42. A Choice

1865 OCTOBER

42

The month passed as John recouped his strength; however, the doctor suggested John needed a warmer and drier climate if he was to improve his health. If he stayed in Vermont, he would have chronic lung ailments, which was on the verge of consumption. Knowing that's what took his father, I knew he would fight to avoid it. His health would be compromised for the rest of his life, which would be considerably short if he were to remain at home. The consequences of surviving prison were grave.

John, once again, mentioned going west, but this time, he told the whole family. Mrs. Mathis understood the gravity of the situation, but she demanded that she go with him. John, of course, refused, giving a list of reasons—the trip was far too risky for his aging mother, Seth still needed a mother's stern hand, there would be no suitable living arrangement in camp for mothers, and besides, how would it look for a lieutenant to have his mother coddling him and following him around? It was out of the question. Therefore, Mrs. Mathis pleaded her son go somewhere else without rejoining the Federal Army, someplace closer where he could begin a respectable career and eventually settle down.

"I have already sent a letter to the War Department. I should be hearing from them soon. When they need me, I will go, if not sooner," John said.

"But winter will be coming soon!" Mrs. Mathis exclaimed. "You won't even be able to go until March when the snow melts."

"That's why I should leave as soon as I can, to beat the early snowstorms and settle into quarters before winter."

"But why the army, John? You finished your service. Do you really think it would be wise for your health?" she asked him.

"Ma, it gives me a purpose. Without that, I'm nothing."

"Don't say that. What of your writing?"

"What of it? I will always write in my spare time, but it will never earn me a living. I'm no Dickens or Sir Walter Scott."

"But you always used to write beautiful prose, closely equal to their talents."

"Only to you, Ma. No publisher would be interested in my work. Besides, my writing is lacking spirit these days. A change of scenery may do it some good."

"I do not deny that. But can you not be stationed closer? The military is still needed in Georgia, South Carolina, and other Southern states. The papers are buzzing with President Johnson's Reconstruction Plan."

"I just returned from there. I will not go back. The humidity and insects would definitely kill me!"

Tired of arguing, Mrs. Mathis released a great sigh. She raised stubborn children. "Very well, but you must stay till March, at least."

"We'll see, Ma," John said, which he repeated on several future occasions whenever the time of his departure was brought up.

"I thought maybe we'd try something new." Seth romped through the tall grass, two repeating rifles slung over his shoulders. I had missed our early mornings at our makeshift shooting range.

"Something new?" I set my Colt back in the haversack.

"Thought it would be fun for your birthday."

"You remembered?" Despite his wild streak, Seth was surprisingly thoughtful.

He shrugged, his cheeks staining pink, while he handed me the rifle. "I'll need a hunting partner once John leaves."

"Oh, I don't know if you want me for a hunting partner."

"Why not? You're a quick learner and a great shot. And you don't mind rising before dawn, unlike most of my comrades."

Seth set to showing me how to load the cartridge.

"That's it. Now push the lever forward as far as it will go, then straight back." I copied his instructions as he modeled for me. "That will cock it. When you're ready, hold the butt against your shoulder like this. Right. Now aim the muzzle and fire at your target."

I pulled the trigger. The rifle jolted, and the shot sailed over the tin cans on the split-rail fence.

"It will take some practice. Watch." Seth demonstrated, the whizz of the bullet and ting of the can echoing in the quiet woods. "Try again."

We both reloaded, and Seth showed me where to place the butt to limit the kickback. "Here. Allow me."

He stepped behind me, helping me bring the muzzle level with the fenceline.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?" A voice cut through my concentration.

Neither one of us heard John approach. Seth sprung away, and I lowered the rifle.

"Seth's been a great teacher," I told him, needing to defend him.

"I can see that." He narrowed his eyes at his little brother.

"It's a birthday present for Ella." Seth jutted out his chin.

"Happy birthday, Ella." His eyes flitted to me before turning back to his brother. "Get going, Seth, before you're late. Ma said you've been late every day this past month. No university is going to want a student with a history of truancy."

