Author's Notes: Please note that anything in THIS chapter in italics is happening to Justin or are Justin’s thoughts. And finally one quick historical note – often battles were known by two names – one name to the confederacy and one name to the union. Basically Battle of Antietam was also the Battle of Sharpsburg. Same battle – but geography decided what you called it. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________ Brian's POV Sept. 14, 1862 Burkittsville, MD War has come to Maryland in a big way. The paper is calling it the Maryland Campaign. I wish they would vacate our state quickly. All this campaign will succeed in doing is bringing Justin closer to me, but never close enough. People in town fled earlier today to get away from nearby fighting at our Crampton's Gap. Those of us who have stayed have had our homes turned into makeshift hospitals and residences either voluntarily or involuntarily. I voluntarily setup the backroom of my bar as a "hospital". The word hospital has to be used loosely, all around town places have been prepared for the invalid, the sick, and the walking dead. There are very few injuries happening on the battlefield that can be survived. Doc is taking care of amputating limbs in his office; just about everyone else is given morphine, a pat on the back and a good luck wish. So for the time I will have many men laid up on their backs in the backroom. Those that are awaiting death I supply with liquor once the morphine has worn off. One of the army's surgeons explained that they often run short on morphine and must ration it out – only one dose to the dying. Sept. 17, 1862 I've just left the backroom for the fourth time today. In the last three days several men have come and gone in that room. Not all of them left walking upright or walking at all. Doc came by last night and had to cut off one man's leg after an infection had set in. There are more horrors here than I have ever wanted to see. And every moment, it leaves me even more concerned for Justin's safe return than I was before. I'm a little surprised when someone enters the bar through the front door today; since this week most people are coming in the back. Jennifer walks in and ignores the two drunks at one table who protest at having a woman in the bar. She rushes over to me to report another battle has begun just 10 miles away. I guess when the army left Crampton's Gap they didn't get far before they bumped into each other again. She sent someone early this morning to get word of what was happening over in Sharpsburg. The shells begin to sail over us as we lay close behind the fence, shrieking its wild song, a canzonet of carnage and death. These missiles howled like demons, and made us cower in the smallest possible space. By evening Jennifer and I are frantically trying to obtain information. Word is coming, along with many injured or dead; to our town that this battle is the largest and deadliest any of them have seen thus far. We know that Justin's Brigade was recently fighting over at Harper's Ferry, we just do not know if Lee sent for them to come this way knowing a battle this immense was coming. We have asked all men who could talk what group they were with, but so far none are from Justin's group. While we are desperate to find news of Justin we also realize that we can not neglect the men that are coming to us for help, we would not want Justin neglected if he should go to a neighboring town for help. The sound suddenly stops as the pain of hot lead searing into my body begins. I feel myself crumple to the ground, my eyes get heavy. Men who are able are walking to hospitals in Sharpsburg. Those buildings and doctors have quickly been overwhelmed and so men who are unable to see to their own care are taken to other towns on carts, or simply left to die on the battlefield. The fight rages on the battlefield, and a fight to save these men rages on all around the area. Now that the fighting is focused on another part of the field, the medical corps gathers up the bodies, both living and dead, that are lying near the fence, puts them in carts marked with the green flag and takes them away. There is no time now to distinguish between living and dead, that will happen later. A cart carrying several soldiers, Justin included is taken to the town of Burkittsville, they are dumped onto the ground with only oil sheets laid down to protect them. The medics know that this town is already filled to capacity with soldiers, so this load is left to die.
THE SURGEON AT WORK AT THE REAR DURING AN ENGAGEMENT – Winslow Homer
I can hear the moans and the cries; I can smell the blood and the death. I realize now that I will die here on this battlefield. I thought for a moment I was being moved, but I believe that was only in my head. I wanted so desperately in that moment to open my eyes and let someone know I am still alive, but they would not open. My eyes and my mouth remained closed despite the screaming in my brain ordering them to open, to help me fight death. But the movement stopped, and I had been unable to get anyone's attention. So now I am sure I am going to die here, so very close to home, and yet so very far. I wonder what will become of Brian. Will he move again, will he find another person to care about, will he forget me? I am just going to rest my head now, no more thinking, no more anything. I stay well into the evening time to care for the men who have been left at my makeshift hospital room. Finally, weary and still quite worried I return home, just to spend the night wondering where Justin is right now. Leaving the bar I choose to go the long way home just to avoid Doc's office where I know there will be screaming from the men whose limbs are being cut away now that Doc has run out Chloroform to give to anesthetize them.
