Laura Abbot (10 page)

She pictured him as she had seen him that day at the ball field—young, vigorous, even playful—and at the cemetery where he had listened and calmed her fears. The memory of a sweet baritone singing “Aura Lee” filled her ears. She rolled over, away from her sister, lest Rose awaken and see her crying.
Is there a possibility we could be more than friends?
Caleb had asked before leaving on this mission. He had expected an answer when he returned, an answer now deferred by his precarious state and one for which she had, as yet, no clear response.

There was no question they were drawn to one another. On her part, could their bond be simply a result of gratitude for his twice saving her or of the ennui of post life? She wiped her tears with the edge of the sheet. All such issues were moot, pending the outcome of his injury. At heart, though, he was special to her.

She lay on her side, knees pulled up to her chest, listening to her sister’s soft breathing. In the dark, she began whispering the Twenty-third Psalm. “‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me...’” Her heavy eyes fluttered closed and she felt herself drifting away to oblivion. “‘...and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’”

Something was fighting her. Fists pummeled her; she struggled but could not escape. Burrowing under a blanket, she resisted, but voices kept calling her. “Hurry!” “Come now!” Surfacing from a distant dream world, she realized no one was pummeling at all, just gently shaking her. Opening her eyes, she beheld Rose standing over her. “Wake up, Lily. Papa needs you in the hospital.”

Groggy, Lily sprang from the bed. How long had she been asleep? Rubbing her eyes, she observed the faintest cracks of light seeping through the window. Dawn. She buttoned up the collar of her dress and tried to shake out the creases. Stepping to the mirror, she repaired her hair, all the while filled with alarm. “Tell Papa I’ll be there momentarily,” she told Rose, who was already hurrying down the stairs.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, some of the patients were stirring and occasional moans betrayed their discomfort. She scanned the room and quickly spotted her father bent over Caleb’s cot. With a thudding heart, she hurried toward him. During the night, someone had put an extra pillow beneath his shoulders, so that he was semireclined. Even at a distance, she could see from his flushed face that he was feverish. His hair was matted with sweat, and as she approached, he flung one arm off the cot. “Papa?”

Her father looked up, and in his bloodshot eyes she read both exhaustion and deep sorrow. “The captain is delirious and needs to be kept still. He is fighting infection. You will need to bathe his face and chest with cool water and stay with him lest he begin thrashing about.” He glanced around the room. “We have sufficient help for the others.” He nodded at a young enlisted man carrying a basin toward them. “Private Nathan will assist you and fetch anything you need.”

“The baby!”

Both Lily and her father started at Caleb’s sudden harsh cry.

“Get the baby. The baby!” The word
baby
reverberated from the rafters.

Shaking his head, Ezra rose to his feet and handed Lily the damp cloth he’d been using. Lily’s throat was paralyzed with fear. “Papa?”

He stood a moment or two without speaking, then pulled her into his arms. “It’s in God’s hands now.” With a heavy sigh, he released her. “Do what you can for him, Lily.”

Lily crumpled into the bedside chair, knowing that no base Corporal Adams or vicious serpent had ever filled her with the terror now consuming her being.

* * *

Colors. Firebursts. Reds. Yellows. Flashes of white. Then blankets of black. He kicked his horse, spurring him on, but no matter how vigorously he urged the steed, the beast refused to move.
Help her! Help her, I say.
Dropping the reins, he leaned over, stretching out his arms for the doll.
The doll. I’ll save it, little girl.
Then suddenly he was grasping not a doll, but a dry shuck of corn. Where was the little girl? The doll?

A mewling sound like that of a trapped kitten. Where?
The baby! Help the baby!

A heavy weight crushed his lungs. A savagely painted warrior straddled his chest mouthing words he could neither hear nor understand. Flailing. Flailing. He could fight him off, couldn’t he? Couldn’t he? Then came the thunderous roar—a cannon blast throwing up blue-clad bodies and great clumps of earth.
Charge!

Then he was thrashing in cold water, fighting the current, futilely grabbing at tree branches traveling past him in a green haze.

Breathing. Too hard. He couldn’t find the word. The one he needed. The one that would make the difference. The cold river water filled his mouth, slithered down his windpipe and clogged his lungs. The word, the word.

