Tear In Time (30 page)

  “There
is nothing we can do?” Gen. Negley said, now becoming visibly angry.

 
“General, we are camped here in Rhodes Island. It's bitterly cold, the men are
underfed, malnourished, and woefully under-protected from the elements. Their
bodies right now are using every bit of available strength and energy to
survive. The result is a body that is in a weakened state and vulnerable to
attack from disease. If you want to give these men a better chance of survival,
move them to a warmer climate – a much warmer climate, one where the men can
warm up, one where they can hunt for decent food instead of living off meager
government rations because they are too cold and too weak to hunt for anything
else,” David responded, his tone hard and serious.

  Gen.
Negley leaned into the fire and warmed his hands. He thought carefully about
the logic of David's argument, then responded, “Dr. Warner, your debate is
strong in logic and I have nothing to refute it, therefore I am compelled to
follow it. I will consult with command and move the troops as soon as
practicable.” With a sincere smile, he added, “And thank you.”

  “Thank
you? For what?” David asked, a bit confused.

  “Frequently,
subordinate offices are boot lickers – very difficult to get an unbiased answer
from them I'm afraid. They usually tell me what I want to hear, which at times
may not be what I need to do. Your answers explained to me in detail what I
need to do and why I need to do this. Your advice is sound and I thank you for
it,” Gen. Negley replied.

  “Well,
thanks for listening,” David replied, not really knowing anything else to
respond with.

  For a few
moments, the three sat around the warm fire and thought about the previous
exchange. The blazing embers held their attention until a strong gust of wind
cut through them, sending a chill deep inside them.

  Gen.
Negley stood and checked the buttons on his coat. “Well, I have a dispatch to
send. No need to get up,” he announced with little fanfare.

  “By
the way, Jim: I believe a have a new bottle of medicinal whiskey in the supply
wagon. It might do you some good to come by later on this evening for a small
dose, say 6pm?” Dr. Morgan said.

  “I'll
pour,” the general joked.

  He
mounted his horse, tipped his hat to both men, and trotted away. David and Dr.
Morgan returned to their stare into the fire, all the while listening to the
horse’s distinctive gallop fade off in the distance.

  The
good general, true to his word, received approval several days later of their
move south to warmer climates. Those in the gravest condition would remain
behind and suffer the fate of the military hospital. All others were required
to march. As the troops were assembled, the columns of men stretched out for
miles.

 
Through heavy snow and days of bitter cold, the columns of soldiers marched
steadily southward, each day gaining ten miles toward their destination. Within
weeks, the effects of southern climates could start to be felt, as they passed
through New York and then Pennsylvania. The temperatures were milder, the snows
were non-existent, and the days held fewer clouds. As the climate improved, so
too did the health and morale of the men.

 
Passing through Maryland, the soldiers returned through the same war-torn
landscape they had previously traveled several months before. The climate now
was much improved from the months before, and the speed of the march had
increased from twelve to fifteen miles a day. Pneumonia, typhoid and other
illnesses seemed to have vanished, and the death rate of the men had fallen to
zero.

 
Crossing over the Potomac River, the columns of men marched to their final
destination: Washington D.C. As David sat atop his horse, he witnessed sights
strangely unfamiliar. The congestion of a large, bustling city he had visited
in the year 2002, now in 1863 was comparatively nothing more than a small town,
quiet and unfettered by throngs of people and machinery. Aside from the
monuments to a nation's independence – Washington monument, the Capital
building, as well as others – the town appeared as any other town: nondescript
and inconspicuous, with dirt roads, farms and small mercantile businesses that
supported the area.

  The
camp just outside Washington D.C.'s city limits was like any other camp he had
stayed in. The tents were set up in long rows, as were the campfires. Tiny
paths were worn between the rows of tents as the men visited each other prior
to nightly ‘taps’. The peaceful atmosphere within the camp betrayed the harsh
realities that existed beyond its borders. Aside from the occasional sick
soldier to treat, life for David seemed slow and comfortable. The only
excitement a solder could see was from the weekly paper's description of the
nearby battles that were beginning to happen with regularity now that spring
had taken hold.

  David
sat by the fire and stretched out his legs. He sipped his coffee, nibbled on a
hardtack cracker and reminisced about the life he had left. An occasional smile
swept his face as he recalled some of the better memories. At times, he
grimaced as he struggled to remember the faces of his mom and dad. With his
eyes closed, he forced their images back to the forefront of his mind.

 
Opening his eyes, he looked around at the men at work, the sergeants and
lieutenants barking orders of the day. Off in a great field, David watched as
columns of soldiers were drilled in the nuances of formation fighting, and
still others could be heard instructed in marksmanship as the loud roar of
rifles echoed off the distant trees.

  This
was not home for David, but somehow he had begun to feel more comfortable with
his surroundings. Sitting by the fire, with the warmth of the flames, the
warmth of the sun's rays, and the balmy breezes that blew off the open fields,
David felt a sense of contentment and security. For the first time since his
sudden arrival, David began to think about the possibility of staying in this
time period. Life was hard, to be sure, but there were qualities about this
life that the future could not offer, intangible qualities that could not be
measured. He smiled to himself as he realized that life had offered him this
unexpected choice.

