Today We Go Home

by Kelli Estes

  Sarah had given her the diary exactly when she needed it most.

  Larkin paused and then rejected that idea. No, Sarah hadn’t chosen to give Larkin the diary. Not now, anyway. If she’d known how she would die, she wouldn’t have given Larkin anything.

  Guilt, regret, and sorrow gathered in Larkin’s chest and made the toast she’d eaten feel like thorns in her belly. She had to stop thinking about it. She needed to focus on Emily Wilson instead.

  And so she opened a browser and dove in, hoping to find something more about Emily beyond what the woman had written in her diary.

  She looked for information on the 9th Indiana Infantry and discovered that one of the men in the regiment had become somewhat famous as a journalist and author in the years after the war. Ambrose Bierce had been eighteen years old when he enlisted with the 9th Indiana and had served the Union Army for nearly four years. Many of his full works were available for free online, and Larkin pored over them, especially his Civil War writings, in hopes of finding Jesse, Ben, or Willie mentioned. None of them were. Discouraged, she switched back to the online newspapers site that Grams had told her about.

  And she found her. After reading through countless pages, Larkin finally found Jesse Wilson in a Nashville newspaper, the Daily Nashville Union. She could hardly believe her luck, but there it was, the name Jesse Wilson as plain as day. Even more, the article specified the 9th Indiana Infantry as Jesse’s regiment. It had to be Emily.

  Shaking with excitement, Larkin zoomed in and read the entire article.

  ARREST OF A WOMAN IN SOLDIER’S UNIFORM—Yesterday, Provost Marshal Alvan C. Gillem detected a woman in soldier’s attire who goes by the name of Jesse Wilson and claims to be a private in Colonel Moody’s 9th Indiana Infantry. She reportedly enlisted alongside her brother and served during the initial occupation of our fair city as well as in battle at Pittsburg Landing. Refusing to give her proper name, the young woman was arrested and sent to the city jail. We mention these facts as a part of the history of this war, let what may be said of the propriety of such conduct in a woman. This reporter must admit, however, she makes a fine-looking soldier.

  The thrill of finding concrete proof of Emily’s service made Larkin want to dance. But that feeling was tempered by the implied criticism of Emily by the article’s author. To blatantly question Emily’s propriety because she was conducting herself as a man made Larkin want to scream. Not only that, but Emily was reduced to nothing more than her appearance, as so many women still were today. Sure, societal expectations were different in the nineteenth century, but Larkin could practically feel the thumb grinding Emily and all women into the dirt. No wonder Emily felt such freedom when people thought she was male.

  Larkin carefully read all articles in the Daily Nashville Union for the days following, looking for further mention of Jesse Wilson, but did not find any. She seemed to disappear after being thrown in jail.

  Maybe Emily herself will tell me in the diary. Larkin laid her hand protectively over the leather-bound book on the table beside her, promising herself she’d read more tonight.

  For right now, however, she wanted to dive into the battle mentioned in the article. Pittsburg Landing. She’d never heard of it.

  She typed the name into a search engine, and the first entry that came up was for the Battle of Shiloh. She’d heard of that battle. Who hadn’t?

  Clicking on the link, she quickly found that Pittsburg Landing was the name of the place on the Tennessee River where the battle took place. As she read further, she learned that the battle later became known as the Battle of Shiloh after the name of the one-room log church in the area.

  The more she read, the more her heart sank. The Battle of Shiloh was the deadliest battle in American history up to that time. After this battle, the American people realized that not only was the war more devastating than anyone had anticipated, but also there would be no quick end to it. The end, in fact, did not come for another three bloody years.

  The joy she’d felt at discovering Emily in the newspaper was gone. In its place was a feeling that something bad was about to befall this real-life heroine. Something even worse than being discovered.

  As she reached for Emily’s diary again, a text message pinged on her phone.

