by Kelly Martin
"You mentioned it, but I don't understand how you can hear someone who isn't in the same room with you?"
For the love of Pete… Frustrated, he opened the message from Preston. "I'm not talking to him. He sent a text."
"What does that mean?" she asked and he totally ignored her. He wasn't going through Technology 101 with her right now.
Dude, we need to talk. Meet me at the quarry now!
Great. Preston was probably all upset over the fire and worried he'd get caught. Stupid boy didn't know if you were freaking out that you'd get caught, you would get caught. Burning down that church was the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life! He had a feeling he'd pay for it a long time.
"What's a text?" Lizzie asked again.
He pushed a few buttons to bring it back to the main screen — a stock picture of a silly red rose. He hadn't gotten around to changing it yet. "A text is something you use to write to people."
"Like in other places?"
"Yeah. I can press numbers, letters, whatever and send a message."
"Like a telegraph."
Whatever that was. "I guess. Anyway, people send messages and they show up on the screen. You can also use it to call people. You push numbers and they answer it." He guessed he did want to get into technology with her.
"If they don't?"
"I can leave a voice mail."
"Impressive." She kept staring at the device. "Things sure have changed. Almost like a fiction novel about the future."
"More than you know." Shane tossed the phone back on the desk and walked back to the bed. "Now, it's time to work on your legs some more."
Lizzie groaned. He felt the same way, but it had to be done. He pushed her knee a few times, cringing every time it creaked like an old man. Ugh. The things he had to do… when did the world become so weird? Oh yeah, when he burned down a church. Maybe — maybe God was teaching him a lesson. That would be his luck.
If he were any kind of gentleman, he'd ask her how she was doing and if she wanted to stop. Fortunately for him, he wasn't.
"Now, push against my hand. See if you can put pressure on my fingers."
She didn't look convinced that it could be done.
"Girl, do it so we can stop. The quicker you do this, the quicker we can stop for now."
"For now. How often are we going to work on my legs?"
"I figure every few hours until we have you walking."
A swarm of bees could have flown in her gaped mouth. "Are you serious?"
"Very. You want to walk, don't you? You want to get out of here and on with your life… or afterlife, right?"
"I suppose. I haven't really thought about it. It's not like I ever thought I'd get to live in the world again, and it's so different."
"Yeah." Hurry this up. "Well, to ever get back in it, you'll have to learn to walk. Or at least function on your own. That requires work. Come on and work. Push on my fingers."
Shane positioned his fingers under her heels and pressed against them with a little pressure.
"Push."
"I am." She made one of those faces women have in the movies when they are giving birth. Automatically, his mind raced back to what he knew about Lizzie to try to remember if she had been pregnant. Then he laughed to himself. It would have had to be an immaculate conception because the woman had never been touched. He'd been closer than any man in history to Lizzie's nether regions, and he sure hadn't impregnated her.
"Push harder. On your feet, not your face. You look like you've got constipation."
Apparently, they had constipation in the 1800s because her face got redder. "I'm pushing my feet. Or trying to at least. This isn't easy you know."
Still holding up her feet, he pushed back a little harder. "You should have been exercising in your casket. Kept the muscles working."
The muscles in her brow didn't have the same problems as her legs. He sort of wished they did. "There wasn't exactly room, and why would I try to move if I'd never get out of there again."
"Thinking ahead," he said bluntly.
"Kiss my foot." She huffed. He imagined if she could have crossed her arms and pouted, she would have.
"Got some spunk to ya, don't ya, Lizzie? Good to see. You're gonna need to use it to get yourself mobile again. You can't stay here forever," he added the second part almost as an afterthought.
"We've covered that." She sighed and turned her face toward the window.
"Are you gonna push your toes?"
"No." It was her turn to be blunt.
"Lizzie…" Shane huffed. He pushed back on her toes, willing them to just show some sign of movement.
"What day is it?"
"June seventh," he said without really thinking. He was too busy working with her stupid feet, willing them to move.
Lizzie smiled sadly and her eyes started to well up again.
