It was the first week of June. I had just finished my morning chores; six loaves of bread were cooling in the kitchen, the garden was weeded and I felt contented folding clean fabric for hospital dressings. Those moments of solitude whether they came in morning or at dusk, recharged me after the long hours that I put in at the hospital. I’d listen to the bird sounds outside my kitchen door and breathe in the scents from my garden and the fields beyond.
My solitude was broken suddenly by a loud horse’s neigh. The sound of hurried steps up the walkway approaching the porch brought me to the screen door. I sensed something was wrong and then saw Warren approaching. Stepping inside, he was out of breath. He closed the door behind us; it was odd to see him like that, so rushed, nearly frantic.
“Annie, you must listen to what I have to tell you. I only have a moment to explain,” he went on. He took a deep breath. “I must leave. I have to go now. I’ve been ordered to bring supplies farther south, closer to Richmond and I had to come tell you right away. I shouldn’t be here but I had to let you know. I’m pulling out this morning.”
“When did you find out? What’s happening around Richmond that you have to go? Can’t you send someone else to go in your place?”
“If that were possible, I’d see to it, believe me. But it isn’t.” He paused. With his arms outstretched he looked at my face. With one hand he stroked my cheek, and then hugged me tightly. In that moment, pressed to his chest, I forced myself to create an indelible memory so I could keep him close. The firm hold of his hand, the scent at the base of his neck. But I knew he had to go so I pulled away and looked into his face, then to his eyes. Taking in his brow, circling about his cheekbones and down to his nose and chin, I felt as if I was a keen artist drawing the details of his face.
“Listen to me, Annie. I will send for you. Even if it’s just a few days we could go away together. I’ll find a place we can go, in a few weeks, I hope, I’ll send a message to you that will be followed up with a carriage. If the lines aren’t down, I’ll telegraph you through the office here in Marsh Station. I will be contacting a man named Quimby. Do you know him?”
“Quimby?” I didn’t know who he was.
“K.O. Quimby. He’s in the telegraph office, Annie. Look, I’ll send a message to him any way I can. But I will contact you. You have my word on it.” Then he paused, “I love you, Annie, and please, please be careful.” He kissed me gently and walked away as quickly as he arrived.
“Warren…,” The screen door closed shut and he was gone. Cicadas buzzing in the trees echoed in my head. Their buzzing made me woozy for a moment, but I caught myself and found a chair.
The war had a way of making every day impermanent, somehow wistful and even, at moments like that one, feel futile. I had to follow my muse, or surely inertia would creep in and I would lose myself to the war.
I heard his footsteps leave up the path, then the rhythmic pace of Ches as they rode away.