  The text came from an old friend from the service whom she hadn’t heard from in a while. Not since before her last deployment, in fact. Larkin smiled upon reading her friend’s name and swiped in order to read the full text, eager for news.

  But the news wasn’t good.

  Hey, Bennett. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I heard about what happened to you, and I’m real sorry. Hope you’re doing okay. I’m here whenever you want to talk. But right now, I have bad news. Griffin shot himself last night. His wife found him in their garage. I’ll let you know when the service will be.

  Larkin dropped her phone. No. No, no, no, no, no. No! Not Griff. He was one of the good ones. One of the guys who wasn’t threatened by a female senior officer. He did his job professionally and honorably, and she would have trusted him to have her back in any firefight. But more than that, Griff was her friend. They’d done their first deployment together. He’d been by her side when they were ambushed the first time while performing route security between Bagram and Kabul. He had a four-year-old son and a baby daughter. Why had he killed himself?

  She knew why. The same reason she’d attempted it. Because war fucked with a soldier’s mind. Because at war a soldier saw and did things that changed her. Because while deployed, a soldier had a purpose. Her presence meant the difference between life or death for her buddies. Every single day she knew her job, and she performed those duties to the best of her ability. And then she came home and looked around and saw that her friends, family, and community had no clue what was going on over there. No one here cared, and it made her whole life feel pointless. They didn’t care that people were risking their lives for their freedom. All they cared about were who tweeted what to whom and what celebrity was having an affair. It was all bullshit.

  Her whole body was shaking, but Larkin couldn’t seem to move. All she could do was stare at her phone where it had dropped onto the table.

  Soldiers got home and realized they’d changed, yet their loved ones expected them to be the same. As if facing mortality on a daily basis was normal. As if watching friends die was normal. As if dedicating your life to your country and that service changing who you are at your very core was normal.

  White-hot fury shot through her, and she shoved her laptop off the table, not even flinching when it broke into pieces and the screen shattered. Grabbing the next thing at hand, Emily’s diary, she hefted it as hard as she could across the room, where it smashed against the post at the bottom of the stairs. It, too, broke into two pieces, but Larkin didn’t care.

  She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and screamed as loud as she could. Bowie barked at her as though she were a stranger. Maybe she was. At times like this, she felt like a stranger even to herself.

  “Larkin!” Grams appeared in the kitchen doorway holding grocery bags, her face panicked.

  Larkin screamed again, and shouted, and raged against everything that had been pissing her off—the Taliban, the stupid shit at the Pentagon, PTSD, Congress for not doing its job, the Army for messing her up and then pushing her out, Sarah for dying, Griff for dying.

  She crumpled onto the floor. “God damn it!” The steady beat of her forehead on the hardwood felt good.

  Grams’s arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. “Shh… You’re not alone, Lark. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

  “It’s all fucked up,” Larkin whimpered, her anger draining into sorrow so deep she felt her chest caving in. “So fucked up. It’s not fair.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Grams agreed. “It’s not fair. But I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Lark.”

  Larkin leaned into Grams on the cold
floor and sobbed. The tears felt like they’d never stop, and for once, she didn’t try to shove them down.

  * * *

  When Larkin woke, it was dark outside and the house was quiet. The only lights on were the undercabinet ones in the adjoining kitchen that gave a soft glow to the room. She realized she was lying on the couch under a fuzzy blanket that had been tucked all around her like Grams used to do when she was a kid.

  Grams.

  A greasy ball of shame flowed through Larkin and she closed her eyes, willing herself to wake from this nightmare. Grams didn’t deserve the burden Larkin was forcing on her. She had had enough heartbreak in her own life; she didn’t need Larkin’s, too.

  Where was Grams?

  Larkin’s heart twisted when she saw Grams curled up asleep in Gramps’s old recliner. Tears spilled onto Larkin’s cheek, surprising her. She’d thought she was all cried out. Grams had protected her, watched over her as she slept. Grams had told her she was there for her, and she’d meant it.