Oh great good gracious… "Why are you getting emotional about the date? You need to focus on your legs."
Lizzie shut her eyes. "Because June seventh was the day…"
Black Sabbath erupted through Shane's phone. "Hold that thought." He grabbed his phone and didn't have to look at the name to know who it was.
In one swift motion, he pushed the green button, laid Lizzie's ankles on his thigh, and put the phone to his ear.
The guy on the other line didn't wait for him to speak. "Where are you, man?"
"Uh… at home. Where are you?"
"The quarry. Where else?" Preston was agitated. That's all Shane needed. This guy needed to get a grip. He was as emotional as Lizzie. If there was a God, He was really having fun with Shane. Maybe he should just say he believed in Him so He would leave him alone. "Why aren't you here yet?"
"Um… Because I'm not your personal lapdog and can do whatever I want. I'll get there when I get there."
"You're leaving?" Lizzie asked and Shane hurriedly hushed her. Preston could not know about her.
"You're with a girl!" Too late. Did Lizzie screwed up everything she was around? "Dude, what in the world? We have things to discuss."
"I'm not with a girl." He glared at Lizzie and motioned for her to shush.
"Don't lie. I heard her. While you've been shacking up all night, I've been worried sick. I need to see you. Now. Forget about the girl and the sex and get down here. I think someone saw us last night."
Shane didn't have a chance to speak before the line went dead. He bit his lip and ran his fingers through his curls agitatedly. He'd never burn down another church with that moron.
"What's wrong?" Lizzie whispered like she was truly interested.
"Nothing. And you can talk now. He's gone." Shane jumped up and grabbed the TV remote. He turned it on and she looked terrified at the moving pictures across the room. He didn't have time to explain it to her. "It's a television. A TV, and it won't hurt you. Just moving pictures. Look, I have to go out for a few minutes."
"Out?"
"Yeah, out. I can't babysit you forever. You'll be fine. I'll bring you some food." He grabbed his keys and threw his hair back in a very low ponytail.
"I'm not hungry."
It surprised him enough to let the doorknob go and turn to face her. "You're not hungry? Really? You've not eaten a thing in forever."
"What can I say? Maybe I lost my appetite?"
"Hmmmm…" Definitely added another mystery to the puzzle, or something like that. She didn't need to eat or apparently go to the bathroom. He appreciated the latter, but that didn't make it any less weird. She had no pulse and could breathe like a person, but didn't eat or do other 'humanly' things. So what was she?
"Is that bad? That I don't want to eat? I could, you know…"
"No, that's fine. We can try something when we get back, if you want. Start you off with some crackers and see how they stay down." Then Shane did the most idiotic thing he'd done since he set the church on fire… He looked at Lizzie, really looked at her with compassion. He saw her for what she was, a flawed, scared, beautiful person.
>
"I'll be back soon, Lizzie. I promise, okay?" Why was he asking her permission… and why was he waiting for her to answer?
She simply nodded and turned her head away from the picture on the television screen. He watched her for a few seconds before he left. The girl would be the death of him.
Chapter Seven
June 7, 1862
"Lizzie… Elizabeth. I don't know exactly how to tell you this, ma'am." Frederick Davis shifted on the balls of his feet with his gray soldier's hat fumbling in the fingers of his one hand. He looked young, no older than twenty, but his features were hard and weatherworn. Now that she really looked at him, not only did had have a missing arm but he had a bandage on his head. Another war wound, she supposed.
Her mind couldn't concentrate, not really. In her heart, she knew what he was there to tell her. It was written all over his face. But she couldn't think it, couldn't believe it… couldn't hear the words that she knew would come out of his mouth next.
If he didn't tell her, it wouldn't be true. If he never said the words, Daniel wouldn't be…
"Miss Monroe, I… uh… I knew Daniel, your fiancé. We fought together."
The past tense didn't get by her. "Please, don't go on, Mr. Davis. I.. uh… I don't want to hear any more. Please."
