by Gina Danna
The air was hot and muggy, the sun bright and blinding but the stench of sweat, vomit and urine was lacking. She inhaled deeply, a refreshing moment as she walked toward the stream. Further from the camp, fewer soldiers lingered at the water’s edge and the horses were yards away, so she found a spot, among the grass and sank to the ground. She closed her eyes, letting the moment of peace seep into her. Peace in a world of hate and bloodshed. The reasons for the war she pushed to the back of her mind, refusing to let it crowd her thoughts because she saw the result of it in the medical tent almost daily.
She yanked her handkerchief from her pocket and bent, plunging it in the water, dampening it to bring it to her forehead and squeezed. The cool water poured over her eyes and cheeks, down over her jawline to her neck and the bodice below. The worn cotton absorbed all and it clung to her skin, the slight layering of it and the chemise beneath gave her a breath of coolness that nothing outside of jumping into the stream could clear. Was that a slight breeze cooling her? She closed her eyes and settled in the quiet.
Her mind cleared so she squeezed the rag again, the water dribbling down her neck and into her bodice. The touch of the liquid reminded her of his touch, the gentleness of his fingertips and the burning path it left on her emotions, sending errant messages to her body. Slowly, as the memories budded, images appeared. She was back to home, in Pennsylvania, before the war. Back to a time she could never forget…
* * *
Spring was in the air, light breeze drifting through the open window of his bedroom. The lighter-weight warm-weather cotton drapes stirred and the birds chirped a May song. It was peaceful and her heart swelled with pride and love at the man lying next to her. He smiled, his infectious grin made her insides bubble, despite the dire consequence of the afternoon. He reached out, gently playing with her curly hair that was now a mess from their afternoon play.
“You know, my darlin’, I must go.” He kissed her nose tip.
“I know.” She simmered, furious he had this much control over her because despite his situation, she still prayed he wouldn’t answer the call to arms Lincoln had put out. “Isn’t there some way you can stay?”
His fingertips traced down her neckline, his gaze following their path, making her shiver. His smile broadened as he cupped her breast and bent to suckle on the pearled tip, setting off a storm of tingles that spread throughout her body, reigniting the fire below. The fact that the man could so easily distract her with his touch was unnerving but at this moment, she relished every second, committing to memory each flash of excitement.
“You know I can’t. It is my duty to go and serve.” He flipped her underneath him, spreading her thighs to nestle his hardened member.
Again, he had brought her to craving him, her body responding to his need. The cool breeze that hit her exposed core reminded her how wet she was, so ready to receive him.
“I want to remember every touch, commit to memory the feel of you as I enter, and how wet you are for me.”
She lowered her hips against the feathered mattress and he slid into her slick core. Her body was full, he filled her completely and she hugged him, tipping her body up as he pushed. Back and forth they moved, dancing in the oldest rhythm of time. The rush overwhelmed her and the pressure continued to build until he thrust one more time, and the world shattered inside, stars bursting across her vision as her core hugged him tighter, sending triggers of excitement racing through her veins.
In the midst of her sudden death, she knew he came too. His member vibrated inside her sheath and she burned that feeling to her soul for the days to come, when he was gone…
He collapsed on top of her then rolled to the side, tugging her into his arms.
“I love you, Ada.” He kissed her shoulder.
She grinned but it was a lazy moment as she drank him in…
“Ada! Ada!”
The male voice broke her thoughts and she blinked repeatedly, the sun blinding her. She was confused, distorted thinking about where she was and who was calling, and realized her bodice was soaking, as was the top of her skirt from the wet rag. The tingles that branched out from her nipples down to her core came from that man and it irked her at the same time she was annoyed how an outsider interrupted her memory of that day. She’d groan, but feared it’d come out more like a bedroom moan so she stifled it and scurried to make herself presentable.
“Yes, Will! I’m over here!” With a heavy sigh, she stood, shaking out her skirts and prayed there wasn’t a tellin’ sign what she’d been dreaming of. Unfortunately, she was too late.
