Lost Cause (6 page)

“You’re some kind of philosopher aren’t you,
Padre?”

“I read history. Everybody hates this war,
Jack. But not enough to come together and work out their
differences. Greed, that’s the culprit in this war, just like all
wars. Everyone wants something the other has. The north wants cheap
cotton and higher taxes, the south wants autonomy and freedom to
own slaves. The slave issue wouldn’t be an issue at all if the
north wasn’t as industrialized as it is. Anyone who thinks the
northern states wouldn’t gladly support slavery if their economy
depended on cotton and tobacco production is greatly mistaken.”

“Yep, the rich politicians start the wars and
the peasants like me fight it for them,” Jack said.

“That’s always been the case, Jack. But why
speak of it so long? This conflict will run its course and then
there will the Indians to fight and then maybe the Spanish. It
never ends. The Devil will see to that.”

“Well, all I know is I’m tired of it all,”
Jack said.

The priest uncapped the flask and took a sip.
“Sure you won’t join me?”

“Why not, I have a bucket handy.”

They drank brandy and talked about the
causalities and Jack asked about the outcome and the priest said
the regiment had lost forty-one men, twelve killed, twenty-nine
wounded. “Including you Corporal Saylor.”

“Did the yanks make it across the hills?”

“Apparently not. It seems it was a
stalemate.”

“But we took some prisoners. That counts for
something.”

“We’ll just have to feed them. Rations are
tight as it is.”

“Yeah, but they won’t be shooting at us
anymore.”

“Point taken. Are you suffering much, Jack?
How’s your head?”

“It hurts.”

“Have some more brandy. Then I’ll leave you
alone to mend.”

“Have you seen Miss Hayes in your travels,
Padre?”

“Why yes. She’s a very busy girl.”

“Tell her I asked about her,” Jack said.
“Tell her I love her.”

“Love?” the priest said. “That thing you feel
for her is only passion and lust. When you love a woman you want
more from her than just sex.”

“Guess I don’t know how to love.”

“You will. Someday. I know you will. Then you
will be truly content.”

“I’m content enough now I guess.”

“That’s something you can’t identify unless
you actually experience it.”

“Well, if I ever stumble across it, you’ll be
the first to know.”

“Good.”

“So if I ever really love a woman I’ll be all
content and happy?”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve never loved a
woman.”

“What about your mother?”

“Mothers and sisters don’t count, Jack.”

He stood to his feet and capped the brandy
flask. “I have to go. Lot’s of wounded to call on.”

“Thank you for the brandy. And the
conversation,” Jack said.

“I’ll say prayers for you at evening
Mass.”

“Good. I certainly need them.”

Chapter 9

Marie Hayes arrived a short time later with
clean water, fresh bandages, and a warm smile. “You’re burning up,”
she said touching Jack’s forehand with the back of her hand. “I’d
go crazy lying around in heat like this.”

“You’re already crazy.”

“I can leave you know. There are plenty of
sick men who would love my company right about now.”

“Oops.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like anybody shot through the shoulder
feels.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No. Not since yesterday evening.”

“They’re making quail soup down at the mess
tent. Should I fetch you some?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll walk down later. I need
to stretch my legs.”

“You’re in rather bad shape to be
walking.”

“Nothing wrong with my legs.”

“I was referring to your head. You may become
dizzy. Maybe fall, and injure yourself further.”

“We can’t have that now, can we?”

She worked in silence replacing his bandages,
deftly deflecting the hand that strayed to her face a couple of
times.

“Your wound’s infected,” she said smelling
the bloody bandage she removed from his shoulder. “You need to go
to the infirmary.”

“Are they going to put me under a tree
again?” She frowned fussing with his new bandage.

“Of course not. Most of the severely wounded
have been treated. There’s room in the infirmary.”

“Good. I prefer my bunk to a tree root.”

“I saw your friend Corporal Campbell this
afternoon,” she said.

“How was he?”

“He’s quite uncomfortable. His speech is
slurred and he has trouble swallowing. He asked about you.”

