Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  The man's eyes were wide, but he obeyed, taking her place pressing on the wound.

  “And you.” She spoke to the red-haired man. “Get the doctor. Tell him I have a critical case.”

  The man nodded, relief clear on his face, and raced off into the hospital.

  Elizabeth continued her work. She attempted to clean the wound as much as she could. There was so much blood. An artery must have been injured, ripped, or nicked at the very least, she realized with dismay. The man's chances of survival just plummeted, if he had any.

  She felt more than heard someone behind her. But she couldn't be bothered to turn away from her patient. It wasn't until the doctor came alongside her that she realized it was him.

  Dr. Wilson relieved the soldier who was now white as a sheet. The man stepped back into the recesses of the tent as the doctor examined the man's injuries.

  A hand fell on her shoulder. “Annabelle,” he said, his voice firm, but still gentle somehow.

  Brushing her hair out of her face, smearing blood on her forehead, she continued her work to staunch the wound.

  “Annabelle,” the doctor repeated, pulling on her arm.

  She halted but did not shift her gaze from the body of the man she worked to save.

  “Annabelle, you've preformed as well as any nurse in this hospital. But this man is…he's not going to make it.”

  Tears blurred her vision. She moved her face against her shoulder to wipe them away. This was no time to fall apart.

  “He's not in any pain,” the doctor said.

  She knew he only attempted to comfort her.

  “He will just slip away.”

  She nodded.

  “I need your help with other patients,” he said, his grip on her arm loosening. “You are as fine as any of my nurses.”

  Looking at him at last, she nodded again.

  He afforded her a small smile. “Good, come this way.”

  Dr. Wilson led her farther into the hospital. And Elizabeth continued to help with the wounded, cleaning injuries, bandaging, determining if amputation was likely, preparing patients for the doctor. In a few hours, she heaved from the effort, and patches of her dress were well soaked with sweat. But they had made good progress. The wounded had stopped coming in, and they neared the end of the line.

  And then Dr. Wilson appeared behind her again. “Why don't you step outside?” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “You've done enough here.”

  Part of her wanted to argue, to stay until the last patient had been seen. But a bigger part of her knew how weak she was. So she nodded and moved away from the patient who would lose his arm, but would live to see another day.

  Stepping outside, she took in several breaths of fresh air. The air inside the tent had become tainted by the smells of the battle and the wounded. These breaths filled her nostrils with the smell of grass, of the breeze, of a world beyond the pain and suffering. It was wonderful.

  She stumbled farther into the camp, seeking out a wash station. All around her were reunions between soldiers and their wives. But the last several hours left her numb to the joy they shared. Finding the washbowl, she attempted to wash her hands clean of the red that stained them. It required some tough scrubbing, and scrub she would. Scouring her hands, she attempted to remove the memories of this day.

  Directly to her right a soldier and his young wife embraced, not caring if they put on a display. She couldn't help but watch them. There was such relief, such elation, such love between them.

  Would there be such between she and Matthew? Matthew! Her heart came to life again. Had he made it back? She hadn't seen him in the hospital, and glancing around, she didn't see him among the soldiers within the range of her sight. Did that mean he was…?

  Now moving through the camp, she sought him. Had he not returned? Her heart sank in her chest and tears long fought won the battle.

  Hands grabbed her from behind. Spun around, she found herself pressed to a gray uniform, locked in a firm embrace. Breathing in, she knew it was Matthew. The liquid spilling out of her eyes became tears of joy as she clung to him and cried.

  “I thought you were gone!” she said, unable to keep herself from saying what filled her heart.

  “I know, but I'm here. I'm here.” He stroked her hair.

  She pulled back to look into his dirty, blood-streaked face. “I love you, Matthew. I love you so much!”

  “I love you.” He pulled her to himself for a deep kiss.

  She remained there, locked in his arms for long minutes before he pulled back again.

  “I can’t imagine a life without you, Annabelle,” he said, breathless. “Would you marry me?”