Will stared at her and she thought she saw his hands tighten along with his shoulders. Rage or anger consumed him.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Remembering that bastard?”
She gathered her skirts and aimed to go around him. “Will, don’t start.”
As she pushed passed him, she heard his boots grind as he spun and followed. “That man is a scoundrel of top core! He left you, high and dry, for his own self but you? You work like a slave and still fall apart if given leave to think!”
“Will,” she warned. “This is not the time or place for this.”
“Ada, Ada, please.” He was at her side but she refused to slow down and face him. “He’s not worthy of you. He’s frankly not even as good a doctor as you.” He touched her shoulder gently. “I wish you’d forget him.”
Inside, her heart heaved, the hole left in it still bleeding but she’d had a year to practice schooling her features, stopping the pending tears in their tracks. She stopped, bit her tongue so the sharp pain would override her breaking heart and painted a smile on to cover her emotions.
“As to who is the better physician, that is hardly the issue but that is why I’m here. To offer my skills to help our soldiers, even if regulated to a nurse, and bury the dead.”
Will’s frown deepened, but instead of launching another attack on the scamp who stole Ada’s love, he cocked his head and gave her a tense smile.
“Then you may want to return to the hospital tent. That sergeant you were convinced was ill due to nothing more than eating molding food, has now progressed to dysentery.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Bloody stools?” At his nod, she hissed and stormed back to the tent. The war was the one thing she could count on to distract her and bring her back to what was needed. Despite being a medical doctor, the Union Army only let her aid the Medical Department as a nurse. She steeled her shoulders, knowing the next battle was only a few hundred feet in front of her—a skirmish with the ranking medical officer who would deny her practicing, even if it meant death.
Chapter 2
Tis no easy task, but I am endeavoring to bear everything as well and cheerfully as possible. Sometimes I fail entirely, but in a short time find myself persevering again in the struggle and may yet come out victorious.
—Elodie Todd, sister to First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln, in a letter to her husband, Confederate Officer Nathaniel Dawson, August 4, 1861, Selma, Alabama
Virginia
“So, you tore yourself away from your plantation now to join the fight?” The sergeant glared at Francois from behind the makeshift ply boards that had been nailed to wooden legs. His face was leathered and dirt outlined the ridge of the creases in the sun burnt skin around his eyes and along his forehead and cheeks only to disappear in his mustache and goatee. It was amazing to Francois how a man so rugged as this, in a filthy uniform and skin so leathered, could keep such neatly trimmed facial hair…
The man tapped his pencil across the enlistment pages on the desk, waiting impatiently for an answer. Francois shifted on his feet, fighting the urge to tighten his fists and wipe the smug expression on the soldier’s face, to eliminate that accusatory look.
He’d ridden across the torn countryside, pell mell to join the illustrious Army of Northern Virginia, as a recruit for the Louisiana Tigers. To be cast as a shirker, using the slaveholding act as the excuse not to fight, rubbed him wrong and this soldier’s face, whi
ch reflected the man’s disgust, only irritated Francois further. But his gentlemen’s upbringing made him force a smile.
“As I recall, sir, the Confederacy needed soldiers. If I am indeed wrong, I’m sure I can find a way to give aid.” The smile ached, but he was determined to maintain a modicum of calm.
The sergeant’s brows furrowed as he gave him an assessing perusal, resulting in a snort of disgust before he turned back to his forms and scribbled, the lead pencil scraping across the paper. The sound grated on Francois’s nerves but he managed to refrain from shifting or registering his impatience on his face—a practice he was well accustomed to back home, when his father’s anger flared or his mother questioned him over issues he wanted to avoid.
“Slater, just finish! He’s right and a true son of the South! Lousianian born and bred!” Randolph Morris blurted.
Sergeant Slater stopped and glanced up. “Fontaine?”
