Emily's Song

by Christine Marciniak

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He finished his stew, and the farmer handed him a blanket and led him out to the barn. He collapsed in the hay, barely bothering to cover himself and fell asleep in seconds.

  In the morning he shivered with fever. That’s what it was, this alternating shivering and sweating. He needed to be safe in bed with someone taking care of him, not wandering the countryside. Standing up to take a piss used up most of his energy and he let himself collapse back into the hay until he thought he could safely move again. He wished the farmer would let him stay here longer. He just wanted to sleep, he’d bother no one. Perhaps there was another farmer, down the way, who would share his barn. If he couldn’t stay here, he also knew he wasn’t going to look too hard for his unit. He didn’t know where they were and didn’t particularly care. He wanted to find Emily. Needed Emily. He would go home, step by step, hay loft by hay loft, until he got to her.

  Days drifted into other days, melding together until he could not discern what had happened at any given time. Some nights he slept under the stars, others in a barn, either by invitation of the owners, or by his own choice. His leg ached, making every step torture. The pain from his shoulder spread to his whole arm, and he found he couldn’t really move it, nor did he try. The fever never left him. Sometimes he shivered as if in the middle of winter; sometimes he burned and sweat. Always he shook. Sometimes he had nothing to eat. When he did have something to eat, he often couldn’t stomach it. His pants were getting loose on him, and he had to poke a hole in his belt to keep them from sliding down his hips all the way to his ankles.

  Now he didn’t only dream about Emily during the night, but during the day. He talked to her as a vision of her walked along side of him. He wasn’t sure why he was still searching for Emily, since she was right here, with him, all the time, but yet, he kept, day after day, putting one foot in front of the other and hoping it was bringing him closer to home.

  Sometimes George walked with him, and it was nice to see his old friend again. He wasn’t sure where George was the rest of the time.

  There was a constant roaring in his head these days, whether he was near the creek or not. It made it hard to think. All he could concentrate on was one foot in front of the other until he fell and slept and when he got up he did it all over again.

  Then one afternoon things looked familiar. There was an abandoned barn near the creek, and he knew this barn. He and George had many adventures in it when they were small. It shifted and creaked in the wind and sagged dangerously in the middle. Even his fever-addled brain was able to realize that taking shelter there was a poor idea. But he didn’t need to take shelter there. If that was the old barn, then his own place was less than a day’s walk away, even at the snail’s pace he was keeping.

  He would get home.

  He would see Emily.

  He trudged on, step by tired step.

  Night fell, but he forced himself to continue. Home was close. Home and a hot meal and a warm bed.

  Home and Emily.

  Overhead a full moon rose, lighting his way.

  There was something important about a full moon, but he couldn’t remember it now. He would think about it after he got some sleep. The moon lit his way, guiding him, pulling him home. Step by step. Then he emerged from the woods and saw the house, looming in front of him. Warm light spilling from windows. Home. He was home.

  The full moon, which had led him this far, reflected in the fish pond. He stopped and looked, mesmerized at the way the moon filled the whole pond. It was almost as if it was shining from in the pond, not from the sky. A mist came swiftly up from the ground, encompassing him. He collapsed to the ground as the mist turned to an all enveloping fog.

  The moon glinted off his silver wedding band, and then the ring started to disappear as the fog immobilized him.

  Emily! His mind cried out to her, and he let himself be swallowed by the fog and mist.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Emily

  Emily stared through the window of the inn at the full moon.

  “It’s mesmerizing, isn’t it?” Aunt Elsbeth said to her. “I always come to the inn on a full moon. I can’t seem to stay away. That’s why I invited you to dinner tonight. I thought you might have the same urge.”

  Her throat was suddenly too tight to speak. Yes, she wanted—no, that wasn’t the right word—needed to be here. She needed to see the full moon over the fish pond. She needed to see if a mist always came or only sometimes.

  “There’s not always a mist,” Aunt Elsbeth said as if reading her mind. “Even after all these years, I haven’t figured out all the vagaries of the pond.”

  She took a sip of her water, then set it down.

  “Aunt Elsbeth, I need to talk about something with you.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Elsbeth said with perception. “It has something to do with the fish pond?” They didn’t talk about time travel, not when they might be overheard, but they used fish pond as sort of a shorthand.

  “Indirectly,” she said. She took a deep breath before blurting out the news. “I’m pregnant.”

  Elsbeth’s face lit up. “Why that’s wonderful news. Babies brighten the world.”

  “By Sam,” she finished.

  Elsbeth’s joy seemed to lessen a bit. “That is a conundrum, isn’t it? On the one hand, you’ll have a constant reminder of Sam. On the other, how do you possibly begin to explain the child’s advent?”

  “Exactly.” She’d told no one so far, not Dayna, not her mother. She was pregnant by her husband, there was no shame in that, but said husband died in the Civil War, and that part might be a bit hard to explain.

  “I suppose telling the truth is out of the question.”

  “You’re the one who told me no one would believe me.”

  “And they probably won’t, it’s true,” Elsbeth said, holding her fork and knife suspended above her steak, while she contemplated. “Do you have anyone willing to step in and take over as a father figure?”

