Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  After some moments had passed in silence, he gathered all the bravery he could muster and broke the solitude.

  “I have my marching orders,” he said softly.

  Her body stilled. Was she breathing? He tilted his head to look down at her. There was movement, ever so slight, from the rise and fall of her chest.

  Reaching over, he gripped her hand again.

  “Will you say something?” He needed to hear from her. It took all he had not to gather her in his arms. But it was best to give her space to take in the news.

  “I don't know what to say,” came her response, almost too quiet to discern.

  He didn’t know how to respond either. She was right. What was there to say? This was not the way he wanted this conversation to go. But what had he hoped for?

  She cleared her throat and continued. “That is…I want to say so many things—I don't want you to go. I don't know why you have to fight. I don't understand…”

  He pulled back. “You don't know why we fight?”

  She looked up at him. Her blue eyes so wide, so innocent. Yet the depths of them betrayed that there was more to her than he could see on the surface. If only he had time to explore those depths. Wouldn’t he be happily lost in them forever?

  “No,” she said, her voice much firmer. She sat straighter, looking forward and pulling her arms into her lap. “Maybe it's my memory. Maybe I never understood this war to begin with.”

  She let her gaze wander back toward him. But after meeting his eyes briefly, she looked away again.

  “I'm not making any sense,” she grumbled, shifting her attention to her skirt, playing with the fabric.

  Matthew chewed on his lip, pulling his knees up to prop his crossed arms on them. Long had he been concerned about this very thing. She was, after all, from the Union side of the war. That was a piece of information Dr. Wilson continued to keep from her. Should he tell her now? How would that affect her? Affect them? He dipped his head. This decision was too big for him. Was it his to make?

  He let his legs drop into a cross-legged position and leaned forward so he could look at her. “We fight for our way of life, for the right to live as we see fit. The Union would impress upon us their ideas about how we should run our lives. Now they refuse to let us live apart from them. So, we fight for our freedom.”

  Annabelle met his eyes. It was as if she wanted to understand, but held back. Something held her back. What was it? They sat for several moments in this stalemate. Matthew made the first move to break it. Leaning toward her, he reached for her hand. He lifted her small hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm.

  “Let us not discuss such heavy matters,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to sit with you and enjoy the setting sun before I go off to battle.” His eyes wandered over the lines of her face, the waves of her hair. An ache grew in his chest. Whenever he was around her, many sensations streamed from the center of his being. Yes, he was captivated by her.

  Nodding, she leaned into him. The feel of her body, soft against his made him light-headed, almost drunk. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer still, relishing in the rush of emotion.

  Together they watched the sun set. Matthew marveled anew at how the sky changed colors. But never before had he been more aware of how alive he was, with his Annabelle next to him. After some time, he took her hand in his, laying it in the palm of one hand and using the other to caress her fingers.

  “What are you thinking about?” the question spilled out of him.

  A deep sigh escaped her. “About you. About the war. About how much I don't want you to go.”

  Turning his face, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I may not have you to save me this time, but I'll be fine.” Was it just him or were his words slurred? She was intoxicating.

  “How can you know that?” she countered, bending her fingers to grasp his hand.

  “Because—” He used his now free hand to tip her chin so she was looking at him. “This time I have something to come back to.”

  * * *

  The last of his lunch rations were gone. But Daniel continued to stare at his plate. The course metal of the tin was cool in his hands. Crumbs of hard tack remained, but he left them alone. His fixation on the empty plate was not due to lingering hunger, but because he dreaded his next errand.

  It had not been his intention to skip his regular visits to Jacob these last several days. The truth was that he, if he were willing to admit it to himself, had been avoiding Melanie. Just the thought of her caused a jolt of electricity to fire through his being. There was something about her. Something that made him think. And think about her he had been. Nonstop.

  And this was not acceptable. It was an outright betrayal to his friend. Daniel was no mind reader, but it didn't take one to see that Jacob had feelings for Melanie. There were glances. Smiles. Looks. And Daniel did not want to get in the middle of that. His regard for Jacob was too high. Still, could he help the way his heart flipped when he caught sight of her in the meal line?

  Today. He determined that today he would visit his friend no matter what. That wasn't to say he couldn't try to avoid Melanie at the same time. So he would go directly after mealtime. In all likelihood, she would be working with the other women on chores around the camp. Perhaps that's where she was now.

  It had not escaped his notice that she was not in the lunch line today. Was he looking for her? His thoughts accused him. Certainly not! he assured himself. This was just an observation. Perhaps she was busy with laundry duty or mending.

  Rising to his feet, he walked over to put his plate by the wash bin. A young lady worked on cleaning them.

  “Thank you.” She offered him a smile, which he returned, nodding. Her name escaped him, but he knew her. One of the younger wives. And God had smiled down upon her. That husband of hers survived the first battle in one piece.

  A short walk to the makeshift hospital did not distract Daniel's thoughts from where they always were these days—Melanie. Where was she after all? What could possibly keep her from a meal? She needed to keep up her strength. They all did. One never knew when…well, when life would take a drastic turn.

