This Time Forever

by Linda Swift

  She could sympathize with Malcolm's reference to tedious preparation as that was exactly her own sentiments concerning her confinement these last months. And even though she dreaded the actual ordeal of childbirth, she was eager to be done with it and able to go about freely again. The interim since Malcolm's departure would have been truly unbearable without the company of Angeline and the comforting presence of Polly whose experience in birthing babies had been her only source of knowledge. It would have been improper to discuss the coming event with Florence Wakefield and none of the other young women of her acquaintance had borne a child.

  The baby kicked against her rib cage and she winced at the force of it and placed a hand over her swollen abdomen. She wondered if she carried a boy or a girl, and who the child would resemble. With Malcolm's approval, she had decided upon a name for both which would honor their fathers and mothers, but since her own mother's name was a combination of Angeline's and hers, she had chosen to substitute Matilda's name instead.

  "Clarissa, there you are." Angeline walked toward the gazebo, her face flushed from the heat in spite of the bonnet she wore. "Polly said I'd find you here but I couldn't believe you'd be outside on this sweltering day."

  She stepped into the shade and sat down on the bench opposite her sister. "See what came in the latest mail. A letter from Nathan." She waved the envelope and then withdrew a letter and began to read aloud.

  "Manassas, Virginia, July 10, 1861. My dearest Angeline. It seems an eternity since we said goodbye and almost as long since I last heard from you. I miss you more each day and dream of you every night. I'm counting the hours until we can be together again, and I hope that you are longing as much as I for the time when we can become man and wife."

  Angeline stopped and looked at Clarissa. "He writes such romantic letters, doesn't he?" At Clarissa's nod, she continued reading.

  "This will be a brief letter because we are preparing for battle. Unfortunately, our Negroes have deserted since we left Richmond, so we must do everything for ourselves now. Union troops are reported to be moving toward our encampment and we are fortifying ourselves for their attack. We hadn't planned to engage the enemy quite so soon but now the matter is out of our hands, so we will meet them head-on and force their surrender. If all goes well, we are likely to move on Washington and the war should be over sooner than we expected, and I'll be with you again, my dear Angeline. I miss my cousins since we've each been assigned to separate companies, but we remain in the same regiment and will surely be together in battle. Pray for a glorious victory for the Confederacy. And if I should die, know that my heart goes with you, my love. Your most faithful servant, Nathan Forsythe."

  Angeline folded the letter and wiped a tear from her eye. "The letter is dated more than two weeks ago, and it's as we had feared. They were there, at Bull Run, in the thick of battle and we've heard nothing of them since."

  "But word has come through of those killed or wounded, Angeline, so we can assume they're all safe," Clarissa assured her with more confidence that she felt. The Clarion had reported heavy battle casualties and she knew it took a long time to identify the bodies mangled in combat. She tried to shut out the disturbing image. "You're right. It is too hot to be out here. Let's go inside and have Polly bring us some mint tea."

  When Clarissa stood, a rush of warm liquid flowed from her, soaking her pantalets. Wide-eyed with alarm, she gasped and reached for her sister's arm. "Angeline, help me to the house, quickly."

  "What's wrong, sister?" Angeline hastily tucked her letter inside her skirt pocket and put an arm around Clarissa's waist.

  "The baby. I think it's time." A sudden sharp pain gave her certain proof of it.

  "Here, lean on me," Angeline urged as they began to move slowly toward the house, pausing halfway when another pain left Clarissa breathless.

  As they reached the veranda, Clarissa made her way to the nearest wicker chair and sank into it. "Go fetch Polly. I'll wait here."

  "But I can't leave—"

  "Go, now!" Clarissa bent and clutched her middle as another hard pain struck.

  "Polly! Polly!" Angeline screamed as she ran through the house.

  "What is it, Miss Angeline?" Polly appeared at the head of the stairs with a stack of bedclothes in her arms.

  "It's Clarissa. It's—she's—the baby's coming."

  "Lord a'mercy, why didn't you say so, Miss Angeline?" Polly flung the freshly-ironed sheets in all directions as she raced down the stairs. "Where is she?"

