Part of his story
812 Words
*Wade*
I carry her outside during the day to enjoy the sun and carry her back into the tent at night to sleep. I have taken to sleeping on my pallet, my saddle placed so I'm watching the tent again. Under the circumstances, I don't think she minds. She isn't giving any shadow shows.
On the morning of the third day after her fever breaks, I awake, my gaze fixed on the tent. With the early light of dawn filtering through the leaves and dancing over the canvas, I can't see any shadows or movements within the tent, but I envision Briony clearly, lying on the cot, sleeping soundly. In the past two days, she has slept more than she has been awake.
I think we will be able to travel today. I suppose I should get up and wake her, but I like the thought of letting her sleep, letting her wake up on her own, stretching, washing her face, brushing her hair. I can't see any of the movements, but knowing they will take place almost makes me smile.
She's sweet, so incredibly sweet.
I throw off the blanket, scramble to my knees, rest my hands on my thighs, and continue to look at the tent. I will make her some coffee before I wake her. Thicken it with sugar just the way she likes it. I’ll warm up some water for her.
I turn and freeze. She’s sitting on a log, her hands pressed between her knees.
“Good morning,” she says softly.
“You’re awake,” I croak, grimacing for telling her something she obviously knows.
She smiles, and I lose the ability to draw air into my lungs.
“I wanted to see a Texas sunrise. It was beautiful.” She tells me.
I sink to my backside, fighting off the urge to tell her that she's more beautiful than any sunrise I’ve ever seen. Her braided hair is draped over one shoulder, her face pink from an early-morning scrubbing, her green eyes bright with appreciation. I think I’ll never again be able to look at the sun easing over the horizon without thinking of her, just so, enjoying the start of a new day. To me, a day is just something to be gotten through.
“I guess when you think you’re going to die, you start to appreciate things a little more. What was the first thing you wanted to see after you were wounded?” she asks.
“My ma.” I grab my hat and settle it into place. I’ve never told anyone that. I wanted my ma so badly that I felt like a baby.
“But she was too far away to come to you.”
Her eyes hold so much understanding that I can't stop myself from dredging up the memories. “Yeah, she was too far away, and she had Blaise to care for, so even if she’d known I’d been hurt, she wouldn’t have been able to come.”
“You didn’t tell her you were hurt?”
I shake my head. “Chase said knowing would just make her worry. After the war ended, we headed home. When we got there, it was so quiet. You could feel in your bones that something wasn’t right…”
My voice trails off into the dawn.
“What wasn’t right?” she asks, gently prodding me to continue.
I shift my backside over the hard ground. Physical comfort eludes me as easily as peace of mind. I’ve never discussed that day with anyone, not even Chase. Sometimes, I feel a strong need to discuss it with Blaise, to see if he remembers, but if Blaise holds no memories of that time, I don't want to give him any. “We found our ma in her bed. She’d been dead for some time. I was glad then that Chase hadn’t written her about me, that we hadn’t given her more cause to worry.”
“Do you know how your mother died?” she asks.
“Figured she’d taken the fever. Our pa wasn’t one to make friends so no one checked at the farm while we were gone. We don’t know how Blaise managed to survive. He was like a wild animal when we found him.”
“Those are the memories you think Blaise has of the war?”
“I’ve got no idea what memories he has. If he doesn’t have any, I don’t want to give him mine.”
“So you never talk about it.”
“Nope.” I stand and rub my hands along my thighs. “If you’re feeling strong enough, we’ll head out this morning.”
She smiles then, a smile that makes my heart ache, a smile that makes me wish that, in my youth, I’d traveled a different path.
- Writer
