Nan Ryan (38 page)

Hunter started running. Bleeding, in pain and shock, he panicked in the face of danger, threw down his long rifle, and ran as fast as he could. Completely mindless of the battle taking place around him, he didn’t see or hear the men, horses, shots, and shells all about him. He just wanted to get to safety. His brown eyes wild with fright and confusion, he fled on long legs, running madly through the thicket, away from the ambush. Away from the dreaded Union troops pursuing him. Away from the sure death that lay behind him. Blinding pain helped to bring back logical thought and he took his bearings. South! I must go south. I have to get to the safety of the Rapidan river. He was running, running, growing closer and closer to the river.

Suddenly, Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. The momentum of his fast-moving body pitched him forward onto his stomach and he fell to the ground short of the river. Hunter’s months of soldiering did not discipline him to stand his ground like a man, but his years as a physician and the Hippocratic oath turned him back in the face of death. Ten-year-old Jason Mills, the blond drummer boy from Charleston, lay unmoving on the ground. Blood was rushing from his head and chest and his little face was ashen.

Hunter forgot his own pain and fear. He crawled back to the still lifeless form of the boy. While Confederate troops swiftly retreated past Hunter and the injured child, and Union rifleballs hissed past his ears, Hunter calmly went about his lifesaving task as though he were in a quiet operating room. No longer afraid of dying, no longer feeling the searing pain of his own wounded shoulder, he raised slender fingers to the blond hair falling on the boy’s forehead. He gently pushed the child’s hair out of his face and looked down at the small mouth, as blood trickled from the tiny purple lips. Hunter knew he was gravely wounded, knew the injured boy could not hear him, but he put his own mouth close to the child’s face and whispered, “Don’t worry, Jason. I will take care of you, I won’t let you be hurt anymore.”

Hunter swung into action, reached into his kit bag, and took out a small bottle of whiskey and some clean rags. His long, slender hands did what they were meant to do as he gently, meticulously cleaned the wounds of the still, small body. Deftly, he tied off a vein and, reached to a hastily discarded rifle at his feet, made a splint of the bayonet and wrapped it around Jason’s little chest. Hunter felt a slight pulse and knew there was hope. There had to be hope.

“Dear God,” Hunter whispered, “please don’t let this child die here in the hot sun on a battlefield he is too young to be on. Take my life if you must, but spare this dear, sweet little boy and let him grow up to be a man. Let him live, please, let him go home to his mother and father who love him. Help me, God.”

Yankee bullets now stirred the dust beside the two, but Hunter was obsessed with saving the life of the young drummer boy. Calmly, he rubbed the small cold arms briskly as Union troops advanced on horseback not two hundred yards from where Hunter and the child lay. The Yankees moved closer and closer and more shots hit near them. Hunter moved his long, slender body over the young boy, sheltering him from further harm. He was strangely calm as he supported his weight on his right arm, that he realized was no longer hurting. If they were to kill Jason Mills, they would first have to kill Doctor Hunter Alexander.

“Hunter,” he heard a low familiar voice. He looked up and Captain Cort Mitchell, astride his big black horse, was looking down at him. He was smiling, his gray hair flying wildly under his campaign hat as his horse reared up. In the captain’s left hand was a yellow rose and in his right a long-barreled Navy Colt 44 revolver. In the midst of shells flying around him, the fearless captain winked at Hunter and shouted, “Take care of the boy, Private Alexander, I’ll get these Yankee bastards off your back.” He spurred the big black beast and moved off to the left. He let out a bloodcurdling rebel yell and rode directly into the oncoming blue horde.

Fleeing Confederates saw him and took heart, returning with their gallant captain into battle. Rebel yells now filled the air as the gray tide stopped and turned to face their enemy like the proud southern men they were.

Hunter stood and lifted Jason into his arms. He took the helpless child across the river to safety. Under the shade of a tree, with sounds of the battle in the distance just across the river, he mended the boy’s still form. He then covered the small boy with his bloody tunic and, with his left hand, cleaned his own wounds. His shoulder bandaged and throbbing, Hunter sat down beside the boy and put a hand to the faintly beating pulse in his neck. He began the long vigil of waiting to see if the boy would live.

The battle was over at last. The Union troops were routed and the Confederates returned, forming up a line. Hunter still sat by the boy’s side, slender fingers still on his pulse, looking for any change, when the hot sun of August finally set on the longest day he had ever lived in his life.

