Elizabeth nodded. She had known as much to be true.
“Sarah, I need some clean bandages and a sterile needle.”
The young nurse moved off to fetch the supplies the doctor ordered while Dr. Smith’s eyes wandered around their tent. What was he looking for? Salt and pepper eyebrows shot up when he spied her shoes. His eyes met hers again. Did he know she was playacting? That she was from an upper class home? Did her shoes give her away? She opened her mouth to weave some excuse, but closed it again.
“I hope you have other shoes for the journey tomorrow. There will be more walking, and I can't guarantee it will be any easier in those. In fact, I doubt your swollen feet will fit into them.”
Elizabeth shook her head, looking down. She hadn't planned well at all.
“No matter,” Dr. Smith said, his voice kind and gentle. “I'm sure we can find a spare pair of soldier's boots. You'll need a larger size shoe with the bandages anyway.”
Elizabeth nodded, meeting his gaze.
They both turned as Sarah shuffled back into the tent with the things Dr. Smith had requested.
Taking the needle in one hand, he clamped a hand around Elizabeth's ankle. “You shouldn't feel much, Miss. But even if you do, you must remain as still as you can.”
Nodding, Elizabeth braced herself. But, true to his word, she didn't feel much of the pinpricks. Then he cleaned the wounds and began wrapping her feet.
“I'll find you some suitable boots,” he said, as he tied off the last bandage. “I need you to stay off your feet the rest of the evening, understand?”
“Yes, Dr. Smith.”
He stood, turning to leave.
“Dr. Smith,” she called after him. Would he tell anyone about her?
He turned back toward her.
“Thank you,” she said in a meek voice.
“Of course. Anything for a woman so brave she would leave all behind to join this ragtag bunch.”
Elizabeth nodded. They understood each other. He would not disclose her identity to anyone.
As he left the tent, she lay back on her mat and stretched out her tired legs so she could rest her bandaged feet on her folded jacket. The bed mat, a far cry from the down feather pillows and soft mattress she had back home, was little more than a thick blanket on the ground. Even so, after the exhaustion of the day, it wasn't long before she slept.
* * *
They had covered many miles today. Miles that John felt in his feet and legs. Lying back on his mat, he stretched his limbs out. Tomorrow would bring more walking; he needed to take what respite he could. Closing his eyes, he remembered some of the scenery from the day. The distance they had come was great. Those miles not only wore on his body, but they also put distance between him and the ones he loved most dearly.
An image of Elizabeth floated in his mind’s eye. How was it that he had been away from her but what? Not yet two days even? And still she was on his mind whenever he had a spare moment. He thought briefly of Jacob and the things he had told him of love. Yes, he was in love with Elizabeth. Deeply. How, then, could he have left her? For the sake of the war effort. To save lives. Would the war change him? Would the time and distance change her feelings for him? That thought caused his stomach to drop and his heart to pound. She wouldn’t…couldn’t…could she?
He sat up and shook his head. His hands ached to be doing something. And his mind needed respite from these haunted thoughts. The stack of medical supplies called to him. Rising to his feet, he cleared his mind. Or attempted to. Then he moved toward the supplies and began looking through to ensure nothing was damaged.
Soon after, the tent flap opened. Dr. Smith entered, nodding toward John as he did so. Oh yes, he had gone off to look after one of the women. One of the young nurses had fetched him.
“Nothing needing a second pair of hands, I hope.” John looked up from his work.
William offered his colleague a smile as he moved toward his mat. “No, only some bad blisters needing to be lanced.”
“That was quite a walk today. Someone have improper footwear?” John asked, his focus now back on his work.
William nodded, sitting. “One of the women.”
“Seems about right.” Some of these women were just here to play army. They didn’t realize what they had signed up for.
“I wouldn't be so quick to judge this young woman.” William yawned and stretched.
“What do you mean?” John crouched down to access the lower crates.
William's eyes settled on John, as if trying to wager how much to share. He was quiet for several moments. “She is a woman from a privileged life. From an upper class home.”
“What is she doing here?” John jerked upright, his head swimming a little from his drastic movement.
“Choosing to serve her country.” William responded, his voice even.
“We have to tell the commanding officer.” The words rushed out of John. “Her parents couldn't be aware that she…”
William shook his head, and spoke in a firm voice. “No matter her circumstances at home or how she got here, I'm doing nothing of the sort. I respect what she's doing. It's rather brave, don't you think?”
“But she has no idea the hardships she'll endure out here while…” John started to argue.
“It's her choice to face them.”
John fell silent, shrugging his shoulders. William had a point. At least Elizabeth was safely at home, away from such adversity and danger. Perhaps this woman’s family and friends would be able to make peace with her decision, but John could not deny how relieved he was that he didn’t have to.
* * *
Charlotte Taylor rang the doorbell at the Thompson residence. She stepped into the home of her dear friend and relinquished her coat to the butler. No words were spoken between them but he escorted her to the parlor. Was it Charlotte’s imagination, or was there a chill about the home? As they approached the doorway to the parlor, Charlotte peered in, unsure of what she might find.
