Body
Roberts, the orderly at the makeshift hospital, motioned for the two women to follow him, which they did, after a brief thank you to the first useless orderly. Roberts didn’t say anything as they walked along. He looked exhausted, and Cordia wondered how long he had been here, with no rest, taking care of the wounded. She was not brave enough to ask. He seemed to be leading them in the same direction that the two orderlies carrying the litter had been going. They passed a farmhouse, which Cordia took to be the “main house” Roberts had spoken of, and then a couple of small buildings. They walked through uncountable soldiers spread out all over the ground, propped against trees, talking in little groups of four or five. All of them seemed to grow quiet as the ladies passed by, their eyes following them in wonderment. Finally, they reached a smaller building, and Roberts swung open the door. Though nothing about this hospital smelled particularly appealing, the air coming out of the tiny space was overwhelming.
“I apologize for the smell,” Roberts said upon seeing the looks on their faces. “I’m kind of used to it, I’m afraid. Your friend is in here.”
He motioned for the ladies to go in, but Cordia hesitated. She had never smelled a dead person before, but she was quite certain that the odor she was encountering could not possibly be coming from living souls. At least one of the men that she loved was in that building—dead—but she didn’t even know which one. She hesitated there, at the threshold. She thought of the life she had known until this time, now separated from the life she would lead from this next moment to come. Though she knew her anguish would now at least partially be over, she could not seem to get her feet to move forward. Finally, it was Frieda, rough and tumble Frieda, who took her gently by the arm and led her inside.
There before her, she saw the bodies of about eight men, spread out on tables of various shapes and sizes. This building seemed to have been a shed of sorts, in its life before it was a morgue. If Frieda had not been gently pulling her forward, there would have been simply no way that her feet were going to move.
Roberts had followed them in. It was difficult to see in the dim light provided by one dirt-caked window, but they saw him gesture farther into the room. They continued their slow trod forward, until finally, there, near the end of the somber row, Cordia saw his face.
It seemed Frieda was having a harder time of it at first. She slumped back against the wall. Cordia put her hand to her forehead, closed her eyes for a second, not sure what to do. Her lips began to tremble. And then she could feel tears spilling slowly down her cheeks. After a few seconds, she found the strength to step forward. She needed to touch him, needed to see that it really was him—that this wasn’t a dream. She took his hand gently in hers, pressed it to her heart. It was ice cold. And yet, his sweet face looked so peaceful. His eyes were closed, as if he were only sleeping. He even looked like he might have a smile on his face. She ran her hands through his hair. It was so hard to believe, even standing here, that she was never going to speak to him again. Then, she glanced down at his uniform and could plainly see where he had been shot. She stood there for a moment, just staring at him. Eventually, Frieda gathered her wits about her enough to come and stand behind her, which Cordia was thankful for because she wasn’t exactly sure how her knees had kept from buckling.
After a few moments, she turned back to Roberts, who had been standing there watching, quietly, she thought in case one of them fainted and needed some assistance. “Do you think he suffered?” she asked.
He seemed a little puzzled at first, not sure how to respond. “Well,” he said, thinking, “I wasn’t there when he was wounded, but I would say probably not for long. Generally, gunshots like that don’t take too long to put a man to rest.”
She nodded. That comforted her, in some small way. “He wasn’t alive when they brought him to the hospital then?”
“No, no, he died on the battlefield.” Roberts replied. “Died leading his men in a charge, I hear. Friend of mine helped carry him in. Said we lost a fine man that day. Yes, he died on the battlefield, just as they were loading him on the litter. But, I recall, my friend said something odd.”
Cordia had been staring down at his face, but now looked back at Roberts as he paused in thought. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Well, my friend told me he had said some strange word, just before he passed. Wanted to know if I knew what it meant. Now, let’s see,” he scratched his head, straining to think. “Caridy, or Coridy, or something....”
She looked at this man she had just met with a stunned look on her face as he tried to come up with the word. “Cordia,” she said quietly.
“That’s it! Cordia,” he acknowledged. “What’s that mean? Cordia?”
Now she couldn’t hold back the tears. Bloodstain or no, she threw herself on top of his body, shaking and sobbing. But as she lay there lamenting, Frieda made a realization. “No, darling, no,” she began, squeezing Cordia’s shoulder. “You don’t have to cry. Don’t you see? Don’t you see why he is smiling? Cordia, when he was dying out there, he wasn’t hurtin’. He was happy. He was happy because he was thinkin’ of you.”
Cordia rose, wiping the tears out of her eyes so she could see his handsome face. “You’re right, he is smiling,” she said to Frieda. Then, she leaned over, kissing him gently on the forehead. She rested her head there, next to his for a moment, and then, whispered softly into his ear, “See, I told you I would come to get you, Jaris. I told you I would.”
After another moment, Frieda had her arms around her, pulling her away. “Come on, darling, let’s not stay here anymore.”
Roberts stepped forward. “I reckon you’ll be wanting to take him back home then?” he asked.
“Yes,” Frieda nodded. “We brought a wagon. Is there someone that can help?”
Cordia glanced down at the body of her fiancé one more time, and then they proceeded out the door. As she heard Frieda and Roberts talking about the wagon, it suddenly dawned on her that she was not finished. “Will!” she exclaimed. “Frieda, I need to find Will.”
“Darling, after what you’ve been through, you go back to the wagon and rest. We’ll get Lt. Adams loaded up, and then I’ll go see about Julia’s brother.”
“No,” Cordia insisted. “I have to find him myself. I have to talk to him. He’s not just Julia’s brother, he’s . . . my friend. Roberts, are you sure you don’t know where I could find a private in the Union Army?”
The orderly contemplated the question for a moment. “Union Army?” he repeated. “You might find him in the church, over across that field.”
Cordia could see the building behind a line of trees. Without another thought, she took off running. “Cordia!” Frieda yelled. “You can’t mean to run all the way over there, the condition you are in!”
Actually, she had meant to. She needed to see him as soon as possible. What better place than a church to give her hope that he was alive? “I’ll be back!” she yelled over her shoulder.
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