Civil War "Hospital" – Courtesy of Sonofthesouth.com
Sept. 18, 1862 I trudge back into town having barely slept at all. I had the sense all night long that Justin was already dead and we just didn't know it yet. I know I should remain optimistic, but the reports from the field are horrific and the potential number of dead is staggering. This time I am however not a coward and I do walk past Doc's office. I hear a soft moan coming from the pile of supposed dead men left on the ground. I realize instantly what this means so I turn back to look at the group of men I just passed. I can feel my heart skip a beat and then begin to race when I see Justin's beautiful face among that group. Can I dare to hope that he is the one I heard moan a moment ago? Rushing over to where he is, I drop to my knees and begin untangling his body from the others. I am beyond making any type of noise as I lift up his broken and limp body into my arms. As I stand up to carry him away I hear a moan escape his lips and almost drop to my knees again. Steeling my resolve I rush to Doc's door only to discover he isn't there. Moving on I take Justin into the backroom of the bar and lie him down on the only empty cot. Rushing out front I tell my barman that he needs to find Doc and Jennifer Taylor as quickly as possible and bring them here immediately. I grab up a wash cloth and basin filled with cool water as I hurry back to Justin's side. I sit there for what seems like an eternity willing Doc to hurry. Justin has made no more noise, so I have simply tried to clean off as much blood and dirt from him as I can so as not to startle his mother. Repeatedly I dip the cloth into the cool water, wring it out, and run it across and down his face. Slowly he starts to look like his usual self again; skin of pale porcelain that is just a little too pale now and lips that are usually a shade of cinnamon are now a touch too blue. I realize he must be quite cold and that will surely not help whatever is wrong with him so I cover him with a blanket and keep willing Doc to hurry. Jennifer arrives first and frankly is not much help. She just sat down and stared at him like he was already dead and that she had given up. I will not give up on him that easily so I ignore her and focus on Justin. I've stopped willing Doc to hurry; I'm too busy willing Justin to keep breathing. I'm so busy doing so that I don't even realize Doc has come in until he is grabbing me around the shoulders and moving me out of his way. Suddenly, I feel quite helpless and join Jennifer in her silent vigil in the corner. Doc examines Justin for several minutes before he delivers a shot of morphine and steps over to us. I'm not sure I am breathing while we wait for what Doc is going to say, I simply hope that Justin is breathing for both of us. "His injury is not too severe. He was probably lucky that the field surgeons thought him dead, if they had treated him on the field they would have amputated his arm where he was shot." Jennifer whimpers at that but makes no further noise. "You don't think it needs to be amputated?" I have to ask. I don't want him to tell me Justin will be fine today and then tomorrow change his story. "No I don't. His wound is actually quite minor compared to many others. He seemed like he was more severely injured because another solider that fell atop him bled quite a bit and this made Justin appear greatly injured. He will need to rest up for awhile, his shoulder will need to heal, but he should be almost like new soon. I've given him morphine to take away the pain and he will likely sleep through the night. Now if you'll excuse me I must be getting on to the rest of my patients." "Thanks Doc." I manage to whisper. It's another half hour at least before another word is spoken. "Thank you Brian. Thank you for finding him and getting Doc here quickly." "Don't thank me Mrs. Taylor, I wish I would have found him yesterday, but beyond that I wish he was never in this situation." I give her a look so that she knows I am referring to her sending Justin off to war. At an impasse, we sit and watch over Justin for the remainder of the night. Sept. 19, 1862 Justin's POV I am waking up, but I am confused. The last thought I had was that I would never wake up again. I slowly blink my eyes open and I am shocked to find myself staring at Brian. I figure I must be dreaming so I go to close my eyes again and go back to sleep. "No Justin! No, stay with me. Keep your eyes open. Look at me." I hear a pleading in his voice. Wait….his voice? His voice, his eyes, his beautiful face, his hand is holding mine; its real. Brian is real, I am real, and being here with him is apparently real. Excited at this prospect I try to sit up but his hands on my shoulders gently hold me down. It's then that the pain starts to invade my senses and I cry out from the pressure on my shoulder. "I'm sorry Justin. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I need you to lie still for awhile longer." I look into his eyes and tell him, "you didn't hurt me Brian. The gun shot did." He smirks a little at that and I feel like it is two years ago, long before this war ever divided us, so I smile back. Suddenly without warning uneasiness settles over us, he looks at me and the shared memory of our last minutes together before I left pass between us. The potential reality of the things we wrote about in letters is almost oppressive. "Brian, I…" "Not here Justin, not now," he cuts me off. Then his eyes scan the room around us and for the first time I take in our surroundings. I realize we are not alone. There are other men here, and that now can not be the time to talk about last April, so I simply nod my head in understanding. "Your mother was here earlier, but she went back to the farm this morning to get changed and she will be bringing back a change of clothes for you. I think she is being optimistic but it kept her busy and got her out of here for awhile." "Brian, how did I get here?" And with that we are quickly falling into old patterns and habits. The familiarity and comfort level comes back while he tells me the story of the last few days. In return I tell him for the first time my stories from war face to face. I can tell that this week has made the war very real to the people here at home, and that they too will never be the same. Later in the day a member of my regiment comes through town and assesses the wounded soldiers and decides their fate. We learn that my fate is three months of leave. I have been given three months to recuperate and spend my leave here with my family before I will have to return to the war. By this time Mother has returned and is delighted to hear that I will be spending the next three months at home. I am only a little happy to ruin the little fantasy she has going on in her head. "Mother, I'm not coming home to your home." "What? Of course you are. Justin you are hurt, you need to heal, and you need me to take care of you. Of course you are coming home!" "No Mother, I'm not." "Well then where will you go? You can not return to war in your condition yet!" "I will find a place. But I can't return to your home. You kicked me out to fight in this war, and it isn't over yet. I will not be returning home until it is over or I am dead and you can bury me in the family plot." When she gasps I realize I may be being a bit harsh, but the bitter feelings I left town with have come rushing back to the surface at her sudden attempt at protecting me. "He can stay with me." Brian says it with such confidence that I am surprised. How will he justify it to her, to the town, to me? "I have an extra room, it is simply used as storage now, and he can stay in that room while he heals." I find it interesting that he doesn't even look at me when he decides this for us. I wonder if he is afraid I will tell him no as well. I, of course, would not do that. My body is starting to get hot at just the thought of three months virtually alone with Brian. No sneaking in and out. And this time we have a little something more to talk about. Mother stares at us both for several minutes before she seems to resign herself to the arrangement Brian laid forth. Looking right into his eyes she says "Take care of my son", turns and walks away. Brian says nothing further as he too leaves the room. A week has passed in Brian's bar. Doc comes by daily to check up on me and the others. Brian is here constantly, I don't know if he was back here this much before I got hurt or not. We have found a few minutes each day to talk, but we never speak of anything between us, what will happen when we go to his house, or anything of any real importance. The subject is taboo here and we both know it. Today when Doc checked me over he told me that I was well enough to go home now. Of course no one else in town knows that home will be with Brian instead of the home I grew up in. It would be too much embarrassment and shame on the Taylor family, so we all let them believe what they want. It actually makes it easier on Brian and I, we don't have to lie, because they didn't ask us; they assumed. So today Brian is leaving the bar early to take me home. Not a word is spoken while we walk to his place, the silence growing heavier and thicker with each step. Nervousness is consuming me, and something else entirely is consuming Brian. Fear keeps us from speaking, or from even looking at each other. His back is straight and rigid, full of tension as we walk. I of course have a sling around my arm and shoulder; we make quite a pair. Walking up to the door I remember the last time I was here and it was locked, this time however Brian is opening the door and ushering me through.