Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  George appeared to be in deep conversation with his wife. In the corner of the room, the young boy, Sam, sat with a woman John could only guess was his mother. They played some manner of game. As their arrival was noticed, George broke off his conversation and stood, nodding toward them.

  “I hope you found your accommodations adequate.”

  “Far more than adequate, Mr. Davis,” John said with all sincerity. “My wife is quite eager for a good night's sleep on that fine mattress. I had to convince her to come down for dinner.”

  Elizabeth smiled broadly.

  “She deserves it. What a brave woman to go traipsing through the countryside with her husband and join up with his regiment for more hardship and work.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth said, meeting his gaze. “But I simply wish to be with my husband and serve any way I can.”

  “I'm impressed your colonel gave you such reprieve to retrieve your wife. I haven't heard of such a thing,” Mr. Davis said, his brows coming together.

  “I had to but mention her cooking and cleaning skills. I also told him of her valuable assistance in the hospital on many occasions.”

  Mr. Davis’s features did not give. Did he not believe John’s story? “Hospital?”

  “Did I not mention that I'm one of my unit's surgeons?”

  The confusion on the man's face evaporated. “Oh. I thought you were one of the infantrymen. Never heard of a commanding officer giving his line men a furlough.”

  “Of course not. That must have sounded strange.” The tension in the room eased.

  Elizabeth let out a slight sigh.

  “Dinner is served,” the butler’s voice interjected. The man must have entered the room at some point during their interchange.

  Everyone looked toward Mr. Davis. Was he satisfied? Would the interrogation continue? John swallowed, but worked to keep his features even.

  Mr. Davis stepped toward his wife and offered her his arm as if nothing was amiss. So everyone in the room proceeded toward the dining room. Once in the massive room, the butler motioned John and Elizabeth to their seats. No sooner were they seated then other servants started bringing out the serving dishes.

  John’s mouth watered at the smells that filled his nose. It had been too long since he had eaten well. The first course, a hearty stew, sat in front of him. He longed to grab the bowl up and drink down the wonderful concoction. But he resisted, forcing himself to take slow bites. And his concentration soon became divided.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your service, Doctor.”

  John nodded, his mouth full of vegetables from the stew.

  “I would serve, if I could. But someone has to stay here and keep things in order.”

  “Of course. Someone has to care for the women and children in our stead.” John glanced over at the Davis women and the young boy.

  “God knows we need good men like you out there fighting, too. We can’t let the Union think they can lord over us.”

  John nodded, but looked down at his empty bowl.

  “It amazes me how much the Union thinks they can run things. I don’t know what kind of situation you come from. But in the last year, the tariffs on everything we bought had tripled.” Would this become a tirade? John started sweating.

  “Yes sir, it…is rather amazing, isn't it?”

  “How is my family supposed to run this farm with such ridiculous costs? We have been producing the biggest cash crop of cotton seen in the past ten years! Yet those conceited Yankees think we somehow owe them more of what we worked so hard to produce.” Mr. Davis waved his spoon around as he spoke. He had drained his bowl, and signaled for the workers to bring the main course.

  John gulped. Mr. Davis had been quiet for a handful of seconds. Did he wait for John to respond? Taking a long drink from his glass, he then proceeded. “How indeed?” John said, trying to sound outraged.

  He noticed Elizabeth staring down at her plate.

  Mr. Davis proceeded to eat what John believed to be an excellent meal. If only it wasn't spoiled by such a tense discussion.

  “Who do those egotistical Yankee industrialists think they are, trying to insist we buy everything from them instead of the British? Not everything must come from the North.” Mr. Davis shoved a fork full of vegetables in his mouth but his face was rather dour.

  “Mr. Davis, might I say, this is an excellent meal,” Elizabeth chimed in.

  John appreciated the effort to shift the conversation.

  She continued, “I wish I could cook this well.”

  “Thank you. We have one of the finest cooks in the area.”

  “Indeed, I almost feel like it's unfair to the other soldiers in my unit,” John said, taking a bite of ham.

  “I never pass up an opportunity to treat one of our loyal soldiers to something he deserves. Your commitment to fight for our way of life is something we should never forget.” Mr. Davis raised his glass towards John. “We all have a part to play. This may not be the richest farm around, but we do our best to supply things that others need. You supply our troops with what I'm sure is the best medical care we could get. And my son, well he is out there just like you, protecting our rights and freedoms with his very life.”

  As Mr. Davis finished that last sentence, his gaze shifted towards the window. A moment ago, he seemed quite angry in his remarks, but his expression about his son showed that he was just a father who worried.

  John was gripped. Did his own parents have this same distant look?

  “Grandpa, do we have to talk about this?” came a younger voice from the other side of the table, breaking into John's own self-reflection.

  “Listen, Sam, if you are going to run this farm one day, you need to understand how things work. It's important for you to realize there is more to farming than just planting seeds. We have to tend the fields, collect the harvest, and then bale it up. But it doesn't stop there. We have to get it to market at the port, and then deal with the brokers to get paid.

