and murmured, “He’s disturbing everything. Why doesn’t he just go on?”
Shivering, Lucretia replied, “What in the world are you talking about, Robert? The man is probably trying to get home before dark.”
“He’s tracking up the road, that’s what he’s doing. Everything was perfect,” Robert said. “That is, before he came through.”
A frown crossed Lucretia’s face. She had no idea how he could rationalize such an absurd statement.
“Robert, when the man moves on, we won’t even be able to tell that he was ever there.”
“I’ll know it. This was supposed to be our special encounter with nature. Snow is always the prettiest before anyone or anything disturbs it. I wanted at least a few moments before it’s spoiled.”
Lucretia didn’t respond and once again stared out across the way. It was indeed beautiful. As far as she could see there were mounds of puffy snow, and even the branches of the evergreen trees, limbs bent downward, were completely covered. As enchanting as it was, at one time this hillside had been the very inferno of hell. Turning so that she could get a better view, she located the long winding pile of stones, a fence row, that had given the Union soldiers protection as the Army of the Northern Virginia broke the center of the line only to be thrown back in defeat. As a young girl hiding in her father’s cellar, she could still hear the roar of cannon fire and its striking force that shook the very foundation of her house. She also remembered the constant rattle of muskets as men fired point blank at each other. Then through a lull of battle, she would hear the loud screams and cheers of men as they charged toward each other in mortal combat. But after the battle had ended, the most horrifying thing that she had ever experienced was the carnage of human destruction, so terrible that as a girl of thirteen she had all but blocked it out of her memory.
That day in July, this hillside was no white winter wonderland. The moan and shrieks of the wounded and dying returned vividly to her mind as did the recollection of the ground covered in blood, slimy and puddled. Not wanting to think about it, Lucretia shook her head as if that would clear her mind of what had happened.
Startled by her quick jerk and noticing a tear trickling down her cheek, Robert said, “Did I say something wrong?”
For a moment Lucretia couldn’t bring herself to speak but gaining courage she murmured, “It’s something from years back, something that I have tried to put past me, something—”
Robert took her hands in his and could see pain in her eyes. “You can share it with me.”
Lucretia slowly pointed to the fields below. “Where you may see a wintery spectacle, I see a killing ground. I saw men laid out by the thousands killed and wounded. As a girl of thirteen, I had men die in my very arms. I saw things a child should never see.”
Robert pulled her closer. “Why did you come out here with me? Why did your mother allow it?”
A few moments lapsed then Lucretia continued, “My father was a doctor and mother helped him, that is, when he asked her to. And after that terrible slaughter, every able-bodied man, woman and child came up here. We weren’t asked; we knew we had to come.”
“Haven’t you been up here since then?” Robert asked.
“Maybe once and then I tried to shut it out,” she answered.
Noticing that the sun was setting, Robert thought about what Lucretia’s mother had said and with a slap of the reigns, the horse lunged forward through the deep snow.
This was supposed to be a special afternoon, one full of fun and fantasy, an afternoon when everything was to be perfect. He had been working under the supervision of Lucretia’s father for the past two years and come October, he would be accepting a position in Baltimore in one of the finest hospitals in the East. When he left, he wanted Lucretia to go with him, but seeing how disturbed she had become, this was not the time to propose. Things were going well until that rider distracted them. If it hadn’t been for him, I might have been engaged by now, he thought to himself.
As the sleigh made its way down the slippery trail, a lone cedar tree by an old barn that had been all but destroyed by cannon fire caught Lucretia’s attention. Lucretia tugged on Robert’s sleeve and said, “Can you pull up for a moment.”
Sensing that no questions should be asked, he pulled the sleigh to a stop.
Being careful not to fall, she stepped down and made her way to the old cedar. As she approached, she could see the scars of battle where large chunks of bark had been torn off the tree and many of the limbs had been severed by musket fire. It was a wonder that it had survived. For a moment she could still see the masses of bodies lined up in long lines, many who would never see the light of morning. Straining, she tried to remember the young man, a Southerner, placed by himself down past the barn, wincing in pain. Reluctantly easing up to him, she had offered him water and gasping, he said, “Don’t leave me. Don’t let me die here.” And for some strange reason, she promised to stay by his side, and told him she would never leave him.
A lone crow suddenly flew down and lit on one of the upper branches sending snow tumbling to the ground. Lucretia quickly stepped back to keep from getting covered and then made her way to the sleigh.
Robert extended his hand and helped her up. “You all right?”
Lucretia smiled at him and answered, “I’m fine, but I’m not sure I’ve been good company this afternoon.”
Robert cracked the whip and as the two left the hillside, Lucretia wondered if she would ever see the young Southerner again. Then there was the evening in Philadelphia last Christmas. As she gazed out of the window she imagined him standing there by the lamppost smiling up at her and strangely enough, and beyond any reality, in the lone rider this afternoon that waved to her.
In a short time, they had made their way back to Lucretia’s home. Mrs. Caulder hurried them inside and helped them remove their wraps.
“You two better get on into the kitchen and thaw up before the old frost bite gets to you. I’ve got some hot tea on the stove, and you can stick those toes right up to the oven,” she said with a smile.
Settling in their seats, Lucretia glanced over to her father who was sitting with a book in his hand on the far side of the stove next to a window that overlooked the backyard and woodlands beyond.
“Papa, you haven’t moved an inch since we left.”
Doc Caulder placed a marker in his book, slowly closed and laid it on the lamp table and replied, “Don’t see any need to go anywhere. I’m as warm as toast, got an interesting book to read, a good smoke, and I can still look outside and watch all that beautiful snow flutter down. Why in the world would I want to move?”
Adjusting his glasses, he peered over at the two sitting there with frosty cheeks and steaming shoes which he felt were too close to the heat. “Better get your feet back a piece. You know they’re probably numb from the cold. You two must be fools to get out in this weather. You know when I was your age—”
Mrs. Caulder, pouring Robert another cup of tea, interrupted him, “When you were a youngster, your mother told me she couldn’t get you in out of the snow. Said one time some of you boys even slept out in it. Now that sounds foolish to me.”
Pointing to Robert and Lucretia, she continued. “All these two did was bundle up and take a short
