Fated Memories (11 page)

Their hands shook with gratitude as they accepted both calico cotton dresses. The one Mrs. Brunswick handed Kitty had blue and green motifs, and Maggie’s had lavender and pink ones. After all the recent stress, her unsolicited act of kindness made their eyes mist with tears.

Now that evening approached, Mrs. Brunswick directed the butler, Joseph, to drive them back to Camp Curtin in the carriage so they wouldn’t have to face the dangers of the road in the dark. When they arrived at the gate, Joseph handed Simon a wrapped parcel, per Mrs. Brunswick’s instructions, and bid farewell.

Maggie tore open the package as soon as they settled into their tent then rested back, solemn and quiet. In addition to the loaf of sweet bread and jar of cherry preserves, their benefactor had packed toothbrushes and toothpaste, a hair brush, a jar of hand lotion and a bar of lavender soap. Though certainly meant as a helpful gesture, and aside from the embarrassment of noticeably needing them, the supply of personal hygiene items lent an air of permanence to their position that gripped their hearts and reaffirmed their plight.

A palpable silence hung in the air as irrational thoughts whizzed through Kitty’s brain. What did this mean? Were they being maneuvered as pawns in some sick cosmic game? Reincarnation, she thought, meant an old soul becoming a new person. If it was true that they were here because of Simon’s past life memories, how did a new person become the soul he used to be? Would they ever be able to find a way out of this mess?

A
fter breakfast the next morning, Simon suggested he head back to the tree where they’d landed, hoping to find a clue to their mysterious dilemma. “We didn’t search that field before we left it. There might be a portal access we missed. It’s worth a shot.”

“Yes it is,” Maggie agreed. “Kitty and I will keep up appearances here and report to the hospital as planned. And if you run into Doyle out there, beat the crap out of him for me, okay?”

Aunty Jackson thanked them for the package they’d brought back from town for her and introduced them to Miss Luisa. She would acquaint them with the procedures and issue their assignments for the day.

“Oh, please. Call me Lulu.” She hastened a few steps ahead, leading them out of the office and onto the ward.

“Oh good, and you can drop the 'Miss' with us as well. Just Maggie and Kitty will do.”

Lulu had a cute, bubbly smile, and dark eyes that danced when she spoke. Her slim, girlish figure and thick dark hair, barely contained under her white cap, gave the impression of a girl just out of her teens.

First she brought them to the preparation nook where they stored and dispensed the medications, bandages, and other supplies. “Put these aprons on over your dresses to keep them clean. Things sometimes get messy around here and you'll appreciate it come laundry day.” 

The aprons tied around their waists in the back and she gave them a few straight pins to hold the top up over their bodices. “Pin-afore.” Kitty couldn’t help chuckling at the revelation. “Huh, I never knew where that word came from before.”

A hundred or more patients were divided into wards of about twenty-five each, with two to three nurses or orderlies attending them. Corporal Barnes’ duties must’ve also extended to the hospital as Kitty recognized him helping a male attendant bandage a soldier’s leg wound.

Maggie studied the treatment room worriedly. “A lot of these men have communicable diseases, Kitty, are you going to be okay with that? Why don’t we ask to only work with the injured men? The last thing we need is to get sick.”

“Well, unless you have a hazmat suit hiding in your pocket, I don’t think it’ll make a lick of difference. This whole compound is so unsanitary, even the injured men are likely to have cooties. Wherever you’re assigned, just make sure you wash your hands a lot. I mean it,
a lot
.”

Their duties were light compared to the responsibilities of the nurses Kitty had worked with at Beth Gen. There were no IV’s with complicated calculations to check or shots to give, no mountains of paperwork to keep updated, and thank heavens, no trachs to suction. Although they still had the unpleasant chores of bedpans and dressing changes to deal with, and they assisted in bathing and feeding the men. But sitting at a soldier’s bedside, listening to him describe the family he missed, was Kitty’s favorite hour of the day. She helped the ones who couldn’t manage it write letters home and read the ones that came back to them. There were also newspapers and books donated by the Women’s League to distribute and read. Most often, the soldiers were grateful just to have somebody nearby, and she realized that, by comforting them she also comforted herself.

