The Discovered

by Tracy Winegar

  Sam and I had those four months as husband and wife to relish and indulge in. We had those few months in the cabin we built at winter camp on the banks of the Hazel River before the spring came, and the army could not stay put. During the warm months, the Union and the Confederates sized one another up, and then began a wrestling match which wore one another down and made each so tired they left the match in a truce, until they could rest for a time and recuperate. And then it was to the wrestling match once more to see whose will was greater, to fight to exhaustion all over again.

  As the weather grew warmer near the end of April, I could sense the change, but did my best to disregard it. I didn’t want to admit the fighting season was coming around again. We would be on the move, and with the constant threat of an impending battle. Still, I felt Sam was mine, and if we were together I could endure anything! Anything!

  One morning Sam woke early and stoked the fire and made coffee. I could hear him moving about, but I wasn’t ready to get up myself just yet. I was tired, a weariness that seemed to penetrate my whole body, making my arms and legs feel heavy and weak. He tapped my shoulder and held a mug out for me to take. I moaned as I rolled over and took the coffee from him.

  “What’s gotten in to you?” he asked.

  I pulled myself up and took a sip. “I don’t know,” I answered. “My head aches, and I just want to sleep and sleep.”

  “I wish you could,” he sympathized.

  I finished the coffee before I got up and dressed. We headed out together for drill, but I didn’t get very far before I suddenly felt sick, my stomach clenched and then unclenched and my knees went liquid. I knew I would vomit. I ran haphazardly to a bush and heaved my breakfast into it. I was ashamed as I wiped my mouth, my eyes watering, my nose dripping.

  “Are you all right?” Sam asked.

  “I knew I didn’t feel well. I should’ve stayed in bed,” I said weakly.

  “There are a lot of men coming down with the shakes,” he said.

  “I don’t want to be sick,” I lamented.

  “You should go back to the cabin and rest. I’ll tell them you are unwell.”

  I stumbled back to the cabin and threw myself across the bed, falling into a deep sleep. When I was roused again it was nearly noon. I heard Sam come through the door and managed to force my eyes open.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I can scarce lift my head. All of my energy has left me,” I told him.

  “I brought you something to eat,” he said.

  I pulled myself up to a sitting position and took the biscuit and jerky from him. He sat in one of the chairs at the table and pulled his boots off, stretching himself out. I ate what he gave me and then lay down again, watching him as he watched me.

  “Reed Haney says there are seventeen men out sick.”

  “Well, I can’t go to the hospital, so I must endure it,” I told him. “You should go away. I don’t want you to see me this way, and I don’t want you to get what I’ve got.”

  “I’ve already seen you this way,” he pointed out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Antietam.”

  “That’s right. I completely humiliated myself didn’t I? Well, I’m glad you remembered.”

  “I was just trying to say there’s nothing you could do that would make me like you less.”

  “Oh, dear!” I rolled off of the bed and made for the door, vomiting all of my lunch onto the ground just past our doorstep.

  Sam pulled his boots back on. “Come lay down. I’ll get some water and wash it away.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized feebly. But I was too weak to do much more than obey him.

  The sickness persisted, to the point I could not keep anything down, not even water. My head ached with an intense throbbing that made me think my brain might be ready to explode. Several days into it, I felt as though I were on death’s door. I could do nothing but lie in misery. I felt as though I might cry but there were no tears for it. Sam rarely left my side, eagerly bringing me a drink, or rubbing my back to bring me comfort. He hovered over me, tucking the blankets in close, wanting to meet my every need, with an intensely concerned expression on his face.

  “I think you may need to have a doctor look at you,” Sam said. He wouldn’t suggest such a thing unless he was truly worried.

  “No,” I insisted. “That is out of the question.”

  “You haven’t eaten in days and days.”

  “I’ve eaten,” I told him.

  “What have you eaten?” he asked skeptically.

  “Remember the pastries.”

  “What pastries?” he asked.

  “The pastries…”

  “You haven’t had pastries in at least two years, Serena. What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know.” My mind was cloudy. I couldn’t think. Everything seemed to go round and round in my head. I tried to lick my parched lips, but my tongue felt dry and fuzzy. He was ruminating in the corner, watching me closely. He began to rub his fingers over his jaw and chin gruffly, and then he sprang from his chair and came to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t care what happens, I am taking you to the hospital,” he said. He was trying to sound determined but his voice shook slightly. “Can you get yourself dressed?”

  “Yes, yes I can do that,” I said. I tried to move, but had no strength to do so. I just lay there.

  “It’s all right, I’ve got you.” Sam wrapped me in a blanket and picked me up, holding me in his arms pressed against his chest. “I’ve got you.”

  “Wait. Please wait. Evelyn…Evelyn Rogers,” I croaked.

  “What is it?” Sam asked tenderly.

  “She…she is a nurse. She will help me,” I said. “Send for Evelyn Rogers.”

