“No. Please, miss,” the man said, “don’t go yet. I haven’t seen another person except—I haven’t seen anyone in so long.”
I turned slowly back around. His expression was strained, but eager.
“Look, Violet!” Seeley cried. He had left my side and trotted across the room to nudge his boot against a mound of ragged clothing stuffed in the blackened hole of the crumbling fireplace. A tattered, filthy blue coat with brass buttons was visible. “That’s a Yankee uniform. He’s a Yankee. Maybe a deserter.”
I should have noticed immediately that the man’s accent was all wrong. “Seeley, come away now,” I said, starting for the door once more.
In a note of desperation the man said harshly, “Don’t leave!” His voice softened. “Please don’t leave. I won’t hurt you. I’m wounded. Can’t even walk. I would never harm you. Please, please don’t go yet.”
I hadn’t realized he was injured; I had thought he was only resting. Now I saw that the stains on the uniform in the fireplace were stiff, clotted blood. Also, a sickroom smell—an odor I recognized from my work at the hospital—lurked under the other scents of the place.
He was the enemy, but an enemy helpless and hurt is entirely different from an enemy in health and power. I set down the basket.
Even if I didn’t know what to do next, Seeley did. The Christian thing. “My name is Seeley Rushton,” he said, and knelt at the man’s side. “And I own Panola Plantation. That’s near Richmond.”
“I was”—a slight tremor passed over the soldier’s features—“yes, I was in Virginia last summer. Beautiful country.”
I stiffened. Was he remembering the men he had killed and the homes he had ransacked in the beautiful country?
He raised a hand for Seeley to shake. “I’m Thomas Lynd. Lieutenant Thomas Lynd of the Fifth Connecticut.” He turned to me. “And you are Miss Violet?”
How did he know? Oh yes. Seeley had said my name a moment ago. I nodded slightly. “Violet Dancey from Scuppernong Farm, just upriver.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Dancey.” Lieutenant Lynd looked back at Seeley and said seriously, “Seeley Rushton is a good name, but I was expecting you to say Heath Blackstock, because of that daring cape of yours.”
Seeley flushed with pleasure. “You know the Heath Blackstock books? I made my mother buy me every new one that came out.” His eyes grew larger and his jaw dropped. “Wait! Your name … You said your name is Thomas Lynd. Did you …? You wrote them! You wrote my books?”
The soldier answered, “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“I can’t believe it,” Seeley said with an expression of wonder. “I can’t believe you’re right here.”
“You only ‘suppose’ you wrote them?” I asked, puzzled.
“It seems so many ages ago, it’s hard to believe it really was me,” Lieutenant Lynd said.
“Will you write more?” Seeley asked, wriggling with delight. Evidently this man was his hero.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I hadn’t been aware the character came from a book. How … interesting that a real, published author was here in the Lodge.
“Can I see your gun and your sword?” Seeley asked enthusiastically.
“I’m afraid I don’t have them anymore. Actually I don’t have anything anymore but what you see here. I didn’t even know my uniform was over there. It’s unwearable, isn’t it?”
“Completely,” I said. “Someone’s taking care of you, aren’t they?” A tin water pail with dipper, a small covered cast-iron kettle, and a bucket (probably serving as the chamber pot) clustered beside him. I didn’t wait for his answer. “Where were you injured?”
“ ‘Where’ as in geographical location or ‘where’ as in part of my body?” Lieutenant Lynd gave a wince that might have started as a smile. “Probably both, eh? It’s hard to collect myself. To rightly recall.” His voice was deep and quiet. He drew his hand down his face, making it appear even more haggard. “It happened after the battle near Shiloh Church. Up in Tennessee. Perhaps you’ve heard about it. Terrible, terrible losses on both sides. So ironic that shiloh means ‘peace’ in Hebrew. Anyway, I made it through that nightmare, but three of us rode a little ways south afterward to—to look things over.”
“To spy!” I cried sharply, holding back the tremor in my voice.
