Each Other

by Pamela Erickson

Warren was there to meet my carriage as we pulled into the town of Ashburg. Kicking up some of the mud of the previous days’ rains the coach splashed to a halt and Warren, looking relieved to see me within, smiled up at the driver and yelled, “I’ve got the door.”

  Turning the handle, he helped me down. He was wearing a white collared shirt, his cavalry boots and pants and he carried his gray jacket in one hand. How he managed to look so clean and casual after being in the field for so many weeks was more than I could understand. Looking at his face though, I saw the weariness of war etched in the circles around his eyes having just returned from a week at the front lines. I wondered and marveled that he could look so clean.

  Pulling me close to him he said quietly, “Hello, Annie. I’ve missed you.”

  “So good to see you again,” I whispered back.

  I wore a flowered cotton dress with a sash at the waist. The tiny roses on my straw hat remained intact despite my using it as a fan for the entire ride. Warren walked me around the corner from the coach stop and into a restaurant where we had a wide array of tables to choose from as few people were dining in the afternoon heat. Tall glasses of minted tea awaited us.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Just a bit, but I’ll wait. It’s too hot to eat just yet. He reached across the table finding my hand. “Our carriage will here in twenty minutes or so.”

  “Another carriage ride? Where in the world could you be taking me, Captain? To a tent on the battlefield no doubt,” I said with a smile.

  Sipping his tea, he responded, “Sorry to disappoint you Annie, but all the tents were taken.” Warren responded. He sipped his tea. “I have three days off and our destination is a surprise. That’s all I’ll tell you for the moment. We’ll be on our way shortly. I’ll check on the carriage, and I’ll be right back.”

  Soon we were on the road and within thirty minutes I was delighted to arrive not at a tent but instead, at a lovely home Warren had arranged as our lodging for a few days. Shutters at the front of the house were closed against the July heat. Several tall tulip trees shaded the house from the afternoon sun and a garden, somewhat neglected, hinted of better days for the household. We were greeted by the house servants, slaves undoubtedly, but caretakers for the home and small farm.

  Looking around, I was impressed with Warren’s planning on my behalf. “Warren, this is lovely but how did you ever find this place?” I asked.

  “Jake will be glad to know that you approve, Annie. He’s a friend of mine who sent his family up to Maryland to be with relatives for the time being. This is his home and he’s willing to let us use it for a few days while he’s off with details of the war. Let’s take a look around.”

  The manservant nodded and showed us up to our rooms.

  “Thank you,” Warren said to him, then taking my hand again Warren walked me though the adjacent rooms that would be ours for a few days. Both of our rooms, set at the back of the house, were large and comfortable. My bedroom had a window seat and when I pulled back the drapes and looked below, I saw a flower garden with a small pond and at the back of the yard, a beehive. In Warren’s room, a small couch complimented two wing backed chairs and a fireplace, adorned for the summer months by a beaded fire screen.

  “Is there anything you need at the moment Madam?” inquired the manservant.

  “No, thank you,” I replied.

  Turning to Warren he went on “Sir, I’ve brought up your bags and during the next few days, if there is anything that you need, please let one of us know right away. Mr. Lyons wants you to be comfortable.” With a slight bow and a nod of the head, the servant graciously exited.

  Warren draped his jacket over the arm of the chair and then took my hand. I stood on tiptoe, kissed him and then gently pulled away.

  “I’ll be just a few minutes. I want to clean up and brush the road dust out of my hair.”

  “Don’t be long, please. I’ll open these windows to get some air in here. Maybe there’s a breeze.”

  My room was a welcoming place, fresh and peaceful. I was exhausted by the journey but excited to spend time alone with Warren. Loosening my dress, and removing it, I was glad to unbutton my boots and kick them off as well. Finding water in the porcelain pitcher, I poured some into a bowl and dampened a cloth. Applying the cool cloth to the back of my neck and face offered great relief from the heat and dust of the trip. Then, dampening my hairline and temples, I followed the line of my neck down into my cleavage, and over my arms and torso before I brushed out my hair. Finding a lighter dress in my bag I was ready to seek out Warren and relax.

