Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  “Well, you don't have to worry about that now, because I'm your friend. And I like all that doctor stuff, too.” She offered him a big smile even as she struggled with the crutch.

  “You know what?” He returned her smile. “I think we're going to be great friends, Elizabeth.”

  * * *

  Everything was still and calm when Jacob's eyes opened again. Looking around him, he caught sight of Melanie. She sat by his cot, in the middle of reading something. He didn't want to disturb her so he lay still, opening and closing his eyes to make sure he truly was awake. Then he moved his hands down to feel his legs. When his right hand grazed the end of this thigh he began to panic.

  Small hands landed on his right arm. Melanie’s. “Jacob,” she said quite loudly. “Jacob, look at me!”

  He turned his head toward her, his breathing already heavy and labored.

  “You are well. Just breathe with me.” She took deep breaths in and out, continuing to encourage him to breathe along with her. Soon, he was able to measure his breaths out with hers and he began to calm.

  “My leg…” was all he could say once he had reached a sedate level.

  “I know.” She pushed errant strands of hair out of his eyes. “I'm sorry. We couldn't do enough. There was an infection we couldn't get to.”

  “But you said you were doing deep cleanings.” He shot at her.

  “I was, Jacob. But, there was a problem deeper in your leg that I couldn't get to.”

  “I don't understand.” Why was he being so mean to her? He couldn't seem to control himself.

  “I don't either. But that's what the doctor says.” Her voice became so quiet, so timid, but he didn't care.

  “He's lying. He wanted to take my leg from the start!”

  “No, Jacob. He's not lying. No one was more heartbroken than he.”

  His eyes narrowed into slits. Now he knew she was lying.

  “Please, believe me. Everyone did everything they could to save your leg.”

  He turned away from her, not wanting her to see him cry.

  “Jacob, please don't shut me out. Not now.” Her voice broke. Was she about to cry? This wasn't about her.

  “Just go away. You've done enough.”

  “Jacob, I…” He heard in her voice that she cried, but he refused to see her tears.

  “I said, 'Go away'.” And he meant it. Filled with anger toward her. Toward the doctor. Toward every one of them who played a part in this.

  So Melanie retracted her hands, and the last he heard of her was the gentle whoosh of her skirt as she left his bedside. And part of him regretted sending her away. But the bigger part of him blamed her for all of this. After all, she was supposed to be taking care of him, making sure this didn't happen. Now, here he was, an invalid. For the rest of his life. And it was all her fault.

  * * *

  When Elizabeth opened her eyes, she found herself staring at Matthew. He sat in the same place he had on numerous occasions upon visiting her little space in the hospital. How long had he been there? She tried to shake the sleepy haze from her mind, but everything seemed foggy still.

  “Hello,” he said, noticing her movements, his voice gentle and soft.

  “Hello.” She was still a bit asleep.

  “How are you?” His brows met in the middle of his forehead.

  “Tired.” She shifted into a seated position.

  “You must be to have slept through all of the evening rounds.” His expression became one of amusement.

  She jerked up. That wasn't possible. “No! I couldn't have! I have to…” Elizabeth moved to get out of bed and start doing something. What, she didn't know, but she had to do something.

  He moved to sit on the edge of her cot, putting a hand on her shoulder to still her. “Slow down. The only thing you have to do is take care of yourself. You were obviously tired. You wear yourself out with your duties here in the hospital. It worries me.”

  She nodded, knowing he spoke truth. Only then did she notice the bowl in his other hand.

  His eyes followed hers. “I brought you some dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Something wasn't right about that. There was something important about dinnertime.

  “Yeah, it's dinnertime. I thought we could…” He started, reaching for the bowl he had set on a nearby table.

  “Oh, no!” Her hand flew to her mouth. Now she was in trouble. She had missed an even more important appointment.

  “Annabelle, what is it?” She could hear in his voice that his concern deepened.

  “I'm supposed to take dinner to the prisoner.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Someone else is taking care of it, I'm sure. Don't worry yourself so…”

  “No, you don't understand. It has to be me. That was the deal.” Her eyes met his and she knew they were wide now, all thoughts of sleep having dissipated.

  “You made a deal with the prisoner?” Matthew's voice held an edge of anger.

  “Yes, he said he would use his skill as a doctor to help the wounded soldiers if I would take him dinner every night.”

  Matthew scowled.

  “It's not exactly a deal with the devil.”

  Matthew's face tightened. “I don't like it.”

  “I know,” she said, softening her tone. “But I had to do it. And it's fine. Trust me. I just take him dinner and that's all. Besides, he's tied up and there's a guard there. What can go wrong?”

  Matthew continued to glare at her with hard eyes, perhaps wagering how safe he thought it was. In the end, he responded by shaking his head and repeating, “I don't like it.”

  “I know.” She hoped her words were sympathetic enough. As she slipped from the bed, Elizabeth grabbed for her shawl. “But I have to go.”

  “Can I wait here for you to come back?” A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  How to get out of this one? She didn't want him waiting here, as she didn't know how long she'd be gone. The last thing she wanted was for him to sit here stewing.

