by Julianne Lee
Then between contractions, for the first time since Lucas joined the Army, Shelby was glad he was somewhere else. This would be so much worse, were she also worried about how he would respond to it. She’d never imagined such pain was possible.
Eventually night fell and Ruth lit candles, the only indication for Shelby that time hadn’t come to a standstill and she was suffering an eternity of torture for all her sins. From then on she had no clue whether time was still passing or had stalled. All she knew was that she was in nearly constant agony and that she was approaching not wanting to live if death would make the pain stop. Her throat was raw. Muscles trembled with exhaustion. Sweat soaked her, and chilled her in the drafty winter room.
Even more awful than the pain was the terror of not knowing what was happening to the baby. With no way of knowing whether the little heart was still beating, she could only hope the child wasn’t dying in the midst of all this.
Finally she felt the baby’s head. She was so excited, she almost forgot to push. Ruth, nearly as excited, lifted the bed sheet and waited between Shelby’s feet. It was on the next push the head popped out entirely. Ruth cried out she could see the face, and the baby’s mouth was moving. Shelby laid a hand over her eyes and began to weep for happiness. Nothing else mattered any more but that the baby was alive. Then, one more enormous, trembling push, and then there was no more pain. She heard a thin, trembling wail, and Ruth informed her, “It’s a boy.”
A boy. A Brosnahan son to carry on after Lucas. Amid the muddled thoughts slogging across her mind, Shelby’s heart lifted. History had changed again, and this time more significantly than just a diary or a wedding. There was a new person in the world now, and he would change things even after both she and Lucas were gone for he had not existed in the original timeline. There had been no Brosnahans in Hendersonville to survive the war, for none had been born. Amos and Gar, or their wives, had been sterile, and Lucas had never married. This little boy was a great, magnificent, wondrous alteration of history. Shelby’s exhausted mind drifted back and forth across the importance of this, but the thing that came most clear was the desire to see his face.
Shelby struggled onto one elbow to see, and was stunned at the tiny, mottled creature before her. Ruth cut the cord with a knife, and immediately handed the child over. Shelby held him in the crook of one arm and lay back on the pillows. The little boy was covered in blood and pale goo, but was obviously healthy and normal. His tiny mouth moved and his nose scrunched up, and his little arms and legs all seemed to work. Covering his head was a sparse but definite black fuzz, as dark as his father’s hair. There was a dim disappointment to realize her child would never bear any resemblance to herself, since it was Mary Beth’s body she occupied, and so she had more than the usual desire for him to look like his father.
“What will you be naming him?”
Exhaustion made her feel as if her brains were seeping from her ears, but she sifted through the gray matter for the answer to this question. “Back when I wrote to Lucas to tell him we were expecting, he replied that if it was a boy he wanted to name him after one of Jesus’ disciples.”
“Which one?”
“He didn’t say. I suppose I’ll have to pick.”
“Well, then, not Simon.”
Shelby managed a weak laugh. “No, not Simon. Nor Luke, ’cause that’s too close to Lucas. And not Judas, I expect.” Ruth gave a good, long giggle over that. Shelby thought for a moment, then said, “I think I like Matthew. Matthew Lucas Brosnahan.”
At that moment the final contraction came, and Ruth gathered Matthew so he wouldn’t be dropped while Shelby rid herself of the afterbirth.
Shelby was the one to write the letter to Lucas, telling him of the birth of his son. As soon as she’d rested enough to sit up, she asked for pen and paper to compose the announcement. It was the most joyous news she’d ever written, to tell her husband both she and their son were still alive.
The house was suddenly abuzz with visitors come to see the baby. Ruth cared for them all with efficient grace, though Shelby could sense a wistful longing in her as she came and went throughout the day with food, fresh linens, and clean rags for the bleeding. Being a good deal older than Shelby, Ruth treated her as if she were as much a child as Matthew. Shelby marveled at what a wonderful mother Ruth would have made. Better, probably, than Shelby thought she herself would ever become—and it was difficult to see the older woman’s eyes go soft and vaguely sad whenever she was in the room with Matthew. There was no telling whether the baby was a blessing to her or not, for she was too good a woman to give even a hint of resentment for someone else’s child.
