The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (71 page)

“You don’t seem excited,” Matthew said quietly, peering into her eyes, his blue eyes dark with compassion.

“Last night I had a terrible dream,” she admitted, and looked at Aunt Abby.  “I haven’t said anything about it because I didn’t want to give any validity to it.”

“That explains why I felt you were far away a few times this afternoon,” Aunt Abby said gently.  “What did you dream, Carrie?”

Carrie took a deep breath and felt their love embrace her.  “Robert was very ill,” she whispered.  “He was burning up with fever and no one could get it down.  When the dream ended he was whispering my name.”  She shook her head.  “I’ve learned I can’t let my fears and dreams control me, but it just seemed so very real.”

Aunt Abby moved forward to enfold her in her arms.  “I’ll be here with you until Robert comes home...”

Carrie smiled gratefully, but noticed the hesitation that said
or until you receive word
.

Three days later the city was still reeling from news of Lee’s surrender and the obvious collapse of the Confederacy, but the city was also full of joyous reunions as exhausted soldiers returned from the war.  Some were coming home; some were making their way home.  All their faces were a mixture of defeat and relief; their eyes still dull with disbelief that four years of agony had come to this. 

Vibrant young men or boys when the war started, they were now caricatures of themselves - starvation, illness and wounds had sapped their energy and life; leaving them old men before their time.  Confidence and joy had been replaced by numb acceptance.  Hope had been eroded by pain.

Carrie watched every face, hoping for just one, but Robert did not appear.  It was almost dark when she trudged up the stairs to the house, wishing for the easy happiness and celebration she was feeling just days before because her house was full of friends and family.  They were still there, but the cloud over her heart wouldn’t lift.  “This will pass,” she murmured as she came onto the porch.  “This will pass.”

“It will, you know,” Aunt Abby said tenderly.

Carrie sighed, sank down next to her on the porch swing, and rested her head on Aunt Abby’s shoulder.  “I know that in my mind, but my heart just can’t feel it.  I’ve dreamed all these years that if the war would just end everything could go back to normal.  But nothing’s normal.”

“And it won’t be for a long time, my dear.”

Carrie gazed up at her.  “I want it to,” she said simply.

Aunt Abby smiled.  “And there’s nothing wrong with your wanting it to be different,” she replied softly.  “It’s what will keep you fighting through challenges to create change.”  She paused.  “The end of the war is just the beginning.  Our country is full of wounded soldiers who will never again be able to live independent lives.  It’s full of women who will never be content to go back to just being wives and mothers because they know what it’s like to be responsible for everything – and to do it well.  It’s full of children who have grown up hating people they don’t know, and something they couldn’t possibly understand.” She took a deep breath.  “It will take a long time for things to change; perhaps even longer for the feelings to follow the actions.” 

“Robert…”

Aunt Abby squeezed her hand.  “I won’t insult you by saying everything will be fine.  You’ve been through too much; you know that’s not true.  Horrible things happen and pain must be endured.  I will, however, tell you you’re borrowing trouble before it is here,” she said firmly.  “You’re acting like Robert is dead, when he could just as easily be alive.”

“I’m disappointing you,” Carrie whispered, fatigue pressing down on her.

“Nonsense!” Aunt Abby snorted.  “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”  She reached over and lifted Carrie’s chin until their eyes met.  “When you told me about your rainbow this spring, you told me you learned that darkness never lasts; that the sun always comes out.”

“Yes,” Carrie murmured, fighting to see the rainbow through the fog of her fears. 

“You are not alone, Carrie.  No matter what darkness comes, or no matter how long it lasts, you are not alone. And you’re right, the sun will come again.”

Carrie stared at Aunt Abby, and then managed a smile when Rose squeezed in beside them on the swing and took her other hand.  She looked at both these women who loved her so much, and who she loved so fiercely in return.  No, she wasn’t alone.  Slowly, her heart steadied and her mind cleared.

Finally she nodded.  “You’re right,” she said, relieved to hear the strength back in her voice.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

Suddenly she heard a call from down the road.  “Carrie!  Carrie!”  She turned and shaded her eyes against the rays of the sinking sun, realizing Hobbs was hurrying down the road as fast as he could with his limp. 

She stood, shielded on both sides by Aunt Abby and Rose as Hobbs stopped at the bottom of the road, breathing in deep gasps.  “Hobbs!  What is it?”

“It’s Robert,” he said, leaning over to catch his breath.  “He’s at Jackson Hospital.”

Carrie gasped, feeling arms come around her waist from both sides. 

Hobbs stared up at her, his eyes wide.  “He’s alive, Carrie.”

Carrie didn’t need him to tell her it was serious. “Thank you, Hobbs.”  She fought to remain calm, wishing Chimborazo was still in operation.  It would take her almost thirty minutes to walk to Jackson Hospital.
              “Spencer is coming right now,” Hobbs continued as his breathing slowed.  “He went to get the carriage.”

Carrie managed a smile.  “Thank you.”  She turned to Aunt Abby and Rose.

