Elizabeth’s words sliced his soul. “You caused all this!”
If he could turn the clock back, he would, and this time he would not allow his personal feelings to interfere. He’d swallow his heart and stand beside his brother as he kissed his bride, content to be Elizabeth’s brother-in-law.
But it is too late. Jeremiah is gone, and Elizabeth will never forgive me.
His hands began to tremble. How was he to handle returning to Boston? How could he face his family? His parents had not even the luxury of saying goodbye. His sister Clara’s difficult delivery of her first child had kept them from making the journey to Baltimore. He knew his mother and father would not blame him for Jeremiah’s passing. Their telegram had confirmed it. Though they were heartbroken, they accepted their son’s death as “divine will.”
They will do their best to be grateful for the years Jeremiah was alive, for the memories they have of him. They will encourage me to do the same.
The memory of Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face, the look in her eyes, once more crossed his mind. His parents had each other. Clara had her husband, Patrick, and their new baby.
But who will comfort Elizabeth and her family? Who will encourage them?
As the train chugged northward, he thought of all the things he had seen in her house that required tending. There was woodwork in need of repair, squeaky hinges to be oiled. Seeing to such things would not ease her pain, but it would keep her house in running order...
He shoved the thought aside as quickly as it came, telling himself any idea of returning to Baltimore was foolish. My interference would not be a comfort to her. I would only add to her grief, and she to mine.
He told himself she had friends, a church family that cared for her. Surely they had noticed what he had. They will take care of such things. Why, if I know Dr. Mackay as well as I think I do, the man has probably already issued orders for someone to complete the tasks.
He never wanted to see Baltimore again. He wanted to forget the suffering he had witnessed and experienced there, yet the thought of returning nagged him for miles.
I have my old job waiting for me back at the Boston Journal. Lord willing, I will use words to shape my country’s future, not bullets. The train crossed the Susquehanna River. Workers were busy harvesting ice. By the thickness of the blocks it looked as though spring would never come.
But it will come, David thought, and the fighting will resume. More men will be wounded. More men will grow sick. More men will die. With the exception of the Pratt Street Riot, the city of Baltimore had witnessed no battles, only the aftereffects of them. But what if all that was about to change? What if the rebels advance into Union territory? The fortifications around Washington are strong, but what if they circumvent the defenses of the Capitol, setting their sights on Baltimore instead? Who will protect Elizabeth, her sister, her mother?
If David’s brother had married her, he would have brought Elizabeth back to Boston. Jeremiah had told him he would have convinced her family to come, as well, at least until the war was over.
She will never leave Baltimore now. Especially not to visit a place that will remind her of things that can never be.
David shifted uncomfortably in his seat as once again he was reminded of his duty. My duty to see to her welfare does not end with the funeral. It is for as long as this war lasts, or until her own brother returns, whichever comes first.
He knew what he had to do, and he knew how hard it was going to be. Even so, his mind was made up. He would travel to Boston and bury his brother with honors. Then he would return to Baltimore to look after Jeremiah’s heartbroken bride. After what he had done, he owed them both at least that much.
Elizabeth stared at the ceiling, just as she had every day for the past two months. Trudy had brought up a light breakfast of tea, toast and marmalade, but Elizabeth left it untouched. She could not stomach food. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. In her dreams, she lived happily ever after.
But there is no happily-ever-after.
The words of the church matrons repeated over and over again in her mind. She’d caught their whispers before she’d made such a fool of herself at the funeral.
“Such a tragedy...so young...but the best thing she can do is go on with her life. Find herself a new beau.”
Elizabeth winced and rolled to her side. She did not want to get on with her life. Had she actually been married to Jeremiah, society would have granted her a full year of heavy mourning. But as a fiancée, she was not afforded the same right. Somehow the pain was supposed to be less. Time is moving on. I’m expected to do so, as well.
Friends and neighbors hinted at such by their constant visits to the house. They wanted to chat with her, take her on some sort of outing. Trudy and her mother were forced to receive them as Elizabeth simply could not. Not an hour passed that she didn’t spend in tears. Crying was simply a way of life now.
“Oh, Beth, I know it is hard,” her mother said repeatedly, “but you must seek God’s strength. It was the only way I survived your father’s passing.”
Elizabeth tried, but she had no more prayers to offer. I prayed for Father, but he still died. I prayed for my country, and yet war still came. I prayed George would not have to leave, but he did.
Like so many others, her brother had been caught up in the states’ rights fervor that had gripped Baltimore after the riot on Pratt Street. When the Confederacy declared independence, President Lincoln had called for soldiers to force the seceding states back into the Union. Finding the thought of firing upon their fellow countrymen appalling, most men from Maryland, including George, ignored the call. Men from Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, however, answered it expediently. Summoned to Washington to protect the capital, they’d passed through Baltimore one fateful April morning.
As the Northern soldiers had marched to the southbound trains at Camden Street, a small group of citizens gathered around them at Pratt Street. Who started what, the world would probably never know, but insults were exchanged from both sides. Rocks and bottles, in the hands of the locals, began to fly. The Massachusetts men then opened fire. When the musket smoke cleared, eleven Baltimoreans were dead, along with four Northern soldiers. Countless more on both sides had been wounded.
In the days that followed, the federal army seized control of the city. They’d closed newspapers that held any hint of Southern sympathy, arrested anyone suspected of disloyalty to the Union and instituted martial law.
Outraged, Elizabeth’s brother, as well as many other men from her Mount Vernon neighborhood, had slipped out of the city by night and joined Confederate regiments. They’d promised to soon return and deliver Maryland from federal tyranny. Though heartbroken to see him go, Elizabeth had then supported her brother’s decision. She’d loathed those Northern soldiers occupying her city.
Then I fell in love with one. And I prayed for him, as well...
Swallowing back her sobs, she rolled to the opposite side of her bed. Sunlight was pushing its way through the shutter slats, testifying that it was now well past noon. Her mother had met with a local businessman that morning in regard to selling what was left of the family silver.
Elizabeth sighed. I should have accompanied her instead of lying about. As the oldest daughter, even if it is only by a matter of minutes, it is my duty. I shouldn’t be leaving all the housework for Trudy, either.
She forced herself to rise and put her feet to the floor. Going to the washbasin, Elizabeth splashed water on her face, then stared into the looking glass.