  “Can we make a date for tomorrow? To walk to our special place?” They hadn't been there for several days.

  He fell silent for a handful of seconds. “Of course,” he stood and walked over to her, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips.

  This time, though his kiss warmed her, it didn't feel right. Something in her had changed. Was it these memories? She didn't know. Either way, she hoped he wouldn't sense anything different. So she closed her eyes and kissed him back.

  When they broke apart, she offered him a smile. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Tomorrow.” His features were still dark, and she knew he wasn't happy about her arrangement with the prisoner. But it was done and out of his control. So he could brood all he wanted; it wouldn't change a thing.

  Elizabeth pulled away from him and rushed out of the tent. Making her way to the dinner line, she prayed she wasn't too late. But as she neared the service area, she saw that she was. It had closed for the evening. Refusing to give up, she hunted down Sally. The older woman still scrubbed plates in the nearby wash bin.

  “What about the prisoner's dinner?” Elizabeth's words rushed out as she approached the woman. Sally's startled reaction made her regret how rude she'd come across, but she was on a mission.

  “Suellen volunteered to take it tonight. Been there and back already.” Sally turned her attention back to the pot she worked on.

  Elizabeth's face fell. What was she going to do? She had to see the prisoner, to make sure he understood and would still do his part. But how was she going to get the guard to let her see him? An idea struck her, and she went back to the hospital to grab some bandages. Relieved to find that Matthew was not still there stewing, she gathered the supplies she needed and headed toward the prisoner's tent.

  Sure enough, just as she predicted, she was stopped by the guard.

  “I need the doctor to talk me through how to wrap my ankle,” she said, hobbling on one foot.

  The guard gave her a once over, sett
ling his slitted eyes on her face. It was clear he didn't believe her.

  “Would you prefer I wake Dr. Wilson from the first sound sleep he's gotten in three days?”

  Without a word, the guard shrugged and lifted the tent flap for her to enter.

  Tonight the man lay on a cot, hands bound to a post behind the head end of the cot. At least they let him sleep a little more comfortably. That's what cooperation gets you.

  She knelt by the man, who was dozing, and touched his arm. His eyes opened.

  “So you didn't forget our arrangement.” His voice was not accusing, but kind. Almost relieved.

  “No, I overslept.” Why did her heart beat a little faster in his presence?

  “I'm glad you came.” He offered her a tired smile.

  “Did you truly wrap my ankle with a couple of pencils and your sleeve?” Her eyes searched his. She was desperate for the truth.

  He was quiet for a moment, then his face broke out in a broad smiled. “Yes, yes I did. You remember.”

  “Bits and pieces. Since you came to camp, I've been having flashbacks and dreams of memories. Or at least what I think are memories.” Why did she feel so free to tell this man so much? She should be cautious.

  “Ask me anything. I know everything about you, Lizzie.” He reached his hand forward as if to touch her face, but he seemed to think better of it, allowing his hand to fall back down.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What are my parents' names?”

  “Thomas and Abigail Thompson.”

  “Are they alive?” Her voice broke with emotion.

  “Yes.” His answer was firm and resolute.

  She believed him. “Do they know where I am?” There was no stopping the tear that came down the side of her face.

  He paused a second, then spoke with measured words. “I don't think they do, Lizzie.”

  “What about you? What are you to me?” She wanted to hear him say it. But more than that, she wanted to turn away from those deep brown eyes that stirred things in her.

  “I would rather you remember it. It won't mean much to you if I tell you.”

  “What makes you so sure I will remember?”

  “I just know,” he said softly. His voice was so tender it tempted her to be drawn into those lips.

  Elizabeth stared into his eyes for a moment longer. But she found herself pulling away, shaking her head to clear it moments later.

  For Matthew's sake, she could not let this continue. At least not until she had a better handle on who she was. What would that mean for Matthew? She pushed that thought to the side. There would be time to worry about that later.

  “I'd…better be going now.” She stood, moving to leave.

  John's gaze followed her face and his body leaned up as if he wanted to follow her. But he soon relaxed back onto the bed as she moved away from his cot and toward the exit of the tent.

  Ping-ping.

  It had started to rain, and leaving the prisoner's tent, Elizabeth heard the rain against the metal around the camp.

  Ping-ping.

  And she found herself in the throes of another memory.

  Elizabeth's nanny had not long since left the room when she heard a familiar ping-ping on her window. Slipping out of her bed, she made her way over to the window. Sure enough, there was John, outside and below her bedroom, throwing rocks at her window.

  She opened it. “John, Nanny just left the room. It's too early!”

  “C'mon, Lizzie, it's the first night for Cassiopeia.”

  Elizabeth jerked her head around, looking at the door. “All right, John, but this might be the night we get caught.”

  She shut her window and got dressed in the outfit discarded not so long ago. Sneaking down the back stairs, she moved toward the door, quietly turned the knob, and ran out of the house.

  “John Taylor, you are going to be the end of me,” she whispered when she got to him. “My mother's going to find out for sure!”

  “Not until we see Cassiopeia.” He gave her one of his winning smiles.

