by Pat Wahler
“The Campbell house is gone.” Lucy said.
“Yes, and look at the Johnsons’ barn.”
I wondered at knowing so little of our neighbors’ fates as trees and houses—charred and blackened, some fully burned to the ground—came into view. Tobacco crops were trampled, leaving scuffed holes behind. Much of Clay County had been damaged, although I noticed some newly hewn lumber had been lately hammered into place. People were working to pick up the broken pieces of their lives, despite the guerilla attacks that still continued. The war had officially ended, so why should raids go on? I found such actions harder to understand than the war had been.
As we rolled into town, Lucy pointed toward a man who had a pistol strapped on each hip and a rifle balanced on his shoulder. “Look at how well-armed he is. They say these days even ladies should carry a weapon.”
“You know Papa would never hand over that old pistol of his to us. I’m not even sure it works. And don’t say anything about this, whatever you do. He won’t allow us to leave sight of home again.”
In spite of the disorder and fear we witnessed, the image of Jesse remained in my mind. I composed a note to him and a long letter to Zerelda, begging her to tell me of his progress. Once the letters had been posted, an even more impatient wait began for a response.
It took a few weeks before a messenger delivered a telegram from Zerelda. The short and carefully worded missive turned my blood cold.
His condition is critical. Doctors give us no hope. His last request is that he not be allowed to die on Northern ground. We are bringing him home.
- Zerelda Samuel
From the time the news came, I crept around the house, pale and silent as an abandoned waif. When not working, I walked as far from the house as I dared to go and reread Zerelda’s telegram, trying to find a shred of hope hidden in her words. Papa gravely told me to accept God’s will, whatever it may be. Mama did not scold as much as before, and her shadowed eyes told me she, too, dreaded the notion of Jesse’s death. Lucy tried to make me smile with teasing and a small joke, but she only succeeded in prompting tears.
It was the first week of September when a wagon arrived at the boarding house with Reuben, Zerelda, and the children. I ignored their calls to me and flew straight to the wagon bed, where Jesse lay on a pallet with his eyes closed. I touched his face and called to him, but he didn’t move. Zerelda came to stand beside me and I looked up at her face. Deep lines of sorrow marred her forehead, but I could sense a simmering anger in her blue eyes.
Mama joined us and hugged her sister-in-law. Zerelda spoke forcefully as a man. “He’s too weak to go all the way to the farm, Mary. We must leave him here with you again.”
Mama glanced at me, swallowed, and then nodded.
As they had a few weeks before, Papa and Uncle Thomas lifted Jesse’s pallet and carried him back into the house. This time, no sound escaped his lips.
Zerelda put her arm around my waist to prevent me from following them.
“His wound will not close. Infection has taken hold, and he is delirious with fever. Reuben and every other doctor who has seen him believe he has little chance of recovery.”
My chin snapped up. “No. He was improving when he was here. He will live. I know it.” I surprised myself at the vehemence of my tone.
Zerelda turned and studied my face, weighing my words before speaking. “Yes, my dear, I do believe if there is a chance for him, it lies with you. I’m giving my son to your care. Since the government tells us the war is over, I’ve decided we’re going home. The Federals can be damned, and I swear to shoot any one of them who tries to stop us. I intend to stand on my own soil again. Or at least what’s left of it,” she added bitterly.
“I promise by all that’s holy, Jesse will return to you, hearty and well. I’ll see to it.”
Zerelda kissed my cheek, and we walked arm in arm to Jesse’s room. With tenderness, she smoothed his rumpled hair and placed her lips against his pale cheek, whispering a mother’s words of endearment.
She straightened and took my hand. “I will be back within two weeks to see if you have performed a miracle. If anything should happen, send word at once.” Her shoulders straightened before she stepped from the room.
I immediately went to work on my miracle. Fighting back tears at the sight of Jesse’s emaciated frame, my fingers fumbled to open his buttons, as heat burned through the fabric. I drew aside the shirt’s edges and took a deep breath to prepare myself for what lay beneath the bandages.
