The “Civil” War

The War

James leaped behind the cover of a tree, hearing the bullet from a rifle fly passed him in a plume of smoke. He took aim, and fired, seeing the federal captain drop before the smoke puffed up around him and obscured his vision.

He dropped flat against the ground as rifle fire began narrowly missing him. A ball smashed into the tree he was hiding behind and splinters of wood spattered his chest. As he darted to another tree he felt the cloth tare in his sleeve as a ball shot passed him. He’d become separated from his company, and knew he’d die before long. Who ever was firing at him wasn’t a bad shot.

He jumped behind a pile of thick brush and at last saw his shooter. A smaller man in a Federal army uniform was searching for him, a grim, determined look on his face. (He looks younger than I do.) James thought. He saw the young man reloading and took his shot, hitting him in the shoulder. With a cry the man dropped, and the wilderness was at last silent. James waited for a few minutes, making sure no one else was around. He guessed the younger man and his captain had been stragglers in their company as well.

He stepped out, approaching his victim. He intended to take the soldier prisoner and make him help find his lost company again. This young man might also be a Federal scout and it would be incredible luck to have him along.

He knelt down in the grass, one hand loosely cradling his gun and pointed it at the man. “Turn over.”

The other soldier rolled quickly over and James saw the blue sleeve of the federal uniform fly up towards him. His hands moved quickly for his gun, but he wasn’t fast enough and he suddenly froze as he felt the blade of a small knife press against his throat. He looked down into his captor’s face. His heart took a double beat in his chest and he gasped. The soldier’s cap had come off, revealing a spill of red hair. Blue eyes glared up at him, and a dark, small mouth was set in a determined line. “You’re, you’re a woman?”

She nodded, pressing the knife harder into his throat. “You’re a smart one.”

“I shot a woman,” James breathed, hardly able to believe what he’d done.

“You did, now let me go or I’ll make you,” she said, but James could feel the knife shaking in her hand and he knew she was weakening.

“I can’t do that,” he said.

He saw her grimace in pain. “You’ll have to unless a slit throat is something enjoyable along with your okra and corn bread,” Her face was pale and she grimaced again.

Without another word, James plucked the knife from her hand and tossed it away. She was too surprised to immediately react and he had her up, and in his arms before she could even speak. “You’ll die if I don’t get you to a doctor.”

“And you’ll die if you take me there,” she said, her entire body shaking now.

“All right, we’ll compromise. No doctor, and I’ll mend you until you’re well again. A man ought never hurt a woman,” he said. She gave no response and when he looked down at her he saw she was unconscious. He hurried back into the woods, knowing she needed to be cared for, and soon.

Muriel woke, feeling the pain in her shoulder stab dully downwards into the rest of her arm. She looked around and saw the softly lit walls of a run-down cabin. A small fire burned in a stove, and an oil lamp rested on the table beside the bed she lay on. She soon realized all she wore was a shift and fear rushed through her, bringing her fully out of sleep in an instant. She heard a step and turned her head to see the young man who’d brought her here. He was tall, with dark brown hair and eyes, and looked about twenty or so. “What did you do to me?” she asked, feeling herself begin to tremble.

“Please drink this Miss,” he said, offering her a cup.

“No, what have you done to me?” she demanded.

“I mended your wound, nothing more,” he said, his tone calm, and his eyes steady on hers.

Rational thought reasserted itself as she lay there and she began to realize that if he had meant to harm her, he certainly wouldn’t have brought her here to care for her. She stared up into his eyes and saw he was still watching her, his gaze steady and sincere. She let out a long sigh and at last felt her heart begin to slow. It was then she noticed that not only was she wrapped in blankets, but the gray coat of his uniform covered her shoulders and upper body as well. All of her preconceived notions about his honor left her as she realized the meaning of the gesture. Her hand touched the coat gently, almost caressing it, her gaze meeting his. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded, his eyes softening. “Of course Miss. You are not for me to look at in such a way. I assure you, I inspected your wound and that is all,” he said, still holding out the cup for her

She took the cup he still held, feeling her throat ache and as she drank he spoke. “The ball went through clean. You had a touch of fever for a time, but I think that’s passed now. A few more days rest and you should be all right.”

