The Vacant Chair (15 page)

 “What the hell are you doing in Richmond?”

“I came to see you.”

“What? Why would you—”

“I hadn’t heard anything in months, and then Paul Ramseur came by and told me you were here, so…”

“So you packed a bag and caught the next train out,” he finished, shaking his head. “I should probably tear a strip off you, but I’m so damn glad to see you I don’t have the heart.” He squeezed her hands again, frowning when he felt how cold they were. “Did Gavin come with you?”

“No, I’m alone. I found work over in Manchester.”

The frown deepened in displeasure. “Doing what?”

“Cleaning, household chores. I get room and board and a small wage.”

He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles, pausing when he noticed the wedding band missing from her left hand. 

She flushed. “I’ve met someone.”

A beat passed as he searched her face, realizing the significance of it. “He must be important to you.”

“He is.”

A smile brightened his handsome but thin features. “I’m happy for you, Bree. Who’s the lucky man?”

She fidgeted, her gaze on their entwined hands. “He’s a captain in the Wolverines. I met him at the hospital.”

“I gather it’s serious between you?”

Her eyes swung up to his. “I’ve promised to wait for him.” It worried her that she hadn’t heard from him since leaving Lexington. Gavin would absolutely have forwarded the letter she’d written to Justin, so maybe the return letters hadn’t made it through the lines yet? She blew out a breath. “I barely know him, Morgan, but…I’ve fallen in love him.”

 “Hell, sweetheart, that’s good enough for me. What’s his name?”

“Justin Thompson.”

“From Michigan.” 

“Yes, and that’s enough on that subject for now.” She tugged her hands free and bent to retrieve her bundle. “I brought you something to eat.” She glanced at the others crowded around them. “I didn’t know there would be so many of you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring more.”

A chorus of polite negations followed. Morgan took the cloth from her. “Thanks, Bree.” He wolfed down part of the roll and one potato, then passed the rest to one of the men beside him.

Brianna bit her lip and Morgan caught her looking around at his living conditions.

“It’s not so bad,” he said with a shrug. “At least there are enough of us in here to share body warmth at night.” She didn’t laugh at his teasing tone. He reached for her hands again. “I hate that you’re here. Please at least tell me you didn’t walk here alone tonight.”

She didn’t bother lying.

“Dammit, you did! Is someone coming to get you?”

“No.”

“For God’s sake, Brianna,” he muttered. “You can’t be walking around this city alone at night.”

“I bought some stock for the farm,” she blurted to change the subject. “I went home for a while—”

“Why did you go home?”

“I’d been sick, and the surgeon at the hospital sent me home to recover.”

He ran his gaze over her. “But you’re better now?”

“Yes, fine. What about you? Have you been ill here?” The conditions seemed ripe for it.

He shrugged. “No more than anyone else.” His cheeks were far too hollow. He’d certainly lost a lot of weight since she’d seen him last.

“Are you getting enough to eat?” Lord knew it was a struggle for everyone else in the city. The people of Richmond had trouble enough feeding themselves without a couple thousand Yankee prisoners to care for. At least Morgan was sheltered. Even if Libby was a miserable place, he and the others were better off than the NCOs and enlisted men kept in the open on Belle Isle in the middle of the James. Come winter, those men would freeze to death.

“We get by,” he answered. “You?”

Before she could answer, her stomach let out an answering growl and his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Tell me you didn’t just give me your dinner.” When she didn’t reply, his expression became outraged. “Jesus, Brianna—” He whipped around to see if there was anything left of the food she’d brought, but of course it had all been devoured. He fixed her with a hard stare. “Don’t you ever go hungry for me, do you understand? I won’t have you going without to feed me.”

“Morgan, I’m fine. In my place you would have done the same thing for me.”

“You are never to do that again, you hear me?”

She raised her chin. “I’m a grown woman and I won’t die from missing a meal here and there.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. “I can’t stand the thought of you slowly starving,” she whispered, her voice catching.

He sighed. “Ah, hell, come here.” He pulled her by the back of the neck until he could press through the bars and kiss her forehead. It made her want to cry. She desperately wanted to free him from his awful cage.

“Where were you captured?” she asked quietly.