The flesh around the wound burned red and swollen. A foul-smelling thick discharge oozed between the ragged edges of open skin. My brow creased with indecision over what to do first, but Mama appeared in the doorway with a basin of cool water and a pile of bandages. She set them down without a word, resignation dimming the sparkle in her eyes, and left me to my work. I dipped a cloth in the cool water and wrung it out. And for the next five days, unless nature called me away, I did not leave Jesse’s side.
7
I swiped the back of my hand across my damp forehead and blew out a breath. Thunder rumbled in the distance. We’d had no rain in a month, and the thought of moisture to settle the dust and cool the air made me almost sick with longing. Soon leaves would turn color and the unrelenting heat of late summer would fade, but for now, Jesse’s sickroom was thick and stifling, ripe with the putrid stink of infection. I imagined our pond, and its soothing ripples of water.
Jesse still had not opened his eyes. I dozed in fits and starts whenever his condition permitted. If he tossed and turned, it meant a spike in fever. When he slept without moving, my own eyes drooped. As each day passed, his fortitude fed the fire of my hope. He had a core of great strength. Many had succumbed to less within days, but Jesse continued to fight, and so would I.
With my eyes closed, I fanned myself with a rag, trying to forget the room’s sticky discomfort. Just as my head began to droop, a raspy voice called my name. The sound startled me wide awake. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether the voice had been real or come from a dream until I looked at Jesse’s face.
He stared at me, blinking as though trying to clear his vision. Through cracked and peeling lips, he whispered a single word. “Thirsty.”
I took a clean bandage and poured water from the pitcher over it. First, I pressed a wet cloth to his lips. Then I held the cup to his mouth with a shaking hand. He took a sip and swallowed. The sight heartened me more than anything. Dribbling liquid into his mouth with a spoon could not have provided for his body’s needs much longer.
Jesse’s eyes were clear, although he stumbled over each word as would one after waking from a long slumber. “What happened?”
“You’ve been very ill. Your mother brought you here so I could take care of you.”
Though I could see the effort cost him, he nodded. My heart raced, hoping this might be the turning point in his recovery and an answer to my prayers.
Papa sent for Dr. Lykins, who arrived soon after. He listened to Jesse’s chest, frowned, and pronounced him out of immediate danger. Mama sent a telegram to Zerelda in Kearney.
Jesse had turned a corner. From that day forward, he improved, and though he was eager to be well, he restrained his own impatience and followed the doctor’s orders. He stayed in bed, although I saw his fingers pluck at the bedclothes and his gaze wander to the window.
Zerelda arrived at the boarding house one day short of the two weeks she’d predicted. Her elation at finding her son alive and lucid seemed to vibrate through every part of her being, and she hugged me in a crushing embrace.
“You’ve done it, Zee. You saved our boy. I knew if anyone could get him well, it would be you.”
I smiled at her use of the word “our”. Perhaps now he did belong, at least a little, to both of us.
At the sight of his mother’s jubilation, Jesse’s lips curved up.
“I wasn’t ever alone, Ma. I could feel someone watching over me every minute. No medic on earth could have been as dedicat
ed to an unruly patient as Zee has been.”
Zerelda’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and she patted my hand. “Thank you for what you’ve done. Your mother told me you stayed by his side day and night.”
“I promised to do anything necessary to help him get well, Aunt Zerelda, and I always keep my word.”
She touched a sunflower sitting in a pitcher next to Jesse’s bed and sighed, looking wearier than I’d ever seen her. Something troubled her still.
“Tell us, Aunt, how did you find the farm when you went home?”
Her nostrils flared. “The grounds are overgrown with weeds and brush. Part of the house was burned and part of it torn to pieces. We need to repair the damages and there’s work to be done so the fields will be ready for planting next spring. Yet it will lighten my soul to have Jesse back home with me.”