  “Son, there are many things we must buy there, and we always look for the best deal to keep our costs down. If that means we buy British, so be it. Those Yankees insisting we pay them more taxes to get the same things we have always bought just isn't fair.” Mr. Davis ate his last bite of ham, and motioned for the servants to start serving dessert.

  John, counting the minutes, smiled weakly.

  “You run a fine farm here, Mr. Davis,” John said, again hoping to change the subject.

  “I appreciate that, Doctor. My father was a small farmer, didn't have much. I worked to grow this place into something better, and my son has done even more. In fact, before war broke out, we worked to attain more land to the east. It appears our only option.”

  “Why is that?” John asked.

  “About ten years ago, I had looked at selling this farm and taking everything we had out west to build a bigger estate and possibly a much larger farm. But those idiot politicians from the North decided to deny our property rights of taking our slaves with us. The idea that they can encroach upon our free rights is amazing.”

  John kicked himself for that last question. He attempted to rush through his dessert. It wasn’t difficult. Had he ever had anything so delicious?

  “Are you all right, soldier? You appear to be eating a bit quickly,” Mr. Davis said.

  “Sorry. I just get excited when I think too hard about the audacity of the North.”

  “I know what you mean.” Mr. Davis grinned.

  John glanced at Elizabeth, trying to read her opinion. He couldn't discern anything. Maybe that was a good thing. If he couldn’t read her thoughts, perhaps Mr. Davis couldn’t either.

  “That was a fine meal…” John started to say.

  “Indeed it was. Would you join me in the men's parlor for a cigar, Doctor?” Mr. Davis interrupted.

  Everyone started to rise from the table.

  “Sir, I think…” John looked at Elizabeth. How was he to avoid spending more time with the
man?

  Elizabeth shook her head. He would have to play along a bit more.

  “I think that would be a fine idea. We don't get many cigars in the field,” John said, surrendering to the situation. “But with your permission, I believe my wife would like to retire for the evening. Traveling on foot has been much more wearying on her than we had expected.”

  “By all means,” Mr. Davis said. He stood and leaned toward his own wife.

  John drew Elizabeth toward himself. What was safe to say in this company?

  Her eyes were wide.

  He leaned forward and kissed the side of her face, lingering there to whisper in her ear. “I’m sorry. I will join you soon.”

  Her hands squeezed his forearms and she pressed a light kiss to the side of his face before pulling away.

  Mr. Davis approached as he and Elizabeth parted. The man was upon him in a moment, clapping a firm hand on his back and leading him toward the hall.

  “You know, we get some of our best cigars from this French trader. We try to catch him every time we visit the market, but he isn't always there…”

  * * *

  Mr. Davis's voice boomed all the way down the hall. John would have to suffer more political ranting from their host. Elizabeth said a quick prayer for him. Then she nodded to the other women in the dining room before taking her leave and going upstairs. Back in the relative safety of the Rose Room, it was all she could do to resist collapsing on the bed. Instead, she deflated into the lone chair in the corner of the room.

  Knock, knock, knock. Coming back to full awareness, she realized she had drifted off. How long had it been? Rubbing her eyes, she struggled to stand. Knock, knock, knock. Who was at the door? John?

  “Come,” she called as she managed to rise.

  The door creaked open to reveal Gracie. Where was John? How late was it?

  “I come to help with yer dress, Miz.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She remained silent as Gracie helped remove the gown and prepared her for bed. She hadn’t noticed at first, but Gracie carried her dress. It had been washed. And the woman hung it over the fireplace to dry.

  The woman was efficient in her work. Elizabeth was prepared for bed in short order. She thanked Gracie, who nodded and took her leave.

  But Elizabeth wondered after John. How much longer would he be? Should she wait up for him? It was best she should. And so Elizabeth, clad in the fine nightshift, sat at the vanity to wait for John to appear. She watched the flame flicker on the oil lantern for a time. It was nice to blank out her thoughts and focus on the dancing of the single flame.

  Her attention was eventually drawn to her reflection in the vanity's mirror. Must the stresses of the last few days be so obvious in her face? And her hair! It had been braided, but now as she took the braid down so that she could brush it out, she saw the true state of her locks. And it surprised her. With much effort, she removed the tangles. Once satisfied that her hair was as good as it could be under the circumstances, she braided it again and pinned it up.

  By this time, the weariness of the day loomed over her, threatening to once again overtake her. But she was still determined to wait for John before bedding down for the night. Still, her head seemed heavy. So she rested it on her arms on the vanity. And her eyelids…they were heavy too. Maybe she could just close them for a minute…

  “Elizabeth?” She startled. Had she dozed off yet again?

  Now that she came around, she cringed, surprised he could have sneaked up on her. He smelled strongly of cigars and whiskey.

  “It appears you survived Mr. Davis,” she grimaced. “I guess there is one thing you said that was true. This trip has worn me out.” Elizabeth reached out her arms for a slight stretch. “How long were you in the parlor?”

  “About an hour. I am not usually so unwilling to share a cigar. But tonight? Just be glad you didn't have to put up with another hour's worth of talk.” John pulled off his boots and jacket.