  "Out there," Angeline motioned toward the veranda.

  Polly flew past her and out the door. "Missa, why you sittin' out here? You got to come to bed. Here, let me help you." She put an arm around her mistress and helped her to stand. "There, now, we'll just get you up these stairs and into bed. Here, Miss Angeline, you get on the other side and help us up the steps now."

  Making their way around the scattered sheets, they managed to reach the second floor. Then with both Polly and Angeline assisting, Clarissa was relieved of her day dress and petticoats and ushered into the high canopy bed. "Miss Angeline, go tell Harriet to boil water. Lots of water. And tell Miz Florence to send Napoleon for the doctah, quick."

  "But I thought you—" Clarissa began.

  "Masta Josiah's orders, Missa. He said this baby be brought into the world by a real doctah so nothing doan happen. Not that anything be going to," she hastily added at Clarissa's apprehensive look.

  Clarissa bit her lip to keep from yelling as she felt a strong contraction. They were coming closer together and she knew that meant it wouldn't be long now. It was impossible to lie in one position and she turned first one way, then another, until Polly scolded her to be still.

  "Don't jump around so, Missa. You be needing your strength before long."

  Angeline returned, followed by Florence Wakefield.

  "Harriet's boiling the water, Polly. Betsy will be up with it directly. And Luke has gone to fetch the doctor." She came closer to the bed. "Clarissa, dear, is there anything I can do for you?"

  Clarissa shook her head through clenched teeth.

  "Then I'll wait downstairs for Doctor Davis." Florence stopped at the bedroom door. "Oh, Polly? Do you know why sheets are draped all over the steps?"

  "Yes'm. I be gatherin' them up right away."

  Polly poured cool water from the pitcher on the washstand into its matching bowl, then dipped a cloth and partially wrung it out. "Here, Miss Angeline, you wipe Missa's face with this rag while I see about them sheets."

  Suddenly, a white-hot pain ripped at Clarissa's abdomen and she involuntarily arched her back and screamed.

  "Oh, lord a'mercy," Polly groaned. "This baby not going to wait for no doctah." She crossed to the bed and lifted the sheet and did a quick appraisal of the progress of Clarissa's labor. "Miss Angeline, go get that water, quick! Missa, don't move, now. Just keep your legs together and try not to let that baby come till we get ready for it."

  Clarissa tried to do as she was told but the incessant pounding between her legs forced them open. She writhed and screamed again, gripped Polly's arms and pushed against the agonizing blows that assaulted the opening of her womb, wave after wave, until she was drowning in pain. Barely conscious now, she felt herself being stretched, heard Polly's urging, then went limp.

  "It's here, Missa. You got a fine baby."

  The room grew quiet. Something was wrong. She tried to focus on what was happening, but she was so tired and there was a throbbing ache between her legs.

  "Breathe, breathe," Polly chanted like a prayer.

  "Here's the wa—" Angeline's voice broke the silence.

  "Stay out, Miss Angeline!" Polly grabbed the baby by its ankles, swung it upside down. "Breathe," she demanded of the lifeless form. She freed one hand and slapped its buttocks. The baby gagged, choked. "Breathe!" Polly slapped it again—hard. It coughed up mucus, hiccoughed, cried.

  "Thank you, Lord," Polly said humbly as she clutched Clarissa's child in triumph; then laid i
t upon her flattened abdomen and cut the umbilical cord that bound them together.

  Clarissa felt the warm body pressed against her and struggled to open her eyes.

  "You have a fine baby, Missa," Polly repeated. "A baby boy."

  "Oh, Polly," Clarissa smiled weakly, "you saved my baby's life. How can I ever thank you?"

  "No need for that, Missa. I'm jes glad that doctah didn't get here sooner. He mighta got in my way."

  Polly took the baby and gave it to Betsy who had brought clean sheets, then she bathed Clarissa, and stripped the bed.

  "Polly, the doctor is here," Angeline called from the door.

  "Well, send him up," Polly beamed proudly, "to meet Masta Robert Josiah Wakefield."