An idea occurred to me and I cleared my throat. “Dr. Lykins says Jesse will still need a great deal of nursing care and a long rest before he can leave his bed. With so many other tasks for you to do, you may want to think about letting him stay here until he gains more strength.”
I knew Mama would be horrified at my suggestion, but since she wasn’t present to hear my words, it pleased me to plant the notion in Zerelda’s head.
My aunt twisted her wedding ring and stared out the window. Jesse caught my eye and winked. “She’s right, Ma. I can’t lie in bed like a baby and give you more work to do than you already have.”
Zerelda pinched the top of her nose before replying. “It’s true enough I’m distracted by it all. I’m not even sure where we’d put you until the house is fully repaired. Yes. Much as I’d like to take you home now, I’ll go ask Mary for a few more weeks. I don’t want you to have another setback because we’ve moved you too soon.”
Never one to hesitate after coming to a decision, she put one hand on her hip and marched from the room to speak with Mama. I knew their conversation would be brief. Not even Mama would consider refusing her request.
Jesse smiled and reached for my hand. “If I have to lie in bed, I’d rather do it here. You’re more fun to talk to than Ma.”
The awkward compliment brought heat to my face. “As you well know, there hasn’t been much talking of late. You’ve been asleep a long time and have been quite spoiled, indeed. When you regain some of your strength, you shan’t be mollycoddled another moment.”
“I don’t know about that. Something tells me you enjoy being the best nursemaid a man could have.”
He laughed out loud at the look on my face and then winced, his hand clenched hard around mine.
At that moment, Zerelda bustled back into the room. Her eyes widened, and she lifted a brow before aiming a lengthy stare in my direction.
“Mary has agreed. We’ve arranged for Jesse to stay at least three more weeks. Longer if need be, depending on how he gets along. I’ll be over to check on him as often as I can. I do not want my son to overstay his welcome.”
Her tone was brisk, but I didn’t stare at the floor as had been my practice in the past when she entered a room. In my childhood, Zerelda’s commanding presence had tied my tongue, but today my eyes met hers before I excused myself so she and Jesse could visit in private.
The kitchen smelled of wood smoke and fresh bread. I sank into a chair at our battered oak table, famished and exhausted. Mama stirred a pot she had filled with tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes from the garden, and my mouth watered at the aroma of vegetables simmering in broth.
She turned from the kettle to me and placed her arms akimbo. “Zee, we need to talk about this. Papa and I are still concerned you are spending too much time with Jesse. Since he appeared close to death, we felt it best to say nothing. But now that his health has turned for the better, I will take responsibility for him and Aunt Susan will help me. I appreciate your deep concern for your cousin, but it’s not seemly for a young woman to spend so much time alone with a man whose health is no longer precarious.”
“Don’t speak of him as though he has no name, Mama. I’m sorry, but I don’t intend to put anyone else in charge. Jesse feels better when I’m with him, and the better he feels, the sooner he’ll get well.”
She took a deep breath at my brazenness and paused as though counting to ten before speaking. “Very well, but I insist there are things you must not do. Only Susan or I will bathe him and help him with the chamber pot. An unmarried girl should not touch the body of a man in such a way.”
I refrained from telling her that I, not Aunt Susan, had already bathed most of Jesse’s bare skin when fever took hold of him, and during times when he needed cleaning. I’d been far too worried to concern myself with proprieties. In truth, being familiar with his body had become natural. But some things, I knew, were best not shared with one’s mother. I wasn’t even yet ready to talk about it with Lucy.
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”
As I hoped, my answer satisfied her. She turned back to the stove and spoke in her usual brisk fashion. “You stay here and eat some soup. Then rest. It won’t do to have two people in the house who need nursing. Besides, Papa will be preaching tomorrow, and he’d like it if you were there.”
For once, we were in agreement. She placed a bowl of soup and a slice of warm bread in front of me, and I eagerly finished both. With a full stomach and the beacon of hope refreshed, I went to my room. Jesse would be in good hands with his mother. Zerelda could take my place until she left to go home.
