by Marian Wells
“Olivia, we can get along without you.”
She focused on his face and blinked. “No I’ll stay. I can’t go up to that room now. Don’t you see? I’ll be more alone than ever. It’s better if I stay down here. My husband is dead, really dead, and now I think I’d better accept it.”
****
Alex got to his feet and moved around the damp, filthy concrete prison. His foot touched flesh. “Watch where you’re going,” came the snarl.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “My legs are cramping.”
The man grumbled, “This hole will kill us all.”
The close-packed group shifted, and the fetid odor of disease, human waste, and unwashed bodies assaulted Alex’s nostrils. He heard, “How long does it take to die in a place like this?”
Alex peered at the man who had spoken. “Aw, Stenson! You’ve got to want to live. I don’t think a one of us is beyond survival unless we give up.” Thoughtfully he added, “I think the Lord still has things for me to do. I’m hoping to go home, to see my wife and our baby born last March. It’s hard, but trusting God is the only thing that counts.”
He paused, thinking, “I’ve learned plenty since I’ve been here. I thought life was tough back in camp; now that seems wonderful. Plenty to eat, freedom—”
“Why don’t you fellows hush it up? It’s getting close to midnight. I need my sleep. Got a field to plow tomorrow.” Silence greeted the feeble joke. For a moment Alex listened to the snores, then carefully made his way to the barred window. The moon was waning, but there was enough light to see trees, buildings, lights glowing in windows, carriages, and the Confederate flag snapping in the breeze.
With his face close to the fresh air, he tried to figure out the days that had passed since the Rebel soldiers had crashed through his post that March night. It could be late May or early June by now.
Arnold joined him at the window. Alex glanced down at the slight man. The moonlight dug dark caverns on the man’s face. “Mind if I join you?”
“Help yourself to some air, so far there’s a decent supply.”
“I could use some water. Alex, you said you’ve learned plenty. What do you mean?”
Alex turned back to the window. “Prison isn’t all bad. Maybe it was good for what ailed me.”
“I can’t see any good in it.”
“Arnold, I realize now I had a pretty childish idea about God. My want list was too long and my give list too short.” He looked at the bony face and continued, “I’d been complaining to the Lord about a number of things back in camp. Now there’s real peace in me, knowing God has all this under His control. In addition to His promises—”
“He’s made promises for this?”
“Yes. He promises that no matter what our circumstances, He will provide a way of escape that will enable us to bear—” Alex stopped suddenly. “But on the other hand, that sounds pretty much as if that’s happening right now. Arnold, I’ve been feeling good about the presence of God, almost content and at peace in this situation because of Him. Now it appears it’s just the working out of those very words, a result we should expect. It’s real, this encounter with God. Do you know that?”
“Yes, but I guess He’s not as real to me as He is to you. I can’t see a way of escape.” His voice dropped dismally. “Earlier this evening, you sounded like you were planning something. Alex, you outta your mind? We’re nigh on to rotting in this place; don’t give us no bright talk now.”
Alex’s voice rose insistently over Arnold’s. “For me it’s confidence in His ability to work out the very best possible solution to all of this. But the peace came when I accepted God’s unknown plan as being worthy of waiting for, with a good deal more serenity than I’m capable of all on my own.”
Arnold moved away. “Guess I’d better lie down; I’m getting fuzzy in the head.”
There was a crunch outside the window. Alex grasped the bars and pulled himself up, panting with the exertion. He saw dark forms, and a slash of white teeth. He grinned and dropped back down.
“What is it?” Arnold asked.
“Might be some slave trying to meet his sweetie under the trees. Might be the same fellow I saw a couple of days ago.”
He heard the crunch again, but was too tired to pull himself up to the bars. Even the squeak of metal didn’t call him back to the window. Alex found a place to lie down and soon was able to sleep.
When he awakened, the moon had spread a path of bright stripes across the roomful of men. Turning on his side, Alex noticed the bands of dark seemed to weight the room with a double burden of bondage. He heard a whisper of feet in the corridor.