  Doctor Davis pronounced both mother and son in no danger and complimented Polly on her quick thinking in saving the baby's life; then Angeline and Florence Wakefield were permitted to come in. After duly admiring her first grandchild, Florence accompanied the doctor downstairs to send word to her husband, but Angeline sat down beside the bed.

  "Was it terrible, sister?" she asked softly.

  "Oh, no," Clarissa assured her dreamily. "And did you see his beautiful brown eyes?"

  "Polly says all babies have dark eyes at first. But I think his hair will be the color of Malcolm's."

  "Yes, it does look kind of reddish-brown, doesn't it?"

  Polly returned with the baby and laid him in Clarissa's arms. "Miz Florence sent for a wet nurse, Missa. You can hold him till she come."

  "My baby doesn't need a wet nurse." She unbuttoned her dimity gown and guided the baby's mouth to her nipple. At once, he began to suckle at her full breast and she sighed with contentment. "I will feed my baby."

  "It ain't proper, Missa."

  "Then I just won't be proper, Polly, because my mind is made up."

  Polly shook her head and rolled her eyes at Angeline, but Clarissa lay holding her new son, oblivious to the look that passed between the two. For the first time in her life, she had broken the rules of society; perhaps the act marked her passage into womanhood.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Oswego, August 1861

  In the cluttered office of the Oswego Daily News, Philip concluded his report of the recent battle in which the Union Army had endured such humiliating defeat. "And that's the way it was and why I've come home to enlist your help."

  "And you shall have it, dear Philip," Virginia assured him quickly. "We'll run a story tomorrow, relating all the suffering you've described so vividly, and medical supplies should come pouring in immediately."

  Edward nodded. "It's a disgrace. No wonder people are calling for McDowell's resignation. The pompous idiot doesn't have the sense to fight his way out of a paper bag."

  "Now Edward, the army is just a bunch of untrained and unruly recruits. Give the man a chance to plan his strategy. He needs support, not criticism."

  "Just the same, this ungodly war is dragging on far too long to suit me," Edward grumbled.

  "And me," Philip admitted, "but we have to finish what we've started, and I think everyone underestimated how long the Confederacy could last."

  "Have you spoken to Mother Burke about enlisting the Ladies Aid Society in your cause, Philip?" Virginia asked, as she poured more coffee in each of their cups.

  "Yes, Mother and Dorothea have already planned a special meeting tomorrow night and I'm to be the speaker."

  "Wonderful. We'll be sure to include that in tomorrow's edition also."

  "I'm certain they'll tell you all the details at dinner tonight," Philip said as he rose to leave.

  "Will Katherine Kingsley be there?" Virginia asked with a sparkle in her brown eyes.

  "I believe Mother has invited her," Philip answered, not meeting his sister-in-law's speculative gaze.

  Bidding Edward and Virginia farewell until evening, he walked out into the mid-day sun. Surrounded by the clean, orderly town, Philip felt a moment of deep regret that he was only home for a few days and then must return to the squalor and confusion of army life in Washington. By now he would have established his practice, perhaps even been married to Katherine. Instead he was in a hellish limbo due largely to his own altruistic impulsiveness.

  An image of Katherine came to his mind. He hadn't yet seen her since his return late last night and he was looking forward to their meeting this evening with increasing anticipation. Was she really as attractive as he remembered her? And would she be as receptive to his courtship in the flesh as she'd seemed to be in their frequent correspondence?

  Philip turned toward the harbor, breathing deeply of the fresh air blowing off the dark blue water. How often he and his older brothers had played at war inside the stone walls of Fort Ontario. How little they had known about the realities of battle. His steps halted at land's end, and he gazed toward the horizon, wondering if the day would come when the city would again fear attack from an enemy, this time not from across the water but from their own countrymen. That must never happen—it was the reason why he'd re-enlisted and he'd not regret it. Those he loved—and the life he loved—must be kept safe.

  • ♥ •

  Elijah, grinning from ear to ear, held Philip’s freshly pressed blue jacket for him. "It’s mighty good to have you home, sir."

