Songs of the Shenandoah (33 page)

It was the storms of life, the rainfall, that gave Ireland its beautiful color of green.

This irony brought a smile to Seamus, and he looked up to the grayness of the sky and opened his mouth as the sweet rain poured in his mouth. He was sitting on the bank of a small stream, only a few hundred yards from his house.

It was here he would come to escape, to be all alone in his own thoughts.

But he wasn't alone, for a man sat beside him, dressed in white, yet he wasn't getting wet or muddy.

“Am I dead?” Seamus was surprised at how the question didn't disturb him.

“Do you want to be?” The man's eyes were strong yet soft, full of laughter and of grace.

“I don't believe I do. But, this place is so pleasant and peaceful.” He watched the flow of water in the stream. “Isn't this where . . . ?”

“You know that it is, son.”

Seamus liked being called son. But he thought of that day, how many years back, when he found his brother Kevan floating in the water, blue and lifeless. And as he pulled the three-year-old out of the currents, Seamus knew his own life had extinguished, the coals doused with the water of that river. He was worthless to this world. For he was the one supposed to be watching his little brother.

“Why don't I feel—?”

“The shame? The burden?”

“It's gone.”

“That's forgiveness. Grace. It's what heals us. It's what sets us apart.”

“But why? Why must we go through this at all?”

“The suffering. The pain. Without it there can be no forgiveness.”

Seamus heard voices in the background, and he wanted them to go away, but they came closer and grew louder.

“And Kevan?”

The man smiled at him. “He's fine.”

“Isn't there another way? Without all of the . . . misery?”

“Let me ask you, son, how would you know not to choose pain, suffering, and death if you never experienced it yourself?”

This seemed such a strange response, but it made sense to Seamus.

“Wouldn't it be crueler if the existence of darkness was kept from you? Then there would only be the lies of the enemy to mislead you.”

The voices became clearer. “Look here. There's a priest?”

Seamus wanted to remain here forever on the bank of the river, but the man sitting next to him began to fade.

“Can you believe it?” said one of the men's voices. “The bullet went clear through his canteen. Probably saved his life.”

“Let's turn him. This rain, when will it ever let up? It's going to wash us all away.”

“Oh no. Will you look at that. He landed on a bayonet, sliced through his coat. Poor sap. That's an ugly wound.”

“Is he one of ours?”

“I don't know. These priests all look the same to me.”

“Here's a Bible in his pocket. Yep, there it is up front. His name is written. Seamus Hanley. Do we have any priests by that name?”

“I don't know; we should find out.”

“He's dead anyway. What's the matter?”

“We're supposed to find the living out here. Let's get moving. Take the Bible with you and we'll see if anyone knows him.”

“This cursed downpour. When will it ever stop?”

Chapter 37

The Wound

The rain pounded on the roof of Davin's tent, which glowed with the flicker of candlelight. “You shouldn't be here, you know.”

“Hush and hold that candle closer to the wound.”

Through the tenderness of her hands, Davin felt little pain beyond what the morphine had taken away. “There are others who need you.”

“You were shot, Davin.” Muriel reached into her bag and pulled out some tweezers, then slowly moved them toward the wound in his shoulder. He winced as the metal hit flesh. “Good. I am glad that it hurts. What were you thinking not going to get someone to tend to this? If it wasn't for your friend Barry telling me about you, why you would be in here bleeding out.”

“Come on, Muriel. You should know as well as any how I feel. To be there and watch my friends hacked down, without limbs, and spattered across the fields.” He pointed to his arms. “This isn't anything.”

“Most of them can't be saved.” She pulled out the instrument and then held it up to the candlelight. “You are fortunate. It's just a fragment. After I clean this out and sew it up, you should be fine.”

“I told you it was nothing.”

“I didn't say it was nothing. You have a high chance of this swelling up on you, and it will be days before we will know if it turns foul.”

Muriel pulled out a bottle of alcohol and poured it on the wound. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a needle and some surgical thread.

As she tugged in and out of the stitches, he gazed at her with admiration. There was something so attractive to him about her focus, her talent, her ability to heal.

After a few minutes she looked up at him. “You know, I've never done this before with someone smiling so foolishly at me.”

“You are a very beautiful woman, you know.”

“That is the morphine lying to you. Now hold still.”

“Muriel.” He grasped her chin. “I am terribly sorry if it is shallow of me to consider you my cause, but when I was out there today, thinking I was going to die, all I could do was fight, not for freedom, or to make a name for myself. It was so I could survive, so I could see you again.”

Even in the dim light, he could tell she was blushing. She lowered her head. “You still don't know me, Davin.”

“Then start teaching me. I want to be your best student. Your only student. I want to learn everything about you.”

She bit her lip and started to cry.

“What is it? What did I say? What made it so difficult for you to open up, to share who you are?”

Muriel wiped the moisture from her eyes. “Let me finish what I was doing.”

They were silent as she completed her task, and he was comforted by the soothing music of the raindrops tapping on the canvas roof. Davin knew what was outside—the weather, the horror, the bloodshed. He also knew that in a few moments she would need to leave and he wouldn't see her again for days.