  When I returned to his room I found him asleep in the chaise by the window, boots off, feet up. He looked peaceful and contented while the sheer white curtains caught a breeze and billowed about him like full sails on a ship. To be with him aboard a sailboat on the Merrimack River and take it to the sea. ‘Wouldn’t that be a time,’ I thought to myself, ‘Sailing with Warren on a clear day?’ Kneeling before him, watching him sleep I wondered what that would be like – to sail together. To find a fair wind and a bend along the land, to find a cove that could anchor our vessel while we swam and ate and slept… a future dream? Perhaps. But certainly far from the war and its grisly scenes.

  Then I wondered and whispered quietly to myself, “What could this man have seen over the past few weeks? Where had he been and how could the North have retreated from Richmond on the defensive when it appeared they had the upper hand all along?”

  After a while, maybe thirty minutes or so I couldn’t resist any longer; I touched his hand, and woke him. Slowly, coming out of his deep sleep, he looked around and then at me. We looked at one another, taking in each other’s face. He stroked my cheekbone with the back of his fingers and moving forwards in the chair, he gently kissed my forehead, my eyelids, and then he kissed my mouth.

  Warren rose and pulled me to my feet. Seeking privacy, he raised a finger, pausing, and walked across the room to close the door fully. I walked a few paces, my bare feet feeling the rich carpet beneath me and met Warren halfway across the room, where standing, we embraced. Warren’s lips met mine and we stood there in the middle of the room, exploring one another’s kiss and finding each other’s angles and curves with our hands. Shifting in his arms, I turned and moved in towards him so my back was to his chest, his arms around me. Looking at the floor I saw a gold object near my foot. My big toe found it and moved it in towards me, then I loosened Warren’s hand and bent forward to retrieve what looked like a wedding ring. His grey jacket sat folded over the arm of a chair nearby.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  I pulled away and read the ring’s engraving.

  “To Warren, Love always, Lydia.”

  Looking back at his stunned face, I asked, “Warren? Warren, you’ve never mentioned Lydia.”

  My world seemed darker all the sudden. I thought for a minute that a storm was coming up. Surely thick black clouds had moved in shadowing the window. But all in a second, I realized that no such thing had happened. It was my mind that was shadowed, confused. I looked up to his face and when I spoke, my voice was not my own. With each word, it became higher, nearly sputtering.

  “No. No, Warren. Damn you. Why did you bring me here? Is this a game to you? A game you’re playing with me? How dare you not mention her to me before this.”

  My eyes, like dark marbles, were filling quickly with tears reflecting my rage.

  “Annie, we’ve got to t…” But he could see in my face that it was useless to try to explain anything. He must have seen that he had hurt me deeply.

  “Annie, please, we’ve got to talk.” He tried to convince me. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I intended to tell you today. Annie, you must believe me. Annie, please?” Warren tried to pull me back towards him but I refused him.

  “Don’t touch me.” I threw the band on the bed. “I don’t know what to do, or what to say to say to you.” My voice rising again. “I came all this way so that we could b
e together. How naive I’ve been. I’m stunned. But worse, now I feel like I don’t know who you are. I’m shocked. I assumed you were unattached. I thought for a moment that your kisses, this time together, that it might mean something to you other than a mere affair. Honestly Warren, is it that I never asked? That’s it, isn’t it? You could only reveal the truth if you were directly asked about it? Then to be so casual as to allow your wedding ring to fall from your coat pocket. Is that your way of telling me about her?” I shook my head, and turned towards the door, feeling tears run down my cheeks.

  “Wait, Annie. Please. Wait a minute. Don’t go. Listen to me. We can make this right between us; I know we can. I’ve been waiting to talk with you. We haven’t had the time or the place to be together. You know that.” But before he could say any more, I’d left the room, and soon retrieved my shoes and run downstairs and headed for the barn beyond the house. Slipping on the shoes, I headed out not sure what was next but needing time to think.

