Rebecca nodded and could no longer be strong. The tears began to fall.
--*--
Sunday, April 16, 1865
After letting her cry herself out, Elizabeth convinced Rebecca that Charlie would probably sleep through the night. Reluctantly, she accepted a mild sedative from the concerned physician, and settled onto the cot Jocko had made up for her.
She slept late the next morning after a restless night broken by needing to get up repeatedly and check on Charlie. Jocko, having taken over from Samuelson sometime in the middle of the night, let her sleep.
The first thing she heard that morning was Charlie’s voice, talking to Jocko.
"I dreamed of her yesterday, Jocko."
"Dreamed, Charlie?"
"I dreamed of Rebecca."
Slowly, she stepped out from behind the blanket and approached his bed. "It was not a dream, my love." She took his hand and smiled at him.
Charlie looked up at her smiling face, floating above him and nearly passed out. "Rebecca?"
"Yes, my dear. I came as soon as I could." She ran her fingers over his forehead and through his hair, relieved beyond measure that his fever seemed to be going down.
Charlie closed his eyes and just savored her touch for a moment. Then his eyes popped open. "How bad is it?"
"You have been wounded, you know that, but it is nothing we cannot deal with. All that matters is that you are alive." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "And the war is over, Charlie. When you are well, we can go home."
"The war is over?" A look of vast relief came over his face.
"Yes Charlie, it is over. Lee surrendered."
"Thank God. Oh, Rebecca, if you had seen those men?"
"I know darling, but it is over now. All we have to worry about is making you well enough to go home. You have a little girl who is desperate to have her Papa home and you have two fine healthy sons waiting for you."
"How is Em? I miss the little imp."
"She is growing like a weed. She talks of you constantly and she is waiting for us to come home. She misses her Papa."
"And the boys? Charles and Andrew?"
"Beautiful and healthy, waiting for you to come home so they can be properly christened."
"Who is taking care of them?"
Rebecca chuckled. "Well in reality, Tess and Ginny, but Miss Emily thinks she is in charge."
"Ginny?" Charlie was tiring; as much as he wanted to know how the children were doing, he could feel the energy draining from him.
"The wet nurse." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Rest, dear heart. We can talk later."
He closed his eyes for a few minutes, and then opened them to look directly into Rebecca’s eyes. "Tell me. How bad is it?"
"You are going to be fine, my love. We will get you through."
His hand closed around her wrist. "Tell me. I need to know."
She took her seat next to him. "It is bad, Charlie. You have lost a lot of mass in your thigh and buttock. You were wounded in the shoulder and you lost two fingers on your right hand. You have been fighting infection for ten days. But it does not matter. What matters is that you are alive."
Charlie laid there, eyes closed, trying to absorb the implications of her stark statement. A few fingers he could live without, but what about the shoulder and how much mass was gone from his leg? Finally, bleakly, he asked, "Will I be able to walk?"
"Yes. Yes, you will be able to walk. Elizabeth did everything she could, Charlie. You asked her not to take your leg and she did not, though she thought she might have to. You will be able to get up and about again."
"Will I be a cripple?"
She sighed. "Charlie, it does depend on your definition of cripple. Will you be able to run your circuit at the farm? No, probably not. Will you be able to run the farm? Yes. Will you be able to be a father to the children? Yes, without question."
Charlie was quiet for a long time. Finally, he spoke again. "You know, I thought I had died. I remember calling your name. I remember dreaming of you."
"You called and I came. I will be here with you until it is time to take you home. Then I shall do just that and we will begin the life we have planned."
Charlie murmured, "Love you," then closed his eyes and slept again.
--*--
Monday, April 24, 1865
Elizabeth had slipped a small amount of laudanum into Rebecca’s tea that morning, hoping the exhausted woman would go to sleep. Over the last few days, Rebecca had sat, quietly washing Charlie’s wounds with alternating washes of warm honey and salt water every hour, and bathing his fevered forehead with cool water in the interim. The doctor was concerned at her friend’s refusal to leave Charlie and finally decided to take matters into her own hands. She slipped into the tent in the early afternoon to find Charlie’s fever down for the first time in days.
She sat down on her stool and took Charlie's injured hand into her own to check on the condition of the bandages.
Charlie groaned and his eyelids fluttered open. He laid there, a grimace on his face, watching Elizabeth for some sign of his condition.
"Welcome back dear friend. I am not going to bother to ask how you feel. I am sure I know." She smiled at him and then went back to inspecting the bandage, quite pleased to see that the wound had stopped seeping and the bandage was still clean.
Charlie, his throat dry and raw from days of fever and slow force-feeding, croaked, "Hurts. How bad?"
"It is not pretty, Charlie. I will not lie to you. You have been severally severely injured, but we did manage to save your leg."
Charlie groaned involuntarily as Elizabeth adjusted the splints and bandages on his hand. "Fingers?"
"You lost two fingers on your right hand and I suspect there will be limited use of the ones that remain, but you also managed to keep your hand. How much do you remember?"
"Most of it. Shoulder, leg, hand. All bad?"
"Charlie, the wounds are substantial, but you are alive, and after time to recover, I believe you will find you are still going to live a long, happy life. Granted you will have limitations, but nothing you cannot overcome."
"Still ride?"
"I think so. You may have to have a special saddle made to accommodate your leg for a while. You are going to find your knee is somewhat stiff. With proper care, I do not foresee any severe problems."
"Walk? Dance? Run?"
She chuckled. "Yes, you will walk. I am sure you and Rebecca will find a way to dance; I have no doubt about that. As for running, I doubt you will ever run again, Charlie."
Charlie lay there and thought about that for a bit. Then gathered himself through the pain and asked one more question. "Scars. How bad?"
Elizabeth chewed her lip for a moment. Then decided the truth was the best, "The scars are going to be severe."
Charlie closed his eyes. Something went out of him in that moment. "Hurts. Bad. Real bad."
"I know." She scratched her neck. "Would you like something for the pain? I can place you on a schedule that will keep you unaware of the pain, until your body has had time to heal a little more."
The idea of being disconnected from the world was very appealing. What would Rebecca think of a scarred, disabled, fraudulent man? It was bad enough that they would have to maintain the fiction of man and woman, but now, how repulsive would Charlie’s scarred and mutilated body be to her? "Yes. Out. No pain, please." No thoughts either.
"All right." She patted his arm. "I will prepare the medication and be right back." She left the tent to fetch her bag and the supplies she would need to take care of her friend's pain.
Charlie lay in his bed and carefully examined each area of pain in his body. His shoulder felt like a falling tree had crushed it. His flank felt like it had been flayed by a butcher, chopped for sausage, and cooked over a hot fire. He knew that he was missing fingers on his right hand, but he could feel them all and they all felt like someone had attached red-hot daggers to each one. He could not imagine what he must look like. But whatever it was, he knew it was ugly. No longer would he be Rebecca’s ‘‘Greek goddess.’ Rebecca had said that the beauty of Charlie’s body took her breath away. Any beauty Charlie may have had was gone, torn away in a blast of hot metal and rock. Now, Charlie’s little voice taunted, Your body will do what it should have done in the first place –– repulse her.