Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  “A doctor will be around to see each patient in turn,” the nurse said, jerking her arm away.

  “No.” Elizabeth grabbed the woman’s shoulders, desperate. “I'm looking for Dr. Taylor.”

  The nurse stopped to think. “He went to the front lines to patch the wounded there and prepare them for transport. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Elizabeth's eyes widened. Her heart dropped into her stomach. The warmth drained from her face and she felt light-headed.

  “Miss, are you okay?” The nurse’s face contorted into a concerned expression.

  Elizabeth couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe. She backed away from the nurse and whirled around, running out of the hospital. Where to, she did not know. At first she turned this way and that, unsure about what she was going to do. The world began to blur in front of her.

  Stopping, she worked to catch her breath. She needed a plan. The front lines. If that’s where John was, that’s where she needed to go. But how? The laundry!

  It was easy enough to get her hands on a small uniform, carry it back to her tent, and slip into it, binding her breasts. Shoving her hair into a cap, she rubbed dirt and mud on her face to mar her feminine features. And taking advantage of the mayhem from the recent battle, she made her way across the camp unnoticed and ran toward the battlefield.

  The field was littered with bodies and limbs. Elizabeth had thought the hospital was bad, but this proved a million times worse. There were no words to describe the grisly state of the men there. She felt the urge to vomit, but held her stomach. Taking several deep breaths, she reminded herself that she was here for a reason; she had to find John. He might need her.

  Walking the battlefield, she looked for signs of her beloved. With the front line a little ways in the distance and to the left of her position, she could search here for a while before risking being discovered. What was he doing out here in the first place? Why would he come? Hadn't he promised to stay a safe distance from the fighting? But she knew he would go where he was needed. Stubborn, selfish fool!

  When the bodies thickened and the number of gray uniforms matched the blue ones, she knew she neared what had at one time been the front lines. She glanced to her left and saw that she was almost in line with the current front line, but far enough away to be clear of the fighting. At this point, she was forced to move bodies to check for John. Having to touch the bloodied corpses ended up to be too much and she did vomit. But, her determination took over and she moved onward.

  She came upon a Union soldier stabbed with a bayonet, the blade protruding from his back. That was something she definitely didn’t want to touch. And she noticed the man underneath him was a Confederate soldier, so she turned to move on. But a hand shot up. The Confederate soldier was alive!

  “Help me,” came the weak voice of the man trapped underneath the dead Union soldier.

  Something in her told her to run, but another part bid her to stay. Gray uniform or blue, this man needed help. How could she, in good conscience, leave him to die knowing she could have saved his life?

  With much effort, she pushed the dead soldier off him and saw that the Confederate soldier had a wound in his upper arm. It began to bleed. The weight and body of the Union soldier must have put enough pressure on it to stop the bleeding. What could she use as a tourniquet? Reaching for the Union soldier’s sleeve, she tore off enough to fashion one.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice still weak.

  That's when she looked into his eyes. It was hard to imagine that this man, whose blue eyes she found herself gazing into, had played a part in the destruction around her, had killed men, perhaps this Union soldier she had just moved. But it was true.

  Voices in the distance drew her attention. She jerked her head up, starting to stand as she scanned the area around her. Confederate soldiers! Headed her way! What was she going to do?

  “Stop! Thief!” One yelled out, having spotted her. He raised his gun.

  She threw up her hands and moved a step back.

  He fired.

  A hot, searing pain in her left shoulder whipped her around and threw her to the ground. Her head smacked something solid as she landed.

  And then all was black.

  * * *

  Abigail sat in front of her vanity, putting the finishing touches on her appearance: a pair of earrings Elizabeth had gifted her at last year’s birthday celebration. They were simple, beautiful pearl earrings. Elizabeth wasn't much for elaborate ornamentation, but Abigail treasured them. All the more today. They made her feel as if Elizabeth was with her.

  Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, not a hair was awry and her gown had been pressed for show. Yet these things were out of place with face that looked back at her. Her features were downcast, true, but it was her eyes. They were soulless. As if the life had been drained from her.

  She was as ready as she'd ever be. What other preparation could be done? But something was still missing. This feeling had haunted her since Elizabeth’s flight. What was this emptiness? Was this what it felt like to lose one’s child?

  Thomas came from behind her and kissed the side of her face.

  “You are beautiful, darling. Even if you must wear these ridiculous hats.”

  Smiling in the mirror at him brought life to her features, but not to her eyes. Still, she gave him an amused look. Thomas never understood women's fashions, the hat least of all. He couldn't comprehend why she needed such a collection.

  Thomas stood once again and fingered his tie. The knot was askew. Had he attempted to work it himself?

  “I don't know why you won't let someone help you with that.” Abigail sighed as she turned. “Here.” She batted his hands away. “Let me.”

  “I don't have someone help with it, because I prefer when you do it.” He winked.

  She afforded him another smile. What a charmer she had married! Even after all these years, he could make her smile. “I appreciate you coming to this event,” she said, her voice serious. “It's very important to me.”

