Lost in the Mist

by Wanda C. Keesey

  "Evan was made Provost Marshal. So it would seem that he turned his and Victoria's home over to be used as offices and quarters for officers and contacts passing through the area and later as a hospital. He and Victoria must have moved back in with her mother.

  "I still don't know what happened to Victoria. But there's an article in a July sixty-three issue of the local paper. That was almost seven months after the First Battle of Fredericksburg. Here look for yourself.” She found the correct paper and handed it to Brian.

  He read the short piece aloud. “After several days of searching, it has been determined that the popular wife of Lt. Colonel Evan Brewster has become a victim of war. Although her body has not been found, her cloak was discovered at the river's edge, wet and covered with mud. The war effort will sorely miss her gentle hand and kind heart at the many community hospitals."

  Connie didn't wait for Brian to comment. “Evan was a real piece of work. Somewhere in there are some of the articles he wrote and posters that he had put up in town. He was like a nineteenth-century Hitler. Encouraging people to report their friends and neighbors if they suspected them of aiding and abetting the enemy. When I read them, I wondered what Victoria thought of her husband's career.

  "Speaking of Evan, he married Annabelle, Victoria's best friend, that same December. They don't mention the baby, but if Evan had a child to care for it would explain the speedy wedding.

  "If there's no record, I don't know if I'll ever find out the whole story. Maybe the journal will give me some clues.

  "Remember that grave stone I rubbed of a local soldier? There were a lot of them in the cemetery but his seemed to pull at me. Rollin (Carpy) Carpstairs was his name. I still don't know what connection he has to Victoria, but he was in the Provost Guard and he is reported to have died at the Chapel of Mercy from pneumonia. Somewhere in that stack of papers is the article. It makes him out to be a local hero for staying behind and guarding the city from scavengers.

  "He probably knew Victoria. I'm wondering if they had an affair and maybe Evan found out and quietly got rid of Rollin. If he did, maybe Victoria ran away, or tried to, to get away from him.

  "At any rate it looks like both Max and the doctor returned home after the war. We know that the doctor died in seventy-two, I saw Victoria at the church after his funeral. That's puzzling too. Where had she been since her disappearance nine years earlier?"

  Brian held several sheets of paper in his hands. “Look at these lists, injured, killed, missing. What a way to get news about someone you love. You have enough information to write a series of articles or maybe even a book."

  "The thought crossed my mind, but I want to know how this real life saga will end first.” Connie drank the rest of her milkshake and started to gather the copies.

  "It's been a fruitful day, but I still have a lot of questions."

  "I can see that.” Brian put the trash on the brown tray and stood to carry it to the trash bin.

  "Where to? Since the rain's stopped, the tourists are coming out in droves. Would you like to join them?” Brian held the door open.

  "Hmm, I shouldn't. I have an article to finish. But there is one place I would like to see, the house that Evan built for Victoria."

  Armed with a tourist map of the city and the description of where the house was located from the newspaper for those wanted to visit the Provost Guard, Brian and Connie left the parked car and started to search. The house was located two streets off the river at the south end of the city, three blocks north of the railroad station. All they found was a park, and an historical marker. “Once the site of the Provost Guard of Fredericksburg. The building was destroyed in the violence that preceded the battle of December 13, 1862."

  "Now what?” Brian looked around the small park. “Nothing left to see."

  Connie started to walk down the slate path that wound through the trees and flower beds. A large grassy area opened in front of them. “That's were the house was. It looked like a plantation house with the columns in front and whitewashed framework, only smaller.” Gasping with surprise she said. “It's beautiful."

  Quickly Connie turned around. “Brian,” she called, but she knew he wouldn't be behind her, not in this time zone.

  Turning back, she thought she was alone, but then she heard the moans coming from the shade of the tall maple trees that circled the building. As she drew nearer Connie could see that the yard had been trampled into mud by men, animals and the wagons filled with injured.

