Clockwiser (22 page)

I heard the clip-clopping of horses as they drew beside me, a three-wheeled wagon like a large, wooden wheelbarrow, pulled up behind them.

Two guys appeared and lifted me onto a makeshift gurney, and I yelled out in pain. I was the third man on the cart, filling it to capacity.

I had no idea where they were taking us. I pushed my eyes shut trying to beat back the pain. I saw Joseph’s face in my mind’s eye and realized I’d forgotten to thank him.

Us guys in the back of the cart groaned and moaned in three-part harmony. Eventually, we pulled up beside a no-nonsense, two-story, red sandstone house.

The stone house should have a no-vacancy sign in the window. Every bit of floor space was packed with injured men like a tin of sardines. I wondered what the owners thought of this takeover.

We were given water that came from a well on the property and those stupid hard tack crackers for those of us conscious enough to eat. One of the doctors made rounds in the room, assessing the injuries. He was hardly able to hide how overwhelmed he felt.

Every once in a while a man would grow quiet and still. A doctor would push the eyelids closed if they weren’t already and call for someone to carry the corpse out.

The floor underneath me was hard and unforgiving, and I imagined bedsores would soon be forming on my rear end. Even though it was evening, the room was stifling hot, or maybe I was burning up from within. Sweat ran off my brow into my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d showered, and I wasn’t the only one. The stone house reeked of perspiration and festering wounds.

Flies and mosquitoes found their way through the open doors and windows, but I was too weak to swat them away from my throbbing leg. My bullet wound had grown angrier since my arrival here. Pink and oozing pus. Burning red lines sprouting like the sun. Hadn’t these people heard of disinfectant?

“Hey doc,” I called with a raspy voice to one of the guys in a white cloak.

He stepped over. “Son?”

“Got something for the pain? And how about some Polysporin?”

He eyed me with a confused look. “I’m afraid I’m all out of whiskey, but it should be arriving soon.”

“As much as I’d like a drink...”

“It’s for your wound, son. Not to drink.”

The doctor left me with the sound of my own uneven breathing rushing my ears.

“You gotta girl?”

I turned my head to face the cracking voice. His cheeks glistened with sweat and he held a grimy hand over a patch of blood growing on his chest. I guessed him to be in his early twenties. He lay next to me in the corner, so close we were almost touching.

“Nah,” I said.

I thought briefly of Josie, but she was something fun in passing. Like any girl I’d hook up with at a party at home.

“I do.” The guy tried to smile, but grimaced instead with pain. “Sally’s her name. We’re getting married.”

I’d never been in love, but I realized suddenly I wanted to be. Shallow relationships seemed so stupid to me now that I lay in a row left to die. My chest felt heavy with regret. I’d treated my family so poorly, and now I felt certain I’d never see them again. A hard lump formed in my throat.

“She’s real sweet,” the guy said.

Those were his last words. His eyes stared blankly past me and his chest stopped moving.

I caught my own breath. The world paused in our little corner.

I lay beside the dead man for a good ten minutes before a couple of war-weary soldiers picked him up and took him away.

I wished I’d at least asked him his name.

Chapter Thirty

CASEY

Nate and I had gone a whole year without a fight, and now it seemed we couldn’t go a whole day.

Maybe it was because we were both stressed and exhausted, overheated and dehydrated. Or maybe it was just because.

It started because I stopped to pick some wild flowers. We’d been marching for hours without a break except for water in the creek we were following. My subconscious must’ve longed for a diversion, something beautiful and peaceful.

“What are you doing?” Nate said incredulously when he saw the small bouquet in my hand. “Despite what the idiom says, we don’t have time to stop to smell the roses.”

I knew that. I
knew
that. It
was
my brother we were trying to find, after all.

“They make me feel better,” I pouted.

“I don’t get why girls like flowers so much. They just die after a couple of days.”

Were we talking about flowers or Chase now?

“It was a nice gesture,” I said with my nose up in the air. “You’re just mad you didn’t do it first.”

“Do what first?”

I turned and stared him down. “Give me flowers first.”

“Is that what this is about? Chase Miller?”

Okay, I’d admit it. It bugged me that Nate never thought to bring me flowers and Chase did. “I’m not making it about him.”

He flashed me a withering look. “You’re the one who said it was a nice gesture.”

“It
was
a nice gesture.”

“What? You want flowers?
Flowers
are a nice gesture?” He threw his arms wide. “What about this? I’m
here
aren’t I? How’s that for a nice gesture?”

My heart squeezed with a searing pain. I felt my eyes well up. I turned away, not wanting him to see how much he’d just hurt me. He was
here
out of obligation and some twisted sense of duty, not love. Not like before.

“Casey.” He reached for me, but I pulled away.

I didn’t want to look at him, and I definitely didn’t want him touching me.

Hot, angry tears streamed down my face. I mopped them off with the back of my hand leaving a smudge of dirt. Great. My face was a dusty, tear dribbled mess and I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked like crap.

We trudged forward in tense, stilted silence that was thick like the mud along the creek bank. The heat of the sun beating down on my head only fuelled the furnace of hurt in my heart.

“Casey...” Nate tried again.

“Are we even going the right way?” I interrupted, refusing to look at him.

He sighed. “I think so. We’re still heading south.”

The silence between us was loud. I just wanted it all to end. Find Tim, go home. Finished. Eventually, we stopped at a spot where the creek pooled, to drink and wash our faces. The cold water on my hot skin sizzled, making me gasp.