“No, miss. Forgive me for contradicting, but if we’d been spying, we wouldn’t have worn uniforms. We went just to look things over, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. We weren’t far from some northern Mississippi town—didn’t even know the name. We’d gotten off our horses to drink at a sweet little spring. Next thing we knew, a popping noise sounded and a bullet whined past my ear like a giant mosquito.” At first he spoke slowly, with pauses between phrases, but gradually the words poured out faster and faster. “Never saw who did the shooting. Something knocked me flat, and when the gunfire stopped and it was silent for a while, I dared look around. They’d left us all for dead. Wheeler’s face was in the spring, with the back of his head missing and red spreading out in the water. He died just like that. Never raised up at all. I remember thinking, Dash it! Now we can’t get a drink. Imagine that—thinking such a thing with my good friend not ten minutes gone.”
“You were in shock,” I said. “People’s thoughts are distorted at such a time, I expect.”
He made no response to my words—just gazed at nothing as if he hadn’t heard. “Jorgenson was lying nearby, all covered with blood but with his chest still rising. I didn’t even realize I was hurt until I couldn’t move. And then when I glanced down, I kept staring. It’s a weird and fascinating thing to see your hip clean blown away, both joint and socket. Couldn’t believe it was really me. My body. I got my coat off and pressed it against the wound, but that was all I could do. There was no real pain—then. When I saw the state I was in, I figured the end had come for Jorgenson and me, as well as Wheeler. All we could do was wait till we bled out.”
“Were you afraid?” I asked.
“Excuse me?” the soldier said, seemingly startled at the sound of my voice.
“Were you scared when you thought you were dying?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer. It was important. Isaac Lafarge at the hospital had said he was not afraid of death, and perhaps if this man had not been either, it would mean that Rush might not have been frightened. I was still haunted by the possibility of my twin’s terror in his last minutes of life.
Lieutenant Lynd looked thoughtfully at me and said gently, “There was no fear.”
“What did you think about then?” Seeley asked. “My parents died.…”
“I thought about home and how I’d never look upon everyone I loved again in this life.”
“Horrible,” I said.
“You would think so,” he said, “but rather I felt a deep calm. I knew everything would be all right with them. And I was curious to see where I was going.”
Isaac Lafarge had also said he was curious. Both soldiers seemed to have considered the moment before death as if they were beginning a curious adventure. No fear.
The lieutenant continued, “I supposed I’d go to heaven since I’ve always tried to be a decent human being. I started to pray and then everything went dark. Must have fainted.”
I guessed it was possible for a few Yankees to slip through the pearly gates.
“When I regained consciousness, I was being lifted onto a sort of litter,” Lieutenant Lynd went on.
“By whom?” I asked.
“Didn’t know for a while because I fainted again. This time when I came to, I was lying here in this place, and Jorgenson was stretched out across from me. Such a relief to see him there. To know he was still alive and I wasn’t alone. And—”
He hesitated, and Seeley and I, in the same breath, said, “And what?”
Lieutenant Lynd shook himself as if to awaken further. “Please.” He motioned to the tree stumps. “I’m forgetting my manners. Forgive me. It’s just so good to talk to people. Won
’t you take a seat? I would offer you some refreshment, but all I have is water.”
This wounded soldier, none too clean, lying in a derelict ruin in the middle of nowhere, was a gentleman. Unexpected in a Yankee. It was clear the soldier was not being given enough to eat, and his plight tugged at me. I lifted the picnic basket and jiggled it slightly. “We have food—enough for three, if you’d join us.”
Seeley awkwardly dragged a couple of stumps closer. I pulled out a cloth to spread on the floor beside the man and laid out plates for the fried chicken and corn bread spread with strawberry preserves.
Perched on the edge of my stump, I smoothed down my skirts, waiting impatiently for the next part of the story but expecting the poor fellow to commence tearing into the chicken first.
His eyes started a little at the sight of the meal. However, he made no move to reach for it. “I think perhaps I can sit up. I haven’t dared try before, but …” The muscles in his face and neck stood out as he strained to raise himself.
“Seeley,” I said, “help him.”