It being nearly February and the snows heavy this winter, the folks of Sumner County limited themselves to but one visit apiece to greet the newcomer, then retreated to the warmth of their own homes. Shelby, Ruth, Martha and their father-in-law settled in with the newest member of their family and returned to a routine of sorts.
Shelby knew it wouldn’t be long before all pretense of normalcy would be gone, once the Yankees came, and she was terrified it would happen before she was allowed out of bed. Her memory was vague on exactly when the invasion would happen, and she only knew it would be soon. Each day she awoke to the terror it could be today when they would begin to see carloads of blue-coated Lincolnites riding the trains going past their house.
Within a week she was up and around, insisting to anyone who objected that she preferred not to ever again be as lazy as she had been when living with parents, with all those servants around. Ruth acquiesced readily at that argument, and Martha didn’t seem to care what anyone did in any case. Shelby was back at work more quickly than most women of this time, and didn’t pay any mind to who might be whispering about her over it. Inactivity was torture, especially in Mary Beth’s body, which didn’t seem to want to ever sit still.
The winter into which Matthew had been born was a long, icy one. Snowstorms blew in from the northwest, locking Sumner County in a layer of ice that made one glad for a sturdy house and a good stockpile of firewood. It was the second week of February when alarmed barking of the hounds out by the stable caught Shelby’s attention and sent her heart to her throat. Matthew lay in his basket in the sitting room, Shelby, Ruth and Martha all sewing by the fire. Dad Brosnahan was already asleep in the other room, though it wasn’t yet sunset. The old man spent nearly as much time asleep as Matthew, for his extreme age and for missing his sons. With his sore heart, he hardly ever budged from his cot in the dining room any more.
The two dogs out by the stables set up a racket that made the hair on the back of Shelby’s neck stand on end. Then suddenly they went silent. Ruth and Martha both raised their heads from their work to hear what might be out there, both of them wide-eyed with curiosity and unease, for the silence was even more unsettling than the barking. Shelby set down her sewing and went to look, leaving the two other women to watch after Matthew.
The sky was mostly overcast, the clouds having dropped about an inch of snow that day, but a break in the cover to the west revealed a pinkish sunset, and the twilight over the countryside was filled with blue shadows. The thin blanket of snow on the ground left places where rocks and weeds protruded, and some spots that had been wet were now icy patches in the February evening. Shelby pulled her shawl around her against the still, winter air and walked to the end of the porch where she could see the approach to the house from the road. Thin ice puddles crunched beneath her feet on the wood.
There was a figure out there. Gray-on-gray, it was a solitary man—an armed man, by the looks of his accoutrements. He was kneeling to greet the dogs, whose wagging tails and obvious joy meant they knew the man well. Shelby’s pulse surged even more. Then he rose and continued on his way toward the house. Her heart lifted to her throat. By the gait of him, she knew in an instant who had come.
“Lucas.” She stepped back from the railing, unable to take her eyes from him. “Lucas!” She turned and ran to the steps, down them, and ou
t to the carriage path, her skirts in her fists and her lightly-shod feet oblivious to the icy cold of the path. When he saw her, he set down his rifle and pack, and hurried toward her. His smile was wide, and when she leapt into his arms he held her to him in a hug that took all the air from her. She clung to his neck and covered his cold, ruddy, stubbly face with kisses.
Then he set her down to have a look at her and worry came over him. A frown darkened his face. “The baby...”
“He’s still with us.” Lucas let go a sigh of immense relief and then a chuckle at himself. “Inside. Come.” She held out her hand as he retrieved his rifle and pack then went with her. His gloved hand felt frozen; he had been walking in the weather a long time.
“He.... It’s a boy?”