  The oversized tent was in front of him. He scanned the area around him as if fearing she'd appear from around the back of one of the nearby tents. This is crazy. She was not lying in wait somewhere like some sharpshooter.

  Gathering his wits about him, he took a deep breath and straightened his uniform. Then stepped into the tent. And froze in his tracks.

  There she was. By Jacob's bed. Leaning over his cot, she held his hand. The scene stole his breath. Melanie was the most tender of angels come down to grace this place full of pain and suffering.

  But he could not escape the vise that clamped around his heart at seeing her tenderness bestowed upon Jacob. His friend. Jacob was his friend. He shouldn't be having these thoughts. He needed to go.

  As he turned to leave, however, his eyes focused in on Melanie's. Something stopped him. Her green eyes betrayed a pain that tugged at him. He couldn't tear himself away. Rather it drew him in. Moments later, he stood over the two of them.

  As his shadow fell over Jacob's figure, Melanie's face turned up to meet his gaze. She leaned back from Jacob and wiped at her eyes. How had he not noticed she cried?

  “Am I disturbing you?” How had it not occurred to him that he might be interrupting a moment? “I should go,” he said, turning to leave.

  “No,” she called out.

  He halted.

  “Please,” she said, her voice thin. “Stay. I know Jacob would like you being here.”

  Daniel shifted his body back toward his friend. And though he was there because of Jacob, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Melanie.

  “Are you…” his voice caught. He cleared his throat. “Are you well?”

  Her tears continued to break through. A protective instinct flared in him. The urge to pull her into his embrace was almost irresisti
ble. Almost. He still remembered Jacob, after all.

  She fell silent. Her gaze rested on Jacob, tears falling. After some moments, it seemed to overtake her and she shook her head. Raising a hand to her mouth, her body trembled.

  He could hold back no longer. Stepping around the cot, he stopped just short of her. Instead of gathering her in his arms, he crouched in front of her. Only then did he see a red tinge to her eyes. She had been crying for some time.

  “Tell me.” His eyes, his heart, were fixed on her. He was hooked.

  Several seconds passed as she worked to calm herself. Then she met his eyes and spoke. “Jacob is feverish. He has been the last two times I came to change his bandages. And there's this stuff coming out of his wound…” She shook her head and waved a hand as if to erase her words.

  Without thinking, he caught her hand. “It's all right. What does the doctor say?”

  She struggled to hold back another fit of tears. “I've been too afraid to tell him. I know it's my fault.” The words poured out of her.

  “No,” he said a little more harshly than he intended.

  She jerked back a little.

  “I won't hear you say that, Melanie,” he softened his tone. “No one has worked harder to keep Jacob well and in good spirits than you have. Don't say such things.”

  “But it hasn't been enough.” Another tear escaped down her face.

  His heart twisted. He took both of her hands in his. “You're not a miracle worker. And Jacob knows that.”

  She turned so that her eyes again rested on Jacob. And there was silence again. After allowing some moments for her to take in his words of comfort, it was time for words of reason.

  “Melanie,” Daniel said, his voice not much more than a whisper. He squeezed her hands gently, trying to draw her attention back toward himself.

  She continued to stare at Jacob.

  “Melanie,” he tried again. He had words to say that she wouldn’t want to hear. “There may be an infection spreading. I need to get the doctor.”

  There was a nod, almost imperceptible, but there all the same.

  He stood, allowing her hands to slide from his, regretting the break in contact. But Jacob needed him, needed him to be strong and walk away from Melanie, needed him to speak up for his well-being. Still, Daniel could not resist placing a hand on Melanie's shoulder as he passed her on his way to fetch Dr. Smith.

  The doctor wasn't difficult to find. He was across the hospital speaking with a nurse. As soon as their conversation came to a close, Daniel intercepted him before the doctor had a chance to move on.

  “Dr. Smith,” he started, interjecting himself in the man's path.

  “Yes, soldier?” There was an edge to his voice. The doctor was a kind man, but he had many patients that needed to be attended to and that left little time to suffer distractions.

  Daniel was taken aback, but determined, he trudged forward. “I'm here on behalf of Jacob Moore. I've just come from his bedside and his nursemaid, Melanie, has noticed some strange things about his wound.”

  The doctor's face darkened. He nodded to Daniel and moved past Daniel in the direction of Jacob’s cot. What could Daniel do but follow?

  Melanie must have been watching for their approach as she was on her feet as they neared. She stepped out of Dr. Smith's way once he came around the cot.

  “Talk to me, Melanie,” the doctor said, looking at her with serious eyes. “Tell me everything.” He then worked to remove the bandages on Jacob's leg.

  “He's been feverish these last couple of days. I thought it might be something he caught in the hospital. Then I noticed more and more oozing when I cleaned the wound. And there's been some swelling. But I haven't seen any green.”

  By then, the doctor finished unwrapping the leg and was examining the wound. “Not all types of gangrene are green,” he informed her shortly.

  “Jacob told me that it no longer hurt when I would clean it,” she argued.

  Her lower lip trembled and she was wringing her hands. Was she about to fall apart again?

  The doctor's face fell. He looked at Melanie and the hardness in his exterior softened. “I'm so sorry.”