Abigail sat in her favorite chair, eyes drawn out the window, glassed over. Her hands were idle in her lap. And there was no fire in the hearth. Charlotte frowned.
The butler moved past her into the room to announce her presence.
Abigail’s eyes did not move from the window until Charlotte’s name was upon his lips. Then she turned toward her friend, life returning to her features.
Charlotte closed the distance between them and embraced Abigail.
While Abigail rose and opened her arms to her friend, she seemed rather limp.
“Franklin has told me everything,” Charlotte spoke near Abigail’s ear.
When they broke apart, Abigail led Charlotte to a nearby couch. The butler had turned to leave, but Charlotte called out to him.
“I would have you call upon a kitchen maid to start this fire.”
He turned his head, gave a curt nod, and quit the room.
“What can be the meaning of this? Leaving you in here with no warmth?”
“One of the maids came to stoke the fire perhaps an hour ago. I sent her away. And the fire died.”
What could Abigail have been thinking? Or rather not thinking? To sit in her parlor with no heat on such a day?
“Please, Charlotte, do not be cross.” Abigail’s gaze fell.
“I am not angry.” Charlotte became quiet. What a state her friend must be in! What words could she offer her? What could she say that would assuage her wounds?
Abigail’s shoulders shook but slightly. And she bit at her lip. Tears would soon follow.
“Oh, Abigail, I scarcely know what to say!” Charlotte confessed, eyebrows furrowed.
“It's all right. I don't know what to say myself.” She sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“Elizabeth gave no indication she was planning anything like this?” It was the obvious question but it needed to be asked.
Abigail shook her head. “We knew, of course, that she was unhappy with John's leaving.”
> “As did we all,” Charlotte added, laying a hand on Abigail's arm.
“But who could have imagined this?” Abigail cried. The tears did come then.
“Who indeed, dear friend? And what is to be done?” Would that they could come up with a plan! Something they could do other than sit around and feel sorry for themselves.
“Thomas says he cannot pursue them but he thinks perhaps if we could get a letter to John or to his commanding officer. Perhaps they may see her home.”
Nodding, Charlotte forced a smile onto her face. “See now, there is hope. John does not wish her to be in harm’s way. Once that letter finds him, John will send her home.”
Abigail nodded, but she did not meet Charlotte’s eyes.
Charlotte hung her head. She pulled herself to her feet, taking some steps away from the couch. “I must confess I feel as if I am partially to blame. My son…”
“No! I won't hear of it,” Abigail said, her voice firm. “Elizabeth is head strong all on her own.”
Relieved that Abigail did not blame her for any part of Elizabeth's flight, Charlotte turned back toward her friend and took a deep breath before continuing. “Do you think John knows?”
“Her letter didn't say, but I find it doubtful.” Abigail's eyes held Charlotte's
“I, too, doubt it. It's unimaginable that he would have let her go through with it.” Charlotte moved across the room again. This time toward the window that overlooked the front of the house.
“That is what I told Thomas,” Abigail said, unwavering.
Turning to face her friend, Charlotte said, “Should he discover her in the camp, he will send her back home.”
“I know, dear friend. Your son is a good man and he loves my Elizabeth a great deal.”
Silence fell between them for some moments. Charlotte's attention was drawn out the front window toward a young couple walking by. That should have been John and Elizabeth on an afternoon stroll, on their way home to announce their engagement.
“I know we haven't spoken of it, but I was surprised they did not make plans to marry before he went off to war,” Charlotte wondered out loud.
“I admit I was as well. But I think we're all relieved they didn't add the stress and emotion of a wedding to the mix. Yet it was what I expected when John first made it known he had enlisted.” Now focused on something else, Abigail's voice was not so charged with emotion.
“I wonder which of them convinced the other to wait.”
“It is a mystery with those two,” Abigail sighed.
“Everything always is with them.” Charlotte turned back toward Abigail.
“Indeed,” Abigail said, looking into her friend's eyes.
As Charlotte watched, Abigail's eyes filled with emotion again. Charlotte rejoined her on the settee, laying a hand on her shoulder. She waited for her friend to speak.
“I now know what torment you have been going through, knowing your child is off to war.”
Charlotte nodded, swallowing hard.
“And I understand your obsession with the war effort,” Abigail added, meeting her friend's eyes again.
“It's a way to stay connected to him,” Charlotte confirmed.
Abigail nodded her understanding. “Do you think you could use another hand to write letters? Or another person to collect donations?”
“Of course!” Charlotte said, excited at the prospect of her friend working alongside her. “We'll be happy to have you.”
“Good. Because as long as she's out there, I want her to have everything that she needs.”
* * *
The next morning, Elizabeth awoke to the sound of a bugle blasting. Time to rise. As promised, a pair of soldier's boots was by her mat. Sitting up, she was tempted to remove the dressings and examine her blisters. It would be best to leave them alone for a day or two and let them heal. So she slid her stockings over the bandages, and with great care, worked her feet into the boots. A perfect fit with the bulky bandages. She silently thanked the kind doctor.
“They work?” Melanie yawned as she sat up.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, lacing them. “They're perfect.”
Melanie moved to the tent flap and looked out. “It is too early for all this activity.”
