Becoming Forever (Waking Forever Series)

by McVea, Heather

  Rebecca frowned, and knelt in front of Emma. “What is it? Do you not approve of Thomas?” The worried woman took Emma’s shaking hands.

  Swallowing several times before she could speak, Emma shook her head. “No. Thomas is a fine man. I’m just surprised. You don’t speak of him often.”

  In truth, Rebecca hadn’t spoken of any man more or less than another. Thomas Canter was one of two blacksmiths in the town, and was by most accounts a respectable and honest business man. The fact he was nearly twenty years Rebecca’s senior only made the choice more perplexing to Emma.

  “He thinks he is too old for me, and that people will judge us.” Rebecca slid into the desk next to Emma. “I told him it doesn’t matter what people think. My parents approve, and that’s all that matters.” She rested her chin on her palm.

  “Do you love him, Rebecca?” Emma needed to know if this was a marriage of convenience or if Rebecca truly had feelings for Thomas. She knew the outcome was the same regardless, but some part of her would take comfort if Rebecca’s heart was still not claimed.

  Surprised by the question, Rebecca chewed nervously on her lower lip. “I’m very fond of him, and in time I know I will grow to love him.”

  Emma exhaled. “Why marry someone if you don’t love them?” Rebecca seemed confused by the comment. “What I mean Rebecca, is if your parents aren’t forcing you, and there are no other reasons -” Emma stopped when she saw the guilt flash across Rebecca’s eyes. Her eyes quickly moved from her piercing green eyes, to her tapered midsection. “Oh. There are other reasons.”

  Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t hate me.” She grabbed Emma’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I - we started talking when I would go in to get nails for father, and after several months we -” Tears streamed down the woman’s face.

  Seeing the fear and sadness in Rebecca’s eyes, Emma couldn’t be angry with her. The love she felt for Rebecca didn’t simply disappear, and the truth was she knew she had to let Rebecca go. Not that she was ever hers to begin with, but her friend needed her, and Emma wouldn’t allow her own disappointment get in the way of comforting a woman she both loved and valued.

  “I don’t hate you.” Emma put her hand on the other woman’s cheek. “I’m glad you’ve found someone you care for, and want a life with.”

  Through tears, Rebecca managed a smile as she covered Emma’s hand with hers. “Thank you.” She stood and wiped at her face. “We’re going to have a small ceremony next week, and Thomas says he can close the shop for a few days and take me to Bridgeport.” She walked toward the short bookcase at the front of the room.

  “That soon?” Emma winced at the harshness of her tone. “I mean, that’s hardly any time to plan a proper wedding.”

  Rebecca looked down, and put her hand over her flat stomach. “We don’t have too much time before I -” She looked up at Emma, her eyes pleading.

  Taking mercy on her friend, Emma smiled. “Why wait then?”

  Rebecca pulled a thin cloth bound book from the bookcase, and walked toward Emma. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.” She leaned toward Emma and placed a quick kiss on the woman’s cheek.

  Her head spinning from Rebecca’s revelation and her proximity, Emma took several deep breaths to steady herself, and then she sacrificed her feelings for Rebecca’s. “I’m very happy for the two of you.”

  ***

  It had been nearly seven months since Rebecca had confided her secret to Emma. In that time, the War Between the States had begun in earnest. True to his word, Henry Atman had campaigned from his pulpit against Virginia’s secession from the Union. When that failed, he attended countless meetings in support of counties in the northwestern region of Virginia seceding from the now Confederate State of Virginia.

  Henry was gone at a constitution ratification convention for the newly formed state of West Virginia, when Emma received word from Seth Calvin that Rebecca had gone into labor. She had married Thomas Canter, and though rumors always abound in small towns, most people didn’t question the explanation that Rebecca was with child as a result of the couple’s honeymoon in Bridgeport.

  Emma climbed into Seth’s flatbed wagon. She was more educated than most in Grafton, and as a result had become a de facto midwife. “How long has she been in labor?”

  Seth looked pale. “About an hour. It came on very quickly.”

  Emma chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek. “First births are often the hardest, and I’m sure Rebecca is scared because she doesn’t know what exactly to expect.”