Frederick's face looked pained, but he didn't stop. "I understand that, ma'am. I truly do. But your beau made me swear to do something, and I can't get back to my own home in Chapel Hill until I do."
Lizzie sucked in a deep breath and felt the floor fall out from under her. Still, she had to be strong. There was no other way to be. The days of women being able to be dainty wallflowers were over. The war had hardened everyone, even her. Or so she hoped. "Then say your peace, Mr. Davis."
Frederick wet his lips nervously. "May I come in?"
"Say your peace right there, sir." She crossed her arms defiantly. Her heart raced a mile a minute and she felt like she'd pass out at any second.
As long as he didn't say it, it wasn't real…
As long as he didn't say it, it wasn't real…
As long as he didn't say it, it wasn't real..."Ma'am. I hate to be the one to tell you this—"
"Then don't," she heard herself plead, a heavy weight constricted her throat. "Don't say it."
"I have to, ma'am. I made a promise and I intend to keep it. Daniel, your Daniel, was the bravest man I know. He was kind and good. Honest."
She couldn't take any more. "Mr. Davis…"
"And he saved my life."
She blinked away tears and steeled her nerves. She held her hands so tightly across her chest, she felt bruises form on her arms. It wasn't like she cared. "How?"
Frederick's head dropped and the hat he twiddled in his hand became very interesting to him. "We were at Shiloh, ma'am, not terribly far away back in April."
April… it happened that many months ago?
"And… the Union, they came on so strong. So strong. We found cover, but couldn't get out. They kept advancing, and we had nowhere to go."
Lizzie didn't want to picture war. The books she read made it sound noble, romantic even. She'd never once wanted to think about the unpleasantness of it. Now, she had no choice. She would be one of those women.
"A bullet came from nowhere and hit me. It felt like a weight had crashed down chest and on my shoulder here." Frederick pointed to the top part of his stump. "Hurt like the dickens. I didn't want to open my eyes at first, because, ma'am, not to be too crude, but I've seen some horrible wounds in my time, innards hanging out. You can understand how gruesome I imagined my own wound to be."
She winced at the visual and Frederick stopped.
"I'm sorry. I just… I forget sometimes not to speak of such things. They are always so clear in my mind. Anyway, I finally opened my eyes and saw my arm was still there, but not moving if that makes any sense. There was blood on my hand, lots of blood, and my head hurt like something I'd never felt before. Didn't take long before I realized a bullet had grazed my forehead too. I saw the blood on my hand and knew I was going to die."
"What about the weight on your chest?" She was too into the story to stop now, even though she had a feeling she wouldn't like the ending.
Frederick rocked on his feet. "See, I thought I'd been hit three times, but I hadn't been. Only twice. The third was…, well, ma'am, I was tackled. Tackled by Daniel Dixon."
Slowly, she nodded. It seemed to fit his character. "He knocked you down?"
"Yes, ma'am. I guess he saw the bullet coming or heard it or just needed me to get down or something. I don't know, but I know he knocked me down and saved my life."
"What happened to him next?" Her voice shook and she couldn't stop it.
"There was a lot of gunfire. Smoke. Everything. It was… well, frankly, ma'am it was pure hell. I finally saw him lying on the ground a few feet away." Frederick's eyes were distant, reliving it all over again. She felt bad for him, but needed him to keep going. Now, she needed to know every detail, every sorry bit of it.
"And?"
"And… remember what I told you about the innards on the outside."
Her breath caught and her hand automatically went to her lips.
"I'm sorry to be so descriptive, ma'am, but that's how it was. He was shot in the back and the bullet ripped through his belly. It was bad. Very. Very bad. He could barely breathe. I tried to save him. You have to believe me…"
"What happened?" She didn't want his apology. She wanted him to keep talking.
"May I come in?"
"No. Talk." Lizzie had never been so forward in her life.
Frederick's eyes fluttered a few times and he tilted his head to the side, clearly upset. She didn't know if it was from the memory or from the terrifying little woman in front of him. "I tried to stop the bleeding. I know it doesn't mean much now, but I did try. I put my hand on his stomach, but the blood just kept pouring."
