Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  But she marveled again at the story. The fact that the Confederates had any consideration for her was truly astonishing. God's hand had been with her.

  The lines on his face softened. “Whatever happened to you, you're here with me now.” He took her face in his hands. “And you're safe.” He pressed a kiss to her lips.

  She wrapped her arms around his midsection and relished the feeling of being with him again.

  As they parted, John motioned for them to continue walking, hand in hand.

  “What about you? What happened to you that day?” She needed to know, too.

  He attempted to shrug it off. “When they captured me, I was sent away for interrogation. They tried to collect what information they could, which was nothing. I didn't know anything. Then they sent me back to the front lines to get some use of my skills as a physician.”

  She nodded. It was astounding that they had been separated and brought back together. How long would it have taken her to recover her memories, if ever, had he not come back to her?

  Silence fell over them again.

  Elizabeth spoke into the stillness. “Did you mean what you said that first day you came to camp?”

  “What do you mean?” His brows came together.

  “You said that you regretted not marrying me when you had the chance.”

  John nodded once. “Yes, I meant it and I still do.” He paused. “Why?”

  Elizabeth chose her words carefully. “It's just that, with all that's happened, I can't imagine going back to life as it was.”

  “No?” His voice was difficult to decipher. What was he thinking?

  She continued anyway. “No. And one thing I can't imagine is being separated from you ever again.”

  He stopped walking. This caused her to stop and look back at him, curious after his thoughts.

  “Then let's do it.” There was no reservation in him.

  “Do what?”

  “Let's get married.” He shifted his body to face her.

  “What? Here?” She dropped his hand.

  “Yes, right here.”

  “You're crazy.” Stifling a laugh, she quirked an eyebrow at his ridiculous notion.

  “Maybe I am, but I want to pledge my life to you.” He took both of her hands in his.

  She looked at him, weighing his words.

  “I'll still promise you a church wedding, but let's share our hearts here and now.”

  “Like exchange vows?” She was becoming more perplexed by his suggestion.

  “Exactly.”

  Turning his head this way and that, she followed his gaze to a grouping of wildflowers nearby. Holding up his index finger, he moved away from her and gathered a small bouquet's worth and brought them to her. She inhaled their fragrance, smiling at him. Then he reached for her hands again.

  He stood for a moment, looking into her eyes. Then he cleared his throat and began, “I pledge to you my faithfulness, Elizabeth. You are my best friend and my soul mate. I pledge to you that I will love you every day of our lives together and do whatever I can to ensure that you will never know need or want for anything. If you will but pledge yourself to me, I will spend my life trying to make yours as beautiful as you have made mine.”

  She stared at him. How could she possibly respond to that? It was several moments before she found her voice. Swallowing, she then returned his vow with one of her own. “I pledge you my faithfulness. You are everything to me. My love, my friend, my confidante, my soul mate. You have made me so happy, and I know I will spend my life dedicated to your happiness. And I will love you forever. For as long as we both shall live.”

  John pulled her to himself for a long, meaningful kiss. She returned his fervor with her own, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding to him firmly. And she loved the way his arms came around her and enveloped her. Nothing could harm her here.

  He continued to press kisses to her face while she remained in his embrace. She tilted her head back and his lips grazed the tender flesh of her neck. There was a tingling sensation that began where his skin made contact with hers, but it didn’t stop there. It filled her body. Not wanting him to stop, she pushed a hand into his hair.

  But he did end the contact of his lips with her skin, instead burying his face into her shoulder.

  “Lizzie,” he breathed. His voice was deep.

  After some moments, John extricated himself and, pressing one more chaste kiss to her lips, drew back. “We should be on our way.”

  She nodded, dipping her head. It was mid-afternoon by now and night would be upon them before long.

  As they continued to follow the stream, headed north, they traveled hand in hand as much as the landscape allowed them. They would release each other only in order to manage more difficult terrain. And they slipped between easy conversation and comfortable silences seamlessly as if they'd never been apart.

  Afternoon faded into the earliest hours of evening. They had traveled a good distance along the stream without disturbance. But that was no longer to be the case. Up ahead, an older man fished with a young boy.

  Elizabeth glanced at John. What were they going to do? Should they hide from this man? Or had they already been spotted?

  The older man raised his arm in greeting.

  There would be no hiding.

  “Good day to you, sir,” John said to the man and Elizabeth nodded toward him as they approached.

  “And to you, soldier, ma'am,” the man responded, pulling his line out of the water. “What brings you around these parts?”

  What should they say? They couldn't share the truth.

  John didn't skip a beat. “Left my regiment, with permission, to get my wife and bring her to our camp. We're in bad need of some womenfolk to launder and sew for us. My wife's happy to volunteer and I'm happy to have her.”

  Had John been thinking of this story already?

  “How far away from your regiment are ya?” the kindly man asked.

  “Another day's walk at least.”

  “So, you'll spend the night in the woods?” The man seemed rather concerned.

  “Suppose we have to.” John put an arm around Elizabeth. “But we don't mind.”

