November 23

It seems that Mrs. McEdwards was nastier than I had thought. For she gave me the laundry apron and pushed me none too gently towards the mounds of soiled cloth again.

The two black laundresses greeted me cheerfully enough, wide smiles evident on their faces. I struggled to reply in a suitable manner, but I was still shaken from what had already happened. And so I broke down crying.

Crying, you know, is not something I usually do. But I did it that day. I still don’t know why I had to start crying then and there. Afterwards, while washing the clothing I so dreaded, I would wonder why crying had seemed so appropriate right then. Maybe it was because the War had already driven me to think of just quitting. Just walking out the post-Op and leaving. Maybe it was the feeling of oppression radiating from Mrs. McEdwards. (She was even worse than what I felt at home.) Perhaps it was the feeling of being hated, or at least disliked, from all sides. I still do not know.

Ebere came over and knelt beside me, and gathered me into a motherly hug. She could sense that words would only make things worse, and silence was best. I was most grateful to her that day, because she was the only one who had embraced me, literally and figuratively.

When my tears finally turned dry as a bone and all that was left were effortless sobs, she stood up, and returned to the other side of the room with Diata. Ebere, who had been the one to speak to me before, went silently back to her work. “No ‘arm done.” Diata said. “G’on.” She waved a hand toward my own still huge pile. I nodded, finally managing my first real smile for them. The clothing pile did not last long laying there before it was attacked by energy fueled with wrath.

I had resigned myself to working at the laundry room forever more when Mrs. McEdwards came sauntering in. Ebere and Diata spared her no attention, however, I was not supplied such a mercy, as McEdwards was heading straight toward me. My busy hands did not stop scrubbing the clothes, nor did my eyes look up, till she had been standing before me for just shy of a minute. My arm was roughly grabbed, and she pulled me toward the post-Op.

George sat waiting for me with an expectant look on his face. “Good afternoon angel. Was b’ginning to wonder when you’d show up.” He said, glancing at Mrs. McEdwards. “Ma’m.”

Mrs. McEdwards looked at me, an eyebrow rising. “You encourage this sort of behavior?” she questioned.

I shrugged, unwilling to get my own hide into trouble. Just as well, since George came to my defense. “Now Ma’m. This angel has taken care of me better than anyone ever has before. Nothing in’ppropriate happened. You were right smart in assigning her to me. I would like to thank you personally for doin’ what you’ve done.” He touched the top of his forehead like he was tipping his hat to her.

Mrs. McEdwards looked flattered. “Well, that tis very kind of you to say that young man. I suppose I shall leave to you rest. Girl.” She glared at me, and then stalked off, unhappy that her prey had slipped the noose.

My eyes were drawn irrevocably toward George, my brain wondering why he had said those things. My skills were not above the ordinary. I was not naïve enough to think myself especially talented at nursing. He was grinning at me in a self-pleased way. For a moment, I almost thought myself disgusted. Almost. “Thank the Lord that old busy body left me alone. She makes me ill.”

I almost smiled at that. Mrs. McEdwards did seem to have that effect on people. “I agree. She would give the devil himself a run for his money.”

George chuckled at that, shaking his head. “You got anymore of that tasty broth wit you?” he asked, looking at me hopefully.

My reply was overshadowed, literally. Haydon stood above me, looking just as displeased as he had the day before. He indicated for me to stand up, and I couldn’t resist just one juicy retort. “Have you come to spill anything else on me?” I asked, not even looking at him. I busied myself wiping George’s face with a cool towel, though he did not need it.

Haydon almost looked crushed at my words. If he felt any real pain at them, it was hidden masterfully. “I would like to speak to you. In private.”

I nodded, reassuring George that I’d be right back, then stood up and followed Haydon into the coat room. It was chilly in there, the coats and capes all hung up nicely, the window panes frosted with ice. “What do you want?” I asked, not ready to give up the hostility.

He looked down, possibly in embarrassment. “I just wanted to…to apologize to you Ms. Bonnet. My outburst was uncalled for. Please,” he gave a great sigh, “accept my apology.”

