Falling for the Enemy

The Visitor

                                                                                Henry

My eyelids are heavy and I have to force them to open, for just one moment I forget where I am at.  I am in a comfortable bed covered by a warm hand-knitted quilt.  There is a fire burning in the fireplace across the room which casts a dim glow on the entire room.  Other than the bed and a table next to the bed the room is completely empty.  This must be the effects of having your home used as a hospital during a war, I silently think to myself.  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch some movement by the door. Startled I wince instantly feeling the pain rush through my wounded thigh.  

“It’s just me Sir.  Miss Catherine sent me up here to dress your wounds” says the black slave girl that helped carry me into this bedroom.  

Slowly the girl pulls the blanket from my upper leg and begins wrapping my wounded thigh in the bright white linen that she has cut into sheaths for bandages.  Each movement of the bandages or the girl’s hands causes intense sharp pains to emanate through my entire leg and up my back.  

“Sorry, sir.  I don’t mean to hurt you” the girl whispers in a low voice never making eye contact with me.  

“No, thank you.  I owe you my life and much more.” 

“Oh no sir, you mustn't thank me. It was Miss Catherine who got that bullet out from you and sewed you up real nice” the girl says while still wrapping my wounded thigh.  

With the girl’s words, I am quickly reminded of the immense pain that I felt while the braided hair girl removed the bullet from my thigh, debrided my wound,  and sewed me up.  Yes, it was the braided hair girl that saved my life, this Catherine; I owe her a debt of gratitude.  The girl finishes wrapping my thigh and then places the covers back over my thigh.  

“You should get some rest now sir,” she says turning to leave.  

“It’s Henry, Henry Washburne,” I say as she opens the bedroom door.  

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Washburne, my name is Susanah.” 

And the girl quietly leaves the room closing the door behind her.  I now have two names to put with the two most prominent faces from this household.  Catherine and Susanah are the two women I saw so much of during the days I was hidden in the barn loft.  From what I can tell Catherine and Susanah seem to be the backbone of this strange mixed family of black and white.  At some point during the night I must doze off, and I am awoken by a creak on the floor.  Instinctively I reach to my hip for my pistol but I soon remember that I am being housed in a Rebel plantation home and I am without a weapon. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.  I felt terrible about the way I acted earlier and I thought you could use some soup.  It’s not much just a mix of water and venison boiled for a few hours but it is quite filling.”

  I squint to see the figure in the room more clearly, but my fire has died down to embers and the room has become darkened and I cannot make out the girl's face.  I am sure that she is one of the white girls that live in the home but I am unsure to which one I have the pleasure of having in my company at this moment.  Suddenly the bedroom door flies open slamming against the white wall.  

“Mary, I thought I told you to stay away from this United filth.  He cannot be trusted and you are to never be alone in this room with him.  Do you understand?” 

The taller girl walks over to the shorter girl taking the bowl from the girl’s hands.  

“I’m sorry but I wanted to apologize about the way I acted towards him when he first came into our home. He may be a United soldier but he is still an unarmed human and he deserves to be treated like one, and I am embarrassed by the lack of compassion I’ve shown him.” 

The girl named Mary looks down at the floor. 

“Mary, I am not yet sure if he is deserving of your compassion.  As of right now, he is just a United pig, and we are merely housing him until he is healthy enough to go on his own way. Please promise me you’ll stay out of this room. I need to know that you are safe even though he is with us.”  

Mary nods and walks silently out of the room.  Catherine walks towards my bed and places the soup down on the table next to me.  She then moves towards the fire and throws three more logs on the fire and stokes the flames until they are once again tall and bright orange.  

“You should eat the soup.  It will help with your strength.  I’m not sure how long you were in our loft but you must be hungry.” Catherine says without glancing my way.  

“I will not harm your sister if that’s what you’re afraid of,” I say in a matter-of-fact way.  Catherine spins around to look at me. Her eyes staring into mine like daggers.  

“What makes you think I will trust a United soldier and his forked tongue?  You are all the same.” Disgusted she turns to leave the room.  

