Lost in the Mist

by Wanda C. Keesey

  Carpy agreed to walk with Annabelle, carrying a tin cup of steaming tea, made of plant roots. Taking the second cup and the heavy tin pot, Victoria went to the small chest of items that she and Annabelle were able to bring along from their homes. She took out a heel of bread and a long bladed knife that had been worn thin with many years of sharpening.

  "Every man in the tent well get a piece of bread and cup of tea. It is a small thing, but it must be enough. Annabelle brought some venison jerky. We will boil it and feed the broth to them this evening. Some of the town's people provided dried fruit and vegetables. We keep them in our tents for the sick and wounded. They cannot get well without food for strength, if we kept it here, it would go to some officer's table.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but Connie could hear every word. She followed and watched as Victoria stopped at each bunk, and talked to the man lying there. She asked each if he had received word from his wife, or parents, if he would like to send a letter, and promising to return to write it for him. Some asked about the fighting, if it had started yet, and if it was a good day for a battle. She would answer, “No, but it will be soon.” and “Is there ever a good day for a battle?"

  She would sometimes have to soak the bread in the tea so it could be swallowed, but all took the offering eagerly as they listened to the woman's voice.

  "I must start cleaning my patients, Kone. It is a difficult chore, one that robs them and me of all modesty, but it must be done."

  Connie reached out, not quite touching the other woman, but close enough to get her attention. “I wish I could help. It's important that you keep them and their wounds clean. They will heal faster and feel better while they are ill."

  Taking her cloak off, Victoria filled a large bowl with hot water from one bucket, tempering it with cold from another. Putting a rough linen cloth over her arm, she took a cloth and cake of homemade lye soap and walked to the last bunks in the tent.

  She's a natural. Connie watched her work, talking in quiet tones that only that patient could hear as she washed the man's body, then cleaned and redressed wounds and body sores, talking or singing to distract him from her task. She left with a promise to return with pencil and paper for a letter, or a book to read aloud, or just to visit. The medications she gave were no more than headache powders, she put sulfur on the wounds and suave on the sores, but her words and acts of kindness did more than these could accomplish.

  The sun was well up when the job was done. Victoria joined Connie at the tent's open flaps. She pushed her sleeves down over arms pink with cold.

  "Come with me.” Connie led the way. The men were eagerly watching over the earthworks, their backs turned. “Keep your head down and stay behind the rocks. I think this is something you should see.” She said the words before walking ahead to the trench. Victoria found a way down and an outcropping of tree roots to aid her climb to the other side. She crouched behind the stone wall and looked slowly over the top, all the time accepting the good hearted remarks from the excited men of General Hill's command as they made room for her. She watched for some time, asking questions of the soldiers and shaking her head in disbelief.

  Connie stood beside Victoria and watched the sea of blue uniforms line up at the foot of Marye's Heights. Lambs ready for slaughter.

  Victoria jerked, crying out with surprise. Carpy stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder and fire in his eyes. “Woman, do you want me to be shot?” Carpy's face was red with anger. “Did you send me away that you might come up here and bring yourself to harm?"

  "I did no such thing.” Victoria's face flushed at being scolded like a child. “Who do you think..."

  "I will tell you who I am. I am a soldier in your husband's company and under his strict orders. If he finds you here, on the firing line, he will indeed have me shot, but not before he exacts his own more painful punishment.” Taking her arm, the Corporal pulled Victoria to the trench road and helped her cross it. “If I cannot trust you to stay at the hospital tents, then I will have to ask the Colonel's permission to take you somewhere out of harm's way."

  Victoria took the tongue lashing with her head bent. When the angry words had reached an end, she looked up, tears shining in her eyes. “I'm sorry, Carpy, I didn't think. I wanted to see for myself what was going on."

  "And have you seen enough? Or do you want me to take you down into the streets? You could see the Blue Coats up close."

  Pulling back from the harsh words, Victoria spoke softly. “I promise I will not venture out on my own again. Carpy, these men need me. Don't tell Evan, or he will surely make me leave, Annabelle and I are their only comfort.” She stopped, waiting for his reply.

