Dark
Cordia drove on toward Springfield. Part of her was very glad that she had run into Cal Markson. Now they had a better idea of exactly where they needed to go. But, then, the only news he had given her was bad news. So, on she drove, knowing the quicker she got there, the quicker the agony of the unknown would be over.
By nine o’clock, it was pitch black. The horses were exhausted, and Frieda was insisting that they stop for the evening. The house Cordia’s father had recommended was left behind in the miles they had crossed that day. They had stopped to rest the horses only twice, and Cordia had spent the whole time pacing, urging Frieda to let them continue. Now, she, too, was feeling weary from their long journey. And she did not like the idea of driving into war-torn country in the darkness. She finally consented to pulling over into a hollow in the trees for the night and trying to get some sleep in the wagon. They decided it would be safer if they slept in shifts, and since this was the first time in days that Cordia actually wanted to rest, Frieda was fine with taking the first watch.
Normally, Cordia had trouble falling asleep in strange places. But this night, she was so fatigued; it only took her a few minutes to drift off. However, it was not a peaceful sleep. Not long after her eyes shut did she begin to dream.
Once again, she was on the battlefield. This time, she was in the thick of battle. She looked around her and could see men in gray uniforms charging ahead at an unsuspecting crowd of blue. She was wearing the same green dress she had been wearing that day, but now it was covered in dirt and ash. Yet, she seemed caught up in that wave of gray, and she, too, was charging at those unsuspecting Union soldiers, who just stood there, nonchalantly, some of them even chit-chatting idly. Then, she realized that she was carrying a rifle. And as she drew close enough to those boys in blue, she aimed her weapon along with the rest of the charging Rebels. She felt the rifle kick, throwing her backward as she fired. She watched the path of the bullet, moving in slow motion. Then, her eyes widened in horror as she realized where it was headed.
Will was standing right in the bullet’s path. He was laughing, talking to Frank Glen, not even noticing the bullet coming right at him. She began to scream, “Will! No, get out of the way!” But he could not hear her. And then, right before the bullet struck him, he turned and saw it coming. His face deformed in an expression of horror. As it impacted him in the chest, he was flung to the ground. She ran to him. His uniform was covered in blood. The other Confederates were sweeping over them, pushing the Union soldiers before them. As they flew by on either side, she dropped to her knees, lifting his head carefully in her arms. “Will, Will, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she cried. She had never imagined a person could bleed so much. There was blood all over him. Blood all over the ground. Blood all over her. “Oh, Will! Please don’t die,” she whispered. “I love you!”
He was looking at her then, his brown eyes seeming to fade as the life drained out of him. She noticed, then, that he had a strange look on his face. And to her astonishment he opened his dying blue lips and asked, “Who are you?”
Cordia shook awake, violently. Her eyes flew open, and again, she had to place herself outside of the dream. Where was she? And then she remembered. She was in the back of the wagon. They were on their way to Springfield. She looked around. The night was pitch black, no moon in the sky. She couldn’t really see anything. Feeling around in the darkness, she finally found her bag. She found one of the candles she’d brought and lit it. Strange that Frieda had not said anything when she started making such noise. She crawled up to the front of the wagon and could see why. Frieda had fallen asleep at her post.
Fairly annoyed at this (after all, Confederate pickets could have shot them) she shook the older woman, who was also snoring. “Frieda!” she said in a furious whisper. The caregiver only gurgled a little so she shook her harder. “Frieda!!” Finally, she sat up straight, looking surprised. One of the horses whinnied, and she seemed to suddenly remember where she was.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, yawning.
“What’s the matter?” Cordia repeated, climbing over the seat back to sit beside the other woman. “You fell asleep! That’s what’s the matter!”
Frieda stretched, “Oh, I was only dozing. I would have heard if anyone would have approached us.”
“Really?” Cordia asked. “Then why did I have to shake you twice to get you to wake up?”
“Well, I’m sorry,” Frieda began, “But I am too old to be sitting up half the night in the middle of nowhere, waiting to see if we are going to get shot at!” Then, she began to start up again about what a foolish idea this was in the first place.
But Cordia cut her off. “All right—enough! I am awake now. Go back in the wagon and go to sleep. I will wake you at first light, and we’re driving out of here.”
She did not have to tell Frieda twice. She hopped down, went around, and climbed into the wagon, shaking the whole vehicle as she proceeded to make herself comfortable. Cordia decided to leave the candle lit. She was carrying a watch with her, and she dug around in the dim light to see what time it was. Only 2:30. She would have to sit there for four hours and be haunted by the memories of her vivid dreams. These last few days had by far been the longest of her whole life. But, in just a few hours, all of her worrying and waiting would be over—for better or worse.
Again, the minutes ticked by so slowly. Finally, a glimmer began to lighten the sky at the edge of the horizon. That was good enough for Cordia. She stretched her aching back and shoulders. “FRIEDA!! Wake up. We’re moving out!!”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