Now wide awake, he moved to the barred doorway, hoping for a breath of air. By pressing against the bars he could see down the hallway. At the end there was more light and shadow. A whisper. A darker shadow stopped before the bars, and Alex stepped away from the door. There was a the clink of metal, a grating noise followed by more clinks. The door swung open.
Excitement surged through Alex. A guard, and he doesn’t know I’m here! He raised his fist, took a step, then stopped. Their guard wasn’t a black man, but this man was. The figure slipped through the door.
The man turned and listened. Alex heard quick steps and a strangled exclamation, followed by a dull thud and a muffled plop. The newcomer grabbed Alex. “Ya’ll soldiers? Wanna come out? Follow us.”
For a moment Alex’s hands hung limp. Behind him an incredulous gasp rippled through the room. “Quiet!” he whispered.
Now moving like floating shadows, the men flooded into the hall and out the door. Alex brought up the rear. By the dim light of the lantern, he saw the guard sagging against the door, his blood making a dark puddle around him.
Sucking his lungs full of fresh air, Alex stretched his legs, stepping carefully at first, then hurrying after the dark figure.
Their benefactor was as black as the night and moved as stealthily, leading them behind the line of warehouses along the river. “Go fast!”
They headed for the river. The black man pointed. “Barge,” he breathed. Alex saw a line of dark figures holding the barge steady with poles. Lumber and empty sacks were piled in the center of the barge. The black man gestured, and one by one they slipped into the water, crawled up onto the barge, and crept under the sacks.
Their barge floated into the channel. Alex stretched out beneath a smelly gunny sack and watched the stars while he breathed the musty river air. They were moving eastward, toward the ocean. When the trees along the river thickened and the last barking dog had been left behind, their rescuer beached the barge. “Hurry! Let’s get back into the trees!”
Alex heard the shouts, saw lanterns, and heard the baying of hounds. “Ya’ll hurry straight ahead! There’s more water; we’ll kill the scent before the hounds git here. Move!”
“God!” Alex whispered, knowing only He could get the weakened men safely away.
They followed the shallow creek downstream until their leader climbed up the bank and beckoned them to follow.
When they were deep in the trees, the fellow said, “Union Army, suh; we been watching that prison for some time. Been down in the Carolinas on the islands. Now we’re headed for the West. Before we go, we decided to see if we could pick the locks on that prison.”
“Where do we go from here?”
A voice answered, “I don’t care where you go. I’ve had enough fighting and prison. I’m going over the hill.”
The grin disappeared and the black man said, “You’s free men. If you wanna come with us, we’ll try to get you to the Union men.”
“I’ll take my chances. Thanks for the help, buddy. I’m going home to see my wife and family. Anybody with me?”
Alex clenched his fists and watched shadowy figures move around the speaker. “If’n you’re coming with me,” the black man said, “head this way. We’ve got a goodly march ahead of us just to catch up with the rest of them. Here’s some hardtack and cheese to keep you until breakfast.”
Slowly Alex got to his feet and went to stand with the black man. “Hey, buddy,” a voice called, “thought you said you have a baby you haven’t seen. Come on; you can always come back and fight.”
“Don’t think I will,” Alex said. “I’ll just stick it out. If I go, sure enough, the war could be over before I get back.”
Chapter 37
Olivia walked among the cots, stepping softly to avoid disturbing the sleeping men. Dawn was beginning to touch the eastern windows with pale light.
She turned to nod at Mrs. Thorner as she extinguished the last lamp. Olivia watched the woman walk down the long corridor, her feet dragging with weariness as she went up the stairs to bed. Dr. Whitt finished checking a fresh amputation. Nodding at Olivia, he left. She knew he would be sleeping in the attic of the hospital, ready to come if they needed him. Olivia turned back to her patients.
Billy was awake; she felt his eyes, sensed his restlessness and made her way through the corridor. She bent over him. “Am I going to make it?” he asked.
