Learning to Love the Other Side

The Singular, Harmonic Word, "We" (Josie)

****A/N: The medical scene is most likely depicted inaccurately. On my second draft, I will polish this part up and make sure it is historically and medically sound. Until then, bare with my imagination;)****

"I hate to say it, miss, but I think you have spent too much time in a chloroform filled tent."

Josephine's eyebrows raised in amusement and a thoughtful expression appeared on her soft features.

"Perhaps you're right. Regardless, I'm not letting you get a limb chopped off or left to bleed out right outside of the medical tent- it's just not going to happen."

I can't let another man die.

Charles watched Josie as if she had grown three heads and sprouted wings. He thought maybe she was joking. Surely she wouldn't help him? It wouldn't look proper, nor would it end up good for either of them.

"I don't think your family would appreciate a bloodied black man appearing on their doorstep in the middle of the night with their daughter," Charles said bluntly.

Josie pursed her lips defiantly. No one had to know, she thought.

"If you don't get that wound cleaned and bandaged properly in an hour or so, you will have lost too much blood. Are you going to take my hand or not?"

Charles peered curiously at Josie's small, pale outstretched hand. Despite knowing it would probably end in a jail sentence for him, Charles decided to take the strange girl's hand. He'd probably die outside waiting for treatment if he didn't, anyway.

Charles used his good arm to pull himself to a standing position. He winced in pain. His right arm was causing him more grief than he could physically hide.

After what seemed like hours, Josie and Charles had managed to walk the two miles to Ms. Green's house. Josie had figured that bringing Charles to her own home would not end well, and Ms. Green had a small shed behind her cottage that would work to conceal Charles until he was better.

"This is your home?" Charles asked, peering back at the quaint cottage as they walked into the shed.

"It's Ms. Green's house. She doesn't hardly leave her home and this shed hasn't been touched since her husband died a few years back. You should be fine in here until morning. Ms. Green has a spare bedroom you can stay in. Until then, this will have to do."

"With all due respect-"

"Josie. You can call me Josie."

"Josie, I think you have lost it," Charles said, shaking his head and watching Josie with a concerned look.

"White girls just can't be alone with black men. Especially when they are hiding them," Charles said slowly, as if he was talking to a small child.

Josephine frowned and ignored Charles. She hated the unspoken discrimination and proper etiquette. She was deeply disturbed that the doctors had told Charles he had to wait when clearly, Charles would not have made it until morning without treatment. Her mind was aflame with indignant anger, and Charles was partially right- she was acting a bit crazy. But she couldn't live with Charles's death lingering in the back of her mind, nor could she back out now.

Josie searched the old shelving, ladden with dust and rat droppings in search of the old bottles of alcohol the late Mr. Green had stashed away. She found one and snatched it off the shelve and returned to find Charles sitting on the ground looking like he might pass out any moment. She felt her stomach tighten and her mind forced the images of dead soldiers into her thoughts once more.

Josie knew he wasn't dying just yet, but the fear still twisted her gut uncomfortably.

"What is your name?" Josie asked, partially to keep Charles conscious and partially to keep her own thoughts from running wild with fear.

Charles was slumped over, seemingly out of it. When he heard Josie's voice, he made the effort to answer and not pass out.

"Charles."

Josie squinted her eyes in the dim lighting, trying to gauge the extent of his wound. She poured the liquor onto his arm and Charles winced in pain, forcing himself not to cry out.

"My ma sometimes called me Charlie, though," Charles added, biting back yelps of pain. He couldn't show weakness.

Josie tried to work quickly and cause Charles the least amount of pain she could, but she hadn't ever removed a bullet on her own before. She gulped back her fear and refused to let it's grip take hold. Charles seemed to be thinking the same, as he continued to make the effort to talk. She was appreciative of this.

"My ma is a slave."

Josie glanced up at Charles. He was grimacing in pain, and watching her intently. She could tell he was hoping she knew what she was doing.

"She is still a slave?" Josie asked, not understanding how his mother was a slave and he was not.

"You don't know much about slavery, do you?" Charles asked, but it sounded more like a comment than a question.

Josie shook her head no, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

"This might hurt a bit." Josie bit her lip until she started to taste twang of iron.

Charles was breathing a bit more heavily, and Josie's brow had begun to sweat. She blew out a sigh of relief as she pulled out the bullet successfully.

"God must be on your side, tonight." Josie said in a relieved voice.

"Your  wound does not warrant an amputation. I knew it," Josie said proudly, as she picked up her stitching kit.

"Thank goodness," Charles replied, a look of relief in his eyes.

"Have you done this before?" Charles asked.

"No, this is my first time. But I will do it correctly," Josie said with a confidence she didn't quite feel.

"All of my stitching and sewing should pay off quite nicely," Josie said, a bit of jest in her steady voice.

Charles managed a chuckle as he leaned his head back against an old sack of gardening dirt. He was a tough man, but he didn't feel particularly stable enough to watch Josie mend his arm back together. He hated the sight of needles, and prayed to God Josie knew what she had been doing.

"Why is your mother still a slave if she lives here?" Josie asked, her brows crinkled in concern and confusion.

Charles laughed bitterly. "That's just it, Josie. She's not here."

"She's a slave in Georgia. She's on a wealthy plantation that treats her no better than a stray dog."

Josie paused and looked up at Charles. "I'm so sor-"

"Don't Josie. You didn't do it, did you?"

"No, but-"

"Then don't apologize for something you didn't do. Just don't be like them."

Charles had a hard time reining in his anger and guilt. He had no reason nor desire to share with Josie how he and his brother had managed to make it North when they were young boys and his mother had not. The memories cut deep.

"That's the reason I'm fighting in this damn war, Josie. My mother deserves to be free and so do the rest of my people."

Josie finished stitching and wrapping Charles' wound and sat back, looking him straight in the eye. Where did he come from, how did he escape, what was it like? Who was he?

 Charles wondered why Josie wasn't afraid of him, why she had risked her own appearance to help him, and why she didn't probe further or press her white opinions on him? He studied her quietly with interest and she did the same.

"I pray to God every day that we win this war,"  Josie said.

We. If only the difference between his race and hers could be placed under that singular, harmonic, word. She was so hopelessly optimistic and innocent that he couldn't help but feel like maybe one day that word we might actually happen.

"I hope that we win the war too, Josie."

****A/N: What did you think of this chapter? If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a vote and/or a comment! Thanks for sticking with me, and reading my story. It means a lot!:)****