Help!

* * *

Every half hour throughout the day, Lily sent Private Nathan to fetch more cool well water. As she bathed Caleb and smoothed his damp hair back from his feverish forehead, she hummed softly. Hymns. The familiar tunes eased her body and brought a kind of suspended peace to her soul. She couldn’t explain it, but here in the midst of life and death, surrounded by those victimized by man’s inhumanity to man, instead of the baffled anger at God she had often experienced, she found hope in the tender care being lavished upon the fallen.

Even Caleb’s frenzied outbursts seemed God’s way of helping him exorcise demons she could only guess at. Someday perhaps he would tell her about whatever baby had taken root in his heart and what doll had been so important to him. He repeated the word
Charge!
at intervals throughout the day, shuddering in the aftermath of his order.

When he tossed about, Private Nathan would help her massage his limbs while she crooned lullabies she hoped were among those his mother had sung to him. Even when he slept, he slept fitfully, lashing out at her with his hands. Periodically her father came to check on Caleb, but he offered no encouragement beyond saying, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Toward nightfall, Lily stood and took in the scene. So focused had she been on Caleb that she was surprised to see that several of the men had apparently undergone treatment and returned to their barracks. The two amputees were receiving special care from Effie and Rose. Lily was numb with fatigue, but she would not leave her post. Sometimes she thought Caleb’s fever was breaking, but then it would rage and he would become agitated again. More than anything, one pathetic word, repeated again and again, glued her to the spot.
Help!

Just after seven, Lily overheard her father speaking with someone at the door. When she glanced around, her jaw dropped. A young woman, barely five feet tall, wearing a simple gray dress and bonnet, was saying clearly, “I am here to see Lieutenant Creekmore.” Lily didn’t recognize the dark-haired stranger, but couldn’t mistake the determination in her voice.

When Ezra pointed toward the nearby bed where Will Creekmore lay, the woman uttered a hurried “Thank God” and made a beeline for his cot. She was only halfway across the room when Will, one arm in a sling, struggled to his feet, swaying with pain. “Oh, Fannie, is it you? Tell me it’s you!”

The woman called Fannie arrived at Will’s side just in time to hold him up in an embrace that seemed to have no end. “Will, my darling Will.” At long last, she pulled back and helped him sit. Even from across the way, Lily could hear the man’s sobs of relief. Fannie knelt in front of him, wiping his tears with her handkerchief. “Beloved Will.”

He cradled her face in his hands. “I can’t believe it’s you. That you’re not a dream.”

“I’m no dream. I’m your betrothed.” She brushed back a stray lock of his hair. “If you’ll still have me.” Lily heard the smile in her voice.

“
Have you?
I can’t wait.” Will looked around the room then. “Hey, folks. We’re going to have a wedding here!”

Scattered applause and muffled laughter greeted his announcement. Beaming at Fannie, Will then said, “Thanks be to God for you, Fannie Jackson. I love you with all my heart.”

Moved by the affectionate reunion, Lily turned away, wondering what had induced a young woman to leave her home and family for life in an alien wilderness. She dipped the cloth in water, wrung it out and bathed Caleb’s neck and shoulders. There was no accounting for Fannie’s devotion.

* * *

Fuzzy. A face. Out there, just beyond his reach. Then a light. Behind the face. He lifted his arm, but watched it fall back down. Now he was walking on a path. In the forest. Toward the sun. From the trees, a doe studied him, her limpid eyes full of...what? Love? Then he heard a voice. An angel’s voice. He walked faster toward the sound. It was a song he knew.
Mother?

Warm light bathed him, soothed him.

“Caleb!”

His legs were tired, so tired. He sat down on the path.

“Caleb, don’t you dare give up!”

Not his mother, he thought. Then the face was close to his. A woman. Not his mother. An angel?

“Caleb, I want you to squeeze my hand.”

Then he felt soft fingers on his hand, the pressure of a palm. Squeeze? He tried.

“Again!”

As he gripped the hand, it felt like a lifeline tugging him back from the forest, back from the sunlight.

