Second Chance Love

by Shannon Farrington

  “How about a slice of raisin pie?” she asked.

  David doubted he could even handle the chicken. “I’m certain it is delicious but...I don’t think so...”

  Miss Hastings must have understood, for she smiled sympathetically. David knew she had recently lost a brother herself. “I’ll set aside some food for you to take on the train,” she promised.

  He thanked her politely and then moved to the dining area. As he stepped into the once elegant room, he couldn’t help but notice some of the flocked wallpaper was peeling. In another corner, a piece of crown molding was loose. With Elizabeth’s father having passed four years ago and her brother somewhere south of the Potomac, the absence of any male presence to maintain the house was beginning to show.

  David wondered why Jeremiah had not seen to such things before falling ill. I suppose he and Elizabeth had far more on their minds than household repairs. Shoving the thought aside, he scanned the faces in the room. His fellow mourners were gathered in tight groups of conversation. Hushed whispers drifted about. Most of the words centered on his brother and Elizabeth.

  At the far end of the room several hospital physicians had collected along with a few members of David’s regiment who, like him, had completed their enlistment and were about to return home. Though he appreciated their presence, he had no desire to speak with any of them at the moment. The only person with whom he did truly wish to speak did not wish for him to do so.

  Claiming a spot on the window ledge, he tried to force down the chicken. He soon felt nauseous and wondered if it was the chicken or the thought of Elizabeth remaining in perpetual mourning.

  “I wanted to thank you.”

  Dr. Evan Mackay’s voice broke in to his thoughts. David looked up to see the Scottish-born physician once again standing before him. He quickly stood and reached for the man’s outstretched hand.

  “I am humbled that you selected me as one of the pallbearers.”

  All the other men David had chosen had each expressed the same sentiment. They considered it an honor to provide final escort for one of their comrades.

  “You are soon leaving for the train station?” the army physician asked.

  David checked his watch. It was nearly three o’clock. “Yes. Within the hour.”

  Dr. Mackay nodded, then glanced quickly about, as if what he were about to say was to be held in strict confidence. “I would advise against Miss Martin accompanying the body to the station.”

  “Why is that?” David asked.

  “I don’t believe she is up for the task. My wife is with her now.” He leveled his gaze. “You should go to her.”

  “Go to her?”

  The Scotsman nodded. “See for yourself.”

  Though the man was no longer David’s superior, the instinct was still there to follow his commands. Especially since David knew the order was surely given out of concern for Elizabeth, for the doctor’s wife and she were close friends. Still, he balked.

  You’re the physician and family friend. If she is having difficulty in some way, what can I do? She doesn’t want to see me. It isn’t my place.

  Yet Dr. Mackay stared at him as if it were. David then realized, with Elizabeth’s father dead and her brother away at war, he was the closest she had to any male relative. As much as she may wish for him to leave her alone, it was his duty today to look after her.

  Handing the physician the plate of chicken, David walked toward the parlor. The light was dim. The house was shuttered, and many of the windows were draped in black. The fires were lit, but winter’s chill still invaded every space. Appropriately, the place felt like a tomb.

  Rounding the corner he found Elizabeth seated before his brother’s casket. Mrs. Mackay was beside her.

  “But you know we must,” he heard her say.

  Seeing Elizabeth’s head bowed, her shoulders shaking, pierced David’s heart. She had held her composure for so long, but here in the final moments it was crumbling. Quietly he approached. Tears streaked her face, but her eyes were as sharp as steel.

  “No, David. Not yet. I won’t let you take him.”

  She thought he had come to begin the processional. Now he knew why Dr. Mackay thought it unwise for her to go to the train station.

  She cannot bring herself to say goodbye.

  He knelt before her. “Elizabeth, I want to...help.”

  “Haven’t you done enough already?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he clearly heard the anger. “You caused this!”

  Guilt and grief rained down upon him. He felt torn between allowing her privacy and remaining with her. He foolishly chose the latter.

  “Elizabeth, I’m sorry... I never should have interfered.”

  “If you had left well enough alone, he would have married me. Things would have turned out differently. I know they would have. We would have been...so...”

  Happy, he thought.

  Anger gave way to anguish. Great sobs shook her entire frame. Mrs. Mackay immediately took Elizabeth in her arms and tried to soothe her. Frozen in his place, David wished there was something he could do to ease her pain.

  “I loved him!” Elizabeth cried.

  “And he, you,” Mrs. Mackay whispered. “No one on this earth could have loved you more.”

  That isn’t true, David thought. That isn’t the whole story. Suddenly he wanted her to know why he had done what he did. He wanted to tell her he’d been in love with her from the moment she first walked in to his ward. His mind told him the confession would bring relief to him, but he knew for her, it would only bring more pain. So, he kept his mouth shut. Just like he had done every other time she was near him.

  By now her cries had drawn the attention of the entire house. Her mother, sister and her other friends soon surrounded them. Trudy looked at him, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and pity. “Don’t worry, David. We’ll take care of her.”