During the second week of working at the hospital, Kitty attended the first of many dying patients. Chaplain Lawrence, Lulu’s husband, sat with her at the bedside of Private Dern during his final moments. A devastating bout of dysentery had left him dehydrated and barely conscious. The chaplain prayed softly while Kitty, not a believer, silently cursed the circumstances that brought this poor boy here.  

He’d answered the call to duty, as the rest of the men here did, been subjected to filth and bacteria, given meager rations, and housed in close, primitive quarters. Antibiotics didn’t exist yet and, without an understanding of germs and viruses, antiseptic practices lagged. It made her heartsick to see the bodies of once healthy men, ravaged by disease due to ignorance and sheer negligence. From the beginning she had tried to start a campaign of basic hygiene by installing hand-washing stations in the prep areas. For the most part, though, her advice went unheeded. 

***

Since Simon’s warning about getting thrown out of the compound, Kitty had kept her swearing habit in check. Only one time in those first few weeks someone heard her slip. She had gone to the preparation counter to put together a dressing for a soldier who had scratched a rash that became infected. Corporal Barnes, and his teenage buddies, stood socializing a few feet behind her as she dug through the drawers and cabinets looking for supplies.

Tired from a poor night's sleep, and frustrated at not being able to find what she wanted, a mild expletive escaped her mouth. “Damn it, why the hell can't I find the freakin' lint?”

As soon as it fell out of her mouth she remembered the group behind her who were now silent. She twisted her head to see the three boys gaping at her bug-eyed. Right away it struck her that Corporal Barnes had been in the colonel's tent that first day, when Simon bestowed the diagnosis of Tourette's on her, and showed how he managed it. Barnes’ jaw set, and, instinctively she sensed, rather than saw, his hand rise up to hit her in the mouth. She blocked his hand with her left, shot the heel of her right hand to his chin and Barnes went down like a felled tree.

Furious, she stood over him with the heel of her boot in his crotch, and glared into his face. “If you ever try to raise a hand to me again boy, I will snap you like a twig. And don't think for a moment I can't do it. Is that clear?”

No answer. She dug her boot deeper into his crotch. “I said, is that clear?” He nodded his head almost in tears. “And that goes for the rest of you too.”

“Yes ma’am,” they mumbled, still shocked at the scene they’d just witnessed.

Kitty grabbed the supplies she’d found, then stormed off swearing under her breath.

***

Regardless of their predicament, Simon and Maggie’s love blossomed into a more intimate relationship. Sometimes you meet two people and know right away they were meant for each other. That unmistakable aura surrounded these two. Even if you never noticed the shine in their eyes when they looked at each other, or saw their tender touches, you’d know their hearts were synced to beat as one. 

Maggie deserved the security and happiness Simon offered but, even though they tried to be considerate of Kitty’s necessary presence, the rustling and soft murmurs coming from their side of the room at night only magnified her loneliness. Adept at being a third wheel again, and for her own well-being, Kitty tried to give them more private time by staying later each evening on the wards, though she always returned before nightfall. It was dangerous for a woman to be out alone that late.

***

It had been busier than usual on the ward that day, and darkness approached as she carried the last of the chamber pots to be emptied to the latrine. Though her shoes made sucking noises as she walked through the mud from the constant drizzle, she sensed someone behind her. Kitty spun around and found Barnes lurking a few feet away, a glint of steel in his hand.

His neck disappeared into his shoulders, and lips thinned to a straight line, as his voice grated. “A woman needs to be respectful of a man. You need to be taught a lesson.”

Leery of the knife, she threw the chamber pot. He ducked, and it missed his head by inches. She whirled around to run, but the mud felt like quicksand tugging at her feet allowing his long legs to reach her in seconds. Kitty used the moves she’d learned in martial arts class, managing to deflect his attempts to stab her and landed a couple of good rib shots. As they wrestled, mired in the sludge, neither of them could get a good foothold and they kept sliding and hanging onto each other. A sharp blow to her face sent her reeling onto her back. When he dove forward to pin her under him, she rolled then elbowed back as hard as she could, jarring his head and knocking him unconscious.

She’d never been this late before and Simon had been getting ready to search for her when Kitty limped into the tent. She stood swaying on her feet, covered in mud, her filthy wet uniform torn and dripping, her face throbbing where she’d been hit.

Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, Kit, what happened to you?”

It was her own fault. She knew it. A torrent of sheepish tears flowed from her eyes as she explained the earlier confrontation with Barnes and then his retaliation near the latrine.

Maggie dabbed her face with a wet cloth and made shushing noises at her, but Simon’s eyes glared with anger, his fists balled at his sides as she told the story and confessed her involvement. When she’d finished, he silently shoved his way through the door of the tent and into the night.

“Simon?” Maggie watched him leave. With a heavy sigh, she turned her attention back to Kitty and her wretched condition.

Not more than an hour had passed when Simon returned, his demeanor brisk and business-like. After leaving his muddy shoes at the door, he went straight for the wash basin to scrub his hands and face, then led Maggie to the cot where Kitty sat, waiting for her lecture.

Wedged in the middle, his arm drew each of them towards him. “Don’t worry. He won’t bother either of you again.”

Kitty didn’t find out that night what Simon said or did to Barnes to keep him away, but he was right. They never saw him again.

W
hile the women worked at the hospital, Simon offered his services as a weapons instructor for the new recruits using the experience he’d gained from hunting and shooting with his father. The boys he’d been working with had never used rifle muskets before, but, through Simon’s patient coaching, they developed enough skill to be effective in battle.

Kitty questioned Simon as to the wisdom of this early one morning over coffee while Maggie slept. “What if a student of yours kills a person who might have lived had you not intervened? What if that person, or one of his descendants, would have made some great contribution to the world?”

Simon put his cup on the table and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And what if one the patients you care for at the hospital lives because of your efforts, and changes history? The possibilities are endless, you’re right. Have you ever heard of the ‘butterfly effect’?”

“You know I’m a science fiction nut. I loved that movie. It’s based on a Ray Bradbury story isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, he used it in a different way, but the premise is the same. Basically, it suggests that even one small change could have a drastic influence on future events. The classic example is of a butterfly flapping its wings and causing or altering a tornado at a later date. Our being here will make an impact somewhere, somehow, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” Simon paused for a moment studying the sediment in his cup. “At some point we may have to face the fact that we’re stuck here and do the best we can to go on living.”

His tone was gentle, but the words still stung. “You and Maggie are strong enough to do that, but I’m not. Life in our own time was hard enough for me. I’ll never be able to survive here.”

Simon’s lips curled with amusement. “Kitty, we’re not any stronger than you. Everyone has doubts and fears and insecurities. The trick is to not let them fool you into thinking you’re incapable of overcoming them.”

“Not true,” she groused. The echo of her dad’s words made her uncomfortable, and she leaned back hugging her arms. “The two of you always know what to do. Maggie dreams up her spur of the moment Lucy schemes and dives in, regardless of the consequences. The only thing even close to a rash decision I’ve ever made was to quit my job and visit Maggie. And look where that got me.” Simon lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

God, there I go again, being a bitch. I knew his guilt ate at him, and still I twisted the knife. Now I feel guilty.

“You’re wrong, Kit.” Maggie stood at the entrance to the tent. Kitty wasn’t aware that she’d even come out or how long she’d been there. “Remember at Grandma’s old house when you saved us from those squatters? I thought I’d crap my pants, but you took charge and got us out in one piece. And what about when we heard all that commotion at the saloon in town? I hesitated, but you insisted we had to save Simon.” Simon’s head perked up at that and Kitty briefly met his eyes.

Maggie moved to the table and sat with them, making Kitty unfold her arms so she could hold her hand. “Look, Kitty, it’s time you got over feeling sorry for yourself for that crap you took as a kid, and realize that they did you a favor.”

She pulled her hand away and refolded her arms. “Yeah, right, they did me a great favor. Now I’m lucky enough to lose my balance whenever I get nervous.”

“Maggie’s right,” Simon interjected. “Adversity builds strength. You just need to trust yourself enough to use it.”

“Is this an intervention, or what?” The direction of the conversation was getting uncomfortable. She needed to change the subject. “I’m starving, I’m sure there’s a line at the commissary by now and they’ll be waiting for us at the hospital. Let’s get this day started. See? There, I made a decision.”

***

Their jobs kept their hands busy, and their minds distracted, but life still went on around them. Colonel Biddle and his regiment, along with the Bucktails, returned from their campaign in Cumberland with a few sick men, but no casualties. Colonel Kane had expected Simon to join this unit and mustered him in as soon as they returned.