  Chapter 38

  THE LIGHT FROM THE CANDLE SEEMED HARSH, and I blinked rapidly, trying to grow accustomed to it. I was vaguely aware of the two of them whispering urgently. Mr. Haney and Sam wore the same expression, their brows furrowed, their mouths drawn down in a frown. Their concern was evident.

  “I can’t leave her,” Sam said. His arms were straight with his fists buried deep in his pockets. “If you can go to the hospital and try to find this Evelyn Rogers…”

  “Certainly, certainly,” Mr. Haney agreed.

  “If you can bring her back here, Serena says she will help.”

  I heard Reed leave sometime thereafter, closing the door softly behind him. I stirred, trying to reach my hand out.

  “Sam,” I called. My voice sounded strange even to my own ears, as if my tongue were too large for the hollow space of my mouth.

  Sam rushed to my side and bent down next to me. “I’m here,” he said. “What do you need, dearest?”

  “It must be very bad. You’ve never called me dearest before,” I said, trying to laugh. But it didn’t come out as I planned. It was more like a dry wheeze. “Was that Mr. Haney?”

  “Yes. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. I’m fine.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “I don’t think I can keep it down,” I confessed. I didn’t want to waste time talking to him about how I felt. “My father…” I began.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want him to ever know. You must see to it, Sam.”

  “Reed is going to get Miss Rogers. She will know what to do,” he said confidently. Was it a little too confident? Did I detect a moment of self-doubt in his overly certain words?

  “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

  “I won’t let that happen,” he replied, stroking my hair. “Everything will be all right.”

  “I am in such misery, I don’t think it would be so bad to die,” I said.

  “You’re talking nonsense,” Sam scolded.

  “If I die, please, Sam, please do not let my father know the truth. Please promise.”

  “Shhh. It will be all right.”

  I feebly raised my hand and rested it on his cheek. “Prom
ise me.”

  His eyes reluctantly met mine. “I promise.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Sam got up to open it. Mr. Haney returned with Evelyn Rogers in tow. He ushered both of them in to the small space, pressing himself against the wall to make room for them. I could hear them whispering again.

  Mr. Haney said, “If you need anything, you’ll let me know?”

  “Yes, Reed. I thank you for your help,” Sam said.

  Mr. Haney left again. Sam shut the door behind him and then turned and approached Evelyn Rogers. She was just as I remembered her. Her dark hair was done in a long braid. She looked more rested than the last time I saw her, and her apron was clean and freshly starched now. Evelyn knelt next to the bed and smiled kindly at me.

  “You again,” she said.

  “She didn’t want to risk going to the hospital,” Sam told her. “She told me to send for you. She said you knew her secret and would help.”

  “What seems to be the trouble?” she asked, her voice offhand and casual.

  “She is very ill. I’ve heard some of the other men have fallen sick too.”

  Evelyn turned toward Sam and nodded her head up and down. “Yes, we’ve had quite a few. It’s kept us busy.” She turned back to me and asked, “Can you tell me what your symptoms are?”

  “My head aches.” I put my hand over my forehead and then let it slide away. “And I can’t keep anything down,” I croaked.

  Evelyn touched the back of her hand to my brow. “She doesn’t seem to have a fever,” she remarked. “What are her other symptoms?”

  “She is complaining of feeling weak and tired. She can’t seem to keep even water down,” Sam told her. “And she was talking nonsense.”

  “The other men who are sick,” Evelyn said, “they all seem to be suffering from the ague, the chills, and fever. I don’t know if this is the same.”

  “Can you help her?” Sam asked a little too desperately.

  “I think you are dehydrated,” she told me. “Your lips are dry, and if you can’t keep anything down, you’re probably in need of fluids.” She turned to Sam. “Could you get her some water?”

  “Certainly, but she throws it up when I give it to her,” Sam said. He took the tin mug from the table and handed it to her.

  “Don’t take a big drink, just a small sip, no more than a spoonful. Can you do that for me?” Evelyn coaxed.

  She held my head up and put the cup to my mouth. I took a sip, and then she pulled the cup away before I could take any more. I lay back on the pillow, rolling the small bit of water over my tongue and around my mouth before I swallowed. Evelyn reached over and handed the cup back to Sam.

  “We will wait a short while, see if she keeps it down and then try another sip.” She told him. Sam nodded, dutifully holding the cup in his hands.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “How long have you been sick like this?”

  “At least a week,” I told her. “Although it feels longer. I have never been so sick before. My stomach feels as though it were bruised.” She was shaking her head sympathetically, patting my hand as if to console me. She waited a moment before she spoke.

  “Now I must ask something,” she said. I sensed her reluctance to broach the subject, although I was sure she’d seen much and must be used to uncomfortable situations in her work as a nurse. “I don’t want to pry, so please don’t take offense, but I must know what your arrangement is here.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked.

  “Your living arrangement,” she specified.

  “This is our cabin,” Sam replied as if it should be evident enough without him saying it. But I understood right away what she was getting at.

  “We are husband and wife,” I answered.

  “I see,” Evelyn said. “How long have you been married?”

