Scandalous Lovers

by Diana Ballew

  “And what do you know about Rayce?”

  She stiffened and turned around to face Aunty’s eyes, hinting of mischief. She wondered if the older woman knew more about their relationship than she had let on. Perhaps Eliza shared her own thoughts on the subject.

  She sighed and looked away. “The truth is, I don’t know,” she said. “I truly just don’t know.”

  The room fell silent, and Eden could feel the older woman’s watchful gaze upon her.

  Aunty exhaled noisily. After a long pause, she instructed Eliza to go downstairs to do her chores and shut the door behind her.

  “Now, my dear,” the older woman said firmly. “I think you should share this heavy burden you’re carrying. Not only can I see it in your face, I can feel it consuming you. If it’s about my nephew, Rayce, whom I love more than myself, then I deserve to know, too. Please give it to me straight up, and don’t spare me, child, there’s nothing this ol’ bird can’t handle.”

  Eden immediately felt the heavy weight of veiled secrecy lift from her shoulders. As if a dam had suddenly burst forth, she told Aunty of their relationship—how it had grown over the months. She talked about Trinidad’s worrisome dream she could not ignore. She told her about Patrick lying in the hospital bed and his recent change of heart for the Rebel cause. While it still worried her to do so, she went ahead and told her what Patrick had reported about Rayce being ill. What she couldn’t bring herself to mention was the news about Rayce having last been seen wearing a Yankee uniform or the possibility she carried his child.

  “That’s it.” Aunt Martha bolted upright and adjusted her nightcap. “Hand me my flask while I ponder all this.”

  Eden snapped to and retrieved the flask from the top of the dresser where Eliza cleverly kept it out of the older woman’s reach.

  Aunty took a healthy swig, and then another. “Ah, there, that’s better. That’s for the coughing fit I was about to have.” She twisted the top back on. “Now, I wasn’t going to say anything to you about this because it involved a private conversation I had with my nephew the last time I saw him but...” She clicked her tongue, contemplating her words.

  “But...” Eden repeated.

  “Well, what I’m trying to say is Rayce has never been one to talk about the women in his life, and mind you, I’ve been told by reputable sources there have been many. Hearts are likely still breaking all over the South. Do you know why he’s never spoken of them?”

  Eden tilted her chin high. “Well...no—”

  “Because none of them really mattered to him, not a one of them...until you came along. Trust me, my dear, I heard it from the ol’ boy’s mouth myself.” She smiled and patted Eden’s leg. “Now, I’m thinking you feel the same way he does, am I right?”

  “Absolutely.” Eden’s eyes pooled with tears. She reached for the old woman’s hand. “Absolutely, I love him—I do. He’s the one.”

  “All right, my dear.” Aunt Martha sighed, and the deep lines around her eyes softened. “You look tired. We’ll wait patiently for word from him. If we don’t hear anything in the next few days, we’ll come up with something. Between the two of us, we’ll figure this out.”

  Eden held back her stinging tears and gave Aunty a hug. Silently, she gave thanks to God for sparing the older woman’s life. Now, if only the same could be done for Rayce.

  Later that evening, Eliza brought pails of hot water for Eden’s evening bath. As an added touch, the kindly woman sprinkled fragrant rose petals from the garden into the bathwater. While she felt instantly refreshed the moment she slid into the warm water, it did nothing to soothe her worries. After the water cooled, she dried herself, donned a thin nightdress, and slid between her sheets, eager for a decent night of sleep.

  Minutes slowly turned into hours as she tossed and turned in bed. Finally, her body gave in to the overwhelming exhaustion, and she fell sound asleep. At some point in the dead of night, she woke to the sound of sorrowful weeping, coming from outside.

  She scurried out of bed and pressed her nose to the window. Two men on horseback had just ridden up to the house next door and were standing on the porch. She dressed swiftly and went outside to investigate.

  Following the mournful sounds, she walked up the steps next door and found Aunt Martha’s neighbor, Mrs. Withers, sitting on her front porch, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, sobbing. She explained to Eden she had just been informed two of her sons had perished during the battle at Mechanicsville.