  "And good to be home, Elijah." Philip slipped his arms into the coat and absent-mindedly fastened the brass buttons.

  "Will you be staying long, sir?" Elijah brushed a speck of lint from the dark cloth.

  "Only as long as it takes to collect a decent cache of medical supplies and secure pledges for more to follow."

  "Then I’ll pray the Lord to harden the hearts of all the people, so it takes a long time to do the job, sir."

  With an appreciative chuckle, Philip clapped a hand on the servant’s shoulder. "Yes, do that."

  As he descended the quiet stairs, Philip could hear the sound of laughter from the drawing room. He quickened his steps, anxious to see if Katherine Kingsley was among those present.

  "Ah, Philip. Here you are," Thomas came forward to greet his brother with a handshake. "Welcome home."

  Philip exchanged greetings with the other members of his family, but his attention was riveted to Katherine who stood waiting beside her sister Dorothea. She wore a lavender dress of some flowing material that caressed her curves in an enticing way and brought out the highlights of her thick brown hair, making it glint in the lamplight. It was with satisfaction that Philip realized she was even lovelier than he remembered her. Taking her hands in his, he returned her warm smile. "Katherine. It’s good to see you."

  "And you, Philip."

  Her voice was low and husky with emotion and his heart lurched with a feeling that was unfamiliar. Could it be love? It was certainly not the same as the lust he had felt for a few other women in his limited experience with the opposite sex.

  Parson announced dinner just then and Philip released Katherine’s hands and offered his arm, and together, they followed the others into the dining room. Mattie had outdone herself or at least it seemed so to Philip. Beef Wellington, crusty hot bread, and a colorful array of fresh vegetables brought a sigh of appreciation from Philip and he ate ravenously. In this serene setting with its abundance of food and fellowship it was hard to even imagine that the country was engaged in war.

  By unspoken agreement, no mention of the conflict was made, and Philip joined in the conversation about mundane things, but he was only aware of the woman who sat beside him whose breasts thrust enticingly with each quick breath she took. He imagined touching the mounds of firm flesh that were chastely covered by the bodice of her gown and felt a tightening in his loins. It was this surge of libido that strengthened his resolve to explore the matter of his future with Katherine while he was here.

  After dinner, the men of the family retired to the library for their customary drinks and cigars. While lighting up, William broached the subject that had been on all their minds. "What is the news of the fighting, Edward?"

  "Nothing of
consequence, Father. McClellan remains as indecisive as ever, letting the Confederacy grow stronger every day while he procrastinates."

  "And Beauregard remains a hero for chasing the glorious Army of the Potomac back to Washington," Thomas scoffed.

  "The army isn’t trained or equipped for battle," Philip argued.

  "And it’s left to conscientious soldiers like you to beg civilians for what should be provided by our government of bungling fools who are fighting among themselves over how to conduct the war." William took an angry puff on his cigar. "It isn’t necessary that you do this, Philip." He surveyed his youngest son thoughtfully.

  "It is if I want to go into battle prepared to save the wounded, Father."

  "No, no, I don’t mean collecting provisions, son. I was speaking of a discharge in order to perform your duties here."

  "But I’m not needed here, Father."

  "With a large enough contribution to the war effort, I could arrange it."

  "You mean buy a discharge for me? I won’t have you pay and let the less fortunate fight my battle for me."

  "But that’s just the point, little brother. It is not your battle. You’re a surgeon, with a bright future. Why throw it all away because of this—this damnable bloody war?"

  Philip looked at Edward sadly. "You are with Father on this? I thought you of all people would understand."

  "I have never understood your need to throw yourself into the fire, Philip," Edward said in exasperation. "As I’ve told you before, this is not an adventure all young men should experience."

  "Well said," Thomas added. "Philip, we all feel that you could better serve your country by settling down and starting your practice here at home."

  "That’s what I want, too, in due time, brother. But for now, I have a commitment to fulfill."

  "Confound it, Philip!" William slammed his glass down on a nearby table, making the other objects there reverberate. "What good is all the money I’ve accumulated if I can’t protect my own sons from being slaughtered?"