  “Marry?” The words struck her. Her stomach flip-flopped. It was not a pleasant feeling.

  “Yes.” He seemed oblivious to her reaction. Rather he was all happiness and eagerness. “The colonel can do it. What do you say? Be my war bride?”

  War bride. What was it about those words? Someone else had spoken them to her. She stood in the comfort of Matthew's arms, but could not find an answer for him. She was lost in pieces of memories that seemed hazy.

  “Elizabeth!”

  Someone screamed from her left side. She turned toward the sound. Whether it was the voice or the name that seemed familiar to her, she did not know.

  “Elizabeth!”

  The man from her dreams glared at her from across the yard. He was in a Union uniform, being escorted through the camp by two Confederate guards. But he pulled hard against them.

  Matthew jerked her back into his embrace. Did she need to be protected from this crazed man?

  “Get your hands off of her. Elizabeth!” the man screamed.

  And then he was gone, dragged into a tent across the camp.

  Somehow both his voice and that name meant something to her. And though she found herself leaning into Matthew in this moment of uncertainty, she was determined to find out what it was.

  * * *

  Later that evening, dinner service was in full swing. In celebration of the survival of so many, the women had cooked a fine stew. Elizabeth's nose took in the delicious smells. The day had brought many things. Peace was not one of them.

  Her mind had been plagued by the appearance of this other man. Who was he? What was he to her? What could this mean? Despite Dr. Wilson’s insistence that she rest, Elizabeth volunteered to distribute the stew as Sally and Suellen filled the bowls.

  One thing she had needed since that man entered the camp, since Matthew's proposal, was space. And serving proved the perfect opportunity to do so rather than sit next to Matthew, who was no doubt eager for an answer.

  “Someone needs to take a bowl to that prisoner,” Sally spoke up. She looked between Suellen and Elizabeth. Clearly, she did not consider herself an option.

  “I will,” Elizabeth said, perhaps a bit too soon.

  The other women turned curious gazes on her.

  “After all,” she attempted to cover, hoping they didn't notice her cheeks color. “I'm the only one who doesn't have a husband waiting on me at dinner.”

  “Ah, but you have a beau,” Sally teased. She poked at Elizabeth. “Don't you think Matthew will miss ya?”

  “I don't mean to disappoint him.” Her tone was quiet, shy almost as she moved her hands over her skirt, nervous. “I just thought…”

  “She's only teasing you, honey,” Suellen assured her, putting a hand on Elizabeth's arm. “We appreciate you volunteering. There'll be a guard there if he tries anything. Don't you hesitate to scream now, ya hear?”

  Elizabeth felt some of the color drain from her face. “Yes, ma'am.”

  Sally handed her two bowls of soup, each with a spoon. “But we do want to be right kind to him.” She lowered her voice as if she shared a great secret. “We hope he'll help our doctors patch up our fellas. That's what he's here for. Best for everyone if he does it willingly.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I'll see what I can do,” she said, smiling.

  �
��I don't think there's anything that pretty face o' yours can't do.” Suellen returned her smile. “Now, get. Before that soup gets cold.”

  Elizabeth made her way through the camp with easy steps, careful not to spill any of the precious stew. She nodded at the men she passed, thankful for each one and their return from battle. It wasn't long before she stood in front of the prisoner's tent.

  “Good evening,” she said to the guard. “I brought supper.” She raised the bowls.

  The man, shadowed in the night, took the still-steaming bowl. He sniffed it before shoving a spoonful into his mouth.

  “I have some for the prisoner as well.”

  The guard jerked his head toward the tent.

  She sucked in a breath before she entered, steeling herself against her nerves. As she stepped inside the dimly lit tent, her breath caught in her throat. The man whose face haunted her dreams was bound and tied to a post on one side of the small area. His face appeared red, swollen, and bruised from where he had obviously been beaten. Was it because he resisted his captors trying to get to her? Against her better judgment, her heart went out to him. It was curious to her that it should.