  “No, not really,” she said.

  “You’re not dating anyone?”

  “I’m a fairly recent widow.” There was a touch more harshness in her voice than she meant to have. “I mean, I know he died over a hundred and fifty years ago, but to me it was only last month.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Elsbeth said soothingly. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to figure out an easy way for you to explain the pregnancy.”

  She sighed, “I’ll have to say it was a one night stand, I suppose. I don’t see any other alternative.” She glanced out the window at the full moon, and the fish pond. And the mist.

  She nearly dropped her water as she stood up. “Aunt Elsbeth, there’s mist!”

  “Wait!” Elsbeth reached out to her and grabbed her hand. “Are you wearing any silver? You don’t want to find yourself sometime else. Not now.”

  She did a quick inventory of her jewelry. Gold chain, gold earrings, no rings. Silver bracelet. She pulled the bracelet off and left it on the table, then she rushed outside. She didn’t know what she expected to see or find, but she had to see that mist. Had to be a part of it. Had to see what it meant that it was here again.

  She ran toward the fish pond, but before she could get there the fog dissipated and there, sitting against the wall, looking half dead, was Sam.

  “Sam!” She fell to her knees by his side and took him in her arms. “Oh, my darling Sam. What happened? You need a doctor. And an ambulance.” She glanced up and saw that Aunt Elsbeth had followed her out of the inn. “Call nine one one! It’s Sam, and he needs a hospital. He’s been hurt.”

  Elsbeth stood frozen.

  “Please!” she cried. “Please call!” She turned her attention to her husband.

  “It’s okay, Sam. You’re here with me. It’s all going to be fine. We’re together; it’s what matters.”

  His skin was hot with fever. His lips chapped from dehydration. His coat was filthy with dark brown sta
ins. Blood. It was blood. Was it his? What had happened?

  “Emily.” It came out more as a whisper than anything else. “I knew I’d get home to you, Emily.” He closed his eyes.

  She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and as long as he kept breathing until the ambulance got here he’d be fine. She was sure of it.

  With a cacophony of sirens and flashing lights the ambulance arrived. Paramedics pushed her aside to get to Sam.

  “What happened to him?” one of them asked her.

  “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “I think he’s been shot. He’s definitely feverish. He just showed up like this.”

  Every word was true.

  They put an oxygen mask over his face and loaded him on a stretcher.

  She tried to climb into the back of the ambulance with Sam. “You can’t.”

  “He’s my husband,” she said. “Please!”

  The medics exchanged a look and relented. They helped her in, and she held Sam’s hand during the ride. He was here. He was back. She didn’t know how or why or what would happen next, but she had a second chance with him and that was all that mattered.

  Once at the hospital, they rushed him inside, and she was left alone in the waiting area. A nurse came up to her. “That’s your husband?”

  “Yes,” she answered feeling numb. Sam was back, but for how long?

  “Can you fill out paperwork for me?”

  “I can try.” She went to sit with the nurse, trying to keep her hands from shaking

  “His name?”

  “Samuel Allen Marshall.”

  “Date of birth?”

  Emily stared at her for a second. Of course she knew when Sam was born, but saying it was in the 1830s was going to be hard to explain. Instead she gave the month and date and added a birth year that would make him the right age.

  “Address?”

  She gave her own. Same for phone number.

  “Health insurance?”

  “No.”

  “No?” The nurse looked surprised.

  “It’s a long story. Don’t worry, we’ll pay. We’ll find a way.”

  “Everyone always thinks they’re not going to need insurance,” the woman sighed. “Until they do.”

  “Yes.” She tried not to snap. “We’ve learned our lesson.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know.” She couldn’t do this anymore. She needed to be with Sam. Barring that, she needed a drink. Or Dayna. She had to contact Dayna. “I’m sorry. Are there many more questions?”

  “No, that’s good for now,” the nurse said. “And don’t you worry, he’ll get the best care here.”

  “Thank you.” She moved away from the intake desk to a quiet corner and called Dayna, not trusting her fingers to text a message. “Please come to the hospital. I’m here and I need you.”

  “What happened? Were you in an accident? I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m fine. I’m here with…someone else. I’ll explain it all when you get here. Please come.”

  Dayna and Johnson were there in fifteen minutes. Dayna rushed in looking frantic, found Emily, and grabbed her in a hug before even asking what was going on.

  Before she had a chance to say a word the nurse approached her. “Mrs. Marshall, your husband is going in to surgery. You can wait in the third floor waiting room. It might be more comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Come on. Maybe it’s quieter there.”

  “Mrs. Marshall?” Dayna asked. “What are you playing at?”

  “Not playing. Let’s go upstairs. We need to talk.”

  “I’d think so,” Dayna said. The three of them found the third floor waiting room, which was mercifully empty.

  Emily took a deep breath. “I’m married.”

  “And you didn’t invite me?” Dayna looked hurt and confused.

  “Day,” Emily shook her head. “It wasn’t possible. Trust me.”

  “Let her tell her story,” Johnson said. “I have a feeling it’s a doozy.”

  He had that right.

  “Johnson, go get us some coffee, will you?” Dayna said.

