She abruptly capitulated and rested her head on the edge of the stretcher, careful not to touch him, her face still turned away. He couldn’t get his arm around her, couldn’t touch her except in an awkward, backhanded way.
“He didn’t suffer, Caroline,” he said again, brushing her soft hair with the backs of his fingers, praying she would just accept what he said and not ask any questions.
“I can’t bear—leaving him in that—desolate—place,” she said in a voice full of tears.
“He is with his comrades, Caroline,” he whispered to her. “Your William will not mind being there with them. After the Sharpsburg battle—he gave me the money—for his Leichenbier, he said. He wanted all the men in ‘K’ Company to gather and drink to him if he was killed in battle. He would be there, he said—with bells on. He was a good and brave soldier—a joy to us who fought alongside him. I will miss him all the rest of my life…”
She suddenly turned to him, pressing her face against his shoulder.
How long they stayed like that, he didn’t know. He woke with the sun shining and her gone. He kept turning his head, trying to look for her—listening for her voice. She had apparently left him on his own with no one around to even bring him a drink of water or a chamber pot. Other men lay on their stretchers around him, abandoned as well, only none of them seemed as concerned about it as he.
He was hot and sweaty and miserable when Caroline finally returned. She came bearing gifts—bread and soup to eat and some hot water and soap. He suffered her ministrations in a surly kind of silence—which she implicitly ignored. She bathed him as best she could. She changed the honey-soaked bandages she insisted cover the wounds on his arm and thigh. He was perfectly aware that his short temper had forced her into this dearth of conversation, but he resented her not making an attempt to talk to him all the same.
He waited until she was done before he asked.
“Why did you come back?”
“What?”
“Why did you come back?” he said again.
She turned and looked at him, and incredibly he could feel his eyes begin to well and his control slipping away from him.
“Why are you here, Caroline?” he demanded in spite of the tears he couldn’t subdue. “I’m not—strong anymore. Can’t you see that? I’m not—strong—anymore!”
“No,” she said quietly. “But your eyes are still blue.”
The fever came again, trapping him in some hellish place where his enemies and his dead comrades pursued him without mercy. Even so, he knew that Caroline was with him sometimes—and Johann.
No. Johann was not here. Johann had stayed in Richmond. Caroline was here with him—on the train.
When he finally woke and knew that for certain, it was raining again, a quiet steady rain that drummed against the stopped railway car and rolled down the dirty windowpanes. All the seats in the car had been ripped out to make room for the stretchers. Caroline sat on a straw valise near his head.
“Where are we?” he asked her, and her startled look gave him a clear indication of just how long it had been since he’d said anything that sensible.
“Virginia still,” she said, watching him closely. “Somewhere.”
“What’s wrong? Did you—think I was going to—die?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I didn’t—so don’t—stare at me.”
“I’m not staring. I was only…thinking.”
“About what?”
“About Lise. About something she said I should do— something I should say to you.”
“What?”
“I—it’s—not important.”
He moved his head so that he could see her better. For the first time in a very long while, it didn’t pound in protest. “Maybe you had better—say it anyway—before it’s—too late.”
“I don’t think it—”
“Tell me, for God’s sake!”
“Very well. She said I should tell you that I…like you. She said she didn’t think you knew.”
He frowned.
“I…like you, too,” he said cautiously, because he must truly have been at death’s door to bring about such a revelation.
She looked at him a long moment, and then, incredibly and in spite of their present situation, she laughed, that beautiful lilting laugh he had missed for so long.
“You’d think one of us would be happy about it,” she said.
* * *
Eventually, the train jolted forward, and the pain that had only been relentless, now became excruciating. He tried to put his mind on something else.
“Do you know how the—courtship is done—in Germany?" he asked her abruptly. She sat close by, alternating fanning him and the nearest soldier with a palmetto fan, ever alert in case either of them wanted a piece of bread or a drink of water.
“How would I know that?” she asked somewhat cautiously.
“Perhaps—Lise told you,” he suggested.
“She didn’t. Neither did Avery,” she added significantly.
He chose to ignore her allusion to their own marital arrangements.
“First, there is the—consent,” he said, struggling to keep his mind firmly on the topic and not the fiery pain.
“Her consent?”
“No, the parents. Her father. A Degensmann comes— asking the father—if his daughter will agree to a marriage.”
“To the…Degensmann?“
“No—no. Degensmann means swordsman—because such a person once carried a sword on this kind of—mission. He doesn’t ask for himself. He asks for the—man he represents—and if that man is very brave, he will go along with the Degensmann and he will stand at his side with a bouquet of flowers—for his bride-to-be. And always he is hoping he doesn’t get a basket with no bottom.”
“Frederich, is this you talking or the fever?”
“I am trying to tell you something about—my country, Caroline,” he answered impatiently, because he was losing the struggle to subdue the pain.
“Ah. Then do proceed.”
“I think you are not—interested.”
“Well, you think wrong. Tell me. Please,” she added when he didn’t immediately continue.