"Who said I'm going to university?"

"Seth," he growled. "Git! I'm in no mood to fight you."

Seth grumbled, relinquishing his rifle to John and trudging back where he came from.

"He's been helping me, John."

John turned to me, his eyes ablaze. "He's been teaching you to shoot?"

"So I can protect myself."

John nodded without a word, simply leaning Seth's rifle against the tree and coming beside me. Of anyone, I knew he'd understand my need to protect myself. His cool hands repositioned the butt against my shoulder and took Seth's position behind me. The heat of his body radiated through my back, his arms wrapping around me to steady the rifle. Wounds, words, loss, and love had passed since he last touched me, but it was like no time had lapsed. My body recognized him like a moth to a flame, leaning into him.

"Aim a little lower." His voice was gravely. The moist warmth of his breath caressed my ear, prickling my skin.

"Like this?" It came out a breathy whisper.

"That's right. Now pull the lever back." I pulled the lever back, my hips bumping into his when I did. "Take a deep breath." We inhaled in unison, his hands resting on top of mine. Rough. Strong. "Pull the trigger and release your breath when you fire."

I exhaled, squeezing the trigger, and heard the familiar whistle and ping, the can flying off the rail.

"I did it!" I couldn't help but laugh, proud of myself. It only took two tries to hit a target. I'd be a proficient markswoman in no time!

"Ella?" My name rumbled in his chest. The vibration penetrated me. His hands guided the muzzle down, and I turned in his arms.

My breath caught. His brow was pinched in worry, and his eyes were at half-mast, landing on my mouth.

"Ella," he said again. His gaze explored my face. "I failed you. I was supposed to protect you, and I failed you."

I let John take the rifle from my hands. "You didn't fail me. I'm still here, safe."

"But if not for me …" His throat bobbed. "He hurt you, didn't he?" Pain etched his face, bracketing his mouth. His eyes pleaded for the truth.

My throat stung. "He did."

He flinched. I cupped his cheek, needing to comfort him. His beard had grown. It was coarse and thick beneath my fingers.

"You are not to blame, John. Ethan would have always found a way to reach me. I needed to rely on myself. I needed to know how to protect myself." And I couldn't blame myself anymore either.

John grasped my hand, stilling it against his cheek. "You shouldn't have had to feel like you needed to protect yourself. I could have done better by you. You and Katie deserve to feel safe and loved."

"We do deserve to feel those things." My thumb stroked his whiskers beneath his hand. "But what if we think you can be best for us?" I asked tentatively.

"You deserve more. I know I can't be good for either of you. You moved on once before. Before, when you thought I was dead. I know you can do it again. You found happiness with Brett. You're capable of finding it again, and I can't be here to see it." His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

My heart was impaled by his words.

"It doesn't have to be this way." I pulled my hand away, and he let it drop to my side. "What about what I want? I have a choice in the matter too. You can't just push me away because you don't believe you deserve me."

"I wouldn't be able to make you happy. To give you what you want."

"You haven't asked what I want. But I'll tell you anyway. You're what I want, John."

"No, I'm not. I'm leaving. I can't provide for you, to care for you like you need to be. I can't be a father for Katie or anyone else. You need someone who is whole, who is capable of giving you all of life's comforts."

"Stop telling me what you think I want! Nora was right. You are pigheaded. But your self-loathing needs to stop. You went through a war. You were a prisoner. You faced death. But it does not mean you are broken. It merely means you were tested and didn't fall apart. You fought your way home. You are a survivor. I'm a survivor. And you are so deserving of love and happiness. Two things I want to give you."

"Ella—" He reached out to touch me.

"Don't." If I let him touch me again I'd either push him to the ground and consume him until he relented or I'd collapse into a watery mess. I was neither going to beg for him nor allow myself to fall apart. "You know my choice. I'm not going to stop you from making yours."

Before I could lose all strength, I turned on my heels, finding my way home through blurry vision.