Cheryl Reavis (26 page)

“Tell me,” he whispered. “What will…you do?”

“Anything,” she said, hoping that was the answer he wanted and that she could oblige him.

“Then get me…out of here.”

She hesitated. She had heard him perfectly, but in these past few days she had learned only too well how precious a decent bed for a wounded soldier could be.

“When you’re able—” she qualified.

“No! Now! You take me—out of here. I won’t abide his charity—”

“Frederich, I don’t understand. Whose—?”

“I can’t bear it! Get me out, Caroline. Get me home. I want to see my—children before I die—”

“Frederich—”

He reached out to grab her arm. She could feel his fever through her sleeve. “Will you—honor—none of your marriage—vows then?”

I don’t deserve that!
she almost said. But perhaps she did. She had locked her door against him. She had never obeyed him. And she had only come to him now because she feared he was dead.

“Frederich, you aren’t able to travel—”

“No? You should have—seen me when I got here. I am going to die anyway, Caroline—”

“No,” she said. “You aren’t going to die.” She stepped closer so that she could look into his eyes. “You aren’t going to die—but if you are determined to get home, I will help you.”

“You—swear it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it—”

“I swear. I will do everything I can to get you home.”

She took his hand, and he relaxed visibly, his eyes closing as he gave a long sigh. She stood there for a long while— until she was certain that he slept. Then and only then did she finally let go.

I
s she crying?

Frederich couldn’t tell in the darkness. She was sitting by the open window. He could see her profile every time the lightning flashed. He could hear the rain falling steadily on the windowsill.

He had awakened abruptly at the storm’s height, thinking he was back at Gettysburg and hearing the heavy guns.

Oh, the guns!

There had been a time in his life when he had come to love a summer storm, and by that he had known that his conversion from a disgraced German
Soldat
to a North Carolina farmer had been complete. But would he ever hear the sound of thunder again and not remember the fighting at Gettysburg?

He drew a deep breath.

Yes, she was crying.

Don’t, damn it! Don’t!

It made him angry that she cried. It made him angry that she hid it from him. If she would just do as he asked and get him away from here! He stirred restlessly and the movement made him moan. She was immediately by his side, ever mindful of his needs. But she asked him no questions. He hated questions; she had learned that the first day. She
wiped his face with a cool wet cloth without his leave. He was burning up—it felt wonderful.

I can’t remember,
he thought, knowing all the while that it was more that he wouldn’t. He recalled the wide, open field—the blazing hot sun—men throwing off their piecemeal jackets and rolling up their shirtsleeves—the wild artillerymen with no shirts at all. That terrible sense of urgency—trying to get the cartridge boxes distributed— trying to find water to fill the canteens. Hurry! Hurry!

William taking his shoes off.

Get those shoes back on, boy!

Aw, Frederich—the damn things hurt!

Get them on! If we have to run back across this field, there will be too many things you
won’t
want to step in.

Avery and Kader Gerhardt at it again—Avery pelting the pompous schoolmaster in the back of the head with a green apple just for the fun of it.

And all the while, he, Frederich, doing his duty, forcing himself not to think about
her.
He had been certain that he would die.
What if I never see you again!

But he hadn’t died. He was here, hanging on, and William, that gentle, laughing boy, was in his grave. Did Caroline know?

I don’t want to tell her. I had to tell her about the child— I can’t tell her about William, too. Oh, God, I hurt so!

There was never any respite from the pain. Even his eyes hurt—no, the sun was up.

Too bright in here—what happened to the night? What happened to the storm?

“Drink this, Frederich,” someone said—Caroline?

“Why are we still here?” he muttered, turning his head away. “I want to be gone from this place—”

“Drink,” she said again, catching him so he couldn’t turn his head away. “I know it tastes bad, but it will help the pain—”

“No—”

“Yes,” she countered, always herself no matter what. She forced the liquid into his mouth, overwhelming him with it so that he had to swallow or choke.

“Again,” she said.

“No—”

“Yes.”

“Leave me—alone—”

“Drink it!”

He drank deeply. It was the only way to get rid of her. But when she moved away from the bed, he immediately found that he didn’t want to be rid of her after all.

“Caroline-!”

“I’m here, Frederich.”

“Caroline—why? Tell—me—”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, Frederich.”

“Why?”

“Shhh,” she soothed him, wiping his face again with the cool cloth.