  The soldier's mouth was a straight angry line, his eyes burned with rage. The sight of such fury chilled Connie. Just as amazing was the effect Victoria had on him. His mouth softened and the red spots on his cheeks paled.

  "You frightened me. I saw your head over the wall, and I imagined I could hear the shot that would end your life ... and mine.” His voice was shaking.

  Connie felt a pang of guilt at having encouraged Victoria, even though she knew the charge across the fields would not start for several hours yet. The cannon duel between Federal cannons and a young man under Stuart named Pelham had just begun. Shells tore into the swamp, bringing death closer. Soon the first of Meade's men would start through the swamp and succeed in cutting through Hill's lines. But without backup from Franklin's Corp, they would be driven back to the river, leaving many wounded and dead behind.

  "You will go into the hospital tent and stay there. I will find Annabelle and bring her there. You will both be safer and when the wounded start coming, you will both be needed.” Carpy didn't wait for her reply, but left her standing at the opening.

  "You knew that I wouldn't be hurt.” Her words were directed at the shadowy figure inside the misty shell that had followed her back across the clearing.

  "I knew you would be safe for a little while yet,” Connie agreed. She had known, but she wasn't pleased with her actions, she could have changed history if things had gone wrong. Maybe one of the soldiers she would have otherwise helped, might have died and his lineage with him. No, from now on, she would allow Victoria to go her own way. Connie shivered, not from cold but from fright. Why was she here?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of two soldiers. They clung to each other for support as they made their way to the tent nearest the cook wagon. At the operating tent several nurses went to help them inside. Victoria watched. “It has begun. I have seen many wounded and sick, but I have not before heard the cannons so close. What else am I to experience before this day is over?"

  "I wish I could tell you, Victoria,” Connie said as she watched the young woman go into the ward tent to write letters, and read poetry until the fighting brought them more broken men to patch up. “But I really don't know."

  Connie glided over the frozen ground into the woods. The ground cover was thick off the narrow pathway, but a short distance in she found a clearing where tents had been put up to house some of the nurses and doctors. Carpy helped Annabelle emerge from one of the tents. Looking around the clearing first, he bent and kissed her waiting lips.

  "You are not still angry with Victoria, are you, Rollin? She doesn't mean any harm.” Annabelle held him as she looked into his eyes.

  "I was frightened. What if she had been hurt? Or if the Colonel had seen her? Even now, if he hears of her action, it will be me that he takes his anger out on. He left her in my care.” Pushing a wayward strand of hair from Annabelle's forehead, he smiled down at this, the girl he still loved. “How can I stay angry at her? It was she that brought us back together. I was so stupid to leave you.” He stayed her protest with another kiss. “It doesn't matter. We are together and we will always be together. This war is sure to end soon. It will be won and we will be married."

  Connie watched as they walked with their arms around each other, lost in each other's eyes. He would be dead within a year and she
would marry Evan just months afterward. I'm glad they at least have this time together.

  Heading back toward the shelling, Connie tried to see through the mass of trees and underbrush. The lone gunner would soon pull back having run out of shells, and the Union soldiers would surge forward, unknowingly attacking the only venerable spot in the Rebel line, the swamp. The sporadic rifle fire increased to a steady volley. Connie was frozen to the spot. She watched as blue uniforms picked their way through the icy water and mud. Many fell never to rise again. Some writhed on the ground in pain. Blood blossomed in dark red patches on arms, legs and chests. As she watched a Confederate soldier fell backwards, a neat round hole above his right eye. Connie felt faint. It's not real ... not real, she tried to convince herself.

  "BATTLE SWAMP,” she said, loudly hoping Brian would hear.

  No, it's me; I'm not real, not in this time. She felt herself falling but didn't feel the ground, only the strong embrace that held her.

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  Thirty

  "Are you all right?” The warm breath from his words caressed her cheek. Connie nodded.

