The Grave
Sunbeams bleed through the sheer curtains that dangle over the window. Slowly, they begin to move up the resting body of the wounded solider. When the light finally reaches Vi’s face, the warmth that begins to assault her eyes wrestles her from slumber. As her senses begin to slowly return and her muscles begin to wake, she realizes she’s alone.
She gingerly rotates her body so that her feet dangle off the side. Her body feels like it’s on fire as her shoulder and gut ache from a deep pain that reverberates like a punch from a fist. A groan releases from her throat when she attempts to sit up straight, wanting to stretch muscles that haven’t been used since she was fleeing the Confederate bullet barrage. The pull of her abdomen muscles causes a haze to envelope her mind, disorienting her senses for a moment.
Vi pushes herself up off the bed, stumbling and almost falling forward into the wall adjacent to where she just rested. Her hand reaches out toward the wall to steady herself. When she does, the curtains open slightly, revealing the backyard of the home she’s been recovering in. Her eyes see a figure, kneeling on the ground, alone. Immediately she recognizes the woman as the blue eyed angel who assisted the doctor in saving Vi’s life.
“Curious,” Vi mumbles aloud to herself. Scanning the room once more, she sees pants and a shirt laid on a chair in the corner. The woman assumes they have been placed there for her use.
It takes her longer than normal to change, particularly with the shirt. Pain ravaged her whole body each time a muscle moved near her wounds. A non-existent fire raged internally that burned deep inside her, almost causing the woman to pass out. Still, she persisted, wanting to dress and investigate the reasoning behind the woman’s outdoor isolation.
She plods slowly through the house until she finds what is assumed to be a back door in the kitchen. It takes every effort not to scream and shout. Each step feels like a thousand knives jabbing her repeatedly in her gut. Nonetheless, something internally tells her to keep going and to check on the woman she just met last night.
When the door creaks open, the cool morning air welcomes Vi. The dampness of the air causes her to shut her eyes and take in a deep breath. It almost reminds her of home. Her deliberate journey continues to the tree she now sees stands majestically above the woman. As the distance between the two woman decreases, Vi eventually sees what the woman is kneeling in front of, it’s a grave marker.
A snapping branch causes the kneeling woman’s head to snap around and look behind her. Their eyes meet and in that moment, Vi knows she’s intruding because she sees the tears that are streaking down Caitlyn’s face.
“Why are you up?” Her words a curt, her face contorted in frustration.
Nervously, Vi manages to say with a stutter, “I, uh, I wanted to get up and walk a bit.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” The sentence from Caitlyn is even harsher than the last.
“I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t realize I was intruding.”
As she turns, an intense pain shoots out from the wound in her gut causing her to slightly falter. Caitlyn jumps forward attempting to keep the woman from collapsing on to the ground. “Vi!”
Through gritted teeth, Vi attempts to wave the woman off by saying “I’m fine. Just lost my balance.”
“You’re weak and hurt. Let me help you inside.”
Vi emphatically shakes her head. “Leave me. Finish your visit with whomever is under the tree. I shouldn’t have intruded.”
Caitlyn sighs, realizing she’s been unnecessarily cruel with the woman who knows nothing of her morning routine. “If you won’t let me help you, then at least join me while I finish.” Vi nods and allows Caitlyn to help her off the ground.
The southerner returns to her guard, not speaking as the Yankee lowers herself gently to the ground, resting on her knees with her butt sitting on her heels. When her eyes take in the words on the headstones, Vi suddenly feels as though she might be sick.
Charlotte Carver
December 17, 1861 - May 13, 1862
The grave of a babe. Vi looks at Caitlyn whose gaze is unwavering. The solider swears the realization is more painful than either minie ball that ripped through her flesh.
“Your daughter.” Caitlyn doesn’t respond, eyes fixed forward. “I really should leave you alone.”
Before Vi can move, a hand grasps her wrist. Her head lowers, shocked at the intrusion of personal space and time. “Please. Stay.” The request is barely audible, pleaded through a tight throat that holds back a wall of emotion. The soldier nods, allowing her body to relax and settle into her kneeled stance further.
As time progresses, her body begins to throb with pain once more. Silently she suffers, not wanting to disappoint the blue eyes that now look mournfully at a grave.
When they finally retreat inside, Caitlyn and Vi close themselves in their respectful rooms. Tobias provides Vi with another shot of a pain reducer, sending her off once again into a drug filled world that before was dreamless. This time, it is plagued with the nightmares of the dead.
Caitlyn, meanwhile, skips through the journal until she finds a meaningful date.
December 17, 1861
Pow,
The benefit of remaining encamped outside of Washington is I am able to receive mail fairly easily. The boys and I received the letter from you and Vander. It was just the pick me up we needed.
Our field of tents is no longer green, turned into mud by maneuver practice or gams played by bored soldiers. We are expected to maintain a professional demeanor and look all while living in our own filth. It’s disgusting. I’d rather be back on the battlefield surrounded by the dead and dying.
Sarah wrote to me. She and John finally got married. They’re expecting their first child in April. I truly loved her, Pow. I guess I was nothing more than a summer distraction. Perhaps I am destined to end up alone.
May be death will one day be my companion.
V