  She stood frozen as the pleas of the wounded grew louder, the sweet smell of decaying flesh, the coppery smell of blood and the more familiar smell of human waste assailed her. She could hear the screams of those inside the building.

  There was blood everywhere, mixing with the soil, soaking through the sorry bandages, staining the nurses’ aprons and dresses. Hoards of insects hovered and buzzed over the wounded, adding yet another level of discomfort.

  Three old women carrying pails of water and tin cups walked among the suffering, offering them some little relief. Their own faces were streaked by tears mixed with dust and the blood of others.

  A woman came through the open doorway. She bent her head to untie the grimy cloth protecting her long dark hair. Connie saw that the nurse was Victoria. Her eyes looked past the horror around her, and fixed on Connie. With a nod, she left the wide porch and started to walk to the back of the house.

  Connie followed.

  It was no walk through a rose garden. Hands reached out to catch Victoria's skirts as she threaded her way through the wounded and steered clear of the muddy ruts.

  Even knowing that her foot wouldn't be felt by them, Connie followed the same path, stepping high to avoid treading on limbs, and walking sideways to traverse the narrow areas between bodies.

  Connie wished she could reach out and hold Brian's hand. Just the thought of his warmth, made her smile.

  "You can smile at their misery?"

  Victoria's words jerked Connie back. There was a bite in her voice, and weariness.

  "Of course not,” Connie quickly answered. Victoria was already moving away. Trailing behind, Connie tried to avert her eyes. She tried not to see too many of the unnatural sights that threatened to assault her senses.

  Oddly, an area behind the house had been kept clear of any obstruction. A patch of ground under the last two windows was muddy. A boy of thirteen or fourteen with a cloth over the lower part of his face pushed a vendor's cart around the corner.

  She was about to ask Victoria about the boy and cart, when Connie heard an oddly familiar sound. It was the splat of something heavy landing on a wet surface, like a piece of fresh meat slapped down on the butchers cutting board. From the corner of her eye she saw something sail out of one of the open windows, there was another sickening splat. She knew what the sound was. Closing her eyes, Connie wished she could go back to her own time.

  "Come.” Victoria's soft command forced Connie to open her eyes and follow.

  They passed within a few feet of the operating room windows. Connie glanced at a disembodied arm, the fingers still twitching. The boy was there to collect and bury the amputated body parts.

  My God! Connie held her stomach. I'm going to be sick. She rushed to get away from the gory scene. Kneeling near a clump of bushes, she put her head down and tried to think of anything but the growing pile of flesh.

  If I throw up while I'm in the nineteenth century, will I leave a mess in the twenty-first? I might find out.

  "Are you all right, Kone? I'm sorry, I should have gone around the other side of the house, but this was shorter.” Victoria sat in the grass next to Connie. “But now you see what we live with.” Her voice quivered. “You must tell me about the War. How long are we to endure this madness?"

  Sitting with her back to the house, Connie thought she could answer her question. “It's a long war. The horrors of it live in history. I keep it alive by writing about the people and places affected by it. Many scholars study it, but that doe
sn't matter to you. You're living in it. I wish I could help but I can't change what has been, and I don't know enough to make a difference to your life."

  "Why do you come to my time? Is it to help us? Or to taunt me in my misery? Tell me of my family. What of me, of Evan.” Victoria's voice trailed off to a whisper.

  Connie watched as tears filled Victoria's eyes and slowly made their way down the soiled cheeks. Lifting her apron, Victoria wiped her face. Drawing her knees up to her chin she looked at Connie. “I haven't heard from Max in some time, he and Simon, Annabelle's brother are listed as missing.” Her accusing eyes were colder that the ice that filled Connie's stomach, the indigo swirled like angry storms. “Do you know what has become of them?"

  Connie nodded slowly. How much should she tell? “I know Max comes home and lives a full and prosperous life. Don't write him off, Victoria. Or yourself either. What you are doing here is important. If it weren't for people like you and Max ... you make our country what it becomes. The standards you've set are hard to live up to. That's why we study this damned war, I guess, to see how we can be better citizens."