They hurried to the house and out of the cold. “Yes. Didn’t you get my letter? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
He shook his head as they climbed the steps to the porch. “The 2nd Tennessee is in Nashville. We’ve got sixty-day furloughs, so the boys whose enlistments were up would sign up again. I rode the train to Hendersonville, and walked from there.”
She turned to him, but figured she knew the answer to her next question. “You reenlisted?”
He nodded without reply, and without looking her in the eye. Not willing to struggle with him over the issue just then, particularly since it was a fait accompli, she squeezed his hand in forgiveness, and they went inside. Lucas was home, and just then that was all that mattered.
Ruth, Martha and Lucas’s father met them in the foyer to greet him, everyone talking at once and hugging Lucas. He was polite, smiling at them all and replying to queries about his health and his adventures, but his eyes cast about to the various doorways, and Shelby knew what he was looking for. She kept hold of his hand and drew him on into the sitting room.
There, he stopped cold inside the door, staring. The others fell silent as they realized he was no longer hearing them. His attention was riveted on the basket in the rocking chair. Lucas’s face went slack with awe.
“His name is Matthew.”
Lucas smiled, and glanced at her, then set his rifle down and leaned it against the wall beside him. He relieved himself of his pack, coat, hat, sword and pistol, then took some steps toward the basket. “Is he asleep?”
Shelby had to fight not to laugh, and only smiled. “He’s not but two weeks old. Of course, he’s asleep.” She followed him until he stood over the baby.
“Can I pick him up?”
“Sure. Here, let me show you.” Being the youngest brother in the family, and with no nieces or nephews, Shelby guessed his experiences with babies might be fewer than the usual in these parts. She lifted Matthew from the basket and settled him into Lucas’s arm. “Here, don’t let his head roll away. He can’t hold it up yet.” Lucas adjusted his hold, leaning back to balance and staring at his son as if the boy might disappear if he looked away.
Matthew grimaced and grunted at being awakened, and his hands opened to grasp at nothing.
“He’s the tiniest thing I’ve ever seen.” Lucas sounded astonished, his voice soft and low in his chest. “How can he be so small?”
Shelby chuckled. “Trust me on this one; he was quite big enough when he was born.”
That made Lucas chuckle, too, and even Shelby was able to smile now at the quickly fading memory of pain. They sat together on the sofa, getting to know their son, and as Shelby watched Lucas’s face she realized she was learning about him, too. He spoke with such pride, Shelby thought this was probably the first success in his life he’d ever had over his brothers. Ruth brought a plate of beans and cornbread left from supper, and only then did Lucas relinquish his hold on the baby so he could eat.
Ruth said, “I’ve drawn water for a bath out in the kitchen, and the hot is in the cauldron for you, Lucas. It ought to be ready before too long.”
“You didn’t haul a whole tubful from the well in this weather, Ruth, did you?” Shelby would have done it herself, but nobody would have let her.
“It’ll warm him up.”
Shelby felt of Lucas’s face, and found it still ice cold in spite of the warm room. Ruth was right; Lucas needed a hot bath or he would have a chill. “Right. You go get your bath. I’ve got to get Matthew settled, then I’ll be along to scrub your back.”
Lucas wolfed his supper, wiped his mouth with his napkin, then stood and planted a kiss on Matthew’s head before leaving for the kitchen through the tunnel in the basement. Shelby rocked the baby to sleep, then laid him in the basket in the chair next to where Ruth sat with her sewing, and followed her husband.
A candle stuck with melted wax to a chipped saucer lit the way through the tunnel, free of spiders in winter. Up the stairs to the kitchen, and when she entered the room she paused, taken aback.
Lucas was half-undressed for his bath, standing with his shirt off and his pants open, and had paused for a moment to scratch chigger bites at his waist. It seemed the same image as the first time seen him, but there was no red scar on his back. Only the white ones on his arms were there. And, no, on second thought he was standing a bit differently and he had no cigar in his mouth. Most of all, tonight he was aware of her. He turned and smiled, then dropped his pants and drawers before stepping into the steaming tub by the hearth. It was a small tub, for sitting up rather than lying down, to save floor space in the small, crowded kitchen. It rocked a little on the uneven stone floor, and the water sloshed as Lucas reached a long arm for the lye soap on the nearby work table.