“Yes, he is,” Morris continued. “His daddy runs that plantation, not far from St. Joseph’s parish. Bellefountaine.”
Slater frowned. “I’ve heard of it,” he drawled. “Heard you all be planters up there abouts.”
The tone made Francois give him a tweek of a smile. Planter, hey? “Sugar growers.”
“Uh, huh.” Slater went back to work, not before giving a snort. “Well, then, sur,” he slurred the word with a tinge of ridicule. “You’ll find yourself right at home with the others in Hays troop.” He shoved the halfway folded sheet to him and then quickly dismissed him by his demeanor, returning to other papers on his desk.
Francois held the page and frowned. He opened his mouth to say something but Morris yanked him away.
“I told you, you’d be sent with me to Hays!” Morris spring stepped as they crossed the field.
Francois noticed the men at the camps scattered about. The stench of boiled acorns and trace of coffee mixed with the scent of burned fat, a layer of horse manure and urine drifted throughout the camp.
“So this is what war does? Eliminate any and all manners?” He quickly saw the pile of horse dung before he stepped into it.
“You mean Slater? Nah, that man done have his gut all twisted over having to have his corps of Tar Heels under the command of the Tigers.” Morris spit. “Heard once we arrived that the last run in with the Feds at the Rappahannock was a hell on fire. Damn Yankees bested the Tigers in a surprise attack on a ridge. Numbers cut back from injuries and some troops captured.” He gave Francois a hard look. “Fresh troops are sorely needed. You’ll find the welcome you want soon enough.” He laughed.
Francois frowned. From the appearance around him, the war was just as ghastly as his brother had implied. He had assumed Jack’s description bordered on the insane, an attempt to keep him at Bellefountaine, so it was disheartening to realize his sibling wasn’t crazy. This mob that eyed him and Morris was the Army of Northern Virginia, led by the famous, according to the papers, General Robert E. Lee. Francois refocused, though, as they neared another set of tables and men around them that bore more stripes and feathers than sergeants.
“General Hays, sur,” Morris said, stopping their progress back. “Look who arrived, newly recruited!”
The dark haired general with a drooping mustache gave Francois a quick look and snorted. “Why, if it isn’t Francois Fontaine indeed! Glad to have you with us, son.”
Francois returned the grin. He knew of Hays from days of old. “Yes sur. Hear your Tigers are kicking up dirt out here. Figure it’s time to come see for myself…and add my efforts to the cause.”
An older officer’s eyes narrowed as he silently watched the exchange. Something about this white-haired aged man spoke volumes on how he commanded those around him but Francois wasn’t sure who he was. It was a problem coming in late to the war, he speculated.
“General Lee, let me introduce to you another fine planter from our state, coming to help us whip those Yankees.” Hays slapped Francois on the shoulder and it took a firmly planted stance to not move.
Lee’s brows rose. “Fontaine, you say? From Louisiana?”
“Yes, sir.” Francois replied.
“Once schooled a Fontaine, years back, at The Point. If memory serves well, he was from Louisiana. Any relations, Private?”
“This boy, I reckon, will serve as a corporal, general,” Hays corrected.
Francois wanted to grin and found his lips tugging upwards to do so but he figured now was not the time to gloat over his sudden promotion, one coming without a single order being given. “Yes, sir. My brother, Jack, attended West Point before the hostilities commenced.”
“Ah, yes, I do recall well. And where does he serve now, lad?”
Francois shifted. “He stayed with the Union, General.”
Lee nodded. “To be expected, as I remember. Each has had to decide their own path in this divide. Glad to have you with us. Fresh faces are what we need to continue our mission.”
Mission? He thought this was war, and as he opened his mouth to voice that, Morris butted in.
“General, we’ll be headin’ back, get him all settled.”
“Good. Drill will be soon,” Hays stated.
Francois nodded right as Morris pulled him away but he heard the General of the Army of Northern Virginia add, “Corporal Fontaine, I hope for you, that you won’t find yourself facin’ your brother on the field of battle.”
