of the only things that brought her some relief and kept her agony at bay was spending time with Brandon. Since he’d lost Lily, and she had lost Henry, they consoled each other. He came over a couple of evenings a week, and she thanked God for his company.
* * * *
Awareness began to return to him. His stomach wanted to revolt. A sledgehammer was striking his right temple, and a knife stabbed at his thigh. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find a monk peering at him. He tried to sit up but was so weak, he fell back against the pillow.
The monk leaned over the bed and touched his forehead, then spoke to him in French. “Bienvenue a la vie. Welcome back to the living. You have been quite ill. Since you are awake, we would like to contact your family. What is your name?”
He looked at the monk and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. When he spoke, he barely recognized his voice. It sounded rusty, as if he had not used it for a long time. He took in the man’s question, translating it into English, and searched his brain for an answer, nothing came. His mind was a slate wiped clean. The only thing clear to him, French was not his native language, because he had to translate what the man said into English.
He tried to answer him in halting French. “Mes…mes noms est.” It was just too difficult, and he cried out in English, “I…I don’t know!” Waves of panic rolled through him. His heart thundered. Pinpricks of anxiety raced through him. He really had no idea who he was. “I can’t remember anything. Oh, God! What’s happened to me?”
The monk returned to the chair by his bed and calmly mused, “Hmm. The head injury you received recently must have stolen your memory.” Thank God the man spoke English. “Most of the time it returns in a few days, so try to relax. I’m Father Francis, and I have been caring for you. Are you sure you do not remember anything at all?”
Again, he racked his brain, trying to remember something. The hammer was at it again. Stabbing pain pulsed at his temples, yet he exerted an iron-will as he said, “No, I cannot. Where am I?”
Father Francis gave him a reassuring smile. “You are at a monastery outside of Brussels. We found you on the battlefield and brought you here.”
He tried to assimilate the information the priest had given him. “A…a battlefield? What was I doing there? Am I with the military?”
“Since your injuries were definitely those you would have received in battle,” Father Francis explained, “we believe you were with the Army. Which one…we do not know. Since you were naked when we found you, there was no way to know who you were.”
“When did this battle take place?” Desperation colored his tone. How was it possible to have no knowledge, no past, nothing, not even his name?
“It was fought on the eighteenth of June near a small village called Waterloo. It was a bloody battle, and the casualties were high. It is now the middle of July. I suggest you rest. Perhaps your memory will start to come back to you after you get some more sleep.”
Feeling exhaustion roll over him, he murmured, “I…I think I will.” And almost before the words left his mouth, he fell asleep. When he woke up the next day, he still could not remember anything, not even his name.
Oh God, please help me!
As he prayed, the stabbing pain in his head and his left thigh overpowered him, and he fell back to sleep. He kept going in and out of consciousness. Every time he awoke, Father Francis sat by his bed.
Several days later, he awoke alone, feeling a bit more lucid. When the monk entered the room, he was determined to get a few more answers. “Father, I need your help. I have to remember. I’m sure my family must believe I am dead. Why was I naked when you found me?”
“There were scavengers everywhere, divesting the dead and dying of their clothing and belongings. We felt you would be safer with us. Everything was so chaotic in the days immediately following the battle. Once we had you here…well, we did not believe you would make it. To be honest with you, my only concern at that point was trying to keep you alive. I can understand this is frightening for you. Hopefully, when you have had a chance to recover from your wounds, your memory will return. Try to be patient.”
As each day passed, he began to recover physically. His leg continued to heal, and soon he could get around with a crutch. He attempted to remember. When he tried to force it, the hammer would start on his temple again.
Father Francis told him he should not try so hard. Since he could not remember his name, the mon
ks called him Joseph. Fortunately, his ability to speak French came back to him so at least he could communicate with them. Father Francis continued to speak English, which helped. He must be wellborn because of the way he spoke. Although, that did not help him figure out who he was.
Every day, he grew stronger, and soon he did not need to use the crutch at all. After a few weeks, he only had a slight limp, so he would make a full recovery from his leg injury. As each day passed, he tried to remember, but again, the excruciating headaches would start, and he would have to go to bed and sleep for hours. Father Francis told him he could stay until his memory returned. Since he had no idea where to go, he thanked him and agreed to stay in hopes that the priest was correct and eventually his memory would come back.
* * * *
The summer passed, and fall arrived. Melody was almost five months along when she felt the baby move. She had not written to Henry’s family yet to tell them about the child she carried. She greatly feared that if the duke and duchess discovered her condition, they would demand she return to Sanderford Park. At the very least, they would try to control her life, and His Grace might even try to take her child away, especially if it were a male. The duke was such a powerful man. She would not give him a chance to take the babe.
Melody was determined to have this child and give it all the love she had in her heart. She would tell her baby about Henry and how brave, kind, and wonderful he had been.
On the day of her first wedding anniversary, she spent the entire time on the bench where Henry had proposed to her. She gazed at her hand and rolled her wedding ring around her finger. It fit much looser since she had lost so much weight. She still had to force herself to eat. Not because it made her ill, but because her grief was so intense, she had no appetite. As she sat on the bench, she remembered the joy she had experienced when he had placed the ring on her finger.
Oh, why, why did he have to die?