But right now, away from the explosions and inside the safety and warmth of this tent alongside Muriel, this was where he wanted to be.

This moment of calm ended abruptly when the flap of their tent opened.

A head stuck in. Davin was relieved to see it was only Barry.

“How is your patient?” Barry had a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

“Ornery,” Muriel said. “Come in before you get soaked.”

Barry stepped inside and closed the flap behind him. “I just came for a quick question for Davey here.”

“What do you want?” Davin wasn't pleased that his moment alone was being disturbed, especially since he knew she was about to leave.

“You're right about this one. He is ornery.” Barry held up a book in his hand. “I'll be quick about it.” His expression grew serious. “You said you had a brother, right?”

“Yes.” Davin's gut started to jolt.

“What was his name?”

“Seamus. What is this about?”

Barry looked down to the floor. “There were some fellows asking about a priest they found out there by the name of Hanley.”

“What are you saying?” Davin nudged Muriel away.

“This is his Bible.”

Davin grabbed it from his hand, and although it was soaked and muddy, he recognized it. He opened it to where he knew Seamus had signed his name and then he shut it. “Where is he?”

Barry shook his head. “They said he's dead. With this rain, you're best to wait until morning to pay your respects.”

Muriel went to put her arm around Davin, but he crawled to his feet. He held up the Bible. “I need to see who gave this to you, Barry. Now.”

Chapter 38

The Fireflies

They discovered Seamus's body at the far end of the battlefield, just off the edge of town.

Even in the darkness of night, with the continuing showering of rain, the fields were still scattered with soldiers, medics, and undertakers who carried lanterns as they peered down into torn and empty faces. But they were so far off, they appeared like fireflies fluttering above the cold, wet fields.

“He's still alive.” The rain splattered on Muriel's face, and her hair was matted against her cheeks as she looked up to Davin and Barry.

“That's . . . not . . . possible.” The soldier who had escorted them to this location took a step back.

“You just left him here to die!” Davin clasped the soldier by his jacket, and pain seared in his injured shoulder.

“There is no time for blaming.” Muriel's voice demanded attention. She looked at the young boy. “You can go now. Help the others.”

“I swear. He wasn't alive.” The soldier turned away and scurried over the hill and out of their view.

Muriel turned to Barry. “See if you can find a wheelbarrow or gurney. Anything we can use to get him back to camp.”

“Right.” Barry gave Davin a consoling nod. Then he ran off, soon blending in with the blackness.

“Hold this.” Muriel handed the lantern to Davin and he held it over his brother's face, which looked tranquil despite the surroundings and the pelting rain.

“Are you certain he's alive?”

“He has a pulse,” Muriel said. “It's weak, but he is still with us . . . for now.” She unbuttoned Seamus's jacket and peeled back his shirt, then she pointed to the wound in his stomach.

“Is it bad?” But Davin could see the severity for himself.

“We need to get him someplace warm. He's lost blood and he's been out here for so long in the cold. What's left of him will be gone soon.”

Seamus's eyes opened.

Davin leaned down beside him. “Seamus.”

“Ashlyn?”

“No. This is Davin.”

“Be still.” Muriel squeezed Seamus's hand.

Seamus turned his head toward her. “Ashlyn?”

“You are going to be fine,” Davin said. “I'm going to make sure of that.” He leaned down and kissed his brother on his forehead, which was cold to the touch.

Then Seamus's eyes closed again and they were alone.

“There is nothing I can do out here in the dark. At least the bleeding has stopped.” She buttoned his shirt and closed the coat. Then she put the back of her hand against his cheek. “We have to get him some warmth.”

Davin took off his jacket and winced at the pain in his shoulder. What an insignificant wound it was now considering his brother's condition. He laid his wool coat over Seamus. As the water beat on his brother's face, Davin was reminded of his cruel prank back at the gold mine, spraying Seamus's tent with the hydraulic hose. Just like then, Seamus was drenched, but everything seemed so different to Davin.

What kind of person was he anyway? How could he have ever been so calloused to behave so cruelly? Now, as he looked at Seamus's face, Davin realized he would do anything for his brother. But now he may never get a proper chance to seek forgiveness. He would carry this burden for the remainder of his life.

He looked over to Muriel, whose once-white apron was now muddied, bloodied, and wet. This was taking her away from the medical tents where she could be attending to dozens of fallen soldiers. Was it wrong for him to take her away from her work? If she minded, she wasn't giving any indication.

There was a noise and a small covered wagon, pulled by a single horse, approached with a lantern bouncing. It came to a stop and two figures stepped down.

“You ain't say nothing about it being Johnny Reb.” The man who spoke pulled the lantern from its hook and stepped forward, his face framed with a tight-cropped silver beard.

“He's a preacher, friend.” Barry walked beside him.

“I suppose that makes a difference.” The man put a hand on his waist. “Don't look much lively.”

Barry stepped forward. “I went to that house over there and saw a wheelbarrow in the yard. When I knocked on the door, Mr. . . .”