Chapter Two
Galveston – July 3, 1863
Amelia cradled the tiny head to her breast. Her son had come into the world at 9:27 this morning. By now the afternoon sunlight filtered into the room through the gap in the heavy drapes. She watched in wonder as the baby rooted at her breast while she stroked the peach fuzz on his scalp.
I never knew I could love someone so much.
“Now there’s a beautiful picture.” Clayton came striding into the room. “You’ve been very busy today.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry I was called away.”
“It doesn’t matter, you are here now.” Amelia smiled up at him. “Your son is occupied at the moment.”
Clayton sat on the side of the bed. “He’s as good-looking as his mother.”
Amelia ducked her head. “I think he looks like you.” When the baby finished suckling, she held him out to his father. Long since past her embarrassment in front of Clayton, she took her time tying the bodice of her nightgown closed, too exhausted to hurry.
With great care, Clayton took the child into his arms. “Welcome to the world, Douglas Aaron Wilcox.”
Tears rolled down Amelia’s cheeks, as she watched her husband hold their son. “You’ll be a wonderful father.”
He truly is a good man. I am a fortunate woman. For the first time in her marriage she felt fulfilled. Yet in a small corner of her traitorous mind she still saw Joshua’s face.
Gettysburg – July 3, 1863
Joshua sat, cradling his broken right wrist. The gunfire had stopped, except for the occasional round as the stragglers were captured or killed. In the absence of gunshots, he could hear the incessant droning of flies. They were everywhere, buzzing in the oppressive heat of the day. The dead, dressed in uniforms of blue, of grey, of indeterminate colors of dyed homespun, lay where they fell, providing a feast for the insects. So many good young men died today.
“Captain, I’m sorry, but the doctors are all busy in the surgery. It will be awhile before someone can set your wrist.” The woman stood over him, wiped the sweat off her brow and pushed back an errant tendril of gray hair. “I have nothing to ease your pain. There isn’t enough medicine available as it is. It’s being reserved for the surgery. Can I do anything else for you?”
“Can you tell me how Private Olsen is? He’s the young man I brought in with me.”
“He’s in line for surgery. I’m afraid he’s going to lose that leg.”
Joshua nodded in acknowledgement. “Could you help me with one more thing?”
“Of course, Captain, what can I do for you?”
“Could you reach into my pocket? There’s a miniature I’d like to hold.”
She wiped her hands hastily on her blood spattered apron before pulling the miniature out of his pocket. “She’s a lovely girl,” the woman put the portrait into his left hand. “Is she your wife?”
“I hope to marry her one day.” He looked up at the woman’s careworn face. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
She smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Captain.”
“Mrs. Blakely, the doctor needs you!” The voice came from the doorway of the field hospital.
“I’m coming,” she hurried away, leaving Joshua alone.
He sat there and ignored the throbbing of his wrist, lost in the memories of meeting Amelia. They had corresponded back and forth for six months. She had written of her exploits with her best friend. She had written of her excitement at completing her education. With her last letter she had sent him the miniature portrait he held.
He looked at the portrait, thinking of the way she fit in his arms as they danced. He remembered her perfect figure and deep green eyes. Maybe she was not the most beautiful woman in the world, but she seemed so to him. He could not remember anyone else who could even compare.
Why had she stopped writing? There was no explanation, no clue. With the advent of the war, there was no time for him to make inquiries. It was not likely that a Union officer’s query would be answered by a schoolmistress in New Orleans.
Joshua hoped the time would come when he could go to New Orleans and search for Amelia. He looked around at the carnage as far as he could see.
His insides hollow, he was drained of everything in the shock of battle from the contents of his stomach to the feelings in his heart. Surely the war could not last much longer. He sat and looked at the miniature until the darkness fell and he could no longer see it. Still, he held the portrait. It was his talisman, his good luck charm that traveled with him wherever he went.
After midnight he was finally taken into the field hospital. The doctor, a lean man, stooped from exhaustion, efficiently wrapped his wrist and put his arm in a makeshift sling.
“Leave the wrapping on for about four weeks, Captain. It should be fine as long as you don’t try to flex it too soon. It was a clean break. You’re more fortunate than most.”
Joshua wandered out of the field hospital and toward a campfire in the distance. His path was blocked by dead men and dead horses, bloated from death in the oppressive heat. He made his way with care. In the darkness, the fetid odors of the battlefield were stronger, at times gagging him. As he picked his way through the hellish remains, he gripped the miniature in his good hand, holding on to the sweet memories and hopes it possessed. It was the only thing that kept him from screaming in agony.
Amelia sat in the rocking chair by the window. The drapes were pulled all the way back allowing moonlight to illuminate her bedroom. Clayton was off on one of his late night excursions. She never asked him what he did on his forays. She did not want to know.
The breeze off the ocean made the sheers flutter gently as she held Douglas. He had fallen asleep after finishing his late night meal. She loved the smell of him, clean baby scent, innocence personified.
She glanced out the window to the moonlit night. Amelia let her head fall back and rested, content in cradling her son. The war, so terrible elsewhere, had not affected them much. There was a blockade of the harbor by the Union, preventing Wilcox Shipping from normal operation. Fortunately, Galveston Island was surrounded by waters teeming with fish. They would not starve no matter how effective the Yankees were with their blockade. Clayton always managed to find food when they needed it.
All in all, the war had not caused her family much harm. She did not care how long it lasted, so long as they were safe.
And Joshua, of course, please let him be safe. I can’t stop thinking about Joshua, even with Clayton’s son in my arms.
She felt a tear slide down her cheek. Joshua, I wonder where you are.