  “No,” Elizabeth cried.

  “Let him see to Jeremiah,” Miss Hastings insisted. “It is what is best.”

  “No...”

  “Come with us, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Mackay gently urged.

  The women pulled her to her feet, escorting her to the staircase. He watched helplessly as Elizabeth disappeared in a swirl of hazy black crepe.

  “David,” he then heard her mother quietly say, “perhaps it would be best if you now see to your brother.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He did not have to search far for the other men. Elizabeth’s cries had drawn each of them to the parlor, as well. In quiet reverence the pallbearers took their places alongside Jeremiah’s casket. David claimed his position at the head of the processional, his body and mind now numb.

  Jeremiah’s flag-draped coffin was carried through the front door, the barren garden and out to the street. Carefully it was placed in the hearse. The pallbearers and remaining men then formed a line behind the black-adorned carriage. All of the women had elected to stay behind. David wondered if they were still surrounding Elizabeth. Were they offering words of comfort to her, words he could not give? Words she would not accept from him?

  He glanced toward the upstairs windows. Part of him wished to return to the house, seek her out, if only to say goodbye. The rest of him knew it was better this way.

  Just then, Mrs. Martin stepped from the porch and embraced him. “God keep you, David,” she whispered. “May He ease your troubled heart.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, “I wish there was something I could do...”

  “I know you do, son, but there is nothing to be done. Return to your home, and may God keep you from any more sorrow.”

  Not knowing what else to say, he respectfully kissed her cheek, then directed the men to move. The processional made its way through the slush-covered streets toward the train station.
As they passed through Monument Square, carriages halted. The citizens of Baltimore removed their hats out of respect for the fallen Union soldier, although in all probability many of them had advocated secession. Honoring a life took precedence over politics this day, yet the gesture offered David little comfort. He wondered how many more funerals this city would witness before this war was over.

  At the President Street station, Jeremiah’s casket was loaded on to a freight car. His fellow soldiers offered a last salute, and the men of Baltimore, their final condolences. David then boarded the northbound train, solemnly claiming a seat.

  Within a few moments he heard the whispers around him. Though the mood was still somber, his fellow Massachusetts comrades were speaking of what they would do when they reached Boston. David tried to focus his thoughts forward, as well, reminding himself that he also was going home.

  But I am returning alone...

  The car lurched forward as the train began to roll. The coal yards, docks and military fortifications soon gave way to snow-covered fields and ice-encased forests. Glass-like icicles dangled from bare tree limbs. He tried to focus on the peaceful scene outside his window, but his thoughts kept returning to the anguish Jeremiah had suffered in those final hours. David had been powerless to do anything to help him.

  Elizabeth’s words sliced his soul. “You caused all this!”

  If he could turn the clock back, he would, and this time he would not allow his personal feelings to interfere. He’d swallow his heart and stand beside his brother as he kissed his bride, content to be Elizabeth’s brother-in-law.

  But it is too late. Jeremiah is gone, and Elizabeth will never forgive me.

  His hands began to tremble. How was he to handle returning to Boston? How could he face his family? His parents had not even the luxury of saying goodbye. His sister Clara’s difficult delivery of her first child had kept them from making the journey to Baltimore. He knew his mother and father would not blame him for Jeremiah’s passing. Their telegram had confirmed it. Though they were heartbroken, they accepted their son’s death as “divine will.”

  They will do their best to be grateful for the years Jeremiah was alive, for the memories they have of him. They will encourage me to do the same.

  The memory of Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face, the look in her eyes, once more crossed his mind. His parents had each other. Clara had her husband, Patrick, and their new baby.

  But who will comfort Elizabeth and her family? Who will encourage them?

  As the train chugged northward, he thought of all the things he had seen in her house that required tending. There was woodwork in need of repair, squeaky hinges to be oiled. Seeing to such things would not ease her pain, but it would keep her house in running order...

  He shoved the thought aside as quickly as it came, telling himself any idea of returning to Baltimore was foolish. My interference would not be a comfort to her. I would only add to her grief, and she to mine.

  He told himself she had friends, a church family that cared for her. Surely they had noticed what he had. They will take care of such things. Why, if I know Dr. Mackay as well as I think I do, the man has probably already issued orders for someone to complete the tasks.

  He never wanted to see Baltimore again. He wanted to forget the suffering he had witnessed and experienced there, yet the thought of returning nagged him for miles.

  I have my old job waiting for me back at the Boston Journal. Lord willing, I will use words to shape my country’s future, not bullets. The train crossed the Susquehanna River. Workers were busy harvesting ice. By the thickness of the blocks it looked as though spring would never come.

  But it will come, David thought, and the fighting will resume. More men will be wounded. More men will grow sick. More men will die. With the exception of the Pratt Street Riot, the city of Baltimore had witnessed no battles, only the aftereffects of them. But what if all that was about to change? What if the rebels advance into Union territory? The fortifications around Washington are strong, but what if they circumvent the defenses of the Capitol, setting their sights on Baltimore instead? Who will protect Elizabeth, her sister, her mother?

