She didn’t feel very steady herself. She took a step away from the log, then felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Alden caught her, and together they sank to the gnarled surface of the log.
“Why did you let Roger do it?” The question had been uppermost in her mind all afternoon, and only now, when she could see Alden’s face, could she ask it.
Alden stared at the ground, his eyes like blue ice. “I don’t know if you’ll understand.”
“Give me a chance.”
He winced at the sharp tone in her voice. “I didn’t want him to do it. I could have stopped and made a scene, reminding him that I was responsible for him, that I had promised Mother that I’d look after him…”
His voice trailed off, and Flanna gave him a moment to compose his thoughts. “So why didn’t you stop him?”
“I did it for Roger.” Alden’s mouth pulled into a surprised smile, as if he had just realized the truth himself. “Don’t you understand? Roger wanted to be a hero. You knew him, but I knew him far better.
It wasn’t patriotism or even boosting his chances of election that drove him to enlist. He came to the war because he wanted to be brave—he needed to stand for something and test his mettle. He couldn’t do it at Ball’s Bluff, and he didn’t do it at Fair Oaks, but he rose to the challenge today. He couldn’t seem to summon the courage for going into battle for the intangible things like patriotism and honor, but he didn’t hesitate to give his life for you and me.”
Alden’s expression softened into one of fond reminiscence. “You didn’t know him as a child, but Roger always had to be the brave one when we played war games. But when we boys got into real trouble, he found it far easier to step back and let me handle things—which I always did.” He frowned, as if responsibility were some great sin.
“Alden,”—Flanna took his hand and quietly checked his pulse—“you did what every big brother does. My own Wesley used to tease me unmercifully, but when the cousins ganged up on me, Wesley was quick to intervene. You saw it yourself—he still feels responsible for me.”
“But last night he left you to stand on your own.” Alden’s free hand fell over hers, alarming her with its chilly touch. “I had never allowed Roger that same freedom. But today, he asked for it. And as hard as it was for me, I had to give it.”
He looked at her, his eyes large and fierce with pain, and Flanna pulled him into her arms. Burying his face in her shoulder, he went quietly and very thoroughly to pieces.
They waited until the sun set and the moon rose high enough to light their way through the woods. Logic urged her to keep walking eastward, but Flanna knew without being told that Alden would want to return to the place where his brother died. Roger deserved a decent burial, and Flanna desperately wanted to reclaim her knapsack. Inside were her journal, her medical bag, and at least three loaves of cornbread—and Alden desperately needed food. The conscription agents, or whoever they were, would certainly have moved on by now.
A shining net of stars spanned the ebony dome of heaven, and in the west a silvery glow outlined the curving hills around Richmond. Flanna and Alden walked slowly, her arm about his waist for support, until they found the edge of the woods where Roger had fallen. His body lay there still, unmolested and untouched, and for a heartbreaking moment Flanna wondered if she could have done something to save him. But as Alden dropped to his knees and turned the body, she saw the dark circle in the center of his forehead. If ever a man had died instantly, Roger had.
Alden sat on his knees and leaned forward, using his hands to shovel away the layer of dead leaves. “No, Alden.” Flanna touched his shoulder, stopping him. “You haven’t the strength for digging.”
Tears sparkled in his lashes, and a silver trail marked his pale cheek. “I must.”
“Then let me help.”
She knelt across from him, cupping her hands as she pushed the earth aside. They worked in tandem until they had hollowed out a shallow trench, then Flanna helped Alden lift Roger and place him inside.
Alden prayed and Flanna listened, her own heart overflowing with unspoken thoughts and feelings. She was burying a man who had loved her, a man who had influenced her life for more than two years. Roger had been the truest of all friends, loving her even though he knew she loved his brother.
She looked up at Alden’s shining face. He prayed in a quiet and composed voice, his countenance lifted toward heaven, and his eyes glowed with love and understanding as he asked the Lord to say his farewells to Roger.
What had Nell Scott ever done to deserve such a man?
When Alden had finished praying, Flanna picked up her knapsack and led Alden to a stream where she forced him to eat and drink.
She couldn’t tell whether it was because of the food or simple relief that Roger’s burial was over, but Alden’s spirits seemed to rise as he sat in a patch of moonlight and ate. He insisted that Flanna eat, too, but she merely nibbled at her loaf of cornbread, knowing that Alden needed the lion’s share.
“You’re looking better,” she finally said, leaning over the creek bank as she swished her hands in the water. “Nell will probably write me a thank-you note once you’re married.”
Alden stopped chewing, and one of his brows shot upward. “Nell who?”
“Nell Scott.” Flanna folded her hands in her lap and gave him a controlled smile. They had been through so much together, they might as well bring this secret out into the open. “I know she loves you. Will you be married in Boston or Roxbury?”
He shook his head back and forth, like an ox stunned by the slaughterer’s blow. “I’m to marry Nell Scott? This is the first I have heard of it.”
Flanna laughed. “What is this, selective amnesia? Of course you’re going to marry Nell. You’ve been writing her since the war began. I have one of your letters to her in my medical bag.”