“If you try. Your fever is down, but you haven’t been eating. How about some milk?” He started to shake his head, but closed his eyes and nodded.
Olivia carried a mug of milk to him and lifted his shoulders. She watched him struggle with the milk. Smiling down at him, she pushed the red curls off his forehead. He studied each detail of her face. “You’re always here, except when that girl comes. Is she your sister?” Olivia shook her head and held the mug for him. “Do you have a loved one fighting?”
She hesitated. “My brother is in the army.”
“That’s all? I’d guessed you were married, maybe had children.” She bit her lip and blinked back the tears. Billy raised himself on one arm. “I think I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. Is that why you wear that pretty brooch?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “to remember—and strangely, to hope even when there’s no hope. I’ve tried to accept. I just get to the place where it seems real, and then—”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Billy. Sometimes at night the Lord seems unusually close to me. Sometimes I dream—” She got to her feet and tried to smile. “That’s enough for now. I need to bring hot water and washcloths. If you drink enough of that milk, perhaps by next week you’ll be helping me.”
He grinned. “When you talk like that, you remind me of my mother, and I wouldn’t dare disobey her.” He settled back, and she saw the faraway expression in his eyes.
Olivia carried the hot water and cloths to the first bed. “Good morning, Harold,” she whispered to the older man. He would be leaving soon. “The tough ones always make it, don’t they?” she murmured, handing him soap.
“Looks that way,” he muttered. He jerked his head toward Billy. “Those stomach wounds are bad. Poor young’un hasn’t even had a chance at life.”
Blinking at the tears in her eyes, she glanced at the empty bed beside Harold. Roger had been there until last week; now it was waiting for another patient.
Lettie came into the room, picked up a container of hot water, and passed Olivia with a nod and smile.
When Olivia went after the porridge and coffee, Lettie was waiting to help. “What’s the problem?” she asked, picking up the tray of mugs.
“It’s just Billy; I worry about him so much. Lettie, I’m convinced he isn’t trying.”
“Don’t say that.” She stepped close and peered into Olivia’s face. “You agonize over these men. It’s too much. You can love them and care for them, but you must learn to forget them.”
“But not Billy,” Olivia whispered. “Not as long as he’s here.”
“You’ve forgotten how to laugh,” Olivia said and turned away. Lettie added, “Remember, the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
“Nurse! Olivia!” Hearing the shout, she ran. “Something’s come loose,” Harold cried. “Where the doctor amputated—it’s bleeding.”
Maggie rushed past. “The doctor is sleeping; get him!”
Olivia ran. Dr. Whitt met her on the stairs, looked at her face, and took the stairs in a leap.
It was late afternoon when Dr. Whitt leaned back and grinned. “Looks like he’s going to make it. Thanks to you, Harold, we got that artery in time.” He looked at Olivia. “Go take a walk.”
Olivia changed clothes and started toward the park. Just as she rounded the corner, she saw bright red curls bobbing under a parasol coming her way. “Beth!” The girl’s startled face appeared. “I thought you were going to run me through with that parasol.”
“Sorry. I was coming to see you. Didn’t realize it was a dangerous weapon.” Soberly she stared at the tip of her parasol while Olivia watched her.
“Shall we walk in the park? It’s cool under the trees.”
“Yes.” Beth nodded. She glanced at Olivia. “I have some questions to ask. I read those verses last night.”
“Let’s find a bench in the shade, and I’ll answer the best I can,” Olivia murmured. She sat down beside Beth and watched her pull the Bible out of her bag. In an instant, while Beth fumbled through the pages, Olivia remembered Alex’s hands on her Bible, moving down the text with his finger. She could nearly hear his voice. She felt tears spring to her eyes. Olivia sank her teeth into her lip until the pain chased the tears away.
“What does repentance mean?”
Olivia caught her breath. She swallowed hard, and with her voice husky, said, “Alex told me it means to turn around and take the way you should go.”