My stare was as frosty as the window panes as my eyes scrutinized his almost anxious face. “I would ask just one question. Why? I did nothing to provoke such outrageous behavior.”

The good doctor looked appropriately embarrassed at my words. “My sister became a nurse like you. At a hospital like this one. She ran off with a soldier like that George of yours. The foolish thing got herself killed. I was just tryin’ to prevent that from happening again.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He shrugged, trying to be unemotional. I could see through the mask. “I can’t really say the same. The chit was always getting everyone else into trouble. Always complaining about everything. She had the nastiest temperament I had ever seen.” Haydon paused, obviously pondering his next words. “Shall I see you to the boarding house tonight?”

I gave a tiny smile, just enough to hint at forgiveness. “I see why not, seeing as we are going to the same place.” Haydon nodded, then walked off, leaving me alone with the coats.

When I returned George was sitting with a bowl of soup in his lap, a spoon being clumsily lifted to his lips with the un-bandaged hand. “There you are angel. Wonderin’ what happened to you. Mind helpin’ me out?”

For two whole weeks, my routine was steady. George was my only full time patient, though Mrs. McEdwards did assign me too many more men. More often than not, it was only for the day. Every time a soldier’s dead body was carted carelessly out by the orderlies, she glared at me like it was personally my fault. George became more attentive in his actions, but I resisted them as well as I could. I found myself beginning to find his angelic good looks annoying. As well as his almost purposeful helplessness to do even the most simple of tasks, and of course, his nickname for me.

Angel.

It bothered me much more than I’ll ever care to admit. Angelic actions had never been my strong point, and Mrs. McEdwards’ angry glares often reminded me of all my faults, whether in the medicinal area or not. I felt unworthy and also strangely uncomfortable whenever he called me that.

Mrs. McEdwards began to resent me more and more as the men began to like me more and more. Granted, they attached onto every woman they saw, but somehow, it was my own personal fault that they liked it when I cared for them. She often threw cruel, but unobtrusive jibes my way whenever she could about my work. She commented on my state of dress. On my lack of manners. On my looks. On everything that wretch could think of!

Haydon stayed a constant in my life, walking to and from work everyday. Most of the time, we would part at the soup pot, him heading for the formal dining room, while I sat down at the kitchen table, just happy to be eating good food. He stayed distant and professional at the clinic, though our walks together were liberally littered with inconsequential chatter. We had similar families, our mothers eerily alike. Our interests were similar as well, but not so matched as to make me think of love.

I got little mail during my stay there. Mother was soothingly similar. When she heard about Hayden in my first and only letter from that town, she immediately urged me to set my cap for him. After all, a doctor was better than nothing. Father wrote me a letter as well, though it was brief and sloppy.

My dearest daughter,

My hopes are that you are well, and that military life treats you well. Surgery where I am is appallingly informal, but I suppose that can be understood. Your mother wrote me about this beau of yours. What is his name again? Haydon, isn’t it? He seems like a suitable young man. By all means, pursue him. You need a man in your life. A steady companion, one you cannot love as a brother or a cousin. All the best,

Father

I was highly amused by both letters, surprised that they should both encourage me towards a man they had never met. Foolishly, all these things lulled me into a false sense of safety. I should have been prepared. After all this was war, it should have been expected.

I was just finishing up George’s new bandage when the soldiers came. They were Confederates, and desperate. Dressed in rags and carrying guns too heavy to actually run with, they came upon us, an innocent clinic, intent on looting all that they could.

All the men that were able to, George included, jumped from their beds and grabbed any weapon they could get a hold of. George pushed me out of the way and I stumbled over a dropped bandage. My flailing arms did little to slow my descent and I still ended up falling in quite an undignified manner. Before I could even start to get up, someone started to try to push me under the bed that I was next too. When I looked up, I say Haydon’s face looking gravely down at me. I could see his arm muscles bulge with the effort it took to push me under, for my dress was not very flexible.