  The words were simple and delivered with as much gentleness as any man could muster, but Daniel knew that they hit Melanie as painfully as would an arrow.

  “But, he was better,” Melanie said, desperate.

  Daniel moved closer to her.

  “Gangrene can make the patient numb,” the doctor tried to explain.

  Melanie was beside herself. “Can't you just give him medicine or something?”

  The doctor shook his head.

  Tears flowed down Melanie's face and she shook.

  Daniel put an arm around her. He couldn't help the warmth that pervaded his body.

  “Dr. Smith, you can't! You can't take his leg!” Melanie cried openly now.

  “I have to,” came his simple reply. He raised his hand, turning toward a group of nurses nearby. Once he caught the attention of one, he shifted his attention back to Melanie.

  “Young lady, you did everything you could. There just wasn't enough blood flow to the area and the tissue began to die. There's nothing any of us could have done. My most capable nurse couldn't have prevented this were she in your place. But if I don't take his leg, the gangrene will continue to spread and infect more healthy tissue. He could die.”

  Melanie shook her head. She covered her face with her hands, and turning toward Daniel, buried her face in his chest.

  He put his arms around her, supporting her while she cried. And it was strange, all of the emotions within him. His heart leapt at Melanie's closeness, every nerve seemed alive. Yet he was broken for her pain. And for his friend. Then there was the guilt. He shouldn't be holding Melanie like this. But he couldn't pull away.

  Movement out of his periphery caught his attention. Dr. Smith pulled off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Was he loath to do what he must?

  A nurse brushed past Daniel, leaning over Jacob.

  The doctor's sad eyes caught Daniel's. He motioned for Daniel to take Melanie elsewhere.

  Daniel expected a fight, but it took little effort to lead her from the tent.

  Chapter Six

  Reunited

  THE MEN MARCHED out in the morning before dawn. Elizabeth had been awake. She listened to the unit commander yelling orders as they went. Marching feet threatened to lull her back to sleep. But it was not to be. For she knew where those feet carried them. And that Matthew was among them. Overcome with nausea, she shifted onto her back, staring at the top of the hospital tent. A wave of emotion threatened to overtake her as her thoughts drifted where she'd rather them not—the likelihood of Matthew's return.

  Elizabeth couldn't deny she had come to care for the man deeply. The turning of her heart as thoughts of his possible fate filled her mind was evidence enough. Straining to hear the men as they passed farther out of the camp, an emptiness drew the warmth from her body. She pulled her thin blanket up to her chin. It was no use. So she sat and reached for her thick shawl. Wrapping it around herself, she gathered her arms close to her body.

  Now that her wrap fought off the cold that seemed to come from within her, she longed to lie back down and escape into sleep. Maybe then this day wouldn't happen. That too, would not serve her. She had to face it as surely as those soldiers. Rising to her feet, she gathered her clothes and prepared for the day.

  Once she was dressed and fed for the morning, Elizabeth went about her chores—seeing to the patients in the hospital. They were few and her task was completed in short order. Then the time was hers to spend as she pleased. Today, that was torture. Minutes passed into hours as she, and the other women, awaited news from the front.

  Elizabeth had ample time to consider her worry after Matthew. She sat in the hospital tent, wringing her hands. Could she bear it if he didn’t return? Did he know how she felt? She hoped he did. For she had never told him. Why had she held back? The trut
h was that she had been a coward, afraid to be vulnerable.

  A tear escaped. Raising a hand to brush it away, she chose hope. And she set in her heart that if he did return, she would tell him. She had learned a great lesson this day. War left no time to be afraid of anything, least of all your own feelings.

  Sounds on the edges of the camp alerted her to the presence of soldiers. Elizabeth was on her feet in a heartbeat. She rushed out and into the thick of an influx of wounded men. Yes, the battle was well under way.

  Her eyes searched the faces of the wounded for Matthew. And her heart twisted in her chest as if someone wrung it with their hands. But she pushed past it and continued to search for him. She saw something in the faces of these men—their pain. How could she be so selfish? These men were suffering and needed help.

  She rushed for the closest man. He walked on his own feet, but held his arm, grimacing. A hand-made tourniquet squeezed his upper arm, soaked in blood. Must be a gunshot wound. Probably not critical. Smiling at him, she placed an arm on his opposite shoulder.

  “Head for the hospital. You'll be seen by a doctor there. Don't take that tourniquet off.”

  The man nodded and moved on.

  She stepped toward the next man. He lay on a stretcher. And she was not prepared for the gruesome sight that awaited her. This man had been hit by something much bigger. His midsection was ripped open and… Raising a hand to her mouth to keep from being sick, she worked to gather her wits about her. Then she reached for the arm of the lead man carrying the stretcher.

  “This way,” she commanded, leading them into the hospital.

  Grabbing for bandages and cleaning supplies, she made her way back to where the man now lay on a hospital cot. She applied pressure to the open wound and felt her hands sink into his abdomen. A fresh wave of nausea rose and threatened to overtake her, but she swallowed it back. Looking up at the men that remained there, she started barking commands.

  “You.” She pointed to the dark-haired soldier. “Put your hands here.”