“Where are my children?” he asked abruptly. “Where are Lise and Mary Louise?”

“At home, Frederich. With Beata.”

“I want to see them—”

“I know. You will see them. As soon as I can find us a way to get there.”

“No doctors, you understand that? No—doctors—”

“Frederich—”

“Promise me. I will keep my arm and my leg or—I willdie. Promise me!”

“Yes, all right. I promise you—sleep now. Sleep—”

The guns!

No. No, it’s thunder. A storm—I remember—

Caroline by the window—is she there?

He turned his head. There was no window.

Where am I? What is this place? The storm—it must be still the same storm—or is it another one?

“Are you here?” he asked abruptly, startling himself with the sound of his own voice.

“I’m here, Frederich,” she said immediately from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“What is this place?”

“It’s an empty warehouse. It’s where we have to wait until the train comes.”

“Is it night? I can’t see you.”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t you—sleeping?”

“Because Trudy says the thunder makes you have nightmares and I thought you might wake and not know where you were.”

“Trudy?”

“The woman who was taking care of you.”

Yes,
he thought. He remembered Trudy. A soft woman with big breasts. She spoke to him in his own language—the kind of woman he might have wanted if he hadn’t been so besotted with Caroline Holt, the kind of woman who would take money from Eli to let him stay in her house.

“Stop crying,” he said.

“I’m not crying.”

“I—heard you—when the rain was coming down. You thought I couldn’t hear—”

“That was before—when we were still in Trudy’s house-several nights—a week ago, not now.”

“Caroline, I want to know why you are crying.”

“I’m not—”

“I can hear you—”

“William is dead, Frederich! He’s dead—”

The memory suddenly rained down upon him—all disconnected—in bits and pieces. But he remembered.

Oh, God!

Lying on the ground—the hot July sun beating down on him, his eyes, his mouth full of dirt. Blood—everywhere. He couldn’t move his arm and leg. Men—
things—
lying on
top of him. A canteen—close—close—he couldn’t reach it no matter how hard he tried. He was so thirsty! His eyes burning and burning. His face scraped and burning. He could hear the wind high in the trees at the edge of the field. There was shade there—a cool breeze and shade—

It hurts—who is that moaning so?

William? Caroline, I’m sorry!

So thirsty…

The pain!

I hurt so bad!

Dead and dying. Dead and dying everywhere!

Caroline!

Someone turning him over, making him scream in pain.

Who are you? Where is William! Don’t leave the boy here! No! Don’t leave the boy here!

Someone speaking to him in German, dragging him up off the ground.

He is too far gone, Frederich. We have to hurry—their soldiers are coming—

Then leave us both, damn you!

The jarring farm wagon. William crying and crying in the rain.

Geben Sie ihm etwas! Give him something!
But there was nothing anyone could give him.

Don’t cry, William. Please—please!

Who is there? Who—?

Hands lifting him, giving him food and drink, binding up his wounds, covering him against the rain.

Why have you come? I want nothing from you!

It doesn’t matter what you want, Frederich. I will do my penance for Anna—

He lay in the dark for a long time. He realized now that they were not alone. He could hear the stirrings of other soldiers around him, wounded men who moaned in pain— or was it
he
who did so?

“Caroline—”

“What?” she answered immediately.

When he didn’t say anything else, she came closer to him.

He stared up at her, trying to see her face in the darkness and thanking God that she could see his. “He…didn’t suffer, Caroline. William didn’t suffer.”

She made a small sound and bowed her head. He reached out with his good hand to pull her forward until she had to kneel down beside him. She turned her face away from him, but he kept pulling. He could feel her trembling.

“Come here,” he said.

“No. No—there are people here—”

“Come—Caroline—”

“I—am supposed to—take care of you—”

“Caroline, come here.”

She abruptly capitulated and rested her head on the edge of the stretcher, careful not to touch him, her face still turned away. He couldn’t get his arm around her, couldn’t touch her except in an awkward, backhanded way.

“He didn’t suffer, Caroline,” he said again, brushing her soft hair with the backs of his fingers, praying she would just accept what he said and not ask any questions.

“I can’t bear—leaving him in that—desolate—place,” she said in a voice full of tears.

“He is with his comrades, Caroline,” he whispered to her. “Your William will not mind being there with them. After the Sharpsburg battle—he gave me the money—for his
Leichenbier,
he said. He wanted all the men in ‘K’ Company to gather and drink to him if he was killed in battle. He would be there, he said—with bells on. He was a good and brave soldier—a joy to us who fought alongside him. I will miss him all the rest of my life…”

She suddenly turned to him, pressing her face against his shoulder.

