32. Sweet Farewell

1864 NOVEMBER 17, THURSDAY

32

He would leave today. The house sat quietly in wait. The dawn yet to break.

Still in bed, I pulled the down comforter up to my chin. I rubbed my cold, exposed nose to warm it. Brett was like a heater against me, his arm lay across my belly. His shallow breathing stirred the hair at my neck. He looked peaceful and content, almost like a boy if it wasn't for a shadow of a beard along his square jaw. The scar on his cheek was fading. It had been nearly a week since we exchanged vows, and I was already preparing for his departure. I could love this man, I decided. My heart still ached for John, but life proved unfair a long time ago. I had to be strong, and I had to build a home for little Katie. Brett would make a good father once he had time to be one.

We were out of time, though. He was leaving this morning.

I nuzzled against him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He pulled me against him. I was growing accustomed to belonging to someone. He loved me and showed me in every way he knew how. He would live up to his promises. But I would not depend on him. I couldn't depend on anyone anymore. He was leaving, and I only had my Montgomery strength to lean on now. I did not know if Mother would be proud, but I could learn to be proud of myself.

The bed curtains parted at the foot of the bed, and I looked at the floor-to-ceiling window where drapes hid the view outside. The early morning was still and silent. There was a peace to it that came with something.

I inched out of bed. Making sure I didn't disturb my new husband, I pulled the blankets up over him to keep him warm as I removed my body from his embrace. I shuffled my stocking feet into slippers and made my way over to the window. Cold air penetrated my nightgown, and I wrapped my arms around myself. I pushed the drapes aside to see it was snowing. The dark sky had a gray-brown blanket of clouds. I leaned against the windowsill and watched the white flakes float down to earth. The world around us was silent. The snow buffered the earth from noise.

The falling snow reminded me of last winter. I couldn't help but think back to the morning John left. I didn't want to think about that right now. John never returned after that morning. Brett would leave to finish the war, but I was supposed to believe him when he said he was going to come back.

"Can you not sleep?" Brett's voice was husky with sleep.

I turned to see Brett push himself up to peer at me.

"It's snowing."

"Is it?" He gave me a lopsided grin, still half asleep. His tousled hair falling across his forehead lent him a boyish look.

"It's really beautiful. I never have gotten tired of it. Vermont snow is different from Pennsylvania snow."

"Because there's more of it?" Brett chuckled.

"Well, there is that, but no. It's the feeling it gives me. It makes me feel like this is the only place on earth. That this is the only world there is, and all the other things we hear about—death and war—do not even exist. As if those terrible things are all a figment of our imagination."

"We must have horrible imaginations then," Brett teased, his smile growing wider.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious."

He sobered. "Vermont does feel secluded at times. War even reaches here, though."

I turned and glared at him, wishing he was not there or he was still asleep. "Do you think I don't know that? I saw them. I knew him. It was all because of me."

"No, I'm sorry." We hadn't spoken of that day since it happened. He spared me that much. "That's not what I meant. I mean war reaches here in people. Each and every one of us are proof of this war. We're fighting this war even at home. There is not a family here that is not affected. You're proof of that and I'm proof of that." He touched his cheek, and his fingers ran across the scar. I wondered if it still itched him. "It's surrounding us and falling all around us like the snow outside."

I said nothing, even though he waited for me to speak. I had nothing to say. He was right. We were our very own reflection of the war outside our home, states away from us.

"Why don't you come back to bed, angel. It has to be cold by that window, and it's still dark outside. We have a while before we have to get up. I want to take my time in leaving you."

I went back to bed, and he wrapped me in his arms, snuggling against me beneath the blankets.

"See. You're cold."

"I'm all right," I whispered.

He rubbed his hands against my arms to warm me. "I spoke to Mrs. Zimmerman and Miss MacKenna. I told them to watch out for you and to make sure you are always happy." He spoke of the two hired help he employed two days ago.

"I don't need looking after."

"Sure you do. I want my wife to be content and protected while you're waiting for me to return. I shouldn't be gone long. Maybe only a couple months. The war is almost over. I'll be back by next year, I'm sure, and then we can finally start our life together. The whole country will be starting new lives. There will be a union again, just like our union. Our children are going to build the next Roman Empire. I can feel it."

I couldn't help but smile.

He kissed my forehead, his lips trailing down my jaw to my collarbone. His hands roamed the slopes and swells of my body, and I brought his mouth to mine, opening his lips and finding his tongue. Our daily practice in lovemaking was coming easier for both of us, and I needed him to remember this moment, to be able to carry it into battle. I ran my fingers through his chest hair and along his arms. I took his hand, kissing his palm, and then laid his hand on my hip. His hand pulled up the hem of my nightgown, and I parted my legs for him as he touched and stroked me. I pulsated with pleasure—it was unlike anything I ever felt before. I wanted him more than was most likely appropriate for a modest wife.

