The Fragrance of Her Name

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Lauryn,” Brant began, but Lauryn had caught him off guard, and she knew it. He was burning with curiosity at her remark.

  “Brant, come on!” she called over her shoulder as she ran toward the front gates of Connemara.

  “Lauryn! Wait a minute. You little brat.” Brant chuckled, taking out after her. Lauryn knew she couldn’t outrun him, but somehow returning home made her feel hopeful and free to be herself. Free to release her own ‘wicked ways.’ The ones Laura had referred to.

  Lauryn had secreted her plan in her impish little imagination for several days now. She’d thought on it more and more. And she’d planned it out, knowing Brant and how he reacted to certain things. He hadn’t lost interest in her, of course. He truly was trying to be gallant, trying to slay the dragon before kissing the enchanted princess in the tower. She was more certain of it now, with Connemara in sight and Brant hot at her heels.

  Brant caught hold of Lauryn’s arm as she ran up the front steps. Smiling, she turned to face him.

  “You can’t outrun me,” he told her with a smile. “So don’t even try it.”

  “Lauryn!” Georgia exclaimed from just inside the house. “Brant! Oh, I’m so glad you two have arrived safe and sound.”

  “Mama!” Lauryn sighed, hugging her mother tightly and basking in the fragrance of the lavender perfume she always wore.

  Georgia’s tears were instant and unexpected. The woman fairly threw herself into Brant’s strong embrace, and he looked at Lauryn questioningly.

  “Mama?” Lauryn ventured. “I was only gone a week.”

  “Oh, it’s not even that, sweetheart,” Georgia sniffled, pushing herself from Brant’s arms and patting his cheek adoringly. “It’s just that…well,…we’ve just had somethin’…come into the house, darlin’s.”

  A wave of insecurity washed over Lauryn as her mother dabbed at her eyes. She found herself reaching for Brant’s hand for comfort. He grasped it without pause.

  “I never knew,” Georgia sniffled. “And I really don’t think Nana remembered it all until…here—in the parlor. It’s very bad in here. ”

  “Mama…what are you goin’ on about?” Lauryn asked. Lauryn had expected, even longed to return home to Connemara with all her family’s exuberance, love, happiness. But to be met with tears…obvious tears of distress…it was far too unsettling, and Lauryn’s mood of relief and joy of a moment before faded quickly.

  Indeed, the furniture in the parlor was gone, as Lauryn had expected. Her mother had explained the restoration plans; the furniture being taken out and stored, the paint being stripped form the floors. Lauryn was rather taken aback to see the unfamiliar bare wood beneath her feet that had so long been hidden under carpets and paint. There was the smell of sawdust in the room, but Lauryn could not discern anything that would be the cause of sodisturbing her mother.

  “I’d forgotten about it all,” Nana sighed heavily, entering the room. Lauryn turned to see her grandmother’s face, ashen as she looked around the empty parlor. “Maybe I had never understood it, really. I was so young. But then they rolled up the carpets and began stripping the paint and…”

  “Nana!” Lauryn pleaded. “Whatever is the matter with you two?”

  “Your daddy always wanted to get the carpets out of here, remove the paint and restore the wood floors beneath. That’s one reason I talked with the historical society. But when they started removin’ the paint several days ago…well, we realized exactly why Grandmother O’Halleran had the floors painted and the carpets put down.”

  “Why? And what does it matter, Mama? Everythin’ will be back in place soon enough and…” Lauryn tried to console her mother. But Georgia’s tears seemed only more prolific.

  “When they stripped the paint…” she began, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Blood,” Brant stated flatly.

  “What?” Lauryn exclaimed turning toward him. She followed his gaze as he nodded toward one corner of the parlor. There the floor was marred. Blackened with a large dark stain. At first, it only appeared as if the wood was a different color. As if someone had accidentally poured out a bucket of something there. But as Lauryn looked more closely, she noted the oblong, oval shape of the stain. Exactly as if someone had been propped up in the corner and bled out on the wood planking.

  “This house was used as a makeshift hospital during the battle of Franklin, wasn’t it?” Brant asked.

  Nana nodded and dabbed at her own tears. “The stains are everywhere throughout the house,” she told him.