Maggie and Kitty stood through the ceremony fidgeting and chewing their lips as Simon swore his oath. “He’s really going through with this, Mags? Isn’t there any way he can get out of it? If he joins the army, he’ll have to fight.”

“Yeah, we discussed that. He understands the implications, and yes, he’s nervous. But I think he’s also excited to live out his memories.”

“His memories? You’re freakin’ kidding me, right? What about you? What about both of us? What if something happens to him? Where does that leave us?”

Maggie’s replied without emotion. “It leaves us here. In the same place we are now, trying to figure out how to survive.”

“How about that tree, why not try checking that out again? Maybe the twentieth time is the charm.”

“He did the best he could with that, Kitty. It was a dead end. No portal, no magic mirror, no clue. Only our weather beaten shoes marking our arrival.”

Because of his advanced education and the service he’d rendered as a weapons instructor while waiting, Colonel Biddle commissioned Simon the rank of Sergeant Major, and moved them to a large tent closer to his new unit. Though arranged in the same layout, their new digs now contained a desk and writing materials for Simon to do his reports.

A fun-loving group, the Bucktails regaled anyone who’d listen with exaggerated yarns of their last battle. Stories of their lives before the war revealed a few had worked in the logging camps in Tioga County. With those camps being so close to Simon’s home town of Wellsboro, he had to be cautious of any reference points that may not have existed in this time. Evenings spent around the campfire, the ladies maintained their backstory of wife and sister. They asked questions and listened rather than contribute to any conversations related to pre-war activities.

As messmates, their new Bucktails friends joined them for meals, sharing the meager rations of hard tack, cakes of desiccated vegetables, and either salt pork or pieces of tough beef. Forage from the surrounding fields, midnight raids on local farms for chickens and eggs, and donations of sweet breads and jams from the good people of Harrisburg rounded out the menu.

Aside from the family of three, their table seated five others. Cal Jackson, a gray-eyed, black-haired raftsman from Warren county, was older than most of the others. At age thirty-seven, he’d been married twice, had six kids, and joked that he joined the army to get some peace. Short and wiry Ezra Carlyle, a shoemaker by trade, a cunning hunter by choice, with a keen eye and a quiet demeanor, seemed out of place among these rowdy men. John Gruber and David Isaacs, cousins from Tioga County, grew up together and worked as lumberjacks since their teens. Now in their late twenties, they each had the solid muscular bodies gained from years of swinging an ax and the ruddy complexion of men who had spent most of their time outdoors. Gregarious and witty, Gruber was a dangerous temptation for Kitty and she avoided him as much as possible. With his dark, flashing eyes and exotically fluid body movements, he could entice her into things his wife would not appreciate and she’d regret forever. A Bucktails corporal, Stanislaus Maxwell, or ‘just Max’ as he preferred, formed an instant connection with Simon and became a favorite visitor to their campfire in the evenings. At six foot three, he was barrel-chested, kept his long dark hair plaited, and was the most animated story teller. “My wife, Hilda,” he’d boast scratching his thick, full beard, “is the finest cook in the whole county. And my three sons are so smart; they’ll be running this country soon.” An avid pipe smoker, Max carried two hand-made corn cob pipes on him at all times, just in case one should get lost, along with a pouch of fragrant tobacco. How he kept from setting fire to that overgrown bush on his face mystified Kitty.

***

For the most part, these men treated the women with respect, but one soldier from a nearby tent gave Kitty the willies. She’d always find John Leahy, with his long, stringy hair and stooped shoulders, popping up without warning or watching her from a distance. When he did speak, he’d stand too close, forcing her to step back.

As she hung the laundry on a miraculously dry morning, Kitty jumped when his voice whispered behind her ear. “Miss Kitty, beautiful day for once, isn’t it?”

She stepped away, extending her hand to keep him at bay. “John, you have to stop sneaking up on me. I don’t like it.”

Instead of stopping, he grasped her hand and moved forward, the reek of stale alcohol strong on his breath. Kitty squirmed away from his other arm that reached around her. “John, stop this, right now. You’re drunk and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Leahy laughed at her weak threat, twisting her arm up behind her and using it to pull her closer. She turned her face from his heavy disgusting breath, eluding his determined attempts at a kiss and writhed away from his insistent body. Her knee jerked up hard to his groin causing him to release his iron grip.

