Authors: Susan Macatee
Will sighed. No caps or rounds and not nearly enough food. How the hell were they supposed to hold out?
His thoughts drifted to Erin. He hoped she was all right. At least, she was away from the war. The army had left Pennsylvania alone after the defeat at Gettysburg.
Once the war ended, if he survived, maybe he’d have the opportunity to travel north to find her. Would she even want him after he’d sent her away?
An explosion drew his attention to his left. The corporal standing beside him flew backward. The man screamed, sending Will scrambling to help him. His right leg was blown clean off.
Will swore and yanked up a muddy rubber mat used for sleeping. Pressing it against the stump, he tried to staunch the flow of blood. “Son,” he said, “you’ll be all right. I’ll send someone for one of the doctors.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man’s teeth chattered, and his lips turned blue. Will did his best to comfort him until the corporal’s light blue eye’s glazed over. He lay still, with not even the thready beat of a pulse.
“Damn it all to hell!” Will cried. This wasn’t fair. He spread the bloodied, mud encrusted sheet over the young corporal’s face.
More explosions echoed through the trenches. He stood, raising his revolver. If he died, he intended to take as many Yankees with him as he could. After firing off six shots, he crouched to reload.
A blast knocked him flat on his stomach, and the trench collapsed, burying him beneath a pile of mud. With his last breath, he called out for Erin and Amanda.
****
“What do you mean, the cost will be great?” Erin asked. “What is
that
? Some kind of Celtic mysticism?”
Madame Driscoll studied her. “Ye’ll be lost forever, never finding the man you were meant to spend eternity with.”
“But if Will’s that man, I’ve already lost him,” Erin protested.
The woman shook her head. “He still lives but won’t survive long without yer spirit to guide him. Only you can pull him from the brink of death.”
“But what can I do? I don’t even know where he is.”
“He is a long way from here, but if you don’t find him in time, yer spirits will never meet again.”
Erin sat back considering her options. Will had made it clear he didn’t want her. The last thing she needed to do was traipse back into a war zone.
“You said there was a way for me to return to my own time.”
The woman pursed her lips. “On May 1st, the feast of Beltaine, you can return. You have the brooch. Since it exists in the time from which you came and was the catalyst that sent you here, you can use it to return.”
If what this woman said was true, she could find a way out of this nightmare. She could go back to her old life. Without Will, she had no reason to be here anyway. “You’re telling me that in six weeks, I can go back to the future?”
“Aye. But are you prepared for an eternity without love?”
“Love.” Erin shrugged. “I think it’s highly overrated.” Memories of hot showers, indoor plumbing, pizza, electricity, and Internet surfing excited her. She could go back. All she had to do was wait six weeks. That would be a snap.
But when she returned to her room, memories of Will sapped her resolve. She wondered if he’d returned to the army or was sitting out the end of the war in prison. Mrs. Driscoll had told her he was still alive but wouldn’t stay that way without her.
She’d be unable to live with herself if she went back only to learn he’d died in the last days of the war. On the other hand, if she stayed, how would she ever find him?
****
Will woke in a large open field. His torn, mud-encrusted uniform had been replaced by a neat, clean one, even down to the shiny brass buttons. Warm sunlight flooded the field. Where was he?
“Papa.”
He glanced in the direction of the child’s voice. Amanda raced toward him, her auburn hair loose and flowing behind her.
“Amanda, where did you—?” She ran into his arms. He gathered her close, inhaling her youthful fragrance.
“Miss Erin brought me,” Amanda said. She giggled. He scanned the horizon.
“Erin?” he said.
Erin appeared, beaming. Her hair was also loose and flowing like a cloud around her face, her eyes large and bright. She looked like an angel.
“Will?”
A deep male voice yanked him from the dream. He reluctantly opened his eyes to glare up at Doc.
“How are you feeling?” Doc asked.
“I was feeling very well—until you woke me.”
The doctor chuckled. “That good of a dream?”
“I was with Amanda...and Erin.”
Doc patted his arm. “You’ll see them again.”
“There’s a chance I’ll see Amanda—if this cursed war ever ends—and if I survive. But I don’t believe I’ll ever see Erin again.” A wave of pain traveled down his shattered body. He winced. His right leg was broken. He’d also suffered a concussion and two fractured ribs when the explosion had collapsed the trench. In short, he was a mess.
“You have to have faith that you’ll live to see them both again. Just like I know I’ll see my Josie and little Nathaniel.”
“Doctor?” A soft feminine voice interrupted them. “If you’re done with this here patient, I’ll wash him up.”
Doc grinned, turning to the slight blond girl holding a basin of water and a towel. “This is my good friend Captain Montgomery,” he told the girl. “You take extra good care of him.”