“There are symbols—so no one has to hear their feelings being—hurt, you see?”
“I…think so. The bottomless basket is a ‘no.’”
“Yes.”
“It’s a ‘yes’?”
“Yes, it is a no!”
“All right! And then what?” she asked him.
“Then there are the—gifts.”
“For her?”
“Yes, for her—who else would get gifts?”
“I don’t know, Frederich, that’s why I asked. Go on.”
“In olden times it would be—a yoke of oxen, and a horse—with bells and ornaments all over the cloth skirt thing that covers the knight’s horse—I don’t know the word in English—and a shield and lance and spear.”
“Why?”
“For their life together—for the wars and for the peace.”
“If there is any.”
“Yes. But now the man gives his intended gloves—engagement gloves. Then the wedding is on a Friday—”
“Always?”
“Or a Sunday—or Tuesday. Maybe a Thursday. Sometimes on Saturday…”
She was smiling.
“At noon,” he told her.
“Or one o’clock?” she suggested.
“No. Never—never at one o’clock. If it is one o’clock, somebody sets—all the clock hands back to—noon.”
“Of course,” she said agreeably.
“But first the Hochzeitslader goes—door to door and invites everyone to the wedding—”
“Does he carry a sword, too?”
“No, he wears a big—hat with flowers and tall boots. He carries—a—long—a—long—stick…”
The intense pain in his leg and arm suddenly overwhelmed him and he turned his face away. He bit down hard to keep from crying alo
ud, but he couldn’t keep from writhing in a vain attempt to escape. He could taste the blood on his lower lip.
“I’m sorry, Frederich,” Caroline said, her face close. “There is nothing—no laudanum to be had. If the train stops long enough, I’ll try to find some willow bark—”
“You promised—me—”
“I will get you home,” she whispered.
She put her hand in his, and he clutched it hard.
Don’t let me die, Caroline! Don’t let me die!
“Johann and I—we couldn’t find Avery,” she said after a very long period of silence.
“You don’t—worry about Avery,” he said. “If he isn’t— dead or in prison, he will be—somewhere with a womanwaiting on him.”
“Sort of…like you?” she suggested, and in spite of the pain, he smiled.
But he didn’t want to smile, and he began to take great pains to guard against it. He hurt too much, and he remembered all too well that she didn’t want him or the marriage. For whatever reason, she had done as he asked and gotten him away from Eli’s charity. He still desperately needed her help, but he could imagine himself severing all ties between them once and for all. It would be easy. He could do it with one small question:
When will you go to Eli?
The question sat there in his mind all the time—like some wild beast straining to be unloosed. And why not? When terrible things happened to him—when Anna died and when he was wounded—Eli was there in the midst of it. In his more lucid moments, he thought that word of the battle must have reached the Pennsylvania relatives, and then Eli must have taken it upon himself to come to Gettysburg to look for him. Eli had dragged him in the pouring rain all the way back to Virginia. He was alive because of Eli.
And he hated it.
Better to be dead than indebted to Eli! he thought wildly.
But it wasn’t so. He was alive. Caroline was here. Perhaps he would even see his children.
“Where are we?” he abruptly asked.
“I don’t know,” Caroline said.
He could see how tired she was—exhausted—but he chose to be displeased anyway.
“Can you not ask?”
“Yes, I can ask,“ she said. “But I think I’ll be too busy throwing you off the train!”
There was a ripple of laughter from the stretchers around him, and after a moment, he himself smiled—in spite of his resolve.
He looked into her eyes until she smiled with him.
My Caroline, he thought. My wife.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Frederich? Frederich! He can’t hear me—!”
“Now, now—you don’t fret. He is all right.”
“But—”
“You don’t worry yourself, Caroline. Come, Frederich!" John Steigermann said loudly, lifting him out of the back of the wagon. “Get the door, Caroline,” he said, and she ran ahead of him to do as he asked.
“Why aren’t Beata and the children here?” she said over her shoulder.
“They go to the church for prayers on Wednesday evenings. These are sad times. Everyone is there. We were very sorry to know about William.”
Frederich moaned as John Steigermann jarred him up the steps.
“You think an old man like me cannot carry you?” he asked loudly, and whatever Frederich replied made Mr. Steigermann laugh.
“You see, Caroline? I tell you he is good and he is!”
“What did he say?” she asked, drawing an immediate protest from Frederich.
“He says you are not to know that, Caroline. Your ears are too delicate for such things.”
“I am Avery Holt’s sister. How could my ears be delicate?" she answered, feeling hopeful suddenly. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.
She led the way up the stairs, hurrying down the hallway to open the door to the room where Frederich had always slept. The place was hot and stuffy, and she threw up the windows to let in some fresh air. The bed had been made. Thanks to Johann’s telegram, Beata had known Frederich was coming, just as John Steigermann had. Caroline still couldn’t believe Mr. Steigermann had been waiting for them at the train station—that he had gone to town a day early to make sure he didn’t miss their arrival. When she stepped off the crowded train to search for someone to help her move Frederich, she had all but wailed like a lost-child-found at the very sight of him, her aging knight-in-shining-armor— again.