  Seth held the reigns firmly in his hands. “I guess, but there’s already blood.”

  Emma frowned. “Her water broke that quickly?”

  Seth shrugged. “All I know is she was washing the morning dishes, and then she was on the floor.”

  “Seth, go faster.” Emma reached for the metal rail in front of her to steady herself against the jostling of the wagon. Within ten minutes, they were pulling up in front of the Calvin’s house. It was a single story log cabin home, with a wood porch that wrapped around the length of the house.

  Emma climbed down from the wagon before Seth could come around to assist her. Even from outside the house, Rebecca’s screams of pain cut through Emma. Rushing across the small lawn, up onto the porch, through the front door, and into Rebecca’s room, Emma stopped suddenly. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior of the home, and she saw her friend lying on a small straw mattress. Nan Calvin was sitting on a chair to her daughter’s side, and Thomas was kneeling next to the bed, holding his wife’s hand.

  His weathered face was distorted with anxiety and confusion as he looked up at Emma. “We had come over for breakfast, and she was fine.” He cringed as Rebecca screamed.

  Sweat rolled down her forehead as quickly as Nan could blot it away with a cloth. Both dry and fresh blood stained the thin cotton sheets, and Rebecca’s skirt. Emma could only see what needed to be done, rolled up her sleeves, and refused to give into the panic pushing at the back of her throat. “I need hot - not boiling - water.” She opened the small leather bag she was carrying, and took a pair of scissors and a scalpel out. “And all the cloth you can find.” She looked at Thomas. “Tear it into strips.” Emma held her hands up. “Three inches wide and no less than twelve inches long. Do you understand Thomas?”

  The man nodded, and then hesitantly pulled his hand from his wife’s. Emma pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it at the foot of the bed. “Rebecca, it’s Emma. I’m going to move your dress out of the way.”

  Rebecca’s head rolled back and forth listlessly, her skin had taken on a pale, grayish tone. Emma pushed the layered skirts back, and covered her mouth to stifle the gasp. The blood had pooled under Rebecca and, having saturated the mattress, stood nearly an inch deep. Emma stood up, and grabbed the thick quilt hanging on a wall rail. She rolled it into a cylinder and wedged it under Rebecca’s backside so she was lifted out of the blood.

  Thomas rushed back in the room along with Seth. Both men’s arms full of torn strips of cloth. “Water is on the stove.” Seth said through clenched teeth as Rebecca let out another cry.

  “Count off ten strips.” Emma instructed Seth. She turned to Rebecca. Sliding two fingers into the source of the bleeding, Emma made a quick assessment of the situation. “The baby is backwards, that’s why she’s in so much pain.” Emma leaned forward. “I have to turn the baby around, and then she can start pushing.”

  Emma took a deep breath. “Rebecca, this is going to hurt. Thomas take her hand, and put one of the cloths in her mouth or she could bite her tongue off.” Thomas handed all but one of the cloth strips to Seth, folded the remaining one into a square, and placed it between Rebecca’s teeth.

  Nan continued to wipe the sweat from her daughter’s forehead and throat. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

  Using her right hand, Emma managed to turn the baby around, until she was confident its head was face forward. To her dismay, she could
feel the umbilical cord pulling at the baby’s neck. Knowing there was nothing to be done about that, Emma removed her hand, and looked up at Rebecca, who was red as she screamed into the cloth lodged in her mouth.

  “Push, Rebecca.” Emma knew the odds of the baby surviving were very low, and if she didn’t get the baby out of her friend quickly, Rebecca would bleed to death. “Push.”

  Rebecca’s eyes were bloodshot and tears ran down her face as she looked up at Emma. Slamming her eyes shut, she lifted her shoulders up and pushed. The crown of the baby’s head was visible, and Emma was hopeful with one more push, the baby would be free. “One more time. Push.”

  Rebecca’s scream was muffled through the cloth in her mouth. She pulled on Thomas’ hand as she brought her shoulders up off the bed. Emma took the baby’s head in her hands, and reaching for the scissors that lie next to her, quickly cut the cord that was wrapped around the baby’s neck. This allowed the child to be pushed free of Rebecca.