She studied him. “Thank you Sir,” she said, handing him back the empty cup.

He nodded, smiling slightly. “Not at all.”

“Do the men in your company know you have a prisoner?”?”

He stared at her. “They will never know that. Both of the armies have moved on by now and I’m certain both of our commanding officers think we are either dead or missing. I can’t begin to guess what you were doing out in battle, but you are a woman and I don’t consider you a prisoner of war.

She was quiet for a few moments and then fixed him with her gaze. “You saved my life,”

He nodded. “Yes Miss. I couldn’t very well leave you out there to die. I told you I’d compromise.”

“Why would you do it? I’m your enemy,”

He nodded. “In uniform and perhaps even in belief, but you were hurt and the battle field is no place for a woman.”

She lowered her eyes, her tone both resolute and humble as she spoke. “When times are desperate, perhaps it is.””

“How did you come to be in the army Miss?” he asked, gathering her some bread and honey from a near by table.

She took the plate he offered her. She thanked him, picking up the bread and beginning to eat.

“You are welcome. I apologize for the lack of cutlery…” He stopped speaking and watched her, having never seen a woman eat with her hands as the only utensile.

She saw his look and shrugged, swallowing before speaking. “We’re out in the middle of no where, it’s no trouble to me,” she said, taking another bite and mopping the honey from the plate with the rest of the bread. He stared openly, marveling at her frankness. She finished the bread and wiped her hands on the cloth he’d provided as a napkin. “What is it?”

“I’ve never seen anyone do that before,” he said.

She gave a laugh. “Well when you live in a house with five older brothers and a little sister, you eat any way you can at dinner,” she said. “Besides,” she added, “because of this war, we’ve both seen things people have never done before.”

He nodded. “Yes Miss.”

“I’ve been called by nothing but my name all of my life, Miss, is not something I am used to,” she said.

He smiled. “May I have your name?”

She was quiet for another long moment, and then she spoke. “My name is Muriel O’Shae.”

James bowed to her. He looked up as a soft giggle came from the bed. Muriel had one hand cupped against her mouth and her eyes glittered with laughter. He gave her a questioning, slightly concerned look. “Have I offended you?”

She shook her head and lifted a hand as if she might stop the course of his thoughts. “I wasn’t offended… but I’ve never had that done to me before,” she admitted, her cheeks coloring.

He uttered a soft laugh, and was stunned to realize how beautiful she looked lying against the white blankets, her loose hair in vivid contrast and that rose touch to her face. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and spoke. “You have a lovely name Ms. O’Shae.”

“Thank you,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“I am James Hamilton Sinclair,”

She gave a slight smile. “That’s a proper sounding name,” she said, struggling to sit up.

James held up a hand. “Don’t try to exert yourself Ms. O’Shae, your fragile enough as it is.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been shot, that aside you simply aren’t strong. I want to make certain of your safety,”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m a good more capable than you realize Sir.”

He smiled. “I’m certain you feel that way Ms. O’Shae, but I’d ask you to remain still.”

Her lovely eyes darkened a touch, and when she spoke, her faint brogue thickened. “You’re thinken that pretty words and a smile will settle me. You ought to know right off it’ll make me like you even less.”

James smirked. She was either completely serious, or she was playing at something. No woman had ever been angry with him before. “Ms. O’Shae, please calm yourself. I don’t want you to…”

“If I weren’t held up here I’d show you the back of my hand for such arrogant talk,” she said, her tone sharp.

“You would strike me?” he asked, now incredulous. Just where had this woman come from?

She nodded, her eyes ablaze once more. “You can bet all your cotton that a prayer is the only thing keeping my hand right now.”

He moved towards her as he spoke. “A lady can never strike anyone. It rails against the feminine nature and…”

He’d stepped up beside the bed and suddenly ducked back as her hand flew through the air, narrowly missing him. He tripped and fell to the floor, feeling his head spin. He sat up, swiping a tumble of dark hair out of his eyes. He gazed up at her, and saw anger, as well as hurt in her face. She sighed heavily, running a hand back through her hair and spoke. “Someone up there favors you Sir, but also has allowed me to show one of my faults. I’m not proud of my temper… I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. She lowered her head, ashamed and wouldn’t look at him.