Lizzie held her hand up and motioned for him to stop. She'd finally had enough and couldn't take any more. She turned her head and walked toward the kitchen area. "I don't want to hear anymore."
"I won't describe the wounds in any more detail because it ain't necessary, but I need to tell you the rest."
"What else?" She screamed across the cabin, surprising both of them. "What can you possibly tell me? I understand."
Frederick stepped inside without being invited. Lizzie spiraled until she was on the other side of the dining table. "I didn't say you could come in."
"I know and I'm sorry. But I need you to hear me out before you get too hysterical."
She stopped in her tracks. Of all the nerve… "You can leave now."
"Daniel made me promise to find you. He said you lived in Dixon. I remembered easily because it was the same as his last name. Told me your name. Then he gave me this." Frederick reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring. "He made me promise to give you this."
Frederick held it toward her, and she couldn't take her eyes off it. Getting closer, she saw how pretty it really was. It looked metal, a brownish one, with vine designs on the top. An engagement ring, just like he'd promised.
"Daniel pulled this out of his pocket." Frederick went on with the ring outstretched in his fingers. "He told me to give you this. Said he got it from one of the men from Louisiana. Said to tell you he was sorry he'd never get to see it on your finger."
Lizzie couldn't take her eyes off the ring. Her future lay in that ring, a future with Daniel and children. A house of their own. A life. Grandkids. Growing old together. The ring meant something. He'd gotten it for her. He should be giving it to her. He should be putting it on her finger, not this stranger. Not this man who claimed Daniel was… "I don't believe you," she said, surprising herself. "I don't believe he's dead."
"He is, ma'am. I'm truly sorry." Frederick lowered the ring a bit. His arm seemed weary from holding it up so long. Now that she looked him over, he was gaunt, mal-nourished, worse for wear. Lizzie couldn't help but wonder if Daniel's appearance had
been the same.
"What happened to him?"
A quizzical expression crossed his face. "I told you, ma'am. He died."
"His body!" she shouted. "What happened to his body? Did you bury him?"
His eyes ghosted, making her furious. "You left him?"
Frederick backtracked. "I had too, ma'am. The Union was coming so fast. My head was bleeding. My arm… I needed help. It happened so fast."
"So you left him."
"I had to…"
"And you saw him die?"
Frederick's mouth formed words, but nothing came out. He looked taken aback that this little farm girl was yelling at him. Lizzie couldn't care less. "No. I had to leave. He handed me the ring and I had to leave."
Exactly her point. "So, you didn't see him die. You don't know if he did."
"I know he's dead. No one could have lived through those injuries."
"You don't know Daniel!" Lizzie huffed and her chest hurt from breathing so hard. "He could have lived! He could have and you left him. You don't know!"
Frederick's face filled with compassion. "Miss Lizzie, I understand how hard this is for you."
"You have no idea," she bit back. The nerve of this man! "None. Have you ever had a stranger come in and try to tear your world apart? Have you any idea how this sounds?"
"Yes, ma'am. I do. A few years back a stranger came and told my Ma that my Pa died. So yes, I know."
A knot formed in her throat, and she backed down just a bit. "I'm sorry for your loss, but it doesn't negate the fact that you are here telling me something that you don't know for certain is true."
"I understand your frustration and your apprehension. I do." Frederick walked over and laid the ring on the middle of the table. "But know this. Daniel Dixon was my best friend in the war, and I fulfilled my promise to him. I wish you all the luck in the world, Lizzie. I truly do."
Frederick bowed politely and went to the door. He spoke his last words with his back to Lizzie. "His last thoughts were of you. Take comfort in that. Not everyone gets the privilege of knowing."
With those words, he was gone. Just like that. He'd come, shattered her world, and just left; back to his life waiting for him. His girl would be thrilled he came back. His girl would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him passionately — not caring who saw because she'd been without him for months.
Not Lizzie. She'd never see Daniel again. Never get to hold his hand. Never get to kiss him. She'd never get to tell him she loved him, and she'd never get to be his wife.