She looked over to the big bed, wishing Charlie were there that very moment so she could crawl into the safety that was their love and sleep the night through. She slipped from the chair; kneeling near the window she looked at the clear sky and the bright moon and she laced her hands together.
"Dear God, please, please allow my Charlie to live. You, more than anyone, know what a kind, good person you have created. We need her here with us. Please, do not take her from those of us who love her so deeply. Amen."
She waited there for a moment, continuing to look out the window. Just as she was getting up, a falling star streaked across the sky as if it was an answer from the Almighty Himself.
--*--
Saturday, April 15, 1865
Mr. Whitman was up and ready at first light, just as he had promised. Rebecca was also ready, with a small handbag her only luggage.
"Mrs. Redmond, do you have all you need?"
"Everything except my husband, Mr. Whitman. Let us go."
"After you, ma’am. Major Byrnes has sent a trap for us. It is already outside."
Rebecca led the way; a trooper took her bag and then helped her in. Mr. Whitman took a seat next to her; she reached over and took his hand. "Thank you for being with me."
"Jocko wanted to come, but he could not bring himself to leave his 'Gen'l Charlie'. And Richard would have come himself, but Sheridan has him running like a rat in a trap. I was the obvious choice, since Elizabeth cannot leave him."
"I really do appreciate it. It is nice to have a friend close at times like these."
"I am honored, ma’am. And I felt strongly that you should have a friend. General Grant was kind enough to offer his own train, as he is occupied with settling the surrender still."
"I am grateful this is over. I just hope I can have Charlie home again. I hope we are not too late."
"I have to tell you, ma’am, having seen him the day he was injured, I am amazed at his strength. He lost so much blood I was sure he would not survive the night."
Rebecca closed her eyes against the image of wounds she could only imagine. "Charlie is very strong and determined. If he has survived this long, I believe there is a good chance he will recover."
"Under normal circumstances, I would agree, Miss Rebecca. But there is a terrible infection we have not been able to control. That, the fever from it and the loss of blood taken together, is making it very hard for him."
Rebecca chewed her lip then turned to face her friend. "Mr. Whitman, I know that Elizabeth is a fine doctor and she is doing everything she thinks will help. But has she tried using honey?"
"Honey? No, I believe they have been using salt water washes."
"Honey is very effective in fighting infections. My mother absolutely refused to use anything else. On the farm we used it on everything from people to horses. However, it is considered folk medicine. I do not know if Elizabeth will be willing to try it."
"Miss Rebecca, the General is dear to both of you, in your own ways. If you have something that will help, I am sure she will try it. She has already tried everything she knows."
--*--
The rest of the trip was reasonably uneventful. General Grant had obtained priority clearance for their train. With that, they managed an average of thirty miles an hour, excellent time by any standards.
They arrived at Appomattox Station at about noon. Rebecca looked around at the land that was freshly torn and ravaged by the battle seven days earlier. She looked to Whitman as they dismounted from the train onto the shell pocked station platform. "Was this the place?"
"Yes."
"How many died here?"
"I honestly do not know. The battle stretched out along about seven miles of track, with both Charlie and General Custer’s forces. I know Dr. Walker and General Custer’s surgeon both had their hands full."
"A waste. A terrible waste. Come, Mr. Whitman, help me find my husband."
Whitman looked down the road to the east and saw a wagon approaching. Squinting in the bright light, he saw a figure he thought was Polk at the reins. "It seems that Colonel Polk has sent a wagon, ma’am."
"So it does." Rebecca walked toward the wagon. When it stopped, Richard jumped down and immediately he and Rebecca shared a hug.
"Richard, is Charlie..."
"No. He is still alive."
"Thank God."
"Let me take you to him. But, Rebecca, you need to be prepared. He has been horribly injured."
"I know. Mr. Whitman described the extent of his injuries for me. I do not care about that, Richard. I only want to be with him."
"You may have to convince him of that. He has been delirious, but all he talks about, I am told, is how he is not... not the husband you deserve. I do not know if that is the result of this injury or if it is the fever talking."
"It does not matter. We can help him overcome this."
"Rebecca, you need to understand. These are truly ugly injuries. Elizabeth wanted to amputate the leg at the hip."
She took a deep breath and nodded. "I understand. It does not matter, Richard. Now please take me to my husband."
They rode down the road in silence, each consumed with their own thoughts. As they approached the camp, they came upon a scene of turmoil.
Richard stood on the running board, yelling for order. Finally, he understood. "The President has been shot. Lincoln is dead."
Rebecca's head dropped. Her chin to her chest, she said a quick prayer and took a deep calming breath before starting to climb out of the wagon.
Jocko had been waiting for her. He sprang to her side and lifted her down, ready to escort her to Charlie. "Thank God, you are here." Lincoln and politics could wait.
At the back of the wagon, Walt Whitman quietly began to cry.
"If I could have come last night, I would have. Where is he?"
"I will take you to him, but before you go in, Dr. Walker says you need to get cleaned up."
"All right. Anything."
Jocko lead her to the officers’ mess, where he had partitioned off an area and had warm, boiled water and soap waiting for her. "Get washed, and put on one of the aprons I have here for you. Then I will take you to his tent. We set up a separate tent for him, rather than the usual surgery. It is clean and private. I have had a cot put in it for you, as well."
"Thank you Jocko. I will only be a moment."
As she washed up, Jocko called to her, "Sergeant Jamison wants to know if you want something to eat? Or some tea before you go over?"
"Could you have it taken to his tent? I really just want to be with Charlie. Everything else can wait."
"Yes, certainly. I will tell him to have a tray sent over."
"Thank you." Rebecca quickly scrubbed her arms and face, using the damp cloth to remove or dampen down any dirt that might be clinging to her clothing and then she slipped the apron over her head, tying it off before returning to Jocko. "Shall we?"
"If you wish. Are you sure you are ready?"
"I am more than ready, Jocko, and if I am not taken to my husband soon, I will tear this camp apart tent by tent until I find him."
"Yes, ma’am." Jocko offered her his arm and escorted her to the large tent set off from the rest of the camp, shaded by old oak trees, and currently guarded by Duncan, even though his arm was neatly bandaged and in a sling.
Rebecca stopped and touched the young man. "Duncan, are you hurt very badly?"
"Mi..Mi..Miss Rebecca. Umm. No, ma’am. Just a scr..scr..scratch. Ma’am? I am sorry. I tried."
"Tried?"
Duncan bowed his head. "Yes, ma’am. I tried, but there was so much blood. And I could not……"
"Duncan," She ran her hand over his good arm. "I am sure you did everything correctly and that I have you to thank for the fact that my husband is alive."
He hung his head even lower. "No, ma’am. It was Jocko and Jack, not me."
"I do not believe that and I do not want you to believe that either. I am sure when he is able, the General with thank you himself."