  “Three and a half months,” Sam informed her.

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate,” Evelyn said. “You must understand I only want to help. Please take no offense. But it seems to me, well, it may not be something communicable.” She laughed nervously. “At least not in the sense that it is contagious, I mean. What I’m trying to say, what I’m wondering is, if it’s possible you’re with child?”

  The question lingered in the silence that followed. Sam’s and my eyes, wide and in shock, instantly fastened on one another. I considered it for a moment and then shook my head no.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked. “Because I believe you may have the morning sickness.”

  “It’s not in the mornings,” Sam piped up. “She’s sick all the day long.”

  “Well, that’s more often the case than not,” she replied. “Many women aren’t sick only in the mornings. Some of the worst cases, a woman can become very sick and it lasts all day,” she explained.

  “Maybe it’s something I ate,” I offered.

  “If it was something you ate, you’d likely be over it by now. Food illnesses usually clear themselves up within a day or two,” she said.

  “How would we know for sure?” Sam asked.

  “There is no way of knowing right away.” She cleared her throat as though she were uncomfortable with the topic of conversation with Sam there. “First off, you miss your term. The sickness is another way. Your breasts may hurt. Then, of course, your belly will begin to grow big and you will feel a stirring. It’s difficult to say. It is different for everyone.”

  Evelyn busied herself by giving me another swallow of water. I didn’t say anything and neither did Sam. It was awkward with Evelyn there. This was not something you spoke of in mixed company. I shifted uncomfortably. Sam sat down heavily in a chair. He lowered his eyes, his expression thoughtful. What must he be thinking? How awkward for him to be talking about all of this with some strange woman present. I was not too sick to feel sorry for him.

  “I will get some ginger root. If you boil it in water and then drink it like tea, it should help settle your stomach. If it is the morning sickness, the best thing to do is eat just a little throughout the day, keep something in your stomach so it’s never empty.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Evelyn looked to Sam again. “Just keep giving her a little sip, until she seems to be keeping it down. Then give her a few bites of bread or biscuit until she can keep it down. Once you’ve got that mastered, she should be all right. If she vomits you’ll have to start all over again, giving her little sips and working her up to drinking a full cup.”

  “I will,” Sam promised.

  Evelyn got up as if she might leave. I grabbed her hand to stop her. “This is between us?” My voice sounded pathetically desperate.

  She nodded her head up and down. “I won’t tell anyone,” she assured me. “But you won’t be able to hide it for long if that’s what it is. I will bring the ginger root around. It ought to help.”

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  Sam stood up and walked her to the door. He stepped outside with her for a minute, pushing the door nearly shut behind him so I couldn’t hear what was being said. When he came back he was intensely quiet. He sat down again with the tin cup in his hand, leaning forward in the chair with his arms resting on his legs, his head slightly bowed. He was looking at me as though I were some strange new novelty. I grew uncomfortable.

  “What are you thinking?” I spoke in a low voice because it seemed somehow wrong to break the silence.

  “Do you think it’s true?”

  “How should I know?” I said in frustration.

  “Well, how do you feel?”

  “Like hell.”

  “You know what I mean,” he replied plaintively.

  “I don’t know. I feel sick. I feel tired. I feel terrified,” I said. “I feel terrified…”

  He sat the mug down on the table and came to me, lay down next to me on the bed, and held me close in his arms, his chin resting on the top of my head.

  Chapter 39

  IT SEE
MED STRANGE TO THINK there was possibly a life growing within me, a life I could not yet even detect. Evelyn’s ginger tea soothed my sickness, as did keeping something in my stomach and never letting it be empty. Sam was very sober all the time now. He followed me around feeding me a steady supply of hardtack, whether I wanted it or not. I could not look at the stuff before I ate it, because if I saw the maggots it made me immediately nauseous. There were still moments when I was ill, but my discomfort greatly improved when I followed Evelyn’s recommendations.

  “You must stop coddling me. They will suspect something if you keep acting this way,” I complained again and again. “I am not some pet project. I can take care of myself.” But it did no good. He was too careful with me, too considerate, and it set my nerves on edge.

  His particularly thoughtful manner made me wonder what he was thinking, what he wanted to say but wouldn’t. I wished I had the courage to ask him. But there are times when you know what needs to be said is something you aren’t strong enough to hear, and so you don’t ask, and hope they won’t tell.

  At night he would prop himself up on his elbow with his other hand on my belly, his fingers splayed, his palm cupping my abdomen while he studied me as though he might see some physical change that would give him a clue as to what was happening within. This great mystery kept us both enthralled, but he more so than me.

  “What is it like?” he asked.

  “I don’t feel any different, other than the sickness part of it,” I answered. “I wonder if it isn’t true. Shouldn’t I feel something?” I wished there was some significant and profound thing to say about it, but I couldn’t think of any.

  “I think I would like a son,” he declared one night.

  “What if it is a daughter?”

  He smiled with a little laugh. “I think I would like that too.”