  “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “You won’t,” Emily promised. With that Johnson headed out in search of coffee. She was glad Dayna had thought of it. Brandy would be really appreciated right now, but lacking that, coffee would do.

  “Married?” Dayna asked again.

  “I’ll tell you when Johnson gets back,” she said. Her hands were still shaking. “We promised not to leave him out.”

  “But for real? Are you married?”

  “I’m not sure I have any valid documentation.” That was true enough. Even if there was a copy somewhere of the marriage certificate she and Sam had signed, it was from the 1860s, hardly considered proof in today’s world. “I suppose it’s a bit unconventional. But yes. Married.”

  Johnson came back and handed each of them a coffee. Emily put hers down on the side table. She needed to tell them before anyone else came in to share this waiting room.

  “Remember your wedding?” she asked.

  Dayna nodded, looking at her skeptically. “Vaguely,” she answered.

  “Okay, remember when I changed clothes partway through the reception?”

  She nodded again.

  Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could do this. Besides, telling them the story of what happened kept her mind off the fact that Sam was in surgery.

  “You’re not going to believe what I have to tell you,” she said. “But trust me, it’s true.”

  “With a lead up like that, this is going to be good.” Johnson came over and sat beside her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, drawing energy from his strength.

  How to even start?

  “Remember that letter you showed me that Beck wrote?”

  “Who?” Dayna looked lost.

  “Beck.” Wait that wasn’t right, she signed it Rebecca. Her free name. “Rebecca. Your great-great-grandmother.”

  “Oh, right. The one addressed to Mrs. Samuel Marshall,” Dayna’s voice trailed off and she studied Emily trying to see where this was going.

  “Right. That was me. That’s my husband Sam in surgery. He was a soldier in the Civil War and was shot. Beck was his slave. I was going to help her escape, but I ended up coming back to the future instead.”

  “Back…to the future?” Dayna said slowly. “You were in the past?”

  “Yes. I fell in the fish pond at the reception and ended up in the past.”

  “That’s not possible,” Johnson said, stating the obvious.

  “I know,” she answered. “Except it happened.”

  “Okay, baby.” Dayna knelt in front of her, taking her hands. “Tell us everything. From the beginning.”

  She did and when she was done Dayna stared at her, dumbfounded. “And he’s here now. In surgery?”

  “He is.” The reality of that coming home to her. Was she going to get Sam back just to lose him? “Oh, and one more thing. If in the future I simply say I met him at your wedding, can you guys back me up on that.”

  “Sure,” Johnson said, still looking slightly shell shocked. “We’ve got your back.”

  “And also, if I tell you how I think it all works, how I went back in time, and you have a son, don’t tell him how it works. There’s a scary story about a man who went back in time, named DayJon and bad things happened. Don’t let it be your son. Don’t name him DayJon, then nothing bad will happen to him.”

  “Sure, sweetie,” Dayna said, “we’ll be sure nothing happens.”

  A surgeon walked into the waiting room. “Mrs. Marshall?” he asked looking at Emily.

  “Yes.” She stood, flanked by her friends. It felt so odd to be able to claim that name again. “How’s Sam?”

  “He’s out of surgery. Everything went well, but he’s going to need some recovery time.” The surgeon, however, still looked concerned. “It appea
rs he was shot with a musket ball some time ago, and the wound festered and got infected. Luckily, he’s not going to lose his arm. Do you know what happened to him?”

  It seemed fairly clear to her he was shot by someone with a musket, but while that would have raised no questions in 1861, what with there being a war and all, now it was a bit unusual.

  “You see,” the surgeon spoke over her hesitation. “We need to report any gunshot related wounds to the police.”

  She looked at Johnson in a panic; she really didn’t need the police involved here. That would complicate things far beyond anything she was capable of dealing with.

  Johnson approached the doctor, held out his hand and introduced himself, and handed the doctor a business card. “Detective Johnson Brown. I’ll take care of everything.”

  The doctor looked relieved that it was one less thing he had to worry about.

  “Can I see him now?” she asked. “Can I see Sam?”

  “We’ll be moving him to a room in about an hour. It’s unlikely he’ll wake up before then. I’ll let you know when you can go to him.” The doctor hurried out again.

  She sank down into one of the chairs and picked up her coffee. It was cold by now, but she didn’t care.

  “Oh, one more thing,” she said to Dayna. “I’m pregnant.”

  ****

  Emily sat by Sam’s bed holding his hand. She’d been sitting by him for an hour, and he hadn’t stirred. Dayna and Johnson were still in the waiting room, ready to take her home when visiting hours ended. She was glad she had told them the story. So far, they seemed like they believed it, but maybe they hadn’t taken it all in yet.

  “Em?” Sam’s voice was cracked and soft.

  “I’m here, Sam,” she said. “Let me give you some water.”

  She poured some from the pitcher into the glass and put in a straw to make it easier. He took a sip. “Nice,” he said. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital,” she said. “The doctors have already operated. You’re going to be fine; you just need to regain your strength.”

  “But where am I?” he asked again.

  “Oh,” she said, understanding. “You mean, ‘when’?”

  “I suppose I do.”