  “Let's go,” she urged him, not wanting to be out one second longer than she had to.

  They made their way to the park, to the clearing where they always went. Arriving breathless, they fell on the soft grasses there, laughing. They lay on their backs in the grass gazing up at the stars, pointing out the different constellations they saw, including the famed Cassiopeia.

  Their conversation moved on to other things as it always did. Sharing secrets and gossip, they talked about their frustrations and problems, and raved about the good things that happened. After all, they were the best of friends.

  “I'm glad we're friends, Lizzie.”

  “Me too, John. And we'll always be friends, won't we?”

  “Always and forever.”

  “Always and forever,” she repeated.

  * * *

  Henry Moore made his way down the street toward his home. Most days, he had a lightness to his step and a whistled tune for his walk to his family's abode. But today he was deep in thought. It had been some time since they had heard from either of their sons, and he didn't like it.

  He kept up a brave face for his wife and daughter, encouraging them with words like 'life at camp is busy even if they aren't at battle' and 'Jacob's in the middle of recovering from his injury, give him time to adjust'. But he was worried.

  Approaching the house that had been home to his family for many years, he took a moment to collect himself. It just wouldn't do for him to enter the house in a sullen mood. No, he needed to have that lightness to his step they were used to seeing. So, he checked himself and put on a smile he didn't feel.

  Stopping to collect the mail, he leafed through, hoping for an envelope bearing Benjamin or Jacob's penmanship. There was nothing of the sort, however there was a letter that appeared it had come from a regiment, but the writing belonged to neither of his sons. This gave him reason to pause.

  Until he resolved this matter in his own mind, he wasn't going to be able to put on any kind of front for the women inside. He should open it and read it now. A quick glance around at the busy sidewalk dissuaded him from that idea. It would be best if he could sneak up to his office unnoticed.

  Opening the door ever so gently, he grimaced at every squeak it made. The sounds were magnified in his ears, but he knew they weren't truly that loud. No one passed through the foyer. Good. He closed the door with equal care, turning the knob so it wouldn't click. Once he had shut the door, he released the knob so it would latch.

  The house seemed quiet enough. In all likelihood, Martha worked on dinner and Susan did her schoolwork. On any other day, he might come in the house and tromp up to his office without a care and not be disturbed, but on this day he wanted to take extra care to not be intercepted.

  He paced the few steps that would get him to the stairway and took the stairs as soundlessly as possible. His office was the first door at the top of the steps, thus reducing his chances of alerting Susan to his presence if she was in her room down the hall.

  It wasn't long before he found himself in the safety of the office. He let out the breath he had been holding. I didn't even realize I was doing that. Dropping his briefcase, he set the mail on the desk long enough to shrug off his jacket. Then he all but collapsed into his chair and sifted through the envelopes to find the one letter that had caused him such trepidation.

  There it was. He stared at the writing, hoping, in futility, to gain some clue about the contents without having to read it. Yes, he feared this letter and what message it might hold. After a few moments, he turned the envelope over. Moving his fingers to open the flap, he found that his fingers trembled.

  He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, but it was no use. Opening his eyes again, he was determined to get to the letter and uncover its mystery. Delaying it would serve no purpose. So he ripped open the flap and pulled out the sheet of paper within.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moore,

  My name is Owen. I regr
et to inform you that your son, Benjamin, was lost in battle yesterday. He was hit while defending the flank, saving lives. He was an honorable soldier that served his country well and did you proud. He never…

  The letter continued, but the words blurred as Henry's eyes filled with tears. His head fell and his hand crumpled the letter as emotions overtook him. Benjamin, his son, was gone. Gone. His dear boy who had been so full of life. And there was nothing Henry could do to bring him back, nothing he could do to make any of this make sense. How was he ever going to tell his wife?

  Chapter Seven

  Remembering

  THE DAY SEEMED brighter when Elizabeth opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed into the hospital tent, alerting her to the presence of the welcoming day. Yawning, she stretched as much as she could in the confining cot. It felt good to release the tightness from her muscles and feel the increase of blood flowing to her extremities.

  Looking at the underside of the tent top, she thought over her plans for the day. She and Matthew were to spend time together, something she both looked forward to and dreaded at the same time. Would he expect an answer to his proposal? Elizabeth hadn't considered his marriage offer. Her mind had been too clouded from resurfaced memories and the dreams bombarding her since John's arrival.

  Where was her heart? It was clear John had been special to her. A fiancé. By choice or by arrangement by their parents? Or was he lying to her about that altogether? She did care deeply for Matthew, even loved him. But dare she commit anything to him when she didn't know what lay in her heart for John?

  Rising to a seated position on her cot, she gathered her racing thoughts and went through her short morning routine. And then she was off for her morning rounds. Most of her patients fared well. Even improved. A few still struggled to accept they would have to continue life without some body part. Elizabeth couldn't fault them. How would she handle if she woke up and someone told her she had lost her leg or her eye?

  It was all too easy to get caught up with the patients. She spotted Matthew out of the corner of her eye. Hadn’t she just started her rounds? Waving at him, she attempted to indicate that she was with her last patient.