  “It's important to me, too.” He put his hands on her arms as she finished, letting her hands fall. “Elizabeth is, after all, my daughter, too.”

  “Of course.” She let her eyes linger on his. Could he see in her eyes what she had? She hoped not.

  “Besides,” he said with a sly smile. “You and Charlotte have been working night and day to make sure this is the grandest party of the season. I want to see it for myself.”

  “I just hope everything goes as planned,” she moaned, her brows coming together. What if it didn’t? What if the Hall…?

  “I have every confidence it will.” Thomas pressed another kiss to the side of her face. “We’d best get you there before it all falls apart,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  She gave him another smile and allowed him to lead her down the hall. Soon enough they were helped into their coverings and ushered out the door to the waiting carriage.

  The ride to the Event Hall was quite unremarkable. Abigail busied herself going over her mental checklist, but Thomas kept talking to her. What was he saying? Something about the weather? She needed to focus. He continued with his questions, his eyes beckoning her to respond.

  “What?” Her reply was sharper than she’d intended.

  His eyes widened.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m…distracted at the moment.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  Thomas spoke not another word the remainder of their ride.

  But she still couldn’t focus her thoughts. She felt guilty for delivering the verbal punch.

  They arrived at the Hall in short order. And Abigail would crawl out of her skin if it took one minute longer. How was the decorating going? Were they following the plan?

  Stilling her movements, she allowed Thomas to get out first, though everything in her seemed to stretch forth.

  Thomas reached a hand in for her.

  She took it and he helped her down. Then she t
ook off. Had he offered his arm in escort? Most likely. Could she wait for him to escort her into the event space? It was not physically possible. Abigail moved as quick as polite society would allow until she was inside.

  Hands laid hold of her wrap. She slid it off with only a nod in the direction of the hands. The space captivated her. Banners were hung, flowers were on display, food tables were being prepped. Almost everything was done. And Charlotte stood in the midst of the hustle and bustle, directing it all.

  Abigail shook her head. Of course Charlotte was here. How could she have given it a second thought?

  “Charlotte,” Abigail greeted her friend, crossing to her. “I should have been here to help you.”

  “Abigail!” Charlotte paused to embrace her friend and co-host. “Nonsense, I promise I just arrived myself.”

  “It seems as if everything is running smoothly.” Abigail let her gaze wander over the Hall, admiring the realization of all their planning. The Hall looked better than they’d imagined. Tonight would be a success. She had to believe that.

  “Appears so. I haven't checked the registration table yet. Would you mind?”

  Abigail nodded. “Consider it done.”

  The next half hour became a flurry of activity as the final touches were put on the space and the two women worked side by side to make sure even the tiniest detail was managed. By the time the guests arrived, everything was set and running like clockwork.

  And so the following half hour became a different kind of din. People checked in, milled about, conversed, enjoyed the décor, and partook of the refreshments.

  The time came for the guests to be properly welcomed. This particular task fell to Abigail. As she prepared to step in front of the crowd, shaking hands touched her necklace. Why was she trembling so? These were her friends and people from her community. And this event was for Elizabeth. She clasped her hands together to still them, but the quivering came from inside of her.

  An arm snaked around her waist. She jumped back from the contact. Who? But the arm held her fast. And the presence seemed familiar to her. Turning, she met the eyes of her husband, her rock.

  Thomas leaned toward the side of her head and whispered into her hair, “You'll do fine.”

  Abigail took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her dress.

  “Trust me,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her face.

  She nodded, squeezing his arm. The shakiness had subsided somewhat. Adjusting her hat, she then stepped up to the podium. But the crowd seemed too engaged in their own conversations. No one noticed she had stepped up to address them. Searching out Charlotte, she became desperate. Her friend was nowhere.

  Clink, clink, clink. The sound drew her attention to where she had just been standing. Thomas used a spoon to bang against his glass, trying to get everyone's attention. As members in the audience noticed her at the podium, they chimed in with their glasses. Soon, all voices paused.

  Once all eyes were on Abigail, she began, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “Welcome, esteemed guests and friends. As you know, this is a fundraiser for our brave soldiers who, as we speak, are fighting for our country. We hope you have come feeling patriotic and ready to give for the sake of those men who are sacrificing that our nation be made whole again. As many of you already know, our men need many things, so we accept all manner of gifts. Foodstuffs and monetary support are the most crucial at this time, but anything you can give will help.

  “Tonight, we would like to put a face on this issue. I want to introduce my dear friend and co-chair for this evening's event, a woman who has given tirelessly to this cause herself and stands as a model of patriotism: Mrs. Charlotte Taylor.”

  Abigail prayed Charlotte would have appeared by the time she turned. Applause sounded and she turned her head in time to see Charlotte moving toward her to take her place. And Abigail clapped for her friend, never more relieved as she stepped to the side, allowing room for Charlotte to take center stage.

  As Charlotte began her speech, Abigail moved off to find some water. All of a sudden, she was parched.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for that wonderful introduction and for your efforts in making this event possible. And thank you all for being here. Some of you may know that my son, Dr. John Taylor, is on the front lines fighting for this nation. Let me tell you a little bit about my son. John…”

  Thomas came up behind Abigail and put his hand on the small of her back. “You were great,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Thanks,” she said, not taking her eyes off Charlotte. But she wasn't truly listening to her either. Would that she were allowed to tell Elizabeth’s story!