When under the bed, my breathing became heavy and panicked, though I tried my best to control it. The dusty floor beneath me was smooth and uncomforting. Desperately, I tried to press myself to it, so as to become unnoticeable.

My sojourn under the bed didn’t last long. The next thing I saw was a bearded, Confederate soldier’s face. He laughed and pulled my out, ripping the front of my dress. As we stood up straight, the man toppled sideways onto me. Shrieking, I shrugged him off and turned to stare at the lifeless body, and bullet hole in his chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Haydon with a smoking rifle.

The most inane thought crossed my mind at that moment. I say it was inane because a sane person would not be thinking at a time like this. They would be running. I thought, ‘Haydon is doing such a fine job of protecting me, but where is George?’ It was true. Haydon had been the one to push me under the bed and Haydon had been the one to save me from the Confederate soldier.

Confused, for I knew George would not leave his “angel” alone at a time like this, I looked around, trying my best to stay out of the line of fire. What met my gaze was terrifying. Men were strewn all around the room, in both Confederate and hospital uniforms. Patients I had tended days before and knew well enough to mourn met my eyes. Mrs. McEdwards was being dragged off by five of the enemy soldiers. Even then, I had to laugh. She was giving them hell, and surely calling on the power of her good friend Satan to be able to yell so well. All five of the men were struggling to hold her still, their legs were often kicked out from under them and sharp jabs were consistently aimed at their sides. But I saw no George.

A bullet flew past my nose and Haydon dived toward me. His body was warm as he knocked me down hard enough to send my head banging against the wall. I groaned as he started to berate me, in the middle of a battlefield no less. “What the devil did you think you were doing just standing there? You could have been killed you imbecile!” I paid no more attention to his words; sure they would all have the same meaning to them. I was too intent on watching Ebere and Diata rub lye soap in a couple of soldiers’ eyes and barricade the door, leaving them screaming in agony.

Before I could protest, Haydon was dragging me across the battlefield and I could feel the bullets passing through my large skirts. He pulled me outside, but was immediately bogged down by a patch of mud he has fallen into. I looked around for what he had tripped over and froze.

It was George.

The shots echoed in my ears as I starred at his slowly expiring face, beautiful in its peace despite the mud in his hair and the havoc around him. He grinned at me. “Nice under things Angel.”

I have to say, I simply could not believe how he could be so preoccupied by my underclothes at a time like this. Later, when I thought about it, I realized that he knew that he would not survive, and that it had been his last chance to peek at his “angel”. I cradled his face in my hands, ignoring Haydon, who was slipping and sliding around in the mud while trying to stand up. “Good-bye angel.” George murmured, closing his eyes without another word.

I had no time to weep for my dead item of affection, for I was grabbed by the arms roughly. Foolishly, I assumed it was Haydon and did not struggle. When we were many feet away, I looked back, and the blood drained out of my face and leaked out my boots when I saw Haydon finally get out of the mud and then starting to run after us.

For once, I agreed with Mrs. McEdwards. (Sort of.) She had raised hell, and it had seemed to be working, and if that was the way things worked, I would raise hell too. The soldier who had apprehended me was clearly not expecting my first jab to his most sensitive area, for he doubled up and let me go. I tried to flee, turning back around toward Haydon who was almost upon us, but he recovered too quickly. My own scream bounded through the trees we were about to enter, rattling the ears of all who heard it. The man grabbed my hair and pulled roughly, sending my tumbling back against him so that my cheek collided with his elbow. I was defenseless.

Luckily, I was not without protection for long. Haydon was upon us by that time and tackled my captor with as much strength as he could. I was knocked flat in the process. I did as best as I could to help Haydon, aiming my kicks carefully and only when I was sure that I’d hit the Confederate. Before I could get in more than four kicks, the other man was lying on the ground, unmoving and Haydon was once again pulling me along.

We dodged Confederate soldiers for hours, as they became rather predictable after awhile. Only when I was so in need of air that I collapsed did we stop. The fighting could not be heard at all from where Haydon and I were laying, and we took that as a sign that we could just keep on reclining on the thin grass.