He tensed, and for a moment she thought he might not answer. “Outside Atlanta.”

She raised her head to look at him.

The muscles in his jaw bunched and his eyes turned flinty as he continued. “It was my fault. My men were shipped off to Andersonville because of me.”

She winced at the name of that iniquitous prison. Thousands of men had starved there until they were little more than skin-covered skeletons. “Why do you think it was your fault?”

“It’s a long story involving a certain Southern belle I shouldn’t have trusted.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“No more about me. Now be quiet while I find you a ride home. You’re a smart girl and I’m sure you realize someone might take you for a Union spy, slipping in and out of this place by yourself at this hour.”

“But that woman I saw—”

“Miss Van Lew gets away with it because they think she’s crazy, which you most definitely are not. I don’t want you risking arrest.” He ignored her protests and let out a sharp whistle. Moments later, the guard who’d brought her up appeared. “My sister is going back to Manchester now, and I don’t like the thought of her walking alone. Is there any way someone could escort her?”

“I’ll find someone.” He glowered at Brianna. “You’d best not be traveling alone here, especially at night. Lord knows what might happen.”

Morgan squeezed her hands. “Go home to Greenbriar, Bree. Curl up under a warm blanket and think of all the money we’ll make with our horses when the war is over.”

“But—”

“Please, sweetheart. I’m worried enough about you as it is.”

She didn’t want to leave him here and he knew it, because he put on a bright smile. “Love you,” he said.

Her eyes filled. He was the only family she had left.

“Don’t cry.” He leaned down so she could kiss his cheek.

As the guard led her away, she glanced back at Morgan over her shoulder and caught the haunted expression in his eyes.

Chapter Sixteen

Richmond, VA

October 18, 1864

Brianna had dreamed the terrible dream again, the same periodically recurring one she’d had since Caleb had died.

As always, she was trapped in a windowless room with no doors, a sense of impending dread closing in on her. The hair on her nape prickled, some sixth sense telling her she was no longer alone. Slowly turning around, she stopped dead when she saw the crude pine coffin lying in the middle of the room.

With a terrible sense of foreboding forcing her closer, she watched, almost detached from herself, as her hand moved toward the lid. The hinges groaned as she pried it open. Foul vapors escaped, the stench of decomposing flesh making her stomach roll. Pulled by the invisible force, she forced herself to peer inside.

A grief-stricken wail tore free of her throat.

Sometimes she saw Caleb inside. Or her father. Or Morgan.

This time, Justin’s grotesquely swollen face met her gaze, his dark blue eyes blank in death. She stumbled back, skin crawling. His bloated body turned green and began to slowly rot before her horrified stare. Then his lifeless eyes suddenly cleared and focused on her, full of a terrible fear that sent shivers up her spine. “Brianna.” She shrank back when his stiffened hands clawed at her. His panic was palpable, his decomposing flesh hideous to see.
“Help me.”

She screamed.

Gasping, Brianna lunged bolt upright in bed, trembling from head to toe. Tears spilled onto the twisted sheets around her and her skin was slick with sweat. Dear God, she hated that dream. She couldn’t slow her pounding heart.

Shooting out a hand, she snatched Justin’s watch from the nightstand. She felt better when she held it, so she clenched her fingers around it and forced herself to remember his words on the riverbank that night. About having a piece of him with her so she’d never be alone.

I’m not alone. I’m not alone.

She flipped open the cover, blinking back the tears to make out the time. Were her watery eyes making it seem as though the second hand wasn't moving? She shook it, held it up to her ear. No ticking. Only silence. Slowly, she lowered it to her lap. A sickening wave of dread washed over her.

It was just a coincidence, she told herself as panic crept up her spine with cold fingers.
It doesn’t mean anything. He’s fine. It was only a nightmare.

Brianna closed her eyes and prayed for his safety, but the dread would not leave her. She hadn’t heard one word from him since she’d left Lexington, and there was one obvious reason as to why that would be.

No.
She refused to believe he was dead.

She hopped out of bed, wincing as her feet landed on the icy floorboards, and stumbled to the washstand to splash her face with cold water. She gasped as the cold spray hit her then braced her hands on the wooden top to collect herself. After a few moments, she dried her face and returned to bed. Though she burrowed deep under the covers for warmth, even the comforters couldn’t erase the chill from her body. Holding Justin’s eerily still watch in her shaking hand, she curled into a tight ball and stared out the window into the darkness, waiting for dawn to arrive.    

