Holding on to Heaven (17 page)

After a round of hugs and kisses, Estelle ushered everyone to the table and brought Polly a cup of steaming coffee. "We have much to catch up on, but first I must ask about Creed and Finn. What do you hear from them?"

Polly bounced Finn on her knee and inspected him in the way only grandmothers do. "Finn sends an occasional letter, snippets of news. We know they're in Virginia somewhere, but on the move so often it's hard to stay abreast of their exact location." Lauren swallowed the lump in her throat as her mother-in-law picked up where she left off. "I posted another letter last week, told the boys about the lovely wedding they missed and bragged about our newest member of the family. Yes, I did," she said directly to Finn when he smiled. "Lord knows if my letters get through."

Sick. Lauren was going to be sick. She rose from the table, walked to the window and imagined what it would be like to be so far from home and receive such news. To Creed, whatever they once shared together was wiped out by her reckless act of marrying his brother. He’d consider her a whore, a wanton who flits from one man to another without so much as a backward glance. If he did care for her on any level, he’d be devastated to receive such news while fighting for his life, struggling to survive from one day to the next.

Polly placed Finn on the floor and sipped her coffee. "I tell myself I'm not going to read the newspapers, but can't help myself. The fighting has been fierce for the First Minnesota and many from both sides have fallen."

"Oh, dear me," Estelle said. "I didn't mean to upset you, Polly."

The woman waved off the comment. "It's heartbreaking to think all those young men are left on the battlefield while the armies march on to the next battle."

Estelle rose and refilled her cup. "It's heartless. All women love their children, whether from the south or the north."

Lauren focused on the flight of a hawk soaring through the sky and envied him his freedom. How she'd love to soar through the clouds, forget about everything on earth. Everything but her son, that is.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Estelle reach over and pat Polly's hand. "Mace and I've been following the First's heroic deeds. The boys from home have made us proud."

"What's my pride worth if they never come home?"

Lauren's stomach lurched.

"Creed will watch out for Finn, dear." Estelle attempted to bolster her friend's spirits. "This horrific war will be over soon and they'll return to us safe and sound."

Return to us. Creed will not be returning to me. I'm married now¾to his brother. The child Polly bounces on her knee belongs to her eldest, not Brand. What a mess I've made of everything!

"Lauren, whatever are you daydreaming about?"

"Sorry, Aunt Estelle. Talk of war makes me anxious."

"We shall talk about more pleasant things then. Will you bring the teacakes to the table, the ones we made this morning?"

"Of course," Lauren said.

"You do seem rather glum, dear." Polly took the plate of teacakes from her hand. "What are you so deep in thought about?"

"Nothing important, thinking about how nice it is to have fresh flowers in the house again." Lauren suffered through a smile and resumed her position in the chair. "Mother always said one could never have enough flowers surrounding them."

The talk soon turned to chatter about neighbors and friends—who'd welcomed a new addition to their family over the long winter months, who'd been sick, and who'd died.

Lauren pushed thoughts of Creed from her mind and forced herself to engage in the conversation.

There'd be plenty of time to think about Creed's hot caresses and hard kisses when she lay in her bed again tonight next to his brother.

Her husband.

Chapter Ten

Creed put his back up against a Black Locust, slid to the ground and did his damnedest to gather some steam. Deep in the bowels of Virginia, nothing looked familiar—except Finn and his comrades from the First Minnesota. Those who still stood, that is.

After four days of bloody, non-stop fighting, he craved sleep. The battles began at Oak Grove on the 25th, Beaver Dam Creek on the 26th, Gaine’s Mill on the 27th and minor actions at Garnett’s and Golding’s Farm on June 27th and 28th.

He'd lost track of Finn during the heat of battle so many times, the thought sobered him. His brother sat beside him on the ground now, leaner, older and meaner.

Finn peered out from beneath his hat. "Did I ever tell you what I saw when we were fighting at Fair Oaks?"

"No, I don't believe you did." Creed knew his voice lacked vitality.

"I don't know where in the hell you were, but two men from the Second Connecticut tossed their weapons on the ground in the middle of the fighting and engaged in a boxing match."

"What? With each other?"

