Where Dandelions Bloom

by Tara Johnson

  Gabe held his breath. She was exquisite. Perfect.

  He crept as close as he dared, lifted the camera, and removed the lens cap.

  Cassie stared glumly out the soot-streaked window, letting the speeding train lull her into a sleepy bob.

  At her side, Gabe was silent. Too quiet. She ought not complain. That’s what she wanted, right? To push him away so he couldn’t hurt her?

  She hadn’t bargained for how deeply she would ache for him.

  When she had entered the kitchen this morning, wearing her laundered uniform and her freshly shorn locks, his face had been filled with deep sadness . . . a sadness so intense, it had physically hurt her to see him.

  Granny had shed tears as they left, but waved them away with a bright, courageous smile. Cassie had barely held back her own tears, her throat burning as they departed in the clattering wagon. Sadness mingled with relief. Seeing her grandmother had been a tonic to her spirit, but the news of Mother’s death, along with the ominous shadow of Father’s lurking presence, covered her like a dark blanket. Even Gabe’s disapproval soured the closeness they had shared.

  His presence at her side was like a hot poker, but she dared not even look his way. Unbidden, the tingling memory of his kisses, his tender touch, his strength as he held her spun through her like warm honey. How was it possible to miss someone who was sitting beside her?

  It was for the best. She knew it was. They couldn’t build a relationship, at least not as a man and woman, trapped in the horrors and rigor of war.

  She dropped her head against the train wall, letting the rumbling vibrations rattle her skull. Perhaps the intrusive sensation would shake the memory of Gabe’s touch from her mind. But it couldn’t rattle the impress his love had branded on her heart.

  The very thought of returning to the regiment as Thomas Turner struck her with a weariness she couldn’t explain. She could just walk away. Gabe had said so. Had pleaded with her to do so. At this moment, she was surprised by how tempted she was to agree.

  And that realization scared her more than anything else.

  Chapter 23

  CHRISTMAS DAY, 1861

  ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

  “Private Turner! Did you see what the Swede brought back for us?”

  Cassie turned from cleaning her rifle as Jonah raced up to her side, cheeks rosy. Why did the young never seem affected by the bitter snap of winter mornings?

  Her breath fogged. “I haven’t heard a thing about it.”

  Jonah grinned widely. “He just returned from furlough, you know. His wife is a bully good cook. Maybe that’s why the Swede grew so big. I dunno. Anyhow, she packed four haversacks full of food for him, and he said he’s going to share!”

  “Mighty generous of him.”

  Jonah’s eyes danced. “Especially when one of the sacks contains a ham.”

  Cassie’s mouth watered. How long since she’d tasted a real ham? Not the fatty salt pork of their daily rations.

  “Not only that. A women’s relief group sent a wagon full of boxes filled to the brim with clothes, dried fruit, and new socks. And McKay is busy right now cutting down a tree for me to decorate.”

  “What are you going to use for decorations?”

  The lad’s freckled nose scrunched in thought. “Probably hardtack. Maybe some strips of dried beef.” He gave a toothy smile. “I saw inside Private Hanover’s tent once, and I know he has a pair of bright-red socks tucked in there. Maybe I can borrow ’em.”

  Cassie shook her head. Life was never dull with Jonah underfoot.

  “The men are gathering in an hour to sing carols. You coming?”

  “No. I volunteered to assist at Mansion House Hospital in Alexandria today. My transport will be here any minute.” She had no desire to make merry with the men when her heart was so miserable. Camp was unbearable with Gabe’s long looks in her direction.

  Scowling, Jonah stuffed his chapped hands in his pockets. “Ain’t no fair. Having to work on Christmas.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, what better way to celebrate the Savior than easing the suffering of others?”

  Jonah frowned. “I reckon.” He leaned in, offering a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll try to save you a piece of ham.”

  Cassie chuckled as he scampered off. If she were ever blessed with a son, she hoped he’d be as bright and have as much gumption as Jonah Phifer.