  “Nonsense, my good man. A loyal soldier like you? Y’all are welcome to come stay at my house. It's the least we can do.”

  Elizabeth looked at John, trying to keep her breathing even. How were they going to get out of this?

  John, once again, didn’t seem fazed. “Sir, your hospitality is much appreciated, but I'm afraid my wife and I, well, we could never repay such generosity.”

  The man didn't seem to notice the hesitation. “Never mind that. Besides, my son is a soldier same as you. If he were in your position, I'd like to think someone would do the same for him.”

  John and Elizabeth exchanged another look. How could they refuse without being outright rude? It wasn't possible.

  “Thank you, sir, we accept your benevolent offer.” It was Elizabeth who spoke up.

  “George. George Davis.”

  “Excuse me?” Elizabeth asked, confused.

  “That's my name. As opposed to 'sir'?” He smiled and winked at her.

  Elizabeth's mouth curved into a smile.

  “I'm John Smith and my wife's name is Elizabeth.”

  The man clapped a hand on the shoulder of the lad next to him. “And this here's my grandson Sam. What do you think?” he said, directing his attention to the young boy. “Are we ready to head back home?”

  The young boy nodded, pulling his line out of the water.

  John stepped forward to help them gather their fishing gear. Once everything was packed and situated, they moved away from the stream. They hadn't walked long before their destination became visible. There in the distance was a structure that was little more than a white block. However, as they neared the building, Elizabeth saw that it was a massive plantation home. This was no farmer they had come across. He was the master of a plantation.

  The house sat atop a
slightly crested hilltop. Large fields of grass lead up to it with beautiful gardens of flowers wrapped around. Columns in front of the house rose to meet the upper level deck where she saw what seemed to be the lady of the house perched, calling down to one of the house servants in the front yard.

  There appeared to be some amount of hustle and bustle as people went in and out, carrying out their various duties. Just beyond the house, planted fields stretched to the tree line, with crops just starting to sprout. The energy of this entire country estate was similar, and yet unique to the buzz she was used to sensing back in Boston. It seemed there were always people moving out and about when she and John would walk to the park or return from their fathers' practice. There seemed to be the same amount of energy here. It just had a different style and personality.

  As they neared the house, their host waved to the lady of the house.

  She waved back, a question in her eyes as she looked over his company.

  “Look what I found! A bonafide Confederate soldier. He and his wife will bed down with us tonight,” George told the woman.

  She nodded, clearly used to her husband's flights of fancy. The woman waved in acknowledgment of her guests before turning to re-enter the house.

  They climbed the few steps that would allow them to access the front entrance of the house that now loomed over them. In seconds they were inside the grand foyer. Their host busied himself setting down his fishing gear and divesting himself of his hat, handing it off to a servant who appeared out of nowhere to collect whatever the master chose to drop off.

  Elizabeth corrected herself. These are not paid workmen. These are not servants. They were slaves.

  A portly black woman made her way down the main staircase. She had a wide smile and happy eyes. And she seemed genuinely pleased to welcome them.

  “John, Elizabeth, this is Gracie. She'll take care of you.” He turned toward the slave woman. “Gracie, show them to the Rose Room.”

  “Yes'sa,” she said, nodding. “This way, folks.” She indicated that they should follow her up the stairs.

  George took his leave of them and the room, heading on to the next thing, leaving them in Gracie's care.

  John and Elizabeth followed Gracie up the stairs.

  “Well now, y'all be stayin' the night here with us I hear,” Gracie said.

  “Your bo-, er, master is very kind to open his home to two traveling souls such as we,” John spoke up, seeming to have the same trouble delineating between slave and servant.

  “He is that,” she said. “He be right down kind-hearted that Masta Davis. Sho nuff.”

  They had reached the top of the stairs and turned down a hall to the right. The hall had several doors on either side alluding to a number of rooms. They stopped at the second door on the left.

  “This here's the Rose Room. It's Miz Lynette's favorite room.”

  She opened the door and stepped out of the way so they could enter.

  It became obvious why it was called the Rose Room. The theme had overtaken the room. Wallpapered in tiny rosebuds, the bed pillows also had embroidered roses on them, and the vanity boasted a vase with fresh roses. A washbowl and pitcher set was also painted with roses.

  The room was furnished with a double bed in the center and two nightstands, one on either side. There was also a vanity and chair on the wall near the door across the room from the fireplace, and a lone chair occupied what would otherwise be a barren corner of the room.

  “It's lovely,” Elizabeth exclaimed, hoping to appease the sentiments of the slave woman.

  Gracie just nodded. It occurred to Elizabeth that perhaps this wasn't her cup of tea. If it were, it would certainly be in a rose print tea set.

  “I'll leave y'all here to freshen up for supper,” she said. “If y'all need anything, don't hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you,” John said, then he seemed to remember his role, and added, “That will be all.”

  Gracie nodded and closed the door.

  Elizabeth exchanged a disapproving look with John.

  “I don't like it any more than you do, Lizzie.” He stepped close to her and kept his voice low, “But we're playing a part. There are certain things these people will expect of us. Certain ways we're supposed to act.”