“Here.” Shelby shook off her astonishment and set down her candle to get the soap, but instead of handing it to him she wet it herself and rubbed it on a cloth she also took from the table. Then she pulled up a step-stool to sit beside the tub. With the bit of lather she was able to work up with the homemade soap, she set to washing her husband. His knees broke the surface of the graying water, and he leaned his head back against the upper lip of the metal tub, his eyelids drooping with the pleasure of the warm water and wifely attention. As she scrubbed his chest, he gave that same humming noise she’d heard on their wedding day. Contentment. His voice was barely audible as he said, “Are the horses well?”
“As well as can be expected. Clyde has been carrying on okay, but there’s been no training, as you can well imagine.”
He grunted at that, and lifted an arm so she could wash beneath it. “I’ll be selling the stock to the Army.”
For one surreal moment, she thought he meant the Union army. She’d assumed for so long the horses would be taken by the Yankees. Then she realized he intended to take them with him when he returned to his unit. “All of them?”
“No. One of the stallions and two of the mares I’ll leave behind.”
“Take them all.”
He lifted his head from the edge of the tub and peered at her. “I can’t. There’d be nothing left.”
“If you don’t take them, the Yankees will.”
With a sigh of strained patience, he returned his head to the lip of the tub. “Don’t be so dark spirited, Mary Beth. Try to have some faith in the Cause.” There was a deep pause, then he glanced at her and added, “And in me.”
“I have infinite faith in you. I know you’ll give everything you’ve got to defend your country. But what I also know is that during this war there will be Yankees on this property, and they will take whatever they can lay their hands on. Especially our fine horses. Take them all, and rebuild after the war.”
“Mary Beth, that line goes back nearly a hundred years; all the way back to a stallion that came over from Ireland with my grandfather. I could never replace those horses.”
“Take them all.” She was firm. “Please trust me. Don’t leave any for the invaders to take.” For a long moment she bit her lip, but went ahead and said what she had to say. “Also, my dear husband, though I do have faith in you and I would give almost anything to see you victorious, I would ask you to get greenbacks in exchange for those horses.”
At that, he snort
ed. “I’ll not be asking the Confederate Army for greenbacks.”
“Then exchange the Confederate money for United States currency. Or gold. Or even goods small enough to carry. And don’t send any of it home. Don’t send anything home.”
He looked slantways at her again. “What will you live on?”
“We’ll manage. Just don’t send anything home. Keep the U.S. cash with you, ’cause whatever you send here will be stolen.” The final diary entry written by Mary Beth stuck in her mind. There would be Yankees in her house, and she dreaded it. “I don’t want everything you’ve worked for to be stolen.” Better it should be stolen from his dead body in Georgia than carried out of the house by looters where she would have to watch.
“That’s just plain silliness, Mary Beth. Of course I’ll be sending money home.”
“No. I’m serious. I’ve already put it out this past fall that we lost much of our crop from the truck garden.”
“Why? You want our neighbors to think we’re poor?” His face began to flush.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We want our neighbors to think we don’t have anything, so they won’t be telling the Yankees where to find food, horses, or anything else they’ll be wanting to steal when they get here.”
He shifted in his seat, and the water sloshed, making the tub totter. “Tarnation, Mary Beth! Have you got no pride?”
“What I’ve got is enough food to see this family through the winter and I don’t want the Union Army taking it for their soldiers. I’ve got a stable full of horses I want you to take so they won’t be stolen. I’ve got a small bit of cash stashed in the hidey hole in the closet, but not on the tray where it’ll be found when they come to toss the place. I’ve stuffed it farther down where it won’t be seen when the searchers find the panel. I’ve got the family silver hidden in a hollowed-out tree, and have been inquiring after buyers in hopes of building credibility for a story that it’s been sold in Nashville.”
