5. Goodbye

1863 JULY 6, MONDAY

5

"Take her. I'll lead you to the nurses' quarters," came a soft, female voice.

"Thank you."

Half asleep, strong arms wrapped around my back and under my legs. He hoisted me up, taking me away from Robert. Fatigue consumed my body, yet I still grasped for what remained of him.

"Shhh," he hushed as I emitted a whimper of protest.

Mathis carried me, following Nurse Fisher through the early morning. Her lantern swayed, casting light across sleeping forms on the ground. They picked their way across the field of casualties, many of them still writhing.

I dozed with the rhythm of his steps, his strong, warm shoulder supporting my head. A cool breeze fluttered loose hair across my sticky cheeks, sending a chill through my body. I clung closer to Mathis for warmth.

We walked for what seemed like a mile, the moans of the wounded fading behind us. I opened my eyes to see rows of white, canvas tents in the moonlight. The camp was asleep, except for the crackle of a dying fire, muffled snores, and the chorusing crickets. Mathis stopped in front of a small, clapboard barn. Nurse Fisher opened the door with a loud creak. It was a single, dark room, musty with the scent of old hay. A dozen cots lined the walls. Personal belongings were tucked beneath beds, and hospital supplies were piled high toward the rafters, soft snores emitting from those who found a moment's respite.

"Right here. In my bed." Nurse Fisher gestured to a cot by the door.

Mathis laid me down while Nurse Fisher straightened the blankets around me. She had brought my hat and now placed it beside the bed. My eyelids were heavy and my body spent.

"I'll see her comfortably asleep, Sergeant Major," Nurse Fisher said in dismissal.

He nodded, leaving me to her care. She helped me loosen my corset, much to my relief. My lungs expanded, though my chest ached from grief and sleeping in my stays. She tucked the blankets around me.

"Here," she said, bringing a small flask to my lips. "Drink." The strong corn liquor burned. I sputtered but was then filled with an expanding warmth. "Now sleep," she said, picking up the lantern and leaving the barn. She said something to Mathis outside. The last thing I heard were his footfalls fading into the dawn.

"I thought you may still be sleeping," Nurse Fisher said as she approached me on the steps outside the nurses' quarters, a plate and mug in hand.

I had slept for some time, only to awaken to hunger and a need to relieve myself. An overwhelming sense of loneliness and longing kept me from returning to the dark, damp confines of the barn, content to sit on the steps to watch the morning bugle call as officers took roll. I hoped I might catch sight of Mathis in the reveille.

"Will they be marching out?" I asked her, taking the buttered bread and coffee she offered.

"Some will. Others will stay to guard the wounded and bury the dead."

"May I be of assistance?" I was not ready to return home.

Nurse Fisher pinched her lips, considering me. "We can always use the hands, but I must warn you, this can be disheartening work—work that often requires a calloused disposition when there is no hope to give. And this is the worst I've seen since Antietam."

"I want to help," I insisted.

She exhaled a deep breath. "Eat, and you can assist me on my rounds."

Mathis stood among the field of wounded amid the mammoth hospital tents. I stopped swallowing bile after the fifth wound Nurse Fisher dressed. Otherwise, I would have retched at the sight of the amputated limbs Mathis carried. His laughter drifted over the warm, putrid breeze while he spoke to two convalescent gentlemen playing cards in the grass. How could these men still smile and jest surrounded by this?

I must have been gawking because Nurse Fisher said beside me, "His company is detailed to bury the remains." She held up the end of a bandage she had wrapped around the captain's shoulder, and I leaned over to snip the excess with my scissors. It made me feel at ease that he was close by.

"Do you have any opium, ma'am?" the captain asked from his blanket.

"The most I can give you is this." She handed him the flask of corn liquor she carried in her basket.

"Bless you!" He took a deep pull before returning it.

"Now rest."

"There is no opium to give them for discomfort?" I asked as we walked away. He had not been the only one to ask.

"There is, but the surgeons are rationing it for amputees."

We continued washing and dressing wounds into the afternoon. Often, we saw blankets pulled over someone's face, signaling for his removal. Mathis gave orders to a few of his men, gathering the deceased into a surmounting pile beyond the tents. I blanched at the thought of Robert left somewhere in a heap of bodies. It made me angry to see such callous disregard for human life, as if war made men disposable.

"We give them dignity where we can," Nurse Fisher explained, seeing where my hardened gaze lingered. "Our resources are thin, and we all must do what we must to survive this war."

For the first time in my life, I was questioning the validity of this war. Both sides were fueled in the fight for freedoms they believed in. I thought of what Mathis said. Were all these men truly willing to sacrifice their dignity and their lives to free Southern slaves? To preserve a nation founded by men who owned slaves? Would it be worth it when it was over? I hoped so because it all seemed a waste, standing in the midst of it.

With her hands on her lower back, Nurse Fisher stretched. "Come, you need a respite, and I need an excuse."