She could hear voices downstairs suddenly—a lot of voices.
“Go and see,” John Steigermann said. “I will get Frederich settled. She did well, did she not, Frederich? To get you home.”
She didn’t wait to hear Frederich’s answer, though some part of her would have dearly loved to hear just a small measure of praise and gratitude from him. She was exhausted—both of them were. It had been so long since she’d slept lying down or slept at all, for that matter.
She braced herself before she went down the steps. She hadn’t forgotten that she was a pariah still, and that the women whose voices she could hear would not receive her kindly. Frederich was in good hands now. It was all she could do not to take the back stairs and flee them all.
But she could hear Mary Louise’s voice—and Lise’s. It was only that that kept her from bolting. She moved quickly down the steps. The noisy kitchen—full of women with offerings of food—fell silent the moment she appeared. She saw Beata first. Beata had a firm grip on Lise and Mary Louise both, but her face was filled with worry for a change instead of her usual righteous indignation.
“I couldn’t find Avery, Beata,” Caroline said immediately. “He wasn’t in any of the hospitals.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Did you even look?” Beata said.
“Of course, I looked! Johann is still there—looking.”
“Caroline!” Leah cried in a blatant attempt to intercede. She stepped forward and hugged Caroline hard. “We’ve had word of Kader,” she said brightly. “He’s been captured and sent north—to New York, they say. I believe he’ll be all right there.”
Caroline forced a smile. Of course he would be all right— because Leah Steigermann wanted it.
More and more of the women came forward.
“My boy, Conrad, Caroline? Did you see him—?”
“My brother, Caroline—”
“And mine—”
The room was a blur of faces suddenly; she had to bite her lip so as not to cry.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice husky and strange sounding. “There was only Frederich. And William—”
She abruptly turned her attention to her nieces.
“Did you bring Papa?” Lise asked anxiously, trying to pull free of Beata’s hold. “Did you?”
Mary Louise stood with her finger in her mouth, forgoing for once her usual role as the echo.
“Yes, my loves. He’s upstairs—wait!” she said, grabbing both their dresses to keep them from breaking free of Beata and rushing off to see him. “Mr. Steigermann is with your papa now and he will say when you can come up.” She ignored Beata and put her arms around them both. “Your papa has been hurt—in his arm and in his leg. So you can’t jump on him or anything like that—”
“Can he play his fiddle?” Lise asked.
“No, Lise, he can’t.”
“That’s all right. I can still have my birthday table without it.”
“Yes, you can,” Caroline said, looking past them because John Steigermann was standing at the top of the stairs. When he nodded, she sent them on, but, subdued now, they walked hand in hand slowly up the stairs.
“Caroline,” Mr. Steigermann said, motioning for her to come, too. “Frederich worries when you are not near.”
She frowned a bit, not knowing whether the remark was for her benefit or for the onlookers. But she went. For days now, her every waking moment had been filled with nothing but Frederich; she couldn’t ignore him, even if she’d wanted to.
“I have a hurt and hungry man upstairs,” Mr. Steigermann said to t
he women. “You will put together the dinner for him, yes? We will pray for him and then we will feed him and then we will let him rest.”
Caroline followed Mr. Steigermann and the girls, but she stood well back to let Frederich have his reunion with his children alone. He spoke to them in German, loving, gentle words that made them bashful and made them laugh. When she finally stepped into the room, she could see that his pain was intense, and she took them in hand immediately, sending them downstairs to help fetch his supper.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Are—you?” he countered.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say of course, but it would have been a lie. Her encounter downstairs had taken more out of her than she would have anticipated. She felt so weak suddenly. She needed to do a hundred things—none of which she could bring to mind. She crossed her arms over her breasts as if she were cold. Indeed, she was shivering, in spite of the summer heat. She was so tired! She could feel her body sway, and she tried desperately to catch on to something.
“John!” Frederich called loudly, his voice penetrating the roaring in her ears, and the old man was there, catching her just as she would have hit the floor.
“Where to take her?” Mr. Steigermann said from somewhere very far off. She felt him lift her off her feet, and it was suddenly that other time, when Avery had realized she was illicitly pregnant.
William crying—
No, William is dead.
I’m all right. I can stand, she thought she said, but clearly she had not, because no one seemed to have heard her.
“Here—put her here by me,” Frederich said. “She’s shaking all over—there are quilts—in that chest.”
“Be still, man,” John Steigermann said. “You will open your wounds. I will take care of her.”
She could hear them perfectly now—no roaring—and she tried to protest. She was quite fine—really. She just couldn’t stop trembling.
She could feel herself being covered by a cedar-scented quilt and a hand stroking her face.
“Caroline—” Frederich’s voice said very close.
“So…tired,” she murmured.
“I know,” he whispered. “Find her some—brandy, John. She’s exhausted—I have seen soldiers in battle too longshake like this.”
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