friends soon surrounded them. Trudy looked at him, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and pity. “Don’t worry, David. We’ll take care of her.”
“No,” Elizabeth cried.
“Let him see to Jeremiah,” Miss Hastings insisted. “It is what is best.”
“No...”
“Come with us, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Mackay gently urged.
The women pulled her to her feet, escorting her to the staircase. He watched helplessly as Elizabeth disappeared in a swirl of hazy black crepe.
“David,” he then heard her mother quietly say, “perhaps it would be best if you now see to your brother.”
“Yes, of course.”
He did not have to search far for the other men. Elizabeth’s cries had drawn each of them to the parlor, as well. In quiet reverence the pallbearers took their places alongside Jeremiah’s casket. David claimed his position at the head of the processional, his body and mind now numb.
Jeremiah’s flag-draped coffin was carried through the front door, the barren garden and out to the street. Carefully it was placed in the hearse. The pallbearers and remaining men then formed a line behind the black-adorned carriage. All of the women had elected to stay behind. David wondered if they were still surrounding Elizabeth. Were they offering words of comfort to her, words he could not give? Words she would not accept from him?
He glanced toward the upstairs windows. Part of him wished to return to the house, seek her out, if only to say goodbye. The rest of him knew it was better this way.
Just then, Mrs. Martin stepped from the porch and embraced him. “God keep you, David,” she whispered. “May He ease your troubled heart.”
“Ma’am,” he said, “I wish there was something I could do...”
“I know you do, son, but there is nothing to be done. Return to your home, and may God keep you from any more sorrow.”
Not knowing what else to say, he respectfully kissed her cheek, then directed the men to move. The processional made its way through the slush-covered streets toward the train station. As they passed through Monument Square, carriages halted. The citizens of Baltimore removed their hats out of respect for the fallen Union soldier, although in all probability many of them had advocated secession. Honoring a life took precedence over politics this day, yet the gesture offered David little comfort. He wondered how many more funerals this city would witness before this war was over.
At the President Street station, Jeremiah’s casket was loaded on to a freight car. His fellow soldiers offered a last salute, and the men of Baltimore, their final condolences. David then boarded the northbound train, solemnly claiming a seat.
Within a few moments he heard the whispers around him. Though the mood was still somber, his fellow Massachusetts comrades were speaking of what they would do when they reached Boston. David tried to focus his thoughts forward, as well, reminding himself that he also was going home.
But I am returning alone...
The car lurched forward as the train began to roll. The coal yards, docks and military fortifications soon gave way to snow-covered fields and ice-encased forests. Glass-like icicles dangled from bare tree limbs. He tried to focus on the peaceful scene outside his window, but his thoughts kept returning to the anguish Jeremiah had suffered in those final hours. David had been powerless to do anything to help him.
Elizabeth’s words sliced his soul. “You caused all this!”
If he could turn the clock back, he would, and this time he would not allow his personal feelings to interfere. He’d swallow his heart and stand beside his brother as he kissed his bride, content to be Elizabeth’s brother-in-law.
But it is too late. Jeremiah is gone, and Elizabeth will never forgive me.
His hands began to tremble. How was he to handle returning to Boston? How could he face his family? His parents had not even the luxury of saying goodbye. His sister Clara’s difficult delivery of her first child had kept them from making the journey to Baltimore. He knew his mother and father would not blame him for Jeremiah’s passing. Their telegram had confirmed it. Though they were heartbroken, they accepted their son’s death as “divine will.”
They will do their best to be grateful for the years Jeremiah was alive, for the memories they have of him. They will encourage me to do the same.
The memory of Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face, the look in her eyes, once more crossed his mind. His parents had each other. Clara had her husband, Patrick, and their new baby.
But who will comfort Elizabeth and her family? Who will encourage them?
As the train chugged northward, he thought of all the things he had seen in her house that required tending. There was woodwork in need of repair, squeaky hinges to be oiled. Seeing to such things would not ease her pain, but it would keep her house in running order...
He shoved the thought aside as quickly as it came, telling himself any idea of returning to Baltimore was foolish. My interference would not be a comfort to her. I would only add to her grief, and she to mine.
He told himself she had friends, a church family that cared for her. Surely they had noticed what he had. They will take care of such things. Why, if I know Dr. Mackay as well as I think I do, the man has probably already issued orders for someone to complete the tasks.
He never wanted to see Baltimore again. He wanted to forget the suffering he had witnessed and experienced there, yet the thought of returning nagged him for miles.
I have my old job waiting for me back at the Boston Journal. Lord willing, I will use words to shape my country’s future, not bullets. The train crossed the Susquehanna River. Workers were busy harvesting ice. By the thickness of the blocks it looked as though spring would never come.
But it will come, David thought, and the fighting will resume. More men will be wounded. More men will grow sick. More men will die. With the exception of the Pratt Street Riot, the city of Baltimore had witnessed no battles, only the aftereffects of them. But what if all that was about to change? What if the rebels advance into Union territory? The fortifications around Washington are strong, but what if they circumvent the defenses of the Capitol, setting their sights on Baltimore instead? Who will protect Elizabeth, her sister, her mother?
If David’s brother had married her, he would have brought Elizabeth back to Boston. Jeremiah had told him he would have convinced her family to come, as well, at least until the war was over.
She will never leave Baltimore now. Especially not to visit a place that will remind her of things that can never be.
David shifted uncomfortably in his seat as once again he was reminded of his duty. My duty to see to her welfare does not end with the funeral. It is for as long as this war lasts, or until her own brother returns, whichever comes first.
He knew what he had to do, and he knew how hard it was going to be. Even so, his mind was made up. He would travel to Boston and bury his brother with honors. Then he would return to Baltimore to look after Jeremiah’s heartbroken bride. After what he had done, he owed them both at least that