It might have been considered a mess hall if it wasn't for the fact that it wasn't in a hall. A large, sweaty man stood beneath the shade of a chuck wagon, doling out bread and poultry drowned in oily sauce. Nurses and soldiers alike lined up to receive their portion, finding a seat on available ground. Nurse Fisher took our plates, and I followed her to a shady patch beneath a pine tree. A young boy, who looked no older than sixteen, walked around with a water bucket and dipper, offering refreshment.

"Thank you for this," I recognized, referring to her tutelage. "I've learned a lot today."

"It's good to keep your hands busy in times of grief and uncertainty. How long do you intend to stay?" she asked, sopping up the sauce with her bread.

"As long as I can keep away."

"Even the dogs of war occupied York. I don't blame you."

Letting the sounds of the camp settle around us, we ate in silence. I dreaded what awaited me at home, hoping the longer I was gone, the less I'd have to face when I returned. That was a lie, but a comforting one, keeping me afloat when I felt like I was drowning.

The water boy stopped in front of us, offering the dipper. I accepted a sip.

Mathis weaved through the "mess hall" patrons, his intent clear as he approached us. I passed the dipper to Nurse Fisher before I aspirated water. We nodded our thanks as the boy stepped away with his pail.

Mathis's shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing corded forearms … arms I had now felt two nights in a row. What would they feel like under my hand? Heat crawled up my neck at the thought. Robert had been gone mere hours, and I was contemplating the feel of another man. Guilt and sorrow were necessary pills to swallow.

"Miss Coburg. Miss Fisher," he greeted, running his fingers through his hair. His hair was dark with perspiration, the ends curling around his ears.

My plate of greasy goose—I surmised it was not chicken—looked suddenly very appetizing in my attempt to hide my blush.

"If you don't need her assistance after your meal, I'd like her to accompany me," he requested to Nurse Fisher.

"Of course. She has been an eager aide, but I can spare her."

"Miss Coburg, Robert's ready. I was hoping you'd join me at his graveside?"

My eyes locked with his. Warm, pleading, full of sympathy, and maybe regret. I found myself setting down the plate and reaching for Mathis's outstretched hand. His hand was rough and dry with dust and calluses, but the warmth and strength in his grip strengthened my resolve.

I did not know what to expect, but it was not this. A large oak tree shaded the gaping hole in the ground. Mathis was down in its depths, his head bowed, his shirt clinging to his broad back, as he shoveled the last few inches. He explained it was the least he could do for his friend and comrade in arms, digging the grave himself. He would not dare borrow his men from their duty.

Down the slope, men in shirtsleeves and bare chests labored beneath the intense sun, picks and shovels hacking at the earth. A mass grave for the fallen, Robert included, if it weren't for Mathis.

"Thank you," I told him as he hoisted himself up, setting the shovel beside the dirt heap.

Mathis squinted in the sun, surveying his company beyond us. "None of this seems right. If we could dig a grave for each and every one, and have a loved one in attendance … this is not just for you and Robert." His eyes met mine, dark and intense with anger. I nearly cowered but knew the feeling was not directed at me. "This is for all of them."

He did not wait for my reply, nor did it seem he needed my words. Robert's body lay sewed into a borrowed bedlinen. I did not know if I should offer my help, or if he even wanted it, so I stood still. Tears welled in my eyes, taking in the last of Robert's form. I missed him already. Mathis pulled and rolled the shrouded remains, and I cringed when it landed in the earth with a thud.

"Sorry about that, Moore." He grimaced. "I know you'll like this place beneath the tree, though. You can watch over our brothers from here."

His words were thick when he said "brothers." I smacked a hand over my mouth to suppress my sob.

"Did he speak of me?" I asked Mathis while we stood in companionable quiet before the fresh grave. I wiped my nose with the edge of the apron Nurse Fisher loaned me.

"He did. Often."

"What did he say?" I needed to know. Anything to comfort my aching heart, to ease the longing.

"He missed you terribly and wished the world had given your love a chance."

I bowed my head, looking at the hem of my skirt brushing the grass blades. "Did he tell you how we left things—before he enlisted?"

His gaze seemed to burn against my profile. I let it, welcoming the subtle discomfort.

"He told me you're betrothed."

I looked up then. Those warm, brown eyes sad and compassionate.

"I'd be married now," I confided.

"Will you go back? To marry, I mean." Mathis leaned on the shovel, his toe crossed over his foot. Why did it look like he was always studying me, analyzing me? He licked his bottom lip, and my eyes drew to his mouth. "If that was too forward, I do apologize."

I shook my head. "I will not be getting married."

We stood in silence for some time, the clouds passing over the sun, stealing the warmth of the day.

I dropped to my knees, pressing my hands into the loose soil where I imagined Robert's still heart to be.

Goodbye, my love. I wish our story had ended differently.

Mathis knelt beside me, a concerned hand resting on my back. Comforting. "Are you well?"

"I'm not ready to leave him. To go back to York." With the well of tears now dried up, malaise filled me. "I'm just so tired, John. I don't know how I'm going to be able to go home." His name slipped naturally off my tongue but he did not correct me, nor did I apologize for the presumption. We had known each other for two days, but it already felt as though I had known him a lifetime. Perhaps it was the grief and longing. Perhaps it was something else entirely.