  "This is becoming a habit.” She opened her eyes to see Brian's face close to hers.

  He smiled as he leaned over, kissing her tenderly.

  "Where are the Handleys?” she asked, when he let her speak.

  "Who cares?” His reply was followed by another kiss, and another.

  Connie allowed herself to be swept away. She could handle this. Her head spun, but this time it wasn't from tripping. She had thought she was in love with Phil, and maybe she had been, but this was different. No, I have to take this slow. Reluctantly she pulled away.

  "Brian, I have to go back. The battle was just getting under way. I have a feeling that it's important I be there."

  "I heard you say ‘battle swamp'. Is Victoria in danger?"

  "I don't know, I don't think so. But someone is and Victoria may be able to help.” Connie turned in Brian's arms to look through the thin stand of trees. The ground was no longer swampy and overgrown. “Maybe I can find out what this is all about.” She looked back at his handsome face, marred by worry lines. “Hey, you'll be here, right? I can't be shot, or hurt by shrapnel. No one but Victoria will see me. The danger isn't toward me, as long as you're there to keep me from falling or ending up encased in a monument. And if I faint again, you'll have a good reason to catch me."

  His scowl deepened. “I know I can't stop you. But you have to promise to be careful."

  "You know I will. I'm as afraid as you are, probably more. I'll be all right as long as I know you're watching over me.” Connie turned again and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him hard and holding him tight.

  "I hope it's enough,” he whispered into her hair. “I want this to be a beginning for us, not an end."

  With one last quick kiss, Connie released Brian and stepped back, staggering a little from the remaining dizziness. “I want to go behind the lines and make sure everything is all right there. Since Victoria is the only person...” She paused, remembering. “The soldier. Brian, what about the Union corporal, he could see me.” Connie watched with fascination as Brian faded and the trees and underbrush grew dense.

  The fighting had passed the spot where Connie stood. She moved through the bodies trying not to hear or see the harsh reality of the fight. Fear that maybe Victoria is in danger after all, drove her on, past the pleading voices, and groans of pain.

  She glided through the last dense stand of trees and brush to find herself looking down into the trench, now busy moving men to the hot spot of the battle that moved in behind her.

  Far beyond the trench were the trees that sheltered the hospital and living quarters for the hospital personnel, Connie could make out the shadowy outline of the nearest tent. Surely Victoria would be working with the wounded now that the fighting had started. Turning she studied the approaching violence. That was where she was drawn, not to the hospital, but to the battle. Could it be that the Union soldier was calling her? That it was him all this time? No, Victoria was her contact. The Corporal was a recent addition to the puzzle. But something held her at this battle. Something...

  A cluster of Confederate soldiers backed through the brush. Turning, they scrambled down the bank into the trench below. Shouts rose from the swamp they had just left. Shots were fired. Some impacted the trees nearby. Without thinking Connie ducked. She shook with fear.

  As the Union Blue broke cover, yelling and shooting as they gained the top of the grade, Confederate reinforcements flooded over the crest. The Rebel battle cry sent a cold chill through Connie. It was as blood curdling and indescribable as told in legend.

  The two armies came together with a crash, at first neither yielded and neither seemed to gain the advantage. Many bodies fell on both sides. Then, slowly, the flow of combat changed, the butternut uniforms started to push the blue coats back toward the swamp. In their wake, they left a trail of the dead and dying.

  Connie didn't recognize him right away. All she could distinguish were the disturbing sudden appearances of blood on the clothing and bodies of the men in front of her as they fell. Andrew was in a fight for his life. He struggled with a bearded soldier wearing a tattered brown coat and holding a large deadly hunting knife in his right hand, its lethal blade inches from the smaller man's face. Andrew's own right hand held a bayonet pointed at the lean body he held at bay.

  Her first instinct was to go to his aid. It was only with the greatest effort that she held back, waiting with her hands clutched into fists at her throat. If she made a sound, Andrew would hear. The distraction might kill him. She watched with horror as the blade moved closer to the pulsating vein. Bending backwards, the Corporal pressed his own weapon forward while avoiding his enemy's. Both men lunged at the same time.