  “Nan, come here.” Emma laid the small baby on the mattress in front of her and sticking her pinky finger into his mouth, swiped at the thick liquid blocking his airway. Lifting him up off the bed, Emma held him upside down by his ankles and quickly struck his back between the shoulder blades. The limp baby suddenly jerked, and let out a deafening cry.

  “Take him, wrap him in a blanket and then gently rock him while squeezing him.” Emma could tell the woman was horrified by the suggestion of squeezing her grandson. “It will make sure his heart doesn’t stop.” Nan nodded, and took the baby.

  Emma turned her attention back to Rebecca. “Seth, the ten strips.” The tall man was next to her immediately, handing her one strip at a time. Emma quickly inserted them into Rebecca in an effort to stem the flow of blood coming from the woman. “She’s hemorrhaging.” Emma looked up at a confused Thomas. “She’s bleeding too much, and I can’t stop it.”

  Even with the ten cloth strips, Rebecca continued to bleed. Emma looked up at her friend, whose once full, pink lips were now a pale blue. “Rebecca, I-” Emma’s eyes filled with tears as she looked helplessly at the woman she loved slipping away. The vibrant green eyes began to fade until Rebecca was gone.

  The weight of her grief bore down on Emma’s heart, forcing a strangled cry from her lips. She was only partially aware of Seth’s arms around her as she leaned back against his broad chest. Sobs filled the room as Thomas pulled his dead wife into his arms. Emma felt her heart shedding its hope, life and love as the realization that Rebecca was dead pushed into her.

  Pulling away from Seth, Emma got to her feet. She stood staring at the dead woman, sobs racking her body. Emma looked at her hands, still covered in blood, and clenched her fists so tightly her finger nails pierced the skin, mingling her blood with Rebecca’s. Turning, Emma walked toward the front door, a numbness consuming her.

  The finality of it was too much for Emma to bear. She sank down on the steps of the porch, and clung to the wooden post. Looking up at the sky, she realized it was still morning. The air seemed thin and sterile, and all of the nothingness death promises had come to be in a matter of minutes. The darkening of Rebecca had happened in seconds.

  Chapter 15

  Emma leaned against the dirt wall of the trench, bullets flying overhead. She was crouched on her heels, leaning over a young, dark haired Union soldier, in a futile attempt to keep dirt and debris out of an open gunshot wound along his right side. She had volunteered to be a field nurse four months prior. Desperate to find something meaningful beyond the depression Rebecca’s death had caused, she had left Grafton against her father’s wishes and joined the Union Army of the Potomac.

  “I can fight for my ideals the same as any man.” Emma had argued with Henry after announcing at dinner her intention to leave home.

  “You can stand up for those ideals, Emma, without putting your life in danger.” Henry had taken a drink of water as he looked from his daughter to Ada. “Will you say something?”

  Ada reached across the table and took Emma’s hand. “I know you are still struggling with Rebecca’s death, and that you blame yourself.”

  Emma shook her head. “This has nothing to do with that. There’s a need for nurses, I have those skills, and want to help.” She pulled her hand away from Ada and leveled her gaze on Henry. “If I were your son, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

  Henry nodded. “Fine then. Since you are not my son, I forbid it.”

  Emma wished Martha was there. She and David Reynolds had married a month prior before he enlisted with the Union Army, and moved in with David’s mother. Martha would not want her in harm’s way, but would defend her decision to be a part of a movement their family had supported for years.

  “For all your talk of equality, I guess you never thought it extended beyond the color of one’s skin to their gender?” Emma practically spat the words at Henry.

  The man’s face reddened as he looked over at Mary. “Mary, please go to your room.”

  “But Father, I want -” The girl sat enthralled by the conversation.

  “Mary. Now!” Henry barked. The young girl quickly got up and left the room. Henry turned his attention back on Emma. “Now you listen to me. I am your father, and as long as you’re living under my roof, you will honor me.”