After what were most likely hours, Haydon pulled me to my feet to face him, and took both my hands in his own. He brushed absently at the purple bruise on my cheek. “We should travel south; to where you said your father is stationed. It will only take us a few days if we walk carefully. When we pass by the clinic once more, I want you to gather whatever you can without getting caught, so that we will not be so vulnerable. Come on.” He did not wait for me to answer.

It took much longer to walk back to where we had run from. We had gone much farther than I thought we had. The hospital was a mess, a few pieces of charred wood on one side, two unharmed wall, and rusty metal bed frames. Littered around the floor were small piles of charred bones and flesh. I threw up a few yards away without shame.

Ironically, the washroom was still there, left intact for some unknown reason. I ran toward it, thinking of Ebere and Diata, and Haydon jogged after me, grasping at my skirts. I got to the door before he could bring me back.

The metal door handle was still hot when I grasped it and I pulled back, the palm of my hand a bright red. Haydon cursed violently when he saw my hand and scurried off somewhere to see if there were any ointments left. This time, I gathered up my skirt before catching the knob and pushing the door open. Inside, it was dank and musty, with the tang of fire still within the air. I spotted their large bodies almost instantly, and feared the worse. Tentatively, I stepped toward them, determined that they would have a proper burial. My boot landed on a piece of glass, cracking it even more. Diata lifted a hand full of lye soap out in warning. “Stay ‘way you bastard.” She growled. Ebere did the same. I couldn’t have been more relieved.

“I hardly think that I can do any harm to you.” I said, grinning like a fool as the words slipped out.

One bright eye peeked out from underneath the arms and then both of them were pulling me into a tighter embrace than my corset had ever managed. “We tought you ‘ere done for l’ttle one.” Diata cried. I pulled them out of the washroom just in time to see Haydon striding over to us, bottle in one hand and some bandages in the other.

Ebere rushed him and pulled Haydon too, into an embrace, though he was very embarrassed by it. “Anoter one!”

Haydon caught my eye and broke the ever-so-long hug. He headed straight toward me, that wretch, and pulled me down on one of the bed frames so that he could begin taking care of my hand. “One of the store rooms survived almost completely, which is rather surprising considering the rest of the town is in shambles. Unfortunately, it does not have any food in it.” He gently spread on the ointment. “Would you ladies like to travel with us? Or would you like to stay here?” he asked, turning toward Ebere and Diata.

The two women looked at each other and the disassembled town around them, and then back at us. “We’ll go wit you.”

Haydon nodded in satisfaction at my hand and began giving us all numerous instructions. By nightfall, we each had packs of medicinal supplies and what little food we could find. Diata thoughtfully found me an intact dress at the back of the supply room, since my own dress was dotted with mud and grass stains and the front was ripped. Instead of putting it on, I stashed the precious material in my pack, despite Haydon’s frown. I would save the dress till it was needed for modesty’s sake.

Traveling on foot, I discovered, was an exhausting business. And I didn’t like it one bit. Ebere and Diata didn’t seem to mind it at all, and neither did Haydon, which rankled me. We walked half the day (It didn’t seem to matter which half.), then slept for a couple of hours under whatever cover we could find, and then walked half the night. The cycle continued for too long in my opinion. But after the only time we were held up, I was infinitely glad to get back to it.

It must have been our fourth day of traveling when we were almost captured by Confederates. I suppose that it wasn’t even all that dangerous. There were only about ten of them, a number I’m sure we could have defeated. (Ebere and Diata still had their lye soap.) Haydon was the one who spotted them and I was the one who almost got us caught.

For once, we were walking on the road instead of at the edge of the forest that lined both sides. It was most likely because I had consistently complained to Haydon about being cold. He must have thought that the sun would do me good. I hadn’t paid much attention to what we were doing that day. With nothing to occupy me, I had taken to picking at the fripperies on my dress. Diata walked to one side of me and answered my various questions. Ebere walked on her side, strangely quiet. She must have been tired.

As I said, I wasn’t paying attention to the color of the grass or anything. So when Haydon grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged over to the side, I screamed. And it wasn’t just one of those whimpers that people make when they’re startled. I screamed as loud as I could.