  Eden watched as the two men mounted their horses and left. The steady trot of the iron-hoofed horses echoed in the dark night as they proceeded down the street, presumably to the next home on their list.

  She sat on the step next to the elderly woman and wrapped her arms around her heaving shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Withers. I’m so very sorry for your loss.” She hardly knew the petite, older woman, but that mattered little these days. Every family was in the same terrible predicament—never knowing from one day to the next if loved ones were alive or dead. Open displays of affection for anyone in obvious pain were commonplace these days, day or night.

  After helping Mrs. Withers back into the house and tucking her into bed, Eden returned home completely exhausted and slept soundly the rest of the night. The next day she woke nauseated and asked Eliza for tea with her breakfast.

  As the nausea continued and her breasts became fuller, little doubt remained in her mind she carried Rayce’s child. As much as she wanted to help him—even saddle a horse and ride off to find him herself, she knew for the safety of their unborn child, she could not put herself in harm’s way. Nor would Rayce ever want her to—that she knew. But what should she do?

  She heard Trinidad’s words of warning. If you love him, you must help him.

  “Curse you, Trinidad!” She set her cup down hastily, spilling the hot tea over the rim. Sighing heavily, she wiped up the mess with her cloth napkin.

  It wasn’t Trinidad’s fault Rayce was in such a mess. She certainly didn’t make all of this happen—she just knew in advance he would be in some kind of trouble, leaving Eden to wonder; Is it a gift or a curse Trinidad possesses?

  Nor was it Patrick’s fault simply for being the bearer of bad news, she countered. If it were not for the two of them, perhaps Rayce wouldn’t even stand a chance.

  After hitching the buggy, Eden made her way to Chimborazo Hospital to visit Patrick and look for Rayce. With the extra rest and medical care, perhaps Patrick could recall more details.

  The moment she entered the ward, the contents in her stomach churned. The odors resonating from the wards reeked with death, disease, and infections. She spotted Dr. Radcliff hurrying about in a flurry with a scowl of determination fixed upon his haggard face.

  She lifted her thick skirts and stepped gingerly over the wounded men on the floor as she made her way to Patrick’s bunk. As she drew near, she saw an older soldier with a bloodied, bandaged stump for a leg now occupied the bed.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Radcliff.” Eden grabbed his sleeve. “I’m looking for a soldier—”

  “Miss Blair, I’m glad you’re here. The men coming in today—as you can see...it’s horrific. I think you—”

  “Doctor! Come quick!” a panicked nurse called for him.

  “Pardon me.” He eyed her tight grip upon his arm.

  Eden reluctantly let go, and he dashed away.

  A negro worker entered with a rolling tray of bread and coffee for the patients.

  “Excuse me, could you tell me what happened to Private Patrick McDowell?” She pointed toward the bed he had occupied.

  “Oh, yeah, I remember him.” The black man’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Three bullet wounds—one to the face—that the one?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Has he been moved?”

  “Naw, Miss, he died in the middle of the night. Sorry...did you know him well?”

  Eden thought about the question as a sob wedged deep within in her throat. Did she know him well?

&nbs
p; “No...No, I suppose I never really knew him at all,” she managed to choke out.

  “Miss, you all right?” he asked, “You need some water?”

  “I’m...I’m...” Her throat tightened with a threatening scream. Upon seeing the cracked door at the rear of the room, she hurried toward the exit, gasping for air.

  She heard the man calling after her. “Miss, are you all right? Miss, don’t go out there!”

  She ran outside and shut the door behind her. Leaning upright against the outdoor wall, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. Right away, the most offensive and unimaginable stench drifted up her nose. Slowly, she opened her eyes. To her right, standing at least five feet wide and just as deep stood a pile of mangled and bloodied amputated limbs. The scene before her was of such unbelievable carnage, she began shaking, and her vision dimmed as if she were about to faint.

