A Vow Unsaid Ch. 02

As summer approached, we traveled to Manassas Junction.

I awoke the morning of July 21st to the scream of mortars. Patrick shot up beside me and reached for his boots with one hand, whipping out a pistol with the other. As he pulled on his coat, he leaned over in kissed me.

"I love you darling. Stay put, you are safe here." And like that, he was gone, the tent flapping in his wake.

I peered outside and watched dozens of men rush toward the bridge over Mitchell's Ford. They retained none of the shapes Patrick had so carefully studied in his campaign maps. I began to pray for the first time in years. I whispered a Hail Mary for Patrick, gripping my rosary.

Shots rang out until about 3:00 PM, when they began to fade into the distance. I had been relocated by Colonel Jacobs around noon and was now huddled in the Commissary Tent with Mrs. Jacobs and the other officer's wives. We were given the task of packing rations, but around 1:00 PM, we received orders to stop.

"They have driven the Yankees north of the creek" said Mrs. Jacobs. "Sergeant Todd has told me."

I didn't care where the Yankees were. I just wanted to know Patrick was safe.

By 3:00 PM, the wounded were being carried over the ford on stretchers.

"You ever dressed a wound before?" asked Mrs. Jacobs.

"No ma'am."

"'Bout time you learned. Follow me."

We arrived at the dressing station. "Dose them with some whiskey, they'll keep a little quieter that way. Clean the wound with this." She held up a brown bottle of iodide. "Stop the bleeding enough to stitch it up and then bandage it." Mrs. Jacobs walked over to the first row of stretchers, filled with dirty, bloody, stinking sedated soldiers. The stench of gore hung like a low fog. I followed her, hoping I would see Patrick but terrified I would find him in this corner of hell, on a dirty stretcher, desperately clinging to life.

It was around 8:00 PM that I finally found Patrick. I had just finished dressing a head wound on another nameless soldier who couldn't have been over 16, his face covered in the beginnings of peach fuzz.

"Kaitlyn!"

I turned as he embraced me, covered in dirt, trousers torn and jacket missing. Under the stink of blood and sweat, I could still catch a whiff of peppermint and leather.

He kissed me fully on the lips.

"Oh Kaitlyn, I thought I may never see your face again."

I nodded, hugging him tighter.

He sighed and tilted my chin up, making eye contact.

"Kaitlyn, Brennan is dead."

Patrick was granted furlough and so we traveled home to bury Brennan's body in a small cemetery outside Savannah.

Strange, I never imagined I would grieve Brennan's death. I hated him. But now that he was gone, I felt sadness for him, for the rough, fragmented life he had lead. But overwhelming was the sense of relief I carried for him, that he may finally be at rest.

And now, there was Nora.

Nora, who I hadn't seen in half a year. Nora, who was the breath of my dreams.

Who was now a widow.

What did it all mean?

We didn't reach Savannah until the first of September. Patrick had notified everyone of our expected arrival by post. So, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy awaited us on their front porch.

But where was Nora?

Both of the Kennedys hugged me warmly. There was a heavy silence and I fought the impulse to inquire after Nora's absence.

Patrick asked after her.

"She's sleeping. Her heath has ailed since you two departed. She is quite...unresponsive. When I told her about Brennan, she said nothing, shed no tears as a widow ought to. Doctor Thomas has seen her twice, says she's in need of fresh air but she won't get out of bed. I figure she is just worried sick about Patrick and Brennan." Mrs. Kennedy was clearly concerned.

I never imagined it would be so difficult to maintain a neutral expression. I sighed.

"I thought you might surprise her Patrick."

Patrick appeared nervous at this idea. "I don't know if it would be right for me to see her in such a state."

"Well Kaitlyn, I suppose you are the next best thing." Mrs. Kennedy said with an indulgent smile. "Go on up to her room, I'll have supper ready in an hour or so."

My hands shook as I ascended the staircase. I don't think I had ever been so nervous in my entire life. I recalled the last time I was on this staircase.

Watch over her tonight, will you? The things she might do in a state like this...

I was afraid I might frighten her to death, that she might think me an apparition, appearing so suddenly.

I knocked on her door.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Nothing.

I pushed the door open slightly and peered into her room.

The shades were drawn. Other than that, her room seemed fairly ordinary. Neat as usual, violin at the foot of her bed. And then I saw her. She was lying on her side with her back to the door.

"Nora." I had to touch her, to assure myself she was real. My hand fluttered above her before resting on her shoulder over her thin nightgown. She was warm, alive.

She turned to me, eyes half closed for a moment. Then, her eyes widened and she sat up.

"Kaitlyn? Wha...what are you doing here?"

"Patrick was granted furlough. We are here to bury Brennan."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised at the mention of her dead husband.

"Nora, I've missed you so! So many times I began to write to you, but...it is so lovely to see you now."

She stared at me for a moment, silent and I drank her in. Her hair was longer, she was still too thin, though not as thin as the days before her wedding. Her eyes seemed different somehow. I was suddenly afraid that I had been mistaken in assuming she would want the same things.

But as she pulled me to her and kissed my lips, my fears faded. I responded quickly, yielding to her as she pulled me into her lap. I straddled her and linked my arms around her neck, never breaking our kiss. She pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Oh Kaitlyn, I thought I should never see you again" she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

"I thought the same, though I knew I could never escape you in my dreams."

She kissed me again and I thought I might combust as her heat seeped through me. Yearning carved her initials into my heart.

I broke the kiss and nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent. She sighed contentedly and wrapped her arms around me. I looked up at her.

"Please..." I didn't know how to ask for her permission, but I wanted it.

She nodded and I slid my hand under her nightgown, caressing the inside of her thigh. She gasped and I kissed her just below the ear. Then I released her and stood up.

"Perhaps I should lock the door."

"Please do."

The lock clicked, shutting us away from the world, reducing our universe to this moment. As I turned to face her, she grabbed my wrists and pulled me to the bed, yanking me on to her.

"Please Kaitlyn, make me yours."

I kissed her again, memorizing her lips, her scent, the taste of her. Her eyelashes fluttering as I kissed her neck and slid off her nightgown. Her rosy nipples and heaving breast, ebbing with want, rising and falling. For me.

I kissed her navel and dipped my head between her legs for the first time. And this was no dream. She clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling her moans, when I finally tasted her. Her hips undulated according to an silent rhythm and she buried her hands in my hair, fiercely whispering my name. Her legs shook as she gave in to the need and lost control, arching her back, covering her mouth with both hands as she tried to silence her screams.

When she sat up and pulled me in for a sweet, soft kiss, told me how she loved me, I melted in her arms. I felt happy, warm and safe as she caressed my bare back. I just hoped, someday, we would be able to make love without concerning ourselves with who might hear us.