“I can’t go wrong then, because if there is a child, it is positively one of the two.”
“If it’s a girl you can call it whatever you’d like,” he said. “So long as I can name a boy Luke. I have always liked the name Luke. I have always thought someday I should have a son with the name.”
“That is a good name—Luke. And if it is a girl, I may name it?”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I like the name Augusta.”
“What?” He was unpleasantly surprised by my choice.
“You don’t like it?”
“I picture a large old woman with a number of hairy moles on her face and a set of substantial wooden teeth.” He bundled his fingers and tapped his thumb to them. “Chomp, chomp.”
“You don’t like it?” I was offended.
“Not one bit,” he said with a sour face.
“But I liked Luke,” I complained, as if my liking his name should automatically ensure his liking mine as well.
“Well, yes of course you did, because Luke is a good solid name. A very fine name.”
“And Augusta is not?”
“It won’t work unless we have a very ugly girl. And you know as well as I do you and I could not produce a very ugly girl.”
“Well, I am outraged!” I cried. “You just got through telling me I could pick the name, and now you are telling me I can’t?”
“Be true with me, were you completely serious about that name?”
“Yes!” I said, shoving his elbow out from under him so he collapsed onto the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized through laughter. “Really I am. But I must intercede on behalf of the child.”
“Maybe I don’t like Luke then,” I said in a huff.
“Yes, you do,” he said with a self-assured grin.
“You really are insufferable,” I grumbled.
“In a charming sort of way.”
I shrugged. “In a charming sort of way,” I agreed. “Although I am reluctant to admit it, because I don’t believe your ego needs any stroking.”
“You are, as always, very perceptive.”
“Yes, well, women’s intuition and all that sort of thing,” I said with a roll of my eyes. I waited a moment before I said, “You realize I may not be having a baby at all. It may just be some strange stomach disorder.”
He gave me a winning smile, with a look to tell me he thought I was completely wrong. He didn’t argue, though. He just shrugged. “Time will tell,” he said knowingly. Then he put his hand back to my belly and resumed staring at my flat stomach. “In the meantime, be careful what you say. He may hear you.”
Chapter 40
THE END OF APRIL WAS A TIME of great changes, not only for Sam and I, who were apparently to become proud parents in the near future, but also for General Grant, who was now the proud parent of the whole Union army. The shift in management was not to end there. Upton was given a new command of the 2nd Brigade, and Olcott was now to command the 121st. We also received good news when Olcott gave Sam another promotion, this time to First Lieutenant. He received an increase in pay effective immediately.
“What do you think of your husband now?” he asked with child-like glee when he informed me of it.
We drilled and exercised on a daily basis for much of the day now with the warmer weather. We were very envied for our abilities, the pride of our superiors. All of this was in preparation for the summer months and the battles to come. They had us in fighting condition, ready at a moment’s notice. We need only receive word.
Our first indication things would be happening soon was when one of the Carroll brothers told us all about the news he just heard circulating among uppers, after he came back from Brandy Station with a fish for his dinner.
“General Grant has given directions that all visitors, particularly women, should leave camp,” he said in an excited fluster. I still never could figure which brother was which, if he was the elder or the younger. Then I thought perhaps he was the younger because it seemed to me older siblings were always the more sober. He must be Alden.
“When?” Sam asked.
“Right away, without delay,” he replied eagerly.
I saw Sam and Reed Haney exchange a significant glance. This did not escape my attention, nor did it make me happy. I knew the two of them were probably plotting behind my back. The next day the depot was flooded with departing friends and relatives. The scene was mostly one of controlled chaos. Women wept openly and held their men close, whether it be son or brother or more often than not, lover. The lingering good-byes lasted until just moments before the train pulled away from Brandy Station.
The camp was eerily silent in the days to follow. The grand party was over. The mood which was once festive and cheerful was now somber and sedated. Our visitors took all that was merry with them, and in their absence, the grim months ahead loomed dark and foreboding. I did my best not to think too much on it because I didn’t like to speculate about what was to come.
Then in the late night hours of the third of May word came down. I hardly saw my husband that day. He was indisposed from early in the morning until very late at night. Sam came home after a meeting with Upton, Olcott, Sedgewick and others looking not only tired, as was to be expected, but downright wretched. I imagine they had been discussing dissolving winter camp and striking out to look for Lee. I knew time was running out for us. He always did his best not to disturb me if I was sleeping when he came home, but that night he shook my shoulder gently until I was roused. I sat up in the bed, knowing from the troubled look on his face something was the matter.
“Serena…” he began in a hushed tone.