Needless to say, my only male traveling companion clapped a hand over my mouth so hard that my toes curled. Ebere and Diata helped him drag my heavy skirts and my stunned body behind the trees, where we couldn’t be seen. It was only a few minutes before a small band of Confederates came down the road, running because of my scream. They looked just like the ones that had ransacked and burned the hospital – desperate.

I’ll give those soldiers points for determination, for they searched for us high and low. We were just lucky I had already discarded my many petticoats earlier that day in favor of just chemise, corset, drawers, stockings, and shoes. We all crouched down under various bushed around tiny clearing. Just my luck, “my” bush was the closest to the road. For a few terrifying moments, I could see the soldier’s boots, and he discovered my skirts.

The man grunted and I held as still as an ice cube. He nudged my head and then gave me a sizable kick in the stomach. For once, I was glad for my whalebone corset, though the broken ribbings in it poked me harshly. I nearly melted in my boots when I thought he heard my harsh intake of breath at his kick. No other physical abuse occurred, though the man did grab my sack. With an evil (to my ears) laugh, he left me lying there.

Haydon didn’t come for me for what seemed like forever. The waiting was torment. In contrast, when he finally did come check and see if I was severely hurt, I felt that he should have waited longer to make sure the soldiers could not hear us. He helped me sit up and began checking to see if I had any broken bones. Curiously, he seemed very angry at those men for even touching me. I heard him muttering curses under his breath. “Are you hurt?” Haydon asked me harshly.

“I don’t think so.” I answered as honestly as I could. “Though the broken ribbings in my corset are poking my dreadfully.”

Without another word, he flipped me on my back. His fingers were surprisingly deft as he unlaced my gown, and then undid my corset and ripped it away from my body. When all that was said and done, he re-laced my dress as tightly as possible so that it served as a makeshift corset. Ebere helped me sit, then stand up as I gaped as elegantly as I could at Haydon. He seemed not to notice my stare and urged us to keep going.

After a few minutes, I had the presence of mind to look down at my dress. I was terrified. The poor thing was the dress I had made of muslin before leaving, but I almost didn’t recognize it. The bodice was shredded irrevocably. The skirt’s hem was tattered and the rest of the skirt wasn’t much better off. To my horror, I discovered that it was almost completely covered by mud. The whole thing hung off my limply now, whereas before, at least my bodice had fit properly. I could feel more dried mud in my matted hair and I knew that I must have looked like a monster.

Sadly, my state of dress, and everyone else’s, went downhill from there. But that was the only time our “routine” was interrupted. Every other day was walking. The days were so full of walking that I was sure that I would go mad had there not been other people with me. To this day I think the same thing.

Our sad little party ended up traveling far longer than Haydon had anticipated. By the time we sighted my father’s camp, which I could recognize by the flag flowing over head, we were near to eating each other. Which made us even sadder. The first night, I was just glad that we were lucky enough to get past the guard looking as we were.

He spotted us first, which wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, was the rifle that was aimed at our faces when we arrived. “What ‘re you gypsies doin’ round here?” he asked in a voice that I suspected he purposely deepened.

Since I was the only with real family in the camp, I was the one who spoke. “I am Captain Bonnet’s daughter sir.” I answered as respectfully as I could.

He eyed my warily. “Captain Bonnet wouldn’t let his daughter dress like a beggar.” He spat at us.

I tried to keep my cool. “Please sir! The hospital my friends and I were working in was attacked. We escaped, but barely. Please, get my father. He’ll tell you who I am.”

We were lucky that the soldier, a Lt. Westhouse, called one of his buddies to do that very thing. Within five minutes, my father was embracing me and scolding Lt. Westhouse for not getting him any sooner. “Annamaria!” my father cried. “My little Annie! What in the world happened to you?” he held me at arm’s length. “What happened to your clothes?” I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off. “Never mind that, never mind that. Come, come. We must get you cleaned up.” He pulled me along into the heart of the camp where I was conscious of all the soldier’s stares. Diata, Ebere, and Haydon followed, but were put into different tents, as they were being escorted by a different soldier.

