Melanie folded the last letter and returned it to the box. Warring emotions about her own family tumbled about inside her. She stared at the letter still in her hands. And her words spilled out, “You have such a sweet family, Jacob.”
There was no response. Looking over to where he lay against his pillows, she realized he had drifted off to sleep. Placing the letters back in the crate and securing the lid on top, she then slid it under his bed lest anyone else be curious enough to take a peek.
Then she shifted his pillows and pulled his blanket over him. With that, she took her leave of the hospital. If she could, she would take her leave of the whole camp. But what good would that do? She had already run this far to escape the raging regret in the pit of her stomach. How much farther could she go?
* * *
Matthew barely flinched as he watched Annabelle crumple. His life, and hers, depended on his concentration.
Tommy leapt towards Matthew, swinging his knife.
Matthew jumped to the side, half expecting this crazy man's attack. He spun around keeping his eye on what Tommy might try next.
“Tommy, you're crazy. Why are you doing this?” Matthew raised his hands in the air.
Tommy didn't answer. Instead, he lunged towards Matthew, extending his arm, trying to reach him with his blade. Again, Matthew dodged to the side, and seeing Tommy overextended, hit him with his free hand. This caused Tommy to stumble forward and hit the ground.
Matthew realized he had a chance to end this fight. With Tommy face down on the ground and a little disoriented, Matthew could have pounced on his back. But something in him froze.
He and his brother had grown up hunting in the woods with their Pa. There were many times they had shot deer and wild boars, and skinned rabbits caught in traps using the same bowie knife he now held in his hand. But this was different.
This wasn't hunting wild game; it was the possibility of killing another man. Of course Matthew had fired his musket at enemy soldiers on the battlefield, but a hot-blooded knife fight was totally different.
His hesitation cost him dearly. Because he struggled to make a decision, Tommy scrambled to his feet and then dove onto Matthew, rolling them both to the ground. Matthew knew he had made a stupid decision.
Crashing to the ground, they both dropped their knives as they braced themselves hitting the ground. Due to Tommy's initiative, he ended up on top, and started punching Matthew's face. All Matthew could do was throw up his hands to guard himself. Things didn't look good.
Tommy paused and looked around. He reached over toward his knife. In that brief pause, Matthew saw where Tommy was leaning, and heaved as hard as he could, pushing Tommy with his legs. It was difficult, because Tommy weighed a lot more than Matthew had realized. Matthew was pinned, but somehow, through a combination of adrenaline and will power, he managed to push Tommy off balance enough and roll away from him.
Tommy, with his knife in his clutches, twisted around, madder than a rattled hornet's nest.
“You're gonna' die, Union lover!” Tommy shouted as he climbed to his feet.
Matthew searched for his knife, and spotting it, scrambled for it. He picked it up just in time to see that Tommy was about to lunge at him again. This seemed to be Tommy's favorite move. Remembering how much it hurt when Tommy landed on top of him, Matthew somehow shifted his weight on the balls of his feet just enough that Tommy barely missed him.
Tommy landed on the ground again, harder than before. While he somehow kept a hold of his knife, he let out a loud oohf as he hit the ground. He landed on his side, with his knife arm on the ground.
Realizing this might be his last chance, Matthew dove on top of Tommy and swung his blade with all the power he could muster into Tommy's back. The tip of the blade poked through to the surface of Tommy's chest. A big pool of dark red began to discolor Tommy's uniform on both sides.
Tommy's eyes shifted towards Matthew, and then froze with an eternal look of hate.
Matthew knew he would never forget this dead man's face for the rest of his life. He collapsed onto the ground.
After a couple of minutes, as his heartbeat slowed to near normal, he managed to pull himself together. Just then, one of the platoon second lieutenants happened upon them. He was wide-eyed, his mouth opening and closing without making a sound.
“Tell the unit commander that Tommy went crazy and tried to kill Annabelle. I tried to talk him down, but he wouldn't hear of it. He drew his knife and attacked. I had no choice.”
The junior officer, still not able to form a coherent sentence, just shook his head in acknowledgment, and ran off, seeking his commanding officer to report the incident.
Yeah, that's about all second lieutenants are good for, Matthew could hear his Pa saying. He briefly chuckled at that thought. Yes, he would have to share that with his Pa. And he’d also have to tell him what had happened here with Tommy. Pa was someone who would understand. That left Matthew with a small feeling of peace.
But that would come later. There were more important things to focus on now. Matthew crawled to where Annabelle still lay unconscious.
“Annabelle.” He moved the back of his hand across the side of her face. “Annabelle.”
She shifted and groaned.
He gathered her into his arms. “You're safe!”
Her eyes blinked open. As she took in the sight of him, she moved her arms to embrace him. “Matthew!”
He pressed his lips to her hair, her forehead, her face, and, eventually, found her lips in a desperate kiss.
She responded eagerly, ready for him to deepen the kiss.
They pulled apart in need for air. He held her still, stroking her face, her hair.
“How did you know?” Her voice was quiet, broken.
“Suellen mentioned something about a late night rendezvous and I put it all together. I was so worried.”
