Spring Will Come (19 page)

             
“I love you too, Rose,” he whispered, continuing to stare into Adams’ hate-filled eyes.  He refused to look away.  He would show no fear now that his time had come.  He refused to give him the satisfaction.

             
Moses jumped when the gun exploded.  He was amazed when he felt nothing.  Maybe this was what death was like - just kind of passing into another world.  He waited for pain to spread through his body.  Suddenly his eyes opened wide.  Ike Adams, a surprised expression on his face, slowly loosed his grip on his rifle.  Moses stared in amazement as Adams slumped forward and then fell to the ground.  His rifle clattered down the slope toward Moses, but all he could do was stare at it.

             
He waited for long minutes, expecting one of the men in his unit to walk up to the edge of the ravine, but no one appeared.   Finally he looked down at the unconscious man at his feet.  “I’ll be right back, Captain.”

             
Grabbing hold of tree roots and exposed rock, he pulled himself up the side of the gully and peered over.  “Joe!” he exclaimed.  Hurriedly, he climbed the rest of the way out and ran to his friend who was leaning against a tree, his head at an odd angle. 

             
“I got him, Moses,” Joe said with a weak grin, pain twisting his face. 

             
“You shot Adams?”  Moses asked in amazement. 

             
“Sure did.  I don’t know what made that mad man dash right through all of our soldiers, but he sure had only one thing on his mind.”

             
Moses shook his head.  “He was a very sick man.  Too much hate destroyed his heart and mind.”

             
Joe grinned again, a bare flicker of movement on his lips.   Then he sobered.  “I’ve been hit, Moses.”  A pause.  “It’s bad...” he gasped weakly. 

             
Moses nodded grimly.  “I know.  I’ll get you out of here.”

             
Joe shook his head.  “The captain...”

             
“I’ll get the captain out of here, too.”

             
Again, Joe shook his head.  “Too late for me...  get the captain.”  His voice faded away as his eyes closed.  Suddenly they sprang open.  “My wife... tell her... tell her I love her... her and little Joey.”

             
Moses blinked back tears as the shadow of death settled on Joe’s face.  Gently he closed the staring eyes.  Long minutes passed as he stared into the face of the friend who had saved his life.  “Thank you,” he said softly.

             
A distant gunshot jarred him back to reality.  Touching Joe’s arm one more time, he jumped up and ran for the ravine.  There was nothing he could do for Joe now.  But he might still be able to save his Captain. Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled to the ravine.   He stopped abruptly as he reached Adams’ body.  Time was critical, but he had to know.  He leaned down, grabbed Adam’s arm, and rolled him over on his back.  Sightless eyes stared up at him. 

             
Struggling between gladness his enemy was dead and sadness that a life could be so wasted, Moses stared at the dead man. 

             
Another volley of shots rang out, closer this time.  Moses gave Adams one final look then turned and eased his way back down into the ravine.  Without checking to see whether his captain was still alive, Moses hoisted the dead weight on his shoulder, and struggled up the other side of the ravine.  He paused just a moment to catch his breath then broke into a steady run toward the rear of the lines. 

             
Moses was gasping for air when he broke from the woods into the camps.  He stared around him but didn’t slacken his pace.  No one stepped forward to stop him.  Everywhere there was wild action as men sprang forward to accompany their units.  Napoleon cannon and three inch artillery guns rumbled by on their way to the front.  The sound of battle echoed through the air now, rolling forth on every puff of breeze the still day offered. 

             
“What you got there?” a surgeon asked sharply as Moses ran up to the nearest medical tent. 

             
“Captain Jones, sir.  He was hit by an advance group of Confederates.”

             
“Is he still alive?” he barked, motioning for an aid to bring a stretcher.

             
Moses shook his head as he laid the captain gently on the waiting canvas.  “I don’t know.  I just got him here as quick as I could.”

             
“We’ll take care of him now,” the surgeon said in a gentler voice.  “If he lives, the captain will have you to thank for saving his life.”

             
Moses stared after them until the tent door swung shut.  There was nothing more he could do.  Now that the captain was wounded he didn’t know which person to report to with his information.  Setting his face and ignoring the fresh raging of hunger, Moses went in search of McClellan’s headquarters.   It might be too late for his information to do any good, but he would still report.

CHAPTER EIGHT

F
ighting the stream of people flowing past her, Carrie was numb as she moved slowly down the hill.  Somewhere in her consciousness she was aware a battle was being fought, but she had long ago lost interest in the actual event.  There had been fighting for five days now.  The long standoff had ended on June 25, when Lee attacked the Army of the Potomac at Mechanicsville.  Every day brought fresh fighting and a fresh flow of wounded into the hospitals.  It seemed as if every building in the city bulged with wounded and dying soldiers. 

             
Carrie stumbled slightly as a heavy-set woman, unmindful of her surroundings, pushed past her.   She set her lips tightly and continued against the press of people.   All she wanted was to get home.   Every evening there was a heavy flow of people hurrying to the high points of Richmond to watch the battles.  It seemed as if everyone wanted to watch the spectacle.  Carrie had sickened of it. 