"I want you," I whispered, breathless.

He moved on top of me, and I wrapped my legs around him as he pulled my nightgown over my head. My hips arched toward him, and he entered me as his hands cupped my breasts. I moved with him in a synced rhythm until both of us were spent, my hips arching toward him as if taking him all in. He collapsed beside me and drew me into his arms, kissing my head before we both fell back to sleep.

The pale light filtered through the window when we awoke. Brett lay his head on my belly, his right hand caressing my side as he muttered. I wondered if he spoke to a hopeful child in my womb. His words chanted in a singsong fashion, and I knew he was reciting poetry.

"… and straight her arms, of snowy hue,

About her unresolving husband threw.

Her soft embraces soon infuse desire;

His bones and marrow sudden warmth inspire;

And all the godhead feels the wonted fire."

He was speaking the words of Virgil, quoting the story of Aeneas and Lavinia.

"Trembling he spoke; and, eager of her charms,

He snatch'd the willing goddess to his arms;

Till in her lap infus'd, he lay possess'd

Of full desire, and sunk to pleasing rest …"

I feigned sleep as I listened to him, yet I knew he was aware of my consciousness. He did not let on, nor did he raise his head to make it known that he was aware. I hoped he would fall back to sleep until the time came to rise. We remained in this position for an hour more until the house began to move with the dawning day.

We had taken our time at breakfast, as if stalling for more moments together. But now he was actually leaving. I folded the last of Brett's clothes into his canvas bag, which sat on the bed. Brett picked up his ragged book, Pharsalia, and my tintype from his bedside table, and settled it on top of his meager belongings. Two articles evidently the most important to him. I beamed at my uniform-adorned husband. He would carry us to battle—to victory. I closed the bag.

"All set," he said, picking me up in an embrace, my feet lifting from the floorboards.

"Put me down. You're going to wrinkle your uniform, and it was just pressed too!"

"I don't care one bit. I'm going to hold my wife like I want," he teased, and I could see the excitement in his eyes. But then his mood turned somber. "I'm going to miss you terribly."

"I know. You'll keep busy fighting off the Rebs, though."

"I'll be worried about you here by yourself."

"Please, don't worry. There's nothing for you to worry about. I'm capable of handling things on my own. Just stay focused on bringing yourself home. That's all I ask."

He pressed his lips to mine. I could feel his passion building, the electricity radiating through my mouth, yet restraining himself from taking me back to the bed.

A knock sounded at the door, and Brett set me down, hesitating to pull away from our kiss. He pecked me on the lips once more and went to open the door.

Maureen MacKenna, the maid he hired, stood in the doorway. "Your family's here in the cutter, Corporal."

"Thank you, Miss MacKenna. Tell them I'll be down in a moment."

"Yes, sir." She left us to our moment.

"Well," Brett said. He wrapped his arms around me, bringing my head to lie against his chest. I could hear his heart drumming in my ear. "I can't believe I'm leaving you already. I'll pray these months go by quickly."

I pulled my head away from his chest to look into his clear-blue eyes. "You'll be home before you know it. You'll take care of yourself, though, won't you?"

He cupped my face in his hands. "Of course. After all, I have more than one reason to live for now." He kissed both sides of my cheeks and then swooped me into his arms, as if he had to or he would lose me. "I love you, Ella. I really do."

"I know you do."

He pressed me harder against him, as if to keep me there from an outside force pulling me away from him. "Can you please tell me you love me, too, even if it's not true? I know love will come with time. I just want to hear you say it right now, so I can hear it in my memory while I'm marching in the cold."

Despite his tight embrace, I tilted my head to rest my chin on his chest. I searched his eyes to see what was there. He knew my love wasn't for him, but he pleaded for me to say it just the same. He was hungry to be loved back by me, even if I had to pretend.

"I love you, Brett Chisholm," I murmured, forcing my eyes to stay locked on his, even while I lied. "I do care a lot about you," I emphasized so he could also hear the truth. "I would be devastated if you never came back to me."

His lips curled into a soft, boyish grin. "I'll come home to you, angel. A herd of wild horses couldn't keep me from you."

I patted his chest, and he loosened his grip. "Well, we better get you to the station." My husband of a week was leaving me so soon. Anxiety creeped in as he hefted his bag across his shoulder and took my hand to walk downstairs together.

Katie sat on the bottom of the stairs, and the Chisholms and Clara stood at the door, ready to leave.