  Emma leaned back in her chair. Her nostrils flared as a surge of adrenaline coursed through her. “Then you have offered up our solution, Father.” She pushed her chair away from the table, its wooden legs scraping against the floor. “I will no longer live under your roof.” She turned and walked toward the stairs, leaving both Henry and Ada speechless and slack jawed.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Emma felt her knees buckle. She had never defied her father in such a way before. They had never so fundamentally disagreed on a course of action like this before. Standing up, Emma walked down the short hall toward her bedroom.

  “Are you leaving, Em?” Mary’s small voice came from her darkened room.

  Emma stopped, and walked to the doorway of the small bedroom. “I’m going to stay with Martha, and then yes. I’ll be gone for a while.”

  Mary was sitting in a short wooden chair next to a table she used as a desk, and drawing board. “Can I come with you?”

  Emma walked across the room, and knelt next to Mary. “No, dear heart. Your mother and father need you.”

  “Don’t you need me?” The girl’s eyes were wide as they filled with tears.

  Emma pulled Mary to her, and hugged her. “Of course I do.” She moved Mary back so she could see her eyes. “I love you.”

  Mary smiled. “I love you too.”

  Since leaving Grafton, Emma had sent Mary countless letters, but with the supply lines constantly being cut off, she couldn’t be certain any had reached the child. She had managed to abate her anger with her father enough to send him a letter as well. That was over a month ago, and there had been no reply.

  “We have to move this man now, Sergeant!” Emma shouted over the noise of nearby cannons.

  Sergeant Wilson was a short man in his late thirties. He had an overgrown mustache and his face was pock marked from what Emma had been told was a severe case of chicken pox as a child. “They’re moving through too quickly. Just stay down!”

  The Confederate Army of Northern Virginia had begun a major offensive through the Strasburg, Virginia area before dawn that morning. Emma, along with other non-military personnel, had been caught in the middle of the advance. Initially told to move through the trenches and adjacent fields until she could reach the back of the line, Emma had opted instead to lend aid to the injured until the runners could retrieve them and move them back to the field hospital.

  “I’m moving him, Sergeant.” Emma looked around for a runner.

  “You can try, nurse, but he’s got a good fifty pounds on you.” Wilson’s smile was smug.

  Emma had never cared for the man. He was lazy, and she had caught him on more than one occasion staring at her in a suggestive manner. “You could help,” she
yelled.

  “I follow orders, and they told me to stay right -” A piercing boom tore through the trench as dirt and rock flew in every direction. Emma felt something akin to a brick wall hit her full on. Landing on her back, her ears were ringing and she couldn’t catch her breath. After a few seconds, she managed to sit up, a wave of nausea shooting through her.

  Looking around Emma could see Wilson was dead. The cannon ball had landed just behind him, and propelling him forward onto the young soldier. Blood, muscle and bone were strewed about with the rocks. Smoke burned Emma’s eyes as she tried to assess her own injuries. Finding nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, she crawled toward the soldier.

  Looking back and forth along the length of the trench, she couldn’t see anyone. Then a wave of smoke cascaded over the rim of the trench, and walking through it, Emma could see a tall, dark haired man in a Union uniform. “Soldier! Over here!” Emma got to her knees, and waved the man over.

  Without crouching, the man confidently made his way toward Emma. As he approached, Emma gasped. His face was black with soot, making his eyes appear to glow an iridescent blue. “Ma’am?”

  Emma managed to gather her senses long enough to remember what needed to be done. “Sergeant Wilson is dead, but the man under him isn’t. I need your help getting him back to the field hospital.”

  The tall soldier looked over Emma’s shoulder at the man. “Yes, ma’am.” Stepping around Emma, the man easily pushed what remained of Wilson to the side, and effortlessly hoisted the limp soldier over his right shoulder. “Follow me.”

  Emma got to her feet and grabbed the man’s belt loop, worried she would lose him in the smoke and confusion. Keeping her head down, she followed the man through several hundred yards of trenches, and then up onto a sprawling pasture littered with dead bodies.

  “My God.” Emma looked around her. The waist high grass of the pasture was broken and bent under the weight of countless corpses. She struggled not to step on them as she was pulled along by the nameless man in front of her.