Beth looked puzzled, but she took out her paper and pencil. She muttered, “Go back the way you should go.” She wrote the words carefully, then looked up at Olivia. “I still don’t understand.”
“God created man to be perfect and holy. When He tells us to repent, He’s saying we should come back to Him, start over again, and learn to be His child.”
“How can that be?”
“Remember, Jesus’ atonement for our sins makes us sinless in God’s sight. Now we only have to live in obedience to Him, just the way He wanted Adam and Eve to live.” Olivia sighed heavily. “Oh, Beth, I’m struggling so hard to say it all. I wish Alex were here to say it better.” She pushed her fingers against her eyes and whispered, “All day it’s been like this. Suddenly it’s difficult to believe he’s gone. I thought I’d struggled to accept for the last time; now it’s more difficult than ever.”
“Would you rather I didn’t ask?” Beth’s voice was low. “I can wait.”
Olivia dropped her hands. “No, you can’t wait. Now, tell me what else is on your mind.”
Beth fumbled with the pencil. “What does it mean to be born again?”
“Oh, from John chapter three. That happens when we accept Christ’s atonement. All things become new in Jesus Christ.” Olivia watched Beth write the phrase on her paper.
Beth lifted her face, frowned, and asked, “What does it mean when it says that if we don’t believe we’re condemned already.”
“Beth, it’s the difference between life and death. We’re pronounced guilty if we don’t believe.” Beth hesitated, then slowly wrote more words on her paper.
“It isn’t complete, but there’s enough for me to recall what you’ve said.”
“Beth, you’re very troubled. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s my problem. I’ve got myself into the mess, and now I’ll have to find a way out.”
Olivia wondered how far she dared probe. Gently she said, “It would be easier if you had God’s help. A child of God needs only to ask.”
“There’s too much. I can’t load you with my problems.”
“Beth, you’ve changed so much in these past months. When you came to Pennsylvania, you were a lighthearted, carefree—”
“Child,” Beth supplied with a bitter smile. “I found out I can’t remain a child forever. I must grow up, or—”
“Or what?” Olivia saw the bleak expression in Beth’s eyes. “Beth, you’re totally mis
erable. Please, wouldn’t talking help?”
Beth shielded her eyes with her hand. “It’s terrible. I just can’t bear to lose your friendship.” She dropped her hand. “Do you know you’re my only real friend?”
“I thought real friends were for times like this.”
“You’re so—holy.”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m only letting God remake me into what He wants. Alex could tell you what a terrible person I was.”
“How do you know what God wants you to be?”
“I don’t, but He says that He’s not going to stop until He’s done or I’m done letting Him.” She smiled briefly and added, “Today was a day I’d like to stop being a nurse. But I’ll keep at it, trying to be what He wants.”
“God makes you?”
“No, God makes me want to do it until I can’t abide not doing it.” Olivia looked at Beth. “We’re trying to address your problem.”
With her head down, Beth muttered, “I did a really terrible thing to a friend. She tried to help me become a better person, and I—Olivia, that isn’t all. Now I’m getting involved in something that’s very bad.”
Olivia sighed. “And I’m supposed to help you with that little information? I say tell your friend you are sorry—if you are. If you are involved with people you shouldn’t be, then get out. But Beth, this is all just my advice. What you really need is—”
“I need God. Right?” Beth’s voice was bitter. “Olivia, I don’t think I want God until I’m ready to die.”
“And if you come to Him then, you’ll realize He intended to help you live. Surely that’s the worst part of dying for a Christian—not having given God a chance to do with us all that He planned from the very beginning of time.”
There were tears in Beth’s eyes. She got up, shook her head, and charged down the path to the street. When she disappeared from sight, Olivia slowly stood and began her walk back to the hospital. Dear Lord, something is terribly wrong. Please help Beth. Don’t let her destroy herself.
****
The following day Billy died. At breakfast time, with a mug of milk in her hand, Olivia bent to lift his head. There was a trace of blood on his colorless lips. He smiled and tried to speak.