How long they stayed like that, he didn’t know. He woke with the sun shining and her gone. He kept turning his head,
trying to look for her—listening for her voice. She had apparently left him on his own with no one around to even bring him a drink of water or a chamber pot. Other men lay on their stretchers around him, abandoned as well, only none of them seemed as concerned about it as he.

He was hot and sweaty and miserable when Caroline finally returned. She came bearing gifts—bread and soup to eat and some hot water and soap. He suffered her ministrations in a surly kind of silence—which she implicitly ignored. She bathed him as best she could. She changed the honey-soaked bandages she insisted cover the wounds on his arm and thigh. He was perfectly aware that his short temper had forced her into this dearth of conversation, but he resented her not making an attempt to talk to him all the same.

He waited until she was done before he asked.

“Why did you come back?”

“What?”

“Why did you come back?” he said again.

She turned and looked at him, and incredibly he could feel his eyes begin to well and his control slipping away from him.

“Why are you here, Caroline?” he demanded in spite of the tears he couldn’t subdue. “I’m not—strong anymore. Can’t you see that? I’m not—strong—
anymore!”

“No,” she said quietly. “But your eyes are still blue.”

The fever came again, trapping him in some hellish place where his enemies and his dead comrades pursued him without mercy. Even so, he knew that Caroline was with him sometimes—and Johann.

No. Johann was not here. Johann had stayed in Richmond. Caroline was here with him—on the train.

When he finally woke and knew that for certain, it was raining again, a quiet steady rain that drummed against the stopped railway car and rolled down the dirty windowpanes.
All the seats in the car had been ripped out to make room for the stretchers. Caroline sat on a straw valise near his head.

“Where are we?” he asked her, and her startled look gave him a clear indication of just how long it had been since he’d said anything that sensible.

“Virginia still,” she said, watching him closely. “Somewhere.”

“What’s wrong? Did you—think I was going to—die?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I didn’t—so don’t—stare at me.”

“I’m not staring. I was only…thinking.”

“About what?”

“About Lise. About something she said I should do— something I should say to you.”

“What?”

“I—it’s—not important.”

He moved his head so that he could see her better. For the first time in a very long while, it didn’t pound in protest. “Maybe you had better—say it anyway—before it’s—too late.”

“I don’t think it—”

“Tell me, for God’s sake!”

“Very well. She said I should tell you that I…like you. She said she didn’t think you knew.”

He frowned.

“I…like you, too,” he said cautiously, because he must truly have been at death’s door to bring about such a revelation.

She looked at him a long moment, and then, incredibly and in spite of their present situation, she laughed, that beautiful lilting laugh he had missed for so long.

“You’d think
one
of us would be happy about it,” she said.

*   *   *

Eventually, the train jolted forward, and the pain that had only been relentless, now became excruciating. He tried to put his mind on something else.

“Do you know how the—courtship is done—in Germany?" he asked her abruptly. She sat close by, alternating fanning him and the nearest soldier with a palmetto fan, ever alert in case either of them wanted a piece of bread or a drink of water.

“How would I know that?” she asked somewhat cautiously.

“Perhaps—Lise told you,” he suggested.

“She didn’t. Neither did Avery,” she added significantly.

He chose to ignore her allusion to their own marital arrangements.

“First, there is the—consent,” he said, struggling to keep his mind firmly on the topic and not the fiery pain.

“Her consent?”

“No, the parents. Her father. A
Degensmann
comes— asking the father—if his daughter will agree to a marriage.”

“To the…
Degensmann?
“

“No—no.
Degensmann
means swordsman—because such a person once carried a sword on this kind of—mission. He doesn’t ask for himself. He asks for the—man he represents—and if
that
man is very brave, he will go along with the
Degensmann
and he will stand at his side with a bouquet of flowers—for his bride-to-be. And always he is hoping he doesn’t get a basket with no bottom.”

“Frederich, is this you talking or the fever?”

“I am trying to tell you something about—my country, Caroline,” he answered impatiently, because he was losing the struggle to subdue the pain.

“Ah. Then do proceed.”

“I think you are not—interested.”

“Well, you think wrong. Tell me. Please,” she added when he didn’t immediately continue.