  The ride to Alexandria was cold and unadventurous in the back of the army wagon. Cassie hunkered down in her wool coat, blowing into her numb hands every few minutes.

  When she entered the hospital, a burst of heat warmed her, making her face and fingers tingle. Discarding her wool coat, she tugged the kepi down over her eyes, ever mindful of the feminine graces that might give her true identity away. That had been the hardest part of returning to camp after visiting Granny: eliminating the signs of her femininity. That, and keeping Gabe at arm’s length.

  Stop thinking about him.

  Irritated with herself, she walked toward Mrs. Grimes, the woman issuing orders with a clipped tone to the other nurses.

  “Private Turner reporting for duty, ma’am.”

  The matron’s thin lips tugged upward. “No need for military formality, Private Turner. It’s Christmas.” Her eyes twinkled. “And we’re pleased to have your assistance today. We have the normal rounds of medicine to dispense, average duties, but we want the day to be special for our wounded men.” Her face clouded as a thick cloak of sadness descended.

  “You look as if you have someone on your mind, ma’am.”

  Blinking away the melancholy, she offered a wan smile. “Yes. My own son is in a hospital in South Carolina. You’re very astute, Private Turner.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t be with him, ma’am. Today especially.”

  “Thank you. All the more reason to pour my love into the brave boys here.” A gentle serenity softened the lines around her eyes and mouth. “Cook is preparing dishes of plum pudding for all the patients. If you would be so kind as to distribute them upon her word, it would be appreciated.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We have a wide variety of surprises for the patients today. I’ll find you when we are ready for the next round of gifts.”

  Nodding, Cassie walked past the largest patient room on the bottom floor, offering smiles to those she passed. With a bit of searching, she found the kitchen in the back of the hospital, as well as the harried cook attempting to dish up enough pudding for the hundreds of men inhabiting the building. A room right next to the kitchen was filled with chattering females and convalescing soldiers. Most of the women sat on the floor, their skirts billowed around them as they bent pine branches into wreaths. Pine needles and red ribbon covered the floor. The scent of cinnamon and musky pine chased away the usual sour smells of illness that inhabited the military hospital.

  In the corner of the crowded room, a large stack of glass bottles filled with liquids loomed over the chaos.

  “Need any help?”

  Several of the volunteers looked up, offering cheery welcomes. One of them, a stout woman with her brown hair parted in a perfect line down her head, cackled loudly. “You want to bend wreaths, or did the wall of spirits catch your eye, Private?”

  Cassie blinked. “Pardon?”

  Another woman, slight of build with a topknot of springy gray hair, scolded her friend. “Don’t tease him so, Ann.” The tiny woman beamed at Cassie. “Ann believes you noticed the wall of spirits in the corner.”

  Cassie shrugged. “It’s kind of hard to miss.”

  The wisp of a woman laughed. “A gift from Mary Todd Lincoln for our soldiers.”

  “All of that?” Cassie studied the tower of bottles, astonished at the volume of amber liquid. “Wherever did she acquire it all?”

  “She gathered up all the unsolicited gifts of liquor that were brought to the White House in the past year.”

  Cassie spoke slowly, still in awe of the elaborate festivities the hospital
had undertaken. “I spurn spirits myself, but I must say—” she chuckled—“I do believe the patients are going to have a merry Christmas indeed.”

  Mrs. Grimes smoothed back a wayward tendril of gray hair and dabbed a handkerchief over the sweat beading on her brow. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance, Private Turner.”

  Offering a tired smile, Cassie dropped the last load of wood into the stove and eased the cast-iron door shut with a twist. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Cassie straightened as Mrs. Grimes waved a hand in front of her face to cool her moist skin. “The air feels overly warm in here to me, but the men keep complaining about a draft.”

  “You’re overheated from working so hard.” Cassie tugged her kepi lower over her brow. “And the men can’t do much moving. When I sprinkled lime out back, the air smelled like coming snow.”