“Did you tell him I was spry as a spud?”

“I told him the truth. I saw the priest too.
He said he was to tell me that you love me. You shouldn’t have done
that Jack.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

She sat back in the chair and smoothed her
apron. She was wearing a clean blue dress and her hair was
fashioned in a bun and covered with a white kerchief. She was a
spot of beauty in the midst of so much ugliness. “We have to get
something straight mister Saylor,” she said firmly. “If we’re to
remain cordial you must stop saying that you love me. Anyone with
any sense at all knows a person doesn’t fall in love with another
person in less than a week. You hardly know me, Jack. You don’t
know a thing about me or my family or my background. I might as
well be a stranger for all you know about me. I’m not a fool, Jack.
I know what you want from me. So does everyone else who sees how
you behave around me. It’s embarrassing and it’s disrespectful and
it needs to stop.”

“Since when does telling someone you love
them disrespectful?”

“When you don’t mean it, that’s when.”

Jack was beginning to become angry and he
checked himself before he said something he would later regret.
“When can I go to the infirmary?” he asked.

“Anytime you like. Stop by the mess tent
first; you need to get some nourishment in your stomach if you want
to get well.” She turned to leave and Jack put his hand on her
arm.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said. “I
won’t do it again, I promise.” She seemed poised to speak but
instead she turned quickly and left the room leaving behind the
scent of lilacs.

Jack dressed in the clean clothes and walked
to the mess tent and sat with the priest while they ate soup and
bread. “Good thing I’m right handed Jack said.

“How is the shoulder?”

“Stiff. Sore. Marie says it’s septic. I’m
headed over to the infirmary after I choke down some of this dish
water.”

“We should be thankful for whatever the Lord
gives us to eat,” the priest said.

“Another sermon?”

“We Catholics call them homilies. But no, I’m
not here to preach to you. I am concerned about Corporal Campbell,
though.”

“His soul?”

“Of course. But also his outlook. He’s seems
very depressed over his injuries.”

“Wouldn’t you be? I mean, did you see his
face?”

“I did. Very debilitating injury. But the
doctor says he can live a normal life, with some adjustments.”

“Normal? I’m not sure what term you can use
to describe Carl’s life now but normal would not be on my short
list.”

“There’s more to life than physical
appearance, Jack.”

“Maybe. But I want to see where Carl is five
years from now. I know you’re not a betting man, Padre, but I’ll
lay long odds on him being unmarried, unemployed, and addicted to
whiskey. You disagree with any of that?”

“I guess I’m a little more optimistic than
you,” the priest said. “I can see Corporal Campbell serving the
Church in some future capacity. He would be an excellent example of
a man overcoming great odds and personal affliction.”

“You mean a priest?”

“Not necessarily. But a lay person in some
capacity.”

“Would that come with pay?”

“The church would see to his needs.”

Jack dropped his spoon on the table and stood
to leave. “You’re a wise man, Padre,” he said. “Though you have a
very naïve attitude about life.”

“Pray that I mature then.”

“I’ll do that. But it won’t do any good.”

The major in charge of the infirmary asked
Jack how he felt after applying a treatment of potassium iodine to
the shoulder wound.

“Awful,” Jack replied.

“I’m recommending you be transferred to
Corpus Christie,” the major said. “They have a hospital there and
better medicine and much better surgeons.”

“Corpus Christi?”

“Yes. I think you should leave at once. I’ll
have to do the paperwork and of course your regimental commander
will have to approve it, but it’s my professional opinion that you
could very well suffer septic shock if that infection isn’t taken
care of.”

So jack went outside and sat on the bench and
waited for the surgeon to draw up the paperwork and Marie Hayes
came out to join him and he said, “They’re sending me to Corpus
Christie. They want to ship me out early in the morning. He said I
would be better off getting there before the infection got any
worse.”

Marie was quiet for a few moments and when
she spoke her tone was soft and subdued. “I shall miss you Jack
Saylor.”