With great effort, he opened his eyes and looked into the face. The beautiful face of a woman. He knew her. Like a balloon his heart inflated with ecstasy. Her name. He needed to remember her name. Then the strange, raspy sound of his own voice filled his ears.
Lily?

In response, another voice thundered. “Caleb, this is Ezra Kellogg. Keep fighting, lad. I think you’re going to make it.”

The pretty woman was there again, and something wet was falling from her eyes onto his skin.

Chapter Ten

T
hroughout the long night, Lily refused to leave Caleb’s side except when Rose took her place. His fever had broken, but he was so weak that only by scant teaspoonfuls were they able to force him to sip water or broth. When he opened his eyes, Lily was unsure whether he recognized her. His only words—
angel
and
baby—
were uttered in a hoarse whisper. Rose had brought a small jar of bacon fat to rub on his dry, cracked lips, and every few hours Ezra appeared to change his dressing and examine the wound.

In the wee hours of the morning, Lily, exhausted, rested her weary head on his bed. She was instantly lost in the white gauze of sleep until she was roused by a gentle voice calling her name. With the greatest effort, she sat up, squinting dazedly at the woman standing by her side. Coming into awareness of her surroundings, Lily panicked. “Dear God, Caleb?”

“Your man is asleep. That will hasten his healing more than anything.”

Your man?
Lily shook her head, trying to reorient herself to the situation. Running a hand through her disheveled hair, she studied the diminutive young woman whose brown eyes were seas of calm.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Fannie Jackson, come to wed Will Creekmore.”

Events of the previous night washed over Lily—Fannie’s arrival, her romantic reunion with Will and Lily’s admiration for the young woman’s devotion to the lieutenant. Lily extended her hand. “Welcome to Fort Larned. I’m Lily Kellogg.”

Fannie held Lily’s hand in both of hers. “I know who you are. Will has told me wonderful things about you, and I am so eager to make your acquaintance. I shall be so in need of a friend here.”

Lily reacted with both spontaneous affection and guilt. Even in these few minutes, it was obvious Fannie could, indeed, become a special friend; but if she went to St. Louis, she would disappoint Fannie by leaving Fort Larned.

She paused to gather the sheet around Caleb and adjust his pillow before continuing the conversation. “We are impressed that you would make such a long trip. Was it difficult?”

Fannie smiled. “It had its moments, but nothing could have kept me from coming. I concentrated on Will and God’s plan for us to be together.”

Lily envied Fannie her certainty. She had thought she knew her destiny: to go to St. Louis and live a cosmopolitan existence. Yet, so great had been her fear for Caleb’s life that all thought of the city had been knocked out of her awareness until just this minute. How difficult it had suddenly become to distinguish her own plan from God’s. “I envy you, Fannie.”

“How so?”

“You seem so certain of your direction.”

“God planted love in my heart, and I have never doubted His purpose for me.”

“But how do you
know?
”

Fannie began massaging the coiled muscles in Lily’s neck. “It just feels right in a way nothing else ever has.”

It just feels right.
How Lily wished she knew what might “feel right” for her. At this moment, though, questions were all she had. What if she never saw Caleb again? What if she never experienced life at Aunt Lavinia’s? What if she was following her own stubborn will, rather than God’s? In resignation, she bent her head and for several minutes gave in to the ministrations of Fannie’s soothing hands.

Finally Fannie stopped, but not before wrapping Lily’s shoulders in a warm embrace. “Why don’t you go get some breakfast and take a nap?”

It dawned on Lily that she was ravenous. “Perhaps I will.”

“Please do not fret. I will be tending to your man.”

There it was again.
Your man.
Lily had neither the energy nor the will to correct her new friend. Ever since the kiss in the cemetery, she had avoided speculation concerning her relationship with Caleb. Was there any way at all by which he could be considered
her
man? If so, she was simply too tired to ponder the implications.

Rather than commenting further, Lily simply said, “Thank you.”

* * *

“How’re you doing, son?”

Caleb pried his eyes open and saw Major Hurlburt standing at his bedside. “I’ll make it, sir.”

“If determination plays a part in your recovery, I have no doubt of that.”

Caleb felt disoriented. “How long have I been here?”

“Nearly a week.”

Painfully, Caleb pulled up on one elbow and glanced around the hospital. “The others?”