  It was a little, but not enough.

  "Tell me about the War. Is the South victorious? Are we freed from the stranglehold of the Federal Government?” Her words were angry, each hitting Connie like a blow.

  "I can't tell you any more. I may have told you too much as it is.” Connie tried to be firm.

  "Evan fears a battle will be fought here in Fredericksburg. Can you say if this will be?"

  "More than one. Trust Evan. He is a good military man. I can't say anymore, Victoria. If I told you all I know, it might affect your decisions and the future. Not just your future. I would be taking a chance with millions of lives."

  Standing, Victoria brushed off her skirt. “Can you smell it, Kone? The rotting flesh? At first, I became ill every time I came near this place. The things I saw, bodies torn beyond healing, the maggots that find refuge in the open wounds of the living men. The things I heard, screams of pain, the death rattle that never ends, the saws cutting through bone. The worst is the smell of the dead. That smell will be with me for the rest of my life.

  "I hardly notice them any more; they are here, every day, a part of my world. What I notice are their eyes. I see pain and death in so many eyes.” The quiet words trailed off as she started walking back to the house, not bothering to lift her skirt to keep it out of the filth that covered the grounds. Her steps quickened as two wagons pulled by frenzied horses entered the yard. Their burden of wounded carried here from some nearby battlefield.

  Connie wondered what day it was. What battle bore this latest crop of causalities?

  * * * *

  Brian sat next to her in the grass and handed her the purse she'd dropped when she went into the past. “Welcome back. You look sick."

  "I feel sick,” she said. “I met Victoria here when it was a hospital. There isn't any way to describe...” Connie swallowed to fight the nausea.

  A group of tourists stopped and read the bronze marker. They looked at the small park without a hint of understanding before walking on. “They have no idea what was here. They can't understand.” Connie realized that she was crying. She dug in her purse for tissues.

  "Come on. I think it's time we get out of here.” Brian stood and put out his hand.

  Connie pulled herself to her feet. “I have a lot of notes to go through and an article to finish. I should be getting back to Fraiser's. I want to have the first rough draft done by tonight so I can show it to Betty and Carl. Once I have this out of the way I'll be free of at least one obligation."

  "Okay, I'll go with..."

  "No, you have your own work to do. The sun is out. The sky is beautiful. Drop me off at the inn and go take some pictures. Tonight you can critique my work."

  * * * *

  Connie laid her head back and closed her eyes. Her thoughts spun. She could see Victoria's scowling face. It was older and wrinkled. Her arms were crossed over the bodice of her drab gray dress. A floppy hat shaded her eyes. “You have to take love where you find it. It won't come beggin'. So few find true love, don't be one of them, child. Fight for what is yours to have.” The quiet whisper was firm and clear.

  "Connie, wake up.” Brian's hand was on her arm.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. I had the strangest dream ... I can't quite remember all of it, but Victoria...” She sat up, and seeing that they were in front of the B&B, she collected her things. “Oh, well, it will come back to me. I'll see you later. Thanks for the ride."

  "Are you sure you don't want me to hang around?” Brian asked.

  "I'm sure. You can't let the turn in weather go to waste. You'll be tied up at the battlefield most of the day tomorrow. And you can't neglect your own work."

  "Well ... it would be a shame to waste those clouds,” Brian admitted. “I promise I'll be back by four."

  "No promises, you take as long as you need."

  Connie had her hand on the door latch.

  "Don't trip without me,” Brian said. His concern was real.

  "I'll try not to, but ... you know..."

  "I know and that makes it all the more important that I stick around."

  "It'll be all right. I'll be in my room and I promise that if I do trip, I won't leave the house."

  "Well, I guess you should be safe if you stay put."