Then I dipped a hard cracker/food thing in the water to soften it up. I didn’t feel like eating, but I knew I had to keep my strength up.

I snuck a peek at Nate. He’d dunked his head in the creek and water ran down his back as he shook his hair out, sealing his cotton shirt to his athletic, broad shoulders. His mouth no longer turned up in a sensual smile when he looked back at me. Instead it stayed in a firm line of determination. Complete the task at hand. Get in, get out.

A lump formed in my throat, and I pushed back tears again as I swallowed more pain. How did we get this way? Just last week we were crazy about each other, and today... I felt like I didn’t even know him.

He stood. “We should go.”

I pulled myself up and brushed dirt off of my pants, not that it helped with how I looked. I had to push my own troubles away for now, my heartache and my vanity, and focus on finding my brother.

The orange hue of the sun cast long shadows as it set. We still hadn’t found Tim, and the second day of battle was now over. We were too late.

Panic squished me, and I felt short of breath. I almost fell to my knees in grief when Nate pointed.

Just over the hill, pillars of smoke.

We started to run.

“Wait!” Nate reached for me, pulling me to a stop. “They might shoot at us.”

He broke a branch off a nearby tree. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, tying the sleeves to the branch to fashion a makeshift surrender flag.

I’d surrender at the sight of his bare chest and the way his biceps bulged.

Casey!
I was so easily distracted.

Nate jogged ahead. “Stay behind me.”

It was nice to know he didn’t want me to get shot at. Not on his watch, anyway.

I was relieved to see the Union flag fluttering weakly in the humidity, and a crowd of soldiers sitting around small fire pits. Someone pointed when he spotted us, and one of them stood to greet us.

He got straight to the point.

“It’s not safe here for civilians.”

“We’re looking for my brother,” I gasped, still catching my breath from the run. Nate detached his shirt from the stick and put it back on.

“If he’s not dead, he’s not free to go.”

I gulped.

Nate said, “We just need to find him. Family emergency. His name is Timothy Donovan.”

The man shouted to the crowd. “Anyone know of a Private Timothy Donovan?”

Everyone in hearing distance shook their heads. I couldn’t help but noticed how drawn and defeated they all looked. Skinny and bull whipped.

“What about the others?” I said. “The ones who can’t hear you?”

The soldier shrugged. “Feel free to ask for yourself.”

Nate and I spread out asking every grimy, dazed face we could find, “Do you know Timothy Donovan?”

It was a sea of blue coats and sullen expressions.

Just when I was about to break down and cry, a soldier with dark hair and soft eyes, waved us over. He had a small
New Testament
in his hand.

“I know him,” he said.

“Where is he?”

“He was wounded in yesterday’s battle.”

Icy fear pricked my heart. “He’s not...”

“He’s alive,” another soldier said. He was pretzel thin and one of the few beardless faces there. He looked like a child, not a man, and I couldn’t believe anyone would let him join the army much less fight. “I found him on the field myself.”

“Where is he?”

“They took him to the Stone House,” he pointed. “Down on Sudley-Manassas Road.”

Chapter Thirty-One

TIM

The guy next to me was having a nightmare. I reached over to nudge his shoulder and he shouted out as he woke up.

“Are you okay, man?”

The guy had two heads. That could be why he was shouting. As my eyes scanned the room, I saw two of everything--two paintings of a framed landscape, two chandeliers hanging from the center of the room, a lot of identical twins lying on the floor.

The two-headed guy next to me mumbled, and I thought he must be talking in his sleep. He was praying, making some kind of promise to be a better husband and father if God would let him live.

And I would be a better son and brother.

I felt a sob build in my throat, very unsoldier-like. I’d screwed up bad. There was no way I’d find my way back to the Watsons now; no way that Casey would find me. I’d made it virtually impossible.

So stupid!

I didn’t want to die here.
I didn’t want to die
.

Double vision came with a headache that provided a slight distraction from the screaming in my leg. I joined in the chorus of groans coming from the men around me.

A white cloak, (two, if I were to believe my sight) towered overhead. “Another one over here,” the voice said.

Then he bent down. “Son, your leg’s no good. We’re sending you to the Sudley Church for surgery.”

Surgery? My mind felt like fuzz, but I knew enough to know that operations in the nineteenth century, especially ones not in an actual hospital, were something to be avoided.

“No,” I said. I barely recognized my own voice; it had grown so thin and weak “Please.”

“It’ll be all right,” the man said. “Better your leg gone than your life.”

No!

Chapter Thirty-Two

CASEY

The Stone House was only a few miles away, and after the long day’s hike you’d think I’d have to drag myself the distance. But the thought of finally reaching Tim was the shot of adrenaline I needed.

The sky had grown murky grey, and all we had was the light of the moon. I stumbled on the un-even ground, with a yell.

“Are you okay?” Nate said, reaching for me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I accepted his hand as he lifted me back to my feet, and we kept moving, totally ignoring the scrapes on my palms.

A flag attached to a two story building flickered in the distance.

“There it is,” I said.

My legs seemed to take off without me and I would’ve tumbled again if I hadn’t grabbed onto Nate’s arm.

The yard had horses tied to posts and carriages parked to the side. There was another parked by the front door that had just arrived with more wounded soldiers. Other soldiers carried the men into the house one by one. I couldn’t help craning my neck to see if any of them were Tim.