“Hunter,” he heard his captain’s voice over him.

“Yes, sir,” Hunter wearily looked up at him.

The gray-haired man, looking fresh as if he had been out on a Sunday stroll, sat down beside Hunter and put a hand to his good shoulder. “Hunter, the boy will make it. Why don’t you get some rest? I know that shoulder’s hurting, drink some whiskey and take a nap.”

“Thanks, Captain, but I really want to stay with the boy a while longer. He might need me.”

Captain Mitchell smiled and said, “Private Alexander, I’m putting you in for a promotion. I think it’s time you were breveted Lieutenant.”

Hunter looked down at the ground, embarrassed, ashamed. “Captain, I don’t even deserve to be a private under you. I’m a coward, I ran away. I was scared to death. All I wanted to do was flee. I’m no soldier and I certainly don’t deserve to be an officer. Lieutenants should be brave like you, sir.”

“Hunter, you’re a hero. I saw you shielding the lad with your own body in the middle of the battlefield. That’s hardly cowardly. You’re a doctor, aren’t you, Hunter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you tell them that when you enlisted?”

“I wanted no special duties or favors, sir, and I still don’t.”

Captain Mitchell smiled, his gray eyes dancing, “You’ll not get any from me, kid, so don’t worry. Now goodnight.”

Jason Mills lived through the night. Hunter took no credit for it. He thanked his God for answering his prayers. Jason was awake when they took him to the field hospital at dawn. Before he was carried away, Hunter kissed the boy’s pale cheek and a slight smile came to Jason’s face. “I’ll see you soon, son, take care of yourself.” Hunter squeezed his hand.

“Thanks for saving my life, sir,” Jason said, “When I get well, I’ll come right back and make you proud of me.”

Tears came to Hunter’s dreamy brown eyes and he whispered, “I’m very proud of you now, Jason. You’re quite a man.”

Twenty-seven

Totally confused and hurt by Hunter’s sudden departure, Kathleen cried herself to sleep after her husband left without so much as kissing her goodbye. He’d avoided her questions and refused to give her a reason for his abrupt change in behavior. On a day that had started out as one of the happiest in her whole life, she was in utter despair by nightfall and found it almost impossible to keep from Scotty how badly she suffered.

“Mommy, will Daddy be gone very long?” the dark eyed boy asked as he watched his father gallop down the estate road.

“I hope not, sweetheart. I’m sure he’ll return to us as soon as he can.”

“I don’t want him to go,” Scott started to cry, his small chin quivering.

“Darling, your father feels it’s his duty to go. The army needs all the men they can get. You know he didn’t want to leave us, but he has to defend our homeland. Don’t worry, Scotty, he will write to us and maybe it won’t be too long before he can be home for a visit.”

Kathleen mouthed the words and hugged her crying son, but deep inside she knew it was not true.

After Scotty was asleep, Kathleen went to her own room, flung herself across her bed, and cried helplessly. What could it be? Why on earth would he leave me this way? “Oh, darling Hunter, why, why? Just last night we lay in your bed and made love and it was wonderful. Over and over we declared our love for each other and there was no doubt in my mind that you meant every word you said. Or did you? Were you pretending to love me so you could inflict this grief on me today? Have you waited all this time to get even with me for making you suffer? Is the man I thought the kindest man on earth actually the cruelest? Hunter, how could you? Oh, Hunter, I love you, I love you. Why did you leave me?”

As the months passed, Scotty received sweet, loving letters from his father. Kathleen never heard a word from her husband. She hid her anguish from her son and happily read the letters aloud to the little boy.

Dearest Scott
,

I am in Virginia and the countryside here is breathtakingly lovely. I miss Natchez very much and, most of all, I miss you. I think of you each night when I retire and if I close my eyes real hard, I can see your face, smiling and happy. Son, you’ll never know how much I love you. No matter what happens, I want you always to remember that. You have brought me some of the happiest moments of my life and I will never forget them
.

I wish I were there right now so we could go out into the back yard and throw the ball around. Perhaps you can persuade Daniel to take my place in the department and, remember, throw with your right hand
.

Darling, it’s late and I must go to sleep. Be a good boy and mind your Mommy
.

Your loving father

“Mother, do you think Daddy will be home for my birthday?” Scotty said when she finished reading the letter to him.