He sat, gazing at her. She had seen through all of his attempts to subdue her, had seen through all of the ways in which he had been trained. The methods of how to behave towards women had been just as important a teaching as mathematics or literature when he had been a child, and in one instant she had wiped it all away. The near miss of her hand hadn’t done it, rather it was what he saw immediately before him. She was angry that he had tried to dismiss her feelings, she was upset with herself at losing her temper but her humility at admitting her fault to him was what stuck in his mind most firmly. She expected the same level of honesty from him and instead he had brushed her aside.

His treatment of her had not been unkindly meant but simply years of social training in his home. He realized then that she wanted and expected the same dignity he would’ve shown a man. “I’m sorry Ms. O’Shae,” he said, his voice free of its earlier smugness

She held his gaze for a few moments more and then nodded. “You’re forgiven.”

He’d noticed then that her face had paled and she looked much more subdued. He rose quickly. “Are you all right?” he asked, coming to the bed once more.

“Yes but…” She faltered, her eyes moving to her wound.

He looked where she had and saw blood soaking through the bandage on her shoulder. “Allow me Ms. O’Shae, please?”

She nodded. “I will, but on one condition,”

His hands froze above the stained bandage. “Yes?”

“Please, address me as Muriel. As I said before, Ms. O’Shae is not something I hear often, and you saved my life. You didn’t have to, but you did. I wouldn’t have you call me anything else but the name my parents gave me.”

He sat still, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he opened them and spoke. “Certainly Ms.… Muriel. I will do as you ask,” he said, giving her a soft smile, which warmed his eyes.

She nodded, smiling back. “Thank you. May I call you James?”

His smile widened. “Of course you may. Now, would you permit me to attend to you?” he asked, his eyes dropping to the bleeding wound on her shoulder.

She nodded, and was silent as he worked. He watched her for a time, and at last spoke, meeting her eyes as he did so. “As a child and as a young man I was taught that women were gentle, delicate creatures, and that their every whim was to be met at the moment of its request. I was taught to show kindness to them, but I was never taught to show them the same respect as I would a man. I was taught to indulge women, and I was taught never to speak harshly or even to become angry with a woman. You baffle me Muriel. I have never had a woman speak to me in such a way, let alone raise a hand to me, but I will gladly dismiss my education in such things if your respect for me is the eventual reward,”

She was quiet for a moment or so, and then she began to speak. “I work with men, I eat beside them, I mend their clothes, and I cook their meals. My hands bleed just as much as theirs when we mend fence, or pull thick weeds in the garden. I have felt the same soil in my hands, have gone without just as they do when the crops have failed. Everything in my life I have ever done has been along side men. I work to help them, and I have been an equal in dignity in their eyes. I have had to be, if not it would signal our doom. I have always believed that men and women have their own separate gifts and talents to offer to God and to one another, and I can’t lift a bail of straw anymore than my brother can get breakfast on, but I never had a man treat me as you did. No man has ever treated me like a child accept when I was one of course. I have never known anything else, but I am sorry for my temper. I may never understand your ways completely, but you and I both know that it isn’t proper for a woman to strike a man. I’m willing to learn about you, and where you come from just as you want to learn about me,” she said.

He nodded. “Then we will learn together,”

He heard her take in a sharp breath and he looked up at her pale face. “It hurts,” she said softly, and he saw moisture rimming her eyes.

“I promise to care for you,” he said, trying to assure her in some way that she was all right

He redressed the wound and saw that the bleeding had slowed to almost nothing. He looked down at her, seeing her staring up at him. Her small hand squeezed his briefly. “Thank the one in heaven who favors you so much,” she said, her tone gentle. He nodded and smiled. “Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed.

He nodded again. “You aim well,” he admitted, laughing a little at the absurdity of the statement.

She smiled. “You’re a good shot,” she said, her eyes closing. He smiled again and then moved away from the bed, letting her get some much-needed sleep. Muriel O’Shae was quite an interesting woman, and that was the least of how he felt.