Please, God, let him be safe. I need him to come back to me.

****

Cedar Creek, VA

October 19, 1864

As the sun sank behind the trees to the west in a blaze of crimson, Justin waited in formation for the order to attack. His right hand gripped his saber so hard his fingers ached. His left clenched the reins, every muscle in his body tensed as he sat poised in the saddle. Boy-o shifted under him restlessly, snorting and tossing his head as though he sensed what was coming. Justin stared down the line at the other two regiments massed to the right, then caught the first sign of movement as the right wing swung forward, their battle cry echoing through the autumn air.

The Wolverines peeled off the ridge from right to left like a string pulling taut, and when the wave reached him at last, Justin dug his heels into Boy-o’s flanks and exploded forward to lead his company. He charged across the open space toward the enemy at a full gallop, bellowing a war cry at the top of his lungs.

Cannons boomed and the earth trembled. The bitter burn of powder filled the air along with the blare of the bugles and the pounding of thousands of hooves. Saber raised, he charged with his men through a ravine and across a plateau to the waiting line of Confederate infantry. Rifle volleys cracked, sending up clouds of gray smoke. Men and horses fell behind him, beside him. Bullets zinged past, shells whistled and exploded in bursts of smoke and earth. Ahead in the distance, the rest of the regiment drew up short.

The enemy line had held under the force of the mounted charge.

Justin pulled Boy-o up sharply. His mount squealed and skidded to a stop amidst the flying lead. Justin assembled his men with a wave of his saber, breathing hard. “Fall back!” He led them back through heavy artillery fire to the ravine and up a hill with the others to prepare for another attempt at breaking the enemy line.

The Confederate gunners assailed them with solid shot and canister. The constant concussion pounded in his head, making his ears ring, hurting his lungs. Cruel metal fragments burst amongst the ranks, cutting some men and their horses to pieces.

Justin gritted his teeth and held his ground. If they didn’t move soon, they’d all be blown to hell.

He waited in line with his men while the adrenaline rushed through his veins, sweat rolling down his temples. His hands were slippery with it inside his gauntlets, despite the chilly temperature. When the attack commenced, the line again peeled away, beginning at the far right.

Justin waited those few agonizing seconds for his company’s turn with his heart thundering against his ribs. The wave reached him at last.
“Chaaarge!”
he bellowed, putting his spurs to Boy-o’s flanks as the brigade surged forward with another terrible roar.

The cannon fire ripped at their ranks, the screaming and bursting of shells mixing with shouted orders and battle cries. Justin raced through it and galloped across the dewy grass into the maelstrom.

They crashed into the line of enemy infantry with the force of a tidal wave, and this time the Confederates wavered under the impact. Pistols fired. Sabers slashed. Bullets zipped past. Men screamed. Horses nickered and shrieked. 

Steady. Almost there.

“Fire!” Justin yelled at last, and his men finally opened up with their Spencers. The enemy jolted under the shock of the volley, then seemed to melt. Hot lead whistled past him, over his head. Above the din, he heard the screams of the wounded and dying. 

Gaps opened and closed in the enemy’s ranks, swallowing and shifting, making elusive, swirling eddies in the sea of gray and butternut bodies. Sweat beaded his forehead and soaked his chest. The muscles in his arm strained, burning from fatigue as he slashed and fired, slashed and fired. The Michigan Brigade pushed forward, making steady progress until the enemy line at last broke. The Confederates moved back, then turned and ran.

A wild, triumphant roar went up from the Wolverines.

Elation tore through Justin. Sparing a glance behind him, searching for familiar faces, he moved his men to cover as the rebel artillery took aim at them once again. His gaze swept past his brother just as a shell exploded.

Mitch threw up his hands to shield his face as a blast of debris hit him. His body jerked, his hands grasping at the pommel of the saddle to keep his seat. But he missed and crashed to the ground, clutching his front. He lay there unmoving. Just like before, only…

Blood. So much blood.

“Mitch!” The scream tore from him.