  Elizabeth looked away and toward the window. He was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Glancing back into his eyes, she saw that it pained him to disappoint her in any way. She knew he was only doing whatever he thought necessary to get them home safely. As she searched the room, her gaze fell on the bed. Her body was so tired and worn from being pushed these last couple of days.

  Almost as if he could read her thoughts, John said, “I think we have enough time for you to lay down before dinner.” He pulled her toward the spacious bed.

  She looked longingly at the mattress, but resisted his tugging, glancing down at her dress. “I'm a mess.”

  John opened his mouth to say something when a knock on the door sounded through the room.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened to admit Gracie and she had clothing draped across her arms. “Miz Lynette thought you might need these while we get yer dress clean, Miss,” Gracie said to Elizabeth, moving past them to lay the things on the bed.

  As she laid them out, Elizabeth noted that one was a dress and the other a nightshift.

  “Oh, I couldn't,” was her immediate response.

  “Well,” Gracie said seriously, “Miz Lynette insisted I collect that dress of yers for cleanin' and she won't be too happy with me if I come back empty handed.”

  Elizabeth looked at her. Getting Gracie in trouble was the last thing she would want to do. And so she conceded, nodding to the woman.

  Gracie came over to her and began unbuttoning her dress, though her dress buttoned down her front and she could have easily accessed the buttons herself. Instead of protesting, Elizabeth's eyes met John's as Gracie began to expose her chemise.

  His face flushed and he turned his head as if he searched for something to focus on, but he was trapped in that corner of the room between the vanity and the bed. He seemed to have trouble gathering his wits. But once he did, he sat on the bed, back to her, and averted his gaze, acting interested in the embroidery on the pillows.

  For her part, Gracie was too busy with her own work to have noticed that Elizabeth's supposed husband avoided looking at her in an under-dressed state.

  Gracie removed the dress and Elizabeth stood, clad only in her chemise. “Miz Elizabeth, are you hot? You are flushed all over!”

  “I think I am a little warm,” Elizabeth lied. How could she explain the true source of her warmed skin?

  Elizabeth prayed it would be over soon as Gracie helped her into the dinner gown and began buttoning the fabric closed. It wasn't that Elizabeth wasn't used to being helped into a gown, or even that she begrudged Gracie her job. No, her trepidations had everything to do with John's closeness while she was so exposed.

  The sound of a bell ringing from somewhere in the house caused Elizabeth to jump.

  “Oh, that's for me! It's Miz Lynette. I'll be back to finish as soon as I can,” Gracie promised as she rushed out of the room after whatever life-and-death errand she was being called to. At least that's how she reacted to that bell.

  They remained as they were for several minutes, quiet and still, waiting on Gracie to come and finish so that John could once again look at her. The minutes ticked by like hours.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” Elizabeth finally said. “John, you can finish buttoning me up. I'm decent enough.”

  He hesitated to turn, as if fearful of what he might see. At last, he turned his head to look at her and visibly relaxed. Did he think he would find her exposed?

  “Would you?” she asked, turning.

  * * *

  As Elizabeth turned, John discovered that she was fully clothed only from the front. There was a deep 'v' open down her back where the buttons would normally hold the dress together.
Only a few had been put through their holes. Her thin chemise, as well as her bare shoulder blades, were displayed before him. It was far from indecent; still he eyed the back of Elizabeth’s head. Relief washed over him that she couldn't see his flushed face.

  He stood and stepped toward her. Reaching out and touching the delicate fabric, his face warmed even more. And his fingers fumbled with the buttons more than he thought possible. It took some time and concentrated effort before he started to make progress. Eventually, he worked up past the top of her chemise and his hands grazed her bare back.

  Goose flesh raised on his arms as a wave of electricity rushed through his body. But he focused on the task at hand and managed to push the last button through. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said, turning.

  He looked away, working to still his nerves and appear calm and collected as if nothing about it had fazed him.

  “Why, John Taylor,” she said. “As a doctor, I wouldn't expect you to be so easily spooked by the female form.”

  “What? I was just…” he started.

  “I'm just teasing.” She smiled. “You were a gentleman.”

  John let out another ragged sigh and smiled back at Elizabeth. Leave it to her to take an awkward moment and turn it into something lighthearted. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

  The dinner bell rang, breaking the moment. John hoped to have as little contact as possible, but they would not be able to shirk having dinner with the family.

  His eyes caught Elizabeth’s. Did she share his nervousness about the evening ahead?

  “How are we going to get through this one?” Elizabeth whispered.

  “Together,” he said, taking her hand in his.

  Her mouth became a thin line, and her breathing was short and fast.

  Pulling her toward his chest, he held her for a moment. “Think about what your mother would do.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She groaned.

  He let out a little laugh. And when he pulled back, her features had softened into a slight smile. “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  Keeping her hand in his, he moved over toward the door. Opening it, he then led her into the hallway. She maneuvered her hand into the crook of his arm and they went down the stairs. Moments later, they joined the family in the parlor.