“No, darling, not this year. But don’t worry, we’ll have a nice party and you can invite Johnny Jackson and all …”

“I don’t want a party if my daddy isn’t coming,” he said and went outside with his bottom lip protruding.

Summer came and with it oppressive, humid heat. Listless and unhappy, Kathleen tried to carry on a normal life, though she missed Hunter terribly and the pain of his unexplained departure still hurt her as though a knife had pierced deep into her heart.

The war had begun to change everyone’s life as, one by one, the young men of Natchez joined the Confederacy and left home. Becky Jackson’s husband, Ben, had joined a week after Hunter left and was somewhere in North Carolina. Caleb Bates had soon joined, leaving his lovesick bride, Julie, behind to weep and lament over the fact that West Virginia was too far away for a husband to be from his wife. Becky and Julie came to visit Kathleen as they had done years before in happier, more peaceful times. Together they passed the hot quiet afternoons sitting in the summer house at Sans Souci, watching Scotty and Johnny romp on the lawn, squealing and happy. The mercury climbed with each passing day and Julie and Becky, both pregnant, took turns sighing and saying how much they missed their husbands.

“Kathleen, don’t you think you’ll just die of loneliness?” Julie asked. “I miss Caleb so much and to think when I found I was pregnant he was already gone and I didn’t get to share the happy news with him.”

“Certainly I miss Hunter, Julie, I miss him terribly,” Kathleen smiled at her friend. “I’m sure you’ve written Caleb that he’s to be a father and we both know he was thrilled to death to hear it.”

“Julie, you’re luckier than I am,” Becky complained. “Sure, Ben knew I was pregnant, but did that stop him? No, sir, he left me just the same and here I am big, fat, and alone. In October, I’ll be having this baby by myself!”

“Becky, you’ll have us, it won’t be so bad,” Kathleen assured her.

Julie laughed and said, “Kathleen, how come you’re the only one of us who didn’t get pregnant before the men left?”

Kathleen’s eyes clouded, “I wish I had. If I were carrying Hunter’s baby right now, maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone.”

“That’s nonsense,” Becky pointed to the lawn, “Hunter’s son is playing right before your eyes. Good Lord, be grateful you’re not going to be having a baby with him away. You can get pregnant when he gets home.”

“You’re right, Becky. When he gets home, I’ll give him a daughter,” but Kathleen knew she and Hunter would never have a daughter or a son.

Kathleen was at Becky’s side when she gave birth to Ben’s daughter in the middle of October. A cute, cuddly little girl, Kathleen held her and felt a great sadness that she didn’t belong to her. The healthy, red-headed little girl grew quickly and her big brother and Scotty loved her and played with her by the hour.

On Christmas, the three friends gathered at Sans Souci to make the best of the lonely holiday without their husbands. Unlike Christmases of past years, the tree in the big drawing room didn’t reach to the ceiling and there were not as many gifts wrapped in bright-colored paper. Hunter sent his son several little presents, nothing to his wife.

“Kathleen, where’s your present from Hunter?” Julie, now uncomfortably pregnant, asked innocently. “I don’t see it under the tree.”

“Oh, Julie, I couldn’t wait, I’ve already opened it,” Kathleen lied.

“What was it? Let me see.”

“It’s a lovely shawl, but its upstairs, I’ll show you later. Come on, let’s have a glass of egg nog. I’ve a great idea, why don’t you and Becky spend the night with us.”

“We can’t,” Becky said, holding her baby daughter in her lap. “We have to go to Grandma Jackson’s house. We sure enjoyed it, though, Kathleen. Johnny,” she called, “come along, it’s time we were going.”

“I can’t stay, either, Kathleen. Mother Bates has made me promise to come over there. ’Bye, dear,” she kissed her friend’s cheek.

The big house was quiet after they left and Scotty sensed his mother was blue and lonely. He came to her chair and kissed her, “Mother, thank you for all my nice presents. And Mother, don’t worry, I’m sure Daddy is lonely for us, too. Maybe next Christmas he’ll be back with us.”

“I hope so, darling, now it’s time for you to go to bed. I love you, Scott.”

After the little boy retired, Kathleen sat alone in front of the dying fire. She had never felt so lonely and she wondered if ever again her life would be whole. “Merry Christmas, Hunter,” she whispered, put her face in her hands, and cried.