6. An Errant Mind

1863 JULY 7, TUESDAY

6

"There you are."

I raised my head from the bandage I was rolling to see John—Mathis—dip his head under the tent's threshold. Rain dripped from his hat, leaving dark splotches on his shoulders. He took in the lone table and baskets piled high with medical supplies.

"Nurse Fisher insisted I rest, but I don't think she believes in idle hands," I quipped.

The sight of him filled my belly with mirth.

I had slept poorly, Robert's frozen gape and Ethan's chilly grasp haunting me in my sleep. Nurse Fisher had taken one look at my dark circles and pale face and led me to a tent shielded by the downpour. The tent was stocked with donated cloth, ready to strip and roll.

"It seems she expects you to be here all day." He removed his hat, shaking off the water.

One basket was filled, and I was already beginning on the next. "I won't deny you, John, if you're offering to help." I had said his name again. This time, I bit my lip, flustered. "I hope you don't mind?"

John set his hat down on an untouched pile and crouched to sit beside me on the ground. Taking the bandage from my hand, his fingers feathered over mine, his mouth curved. "If I may call you Ella?"

A flush crept up my neck, sweat gathering beneath my arms. He had said my name in the turmoil of losing Robert, but hearing it now sounded different—like confectioners' sugar on his tongue.

"You may," I said in a breathy whisper.

His smile grew, dimples deepening at the edge of his beard. If I were a swooner, I might very well have fainted.

"Robert would've wanted us to be friends." He added the bandage to the basket.

At Robert's name, guilt soured my stomach. John was his friend. A friend he trusted. He had asked John to protect me, to look out for me, and here I was, admiring his dimples. Was I this fickle? Robert had barely been in the ground a day, and my body was betraying me. Responding to John's nearness.

I picked up another piece of cloth, slicing it with scissors. Nurse Fisher knew the necessary method to prohibit idle hands, but not to occupy errant minds.

"I was given permission to take leave tomorrow. I will escort you home before our company moves out." His arm brushed mine as he picked up a strip of cloth. I must have blanched because he asked, "You don't wish to return home?"

I exhaled deeply. "I'm dreading it." All I could do was breathe through each punctuated statement. "The reunion will not be a sweet one—the rebellious daughter running off to a sweetheart's deathbed—leaving them to manage the repercussions of a broken engagement. I'm certain I'll have to face my parents' wrath. And I fear my former fiancé will not handle this well." I quaked, thinking what Ethan might do. "Then there is Robert's father and sister. I'll have to tell them. And how will I ever fulfill my promise to take care of his sister?" It was overwhelming.

John paused in his work, taking both of our dressings and setting them aside. His knuckles lifted my chin to look into my eyes.

I melted into the ground.

"I understand more than you know, but you won't have to face it alone."

"You understand?"

He nodded, dropping his hand. "I fled from home too … before I enlisted. I had left Vermont without a word to my mother and walked all the way to Pennsylvania to enlist with those who didn't know my name."

My eyes widened. "Why did you leave?"

"There was some trouble. It was best for everyone I leave?—"

"But not tell your mother? I'm sure she was dreadfully worried." I bit my lip. My mother must be beside herself.

"She was. I've since written to her, and the rest of my family, apologizing for the grief I caused them. But it was too late to make amends with others."

"Your father?" I recalled him sharing that his father had passed.

"My father and a friend of mine. His name was Robert too. Well, we called him Robby. We were supposed to enlist together." A shadow cast over his face. "I suppose that's why I attached myself to your Robert."

Wanting to comfort him, I reached out, laying a hand on his arm. I wondered what it felt like, and now I did not want to let go. Muscles flexed beneath my touch, warmth penetrating through the damp wool of his jacket. If anything, it only made me wish his arm was bare so I could determine whether his skin was soft or rough.

"He didn't enlist?"

I knew before he said it.

"He died before the war."

"I'm so sorry, John. Will you go home when you have a furlough?"

He shrugged, pulling his arm away to resume rolling. It was like a door slammed between us, his open, happy face now drawn and downcast. "It's best for everyone I stay away," he said again. He heaved a heavy sigh. "But it's not best if you stay away from your home. You are needed there. If not for your family, then for Robert's."

"I know. I intend to keep my promise, even if it's hard," I insisted, anything to bolster my mettle.

"And remember, you won't be doing it alone." A wry smile barely reached his eyes.