  He looked up at the intrusion. The second his eyes met hers, something electric shot through her.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, trying to move toward her. His bonds kept him place. “Elizabeth, you're here! I don't know how, but you are!”

  With a great deal of caution, she moved to crouch before him. Unable to stop herself, she reached out a shaking hand to touch the face she had seen so many times in her dreams. His eyes never left hers.

  The man reached up his bound hands to brush the hair off her forehead. A breath escaped him. “What have they done to you?”

  Her hand went to her forehead. The scar from her fall.

  “That was from an accident,” she recited. “I fell and had a concussion and…amnesia.”

  “Amnesia?” his brows furrowed.

  She nodded. “I have no memory of who I am. But I know you…somehow.”

  He brushed the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I'm not surprised.” Then he clasped her chin between his bound hands and brought her lips to his for a gentle kiss.

  Elizabeth allowed her lips to linger for only a few seconds before pulling back. What would Matthew think of me allowing such a thing to happen?

  Jerking away from the man, she stared at him. She should slap him for his advances, but she could not raise a hand against him. Nor could she scream for the guard and allow more harm to be visited upon him for his indiscretion. After all, she did not know what he was to her. For all she knew, he could be her…

  She shook her head and stirred the stew. Then she offered him a spoonful. He opened his mouth, taking in the bite with obvious gratitude on his face. What had they been feeding him? The meal continued in silence, she spooning the meat, vegetables, and broth into his mouth. Once the bowl emptied, she gave him a slight smile and stood, turning to leave.

  “I was so wrong, Lizzie,” he said, halting her where she stood. Her hand already pressed against the tent flap, but she turned to look at him, curious.

  “I should have married you when I had the chance. Taken what time we had.”

  She took a deep breath. So that was it; they were to be wed. A fiancé. The thought overwhelmed her. How could she have had such an intimate relationship and forgotten the pieces of it? Should she doubt his claim? But her heart, beating hard in her chest at the nearness of him, testified to the veracity of his claim.

  Elizabeth studied him. How had this all come about? The two of them in this war, yet torn apart? How had he let that happen? She opened her mouth, but found she could not speak. He appeared too lost to her. Too caught up in his own emotions to assuage hers.

  She turned to leave again, but Sally and Suellen's words about his cooperation came back to her, and she thought better of it. Stepping toward him once more, she crouched down again.

  “If you truly care for me as you say you do, you won't make me watch them brutalize you. You will do as they ask.” The back of her eyes pricked as she saw once again the effects of the soldiers' treatment of him.

  “But I…”

  “If you care about me,” she repeated.

  His deep brown eyes, so familiar to her, searched hers. And after several seconds, he nodded.

  She stood, turning to leave again.

  “Wait,” he called after her. “If I do. If I cooperate, will you continue to bring me dinner each night?”

  So he attempted to strike a deal. Her first instinct was to refuse him. How dare he play games with her? She whirled around to do just that, but something gave her pause. The thought of watching him being beaten, or worse, for refusing to comply with their orders, became more than she could handle. Besides, this was not exactly a deal with the devil. It wasn't as if he was asking her for much. And so, steadying herself so as to appear unfazed by his challenge, she said, “I will.”

  He nodded and the pact was made.

  Elizabeth at last took her leave of him.

  * * *

  Well into her evening routine, Elizabeth brushed her hair. And thought about the name the prisoner had called her. Elizabeth. What else was it that he had called her? Lizzie. That was it. Lizzie. Lizzie. Little Lizzie…and she became still as a vision began to form…

  “Hold still, little Lizzie!” a portly woman with greying chestnut brown hair said as she attempted to tie a bow in Elizabeth's hair. The woman had a kind face, though it twisted in concentration from trying to still Elizabeth as she squirmed for freedom.

  “Now, don't you dare go running around outside or your mother will have a fit!” the woman warned, her voice serious.

  “Why do I have to wear this stupid dress?” Elizabeth quipped, tugging at the fancy skirt.