  The dark barn felt a bit cooler than the sultry house and gardens. I hadn’t been in a barn for years but the smell of dried hay was sweet and comforting. Walking passed a few empty stables, I came upon the only horse I saw, a lonely looking chestnut, svelte and curious. I let her smell my hand before I touched her velvety nose. Finding a brush, I took her reins and brought her out of the stall to brush her coat. She shook several times, shook her mane and haunches in thanks for the attention I gave her.

  “Want to go for a ride, Beauty?” I asked her. “It’ll be hot out there, that’s the only thing. But it’ll cool off soon.”

  I found her saddle, cinched it up and in a short while we were on our way to go exploring. We crossed the fields beyond the house and followed a brook through a wide glade. Buzzing cicadas called from the tall trees and unless I stayed closer to the edges of the glades, the heat was like thick and sticky honey. A brook led into a stream at the base of a hill. Slowing to a walk, we followed the stream downwards through a thicket of young trees then out into a glade again. ‘Would I be able to hear the gunshot of a picket above the cicada’s hum?’ I wondered. After walking her for a while, I dismounted allowing the horse to graze. Following the edge of the stream to a shallow place, I perched on a shady flat rock with water flowing all around it. It was much cooler there and I could stop for a while and think about the scene with Warren. Taking in a long breath, I looked towards the opposite bank of the stream where fresh mint grew tall with other herbs and I made a mental note to check what herbs I could find closer to the house. The sound of cicadas in the heat nearly drowned my thoughts into an infernal buzz that made my head pound harder.

  “Has he led me on? How could he do this? Am I just a fool?” I asked out loud, directing my comments and questions over to the horse. She looked up at me, chewing grasses, rather quizzically.

  “Would he say the same about me if he found out…if he finds out, what I’m really doing here in Virginia? What if he does? Would he turn me in?”

  I looked back at the running water around me. Thinking about his lies made me ponder my own. I pooled water in my palms, then whispered to myself, “I can live two lives in one, but should he? Is my secret any more hallowed than his?” Dousing my face with the cool river water, I asked myself again, “When does a secret become a lie?”

  I paused, rose, and picked my way back across the rocks and water. Patting the horse on the nose, leading her by the bridle, I asked her, “How can he care about me, truly care, if he’s married to someone else? I wonder about her and if she loves him? What do you think, Beauty? I have to find out his intentions. I’ve got to know if he loves me, truly loves me and still could in the future, after the war. Or, if he was using me and I just didn’t want to see it.

  Damn…” I sighed heavily, “I wish that I didn’t have to hide anything from him.”

  After walking for a while I said to the horse, “Come on now, let’s find a pond. We need to cool down.”

  Mounting the saddle again, we headed across the field following a different forested path adjacent to the stream. The shaded forest offered refuge from the heat and we walked most of the way along a path of pine needles and tiny wildflowers. On the ride out, I’d seen the edge of a pond through the trees and thought that the path we were on would eventually join up with it. But, as we walked and walked, I started to doubt my navigational skills and realized that I may not be alone in the woods. I could come upon strange people who lived in the woods away from the last fighting field; someone like the traveler who attacked me in Marsh Station. I’d been naïve. I could be completely lost in the deep forest. Worst of all, I could see the horse was tiring. I longed to get back to Warren. I should never have run out. I was so impulsive and he was right; we had to talk. We had to work this through. The cicadas were growing louder and the woods seemed thicker among the afternoon shadows. Had I passed the pond? I was sweating, I needed water and I was certain that the horse did too. I was starting to feel an uneasy bit of panic. The horse sensed it, and stopped. She tightened her muscles. She turned her head to listen and I did the same.

  “What is it, Beauty? I asked her.

  Then, up ahead, I saw it. A patch of clearing. Yes, I could distinguish a boat in the distance. People were fishing and talking, laughing and splashing.

  I breathed a long sigh of relief. We weren’t lost. We’d found the pond after all.