The boy rushed forward and, with an impressive gentleness, assisted the soldier in scooting backward to lean against the cracked plaster wall.
Lieutenant Lynd still didn’t touch the food. Instead he carried on with his story as if he needed to keep on relating it now that he had begun. “Our rescuers were so peculiar. Unlike any people I’ve ever seen before. They looked peculiar and they walked peculiar, sort of melting or flowing—no, seeping—and they were utterly silent. They’re handsome people; I call them the Shadows.”
The Shadows. They could only be the VanZeldts. I had thought of them that way when I had seen them with the doctor in town.
“Then,” the lieutenant continued, “the old woman put a cloth soaked in ashes and lye into my wound. She did it again and again. Each time mashed flesh and splinters of bone came away with the cloth until the wound became pale as raw chicken flesh.”
I glanced down at the still-untouched fried chicken and suppressed a shudder.
“She laid a poultice on it,” he went on, “and gave me something to drink. I slept for a long time after that. When I awoke, Jorgenson was gone.” His mouth worked a little. “He must have died as I slept, without us ever exchanging another word. I tried to use motions to ask the Shadows about it, but they gave no response. Every evening since then, one or two of the younger ones come. I haven’t seen the old one again. They bring water and food, and they change the poultice. A sort of flexible gristle seems to have filled in the hole in my hip. It doesn’t hurt anymore; in a week or two maybe I’ll try standing. If it’s possible.” He opened and shut his hands, stretching the fingers. “I hate to think how weak all my muscles have grown from disuse. Including my brain, I’m afraid.”
“You think you’re not as smart anymore?” Seeley asked. I was glad Seeley was there to ask the silly questions I was thinking.
Lieutenant Lynd’s smile ended almost before it started. “My memories of the past weeks come and go. I’m never sure what’s real and what’s not. For instance, I think that once, early on, they brought a snake. They held its head forward and its tongue flicked in and out as they carried it right up to my face. At least that’s how I remember it. Maybe I was delirious from the pain, or maybe it was a dream. I’ve had loads of dreams lying here.”
A snake … My mouth was dry and every one of my senses was on edge. A Yankee … the VanZeldts … serpents … this whole situation was too uncanny. My very softening toward him put me on my guard again. Carefully I licked my lips. Should I take Seeley away right now? He couldn’t stop us.
I must have had an odd expression on my face because Lieutenant Lynd said hastily, “Of course it sounds as if I’ve lost my senses. Maybe I have.” He rubbed his forehead. “The solitude for so long. And I shouldn’t have related such grisly details. This whole setting is unfit for a lady. I’m so sorry.”
My days of being sheltered from grisly details had ended when I began working at the hospital. I might have told him that, but I did not—it was nice for a young man to expect me to be sheltered.
He continued, “It’s been a long time since I’ve communicated with a gently bred lady. Especially one with a rose in her tresses.”
The warmth rushed to my cheeks, and I reached up to snatch out the flower but lowered my hand when Seeley said proudly, “I gave it to her.”
So I left the blossom but tried to smooth my hair now that I remembered it hung down every which way. “I’m afraid my appearance isn’t at all that of a lady. I must look a mess. We had a wild time coming through the woods.”
“And you’ve got dirt all over your face, Violet,” Seeley commented smugly.
I frantically tried to rub away the grime with my fingers.
“Still there,” Seeley said.
The soldier smiled then, slowly, the first real smile he had shown. “Here,” he said, “allow me.” He groped for a rag and dipped it into his water pail. “This is clean. They brought it just last night.”
I hesitated a second and then moved closer. He wiped my cheeks as softly as if I were Cubby’s age.
“Thank you,” I whispered, thinking how ridiculous that had just been. And then, looking down at my lap with confusion, I said, “So, you can’t talk to your rescuers?” Was that the right term for the VanZeldts?
He shook his head. “I speak to them. I thank them and that sort of thing, but they don’t respond. Of course, much of the time I’m asleep when they come.” His yearning eyes strayed to our picnic.