  If David’s brother had married her, he would have brought Elizabeth back to Boston. Jeremiah had told him he would have convinced her family to come, as well, at least until the war was over.

  She will never leave Baltimore now. Especially not to visit a place that will remind her of things that can never be.

  David shifted uncomfortably in his seat as once again he was reminded of his duty. My duty to see to her welfare does not end with the funeral. It is for as long as this war lasts, or until her own brother returns, whichever comes first.

  He knew what he had to do, and he knew how hard it was going to be. Even so, his mind was made up. He would travel to Boston and bury his brother with honors. Then he would return to Baltimore to look after Jeremiah’s heartbroken bride. After what he had done, he owed them both at least that much.

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth stared at the ceiling, just as she had every day for the past two months. Trudy had brought up a light breakfast of tea, toast and marmalade, but Elizabeth left it untouched. She could not stomach food. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. In her dreams, she lived happily ever after.

  But there is no happily-ever-after.

  The words of the church matrons repeated over and over again in her mind. She’d caught their whispers before she’d made such a fool of herself at the funeral.

  “Such a tragedy...so young...but the best thing she can do is go on with her life. Find herself a new beau.”

  Elizabeth winced and rolled to her side. She did not want to get on with her life. Had she actually been married to Jeremiah, society would have granted her a full year of heavy mourning. But as a fiancée, she was not afforded the same right. Somehow the pain was supposed to be less. Time is moving on. I’m expected to do so, as well.

  Friends and neighbors hinted at such by their constant visits to the house. They wanted to chat with her, take her on some sort of outing. Trudy and her mother were forced to receive them as Elizabeth simply could not. Not an hour passed that she didn’t spend in tears. Crying was simply a way of life now.

  “Oh, Beth, I know it is hard,” her mother said repeatedly, “but you must seek God’s strength. It was the only way I survived your father’s passing.”

  Elizabeth tried, but she had no more prayers to offer. I prayed for Father, but he still died. I prayed for my country, and yet war still came. I prayed George would not have to leave, but he did.

  Like so many others, her brother had been caught up in the states’ rights fervor that had gripped Baltimore after the riot on Pratt Street. When the Confederacy declared independence, President Lincoln had called for soldiers to force the seceding states back into the Union. Finding the thought of firing upon their fellow countrymen appalling, most men from Maryland, including George, ignored the call. Men from Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, however, answered it expediently. Summoned to Washington to protect the capital, they’d passed through Baltimore one fateful April morning.

  As the Northern soldiers had marched to the southbound trains at Camden Street, a small group of citizens gathered around them at Pratt Street. Who started what, the world would probably never know, but insults were exchanged from both sides. Rocks and bottles, in the hands of the locals, began to fly. The Massachusetts men then opened fire. When the musket smoke cleared, eleven Baltimoreans were dead, along with four Northern soldiers. Countless more on both sides had been wounded.

  In the days that followed, the federal army seized control of the city. They’d closed newspapers that held any hint of Southern sympathy, arrested anyone suspected of disloyalty to the Union and instituted martial law.

  Outraged, Elizabeth’s brother, as well as many other men from her M
ount Vernon neighborhood, had slipped out of the city by night and joined Confederate regiments. They’d promised to soon return and deliver Maryland from federal tyranny. Though heartbroken to see him go, Elizabeth had then supported her brother’s decision. She’d loathed those Northern soldiers occupying her city.

  Then I fell in love with one. And I prayed for him, as well...

  Swallowing back her sobs, she rolled to the opposite side of her bed. Sunlight was pushing its way through the shutter slats, testifying that it was now well past noon. Her mother had met with a local businessman that morning in regard to selling what was left of the family silver.

  Elizabeth sighed. I should have accompanied her instead of lying about. As the oldest daughter, even if it is only by a matter of minutes, it is my duty. I shouldn’t be leaving all the housework for Trudy, either.

  She forced herself to rise and put her feet to the floor. Going to the washbasin, Elizabeth splashed water on her face, then stared into the looking glass. Her cheeks were hollow, her color pale and sickly.

  What would Jeremiah think if he saw me like this?

  She tried to ignore the pain the thought provoked, but it was no use. Her tears got the better of her, and she sank to the bed once more.

  * * *

  David had been back in Baltimore for three days and still couldn’t bring himself to make his relocation known to Elizabeth’s family. Mindful of his duty, though, he passed by their house at least twice each day from the far side of the street and witnessed the coming and going of many friends.

  There was little going on with the war at present. The March rains had kept both armies axle deep in mud and unable to fight. All, at least, appeared to be well and safe in Baltimore. David couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that he was supposed to stay.

  He’d sought employment in the only area that truly interested him. He’d gone to the Baltimore Sun and a host of other local newspapers, but no one seemed much interested in hiring a man who’d spent most of his time before the war fetching coffee and sandwiches, or covering the few cast-off assignments the feature reporters didn’t want. Then he came to the Free American.