"Yeah, and we were in the heat of the fight. When they were done flattening each other's noses, they picked up their muskets and started firing on the Rebs again."

"Jesus." Creed shook his head. "That battle was a bitch, didn't think we'd come out with all our limbs."

"Wasn't that the night both sides retreated, hunkered down for the night and waited for it to start up all over again in the morning?"

Creed yawned and released a weary breath. "Yep, the same night someone from our camp picked up the flute and sent a melancholy tune floating across the James River."

"Made me think of Ma and home," Finn said glumly.

Then a strange voice called out across the muddy waters from the Rebs' side and said, "Now how about playing one for our side?"

"Of all the stupid ass things I ever heard." Finn chuckled. "The man answered him with a haunting version of
I Wish I Were in Dixie.

"I found it ironic at the time, if not laughable."

"Why?" Finn asked with a tired laugh. "He was just trying to be kind."

"That's the ironic part, knowing in the morning both sides would pick up their muskets and renew the battle."

"Hey," Finn said. "You still owe me an apology for cuffing me in the head after that fight."

"You're going to be waiting a long time. If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times to stay near me in the heat of battle."

"You can't save me, Creed, not when you're trying to save yourself." Finn took his dusty hat off and slapped it against his knee.

"I want you to promise me you won't wander off again. Say it."

"Shit, you'd think I was twelve."

"You're seventeen, but at the time you acted like a twelve year old."

"When I wandered off or when I cuffed you back?"

Too overcome with exhaustion and worry, his words came out hard. "Are you going to promise me or do I have to whip your sorry ass?"

"You sure you're up to it after all that fighting today?"

"I'm up to it, even with one hand tied behind my back."

"I know you worry about me, but like I said, if something happens, it's not your fault. Remember that, Creed, will you?"

"Stupid kid. Quit talking like that."

* * * *

Creed watched the sun rise and his thoughts drifted to home. To Lauren. He pictured her riding Adobe through her uncle's wheat fields or sitting in the rocker on the porch at Full Circle. It seemed an eternity had passed since he gazed upon her face, yet every feature appeared before him clearer than water in a mountain stream. A pang of loneliness washed over him, so potent, he steadied himself against the same tree he'd fallen asleep beneath last night.

He found Finn near the mess line and frowned. A red hue tinged his face and dark circles ringed his eyes. The units had been hit hard with malaria and typhoid in the last month, and he wondered if Finn was coming down with one of the dreaded diseases.

Creed jumped into line behind him. "You aren't looking so good this morning."

"Yeah, well take a look around you. You'll see more of the same."

"Malaria and typhoid are nothing to scoff at."

"Give it up, Creed. I'm going out with the others. They're counting on me."

"I'm counting on getting you home alive."

The longer Creed talked, the more Finn dug in. When the argument grew heated, Finn left the line, picked up his rifle and headed toward his regiment.

Two miles west of Savage Station, the heavy fighting began at nine in the morning. The blue sky disappeared and in its wake, a dense fog of grey smoke moved in. Volley after volley whistled and roared around Creed and Finn, tearing through the ranks in an endless barrage. The sickening sound of bayonets crossing in the air mingled with the hideous thud of muskets cracking open skulls.

The Confederates held their line and then fell back, only to reappear minutes later, invigorated enough to defend their position. Creed hunkered down at the top of a small knoll during a lull in the fighting. He glanced at Finn several rods away and thought about their conversation that morning. Finn looked worse now than he had then. A gray pallor clung to his skin and a beads of sweat appeared near the cowlick on his forehead.

A bullet whirred by Creed's head, a signal the fighting had resumed. When Union lines received orders to advance, the Rebs sent a heavy volume of canister into their ranks. Dying men moaned and horses screamed, competing with the deafening charge of heavy artillery. Mass confusion reigned on the bloody field.

Shots from Confederate lines tore through Union ranks, Creed heard a bone-chilling scream and realized Finn had been hit. He dragged his body through the red clay amid a hail of gunfire and reached his brother's still body minutes later. Blood poured from a gaping wound on Finn's back below his shoulder blade, turning his blue shirt crimson. His hands shaking like a drunkard's, Creed untied the bandana around his neck and stuffed it into the exit wound above his heart. So much blood, so damn much blood.

