Forever

Part 4

PENNSYLVANIA, 1863

            Darkness. Darkness and gunshots. Everywhere. This was all John knew. Crouched in a trench and clutching his rifle, John could do nothing more than wait for this horrible night to be over. Three hours ago it had begun to rain, and it hadn't let up since. The wind and rain made it impossible to see anything out on the field, so John had taken cover in a trench. He and two of the men from his platoon were huddled in the ditch, feeling guilty as soldier after soldier was slaughtered on the battlefield.

            The attack on Gettysburg had gone horribly wrong. The entire Confederate army had been so sure they'd win this victory for the South, but now they'd lost more men than ever before. Five soldiers in John's platoon had died in just the past hour, including his best friend he'd met in the army.

            "SMITH! GET OUT HERE, YOU COWARDLY EXCUSE FOR A SOLDIER!"

            John sighed and obeyed his commander. He climbed out of the trench and joined the other soldiers on the front lines. John shot bullet after bullet blindly into the dark, the relentless rain obstructing his vision. He fell back a little, putting more distance between himself and the people shooting at him.

            A bomb exploded just feet from John and he was thrown to the ground, sliding several feet across the muddy ground before rolling to a stop. Scrambling to his feet, John was relieved to see he wasn't hurt, aside from the ringing in his ears. He turned to run back toward the trench, despite his commander's orders.

            Then there was the sound of a gunshot, the feeling of unbearable pain, then nothing. Darkness.

∞

GEORGIA, 1863

            Clara gently pulled a dead, brown leaf off her and John's tree. She'd kept her promise; ever since the day John had left, Clara had come to Custard Mill and cared for the tree. She made sure it was perfect, just as he would have wanted.

            Clara missed him terribly. Not a day passed when she didn't think of him, worrying about him and hoping he was okay. They heard news of the war nearly every day, and the death toll rose with every newspaper. Each time she scanned the list of names, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see her beloved John Smith.

            "Miss Oswald, dear, I think there's something you need to see."

            Clara turned to see Miss Bessie. She smiled. "Oh, hello. What is it?" Her smile faltered when she saw how somber Miss Bessie looked.

            Miss Bessie held out a newspaper. Clara took it and looked at the date. Today. She quickly opened the paper and nearly dropped it when she saw the list of casualties. Four whole pages of names. Clara didn't breathe as her eyes darted up and down the pages, pleading that she wouldn't see...

            Smith, John.

            Clara felt her heart skip. She followed the line of dots after his name, nothing but "No, please no. No, no, no" running through her head.

            Wounded.

            Clara sighed in relief. Miss Bessie looked at her expectantly. Clara grinned. "He's not dead, Bessie! Oh, he's not dead! He's wounded, but alive!" Clara threw her arms around Miss Bessie.

            The maid smiled and patted Clara's back. "That lucky lad. The army sure lost a lotta men that night. I saw the newspaper and I was sure our John's name would be there, but I wanted to let you look first. I didn't want to be the one to deliver the bad news, if there was some."

            "Thank you, Miss Bessie," Clara said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

            "Not a problem, my dear." Miss Bessie smiled and went back to the house.

            Clara grinned and leaned against the tree, sliding down to sit on the ground. She felt bad that John had gotten injured, but she was happy he was alive. She hoped he was okay.

            Clara gave the tree one last look, then started back to her home. When she got there, she immediately went into the study to write a letter to John.

My Dearest John,

I heard from the papers that many men died at Gettysburg and that you were wounded. I'm deeply sorry for any losses you might have suffered. I hope you recover quickly and aren't in much pain.

I have been tending to our tree every day as you told me. It's gotten much taller and is thriving. I wish you could see it. The blossoms are beautiful this time of year.

I hope to see you soon, my love. Be careful. Not a day passes when I don't think of you. Safe journeys.

Love Always,

Your Clara

∞

PENNSYLVANIA, 1863

            John blinked open his eyes to find himself in a tent. He tried to sit up and look around, but a shooting pain through his shoulder made him stay put. He groaned and turned his head to the side. Endless rows of wounded soldiers stretched to each corner of the tent, and several nurses dressed all in white darted around, checking on everyone. One of them approached him when she saw he was awake.

            "Smith, is it?" The nurse asked.

            John nodded, wincing at the pain as he moved. "What happened? Where am I?"

            "You were shot in the shoulder in Gettysburg," the nurse explained, stripping off the old bandages. "Now you're in a hospital, just a short ways from Gettysburg."

            "Am I going to be okay?" John asked.

            The nurse paused and looked at him. She felt bad; he was so young and was being dragged into this horrible war. "You'll be just fine, Smith. I'll make sure of that."

            John smiled. "Thank you."

            "Oh, I almost forgot," the nurse said, pulling something out of her pocket. "You received a letter." She held it out to him and he took it.

            John immediately recognized Clara's handwriting. He opened the letter as fast as he could, his hands trembling. His heart raced as he read her note, and he clutched the paper to his chest when he finished reading. It was amazing to hear from her, his Clara. He missed her more than anything. John closed his eyes and smiled, remembering their times together as children.

            The nurse patted his good shoulder. "Someone back home?"

            John glanced at her and nodded. "Yeah, a really good friend of mine. We've known each other since we were kids."

            The nurse smiled. "That's nice to hear that you've got someone back home who's looking out for you. A lotta the men I deal with ain't got nobody back home. It's sad."

            "I feel bad for all them," John said. "Everyone deserves someone."

            The nurse nodded in agreement, then stood up from the crate she was sitting on. "You get some sleep now, Smith. I'll take extra good care of you, so we can send you home to your friend in one piece."

            "Thank you, Nurse," John said, then drifted off to sleep, still clutching Clara's letter.