             
Her father had convinced her on the second day to climb the steps of the Capitol, where a marvelous view could be seen from the roof.   Carrie had been most fascinated by the people of the city.  As if the hills were a great amphitheater, men, women, and children crowded the slopes and witnessed what they called the grand fireworks - the exploding of bombs and artillery, the rattle of gunfire.  She had heard people proclaim how beautiful they were.  She could only stare, a sickness gnawing at her stomach.  There was nothing beautiful in the roar of battle - it was awful!  What they saw as beauty was nothing more than instruments sending death to the ones they loved so dearly.  How could these people forget the thousands of wounded filling their city, the thousands of dead waiting for burial, their bloated corpses exploding the coffins built to contain them? Carrie had watched for only a few minutes before she had turned and fled.  Not even to please her father would she be a spectator to carnage. 

             
“Watch out,” a man snapped sharply.

             
Carrie shook her head and tried to refocus her thoughts.  She was greatly relieved when a sign loomed to indicate she was just a block from her father’s home.  Turning off busy Broad Street, she hurried faster down 24th Street.   The sounds of cannon and gunfire pursued her into her house.  Carrie longed to stuff something in her ears to shut out the noise. 

             
“General Lee has those Yankees on the run!”

             
Carrie managed a smile as she looked at the excitement on Manning’s face.  “That’s nice.”

             
Manning stared at her.  “That’s
nice
?  All you have to say is that’s
nice
?”

             
Carrie looked wearily at their boarder.  “Yes,” she stated simply, too exhausted to say more.  Then she turned and trudged up the stairs.  She could feel his stare boring into her back, but she simply didn’t care. 

             
Janie was sitting in her bed and staring at a book when Carrie reached their room.  Janie managed a weak smile and a wave of her hand, but she didn’t speak.  Her face revealed she was as drained as Carrie. 

             
Carrie smiled in return and then slowly removed her clothes.  She knew she could never cleanse her mind from the smell of death and sickness permeating the hospital, but clean clothes would give a little relief.  Crumpling her soiled dress and apron into a ball, she stuffed it in a bag to carry it down to May who would wash it in hot water the next day.  Clothing never totally lost its odor, but at least it was diminished.  She wrinkled her nose, tossed the bag toward the door then slipped into a fresh dress.  She had saved three to wear just at home.  All the rest were designated hospital dresses.  The remainder of what had once been an extensive wardrobe had been donated for transformation into bandages, uniform material, or whatever else the ladies of Richmond deemed it suitable for.  

             
Once she was in clean clothing, Carrie collapsed gratefully on the bed.  Within minutes she was sound asleep. 

             
It must have been the sound of silence that wakened her about an hour later.  Blinking her eyes to make them focus, she looked toward Janie’s bed.  Her friend was wide-awake, staring at the window.  Carrie listened carefully.  “Is the battle over?”

             
Janie shrugged.  “I think so.  At least for today,” she said then paused.  “A new batch of wounded will be coming soon.”

             
“I don’t think it will ever end,” Carrie responded, a deep despair threatening to overwhelm her.  Would Robert be in this newest batch?  Was he already lying wounded in one of the hospitals?  Or would his name take its place on the list of dead soldiers?

             
“I don’t know if I can take much more,” Janie murmured, tears choking her words.

             
Carrie leaned forward, drawn by something she had never heard in her friend’s voice.  Janie was always the strong one.  Always the one who held onto hope when Carrie was struggling to find something to hold on to at all.  There was no strength in her voice now - only the helpless sound of a child who has lost her way and fears she will never see home. 

             
Janie stared at her.  “This war is too terrible,” she whispered.  “Four more soldiers developed gangrene today.  I’m afraid they’ll have to amputate.  Two more died.  And Jimmy...” 

             
Carrie stood and moved to sit on Janie’s bed.  “Jimmy?” she asked softly, taking Janie’s hand.   “Did something happen to Jimmy?”

             
Janie managed to nod.  “He was doing so well...”

             
Carrie frowned and waited for her to go on.  She had heard many stories about Jimmy.  He had been brought in after the battle of Williamsburg and had fast become a favorite of Janie’s.  He was always laughing, always teasing - even when pain seemed to twist his pleasant face.  Janie had worked to treat all the patients the same, but Carrie knew Jimmy held a special place in her heart.

The silence stretched as Janie’s eyes swelled with tears. “What happened, Janie?” Carrie asked again, though she was sure she knew the answer. 

              Janie shook her head and stared up, tears now streaming down her face.  It took her several more long minutes before she could speak.  When she finally spoke, it was with a limp laugh.  “I remember him pulling that gun he had hidden out from under his pillow when the surgeon said he was going to take his leg.”

             
“I remember,” Carrie responded.  “He said if the surgeon tried to take his leg it would be the last thing he ever did.”

             
Janie nodded.  “The surgeon left it, but there were some badly splintered bones in his thigh.  We’ve made him lie still for over a month, afraid what movement would do.  All we could do was splint the leg and hope it would heal.”  Her voice broke.

             
Carrie waited patiently, stroking her hand.  Janie would tell her when she could.  She was already certain she knew the outcome, but Janie needed to talk.  It would help release some of the pain. 

             
“Jimmy just couldn’t lie still any more.  This morning he grabbed a pair of crutches and hobbled all around the ward, laughing and joking with some of the men just brought in.   I was thrilled to see him up and about.  He was so happy,” she whispered.  She shook her head then forced herself to continue.  “I was tending another soldier when one of the nurses rushed up to me.  Said Jimmy was calling for me.  When I got there, there was blood shooting from his leg.  I did the only thing I could think of; I grabbed my handkerchief and pressed it into the wound.”