War of the Union

Chapter Four

Not long after he encountered the dead soldier, he came upon a small town. A Confederate town, but a town none the less. Before entering the clearing, he peeked his head out cautiously before coming out of the woods. Suddenly, there was a loud bang and he felt a sharp pain in his throat. It knocked him to the ground violently. He quickly put his hand to the spot that hurt and, when he took his hand away, it was covered in blood. His blood. He had been shot!

David, wounded and in pain, laid there on the ground for a moment. 'This is it.' He thought. But then, after a little effort, he rolled over onto his stomach and got to his knees. He crawled slowly through the tall grass and, when he got to the end of the grass line, he got to his feet. Holding his throat with his left hand, he looked around for a spot to rest. He finally found a farm house. He decided that this was a good place to rest. He felt so tired and felt very weak. He leaned his back against the barn and slowly slid to the ground. Holding his throat, he closed his eyes and waited for death. Just then something happened to him. He remembered the soldier and the photo he had put in his sack. He pulled it out and admired the young woman in the photo. 'Well...' He thought. 'Looks like I'm not going to be able to keep my promise.' Clutching the photo, he closed his eyes again.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there before he woke to see an older gentleman staring at him with squinty eyes. The man startled him and he jumped a little, causing his wound to reopen and bleed again. He could actually taste the blood in his mouth as it came up from his throat into his mouth. Caughing slightly, he spat out the blood onto the ground and held his throat, making a face as though he was in pain.

The old man wasn't bothered by this. Apparently, he was used to seeing blood. He stared at David with curiosity.

"Yer still alive I see. When I saw ya I thought you were dead." Stated the old man finally. David opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't get anything out. It hurt too much to make any sound at all.

"Dont try tah speak. Let's take a look shall we?" Said the old man, reaching out towards David's wound. As gently as he could, the old man moved David's collar out of the way to examine the damage.

"Oh yeah, that looks bad. There seems to be no exit wound. That means ya still have a bullet in ya. Damn son! I'm surprised yer still alive! And how'd ya get back here with a wound like that?! Dont answer that. Dont worry son, we're gonna get ya some help. Hey Ma! We gatta wounded soldier back here! Get some bandages ready!" he said, shouting at the house.

The old man helped David to his feet and helped him to the house. Losing so much blood as he had, made him feel weak. He walked as far as he could before he passed out on the doorstep.

When he woke, he found himself in a strange room. He sat up slowly, but laid back down because it hurt to move. He felt his throat and realized it had been dressed with a clean bandage. He tried to sit up again, but the pain prevented him.

"You shouldn't move around too much, Mr. You could open up your wound." Stated a female voice. He slowly turned his head and saw a beautiful young woman standing in the doorway. She had fresh bandages and gauze on a tray she was holding.

"Hello there." She greeted him with a smile. She walked over to the bed and set the tray on the bed stand. David smiled with confusion. She sat on the bed and rolled out the bandages.

"Its good to see you're awake. I was a little worried for a while." He tried to reply, but couldn't. He put his hand to his throat and made a face of being in pain. He tried again, but again, nothing came out. He then coughed a little, causing blood to come up from his throat and into his mouth. He pressed his lips together to keep it from escaping. She was still smiling. Evidently, blood didn't bother her either.

"You shouldn't try to talk. Here, spit it into this." She said, handing him a little bucket with just a little water in it so the blood wouldn't dry at the bottom.

Her smile never left her face. He took the bucket and spat out the blood into it.

"Here, lemme take a look at this a second." She said, gently unrolling the bandage and removing the gauze from the wound.

"It's looking pretty good. And the bleeding has stopped. Looks like you're ganna be alright Mr. After you get some well needed rest, that is. Boy, you're real lucky! If that bullet would have hit a few inches to the left, you'd ah been singin with the Angels!" She said, putting the clean bandages and gauze around his neck.

"There, all better." She said with a smile. David c****d his head and stared at her with a little grin on his face. He pointed at her. At first she didnt understand, but soon she caught on.

"Oh! My name?! You want to know my name!" He smiled and nodded.

"Its Samantha. But most people call me Sam. What's yours?" She asked, forgetting for a moment, that he couldn't speak.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, you can write on this." She said, handing him a pad of paper and a pencil. He took it and wrote down his name and something else.

My name is David Grear. You have a lovely name. I have a sister with that name.

He handed it to her and, as she finished reading it, a big smile came upon her face.

"Thanks so much! That's wonderful! I like your name too." Then he wrote something else.

Where am I? How long have I been here?

"You're on my papa's farm. He found you behind our barn sitting in a pool of blood. You've only been here a few days. You were in real bad shape when papa found you. All b****y and dirty. But now look at ya. Clean as a whistle."

David's confusion grew. How is it these people don't turn me in? Their southerners aren't they? So why are they helping me? Dont they know they could get in a lot of trouble? All these questions ran through his mind like a river that runs fast and churns on its path as the tide takes it to the sea. But beyond this confusion, was curiosity. He sat there staring at her thinking he'd seen her before. But where he couldn't remember.

Suddenly, a little voice came from the doorway. It was a little boy about the age of eight or nine.

"Papa wants tah see ya Sam," he said, in a meek childish voice.

"Alright, Cooper, tell e'm I'll be down in a second." With that, the boy ran out of sight.

"I'll be back to check on you later. Until then, get some rest, okay?" She said, getting up and walking out the door. She closed it behind her. He closed his eyes, trying to think of where he might have seen her before. Then it hit him.

"The photo!" He whispered to himself. He quickly stood up, and,with some effort, went to the chair on which his artillery bag was hanging from. He pulled out the photograph and stared at the young woman.

'This is her! And the young boy must be a son by someone else? The old man perhaps?' He thought.

He stared at the photo for a long while before putting it back into his bag. Then he went back to the bed and laid back down, thinking about what he should do.

Should I tell her that her husband is dead? Should I even give her the photo? He agonized over it for a long time before he came to the conclusion to not to say a word. He then finally fell asleep.