I caught the glance and pushed the food toward him. “Please, sir, eat.”
“I will, but won’t you have some too?”
The starving gentleman was waiting politely for me to partake first. A lump grew in my throat.
I handed him a plate. “We’re not very hungry,” I said. “We had a big breakfast.”
“We did no—” Seeley started to say, but I kicked his leg and he stopped.
Lieutenant Lynd saw the kick and smiled at me with his eyes. “Forgive my slowness,” he said, breaking off a bit of corn bread. His hand shook so that he could scarcely raise it to his mouth. “I mustn’t—eat—too quickly. Or too much at first.”
“You’re right. It might make you ill. They do feed you, though, don’t they?” I asked. “I saw the kettle there.” I was trying not to stare at the soldier’s bare chest (although, believe me, there was nothing sensual about protruding washboard ribs).
“One of them comes every night bringing stew and changing the dressing and emptying—”
He ceased talking and I knew he meant the slop bucket. I quickly lowered my eyes.
We were silent now in order to let him eat. The only sound was his quiet, careful chewing.
I was sitting in a cabin in the woods with an unkempt, bare-chested Yankee soldier. Oddly my heart pounded as if I were afraid, but at some point I had stopped being afraid.
After a while I spoke. “The town you were near when you were shot is probably Chicataw, and I believe the spring you were drinking from is Freshwater Springs. They found a dead Federal soldier there several weeks back.” I didn’t mention how upset the locals were that the water had been polluted. “Your ‘Shadows’ sound like the VanZeldts—they’re the servants of a man who lives nearby. I didn’t know there was an old one. I’ve only seen the three others.”
“Do they move peculiarly?”
“Very. I might use the word ‘slither.’ ”
Lieutenant Lynd choked as if he had started to laugh but it wouldn’t quite come out.
“I want to see the VanZeldts,” Seeley said. “I want to see people who slither. Do they look like snakes?”
“No, but they’re certainly unusual,” Lieutenant Lynd said. “However, they’ve saved my life. Perhaps are still saving it. Using some sort of native herbal knowledge. Whatever it is, it works. How long has it been? How long since Shiloh? I have no idea how much time has passed.”
“That was the beginning of April, and now”—I pa
used, trying to remember the date—“it’s May twenty-ninth.”
He sighed. “So many weeks alone. Except for birds flitting in, and sometimes a squirrel. They were completely unafraid and I spoke to them. I told myself they understood.”
I nodded, thinking of my bees.
“Once in the darkness,” he added, “something walked right across my legs. Maybe an opossum. Normally I would have been startled, but at the time it seemed as if I were just part of the earth.”
As I reached down to place more corn bread on Lieutenant Lynd’s plate, he clutched my wrist. I was so startled I could only gape at him.
“Hold still,” he whispered. “Both of you. Don’t move.”
I warily followed his eyes to the doorway. A shadow flickered. Then—
A black-and-white animal waddled in, followed by her fluffy babies. Three of them. Slowly the lieutenant released me.
“Skunks.” Seeley barely moved his lips.
We sat frozen in silence while the little family leisurely explored. They poked about in corners and nudged the kettle with their noses. One of them sniffed Seeley’s boots. Seeley was shaking—whether from fear of setting them off or hilarity at the situation, I could not tell. I myself had to choke back the laughter bubbling up in my throat.
After what seemed ages, the skunks calmly left the room.
Seeley crept to the door and reported back that they had gone outside.
Then we did laugh, all of us. Lieutenant Lynd had a very nice laugh—a very present and aware one—and I was happy to hear it.
“Whew.” The lieutenant wiped his brow.
“I thought skunks came out at night,” Seeley said.
“I thought so too,” Lieutenant Lynd said. “They’ve never come in here before.”
“Well, Lieutenant,” I said, “you wouldn’t have felt you were simply part of the earth anymore if they had sprayed you.” And then I worried that he would think I was making fun of him. However, he didn’t seem offended. I thought of all those dark nights he had lain there. “So you have no light at all?”
The Mirk and Midnight Hour Page 13