  It was not a well-kept secret that Elizabeth was no longer at home, and some even knew she had fled to help out with the war effort. But Abigail would never be able to step up to a podium and talk about it. What Elizabeth had done was respectable, even admirable, but definitely beneath her station. Women of their station did not go prancing off to war. They did just what Charlotte and Abigail were doing.

  If only Elizabeth were here, she could make a compelling speaker! But she wasn't. She was miles away in some war camp doing God knows what. No, Abigail had not come to peace with Elizabeth's decision. Would she ever?

  Applause erupted around her. Abigail set her drink down and joined in.

  “Enjoy yourselves, and please, don't hesitate to see any of the women in the Booster Club if you have questions about donations.”

  Charlotte stepped down from the podium and the din of the crowd rose again. But Abigail’s thoughts were numb. She stared straight ahead. There was movement in front of her, but she looked through that and beyond somehow.

  “How was that?” Charlotte appeared in front of her. Where had she come from?

  Abigail focused on her friend’s face.

  Charlotte’s eyes begged for reassurance, eyebrows raised.

  Abigail wished she had been listening better.

  “It was great,” Thomas interjected. “John would be proud.”

  “Yes,” Abigail said, nodding. “Of course he would.”

  Smiling, Charlotte seemed relieved. “Thank you.”

  “I think we're bound to get donations after all of this,” Abigail said, sweeping her arms over the Event Hall.

  “For certain,” Charlotte agreed, looking around.

  The three stood in silence. For a handful of moments, it was amiable. And then it became awkward.

  Charlotte took Abigail’s hand. It felt warm. Was that because Abigail’s hand was cold? “If you'll excuse me, I need to find Franklin.”

  “Of course,” Thomas said. “I think the last place I saw him was by the refreshment table.”

  “I have no doubt.” Charlotte sighed.

  Abigail squeezed her friend's hand before she walked away.

  “Forgive me,” Thomas said, his words coming out slow and careful. “But you seem as if you are miles from here.”

  Abigail looked back at her husband. “I am.”

  “Thinking of Elizabeth?” He reached up and touched her hair, his fingers grazing her locks.

  Abigail nodded, fighting tears. Why did it sting so? These thoughts?

  Thomas waited for her to speak.

  “She should be here,” Abigail started; tears welled, threatening to spill over. She stopped speaking, trying to gain control of herself.

  Thomas pulled her to the side, to a corner where they would be less conspicuous. He kept his hands on her arms. It brought her some measure of comfort.

  “She had no business running off! There is so much more good she could be doing here!” Abigail cried.

  Thomas’s eyes seemed deeper somehow in that moment. And his voice was soft, not much more than a whisper. “Can you not see that she did it for love?”

  Abigail let out an exasperated gasp. She was in no mood to entertain such schoolgirl notions.

  “We need not understand, my dear. We can only try to accept it.”

  “And w
hat if I can't?” She looked up at him.

  Thomas had no words to offer in response.

  Chapter Four

  Prisoner

  WHEN JACOB RETURNED to consciousness, the first thing that came to him was the pain in his leg. A quick glance around and he knew he was no longer on the battlefield. Was he back at camp? Wounded soldiers surrounded him. The hospital? Rising up on his elbows, he jerked his head around, searching for Daniel and Steven. They were nowhere to be found. Were they all right? Or dead? Had their tactic worked?

  In short order, he was heaving and sweating from the small effort of holding himself up and from the pain as well. A woman five or so years his senior stopped at his bedside. Long red hair was pinned out of her face and her green eyes seemed to dance as she smiled down at him. She was lovely.

  “Hey, there, soldier,” she said, sitting down next to him. “Care for some water?”

  He nodded, gazing at the ladle she held out. Leaning toward it, he drank when the girl tipped it, dripping the liquid into his mouth. It didn’t even matter that it wasn’t cold. Jacob was grateful for the refreshment.

  “My name's Melanie. What's yours?” She set her bucket and ladle down.

  “Jacob.” Even to him his voice sounded weak, haggard.

  “Well, Jacob, I'm going to take a look at your wound and clean it up a bit.” She said this as if it was something that happened every day. “You're not going to like me in a few minutes.” Then there was that smile again as she met his eyes.

  As much as he wanted to keep staring into those green orbs, his eyes traced her movements over his leg. He braced himself as she removed the dressings from his wound, crude as they were. It wasn't pleasant, just as she had promised. But even more unpleasant was the next part when she went about cleansing the area with water and another liquid of some sort that stung. The moment the cleaning agent hit his leg, pain shot through his limb anew. Arching his back, he came off the table several inches.

  Melanie placed a hand on his shoulder. It distracted him only somewhat from what she did to his leg. Whenever she looked at his wound, she grimaced. But every time she looked into his eyes, she smiled. Was she putting on a brave face? How bad was his wound?