  Holding her hand across her throat, she ran as fast as she could toward the end of the long building. Turning the corner, she stumbled and reached out, groping the walls with shaky fingers trying to steady herself. Breathless, she pressed her back against the whitewashed wall and slowly slid to the ground. Lord help me. With trembling hands, she covered her face and cried.

  After the extended break, she slowly walked back inside to check on Robert and Sam. Robert told her the doctor had given him a fifty-fifty chance of losing his arm. While she sat listening to his sad news, she kept her private pain to herself and read the Bible verses he had requested. After their meals, she wrote a letter for Sam to his mother and sisters in North Carolina. Robert managed to scribble a letter by himself to his cousin in the city, hoping to find a place to stay once he received his discharge from the hospital.

  The rest of the day, Eden kept busy tending to the boys in gray, but her heart belonged elsewhere. There had still been no sign of Rayce.

  Eden fingered her collar and fanned herself. “This heat is unbearable. Honestly, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  Aunt Martha’s fingers paused on her needlework. She looked up over the rim of her reading glasses. “You’re right, dear.” She called over her shoulder. “Eliza, pull the curtains and let’s open these windows all the way. We’re not running a Turkish steam room here.”

  Eliza drew the lace curtains aside and thrust the windows open. The sound of a clomping horse pausing at the walkway caught their attention.

  “There’s a man out front hitchin’ his horse,” Eliza said. “Looks like he’s heading up the porch.”

  Aunt Martha set her embroidery on the divan, and she and Eden slowly rose from their chairs.

  Eden’s stood frozen in place, her stomach twisting in knots.

  “Dear, you must stay strong.” Aunt Martha took hold of her elbow, guiding her toward the door.

  “Oh, no. I just...I just don’t know if I can bear this. What if it’s bad news?”

  “Let’s pray it isn’t,” Aunt Martha said. “Open the door, Eliza.”

  The tall man removed his hat when the door opened. “Is this the residence of Mrs. Martha Meadows?”

  Aunt Martha stepped forward and raised her quivering chin.

  “It is, and you’re speaking to her.”

  “Ma’am, I have a message for you and a Miss Blair from, let’s see here...from Captain Isaac Blair.”

  “Isaac! Is he all right?” Eden covered her heart with a trembling hand.

  “I don’t rightly know, Miss. Here.”

  Eden snatched the envelope from his fingers in a flash, tore open the envelope, and began reading. “Oh, no...oh, dear.”

  Aunt Martha gnawed on her bottom lip. “For heaven’s sake! Don’t leave me hanging, what does it say?”

  “It’s Jimmy McDowell. He’s been wounded, and they’ve transported him to Chimborazo Hospital. Isaac wants me to get to him and make sure he’s tended to properly.”

  Eden had a terrible thought. Given all the fighting going on, Jimmy probably had no idea his brother, Patrick, had passed away. She would likely have to deliver the horrible news herself.

  “I need the buggy to get to the hospital, Aunty, right away.”

  “Yes, dear, absolutely. I’ll have Eliza go with you.”

  “No, please, I’m fine. I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”

  Aunt Martha bit on her fingernails in a fit of nervousness.

  Eden sighed. “Oh, all right, fine, you win. Eliza can take me today. But will you be all right alone?”

  “Of course, honey. I’m fine. Now go!”

  Once inside the hospital office, Eden asked for the location of Lieutenant James McDowell. A kindly plump woman left briefly and then returned.

  “You’re in luck. Normally it takes a lot longer to find the newly admitted boys. I’ll take you to him.”

  Eden followed the woman and looked around the ward, wondering how much more of this she could take. Each day the scene was exactly the same. Some soldiers lingered for weeks while others died shortly upon arrival, their beds filled swiftly with another sick or wounded soldier.

  “He’s over there,” the woman said.

  Had the woman not pointed him out, she would have known it was Jimmy, anyway. He and Isaac had always looked like they were brothers, sharing the same sandy blonde hair and playful blue eyes ever since they were children. All around him, soldiers were resting, so she walked quietly to his bedside.