  “Yes,” Georgia agreed. “They’re much worse on this side however.”

  “The sun came in stronger through these windows on the east. It made for better lightin’ for the surgeons.” Nana whispered as tears streamed down her face. Lauryn felt her body begin to literally tremble as she looked about. “See there.” Nana pointed to a place before the large front window in the parlor. “You can see where the surgeon’s table was. And the buckets they used to…durin’ they’re work.”

  Lauryn did look and was overwhelmed with sorrow to see the dark rings left by buckets and the small circular stains made by the pressure of table legs. In fact, as she looked around the parlor she could see other dark stains on the floor. And turning, she noted similar ones in the entryway.

  “Patrick’s room is terrible,” Georgia sniffled. “Just awful!”

  “I remember them leavin’ the boys that were beyond savin’ in that room until they died and someone could take them out for burial.”

  Tears were streaming down Lauryn’s face as she thought of the wounded men, waiting in such miserable pain and agony to be tended while the battle raged outside. Brant, too, stood silent, his eyes filled with moisture as he stared at the large stain in the corner. No doubt, his particular visions were far more vivid than Lauryn’s. She clutched his arm trying to draw strength from him and yet give him comfort at the same time.

  “The historical society has been in to see this…” Nana added, quietly, “They want the house restored anyway. I might even say, especially. They think it will serve to remind generations to come of what this country endured durin’ that horrible war.” She dabbed at her tears again. “I think they’re right.”

  “But Nana…Connemara House…it’s our home!” Lauryn cried out.

  “But how can we live here now, Lauryn?” Georgia asked. “Even if we covered it all up with carpet again…we’d know it was there. And besides…it’s history. Sad though it may be…men died here fightin’ to preserve this town. They should be remembered and this house and the stories here cannot easily be ignored.”

  “Nana?” Lauryn pleaded. “You’d give up our home?”

  But Virginia Anne Kensington was elsewhere. Her mind floated through time to the past. Remembering what she’d tried so long to forget.

  “I was only a child. Patrick’s age,” she said quietly, as she stared out through the window into the yard. “The battle had been horrible! I was so frightened. It seemed like it would never end. And the doctors and surgeons needed our help. There were so many men, hurt, bleedin’, dyin’ in our house and only Daddy, Mama, Sean, Lauralynn and I here to help them. Everyone else was gone. Except the doctors and two or three nurses. Everyone had left because of the battle. But Daddy knew how to help. And Connemara House was protection of sorts. So we stayed.”

  Lauryn looked to her mother who sniffled and tried to hold back her sobs. She looked up to Brant still starring at the stains on the floor. And she looked to her Nana trying to imagine what a horrible experience the war had been for a young girl.

  “Laura would talk to the men, try to soothe their minds, ease their pain however she could. I remember the hem of her dress…it was drenched with their blood. Three or four inches up around the entire hem… a dark stain all the way around it. She’d bend down to tend the dyin’ soldiers and they’d bleed out on her dress.

  The surgeons would amputate limbs…arms, legs…and toss them out this window onto the front porch. Sean would ga
ther them up and…and…I would go around givin’ sips of water to the soldiers waitin’ their turn to be tended to.

  I’ll never forget their faces. So sad and tired and defeated. Whenever one would pass away, I’d tell Daddy or Sean, and they’d take him out back and lay him in the grass until there was time to tend to them proper. The bedroom in the back was filled with soldiers who were so close to death you could smell it. But there weren’t very many cots there. Still, we tried to make them as comfortable as possible until they went.”

  “Oh, Nana,” Lauryn whispered through her sobs.

  “Laura was like an angel of mercy. Her beautiful smile was the last thing on earth some of those men ever saw. And I remember thinkin’ that there wasn’t anythin’ closer to Heaven for their eyes to behold before they rose up to it,” Nana whispered. She shook her head and wiped furiously at her tears before continuing. “Then Daddy was shot and Lauralynn….and we had to hide. And when we returned to Connemara, so much later, there was a new porch, painted floors and large carpets throughout the house…and I never again wondered why. All I ever wondered about was Laura.”