Aunt Abby squeezed her hand.  “We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised tenderly.  “If I thought we could help, I would go, but I fear we would only be in the way.”

Carrie nodded, her thoughts already in Jackson Hospital.  She jerked her head up as the sound of carriage wheels announced Spencer was coming.  “Please have May prepare my room to take care of Robert.  He’ll sleep in my bed.  I’ll need a cot next to him.  I may not be able to bring him home tonight, but I will as soon as it’s safe.”

“Of course,” Aunt Abby replied.

Rose threw her arms around her.  “You saved my Moses,” she said firmly.  “I’m praying Robert will survive, too.  He just has to, Carrie!”

Carrie managed to smile as she stepped into the carriage, squeezed both their hands, and then settled back for the ride.

Carrie forced herself to breathe evenly as Spencer drove into the city as fast as he could, swinging around groups of soldiers mingling on the streets, their eyes glazed with confusion and despair.

“Them poor men don’t know what to do now that they ain’t got nobody ordering their every minute,” Spencer said sympathetically. 

Carrie gazed at them, but couldn’t force her thoughts to move beyond Robert.  Long minutes later the carriage jolted to a stop.  She was out of the carriage before Spencer could jump down to help her. 

“I’ll be right here waiting, Miss Carrie,” he said quietly.

Carrie shook her head.  “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know that.  I’ll be right here waiting,” he repeated gently.

Carrie gave him a look of gratitude and hurried into the hospital.  She gasped with relief when the first person she saw was Dr. Wild.  He saw her at the same moment she spotted him.

“Carrie!”

“Robert is here,” she said quickly.  “Do you know where?”

He nodded and took her elbow.  “He’s right down here,” he said quietly.  “As soon as I saw him on the list I had him moved to my ward.  He got here just a little while ago.  I sent Hobbs to tell you.”

“Thank you,” Carrie whispered, her heart full of gratitude.  “How is he?”

“He got here last night with a load from Appomattox Courthouse.  He had a high fever but we’re finally getting it down.”  He paused. “He has pneumonia.”

Carrie groaned. 

“I talked to some of the soldiers from his unit that came in with him.  He’s been sick for a long time, but he refused to quit fighting because…”
              “…his men were counting on him,” Carrie finished heavily; not sure if the feeling swirling through her was admiration or anger. 

“Yes.”

“What has been done for him?” Carrie asked sharply, dreading his answer.

“I got to him in time,” Dr. Wild said quickly.  “They didn’t bleed him.”

Carrie sagged in relief.  Many of the doctors still believed in treating pneumonia by cutting open a vein in an effort to cleanse the body of diseased blood.  It didn’t seem to faze them that the cure often proved fatal.  Other common treatments were alcohol and quinine, but when the blockades stopped the drugs Carrie had created different treatments that had resulted in higher cure rates in her ward than anywhere else.  Unfortunately, many of the doctors ignored the results because she was a woman, and continued their methods.

“I want Robert moved to my house where I can care for him.”

“Yes, I already knew that was what you would want.  I have a wagon ready to move him.”

“Is it safe?”

Dr. Wild hesitated.  “I don’t know. He hasn’t regained consciousness so I don’t know exactly how sick he is.  His breathing is very shallow, and he still has a fever, but it is starting to come down.  We were able to get him to swallow a little garlic, onion and honey mixture, but there’s not a lot we can do until he wakes up.”

Carrie nodded, weighing the risks of moving him against the benefits.  “Please have the wagon brought around,” she said.  “I want him at home.  I’ll have more control of what he is eating and I’ll have someone with him twenty-four hours a day.”

“I believe it’s the best place for him,” Dr. Wild agreed, and then hesitated again, his eyes full of compassion.  “He doesn’t look good, Carrie.  The fever and pneumonia burned him up.”

Carrie took one look in his eyes and knew it was going to be bad. 

“He doesn’t look like the man you remember,” he said kindly.

Carrie took a deep breath.  “No matter what he looks like, he’s my husband.”  Tears filled her eyes.  “I love him.  Please take me to him.”

Dr. Wild nodded and led the way to Robert’s bed.

Carrie swallowed her gasp and only stared down, her fists clenched, as she stared at the caricature of her husband.  His face was skeleton gaunt. Saggy skin hung on his body.  His skin was a chalky gray and stringy black hair hung limply.  Shallow gasps came from him, along with an occasional shudder as his eyes twitched in what Carrie was sure were horrific nightmares.

Suddenly she was down on her knees, her cheek pressed against his chest.  “I’m here, Robert,” she said softly.  “I’m here.” 

Was it just her imagination, or did his breathing ease a little?    Pushing herself up, Carrie watched as several men came down the aisle with a stretcher.  “Move him carefully, please.  And,” she added firmly, “I will be riding in the wagon with him.”

No one bothered to remind her it was against procedure.

Everyone was waiting on the porch when the wagon pulled up.  Carrie managed to give them a tremulous smile before she jumped down from the wagon.  No one said a word as Robert was carried into the house, though several of their faces whitened in disbelief.