I lay in my bed and remembered the look Jesse gave me. A prickling sensation raced through my body. My face, arms, legs, and even my toes tingled. I forced myself to ignore the strange feelings, closed my eyes, and tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep.
At some point, exhaustion took over. I woke in the morning, and the wisps of a pleasant dream lingered. But hard as I tried, I couldn’t recapture any of its details.
8
Almost a month had passed since Jesse came back to our home. He’d turned an important corner, but he was not out of the woods yet. He would improve enough to sit up, then sink back into lethargic weakness. My emotions followed the path of his well-being, either bursting with elation or dropping into despair. Dr. Lykins cautioned that he fared as well as could be expected given the nature of his injury, and that our most important job was to make sure he rested so all his energy could be used to recover.
Jesse’s conduct fluctuated as much as his body. On good days, he would gamely chew and swallow each bite I fed him. Other days, he seemed unwilling to even attempt lifting his hand. Yet difficult as his illness was for all of us, I knew Jesse chafed under his weakness more than anyone else.
One early October day, after a brief visit from Frank, Jesse became increasingly morose. “I could be out helping protect us from the Union’s Reconstruction rather than lying around here like I’m older than Methuselah. Frank is doing his part. I want to do mine.”
He pushed away the tray of food I’d brought him and fixed his gaze on the window.
“Jesse, it does you no good when you refuse to eat. How will you ever regain your strength without food?”
“It doesn’t seem to make much difference. I’m tired of doing what I’m supposed to do and not getting better.”
I set the tray on his bedside table. There were times when Jesse acted much younger than his age, yet I tried to understand. For such a young man, he’d lived an amazingly independent life, traveling in primitive forests and along backcountry roads. I knew the hard set to his jaw came from the experience of riding with border raiders, and I imagined it was torture for him to lie in bed and be reliant on others.
My musing sparked an idea.
“How would you like to go outside? I can help you to the porch. There’s a comfortable rocking chair to sit in and feel the sun on your face.”
His lips curved up, and I recognized a boyish gleam in his eyes.
“Can I? Would it be all right?”
“Eat your lunch, and I’ll help you outside. If this adventure does as much good
for you as I think it might, perhaps your mother won’t be so angry when she finds out I let you leave bed against doctor’s orders.”
I had yet to see Jesse clean his plate with such enthusiasm. Once he’d finished every bite, he swiped his hand across his lips.
“I’m ready. Let’s do it now before you change your mind.” I helped him swing his legs over the side of the bed. The edges of his lips whitened.
“Are you sure you feel strong enough? We could try again tomorrow.”
“No. I want to go outside now.”
I lifted his arm and draped it across my shoulders.
“On the count of three, we’ll stand up. One … two … three.”
Jesse struggled to his feet, leaning most of his weight on me. Despite how thin he’d become, I was still much smaller, but if sheer determination counted for anything, we would both stay upright.
In a shuffle step interrupted by a pause every few moments, we made slow progress outside the bedroom, through the parlor, and onto the front porch. Jesse dropped into the rocking chair, pale and winded, perspiration dotting his forehead. After my own breath returned to normal, I checked his wound and was relieved to see no fresh red seeping through the bandage. With a blanket folded across his knees against the cool autumn air, Jesse closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sun as though he’d forgotten its warmth. He sat that way in silence for several minutes until color returned to his cheeks.
When he opened his eyes, new hope stirred in them. “Thank you, Zee. This makes me feel as though there’s a chance someday I’ll be well again, sitting on my horse, and doing what needs to be done.”
A long-absent spark brightened his eyes and lifted my heart higher than a thin summer cloud. “I’m glad. You needed to see what made you who you are. Lying in a bed for weeks has sapped your strength and your will. From now on, we’ll venture outside as often as you wish no matter what anyone else says. It’s what you need. It’s what will save you.”