  Elizabeth's face became serious. “I wish we didn't have to lie to them,” she whispered.

  “I know.” John stepped over to where she sat, cupping the side of her face. “Me, too. But we don't have much of a choice.” The weariness in her eyes must have been as apparent to him as they had been to her. “We need to get some rest.”

  Elizabeth glanced around the room and her eyes settled on the lone bed. “Are we going to share the bed?”

  “I'll sleep on the floor,” John said, yawning.

  “No,” she stopped him, as he grabbed a pillow from the bed. “It will be fine. We'll keep our clothes on and we'll be fine.”

  His gaze on her was skeptical, but he seemed too tired to argue. Having removed his jacket, he was in a long sleeve shirt with a slight V-neck opening. She climbed into bed and he tucked her in, while he chose to lie on top of the covers. He turned on his side to face her.

  “You all right?” His voice was soft.

  She nodded.

  He reached up and moved a few stray hairs off her forehead. “It's been a long day. You need your rest.”

  She reached over and stroked his face. Her eyes caught his and held. Fingertips worked as if of their own accord, relishing the feel of his skin. And of his hands as they stroked her arms. It wasn't long before her hand wandered to the exposed area of his chest that the V afforded her. Smoothing her hand over the area, she felt this part of him that she had never touched before. His heart beating faster under her hand, and she heard his breath quicken.

  Suddenly and without warning, he grabbed her hand to stop her. It was such a harsh gesture that she looked up at him. Had she gone too far?

  “If you want a church wedding,” he panted. “You are going to have to stop.”

  She nodded, feeling like a child being admonished for having her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Lizzie,” he said softly. “You didn't do anything wrong. A man only has so much restraint.” He leaned over and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm going to need to sleep on the floor.” He grabbed his pillow and moved to sit up.

  “Take one of the blankets,” she said.

  He nodded. “Thank you.” He grabbed a blanket and moved to the floor.

  They lay in their separate spaces in silence for several minutes.

  She felt so foolish. There were unshed tears in her eyes. “John?”

  “Yeah?” His voice was a whisper.

  “I can't sleep.” It was the truth. Her mind so full of guilt.

  She heard him shift. “What's the matter, Lizzie?”

  “I need you.” It was all she could manage to get out.

  “But…”

  “What if I promise to keep my hands to myself? Could you maybe lay here with me until I go to sleep?” Maybe that would make things better.

  Her plea was met with silence for a stretch of moments.

  Then he spoke. “Of course.”

  He moved back onto the bed and enveloped her in his arms, holding her to himself.

  True to her word, she kept her hands to herself this time and it wasn't long until she drifted off to sleep in her beloved's arms.

  * * *

  Daniel sat down to rest. The run this morning had been particularly grueling. He had his marching orders and didn't mind if their commander pushed them harder. They had slacked off since their last bought of fighting. But in these last few days they had seen a shift in the way the commander handled maneuvers. Though he hadn't known Jacob prior to that first battle, he felt his absence in the run this morning. Jacob had always stood out in that way. It saddened Daniel to remember this and think that Jacob would never run again.

  Someone came up behind him, interrupting his thoughts. Turning, he saw Melanie crouch and lean on the tree he rested against. His heart skipped a beat. It didn't matter how much he tried to talk himself down from these feelings; they continued to flourish. He needed to get a handle on his heart lest he risk damaging it. Couldn't he see that she and Jacob cared for each other? Just the other day in t
he hospital told him as much—the way they interacted, the way they looked at each other.

  “Hey,” she started, almost whispering. “You look tired.”

  “I just ran six miles with all of this gear on.” His voice came out in spurts, pants.

  “Oh my. Why on earth would they have you do that?”

  “To prepare for battle.” He could see the concern in her eyes. “We march out tomorrow.”

  She fell quiet for several seconds, which was a bit unusual for her. It allowed him a moment to study her features. Not that he didn't have them memorized.

  Chiding himself, he broke off his musings. “Did you need something?”

  “I…um…just wanted to thank you for what you did for me yesterday.” She placed a hand on his arm.

  He nodded, his breath catching at the contact.

  “You were right. Jacob apologized, and everything is fine now between us.”

  He looked at her and knew that even though her words spoke of everything being fine, that something was still off.

  “And you? Is everything fine?” He needed to know that she was okay.

  She took a moment before she answered. “It will be a while before I can accept that I did everything I could to save his leg.”

  Daniel nodded. He reached out and put a hand on hers.

  She flipped her hand over so that their fingers intertwined.

  Daniel’s stomach did flip-flops.

  “I will miss you, Daniel,” Melanie said, her eyes serious. “You've been a good friend to me.”

  He squeezed her hand. “As have you.”

  She smiled at him and squeezed his hand back. “I have to get back to the laundry. I just sneaked away for a few moments when I saw you walk by.”

  He nodded. “If you must.”

  She released his hand and stood, walking back the direction she had come. And Daniel watched her go. Part of him wished he could have said so much more; part of him was glad that he had protected his heart. Either way, it was time for him to report for musket drills.

  Chapter Nine