  “There are important people coming to dinner, Lizzie,” her nursemaid explained for perhaps the hundredth time. “A doctor. You should like that. Your father hopes he will join his practice. He has a son close to your age.”

  “A boy?” Elizabeth pulled back again.

  “Yes, a boy.” The nursemaid's eyes widened for emphasis. She seemed amused.

  “Hmmm,” Elizabeth murmured. Nothing exciting about meeting another boy. All the boys at school chased her and pulled her hair. She didn't care much for boys.

  “Now, stand still,” the nursemaid commanded. “Let me look you over.” She smiled despite herself. “You are a little angel.”

  Elizabeth grimaced and tugged at the big bow on the front of her dress.

  “Now stop that, Lizzie!” The nursemaid smoothed over the dress where Elizabeth had just fumbled with it. “Ladies do not tug at their clothes. Now, you have a few minutes before they get here. You may go play quietly with your dolls inside while I see to your brother.”

  “All right.” Elizabeth was glad to be dismissed to play, even if she had to stay inside. She had great difficulty keeping her clothes neat and nice, but she was determined to do it for her father. And imagine, another doctor come to dinner! How she would enjoy hearing the two doctors discuss their cases. It couldn't come fast enough. So she would just have to bide her time checking on her dolls, seeing what ailed them in Elizabeth's Hospital that day.

  Minutes later, the nursemaid came into her room to check on her. No sooner had she entered the room when she stopped short, catching sight of Elizabeth.

  “Good heavens, Lizzie! Your hair!”

  “Sorry, Nanny,” Elizabeth apologized. She truly was sorry. After all, she had tried so hard to stay nice. “There was an emergency and I had to crawl under my…”

  “It's all right,” the nursemaid cut her off, bidding Elizabeth to her. “Just come here, child, so I can try to fix it.” Her eyes found the clock; her voice betrayed her anxiety.

  Elizabeth stood and walked to her nursemaid, head down. Nanny patted her on the shoulder as she directed her to the vanity. The woman had never worked so quickly, Elizabeth was sure of it. But, just as she tied off th
e second braid, they heard the doorbell ring.

  “They're here,” Elizabeth said, jumping up from the stool and bounding away toward the door.

  “Remember your manners,” Nanny called after her. “Ladies do not bounce so.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Elizabeth called, not looking back.

  Elizabeth's brother met her in the hall and they walked down the stairs, followed by their nursemaid. As they descended the stairs, she saw that their guests were already in the foyer being greeted by their mother and father. The steps creaked beneath them, alerting the people below to their presence. All eyes were on them. Elizabeth felt a little uneasy.

  “These are our children – Elizabeth, our first, and Andrew.” Her father introduced them.

  “Nice to meet you,” both of the adults said in tune.

  “This is our son, John,” the lady whose name she did not know said, putting her hands on the shoulders of the young boy with them who stood a head taller than Elizabeth. He had deep brown hair and equally deep brown eyes.

  “Hello,” was his simple greeting. He then turned his attention back to the grown-ups.

  Just then, the butler came out into the foyer and informed Father that dinner was ready. So they all filed into the dining room. Elizabeth studied the boy throughout the meal, but he remained quiet and aloof, more interested in the adults than she or her brother. In fact, after dinner, when they were welcomed to play, he preferred to adjourn to the parlor with the adults.

  She decided that if he thought himself too good for Elizabeth and her brother that was just fine with her. Besides, she didn't need a boy cramping her style.

  Elizabeth was jarred out of the memory. She gripped the hairbrush so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Releasing her aching joints, she threw it down. Elizabeth. That was her name. Not Annabelle. Elizabeth. Who should she tell? Matthew? Would everyone know then that she was connected somehow to this Union soldier and lock her up, too? It was too great a risk, she decided. So she would keep it to herself for now.

  * * *

  'Waking from a dream into a nightmare' is how Jacob would forever describe this day. As darkness opened into full consciousness, pain slammed into his awareness. A lot of pain. He cried out, the pain was so great. Realization flooded his mind. Something was radically different about his body.