“If you ever try that again, John, you’ll be peeing sitting down for a long time.” She ran off before he could recover enough to test her.

She told Maggie about the confrontation as a warning to stay clear of John Leahy, but they agreed to keep it from Simon. It had been weeks since Barnes disappeared, and Simon still hadn’t said a word.

***

Suppertime meant a community stew that included contributions from everyone. As days wore on, what started out as tasteless sustenance became even less appetizing, but the choices were limited. At least by combining their meager rations with whatever could be foraged or stolen from the surrounding farms, they could stretch them to fill everyone’s stomachs. While gathering for supper late one afternoon, Jackson, Max and Carlyle discussed the meat wagon waiting on the train tracks for clearance to continue.

“Didja see the cattle car on the track with all the hogs on it today? There must've been a hundred-head easy of big fat sows. And here we are getting the same old salt pork and beef bits for our supper.”

“Someone oughta lighten the load on that train, if you get my drift,” Jackson answered in an off-the-cuff way. He never imagined anyone might act on his idea.

But soon a round of “I'm ins” filled the air and Maggie’s eyes started doing their Lucy dance again. This time they’d get no argument from Kitty. A meal of fresh pork chops or ham sounded too enticing to refuse. No way was she missing out on that. In fact, she pictured herself floating on the scent of roasting meat like a cartoon character. The drool hit her chin as she imagined the juicy meat and crisp skin after roasting it on a spit.
God, I’m hungry
. Even Simon needed little encouragement and, before they knew it, they’d hatched a workable plan to rescue one of the hogs to satisfy their desperate appetites.

Under cover of dark, they made their way to the edge of the camp where the train tracks were. The pickets had been double-posted on that side to guard against enemy soldiers sneaking up on the tracks, so they had to be careful, and take slow, quiet steps. Locating the right car was a snap. They just followed the stink and the snorts.

Maggie and Kitty took positions as look-outs while the men selected and butchered a nice fat specimen. They loaded it onto their makeshift litter and covered it with a sheet Maggie had appropriated from the hospital. Now the trick was to retrace their steps to the campfire with their prize.

With visions of pork chops dancing in their heads, they made a lot more noise on the way back. Enough so, that they spooked a sentry who demanded they halt and identify themselves. 

An expert at thinking on his feet, Simon spoke up first. “We have a severely injured railroad man on this litter who will die if we don’t get him to the hospital by the shortest route. We didn’t want to risk taking the time to go around to the front gate for fear he might not survive long enough to be treated.”

“That’s right,” Maggie added. “I’m Lucy and this is Ethel, we’re the nurses sent to tend him while he’s on his way.” She yanked Kitty closer so the guard, straining to see in the dim moonlight anyway, might be more inclined to fall for this sham.

The picket guard hesitated for just a moment before he waved them through, not wanting his indecision to cause a man’s death and plague his conscience.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he bought that,” Maggie whispered.

That near miss made them more diligent about being quiet as they stole from the railroad tracks towards the camp proper. Who knew if the guards still ahead of them were as dumb as the last guy? They took their time pushing forward, measuring their steps as best they could so as not to arouse anyone’s attention. The heavy litter bore a couple hundred pounds of prime pork, so the six men in their little raiding party took turns carrying it. No one wanted to lose an ounce by tipping it over or dropping it. 

At the rear of the caravan, Kitty noticed Max kept falling further behind. Every few minutes he’d stop to catch his breath, and it now came in ragged wheezes. She asked Carlyle to pass the word up to Simon that she needed his help and made Max sit next to a tree.

“You sound like you’re having trouble breathing, Max, are you sick? Does your chest hurt? What can I do to help you?” She undid the top buttons of his shirt.

“Asthma,” he wheezed. “My pipe.”

She patted the pocket of his vest where she knew he kept it. “It’s still there. Don’t worry about that now. We need to get your breathing under control first.” Kitty tried to sound calm and reassuring, but her heart raced with panic. She only had a vague idea of what to do. “Concentrate on my voice, Max, and try to take slow, deep breaths.”