That night I had my first real bath in I don’t know how long. The dress I had been wearing was burned in the camp fire and I was given sweet smelling soap and a night dress from one of the officer’s wives. My bed was a cot; not quite the bed at the boarding house, but much better than the forest floor. Honestly, I don’t remember what happened after my head hit the pillow.

My father’s hands woke me gently the next morning. He told me later that my only response had been to bury my face into my hard pillow and kick at him in a very un-lady like way. When I finally did concede myself to waking up, a fresh dress and underclothes were waiting for me. They weren’t nearly as fancy or as well made as I was used too, but I was instantly grateful to whichever army wife had given them up.

Dressed and ready to face the day, I stepped out of my tent to see Haydon shaking my father’s hand. They talked for a few minutes under my watchful gaze, and parted. In disbelief, I watched Haydon walk away and prepare to board a half-full wagon. I could not believe that he was leaving already. I reassured myself by thinking that he was just going out to check some battlefield. Patiently, I waited almost a full two hours for him. And I was right. Haydon did come back that day.

He came back with so many casualties, that it made my heart grow faint. They were from Antietam, only one or two miles from our camp. Hundreds and hundreds of them poured in. It seemed like Hades had opened his flood gates and let all the souls out of his realm, except that these souls still had flesh, and they were, for the most part, still alive.

Later, I would find that over twelve thousand of our men were either dead or missing or wounded. But then, when I was in the moment, I didn’t even think that many men could be hurt so much in one moment. It was so over whelming, that I almost burst into tears. They surrounded me; a sea of bodies that were covered in blood more often than not. More and more kept coming in and they seemed to engulf the landscape for miles around. I felt wounded, right alongside these men, I felt like there were bullets in my stomach and that my shoulder was dislocated. My head felt like it was split open and my legs felt like they had been torn off. There was so much desolation, it was sickening.

I threw up that day. I don’t normally do that, but I did it that day. I threw up behind a tree, wiped my mouth on my dress, and went to help my father.

And it was a good thing I did, because, as you imagine, the surgeons were overwhelmed. My father was already up to his neck in blood and intestines, trying to work on three patients at once. Haydon was doing the same thing, though not quite as quickly as my father, since he didn’t have as much experience. After a whole night of holding back stomach and grasping slippery organs, I sent to bring water to the men.

I washed my hands first of course, before gathering the bucket and pale. I stood before the hundreds of lines of men and thought idly that they looked like odd colored grass in the sun. Hurrying to my task, I started with the first row of soldiers. They gratefully accepted my water, and often begged for more. I did the best I could, but could not stop myself from staring at the wounds. Flies and sometimes maggots swarmed around wounds left out in the open. When I found a dead man, I took him out of his jacket and draped it carefully over his face.

Many, many, many times, I traveled back and forth, stepping over people as if they were no more than stones in my way. Many, many, many times, the more vigorous feeling soldiers grabbed at my skirts. For the rest of the day I worked at this, and watched gratefully as each soldier was taken to surgery. And with all this, I still managed to get to each man only about three or four times.

The next day, the soldiers who were more able to travel were carted to other medical camps, but we were still overwhelmed. Haydon traveled with them, and he never came back to our medical camp.

I stayed with my father as a nurse for about a year and a half. The only reason I left was on account of the fact that I’d done my “time”. Traveling home to Shepherdstown was a painful thing. It meant that I’d have to leave my father behind, who was re-commissioned since he was a surgeon. This time, as I traveled the roads that had lead me away from home, poor and abandoned dead littered the fences.

My arrival was much more pleasant. Mother was ecstatic to see me. Her arms held me so tight for so long that I feared that I’d pop. Tati welcomed me courteously, though I could see surprise in her great black eyes. The house I remembered was just a little shabby, the children just a little older, the men folk just a little fewer.