The major settled in the bedside chair. “We took some casualties.”

Caleb closed his eyes against a question he didn’t want to ask. “How many?”

“Twelve wounded. Five dead.”

He was glad the major hadn’t minced words. The toll had been high. “Who?”

“There will be time enough for that, son. Right now, your duty is to get well.”

Caleb wasn’t sure he would ever be well again, not with the scars of so many comrades lost, not just in the recent battle, but in every conflict in which he’d participated. “I’ll do my best.” With sudden urgency, another question filled him with dread. “Bucephalus?”

“Your mount is safely home.”

Caleb closed his eyes, limp with relief.

After a few moments, the major spoke again. “You’ve had mighty attentive nursing.”

“Lily.” Caleb looked away so his commander wouldn’t see the emotions threatening to unman him. In the midst of his horrific memories, her name itself was a balm.

“Yes, Lily, but also Rose Kellogg and Fannie Jackson, Creekmore’s fiancée.”

Caleb racked his fuzzy brain for the information he knew he should be seeking. “The mission? Was it a success?”

The major rubbed a finger under his nose. “From a strategic point of view, yes, but those Indians fought to the death.”

Exhausted, Caleb sank back on the pillow. He had so many questions, some that only God could answer. “Thank you for coming, sir,” he managed weakly.

The major stood. “No problem, Captain. You work on getting better. I need men like you.”

Caleb closed his eyes. The army might need men
like
him, but not
him.
He was leaving this all behind and for the promised “greener pastures” of the Flint Hills. A place of tranquility and peace where he could become a different man.

* * *

Eight days after the battle, a chaplain arrived from Fort Riley to conduct the service to honor the dead. The mood at the fort was subdued. It was almost as if the men had too much time to think...and remember. Effie Hurlburt assembled a makeshift choir for the event, and in her spare time after working at the hospital, Lily played the piano for their rehearsals. The entire fort gathered at the cemetery on a hot July morning. The soldiers stood in ranks and the women clustered together.

Lily listened to the singers. Every chorus of “Abide with Me” threatened to undo her, and the final, piteous notes of taps hushed even the birds. The service was more personal for her as a result of her own brother’s death at Lookout Mountain and her brief, but poignant encounter with Sydney Long. The young soldier had already known tragedy, but for his life to be cut off so soon...unthinkable. Following the ceremony, she fulfilled the difficult task of writing his parents. She had delayed so that she could describe the service. Yet she knew that mere words, no matter how heartfelt or eloquent, would be of little comfort.

Caleb, still weak and chafing about the slow pace of his recovery, had wanted to attend the service, but Ezra Kellogg would not permit it. Lily knew Caleb felt it was his duty to be with his men to bid farewell to their comrades. “They were good soldiers,” he had told her. “It was an honor to fight side by side. I just wish...” He had clamped his mouth shut, unable to continue.

Because the chaplain planned to stay at Fort Larned for several weeks, Will and Fannie took advantage of his presence to plan their wedding. Fannie was living temporarily with the Hurlburts, and she and Effie were thriving on making arrangements. Lily continued to be in awe of Fannie’s equanimity. “Naturally, I miss my parents and sister,” she confided one evening to Lily. “I would’ve liked them to be at my wedding, but it was more important that I be with Will.”

The officers’ wives had pitched in to purchase a rich, amber-colored material for a wedding dress. Lily had agreed to make the gown, and deep in a chest containing her mother’s clothes, she had found some antique lace with which to trim the collar and cuffs. She was humbled and pleased when Fannie asked her to stand up with her and Will. If Caleb was sufficiently recovered, Will hoped he would serve as his best man. Ezra was pleased with how well Will’s bones were mending, but the eager bridegroom had said whether his arm was healed or not, nothing would postpone the wedding.

Working on Fannie’s gown was therapy for Lily. She could lose herself in darts and hems and briefly forget the sad events of recent days. Watching Fannie and Will was a tonic in itself. Their obvious love spread a kind of magic wherever they went and occasioned many a smile.

One evening as Lily was leaving the hospital, Caleb detained her. “I’d like to go outdoors.”

“You are too weak to walk that far.”