“Yes, sir. I hope so too.” But as he walked away, the devil inside him smirked. Ah, but yes, if Jack fell……
The cool air whisked through the slits in the tied tent flaps, its chilled temperatures whizzing around the few patients. It woke Ada up, and she startled when a flash of ice snaked down her spine. A crash hit the ground, the thud buffered by the dirt floor. She blinked hard, struggling to recall what she was doing and where she was. But when the stench of urine, vomit and other bodily emissions, seeped up her nostrils, reality struck hard and she jumped. The camp hospital. How could she forget?
Reorienting herself, she glanced down at the dirt floor around her and found the book she’d been working with, along with the writing instrument, sat askew near her dark wool dress hem and she sighed, bending to retrieve it. But as she scooped it up, the tent flap blew open and Will rushed in.
“Brrr! It’s gettin’ downright chilly out there!”
Ada snorted as she searched for the page she’d been at before she’d dropped it. “It is November, after all.”
“Yes, well, that is true. But we are in the South. They’re not to get as brisk as we’re used to up North, and, well,” he shrugged. “I’d gotten used to it being warmer now.”
“Oh, so now you consider yourself a Southerner?” She couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, but she buried her nose in the supply book to hide the smile that threatened.
“Hardly. I’m a Union man, through and through!”
The laugh escaped despite herself. “I see, well, good. I doubt your parents would wish to lose you to the dying cause, as it were.”
Will stood quiet, and that let her know she’d won the argument. He was never good at admitting defeat.
“What task have you set for yourself?” He peered down at the pages.
“My job, that’s what I’m doing,” she complained, more angry with herself for allowing her time to be spent this way over tending patients. “Have you finished going over your patients?”
“Did that before the noontime sun. But you’ve resorted to supplies?”
“At the request of Surgeon Letterman,” she stated, bringing her seat straighter, shoulders back.
“Yes, well perhaps as well,” Will started. “Word has it that General Meade has another attack in order.”
“Another? The wounded here have not yet recovered.” The thought of another march and more wounded made her head spin. “The longer the line he creates, the harder it’ll be to care for them.”
“We’ll have to pray for the best, then.” He went to the surgeon kits and eyed the four sitting on the chest. Selecting one,
he pulled and opened it.
“What do you think you are doing?” Ada asked, crossing her arms. She’d just inventoried those kits and wasn’t about to let him rummage through them, no matter how close a friend he was.
“I’m heading along with the corps, as medical stop one.” He yanked another satchel, one used by the hospital stewards, which held medicine and supplies.
“You?” She had to bite back the jealousy that threatened. “Since when did you get such preference?”
“Tsk, tsk, love,” he corrected. “I’d say that green monster in you is pushing at the gates.”
“You’ll be there, at the front lines! Its—” She hated it, because he knew her that well. “Its dangerous out there. And you’ll be pressured to do too much, or too little. You know the results of that.” Curbing in her envy was harder than she imagined. As a way to control it, she flattened her palms against her skirt and waited.
“Yes, Ada, you are correct. But perhaps, with my knowledge of that, I’ll put a stop to that mismanaging.”
The nerve in her jawline, just left of her lips, twitched, like it did when she held herself back. The words to put him in place, to remind him she was better at medicine than him, came rushing to her and as she stepped closer, wound up to spin, he gave her a shake of his head.
“Ada, don’t—”
“Miss Lorrance, Dr. Waxler…oh, my, pardon me!”
Ada’s heart stopped for a second. Maybelle James, another nurse, had rounded the corner of the tent, turning past the crates to find her and Will inches apart. Too close for professionals, but not for soldiers who knew each other well. The flash of surprise in Maybelle eyes told Ada the woman obviously considered them in a tryst and it took all the energy she had not to snap. Her heart was already taken, and not by Will.
“It’s all fine, Miss James. You were saying Dr. Waxler has?” She unclenched her hands that had fisted.