  “The carpenters have sanded ‘til their arms are raw, ” Georgia told them. “The stains are soaked all the way through the wood. Clear through ‘til you can see them when you go down in the basement and look up. And it wouldn’t be right to tear these floors up and destroy such a visual lesson in history.”

  “But Mama,” Lauryn argued. “Everyone is buried here. Daddy, and Grandpa and the Captain. And what about Laura?”

  “My beautiful, beautiful sister,” Nana whispered to herself. “Still lost.”

  Nana turned to Lauryn. “I’ve told the historical society that we need time. I’ve had the furniture stored, except for the things in the attic…they still need to be taken…and we’ve been stayin’ with Sean and Mindy. I guess we’ll all just stay there until we’ve decided what to do.”

  Nana reached out, taking Lauryn’s hand in one of hers and Brant’s in the other’s she pleaded, “Time is short now, my angels. You must find her. Soon!”

  Patrick came running in through the front door. “Lauryn!” he yelled throwing his arms around his sister’s waist. “Oh, brother! You’re sobbin’ like the rest of these fool women,” he grumbled.

  “Patrick, you don’t understand all this,” Lauryn began to explain tenderly.

  “I do, so!” he argued. His bright eyes immediately filled with tears as he hurried over to the corner with the largest stain. “I understand that the soldier who died here…in this spot…he found peace. He stepped into Heaven in our house! And though it was a terrible thing to happen…he’s in Heaven where he can’t hurt no more. Maybe daddy knows him and they’re sittin’ around talkin’ about Franklin and Connemara house right now. Maybe their talkin’ about how warm, loved and at home they felt here. Just like we do.” Lauryn smiled. Her little brother had, indeed, found his own peace with the house’s history.

  “You’re right, boy,” Brant offered, tousling Patrick’s hair as he passed him on his way to the entryway. “They found peace. One way or the other.” Brant stepped into the adjoining room and began looking around at the floor there. He returned quickly however and embraced Virginia comfortingly. The elderly woman smiled up at him and winked.

  “Come along, Patrick,” Nana said, brightening suddenly. “You’re good for a body’s soul. Why don’t you take your Nana for a walk. Hm?”

  “Sure thing, Nana,” the boy said, taking his grandmother’s hand and wiping angrily at a tear that had escaped his eye. He paused before leaving through the front door, however, and looked to Lauryn. “Think about it hard, Lauryn. It’s all right. They were helped here. Helped or they found Heaven. Connemara ain’t a bad place at all. It’s home. It’s a part of Heaven.”

  Lauryn smiled and nodded at her brother. He was right. For all the horror and tragedy of war, for all the death and pain, his heartfelt explanation was right. The soldiers who had died in Connemara House, had died with Lauralynn at their side. They’d found their peace. Found help, compassion and love. Connemara was, as ever, a beacon…a symbol of hope and beauty.

  “Here I am an utter mess again, sweet pea,” Georgia sighed, taking the handkerchief Brant pulled from his pocket and offered her. She smiled at her daughter. “I’m sorry you’ve come home to find…all this.”

  “It’s all right, Mama.” Lauryn couldn’t take her eyes from the bucket rings on the floor. “Everythin’ will be fine.”

  Then Georgia lowered her voice. “We need to be happy for Nana’s sake. And I’ve done a very poor job of it. This has upset her terribly.” Then, in even a lower whisper, she added, “And you keep an eye on Brant, darlin’. This kind of thing may bring his own memories back all too vividly, you hear?” She squeezed Lauryn’s hand and wiped at her cheeks.

  “Now, I had better splash some water on my mess of a face before Mr. DuMonde with the historical society arrives. We’re meetin’ to talk things out a bit.”

  Lauryn turned to Brant who stood looking at her with the saddest of expressions. “I…I can’t believe all of this,” she cried. “We were only gone for a week.”

  “It’s disturbing,” he mumbled, as he walked to the dark stain in the corner. Hunkering down he pressed a hand to the floor, the place where some poor soldier had bled so terribly fifty years before. “I’m glad your family has decided to preserve all this…allow the public to see it.” He stood and turned toward her once more. “I know it’s your home, Lauryn. I don’t mean to sound heartless. But this is a very important part of history and…”

  “I know,” Lauryn interrupted. “I just feel…strange now. Knowin’ that we lived here all these years…walked these floors…never realizing what was under the carpets.”