"May I go see the train too?" Katie pulled at my sleeve.

"No, darling. You have a little cold, and it's snowing outside. Say goodbye to Brett here."

Katie pouted and looked through fringed eyes, watching to see what he would do. Brett stroked her cheek. "Be a good girl while I'm gone, and maybe I'll bring something back for you." She smiled but didn't say a word.

I leaned over and kissed her on the head. "I'll be home soon." She bent her head and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve, while Maureen took her by the hand.

"All right, let's be on our way," Mr. Chisholm said, taking Brett's bag.

I shrugged on my winter jacket, scarf, mittens, and knitted bonnet as we headed out the door. Flurries still fell from the sky, and the ground was coated white. It would have been a beautiful winter morning if it hadn't been for our approaching farewell. Clara and Mrs. Chisholm sat slumped in the cutter. We did not speak a word as we rode to the station, Mrs. Chisholm and I on either side of Brett. She clutching her son's arm for dear life, and Brett holding my hand for his own comfort. Across from him, Clara sniffled behind her hand muff.

Mr. Chisholm sat straight, his face emotionless except for the slight annoyance whenever he glanced at his wife and daughter. I kept taking deep breaths, causing little puffs of vapor to float from my mouth into the air. Most of my concentration was in keeping myself sane and trying to keep morbid thoughts away from my mind—I'll be saying goodbye to him, maybe forever. I couldn't think that way. It was as though I were trying to push an unwanted gofer back into its hole, but its head kept popping back up and ruining my garden with its little mounds.

The station was busy when we approached. Other cutters and horses lined up along the street beside the station. The train hissed with hot steam in the cold snowfall. The platform was loud with the commotion of a loading train. Brett pulled out his ticket as we pushed our way through the masses. Others were returning to war, recovered from wounds and illness, itching for action and the approaching victory. They all wanted to be a part of it. To me, they were one and the same, all soldiers heading back off to perform their duty. They were all faces to me, and I paid little attention.

The railroad reminded me of past goodbyes. Goodbye to Robert, goodbye to my family, goodbye to Landon Greene, goodbye to John—which I would always regret not doing—and now goodbye to Brett.

"You'll take good care of yourself, won't you, son?" Mrs. Chisholm asked, hanging on to Brett and dabbing her eyes.

"You have nothing to worry about, Mama."

Brett leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Clara sniveled into a handkerchief, yet to say anything to her twin. Brett and Mr. Chisholm exchanged hearty embraces, patting each other on the back.

"I'm proud of you, son," Mr. Chisholm said in his ear. I averted my eyes to give them privacy. More words were whispered in each other's ears, and then Mr. Chisholm handed Brett his bag. Brett nodded at him. They both understood each other.

Brett turned to me, his face sad and his eyes hard with longing. "I'm missing you already," he said, embracing me, lifting me off my feet.

"I'm going to miss you so much."

That was the truth. I buried my face into his scarf. My chest tightened. I was scared for him and for myself, but I never would have told him as much. I needed to show him I was strong so he wouldn't worry over me. He needed to keep his mind set for the fighting. He could get himself killed if his thoughts were elsewhere.

He nestled his nose in my hair above my ear and whispered to me, "I'll think about you every night. That will keep me warm." I giggled at his intimate whispers. "The memory of you will keep me alive, angel. I'll be home by the New Year."

"Please, just be safe, all right?"

"I will. Those Johnny Rebs will be sorry that I'm back." He chuckled, then kissed my cheek and set me on my feet. "I almost don't want to leave you."

"You have to go, my dear."

"I know. I need to finish my enlistment." He paused to stare into my eyes. He held my face, brushing his thumbs along my cheeks. He looked so handsome standing so close to me, his face full of love and admiration. He leaned down and locked his lips to mine, wrapping his arms around me. The train whistle blew, and the conductor yelled for everyone to board. We pulled away from each other.

"I love you, Ella."

I smiled at him and lied again just so he could live on my words. "I love you too."

He smiled back, a sad, farewell smile. "I'll write to you when I get the chance."

I nodded and adjusted his jacket collar.

"I'll see you when I come home."

I stood on my tiptoes and reached up to kiss his cheek, my upper lip brushing against his scar. "Goodbye. Take care of yourself."

"'Bye, angel."

We embraced once more, and he walked up to board the train. Clara and the Chisholms stood behind me, both ladies sobbing and Mr. Chisholm saying, "There, there" over and over again. I didn't look at them but watched the train, watching him leave. Brett kept looking back at me, a waning smile on his lips. When he reached the car door, he glanced back at me for the last time and waved goodbye.