40. Dirty Laundry

1865 SEPTEMBER 4, MONDAY

40

The dawn birds chirped outside John's window, rousing me from my dozing sleep. Darkness still loomed, but already, John was waking and trying to kick off the sheet and quilt.

"I'm not used to these damn things," he muttered, untangling himself and rolling onto his stomach. His eyes landed on me and stopped to stare.

"You're not feverish, are you?" I reached out to touch his forehead.

He brushed my hand aside, his face turning beet red. "No, I'm fine. Dammit!" he yelled into the pillow when he noticed his wet sheets were soaked with brown fluid and fecal matter.

"I'll go find Kay to have your sheets changed and get you clean clothes."

He pulled the blankets back up to cover himself.

"You better not," I warned, peeling the blankets off. "You'll get it all over."

"I've turned into a fuckin' baby!"

I was taken aback by his outburst and embarrassed for him. "I'll just go fetch Kay," I said and rushed out.

John punched his pillow in frustration and anger.

Down in the kitchen, I found Kay helping Louise with breakfast.

"Is everything all right?" Kay asked, taking in my appearance.

I knew I looked tired and disheveled, my dress wrinkled from sitting all night, my hair tangled around my shoulders.

"He needs his bedding and undergarments changed."

"Very well." Kay wiped flour from her hands. "Lead me to the child."

John still had his face buried into the pillow.

"Now, Mr. John, what's all this pouting for, sir? You've been in the army long enough to know that dysentery's common and not something to be embarrassed about." Kay spoke to him like she spoke to Katie.

"Is she still here?" His voice was muffled by the pillow.

"Who, sir? Mrs. Chisholm?"

John looked at me by the door. His eyes burned with fury, and I knew Kay said the wrong thing.

"Whatever her name is," he gritted through his teeth. "Tell her to leave."

It stung.

"Aye, sir," Kay replied, herding me out the door. "I'm sorry," she mouthed, but it was already too late. John knew I had married Brett Chisholm.

Nora and I sat on the back porch, folding John's laundry. I remembered Nurse Fisher insisting I roll bandages on the rainy day in Gettysburg. She had known I needed the chore, to stay busy, to stay the grief—if only for a moment. It was a brief respite, even now, but it did not keep me from dwelling on what John now knew.

Nora's eyes bore into me. "You know it's not your fault. He's just as stubborn and as arrogant as he's always been. He was never keen on feeling helpless. And right now, his condition has him vulnerable. I think he's embarrassed you're seeing him this way."

I shook my head. "That may be so, but it's not that." I paused and placed the folded pillowcase on top of the pile. Looking at her, I could feel myself shriveling up inside. "He knows."

She looked at me, confused, trying to figure out what John knew that would cause me to feel so bereaved. I wiggled my ring finger. Recognition dawned on her face, and her mouth formed an O.

"Kay called me that, not realizing."

"He would have found out eventually."

"I know, but I was hoping to God he would find out by me, and that I would still be Ella Coburg to him."

"I understand." She sighed. "If only we could all start where we left off."

"Oh, Nora."

"I'm sorry, Ella. I'm just so confused, and I don't know what to do about Bradley. His mother would rather I wasn't there, and she hovers whenever I am, so he probably doesn't even know how much I still care for him." Tears cascaded down her cheeks.

I wrapped my arm around her. "It's so hard. I feel so guilty for marrying Brett."

"But we all thought John was dead. You were doing what you thought you needed to do. For you and for Katie."

"But I don't think he's going to understand that logic when he's been alive all this time. He probably feels betrayed."

She lifted her head to look at me. "You should speak with him. Tell him how it was while he was gone."

"You said so yourself, that he is stubborn and arrogant. He's not going to listen to a word I say. He won't understand."

"You should at least try."

"You should too."

"That's impossible with his mother always supervising."

"Maybe, if she would allow, I can come over with you and she can show me her garden. I hear she prides herself over her roses."

Nora gave me a watery smile. "That she does. Oh, Ella, that would be such a great help! Then, maybe—finally—I can speak with Bradley … privately."