  “What a day that must’ve been,” Brant mused. “Can you imagine it? The O’Halleran family, so use to the lovely southern life…suddenly finding themselves in the middle of a battle, their home turned into a hospital…a morgue.” He paused for a moment and looked around the room. “Exactly where was Laura when she was wounded?”

  “Right there. Near where you stand now. She was assistin’ my great-grandfather with the wounded soldiers here in the parlor,” Lauryn reminded him.

  “She was helping. And this room is fairly covered in blood stains,” Brant mumbled, frowning thoughtfully. “And to think…all these years that Laura’s been telling me about the blood on her dress…she wasn’t referring to her own wound.”

  Lauryn gasped slightly as the realization fully struck her, as well. “The hem of her skirt,” she whispered.

  Brant nodded. “The dark stains that I always thought were mud.” He shook his head in irritation. “Blood! From the soldiers that were brought in here… wounded. Just like your Nana said.” He pointed to the large stain on the floor at his feet. “Do you know how much a man would have to bleed to leave a stain like this one?”

  Lauryn shuddered, horrified at the thought. “No. And I don’t even want to imagine.”

  “Laura’s dress would’ve easily have been saturated at the hem, simply from walking around in this room while she was helping the men.” He ran his fingers through his hair in discouragement, disappointed in himself. “I thought it was mud. That’s why I was so curious about the springhouse when you first took me there.”

  Suddenly, a great anxiety began to rise within Lauryn’s chest. The room began to spin and she knew that if she did not leave it, she would faint. “I have to get out of here for a moment,” she whispered, as she fled the house. Once outside, she stumbled down the front porch steps and onto the grass.

  “Are you all right?” Brant asked, taking hold of her arm in support. Lauryn was so thankful he had followed her out. For his sake, as well as her own.

  She nodded. “I will be. It was just so warm in there. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.” Suddenly tears burst from her eyes and she looked up at him. “This is my home, Brant! I’ve lived in this beautiful house my whole life! And now…it will never, n
ever, never be the same! Turned into a museum. Empty of laughter and love. And all that people will see is the ugliness!”

  Brant reached out and gathered her into his arms. “Well, let me tell you something,” he began in a low, soothing tone. “This is a beautiful place. Even still. Think of it the way Patrick does. I think he’s right. Maybe…maybe you need to let it go. For a lot of reasons. But you need to remember that it was your home. Your beautiful, warm home filled with love and memories. And what better thing to happen to poor Connemara House, who endured so much, than to be appreciated, admired for her beauty and benevolence. To let people stand in awe of her experience, always the beauty of the south…still after that horrible day so long ago. Like your Nana, it healed. But I do think now…now might be the time for your family to let it go. Let it help remind others of what happened here. A tribute to all of those who bled for it.”

  Lauryn hugged him tightly. Her beautiful Connemara. Even now, as she looked to the vine-covered home she’d loved so much, it was still magnificent. Perhaps it had healed. Like a soldier who comes home from battle with scars on his body, but his soul still in him. Beautiful…like the soldier who held her in his strong arms now.

  “Nana is right then,” Lauryn whispered. “Our time to find Lauralynn just ran out.” Forcing herself to release Brant, Lauryn stepped back and looked up at him as she wiped at her tears. “Let’s ask Nana about Carissa.”

  “Now?” Brant questioned. Lauryn knew how little either of them wanted to upset Virginia further. But Nana herself had told them time was short.

  “She won’t mind, Brant,” she assured him. “Let’s do it. Now! As soon as she gets back from her walk with Patrick.”

  Brant nodded at Lauryn. He could feel it—the end. As if it were lurking around the next corner. And he wasn’t sad or afraid. Rather he was glad. For so many reasons, too. Glad for Lauralynn and the Captain. He could feel it…the fact that he and Lauryn would find her. But mostly, he was selfish in his gladness. For keeping himself from Lauryn…no…keeping himself from loving Lauryn completely and entirely like she was meant to be loved by him, was near to driving him insane!