  His eyes were closed. “Jimmy,” she whispered. It’s me—Eden.” She noticed the large bloodied bandage on his foot and lower leg. His hair was covered with thick dust, and he looked so still...like a corpse. “Oh no, Jimmy.” She bent down.

  “Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?” He opened his eyes wide and grinned.

  She flinched. “Jimmy! Lord above, you scared me half to death!”

  “Yeah, I always was good at that, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember all too well, you rat.”

  “Yep, the matron told me I had a visitor, and after her description, I knew it had to be you. I just wanted to play with you a bit—for old time’s sake. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, honey.” He winced with a sudden flash of pain.

  “What happened, Jimmy? How badly are you wounded?” She surveyed his bandages.

  “Well, I think three of my toes are gone. The lower leg’s pretty well shot up, too. I was charging with my bayonet and jumped over a log. Then, I thought my whole foot had been shot off in midair. Durn Yank got me good. Hurt like hell. The good news is the doc says my wounds shouldn’t be life-threatening as long as no infection sets in. I’m just trying to work through the pain best I can.”

  “You must stay strong, Jimmy. How’s Isaac? Please tell me—”

  “Now, now, don’t worry your pretty little head. Last I saw, he was just fine. No major scrapes on the ol’ boy, and let’s hope it stays that way.”

  She reached for his hand. “I say my prayers for you boys every night—truly I do.”

  “And I thank you kindly for those prayers, honey.”

  Jimmy shifted position and growled in pain between clenched teeth. He paused, waiting for the discomfort to subside before he spoke. “I hate to ask you this because I know it’s uncomfortable. Any chance you’ve heard anything about that Yankee turncoat brother of mine? I haven’t heard diddly and neither have Mama and the girls. ‘Course, we still worry about him, and all.”

  And there it was. He didn’t know, and she would have to be the one to tell him.

  She took the handkerchief from her pocket and blotted the moisture forming at her throat. She spotted an unoccupied stool next to a nearby bunk. She brought it close to Jimmy’s side and sat.

  His eyes followed her every move. “Hey, is something wrong?”

  She took his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. Patrick, well, he died a few days ago—”

  “Died! Patrick’s dead? Oh, Lord, you’re serious—you’re not pulling my leg?”

  “It’s true. You know I wouldn’t joke about something like that. And J
immy, he joined up with the Rebs weeks before and tried to right his wrongs. Truth be told, he died right here in this very hospital.”

  Jimmy swallowed hard, and he brought a balled up fist to his mouth as he fought back tears. “I’m sure Mama and the girls have been told by now. Oh, Lord, my poor Mama must be beside herself.” He placed his arm over his eyes and shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, choking back tears.

  “I know you are.” His arm fell limp to his side, and he looked at her with moist eyes. “Now don’t go chewin’ yourself up about giving me the bad news. I’m thankful it was you who told me and not some stranger.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know...I just don’t know anymore.” He sighed. “Well, maybe. Any chance the next time you visit you can bring me something decent to read? I miss reading. Hell, Eden, I miss all the simple pleasures we used to take for granted. I suppose this is rather unpatriotic of me, but I’m sick to death of this damned bloody war.”

  Jimmy frowned, and the lines around his eyes deepened to dark crevasses. Clearly, the news she had delivered about his brother had already sunk in.

  The scorching midday sun did little to dry the humidity in the air. Eden loosened the ties on her bonnet and dabbed at the moisture along her neck. Eliza steered the horse through the cobblestone street while dodging potholes, carriages, marching troops, and pedestrians. The two women heard shouting, and Eliza slowed the buggy.

  “Hey there, Yanks! Look at ye now!” one man yelled.

  “If these are the officers, imagine what Lincoln’s army must look like!” a woman hollered, laughing.

  “Where are your big guns now, Yanks?” another man chimed in.

  A long line of Yankee prisoners were being marched single file toward the river. Young boys followed behind them, hooting and hollering and calling them names. While some of the prisoners appeared in good shape, others, toward the back of the line, looked shocked and weary, and some seemed downright ill.

  “Let’s go, Eliza. Just hurry past these Yanks.”