  Larkin pressed both hands to her face and silently wept. And Griff. God, Griff. His poor wife and kids. The pain was too much.

  The sound of keys in the door filled the room, and Larkin jerked her hands off her face, unwilling to be caught crying. She shoved the pain down. Kaia tiptoed into the room. When she saw Grams asleep and Larkin crying on the couch, she stopped, her face a mask of dread. “What happened?”

  Larkin shook her head. “Nothing. Everyone’s okay.”

  Grams startled awake. “Larkin?”

  “I’m here, Grams. Kaia, too. Everything’s fine.”

  “Oh.” Grams patted her chest. “What time is it? I should be starting dinner.”

  “Six thirty,” Kaia answered, dropping her purse on a chair. “I just got home. What’s going on here? You two feel okay?”

  Grams put the recliner back into upright position. She opened her mouth to answer, then shot a look toward Larkin. “Lark? Are you okay?”

  Larkin shrugged, wondering if she’d ever be okay. But right now, she was better than she had been. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She shoved off the blanket, her joints aching as if she were coming down with the flu. “Let me help with dinner.”

  “What’s all this?” Kaia stood at the base of the stairs, staring at the floor.

  Larkin remembered throwing Emily’s diary. “Oh my god.” Horrified she’d broken Sarah’s treasure, she rushed over and knelt down, hardly registering the shock of pain from dropping too quickly to her bad knee.

  The cover of the book had broken into two pieces. Next to the diary lay a yellowed scrap of stained cloth and a metal ring. Had they fallen out of the book? “What in the world?”

  Kaia sat on the bottom step and picked up the ring. “It looks like it’s engraved. Grams, will you turn on the lights?”

  Grams flicked the switch, then shuffled toward them, moving like she was stiff and achy. Larkin swallowed, knowing she was to blame.

  “It says ‘Willie Smith, 9th Ind. Inf., Co D,’” Kaia read. “Who’s that?”

  “You sure it doesn’t say Jesse Wilson?” Larkin took it from her to see for herself. Sure enough, the name was Willie’s. “Willie was another soldier in Jesse’s unit. They were becoming friends in the section I last read.”

  Grams reached for it. “Isn’t that something,” she murmured, more to herself than not. “I’ve read about these but have never seen one. I think it’s an identity ring, worn so if the wearer is killed in battle, their body can be identified.”

  “Like dog tags?” Larkin sat on the floor and stretched her leg out, her knee twinging.

  “Exactly.”

  “And what’s this handkerchief?” Kaia handed the cloth to Larkin.

  It was about eight inches square and made of what was probably once soft, white cotton but was now yellowed and stained and stiff with age. It was entirely edged with a hint of scalloping done in red thread with the rounded corners gently ruffled. The red thread continued in an embroidered pattern all around the circumference of the square with tiny dots making lines and diamond patterns. In one corner were the embroidered initials ODE.

  “I don’t know,” Larkin answered. “I haven’t read anything about it in the diary. I almost hate to touch it and risk ruining it. Look at this tiny stitching.”

  “Who is ODE?”

  Larkin shook her head. “No idea. Those aren’t Emily’s initials, so it must have belonged to someone else. I wonder why she had it?”

  Grams also had her head bent over the cloth. “Is that brown stuff what I think it is?”

  Larkin gently spread the handkerchief over her lap and looked closer at the brown stains over the monogram that nearly obscured the red letters. “It’s blood.” Her heart pounded.

  “Did Sarah ever mention any of this?” Grams asked, handing the ring back to Larkin. “I can’t imagine her family would give something so precious away.”

  “You’re right.” Larkin got stiffly to her feet. “I think it’s time I call her brother.”

  She gathered up the diary pieces, handkerchief and ring, and then she grabbed her cell phone from the table, surprised she hadn’t thrown that, too. Limping upstairs, she shut her bedroom door and made the call.

  He picked up after two rings.

  “Zach Faber? This is Larkin Bennett. Sarah’s friend.”

