by Jo Ann Brown
What can I say to him? What can he possibly say to me? Even if he were to apologize, he could never undo what has been done.
She would never forget the day her fiancé came to tell her the wedding would be postponed.
“You want to wait until you finish with the army?” Elizabeth had asked.
“I spoke with David and he had a good point. One never knows what the army may do. I shouldn’t want you to be carrying our child if I am sent to battle...”
Elizabeth had blushed ten shades of crimson. How dare David discuss such intimate details of her and Jeremiah’s life! Her embarrassment had only been surpassed by the fear invoked by the validity of the statement. The thought of Jeremiah leaving the safety of the hospital, of him lying wounded in some blood-crusted field, had made her tremble. Her beloved had immediately realized her distress and taken her in his arms.
“Come now, don’t think of such things... Besides, you know that hospital can’t get along without me. Why, I heard a rumor that next week they are planning on making me chief of surgery!”
The words had been so ridiculous that she’d laughed.
But the merriment could not last for long.
A cold, wet November had brought sickness to the hospital. The army had suspended all liberty passes as pneumonia and other ailments ravaged the wards. Jeremiah had soon fallen ill himself. Elizabeth, frantic with worry, had begged to tend to him. She knew the hospital was short on nurses and her help was surely needed, but because of her brother’s involvement in the Confederate army, and her refusal to disavow him, she wasn’t permitted to step foot on hospital grounds.
It hadn’t been until dear old Dr. Turner, the physician she had once served, pleaded her case to hospital command that she’d been allowed to see her fiancé. David had come to fetch her the night Jeremiah lay dying. By then he’d been too ill to recognize her, let alone speak.
Elizabeth had held his hand those final hours and watched helplessly as he’d slipped into eternity. Her faith had slipped away that night, as well. She felt cheated, in every sense of the word. Cheated by God.
Cheated by him...
David stood before her quietly. His eyes were as blue and clear as Jeremiah’s had once been. Elizabeth didn’t want him anywhere near her, but she forced herself to display customary courtesy. She had to focus on his chin whiskers in order to keep her voice steady. “David, I must thank you for your assistance... I appreciate your willingness to allow a funeral here in Baltimore.”
“It was the least I could do,” he said. “Considering...”
Her heart squeezed again, and she was grateful he didn’t finish the sentence. Instead of claiming the place beside her, he moved to the far end of the receiving line, putting Elizabeth’s mother, Jane, and her sister, Trudy, between them. Her mother tugged on her hand. Elizabeth knew it was both a gesture of comfort and direction.
“It is time, Beth,” she whispered.
Turning to the left, Elizabeth began the difficult task of greeting her guests. All of her closest friends had gathered—Julia and her husband, Samuel Ward, Sally Hastings and Rebekah Van der Geld. Even Emily and her new husband, Dr. Evan Mackay, had come. They had arrived by way of the Washington train early that morning.
Dr. Mackay was first in line. “Your fiancé was a good soldier,” he insisted, “and a fine Christian man.”
Both the compliment and the man’s presence brought a quiver to her chin. Elizabeth fought hard to keep control. Jeremiah had once served in his ward. Dr. Mackay was skilled in treating lung ailments, and Elizabeth had no doubt her fiancé would have survived his illness had this particular physician not been transferred just weeks before to the hospital in Washington.
“May God comfort you in your loss,” Dr. Mackay added.
She had been told by others previously that He would, but so far she was still waiting.
Emily then moved to embrace her. “Don’t concern yourself with anything in the kitchen,” she whispered. “The girls and I will see to everything.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth managed. She was grateful for her friends’ assistance, as well as for the food they had supplied. A proper funeral demands a proper meal. Today should be a day of dignity and respect.
As Emily and her husband moved to her mother, Elizabeth glanced to her left. The queue of mourners stretched throughout the darkened parlor. She willed them to disappear. She did not want their condolences. She did not even want their prayers. What she wanted drove an ache so deep through her body that she feared for a moment her knees were going to buckle. She wanted Jeremiah back.
Get a hold of yourself, she commanded. You must not cry.
She tried to steel her resolve by reminding herself she had but only a few more hours to endure, then she could retreat to the solitude of her room. There she would not be forced to make polite conversation. She could be alone.
“This world will not be the same without him,” she heard Dr. Mackay say to David.
The finality of her fiancé’s death seemed to wrap her in a tight-fitting shroud. It is not just these few hours I must endure, she realized. It is a lifetime. I will never again hear the sound of his laughter, feel his kiss upon my lips. I will never claim his name as my own or hold his child in my arms. My dreams have died with him. I will mourn his loss the rest of my days.
* * *
When the last person had paid their respects, Elizabeth very quickly left the parlor. David wanted to follow after her, but he didn’t dare. He knew she’d prefer to be alone.
As her mother gently laid a hand upon his arm, David turned. The lines around her eyes were far too many for her years. Worry and sorrow had deeply etched their mark.
“Why don’t you go to the kitchen?” she suggested. “Get something to eat.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am, but I’m not that hungry.”
“You must keep up your strength.”
She was concerned for his health, as were many of the ladies here today. Several had been volunteer nurses and apparently thought his welfare was in jeopardy. One had asked if he had enough warm clothing for the journey north. Another if he’d been showing any signs of chills or respiratory illness himself.
David assured them all that physically, he was fine.
To please Mrs. Martin, he went to the kitchen and accepted the piece of fried chicken that Miss Sally Hastings laid upon his plate.
“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 perso
nal 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.