“I remember her writing me.” Alden’s face suddenly went grim. “But I don’t remember anything about a wedding. How could I marry her when I—” His voice broke off, and he narrowed his eyes at Flanna. “You think I’m engaged to Nell Scott? You’ve always thought so?”
Rattled by the pressure of his gaze, Flanna felt herself flush. “Of course I thought so. One does not write a young lady for months without holding certain intentions—”
“Who wrote the young lady?”
“You did!”
He stiffened as though she had struck him. “Produce the letter.”
Without hesitation, she pulled her medical bag from her knapsack, then opened it and fished the letter from its depths. “Here!” With a triumphant flourish, she dangled it before Alden’s eyes. “A letter to Miss Nell Scott of Boston.”
Flanna wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw the beginnings of a smile amid the tangles of his beard. “Read it.”
“I don’t read other people’s mail.”
He leaned forward and grabbed her hand, making her skin tingle where he touched her. “Read it, please. If I hold any intentions toward this young woman, I’d like to be reminded of them.”
Flanna pulled away, then produced a scalpel from her medicine bag. “I’ll make a neat cut, so you can post the letter anyway.” She slit the envelope along its upper edge, then pulled out a single sheet. Alden leaned back upon a wide rock and folded his hands, seeming to enjoy her torment.
The shocking events of the day must have dulled his senses, else he would not have forced her to read of his love for another woman.
Flanna opened the letter, held it up to the moonlight, and began to read: “Dear Miss Scott, greetings. I am sorry I have not been able to respond to your thoughtful letters—”
Flanna paused and looked up. Alden merely lifted a brow, then nodded. “Do go on. I’ve heard nothing about a wedding yet.”
Flanna took a deep breath and tried to curb her riotous emotions. “—but we have been marching for many days. The weather here is very wet, and the men are not used to it…” Flanna’s voice trailed off as she skimmed the rest of the lett
er. He wrote about his men, the food, and the countryside, then he ended with a single short sentence: “I asked you to pray for my men before we left, and I would especially ask you to pray for one Franklin O’Connor. He is a most stubborn sort of person, a raw recruit, and I worry about him. Very sincerely yours, Alden Haynes.”
She glared at him. “You asked her to pray for me?”
Alden shrugged. “Why not? She was desperate to pray for someone.”
“But you said you were worried about me? And that I was stubborn?”
“Perhaps worry was too strong a word.” He learned forward, and in the moonlight he seemed to study her with a curious intensity. “I wanted to write that I thought about you constantly, but Miss Nell Scott wouldn’t understand my concern for a fellow soldier. In truth, Flanna, I’ve never worried about you. I’ve never met a woman more capable, or one who intrigued me more.”
He reached out and lightly fingered a strand of hair on her cheek. “I think I fell a little in love with you on the day Roger asked me to walk you home—do you remember? I deliberately said something appalling when I left you at your boardinghouse because I thought I might have an easier time of it if you hated me.”
“I never hated you.” The words bubbled to Flanna’s lips from some deep place where she’d hidden them away.
He smiled with beautiful candor. “Every time you and Roger had a spat, I dared to hope you might look in my direction. Then the war began, and I knew you’d despise me for fighting against your loved ones.”
“I never despised you.”
“And then,” he went on, not giving her a chance to unburden her thoughts, “when the three of us waited together in that holding room, I heard Roger say that your friendship would be the basis of a good marriage. And this morning, you made your feelings quite clear—for me you felt gratitude. And in that moment, a word which should have brought genuine happiness served only to tear at my heart.”
“Alden.” Her heart took a perilous leap toward him. “Alden, I have loved you for months, but I thought you were engaged to Nell Scott. I never dreamed that you could feel anything but affection toward me…and there was Roger.”
“Yes,” he said, his arm slipping behind her neck and drawing her closer, “and today Roger brought us together.”
“He knew.” Flanna closed her eyes as Alden’s warm breath fanned her cheek. “He read the letter I wrote you. He knew I loved you.”
Alden pulled her to his side, and for a long moment they sat together, her head resting on his strong shoulder, his arm holding her close. Flanna pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart through his shirt as she thought about the circumstances that had brought them together.
How could two brothers be so different and yet so alike? Each was devoted to the other; each admired different qualities of the same woman. Flanna knew that Roger had valued her wit, her charm, and her beauty, while Alden esteemed the qualities he had chided her for hiding. And which man had loved her most?
Roger had given his life for her…and Alden had given her life. He had given her the courage to step out of the confining mold of genteel womanhood. While still cherishing her femininity, he had shown her that God had given her unique gifts and then encouraged her to use them.
She lifted her eyes, imprinting his beloved profile upon her heart. The applause of fluttering oak leaves and the quiet ripple of the creek served as a natural accompaniment as Alden kissed her, anguish and promise and faith all mingled in the moment.
And when they stretched out on the rock and waited for sleep, Alden thrust his hand toward the silvery net of stars and closed his fist as if he could pluck one from the sky. “Have you ever thought about the stars, Flanna?” A tinge of wonder lined his voice. “They differ from one another in glory, yet each of them is priceless, beautiful, and bright with the glory of the Creator. In every star, every sunrise, and every wind that blows, I see God’s hand. Whenever I was tempted to look at the horrors of war or the frustrations of dealing with General McClellan, I’d step outside my tent and look at the heavens. And then I could see that God remained far above the fray, that he controlled my life and everything that touches it.”