  Warren knew what I needed most: to sort things out on my own time. I admired him for that and with only one horse in the barn to ride, he didn’t have much of a choice but to let me go out on my own. But as he told me later, if a feed bag wasn’t enough to lure that horse in by evening, he might have to call out his friends in the cavalry to find me.

  “I’m not going to lose you, Annie,” he said. “Not now, not ever.”

  Approaching the pond I saw him from a distance, standing on the edge of an embankment, casting a line, while a slight breeze on the water kicked up a few ripples. Warren fished whenever he got the chance. Fishing and fly tying helped him clear his mind he said. He often relaxed by tying flies on his bunk at night, by lamplight and had perfected the craft even with his missing fingers. I think that was the way he coped with the war, through fly fishing. After all, standing in the middle of a river or at the edge of a pond just where the running stream came into it, and cooking the fish over an open fire, was a sweet diversion resulting in a good meal. Fishing, all of it, was a process of diversion from the grimness of army life or the weariness of assessing supply detachments and delivering scant goods to hungry troops. One way to look at Warren’s job was that at least by working in communications and supply detachments he wasn’t directly involved in fighting on the front lines for the most part. And as I came to learn more about Warren and his background, I came to find out that Warren was not just a man at war, but a man at war with himself.

  I stopped and watched him for a while from the edge of the trees, trying to read his thoughts in his movements. Long cast out, flick and sudden twist, then the easy glide, the smooth movement of the slack line. Taut, then slack again his line danced across the water like a large winged bird.

  Staying far enough away in a swath of brush and bushes so as not to be seen, I slipped out of my clothes and into the clear pond. I wanted more than anything to cool down. It didn’t hurt to surprise Warren either, and with his shoulder towards me I knew I had a chance of doing just that. The cool water washed me clean from the sweat of the ride and the tension of our argument. Like a butterfly shedding its thick cottony cocoon, the cool pond water made me new. I dipped my face and hair and swam out closer to him. Looking up he seemed surprised to see my head and shoulders emerge out of the water, just beyond his casting range.

  “Well, look whose back!” he said, laughing aloud. “How long have you been here Miss Annie?” He cast towards me, then pretended to have me with his line and mimed a struggle with his reel.

  Seeing him standing there nearly up to his knees in the water, backlit by the sun, I couldn’t stay angry wi
th him much longer.

  “What have you caught us for dinner Cap’in? I called.

  Holding up his catch he yelled, “These. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I can smell them cooking already,” I replied.

  I swam back to the green, mossy spot on the embankment and dried myself with my dress, then put it back on. As I was finger combing my hair, Warren appeared around the edge of a shrub and joined in. His hand paused where my hair ended down the middle of my back, and looking at me, he gently moved his hand to my waist where it rested.

  I meant to speak first. And if I had I would have told him that he had no business keeping me unaware of his wife, his Lydia, his marriage. I wanted to ask him if he loved me or if I was just his whim and pleasure of the moment. Moreover, I wanted to scream all these things at him simultaneously. But I didn’t speak first. In fact, I didn’t speak at all.

  He took my hand and without saying a word, he began to guide me up the path, then we stopped. He pulled me to him, dropping the fish at our feet. The last of the afternoon sun was strong on our temples; it rolled down over our cheekbones and warmed our lips.

  Few people have known a kiss like the one we shared there. My coolness, my dripping hair, his warmth, his light grip, my breath, his scent, my lips, his shoulders under an open shirt. A breeze kicked up again off the water.

  Finally we pulled apart from one another. Holding hands, we started back to the house, Warren carrying a half-dozen trout on a string. By the number of trout he’d caught, it looked like he was expecting company for dinner. I hoped for just a party of two.

  After a score of paces, we stopped on the path, looked at one another, shifted the fish and embraced again, then kissed, paused and walked some more. By the time we finally made it back to the barn, the horse had returned on her own, patiently waiting for a full feed bag and fresh hay. Evening’s first stars were on the rise and I knew that the answers would come, answers that we both deserved, but they wouldn’t come all at once.