“Are you sure? I won’t be around to embarrass
you anymore.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“So you want me to embarrass you?”

“I want you to be discreet Jack. You don’t
understand. You’re not a woman. People talk. Men talk; and they can
be very cruel.”

“Come on Marie, they know the difference
between a lady like you and a cantina tramp.”

“Do they? I see how they look at me.”

“I can assure you the men of my regiment have
nothing but utter respect for you,” Jack said. “They’re jealous of
me because you pay attention to me. I know it’s because I’m so
handsome and witty and charming, but they think you pity me because
I’m dense and unattractive.” Marie smiled and her cheeks colored
and she said,

“You are rather dense.”

“But I’m very handsome, right?”

“Yes Jack.”

“And witty?”

“I suppose.”

“And charming?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

The surgeon brought the documents and handed
Jack a small green bottle and a roll of cotton cloth. “You need to
replace that bandage twice daily until you arrive in Corpus
Christi,” he said. “The bottle contains potassium iodine. Use it
liberally. Good luck to you son, and God’s speed.”

Chapter 10

The wagon carrying Jack Saylor and two other
men was ready to roll an hour before dawn. Miss Hayes met him at
the infirmary and gave him a peck on the cheek when the other men
looked away out of respect. She cried a few tears and he promised
to look her up when he could and she said she would be waiting. The
young priest stopped by to say goodbye and to say a blessing over
the men.

“I will miss you, Padre,” Jack said.

“And I you as well. Take care of Corporal
Campbell for me.” Campbell poked his head out of the wagon window
and said,

“I’m in serious trouble if Jack Saylor has to
look out for me.” He spoke as if his mouth was full and spittle
leaked from the corner of his lips. A large bloody bandage covered
both sides of his face from eyelid to chin.

The wagon set out heading for the rail head
at Laredo with a four man escort comprised of mounted Calvary
accompanying them. Jack stretched out on the floor of the wagon and
Campbell and the other man a private named Baker sat on side
benches and complained about the rough road and the lack of padding
on the seats. “These ambulances were built for short distances,”
the driver explained. “I’ll do my best to navigate the deeper ruts
for you but I fear it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

“How far is it?” Campbell asked.

“Around fifty miles.”

“Damn.”

As they passed the northern edge of town Jack
looked out the back of the ambulance and saw the new graves in a
garden west of the river. An old black civilian sat near the adobe
wall making crosses out of cedar planks while a woman wrote on the
completed ones the names, rank, and regiment of the dead men.

“Wish we was going to Corsicana instead of
Corpus Christi,” Campbell was saying. “I got kin up there, we could
stop by for a home cooked meal and sit under a shade tree for a
while and breathe some air that ain’t tainted with gunpowder and
yellow dust.” Jack tucked his right hand behind his head and
said,

“I only understood about half of that. How
are you feeling, Carl?”

“Not bad for a man with half his face
missing. Does it look bad?” He lifted the bandages and leaned in
close. Jack made a show of peering intently at Campbell’s face then
shook his head.

“You never was very pretty, Carl, I don’t see
as how that little scratch has downgraded your overall appearance
any.”

“Don’t make fun, Saylor, it hurts to
laugh.”

It was hot in the wagon and dusty and smelled
like iodine and sweat with a subtle undertone of death. The flatbed
wagon was constructed of oak planks secured to an iron frame
sitting on tandem axles made of cold rolled steel and brass. There
was a door in the back and two windows on the side and one smaller
window in the front that opened to the driver’s seat. The driver
was a civilian contractor named Collins, a large man with a long
red beard and eyes the same color as the two mules pulling the
wagon.

“You’re going to have to grow a beard now,
Carl,” Jack said. “There’s no way you’re going to get a razor
around those holes in your face.”

“If a man wants to grow a beard then I figure
he can,” Campbell said. “Why don’t you grow a beard, Jack? Might
cover up some of that ugliness.”

“I’m not old enough to grow a beard.”

“Bull, you’re thirty if you’re a day.” It
sounded to Jack like,