 
Suddenly, David heard his named being frantically called in the distance.
Turning around, he saw the old doctor running toward him at a very fast pace,
his face contorted with worry. Immediately, David stood up and ran to meet Dr.
Morgan.

 
“David, David,” Dr. Morgan yelled as he ran, “come quick.”

  “What
is it, doc?” David answered in quick reply, still running to meet him.

  The two
stopped several feet apart and took a moment to catch their breath.

 
“David, something awful has happened,” Dr. Morgan tried to say as he breathed
heavily.

  “Doc,
slow down. Take a moment to catch your breath,” David replied, also slightly
winded.

  “No
time, son. Something very serious has taken place,” Dr. Morgan said, now
looking around for people close by. He grabbed David by the arm and firmly
pulled him away from earshot of passer-byes. Looking into David's eyes, David
could see serious concern in his old friend.

  “Doc,
you're scaring me. What's going on? What happened?” David questioned, now with
deep anxiety.

  Dr.
Morgan took a deep breath and started, “Lad, remember you told me about the
future and how Stonewall Jackson became a national hero? How he eventually
became president of the United States? Remember how you showed me the money
with his face on it and that in your time, every place you looked there were
busts and effigies of the man everywhere?” Dr. Morgan said, his tone nearly
hysterical.

  David
watched as the man who normally exuded self-control and composure was now
nearly out of control. David knew this was no ordinary event. He placed his
hand on the old doctor's shoulder and said, “Doc, whatever it is, we'll work
through the problem.”

  The
old doctor took another deep breath, exhaled and composed himself for the
moment. He looked around once more, keeping their conversation a secret, then
spoke.

 
“David, Stonewall Jackson is dead,” Dr. Morgan said, exhaling as if a large
weight was lifted from his shoulders.

  David
stumbled back, never taking his eyes off the old doctor. His mind began to
process what he just heard. Looking back at Dr. Morgan, he replied,
“Stonewall's dead? Doc, this can't be. You must have your story wrong. He can't
be dead. How do you know this?”

  Dr.
Morgan reached into his coat and pulled out a folded newspaper. He quickly
unfolded it with shaking hands and held the paper out for David to read the
headline: “Stonewall Jackson: Dead”. The headline was simple and profound.

  “Holy
shit!” David exclaimed, fear now spreading from his face and throughout his
body. “No... no.. no, no, no. This... this can't be. He's supposed to live and
become a great man. How could this happen?” David asked rhetorically.

  Dr.
Morgan continued to hold the paper out. He pointed to a name in the body of the
article, showing David his answer.

  David
read the name and replied incredulously, “John Starnes? No, no, this can't be.
He's not supposed to be able to do anything with a hole in his stomach, let
alone fight. This just can't be. Doc, you saw him: he could barely walk.”

 
“David, he wasn't walking, and he wasn't fighting either,” Dr. Morgan replied.
“He was guarding.”

  David
stood with a confused look on his face. None of this was making sense to him.

 
“David, Stonewall and Starnes are both Confederates. They're on the same side.
John Starnes wasn't fighting. He was guarding their camp. Doesn't take much
effort to sit and guard a camp,” Dr. Morgan explained. “Apparently, Stonewall
was out scouting the region at night after last week’s successful battle at
Chancellorsville. When he returned, the boy must have overreacted and shot
Stonewall. He died a few days later.”

  “Stonewall
is dead. This can't be happening,” David said, still unwilling to accept
reality.

  David
sat down on the grass where they stood, his knees giving out as his senses
became overloaded.

  “I'm
afraid it has happened, Lad,” Dr. Morgan replied, now sitting down across from
him.

  “This
changes the whole future of this country,” David blurted out, still in shock.

  “This
world, lad. This probably changes the world. Stonewall's policies won't be felt
because he won't be there to effect them.” Dr. Morgan replied.

  “My
God. What have I done?” David said out loud, to no one in particular. “John
Starnes was supposed to die of his stomach wound, and I saved him.”

  “What
have WE done?” Dr. Morgan shot back instantly. “David, you are not alone in
this. I attended to his needs daily. I hid him from the others until he was
well. We both are responsible for this event, lad.”

  “I
should have let him die. That's what he was supposed to do. I didn't have to
work on him. I butted my nose into business where it didn't belong. I'm such an
idiot,” David said, again to no one in particular.

  “Lad,
I know this is difficult to accept – that we have changed the future - but you
should NOT have let him die. You acted with good conscience and morals. You
should never abandon your values due to situation or circumstance. If our
principles and morals cause the future to change, then so be it. We just cannot
live our lives contemplating every act and how it impacts the future. You have
acted honorably and without consideration to your own person. You should be
proud of your actions. If they have impacted the future, we must accept the
consequences. Whatever the outcome, mankind will endeavor to persevere. ”

  David
sat quietly for a few moments as he digested Dr. Morgan's statement. He knew
the wise old doctor's words to be true, but still felt the guilt of a future
lost at his hands. With reluctance, he accepted the truth of the advice and of
the future, choosing to move ahead rather than lament over the past.