  The matron sighed. “I feared as much. Well, there’s nothing to be done about it.” Her face brightened, though her shoulders showed the telltale sag of fatigue. “I need to get busy changing the second- and third-floor linens.”

  “I can help.”

  “Would you? I’d be so grateful.”

  Cassie nodded and watched her open a closet door tucked in the back of the big room, tugging down a wobbling stack of blankets and sheets.

  The matron dropped them into Cassie’s hands. “That should get you started. Why don’t you take the second floor and I’ll take the third. You can fetch more linens from this closet when you’ve used up this supply.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cassie climbed the hospital stairway, listening to her footsteps scrape and echo against the walls. It was well into the afternoon and she had yet to sit, but she didn’t mind. Making the day nice for the patients and workers alike was far better than sitting in the cold, trying to fill the empty ache inside. At least here she was too busy to think. She had purpose.

  Her back twinged as she went from room to room changing linens, encouraging the men in the occupied beds with a kind word or offering a sip of water, while ignoring the nauseating stench seeping from chamber pots that needed emptying. When she’d used up all the blankets, she stood in the hallway, wondering the best way to go back and collect the soiled linens. Perhaps there was a crate or basket in the storeroom at the end of the hall.

  Hurrying forward, she pushed the door open, squinting at the sudden darkness. A thin shaft of light from the hallway spilled in behind her but did little to illuminate the small, musty room.

  “May I help you?”

  She gasped at the male voice coming from the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  A soft intake of breath. “Cass?”

  Only one person knew her by that name. “Gabe? What are you doing here?”

  “The hospital requested I come. I arrived yesterday. I’m to capture each soldier’s photograph as a Christmas gift from the Women’s Aid Committee.”

  She spun to flee, but his plea stopped her cold.

  “No, wait. I’m almost finished developing these photographs. I can’t expose them to light. I’ll come to you.” Scuffling sounds approached in the near darkness.

  She couldn’t talk with him. Couldn’t be alone with him. She didn’t trust herself. The pain cut too deeply.

  She burst from the room, but Gabe’s commanding voice forced her to stop, even as two women whisked by on errands, their boots clicking sharply against the wood floor.

  “Private Turner, a word?”

  She turned slowly, wishing the floor beneath her would crumble away. Nodding, she followed him into a different room, one smaller than the storage area across the hall. She entered the cramped space and swallowed when he shut the door behind her. A square window high overhead filtered watery light down into the dank space. It couldn’t have been more than six feet by three feet and was lined with shelves of cleaning liquids, soaps, metal buckets, and mops. The sharp sting of ammonia and lye pinched her nose.

  She was mere feet from him with no way to hide from his probing stare.

  “Look at me.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she steeled her resolve and reopened them. The brittle defenses she’d built around her heart melted when she witnessed the confused sadness in his face.

  “Cass, I’m sorry we quarreled. I’m sorry for suggesting you desert your post. It was wrong of me.”

  She looked down, watching her fingers twist and writhe until her knuckles were white. What was he doing? Father had never apologized. Ever. “I—thank you.”

  Long silence. He sighed. “Something else is wrong. Why won’t you speak to me? Ever since we argued in your grandmother’s barn, you’ve pushed me away.”

  The gentle pleading in his voice was her undoing. She whispered, “It’s too risky.”

  His brows pinched. “Too risky for what? Are you afraid I’ll let your identity slip?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  The wobbly thread of her voice strained and broke. “Letting you into my heart.”

  He sucked in a breath and grew deathly still. “I see.”

  The silence stretched between them thick as taffy. Gabe looked away, but not before she witnessed the stark pain in his eyes. She hated herself for putting it there.

  All the more reason to keep him at arm’s length.

  “I don’t believe you, you know.”

  Her gaze swung back to his. He stepped close and skimmed his fingers over her jaw. “I think you’ve already let me in your heart, just as I hold you in mine.”