  Connie's hands flew to her face as she screamed.

  The Confederate's right side was to her as the men turned, she watched as he bent forward, drawing his bloody knife back. Connie couldn't see the wound that caused the Rebel pain, but she could see the anger on his face. He raised his weapon, intended to inflict more damage, but fell on his face too weak to continue the fight.

  Andrew, too, fell to his knees, brought down by the weight of the man holding on to him, the bayonet in his hand covered with rebel blood, but he was weakened by his own wound. The sleeve of his coat grew dark with blood.

  Connie didn't see the approaching threat until it was too late. A Confederate officer bore down on the wounded Corporal. As he neared, he raised his musket, unwilling or unable to use a musket ball to put an end to the life presented to him, he deliver a blow using the butt of his weapon, to the enemy's head.

  Andrew fell backwards without uttering a word. The head wound added its own stream of red that filled his left eye and trickled down the side of his face on to the ground. Without looking back, the officer moved on, shouting orders and encouragement to his men.

  Stunned, Connie watched with horror. She knew this man. Twisted with pain, his face had become that of an old man. A yellowed photograph flashed in her mind. Where had she seen it? In a book? A museum? An art show? She couldn't remember, but as sure as she was that she was watching the Battle of Fredericksburg, she was sure that she had seen a photograph of the Union Corporal lying on the ground in front of her.

  He wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Moving before she knew the thought was in her mind, Connie went to the semiconscious man. Leaning close, she felt the chill of fear. He can't be dead.

  "Andrew, can you hear me? Andrew!” she shouted to the dying man. “You have to hear me. Andrew!"

  His head moved but stopped as a groan escaped the injured man. With an effort Connie could only imagine, he opened his right eye, the left now swollen shut and covered with blood from the open cut.

  Pushing the words from between his clenched teeth, Andrew squinted to see her through the pain. “So this is what you are. You are Death. You have come for me.” The words brought resignat
ion to a fate the soldier had decided waited for him.

  "No! I am not Death. I am trying to help you live. You must stop the bleeding from your arm.” Her words were commanding and urgent, but they fell on deaf ears.

  Closing his eye, Andrew drifted from her. “I cannot help myself. If you are not Death, than leave me and let Death come and finish the job that the Rebels have started."

  A dread she didn't recognize fell over Connie like a shroud. He must not die. She had seen pictures of him as an old man, still bearing the scars of this war, of this battle. He must live the life he was destined to live.

  Fighting the sudden light headedness that threatened to make her useless, Connie leaned close and shouted at the wounded man. “You are not going to die. Listen to me. You must stop the bleeding. Use your right hand to keep pressure on the wound."

  When he made no move to obey her, Connie fought her helplessness. “DO IT!” she shouted. “I can't do it for you. You HAVE to stop the bleeding."

  Finally he moved, compiling with her demand. His right hand reached for and held his bleeding upper left arm.

  "Hold it as tightly as you can. I'll be right back with help. You have to fight, Andrew, you have to fight for the children you will father.” Connie didn't know why she thought the young soldier would father children, but the words did their work. She saw the determination in the bloody face, as it had been while he fought the man who now lay dead at his feet.

  Good, at least he was going to fight. Standing, her head clear again, Connie started up the incline toward the hospital complex. She would find Victoria.

  Shouting, she told Brian where she was going. As she neared the tents, Connie shouted for Victoria. Would she be able to hear her? She had to try.

  Annabelle came through the hanging tent flap carrying a wood bucket by its rope carrier. She walked to the nearby woods. Stepping into the trees she emptied the bucket and leaned against a tree to rest. Connie hurried into the large ward as the flap was pulled back to make room for a stretcher bearing an unconscious man to be carried inside. The stretcher was quickly placed on the floor and the man lifted to one of the few remaining cots. Just as quickly, the stretcher-bearers turned and left.