He drew me close as he sat on the edge of the bed, resting his lips upon my forehead. And then he did something that alarmed me. His body shuddered and he let out a sob. I pulled away so I could look at him. Sam was grappling with his emotions, doing his best to get control of himself, but his eyes betrayed his torment.
“What’s the matter, Sam?” I asked softly. I’d rarely seen a man cry, and not only did I feel uncomfortable but almost panicked by it. Sam wasn’t an overly emotional person. It took a great deal to rile him to any extreme. So I knew he was very troubled.
He swallowed a few times, paused to try to get himself under control, and then he took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead again. “I can’t do this anymore,” he told me.
Now this could have been taken in several ways. My initial interpretation was to believe he had decided he didn’t want me, that he’d discovered being married wasn’t for him, and having me and a soon-to-be baby was too much responsibility. Playing house was not fun for him anymore. My stomach plummeted, my eyes widened, and I thought I might become hysterical.
“What do you mean?” I choked out.
“I can’t go on like this. You must go home,” he said.
Although I was somewhat relieved he was not remorseful he had taken me as a wife, I was sick anew over his revelation. He was going to try to convince me to go home again. After all of my refusals he would still not give it up. I dropped my eyes and tried to pull away from his hands.
“Why do you make this so difficult for me?” I complained.
He held my face firmly in his hands. “I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you. Can’t you understand?”
“Nothing will happen,” I insisted.
“We both know you can’t say that with any certainty. You are deceiving yourself if you think otherwise, Serena. You will do as you want, you always have, but I wish you would listen to me for once.”
“I do listen to you, Sam,” I cried.
“I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt, or worse, getting killed. I think of nothing but you, and it makes me weak. It makes me vulnerable. I can’t do what I need to do when I’m sick with worry over you. Do you understand? Do you care nothing for what this is doing to me?”
I didn’t have anything to say. What could I say? How could I argue with h
im? He had my best interests at heart, and it may not be what I wanted, but I couldn’t simply dismiss his wish when I knew his point was valid. Even though I knew this, knew what he was saying was true, I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud. I couldn’t say, You’re right, Sam. I should go home. I should let you wash your hands of me. I should burden you no more.
“You want to get rid of me,” I accused, doing my best not to cry.
“No.”
“You think I am a burden and you want to get rid of me,” I wailed.
He was shaking his head. “No!” he insisted. “You know that’s not true. You know it isn’t.”
“You don’t want me anymore,” I said, pushing him away. He drew me into his arms and held me fast as I fought against him.
“You’ve grown tired of me.”
“Serena, stop saying such things. I love you—”
“You want to send me away!”
“—adore you,” he continued.
I burst out into tears, throwing my hands up and covering my eyes. He tried to pull them away, but I pressed them harder against my eyeballs, until they ached under the pressure.
“Serena…”
“Why do you want to hurt me?” I asked. “Why do you want to hurt me?”
He waited until I cried myself out, holding me tight the entire time. Finally after a long quiet moment he said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It would kill me to have to leave you,” I whispered.
“It would kill me if something happened to you or our baby,” he replied. “Call it my foolish pride if you’d like, but I would like to think I’m a man who can take care of his wife, protect her, keep her safe, and provide for her. I want you to have a good life, Serena. And this is not a good life.”
I shook my head vehemently.
“It is time,” he said. “It is time…”
“I never would have done any of this if it wasn’t for you, Sam, because I loved you, because I wanted to be near you. I would endure any manner of affliction to be with you.”
“Well, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be in constant fear of something happening to you. It is a painful distraction. I am eaten up with worry over your welfare. Why can’t you understand?”
“Please…” I began to beg. “Please don’t send me away.”
“There’s more to it than just you and me now,” he said. “It’s not just my love for you, Serena. It’s my love for the child, too. There’s that to think about. If anything happens to you it happens to him too. Do you want such a thing on your conscience?” He paused for a moment. “We already made our choices. Now there is nothing left to do but live with them.”
How could I argue? With nothing to say, I remained silent. I began to cry again, and he continued to hold me. My world was crumbling to pieces, and I knew inevitably I would have to go home. He was right, no matter how I fought it. He was right, and I would have to leave. But in the moment I hated him for being right. I hated him for being the voice of reason.
Chapter 41
THE DEPOT WAS TEAMING with last minute travelers, eager to abandon the place before the army pulled out. I packed hastily before leaving our cabin, waiting until the last possible minute out of dread. I donned my wedding dress and put on my shoes before reluctantly shutting the door behind me for good. I clutched my bag to me in nervous dread for the journey ahead, trying to keep pace with Sam. He held my arm firmly as we navigated past the throngs of people, picking his way toward the front of the car, where I would board. Finally he pulled me aside so he might say his farewell.