  "I will. Come on, you're making me feel guilty. I'll see you tonight.” Connie pulled the latch. The door opened. With one leg out of the car, she stopped. Quickly leaning across the narrow space between them, she kissed Brian.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Twenty-Seven

  As Connie closed the door, she heard laughter coming from the kitchen. The drapes in the parlor were closed to protect the antique rugs and furnishing from the sun. While the sitting room curtains let in the sun making it cheerful and airy in comparison to the gloom across the hall. The smells of baking filled the house.

  Not wanting to see anyone, Connie quickly went up the steps to her room.

  Dropping her bags on the floor, she threw herself across the bed. Why hadn't she gone with Brian? Or let him come back with her? Why had she made a fool of herself by kissing him? How would she be able to look him in the eye at dinner? How would she be able to stand the time spent away from him?

  Getting to her feet, Connie retrieved her notes and started arranging them. Work at least, would make the time go faster.

  * * * *

  The article was done. The first draft was ready for the Fraisers to read.

  After a brief history of ownership with emphasis on the Fraisers, Connie put together a fairly detailed biography of the Brentwells before and during the Civil War. She did omit the true cause of Victoria's sister, Evangeline's death, and only reported the recorded information available to the public on Victoria's disappearance.

  The work done to her satisfaction, Connie clicked on the print icon and watched as the first sheet of paper feed into the portable printer. Now she could concentrate on Victoria.

  Leafing through her disorderly stack of notes, Connie found the article that reported Victoria's death. The last line stood out.

  The war effort will sorely miss her gentle hand and kind heart at the many community hospitals.

  Knowing Victoria's background, her father being a doctor and she and her mother had at times helped in his home office, Connie wasn't surprised that Victoria had done more than roll bandages and knit socks. Seeing her at the hospital this afternoon had seemed a natural place to find her. Maybe Victoria would give her some more insight in the journal.

  Making sure that the printer had enough paper to finish its work, Connie went to the wardrobe and took the journal from her canvas suitcase. She experienced some guilt for hiding the small book. After all she had found it in the Fraiser's house and by law it belonged to them, but ... Connie felt that she too had a claim to the book. She just didn't know how to prove that claim.

  There were
only a few entries for the remainder of eighteen sixty.

  10 November 1860

  I have taken to my bed. I have terrible pains. Mama is afraid. I can see it in her eyes, even though she tries to hide it from me. She stays with me night and day.

  16 November 1860

  It is over. The child is lost, and now, so am I.

  20 November 1860

  My sadness is deep. I thought to end my life. Mama sat with me while I was ill, she helped when the baby came. Her presence gave me strength when I could not see beyond the bed I lay upon. Now I understand the melancholy that darkened her life. But she need not have suffered. Her child, my sister could have lived. I have no choice; God has taken it out of my hands.

  Evan is hurt by our loss. It was the first I knew how much this child meant to him. He has lost a part of himself as well. His concern for me is touching. He has assigned a Corporal in the home guard to carry notes between us several times a day. His name is Rollin Carpstairs. He is a friend of Maxi's called Carpy.

  So there is a connection between Rollin and Victoria. Did it go further? Turning the page, Connie saw that more pressing things were happening in Fredericksburg.

  6 July 1861

  Max has joined the army. A group of his friends from school found the Home Guard too tame. They heard troops are gathering in Richmond. He left a letter for Mama and one for Papa. There was a third. It was to me. He has been a good brother and friend, now he is a grown man and I can not fault him for wanting to fight. We had a long talk before he took his leave. He is sorry that I had suffered the loss of my child. We embraced, both shedding tears. I will pray for his well being and safe return.

  25 August 1861

  Papa has gone to join the Confederate forces. Soldiers came in search of men to fight and doctors to treat the wounded. In spite of his advanced age, Papa is in his 55th year, with a wife to care for, the troops implored him to join them. The call to do his duty weighed heavily on him. After speaking with Evan, he gathered his instruments. He will leave in the morning for Richmond.

  With Papa and Maxi gone, Evan and I will live with Mama. Our house will be used as a barracks and if need be a hospital. The carriage house is larger and can stable a dozen horses.