  Her chin trembled. “No, I—” She couldn’t bring herself to deny it further.

  “You’re frightened.” His eyes darkened.

  Her breath thinned.

  His voice was husky as he studied her. “I’m a human, Cass. I mess up. You know that well enough.” The muscles in his neck shifted. “Have I done something unforgivable? Wanting to keep you safe? Tell me.” His eyes flooded with longing. “Tell me how to unlock the fear around your heart. Tell me how to get back inside.”

  Pain squeezed her chest until she could no longer breathe.

  “Private Turner? Are you up here? Private Mullins has need of your help moving one of the men.” Mrs. Grimes’s soft call from down the hallway nearly made her weep with relief.

  “I must go.”

  Before he could protest, she flung the closet door open and hurried down the hallway, anxious to flee the turbulent storm he’d unleashed inside.

  But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t outrun the ache in her heart.

  Chapter 24

  MARCH 14, 1862

  ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

  Winter melted into spring, and though the seasons changed, the Union continued to sit staunchly outside the capital. Boredom turned into its own kind of fever as the soldiers sought diversion from the endless days of drills and waiting. Always waiting.

  The day Colonel Poe lined them up with the opportunity to volunteer to become regimental mail carriers, Cassie nearly jolted with excitement. Finally, change.

  Never was she so thankful for change.

  “Who would like the job?”

  Cassie held her posture rigid as she raised her hand, keeping her eyes straight ahead, just like all the other soldiers as they stood at attention before Colonel Orlando Poe. The serious man with his stern countenance and full lips surveyed the Michigan Second with a hawk-eyed gaze. He walked with a confident stride, his left hand moving from his brass button–covered lapel to twist the ends of his wiry brown mustache. He strolled in front of Cassie and stopped, narrowing his eyes.

  “Your name, Private.”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “Private Thomas Turner, sir.”

  He assessed her measure again before nodding stiffly. “Private Turner, I understand during the past winter you’ve been volunteering at the Alexandria hospital. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.” She fought the urge to squirm.

  “Why also volunteer to be regimental mail carrier, then?”

&nbs
p; Why? Because they would soon be moving, and she would have no more excuses to slip away from Gabe’s presence in camp. No more moments to breathe easily between locations without fearing her identity would be discovered. At camp, someone was always underfoot. Always watching.

  And after the Battle of Bull Run and the disaster at Ball’s Bluff, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pick up arms again.

  She gave none of those thoughts voice. “I—I enjoy a challenge, sir.”

  “As mail carrier, you have a sacred, weighty duty. If heavy mail is captured by the enemy, the results would be a calamity for your troop’s safety . . . as well as the safety of all our men.”

  She swallowed but kept her eyes trained on the colonel, refusing to cower under his granite stare. “Yes, sir.”

  “I hereby relieve you of your hospital duties.”

  Her stomach pinched so quickly, the blood siphoned from her head in a dizzying rush. Had she been found out?

  “You will be our new regimental mail carrier.”

  Breath filled her tight lungs in a whoosh. The relief was palpable. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “Yes, sir.”

  Colonel Poe studied her, his words clipped. Every fiber of the man’s bearing commanded respect. “Captain Johnston believes you to be extremely competent and trustworthy. I pray his judgment is not misplaced.” Colonel Poe relaxed a tad, his dark brow rising ever so slightly. “I believe you’ve got grit, Turner. Serve well.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He moved past her to appoint new duties to other soldiers down the line. She heard nothing else, save the dull thrum of blood pounding her brain.

  You’re safe. No one knows.

  A cry of surprise snagged her muddled thoughts, causing her to snap her attention down the line of blue-clad men. A soldier was thrust forward before the colonel, stumbling over his own feet. The man’s smooth skin was ashen, his eyes wide. His slight body trembled like a leaf in a storm. Captain Johnston stood behind him, his neck mottled a brilliant red.

  “Colonel Poe, I have just discovered Private Green is here under false pretenses.”