  A long silence stretched over the line. “Thanks for tracking me down. I can’t believe she’s gone.” His voice cracked.

  Larkin’s heart started to thaw toward him. “Yeah, me too.” She squeezed the ring in her fist. “She, um, she talked about you. Told me you were her hero when she was a kid.”

  “She said that?”

  “Yeah.” Larkin took a breath. “Until she never saw you again.” Larkin fell silent as she realized she was trying to push some of her own guilt and shame onto Zach. But he deserved it, didn’t he? He’d abandoned Sarah.

  Before he had time to come up with lame excuses, Larkin twisted the knife deeper. “Why didn’t you try to contact her all those years?”

  “I, uh…” He cleared his throat and started again. “I was a stupid kid when our parents split up and I went to live with Dad. Sarah was so little… I thought she wouldn’t remember me, or want anything to do with me. Our mother didn’t. She was furious that I chose Dad over her, and she told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  Larkin sucked in her breath. “Wow. She was a real piece of work, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, although I didn’t realize how much until she drank herself to death a few years ago.”

  Larkin thought about all the stories Sarah had told her of the hell she’d experienced living with her mother, who had never gotten over her husband leaving her. “Sarah missed you. She felt that you and your dad abandoned her.”

  Zach let out a breath. “Yeah, I guess we did. I always thought I’d make it up to her someday. It’s too late now, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Larkin fell silent, not sure what to say next. Her gaze fell on Sarah’s urn, and she quickly turned away.

  “Tell me about her,” Zach urged, his voice pleading. “You were her best friend, right? You were there when she died?”

  The pain of that made Larkin close her eyes, and for several long moments she couldn’t speak.

  “Larkin?”

  “Yeah,” she finally managed. “She was my best friend. Like a sister.”

  He made a sound like “Hmm” and Larkin wondered if he took that as a dig at him, though she didn’t mean it that way.

  “I have her stuff,” she told him. “Some old pictures of you as kids. Do you want me to send them to you?”

  “Yes, please. I don’t have any.”

  Larkin jotted down his address. “There’s something else,” she told him. “Did you ever hear about an ancestor of yours who left her diary of the time she dressed as a man and foug
ht in the Civil War?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, my grandmother read it to me when I was about ten. She left it to Sarah when she died, and I remember Sarah carrying it around with her for months like a security blanket. And this was even before she could read!”

  Larkin smiled, imagining tiny Sarah hugging the diary. “I found the diary in Sarah’s things and am reading it now. I can see why it inspired her so much.”

  “Is it why she joined the military?” he asked, his voice sounding sad. “I wasn’t surprised when I’d heard she did.”

  His question reminded her of their graduation and commissioning ceremony when Sarah had hoped her family would show, but they didn’t. Larkin decided not to bring it up. “Yeah, that’s what she told me.” Getting to the point, she said, “Look, I found something interesting in the diary today. A handkerchief and identity ring that were hidden inside. I guess I…I don’t know…I guess I feel like I shouldn’t keep something so valuable. Is there someone in your family who I should send them to?”

  Zach paused for a moment before saying, “I’d love to see them someday, but if Sarah left her things for you, you should keep them.”

  Relief swept through Larkin, and she realized she didn’t want to part with the items. She was becoming as attached to Emily as she’d been to Sarah. As she fiddled with the ring, she asked, “Zach, did your grandmother tell you anything about Emily’s friend Willie Smith? I get the feeling he was special to Emily, and now that I’ve found his ring, I’m certain of it.”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  Zach chuckled. “I don’t think I should tell you. Give you the fun of discovering it on your own.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No, I’m definitely going to let you discover it on your own.”

  Annoyed, Larkin had to take a deep breath. Zach wasn’t a suspected criminal she was interrogating. If he didn’t want to tell her, she couldn’t make him. “At least tell me this. Do you know who ODE was? The initials are embroidered on the handkerchief I found.”