“I think we're going to have to get used to that.” She tested her weight on her feet. Pain shot through her feet but she could manage.
“I think you're right.” Melanie stretched her arms.
Elizabeth glanced over to where Sarah and Lily's mats should have been. Nothing but bare grass flattened where their bodies had been. Early risers. Were they helping the other nurses catalog and pack the medical supplies onto the wagon? She would wager so.
“Let's get these mats rolled and the tent packed. How hard could it be?” Melanie’s voice was more confident than Elizabeth would have expected. With the lack of skills Melanie had displayed in erecting the tent, and Elizabeth’s own ineptitude in this arena, she was doubtful they could accomplish such a thing.
It was, as she feared, quite difficult. They'd had a lot of help from Sarah and Lilly setting up the tent. And now they were left to their own devices trying to get it down in an orderly fashion. The more they worked with the rough canvas, the more it seemed to fight them. They made a bigger mess than they intended before a kind soldier who happened by offered to help show them how to fold it. With his help, it was done in short order. They thanked the young soldier, who moved on to his next task without further ado.
Melanie watched him go, and Elizabeth wondered if perhaps part of her volunteerism was spurred by her desire to find a husband.
“He's good-looking. Don't you think?” Melanie’s eyebrow piqued.
“Yes, but I'm a little more concerned with getting our packs together.” Elizabeth tried to pull Melanie back to the task at hand.
“You're no fun.” Melanie grabbed for her packs.
“That's fine. You can be enough fun for the both of us.” Elizabeth offered her a smile as she picked up her load. She stifled a grunt under the added weight. How was she to manage all of this on her damaged feet?
Melanie made a face but did as she was directed, gathering her things to carry in one place.
A breeze caught Elizabeth’s hair, which she had decided to leave down. She turned her face toward it, allowing the calm of the gentle wind to brush over her, carrying her worries away. As she opened her eyes, she was once again faced with the reality of where she was and what lay before her. But something else caught her eye. Someone moved through the camp. Why should this soldier… John!
Still several feet away, he moved toward the wagon. Everything seemed to slow down. She thought to turn away, but he was so focused on his work she doubted he would look in her direction.
Elizabeth drank in the sight of him as if it had been years since she had seen him, not a mere two days. His dark hair, dark to match his eyes, was less kempt than she was used to. His strong, capable hands moved over the boxes and packs with ease, checking and securing everything. Was it just her imagination or was his skin more tanned? Long ago she had memorized the curves of his face, but here she stood studying them anew.
“Look who's all moonstruck now?” Melanie's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Who's caught your eye?” She looked off in the direction Elizabeth had been staring.
At the same moment, John turned his head in her direction.
Elizabeth threw herself down on the ground.
When she looked up, she caught the confused eyes of her companion.
“What has gotten into you?” Melanie asked, concerned.
“I, um…I thought I saw a bee.”
“A bee? I didn't see a bee.”
Elizabeth returned to her feet. She glanced where John had just been. He was nowhere in sight.
“My mistake,” she said, brushing off her skirt.
“Who were you looking at?” Melanie’s eyes narrowed.
“No one.” Elizabeth attempted to sidestep Melanie, but it was no use. With
hands on her hips, she moved into Elizabeth’s path.
“Come on, Elizabeth. You were burning holes into someone with that stare. You can't lie to me. Remember, we are kindred spirits.”
“I just thought I might have recognized someone from back home.” Elizabeth busied herself with her packs.
“An old beau?” Melanie stood right behind Elizabeth, her voice rising. She was not going to let this go.
“Something like that.” Elizabeth tried to sound dismissive.
“I feel a good story coming.”
“I assure you it's nothing of the kind.” Elizabeth turned to face her.
“I'm up for a dull story. Anything to break up this trip,” Melanie pleaded, sticking out her bottom lip.
“All right.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I'll tell you all about it.”
So Elizabeth wove a fabricated tale of a beau that never existed for Melanie's amusement. She used some of the details of her and John's story, but most of the story was good old-fashioned tales. It seemed to entertain Melanie for the portion of the trip she could stretch it out. Then Melanie rewarded her with a story of one of her beaus. It proved to be quite intriguing. And a little disturbing. Melanie was quite a girl.
When the sun was high in the sky, they stopped, and the commander declared that this was where they would set up camp for the time being. Elizabeth took in their surroundings. The camp, situated on the edge of a field, backed up to a forest. To the north, there was a sloped hill from which one could overlook the camp. But to the south, there were rolling slopes for several hundred yards before being cut off by the forest line. Not far into the woods was a stream with fresh water. The tree line wrapped around to provide some cover for the camp while the field offered ample space for tents. A sentry post was set up on the hilltop. It seemed quite a happy situation for their camp.
As much as Elizabeth and Melanie were determined to learn how to put up the tent, Sarah and Lily were half done by the time they found their campsite. Today, however, after Elizabeth and Melanie laid out their mats, they congregated with the other women to set up a makeshift kitchen and laundry. By the time that was done, Elizabeth was ready to head back to her tent and lie down, but Melanie put out a hand and halted her.
Off To War (War Between The States) Page 4