Justin leaped out of the saddle and sprinted to his brother, his brain refusing to believe what he’d just seen. His legs felt like stone, his lungs burning. Mitch wasn’t moving, and this was not like the last time.

He dropped beside him and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. Mitch lay in a fetal position in a spreading pool of blood. It streamed out of his mouth and nose, smelling warm and metallic. His stomach had a gaping hole in it where a shell fragment had ripped through his body, nearly disemboweling him. One trembling, white-knuckled hand clutched his intestines in a futile effort to hold them inside his body. He screamed and clenched Justin’s uniform with the other.

Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus…

“Get a surgeon!” Justin bellowed, ready to vomit. “Send him over,
now
!” He yanked Mitch against him, shielding him from another spray of debris. He was numb, couldn’t breathe. Mitch was going to die. No one could survive that kind of wound. He cradled him, barely hearing the shaky gasps that rattled through his lungs.

“J-Justin,” Mitch whimpered, tears sliding down his cheeks as he choked on his own blood. “Oh, God,
help
me…” He gasped for air and went rigid with a spasm of pain, his hand tightening on Justin’s uniform. He growled low in his throat, shaking. “Don’t let me die…”

Panic twisted in Justin’s chest. “Look at me,” he commanded, grasping his brother’s jaw as he stared into those terrified eyes, forcing Mitch to hold his gaze. “Don’t look at it,” he barked when Mitch glanced down at his belly. “You look at me. Only at me.”

Mitch focused on him, his face pale and waxy, smeared with blood. The blind terror in those eyes shredded Justin. “Help me…” he repeated.

Tears blurred Justin’s vision. Mitch was bleeding to death, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. “You hold on, do you hear me? Don’t you let go.” He shook him once for emphasis.

Mitch’s eyes began to close and he fought to keep them open. “Don’t want to…die… Oh,
God!
” His face twisted. His terrified gaze dropped to the terrible hole in his abdomen and the obscene amount of blood gushing out. They were both covered in it, their uniforms soaked through.

Justin forced his brother’s head up. “Don’t look at it, Mitch, look at me. And don’t talk now,” he ordered hoarsely. “I won’t leave you, I swear I won’t leave you. But you goddamn stay with me, do you hear?” Where in
hell
was the damned surgeon?

“God…h-help…m-me…” Mitch rasped the words, blood dripping from his mouth, down his chin in a hideous scarlet ribbon. “Can’t see… There’s nothing…” He choked again, spitting up mouthfuls of blood. When he focused once more, his eyes were so full of anguish it stabbed right through Justin’s heart. “Dark. C-can’t…s-see…”

“It’s all right. I’ve got you. It’s going to be all right.” His voice broke. The sounds of the battle seemed far away. All but blinded by the haze of tears stinging his own eyes, he shook with fear and shock. It took him a while to realize Mitch wasn’t gasping for breath anymore. That the mangled body in his arms was still.

“Goddamn you, Mitchell,” he roared, shaking the brother he loved beyond reason, refusing to let him give up. “Fight, you bastard! Do you hear me? Don’t you
dare
die on me.” He gave him another angry shake, stunned into stillness when the dark head lolled back, those eyes so like his own sliding half closed.

The bloody hand on Justin’s coat loosened its grip. Fell away from his uniform.

 Quaking, gulping lungfuls of air, he pulled back to gaze down at his brother. Mitch’s face was almost serene, devoid of the paralyzing terror it had held only a minute before. He looked like he was asleep with his lashes swept against his cheeks like that, lips parted.

But he was not sleeping. And he would never wake again.

With shaking fingers, Justin felt for a pulse at the base of his throat, even though he knew he wouldn’t find one. His tears splashed onto the pale face. The brave, impetuous heart in that shattered body had stopped beating.

Shells continued to explode around him, but he didn’t hear them. He was only aware that his brother had just died in his arms. Justin let his head fall back and cried out in anguish.

Howling like a wounded animal, he hugged Mitch to him, certain he would die of the pain. For an eternity he remained like that, rocking him, face pressed close to that cooling cheek, sobbing like a child. Someone finally came and pried the lifeless body from his arms and dragged him to safety before leaving him to kneel alone on the cold ground, soaked with his brother’s cooling blood.