“Not by myself. But if you helped...?” He hoisted himself to his feet, pausing to get his legs under him. “If you put your arm around my waist, like so—” he guided her arm “—and I rested my hand on your shoulder, we could make it.”

She staggered slightly when he shifted his weight onto her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Apprehensive, she braced for their first step. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Sounding more like the old Caleb than he had since his injury, he said, “To the contrary, it’s a fine idea.”

Was it her imagination or had he squeezed her shoulder? “We must proceed slowly,” she said primly.

“Slow is good.” They advanced toward the door. “I am so weary of confinement.”

“You’ve been very ill. Healing takes time.”

Just outside the door was a row of benches, and Caleb, supported by Lily, slowly eased himself onto a seat. His breath came in gasps. Even that small amount of exertion had cost him dearly. “Here.” He patted the seat beside him. “Sit with me.”

Lily could no more refuse than fly. Besides, if she didn’t stay at his side, who would help him back to bed?

“‘Healing takes time,’” he repeated, expelling a long sigh. “There will never be enough time.”

The resignation in his voice caused Lily to study him carefully. His hands clenched his knees and his jaw was rigid. “Are you talking about your wound...or something more?”

“Oh, the injury will heal,” he said dismissively, “but any man who has seen battle will tell you that though scars may form, there are some wounds that are with you until Gabriel’s trumpet blows.”

This was the moment for which she had waited, but would he risk confiding in her? What she said next would make all the difference. “Caleb, you would honor me with your trust. Perhaps you could begin by telling me about the baby.”

“The baby?” His expression went blank, and Lily immediately regretted making an assumption.

“When you were delirious, there were two memories that recurred over and over in your speech. One was something about a little girl and a doll. The other was the word
baby.
You kept repeating it with great agitation.”

“Washita.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Battle of the Washita River. More even than my experiences in the War between the States, it haunts my dreams.” He seemed to go into another world, one inaccessible to her.

After a few moments, she prompted him. “The baby?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t save it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It isn’t a pretty story.”

“If it affects you, I want to hear it.” Lily sensed they were on the verge of passing into strange new territory.

Briefly he recounted the nature of the mission they were to undertake with Black Kettle and his encampment. “But something went horribly wrong. To this day, I don’t understand what. One minute we were poised to disperse the Indians there, and in the next, we were thrust into horrific confusion. They fired on us, and our men began slaughtering them—men, women and children.” He paused with a ragged hiccup. “I tried to stop them, but there was confusion on every side. I could not believe the evidence of my eyes and it plagues me still.”

He paused, and Lily knew better than to interrupt the memories now spewing from a place deep within him. When he resumed the story, it was as if to leave out any detail would dishonor the victims.

“There was bloodshed all around, but two images seared themselves into my brain. The first is of a little girl, not more than seven I wager, who still clutched a sad little cornhusk doll with a blue dress. The poor child lay on her back, eyes vacant, shot through the chest.”

With economy of motion, Lily laid her hand atop one of his, now busy kneading the fabric of his trousers.

“Nearby was a woman lying facedown, her long braid blood-soaked. She must’ve been shot protecting her baby. I could hear the baby crying, oh, so weakly, but when I attempted to dismount to save the child, I myself was attacked. By the time the gunfire ceased and I returned to the scene, the infant had suffocated.” His tortured eyes sought hers. “I have killed men in battle, both in the recent war and now fighting Indians, but I never signed on to be part of a massacre. And that’s what the Battle of the Washita was. As God is my witness, I never would have gunned down a woman or child. But I was there. I am guilty.” He swiped a sleeve across his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Lily,” he said, his voice shaking.

Lily had no notion how to respond. She had wanted him to be more forthcoming, to share himself with her. Well, her wish had been fulfilled, but in no way had she been prepared for the anguish of his nightmarish memories. Healing? She realized she didn’t know the first thing about this kind of wound.

“So there. Now you know what kind of man I am. Damaged.”

Reaching up, she turned his ashen face toward her and gazed purposefully into his desolate eyes. “Here’s what I know. You are a man who has seen what no one should ever have to witness, a man who grieves for innocent souls caught up in violence, a man who cares deeply about human life.” She hesitated before adding, “A man who will always have my utmost respect.”