He lifted his brother's body into the crook of his arm. "Finn, can you hear me?"

"I'm hit, Creed," he rasped. "You didn't do a very good job of watching my ass today." His eyes rolled in the sockets as he tried to focus, and for a brief second, a faint smile bracketed his bloodstained lips.

"Hold on, Finn, help is coming. Finn! Please stay with me, hang on!"

Finn's hand went limp, his eyelids closed, and his last breath escaped in a quiet rush.

Creed pulled his brother's lifeless body close to his chest and clung to him. "Don't leave, goddamn it, please don't leave."

A hundred voices rang out¾some near, some distant¾mingling with the roar of gunfire. Creed rocked back and forth in the muddy field and cursed God, oblivious to the carnage surrounding them. Reaching inside Finn's shirt, he found the locket their mother had given him. He yanked it from his neck and broke the chain. The moment he folded his hand over it, a bullet exploded near his ears. He felt its sharp sting graze his temple and then the world spun. He struggled to remain conscious as he clung to Finn.

The light in his eyes turned black and he slumped onto his brother's dead body.

* * * *

Two days later, Creed opened his eye to a stranger looming over him. "Welcome back, son. I'll fetch the surgeon."

Doctor Drew stood by the bed, fatigue and weariness etched into the furrows on his forehead. The apron on his upper torso screamed red and pink bloodstains. Even his thick, gray beard was speckled with blood.

"The bullet grazed your temple, knocked you senseless for a few days." For a man who’d seen it all, his voice held compassion. "Another fraction of an inch and you'd be a statistic."

"Lucky me," Creed said.

He struggled to rise, but weak and dizzy from the near miss, he fell into the mattress again. No one had to remind him Finn had died. Angry, frustrated tears filled his eyes and a heavy stone sat in the pit of his stomach. He'd failed. He didn't save Finn. The horrific realization his brother would never marry, raise his children, or bounce his grandchildren on his knee, nearly drove him to put a gun to his head and finish the job the Rebs had started. A sensation of someone punching him in the gut came over him.

"Your regiment recovered your brother's body when they brought you in. He's on his way to Minnesota. When you regain your strength, you're going home, son. I filled out the necessary paperwork for a medical discharge¾honorable, of course.

The ceiling spun overhead and his stomach retched. "What day did Finn die?"

"The 29
, I believe." The Doc cocked his head, set the chart down and looked into his eyes. "Good luck, son, and don't let your brother's death haunt you. You did everything you could for the boy. His number came up and nothing could have changed it."

Creed stared at the ceiling and fought back tears. He couldn't wait to leave this hell hole. He wasn't afraid to fight, but this crazy war never made sense to him. Hell, he’d enlisted to watch over Finn and now there was no reason to stay and fight.

Two weeks later, fully recovered, Creed picked an army mount from the herd and headed for home.

* * * *

When word reached New Ulm that Finn was killed at Savage Station, the community went into mourning.

With choking voice, Estelle turned to Lauren. "I must go to Polly immediately."

"Men and their wars." Unshed tears gleamed in Lauren's eyes. "They leave you no hope, nothing to hold on to."

Her aunt's expression softened. "No hope, dear? You must not ever say that or think it. I'll tell you what we'll hold onto—heaven, until we draw our last breath. That little piece of heaven that lives in our hearts through hope and despair, good and evil, life and yes, even death."

Feeling guilty for speaking up while everyone floundered in grief, Lauren looked at the floor. "I'm sorry; I'm so despondent over Finn's death and angry and—"

"And what else, Lauren? Worried about Creed?"

Her head came up. "Well I-I, of course I'm worried about Creed and the entire Gatlin family." Her voice faded. "I know how close they are."

Her aunt left to call on Polly. Lauren staggered around in numb disbelief. How could it have happened? Not Finn¯so young and full of life. Memories from the barn dance flooded her¯Finn on the sidelines, daring the other young men to ask a girl for a dance. She pictured him spinning around the floor with a blonde belle on his arm. His engaging smile appeared and the cowlick at the top of his forehead. Lauren slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, buried her hands in her face and wept.