“I want you to take this,” he said, pulling all of the cash from his pocket.
“I have my pay, Sam. Keep it in case you need it.”
He thrust it forward again. “I kept a little for myself. You take this,” he persisted. I knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I reluctantly accepted it and tucked it into my bag. “You will need it to get started back home.”
I nodded gravely.
“I know you can handle yourself,” he continued, “But you have the pistol in case. If there should be any trouble, you don’t hesitate to use it, hear?”
“I won’t,” I assured him in an empty voice.
“When you get back to Richfield, you have the farm. I know your father will help, and so will mine. My father, my brothers, they can get you on your feet, help with the work.”
“It will be fine, Sam,” I said.
“I hate to have you go without a chaperone, but you’ll be careful won’t you?” Again I nodded my head yes. “You’ll take care?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“I don’t have much time now. They will be leaving soon.”
“I know. You must go.”
“I love you. Oh, how I love you. It is so hard to say good-bye. But we must pray we will be reunited soon. You must pray for your husband, that God will preserve him. Pray he will see to it that we may be together again,” Sam said emotionally.
I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but his words touched me so. I felt my chest constrict and the tears warm and wet upon my cheeks. “Sam,” I howled.
“You mustn’t cry,” he said, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “You have always been a brave girl. And you must be one now too.”
“When I think of leaving you…when I think I will not have you with me, I feel so desperate, so empty. How will I endure without you?”
“What a silly question. You are a survivor, Serena. No matter what happens to me, you will go on. And you listen—now, you see to it you take good care of our child. You see to it he’s well until I should see him for myself. Do you hear?”
“I will,” I cried.
“It can’t last forever. And I will be coming home to you.”
I wrapped myself around his waist, determined I would never let him go. He returned my embrace for a time and then he kissed me before he pulled away. “I must go now,” he said.
I knew we were being indecent, but the thought that I might never see him again made me frantic. I drew near and kissed him again, long and lingering.
“I love you so,” I told him, and then put my lips to his in desperation, thinking I must memorize the way he smelled, the way he tasted, how it felt to be held in his arms. “You are everything to me. Swear you will come back to me! Swear it, Sampson Barlow!”
“I will do all I can,” he pledged.
“Swear it!” I begged.
He put his hand over his heart. “I swear it.”
One last kiss. “I love you,” I sobbed.
“I love you,” he vowed. He backed away from me with a look of longing, and then he turned around and was swallowed up in the crowd. I stood there on the platform unable to hide my despair. It occurred to me others around me witnessed us kissing, and were now watching me cry. It was shameful, and yet, I could not control it.
Finally I drew myself up, resolved to be strong. I clutched my bag to my chest and climbed up the stairs. Sitting next to a window, I watched the other people scurrying to and fro upon the platform. The train whistle blew, and a short while later it pulled away from the station. I began to cry anew, knowing I was leaving Sam behind and I didn’t know when or if I would see him again. I felt the loss penetrate my heart and was sure it was broken into a million pieces. I wondered if I would ever be whole again.
THE END
Teaser for Upcoming Sequel:
The Emancipator
…HE ACTED AS THOUGH HE MIGHT GET UP TO LEAVE, but paused with his case in his hand, leaning forward in his chair as though he wanted to share something with me, some juicy bit of gossip that required delicacy.
“Was there something else?” I inquired.
“I am just curious,” he admitted. “I must know—what happened? I mean after you left Sam, what became of him? Of you?”
“I went home and Sam went to Libby Prison.”
He was astonished. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth fell open as though he were in shock.
“Libby Prison?” h
e gasped.
Who had not heard of the infamous Libby Prison? The name was said as a hiss, an expletive. It was a dirty, foul place where men went to waste away and die terrible, agonizing deaths.
“Please,” he implored, “tell me what happened.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to CJ Creel, my amazing editor; Michelle Glad, my sounding board and greatest support; the staff at Omnific Publishing; and my beloved family, who make it all possible.
About the Author
Tracy Winegar enjoys cooking and gardening in her free time. She loves all things vintage and considers several family heirlooms to be her prized possessions. She’s also always on the lookout to score pieces to add to her growing Jadeite collection.
Tracy lives with her husband Benjamin and four beautiful children in the Treasure Valley area of Idaho. Born and raised in the Midwest, her philosophies of life, love, and family are deeply anchored in those small town Indiana roots.
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