Waking Hour
Caitlyn’s mind seemed to swirl just as wildly as the howling winter winds blowing outside. The fire in her oil lamp still flickered, causing shadows to stretch their darkness around the room. No matter how hard she tried, her mind could not stop wondering about the soldier resting in the room next to hers. She had so many questions to ask the patient, wanting to learn all her secrets and histories. Something about being brave enough to risk everything to hide her identity fascinated Caitlyn. This woman was willing to give up everything to fight for people she’d never met, even if those people didn’t think she should because the solider was a woman.
Eventually giving up on sleep, Caitlyn rolled to her side and reached for the journal on her nightstand. She’d read each entry up to the night before the first battle Vi had fought. She probably should have known she’d never get to sleep after stopping there. Every word she read gripped her imagination as if she was marching right along side the woman. The words enveloped her senses to the point where she could smell the crackling campfires Violet described to whomever Pow was.
As desperately as she wished she could hear the woman’s voice recanting the stories of the war, there was something comforting about holding the written words in her hand. They felt like a blanket warming her soul as she read the words of sheer devotion to whomever the individual was on the receiving end of the book. In the brief time she’d been with Charles, she never felt this type of devotion. His affection was nothing more than duty to their families. Whoever Pow was, Caitlyn could feel she was beginning to feel envious of them.
July 22, 1861
My Dearest Pow,
Nothing in this world prepares you for the true horrors of war. The sounds of bullets screaming through the air, aimed at your heart, is enough to make your blood grow cold. As bad as that is, the sound of the wounded crying out for loved ones or even death may be worse.
A fellow member of my unit took a bullet to the chest beside me as we marched forward. I held him as he died, crying and begging me to save him. There was nothing I could do. Thankfully his suffering was short. I felt terrible, thanking God that I hadn’t been in his position in the line, or it would have been me. Does that make me terrible? I will never be able to sleep at night without seeing his face distorted and in pain. I pray I never experience that.
I overheard Colonel Jameson talking to some high-ranking officer as I returned to my tent. We lost 47 men. 47 Mainers, just gone, left dead on the battlefield. Thankfully Mylo and Claggor weren’t among them. Thankfully I wasn’t among them. God, I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to them. The thought of holding them in my arms as they take their last breath….
I’m just expected to move on and be okay after seeing so many dead and dying around me. This was just the beginning. What if these battles get worse? Instead of a one-day affair we end up with multiple day, drawn out battles where artillery rain down from the hills with the aim to wipe as many of us out as possible. General Stonewall Jackson is an artillery genius from what I’ve gathered. If we face him on the battlefield, we will all surely die. I don’t want to die never having truly been loved a day in my life by someone who understands me for what I truly am. That will be my biggest regret if a rebel solider takes my life and I never find a someone to truly love.
Dearest sister, promise that if I die you will not mourn me. Promise me you will live your life and find someone who will treat you the way you deserve. Please, Powder, find happiness and do not end up like me. I am 22 years old and teetering on the cusp of death everyday I wake and put this uniform on. All I want is someone lying next to me, wrapped in my arms, where we are both safe and loved.
I don’t know where we are off to next, but I hope it is a while before I hear a bullet kill someone again. Give dad my love. I’m sure Vander is anxious knowing three of his children are so far away in constant danger.
Stay well, my sister.
Vi
It was heartbreaking. Reading the words of fear and pain regarding the first battle the woman had fought in reached deep within Caitlyn’s soul and shattered it. The begging and pleading with her sister to find someone to love her. The regret of never finding love that meant something. Reliving the moment a fellow soldier marching beside her, was shot and died in her arms. It was all too much, and Caitlyn could feel the tears falling for a woman she’s never even actually met.
After only making it one entry in, she throws her blanket off her and gets out of bed. Throwing a robe on, she plods quietly to the room next door, not wanting to wake her father in the event he had fallen asleep. It’s only been a few hours since she left him, but she knows he must be exhausted from the events of the day.
To her surprise, when she enters the room, her father is not only awake, but he’s talking to Violet. The woman must have awakened from her slumber, in pain because her father is standing over her, administering a morphine shot. When Tobias hears his daughter enter, he flashes a smile in her direction while working on the patient.
“Caitlyn, nice of you to join us. Violet, this is my daughter, Caitlyn. She’s the beautiful angel of death you keep referring to.”
The woman turns to look at Caitlyn, flashing her a pained grin. “So, you’re my angel, huh? Didn’t expect death to have such beautiful blue eyes.”
Caitlyn feels the heat rush to her cheeks, turning them bright red. It’s ridiculous how much embarrassment Caitlyn has felt over the past few hours since the woman dropped into their lives. Her eyes avoid the solider, instead transfixing on her father who shakes his head and snickers.
If she hadn’t already read the woman’s journal, she’d have had no doubt the soldier hailed from the far northeastern region of the country. Caitlyn knows her native tongue will sound no less strange to the bedridden woman. Unsure of why that matters, Caitlyn smiles meekly and nods her head.
“Oh, come on now, sugar plum,” Vi hisses as she attempts to push herself up in bed, “surely you aren’t going to give me the silent treatment suddenly.”
The southerner furrows her brows, unamused at the nickname and being called out for not speaking. “Don’t call me that and I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I was just sitting here wondering how someone could have such an accent as yours.”
Vi lets out a sharp, sudden laugh that immediately causes her to wince in pain. “My accent is a problem. Have you listened to yourself?” Once again, the woman flashes a grin, this time adding a wink which Caitlyn which she isn’t sure how to feel about.
Tobias cuts through the flirtatious banter, “So far, your wounds look to be sealed. I’ll have Caitlyn clean them. The morphine should kick in soon and allow you to fall back asleep.”
“Damn, wish I’d known you were trying to knock me out. I’d have fought you once I learned my angel of death was in the house.”
The doctor shoots his daughter a look, wanting to see her reaction. She remains as unphased as she possibly can, not wanting to let the soldier know how much the sentiment means to her.
For the first time in years, Caitlyn felt important to someone.
“Better take the rest while you can. As soon as those wounds heal enough for me to get you out of bed, I’m going to get you moving so we can send you on your merry way.” Caitlyn retorted.
The soldier’s eyes were starting to droop once again as the medication began to infiltrate her blood stream and flow toward every crevasse of her body. Vi hummed, letting her head fall back into the pillow once again. “Hmm, what are you going to do to get me moving, sugar plum?” Her words were slow and husked out in a low tone. Even Tobias seemed shocked and embarrassed by the sentiment.
“Violet?” Caitlyn called as the woman’s eyes closed.
“Vi,” the solider drawled. Just Vi.” Not long after light snores could be heard cutting through the silence.