"Gentlemen. I want to report to you that Dr. Walker performed surgery on Major Montgomery to relieve the pressure on his brain. While it is too soon to be sure, as head injuries are very dangerous, she feels that he has at least a reasonable chance of recovering completely. I for one am very concerned about Major Monty and very relieved that we had the good fortune to have such a fine surgeon available to help care for him."
A murmur, some of it relieved, some of it muttering things like, "served him right,", went around the group of men. That the, ‘‘served him right,’ comments were coming from fellow Pennsylvanians was enlightening to Charlie.
"Men, for a moment, let us forget rank. Major Monty has a problem. We all know it. I do not think he was quite right after the Wilderness." Nods of agreement went around the circle. "I have seen this kind of thing before, and it is hard to handle. Hard for the men who suffer from it and hard for their friends, too. Monty was a good soldier and a good officer. The pain and guilt of losing so many of his men, I think, overwhelmed him. Tell me, did he ever talk about it with any of you?"
One gnarled old sergeant spoke up, "Monty was my boss back home, Colonel. He used to get together with us boys pretty much regular, but after that battle, all he did was sit in his tent and brood, usually with the help of the ol’ jack. I swear, that man could drink stuff that would rot your guts out and then get up the next morning and ride hell for leather all day."
Another one took up the story, "Yes, he would, but damn, he treated his horses like they were invulnerable. He had been the best horseman in Bucks County before the war –– horses just loved that man, but lately, he has been driving them to do things that horses are not meant to do. I do not blame that horse for kicking him. I have been wanting to do the same myself sometimes."
"Gentlemen, I believe your Major had something break inside his soul after the Wilderness. It is going to take all of us for him to see that he is not to blame –– that no individual is to blame –– for what happened. And to see that the civilians we are dealing with today are not the men you faced in battle. The men who served with me at Vicksburg know what I am talking about. Talk about it among yourself, and come to me or Colonel Polk if you have any questions."
Charlie looked around the circle of men, catching the eye of specific men who had served with him on the western front. Small nods of agreement and support came from them. He knew he had their support.
"Now, Gentlemen. For the time being, I am not going to name a new commander for this Company. You have a commander, Major Montgomery. Major Swallow will continue to act as your temporary commander, in addition to his own company, with support from Colonel Polk. We will worry about a new permanent commander for Company D if, and only if, Dr. Walker feels that Major Montgomery is not going to be capable of resuming command for the spring campaign. If you need anything, or just need to talk, you know that I have an open door to any man in this regiment. Please feel free to come by my office. I am using the farm manager’s officer in the main house. The entrance is at the north west corner of the ground floor."
Charlie stood and straightened his coat. "By the way, gentlemen, we will be conducting a gymkhana this year before Christmas. The company that wins the most overall points will serve as color guard in the spring campaign and the individual trooper who wins the most overall points from the company will serve as the color bearer. I expect a good showing from Company D. Do your Major proud, men."
Charlie accepted the departing salute, then walked toward the infirmary. Well, that went better than I expected. Loyal to a fault, those boys are, but they did see what was happening with Monty. Maybe my boys and the gymkhana, between them, will pull those troops together. I can hope. A small grin lit his face as he pulled the door open to the barn that had been converted to an infirmary. He went straight to the surgery, where Elizabeth and Samuelson were tending to Montgomery.
"How is he?" Charlie asked quietly.
Elizabeth looked up, a little startled. "Oh, I did not hear you come in. He is doing about as well as can be expected. His eyes are a little more reactive, and the swelling seems to be going down. That is all I can hope for right now."
"Well, I just talked to his troops. Seems they had seen changes in his behavior before this event, so even if he does survive, we have our work cut out for us. Battle shock, I would say, the raging kind, not the suicidal kind."
"Yes, I have been thinking on that. Samuelson filled me in. I would like to try something, with your permission."
"You know I support you in whatever you want, my dear doctor."
"I want to make sure that the only people who care for him when he comes conscious are people with southern accents. That is me, Samuelson, Rebecca, and any others I can find."
"I will put Polk on it to find any other men in the brigade with southern accents who can serve as medics. But I suspect he will be pretty abusive and uncooperative"
"That is the point. He had made all southerners into demons to be destroyed. I want to create a dissonance –– having people who are his caretakers be the very ones he hates. He will be torn, between gratitude for their care and his hatred. I am hoping that the dichotomy will give us the opening we need to really help him."
Whitman spoke from the corner. "I will help as well. You know, I have a way of listening and talking with people pretty effectively."
The others in the room could not help but laugh at Whitman’s comment. "Mr. Whitman, as long as you have been tagging along after me, you have had a way with words. It must be the poet in you, good sir."
Charlie stepped over to look into Montgomery’s face. His head was swathed in white bandages, his features at rest. This man could not be more than twenty-four or twenty-five, yet he had seen so much death and destruction that it had overwhelmed the lad with hatred. The cost of war was a man’s soul. Charlie shook his head.
"Come, Elizabeth, let us look in on the other men."
--*--
She paused just outside the door gathering herself for a fight. Opening the doors, she stepped inside and closed them behind her. "Good afternoon, ladies. Welcome to my home." She looked at each woman in turn. Mrs. Cooper gave her a polite smile. Mrs. Williams once again appeared as if she had something unpleasant under her nose. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the next two ladies, Miss Katherine Reynolds and Miss Mary Simms. Both of them young and single, she knew why they had come and she did not like it one damn bit.
"Rebecca, we came to make sure you were indeed all right." Mrs. Cooper offered.
"But we can see that you are living well." Mrs. Williams all but sneered. "Your home is being refurbished and you have a house full of new servants……."
Rebecca raised her hand, interrupting her. "Colonel Redmond has his men helping with needed repairs to my home and I would hardly call a staff of four a houseful. Besides they are here for the Colonel’s comfort more than mine."
"Where is the Colonel?" Mary asked with a gleam in her eye.
"Charlie," Rebecca let all of her jealousy and possessiveness tumble out in just his name, "is out with his troops tending to his camp."
"Mrs. Williams was sure we would find him sitting before the fire sipping brandy and smoking a cigar," Katherine giggled.
Rebecca looked directly at Mrs. Williams, "Had you come a little after supper you may very well have. The Colonel does enjoy a cigar and he has impeccable taste in brandy."
"Rebecca, have you lost your senses? You act as if you have feelings for this man," Mrs. Williams countered.
"Do I?"
"You do. It is shameful."
"No it is not. But do you know what is? You, Mrs. Williams, your self-righteous condemnation of something you know nothing about. What gives you the right to come to my home and ––"