She let out a whimper.
“Don't ever scare me like that again, you hear me?”
“I don't intend to, Matthew. I don't intend to.”
“I don't know what I would do if something happened to you, Annabelle. I love you.”
His lips met hers again. This time in a gentler, sweeter kiss.
* * *
Days had passed since Abigail was willing to set foot outside the front door of her home. There had been no word from Elizabeth and it darkened her spirits to the point she just couldn’t be out in society. She spent her days fraught with worry. Each day, she found it harder to force herself out of bed and allow herself to be prepared. And each day, she was more convinced that she would never see her beloved daughter again. Her heart sank impossibly lower into a bottomless pit. Why had they not received word?
Elizabeth's letter had assured them she would write often, yet they had not one letter from her at camp. Had something happened? All the fundraising in the world would do nothing to help her daughter if she had been killed. No, Abigail shook her head, I can't think like that. Why must I jump to the worst possible conclusion?
As she sat in the chair in her bedroom, she allowed the torrent of worry to wash over her. It gripped her heart, clamping down on it like a vise. Reaching for her tea, she took a long sip, letting the warmth bring her what small comfort it could. Not only had she not been able to leave the house these last several days, the truth was that she had barely left her room these last two days. Would she become all the more reclusive the longer they went without news? The days dragged on and there was no respite to be found.
Just then she heard movement downstairs. It was faint, but there it was, the unmistakable sound of the front door. Who would come for a visit, uninvited, with her in such a state? Charlotte?
Setting down her teacup, she forced herself out of the chair and into the hall. Craning her neck as she neared the stairway, she searched out a better view of the main entrance. She intercepted her husband as he came up the stairs. Frozen to the spot, her hand raised to cover her heart, which had stopped beating.
“Thomas, what has happened?” It was more than a little unusual to see him at home in the middle of the afternoon.
The corners of his mouth became a smile and he closed the few steps between them to embrace her. “A letter has come,” he said into her hair.
Fresh tears fell on her face as her arms moved to hold her husband to herself. At last, a sign of life!
“My darling, you’re shaking!” Thomas said, holding her more tightly.
Not caring, she pulled away and grasped at her husband's hand, drawing him toward the bedroom. She didn’t stop until they were in the bedroom’s sitting area. On the edge of the seat she had just earlier vacated, she looked up at Thomas. His eyes fell on hers, brows furrowed. Waving her hands as if to dismiss any further comment, she then placed a hand on the seat next to her.
“Please, sit. We have waited so long.”
He watched her for a moment longer before taking the seat and then tearing open the envelope. There was a slight tremor in his hands as well. Several pieces of paper were within. Two letters and several sketches. The letters were written by two different hands. One Elizabeth's, the other was that of a stranger.
Abigail looked at her husband as if he could offer some explanation. His eyes were on the papers in his hands, brows gathered together.
Then he did the oddest thing. Thomas flipped over the envelope and glanced at the front. Why would he do such a thing?
“What's the matter?” Something was going on in that brain of his.
“It's the dates. Elizabeth's letter is dated weeks ago. But the postmark is but a week and a half old.”
Abigail licked her lips, but her mouth felt dry. What could this mean? The intensity of her worry threatened to overtake her. But she managed to swallow against the dryness. “Read Elizabeth's letter first, please.” Her voice came out strangled.
Thomas nodded, shuffling the papers.
“'Dearest Mother, Father, and Andrew,
“I trust you are all well as this letter reaches you. I have been at camp for many days now and it has been a learning experience for me. I've learned how to cook, how to do laundry, and how to sew and mend. The women have been quite patient with me, but I think I'm picking it up well. Although, I don't think the soldiers care much for my cooking.
“My accommodations are not as nice as those I enjoy at home, but they are sufficient. I share a tent with three other young women. Two of them, Sarah and Lily, are nurses. We don't see them much. They are up and out before we arise and retire early. The nursing staff are some of the hardest working people I have ever known. My other tent mate, Melanie, is one of the chattiest people I know. But she is a good friend to me.
“I've seen John on a few occasions, but I am trying to make sure he doesn't know I'm here. That has been truly difficult for me. But just knowing he's here and that he's safe is enough.
“I've included some of my drawings of the camp. I don't have a lot of free time to draw, but I take advantage of what time I do have. The soldiers are rather willing subjects for portraits too. They all seem to appreciate my work.
“Just as I mention I don't have much free time, my time to write this letter is coming to a close. I'm on kitchen duty tonight, which means I'm helping with the cooking again. Perhaps practice makes perfect. I'll write again soon.
“Love always, Elizabeth”
There, nothing seemed amiss. Abigail took a deep breath. But something nagged at the edge of her mind and a weight hung in the pit of her stomach. If only they could stop there. How she wished there wasn't another letter that bore more news, which might destroy any hope she now felt. She knew, however, that they could not stop there. There was more to this story.
Abigail turned to look at her husband. He seemed frozen, still staring at Elizabeth's letter. Was he struggling with the same thoughts? She gathered all the bravery she could muster and laid a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Turning his face toward hers, he offered her a weak smile as he laid his opposite hand on hers. Then he sucked in a deep breath, moved Elizabeth's letter to the back of the stack and plunged into the stranger's letter.