He lowered his hand and dropped it to his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was low and oddly gentle. “I don’t know what made me love you. But when I look at you, I see God’s beauty in your compassion, his strength in your courage, and his mercy in your love. I had never noticed any of those qualities in God before. He was like a supreme commander—giving orders, making sure you obeyed, meting out justice. That has all changed now, and I understand why so many people willingly surrender their lives to him. Wherever we go, whatever tomorrow holds, I know that I have been blessed by you.”
Flanna felt the wings of tragedy lightly brush past her, lifting the hairs on her forearm. Was that resignation she heard in his voice? “Tomorrow holds rescue, Alden,” she assured him. “We’ll set out at first light, and we’ll find a Union regiment. I’ll personally see that you are taken to a decent hospital, and I’ll oversee your care. You’re going to be fine, Alden, just fine.”
She lifted her head to look at him, but his eyes had closed. She lifted her hand; the surface of her palm was shiny and black in the moonlight.
He was bleeding again, and she had no more bandages to stanch the flow.
An hour later, Flanna knelt by the creek to wash the blood from her hands and tried to steady her pounding heart. She had tried everything she knew to stop Alden’s bleeding—a splash of cold water, a grass poultice, even a bandage she fashioned from fabric ripped from her skirt—but nothing seemed to work. Alden’s pulse grew weaker with each passing moment, and the heart she had listened to only a short while ago would soon stop beating unless she could get help. But how could she leave Alden when he had told her that he feared dying alone? She herself had tasted the bitter fear of abandonment. This hour, coming so soon after they had finally declared their love to one another, was not the time to forsake the man she loved.
You have to go.
Flanna acknowledged the voice, but not its message. “Leave him?” Her accusing voice stabbed the air. “If I go, will you keep him alive? Or is this your way of setting him free? I let Charity go. Alden let Roger go. And neither of them is ever coming back!”
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.
She splashed her hands in the frigid water and scrubbed her knuckles until the skin stung. She had depended on God through her examinations and her entrance into the army. She had stepped out in faith when she left the Yankee camp and wandered over the battlefield. But now she had Alden, the love they had struggled so long to express, and the promise of their future! How could she risk something so precious when the odds were against her?
Lean not unto thine own understanding.
“I’m not leaning on understanding.” She pulled her dripping hands from the water and wiped them on her torn skirt. “I’m using my head. I’ve always used my head. It’s pulled me through many a situation—”
Suddenly her mind blew open, and with naked clarity she saw the truth in her words and the lie in her heart.
She wasn’t trusting God. She was trusting herself.
Throughout her life, she had investigated, made plans, and prepared herself for whatever was to come. As she studied for her examinations, prepared to enter the army, even as she decided to strike out toward Richmond, she had leaned solidly on her own understanding, trusting common sense and hard work to make a way and see her through. She had given lip service to the notions of trust and faith, but God was only her contingency plan, someone to fall back on if her own plans went awry.
Now there was no one to trust but God, no way but his way.
She glanced back at Alden. He lay on the rock, his shirt wrapped around him, his face as pale as candle wax beneath the bruises. The front of his shirt, black with blood, shone darkly in the moonlight.
“How can I leave him?” Her heart breaking, she glanced up at the s
tar-studded sky. “I know now that he is what I have been searching for all this time. I joined the army, knowing he’d be there. I followed him to Virginia, even into battle, because my heart yearned for him. Besides Papa, Alden is the only man who ever loved me enough to let me be the woman you called me to be.”
She listened, straining to hear the small voice that had echoed in the deepest part of her heart, but she heard nothing but the warbling song of a bird on a branch overhanging the creek. God was going to be silent, then. He offered no promises, just a simple request. He wanted her faith and surrender, a deliberate commitment to him when she could see no other way. And time—like Alden’s strength—was slipping through her fingers.
Flanna’s stomach churned and tightened into a knot as fear brushed the edge of her mind. If she left, Alden might wake and die alone, and she would never forgive herself for deserting him. If she remained to comfort him, he would die in her arms, but he would die.
She rose to her knees on the muddy creek bank and lifted her eyes, searching for a falling star or some other celestial omen, but nothing moved in the starry black vault overhead. If only she could have some assurance that Alden’s strength would last until she returned! She tilted her head, listening for the whisper of the wind, but except for the insistent warbling of that bird, the woods were as silent as the grave.
She sank back, drained of will and thought, then realization came on a slow tide of feeling. The bird. What birds sang in the dark? The bravest birds—those who trusted the Creator. The simple creatures who knew nothing of science or the earth’s rotation but still trusted that the bright light of morning was not far away.
She rose up and absently brushed clinging leaves and mud from her skirt. She had entrusted her dreams to Alden, and he had protected and encouraged them. Why, then, could she not trust the love of her heart to the almighty God? As a youngster, she had trusted the Almighty’s plan of salvation. She could cling to childlike faith again.
The Velvet Shadow Page 39