“Sure will, Doc.”
Doc had set up a hospital in one of the homes in Petersburg. Will lay on a mat on a hardwood floor on the second floor of a three-story townhouse. Wounded soldiers surrounded him, taking up all available space.
Will studied the girl. She placed the basin on the floor beside him. She appeared to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. During the Yankee siege, the citizens of Petersburg had offered their homes and services to help the wounded.
“What’s your name, young lady?” he asked.
“I’m Jenny Claymore.”
“I have a sister named Jenny, although I believe she’s a bit older than you. Do you live here?”
“Yes, sir. My mama and me live here. My papa and brothers are in the trenches, but they stop by from time to time.” She studied him. “Where does your sister live?”
“Up in Northern Virginia, near Winchester. She’s married and expecting her first child.”
“How wonderful.” The girl soaked the towel, preparing to bathe him. “Is her husband a soldier, too?”
“Yes, but he was wounded, and I haven’t had the chance to inquire about him.”
“I’m sure he’s just fine,” The girl parted his shirt and started to gently wash him. “He may have been sent home already.”
“I do hope so.” Will enjoyed the feel of the warm, sudsy water against his skin. Memories of Erin caring for him back in Gettysburg and later in his home flooded back.
“Are you married, Captain?”
“No, ma’am. My Anne died just as the war started.”
When the girl’s washcloth moved closer to his private area, she averted her gaze, blushing a bright pink.
Trying to cover up the awkward silence, he added, “I do have a daughter named Amanda.”
“How old?”
“Let’s see.” He counted back. “Reckon she’s about seven now.”
The girl smiled. “Bet you can’t wait to go home and see her.”
“You’re so right, ma’am.”
She finished washing him and helped him change into a clean shirt. Will wondered if he’d ever make it home again. And thoughts of home led to thoughts of Erin. He’d sent her away for her own safety. He couldn’t protect her. Hell, he couldn’t even help himself. He hoped wherever she’d ended up, she was all right.
****
Erin adjusted her shawl, then retied the ribbons on her felt bonnet for the hundredth time. The damn thing just wouldn’t stay knotted, and she was ready to chuck it. Of course, if she did, she’d undoubtedly create a public scandal.
Opening the door to the newspaper office, she drew in a sharp breath. She was prepared to do battle with her editor to get what she wanted.
Radley sat at his cluttered desk marking papers. He glanced up when she strode in and adjusted his glasses.
“I need a new assignment,” she said.
The editor sat back and studied her, a frown forming. “What kind of assignment?”
“I want to cover the war down south.”
His frown curved into a grin. “You want to be a war correspondent?”
“Yes.” She’d come looking for a fight, but maybe that hadn’t been necessary. Could it be this easy?
Radley chuckled. “You’re a fine writer and reporter, but war correspondent? I can’t send a woman to report on the war.”
“Why not?” Erin smacked her hand on his desk. “If I’m a good reporter, why can’t I do a story on the war?”
“The war zone is no place for a woman.”
“I’ve been to the war zone nursing soldiers.”
He raised his shaggy brows. “On the battlefield?”
“Yes, sir. At Gettysburg I was on the battlefield while shells were still flying.”
The editor steepled his fingers as if he was considering her proposal.
“Maybe this could work. You could bring a woman’s perspective to the War of Rebellion.”
Erin nodded, a smile forming.
“On one condition,” he said.
“Name it.”
“I can’t send a woman off alone. You’ll have to take an escort.”
“Who do you have in mind?” The last thing she wanted was someone checking her every move.
“Brody.”
“The clerk?” Erin thought about the mousey young man. He seemed harmless enough. But could he survive living in a war zone? She doubted it. But on the other hand, she couldn’t imagine him giving her any trouble.
Reading her expression, Radley said, “You go with him or you don’t go at all.”
“Well, then,” Erin said. “I guess I’ll have to accept your terms, because I’m going.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Will sat on an upholstered lounge with his leg propped up, while Mrs. Claymore, the lady of the house, served him tea.
“You do look fine today, Captain.” She fussed over him.
Although he enjoyed the comforts the gracious lady and her daughter provided in their lovely home, he’d grown tired of being an invalid. But he was none too anxious to resume his post in the trenches. Doc told him his splint would be removed soon, but he’d have to use crutches for a while. If Petersburg hadn’t been surrounded by Yankees, he would be home right now with his family.
He took a sip of the watery, unsweetened tea and smiled gratefully. This poor woman could do no better. Supplies couldn’t get into the town as long as the Yankees surrounded them. The citizens who hadn’t fled their homes at the start of the siege nearly a year ago were extremely brave. But Will feared Erin had been right, the Yankees would win in the end. All this suffering will have been for nothing.