“'Dear Sir and Madam,
“My name is Melanie. I was a tent mate of your daughter, Elizabeth. I only found this letter recently. I regret to inform you that your daughter is missing. She was last seen in the hospital assisting with the care of the wounded. A nurse reports that she was looking for Dr. John Taylor, who had gone to the front lines to patch the wounded there. It is suspected that she went there as well where she was either captured or met with an untimely end…'”
Abigail cried out. She lost all strength and fell forward, grasping for something sturdy.
Thomas grabbed for her hands with his arm closest to her but continued, “…No remains have been recovered. Your daughter was a bright spot in our camp and worked diligently in all that she did to see that everyone else's needs were taken care of. We will never give up hope that she shall be returned. Regards, Melanie”
“Oh, Elizabeth!” Abigail cried, hot tears pouring out of her eyes. It was as if her heart had been stabbed and was pouring out. There was pain, sharp pain, emanating from the core of her being.
Thomas shifted from his seat to kneel in front of Abigail. Then his arms surrounded her, supporting her and enclosing her. Even as firmly as he held her, she felt as if she were going to shatter into a million pieces, never to be made whole again.
“What are we going to do?” was all she could manage between sobs.
Silence stretched out for several long moments that seemed drawn into eternity. Why wouldn't he say something? She needed him to say something!
At long last, he did speak, his words coming slowly. “We have to be strong. And do just as this young woman suggests—hold out hope that Elizabeth will be returned.”
“But what if she's dead?” she shot back, unable to stop herself.
“Shh,” he soothed. “Don't talk like that. Not yet. I'm not about to give up on Elizabeth.” His voice was stronger then, filled with determination.
How could he be so sure? Was there truly room for hope? Even if there wasn't, was hope all they had?
* * *
The day was fresh and new, even if the memories of the night before remained. Matthew and Annabelle walked toward their favorite spot by the stream. As Matthew reached for her small hand, grasping it in his, he looked over in her direction. She offered him a quick glance and a playful smile, keeping pace with him. There was a pause in the small talk. Something simple and sweet passed between them.
As Matthew returned her smile, Annabelle’s gaze drifted off and the corners of her mouth fell. Something wasn't right. What was she looking at? Following her gaze with his, he saw that her eyes were trained on the place where, hours earlier, he had been locked in a struggle for his life. The grass was matted from where his and Tommy's bodies had been as they fought. He became lost in those memories, too. Not the risk to his own life. But how he had come so close to losing her. If he had been just a few minutes later… His hand tightened on hers.
Looking back toward Annabelle, he noted that her face paled. It also came to his attention that they had stopped moving. They stood, frozen to that spot.
“Annabelle,” he said, stepping between her and the site of last night's fight to the death. He maneuvered his head until he caught her eyes. “We can find somewhere else to go.”
She remained quiet for a moment, staring into his eyes. Her bright blue orbs clouded. “No,” she said, her voice soft. “Just give me a minute.”
Her grip on his hand tightened until his fingers were nearly numb.
She stayed quiet and unmoving for so long. Perhaps it would be better if they found another place. “Annabelle, truly we can…”
“No.” There was a flash in her eyes.
He took a step back and gave her the emotional space she needed to deal with the memories of what had transpired in this place by the stream so close to their sacred spot. As she continued to
grip his hand with more strength than he thought possible, he had to resist the urge to pull it away. So he bit his lip and allowed her to squeeze his hand as tightly as she needed.
It seemed as if eternity passed before she loosened her grip on his hand and refocused on his face. She nodded. He released her hand to wrap his arm around her and pull her to himself. The most natural thing to do. Annabelle leaned into him. Kissing the top of her head, he then breathed in the scent of her hair, wishing he could hold her like this forever. Then he could keep her safe.
Eventually, he turned their bodies in the direction of the hillside that had served as the setting for many of their more tender moments. Would he ever be able to remember those moments without this place being tainted by the memory of Tommy's murderous attack? He wanted to kick himself for bringing her here without considering the cost, but it was done. And she seemed determined that the attack would not overshadow her love of this place either.
They arrived at the large oak on top of the hillside and Annabelle plopped down on the ground, leaning against the trunk of the old tree. Her gaze drifted to the stream and her eyes closed. She made such a solemn picture. One that he wished he could capture. But he had neither paper, nor her skill for it. So he would just watch her.
It wasn't long before her eyes opened and she caught him staring at her.
“What is it?” she said, stifling a laugh.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, his cheeks warming. “Just admiring the portrait you would make.”
It was her turn to shake her head, but she granted him one of her finest smiles. “It would be all the better if you joined me.” She patted the ground next to her.
He maneuvered his body to the ground. Some of his muscles ached as he did so. Once seated, she wrapped her arms around his and leaned on his shoulder. And they gazed out over the stream. Matthew enjoyed her closeness and the serenity of their place. But the remnant emotions from the previous night's events still haunted him.
Off To War (War Between The States) Page 12