They ushered me inside with great urgency. And I discovered that while the inside was the same, the people were different. Tati had found and married and very respectable young man named Sam. With Tati’s wages, they had bought a small plot of land at the edge of our property, and Sam had built them a grand cottage. My youngest sibling, Amanda, was already speaking at age three, and my oldest brother, Jacob, who was ten, had already found himself a girl.

Even my mother was different. She was thinner, and her eyes were dimmer, but her smile was just as bright. Nowadays, she helped in the kitchen and didn’t quibble over whether our food was fancy or not. She didn’t seem quite as proud either, that or she had progressed to such a state of pride in her home and family that I was too blind and mortal to see it.

Father came home a few years later, when the war was finally over, and his arrival was just as joyous. His eyes held rekindled desire as they looked at my mother and his smile was the widest I’d ever seen it when he embraced my siblings. For me, he saved one quick, tight hug, a gentle smile, a pat on the back. And I knew that while they weren’t as obvious as what he had given everyone else, they meant just as much, maybe even more. But while his return was happiness itself, his news was anything but.

A few days before he had left, Father told us that they had an estimation of just how many had died on our side alone. Over 300,000, he told us, head hung low. And that was just our side. I shudder to think what the total number of dead for the entire war was. How many mothers did that leave sobbing into their shawls? How many younger siblings did that leave taking over their dead brother’s chores? It would seem impossible that humans could hate each other so much that so many had died. But it had happened. To us. To our nation. And you could be sure that the whole world had watched while we had killed our brothers.

My family did not have my debutante ball for a few years. By then, my three year old sister Amanda was six, and Jacob was thirteen. My mother had been planning the event for months, and I have to admit, I was excited too. While these things didn’t really reduce me to a mound of giggles, it was nice to have so many people fuss over me for once in my life.

The night finally arrived, ironically, on September 17th. A day of tragedy was, for a select few, transformed into a day of bliss. It was so mystical that I had to stop in the mirror to stare at myself before going down the ribbon festooned stairs. I had a new dress for that party. And to my satisfaction, it was made of magnificent dark blue silk. Father had imported it all the way from Britain. Who I’m sure, had imported it from China. The skirt was bell shaped, but not so wide that it was hard for me to go through doorways. The sleeves were caped and a wide sating ribbon tied in a bow around my waist. Fake flowers the same color as my dress and ribbon littered the elaborate up-do that Tati had managed to create.

I almost didn’t recognize myself. After all, I usually don’t wear anything so fancy. All my clothes are very well-made, but they aren’t covered in bows or ribbons. As I stared into the mirror, I could almost see the bloodstains on my hands, in my hair, on my dress. Whenever I looked hard enough, I could see them. But then I would always remember that it had happened long ago, and that I should stop worrying so. I looked at my hands, which were covered in cream gloves, then at my flower adorned hair, and finally, at my new, pretty dress. I would be just fine.

Descending the stairs into the ballroom made me more nervous than I had though possible. Everyone stopped to look at me, and stare. But when I got to the floor, to my relief, they all turned back to their conversations. I mingled with so many people that night that I could hardly keep them straight.

When the clock was nearing midnight, I ended up standing alone by the punch bowl. I was studiously studying the floor, for no one else seemed to want to talk to me a great deal anymore. Shoes appeared in front of my bowed head, and I identified my father. (He always wore silly little gold tassels on his boots.) But the other pair I could not recognize, for they were just like any other gentleman’s boots. I lifted my head to greet them, and froze.

It was Haydon.

‘Haydon is standing with my father. Haydon is standing with my father. Haydon is standing with my father. Haydon is standing with my- What is Haydon doing in Maryland?’

I inclined my head with grace as Father introduced us. “I believe that you have already met Mr. Allain before. Why don’t you too just talk for a while?” My father left us alone with uncharacteristic confidence that Haydon wasn’t going steal me away in the middle of the party.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked me in a voice I’d never heard before. I nodded.

As an end note, I’m sure that anyone who reads this memoir of sorts will be happy to know that Haydon and I were married five months later. And if you are one of our descendants, well, I hope you find yourself a soldier who will give his heart to you…

THE END