“Thank you, Catherine” is all I am able to mumble from my lips.  Pausing Catherine spins around once more

 “How do you know my name?” “Susanah told me your name.  She said you are the one to thank for me still being alive.”  

“You are only alive because I am hoping that if some northern girl were to come upon my fiancé she would bestow upon him the same courtesy I have shown you.  Now eat your soup.” With those words, she leaves the room.  I am too tired to feed myself the soup and instead fall back to sleep.  The next time I awake the morning sun is shining through the window panes of the three picture windows that are in my sleeping quarters.  I feel very weak and I do not have enough strength to even sit up or to keep my eyes open.  Not long after waking, I feel the urge to go back to sleep.  As I am ready to give into my heavy eyelids once more, I am startled back awake by a thundering voice 

“Oh no, you are not going back to sleep without eating or drinking.  I did not carry your disgusting body up my stairs and place you in my bed to have you die from lack of nourishment.”  

I feel the rim of a ladle at my lips.  

“Drink.” The voice commands and I obey.  

The water feels indescribably refreshing on my throat.  The water is cool and instantly I feel more awake as the water travels down my throat.  I open my eyes to see Catherine again standing in front of me.  In one hand she is holding a ladle filled with water and in the other hand is a spoonful of the soup I did not eat last night.  

“I am able to feed myself” 

“Obviously not since your bowl still lays here full and untouched. Now I will feed it to you and make sure you do indeed eat the soup.”  

Without protest, I swallow another gulp of water and then part my lips again for a bite of soup to enter my mouth.  The soup is cold but the taste is still advantageous enough to eat.  Especially to someone who hasn’t eaten in four days.  Without words I eat bite after bite of soup that is placed at the edge of my lips by Catherine, each movement of my mouth feels like my body has been marching for miles up the side of a steep mountainside.  I never knew eating could be so exhausting.  The pain in my leg is almost unbearable but the aching pit in my stomach is just as unbearable. So I am able to ignore the pain in my leg throughout most of my breakfast.  When Catherine feeds me my last bite of soup all I can think to say is thank you again but it doesn’t seem like enough so instead, I tell her my name.  

“My name is Henry Washburne.”  Catherine does not say a word instead she picks up the ladle and gives me another sip of water.  

“I would like to say it’s nice to meet you Mr. Washburne, but I prefer not to lie. But to keep the pleasantries up, my name is Catherine Cooney, but you already knew that.” 

Placing the ladle on the table Catherine begins to uncover my legs.  

“I need to check your wound for infection.  Even though I’m not quite sure what an infection looks like or what I’ll do about it, I still should check.”  Catherine doesn’t say a word while looking at the wound.  Each passing moment of silence makes me more and more anxious.  

“Well, how does it look?” I ask quizzically.  

“It looks like a bloody mess, is what it looks like.  No better and no worse, so I guess that’s good. Right?” 

Catherine says giving a little shrug of her shoulders. 

“You are not making me feel very confident with the medical care I received yesterday,” I say breathlessly.  

“I wouldn’t feel very comfortable about the medical care you received yesterday either if I were you because quite frankly I have no idea what I am doing,” Catherine says while covering my thigh with new bandages.  

“We just need to keep the wound clean and hope for the best,” she says giving a halfhearted smile and with this, she leaves the room. I don’t see very much of Catherine after my first morning in the house.  In fact, the first few weeks I spend at Moher Plantation goes by in a blur.  I see flickers of Susanah and Sarah tending to me.  I have been unconscious on and off throughout the first three weeks and I am lucky I remember as much as I do.  From what I am being told my leg looks better, even though it doesn’t feel any better. The pain in my leg sometimes becomes so unbearable that I have to bite down on a wooden spoon and just scream to let the pain out.   The days come and go in the same fashion each day.  Every day is started with some type of breakfast item, and the changing of my bandages.  Then the middle of the day is another meal and another bandage change, and lastly after the sun sets I am given another meal and another dressing for my wound.  The days become so predictable that when Susanah runs into my room quickly shutting the door behind me, I am beyond surprised.  I can see that Susanah is frantic.  Her eyes are wide and she looks ashen in color.  

“Susanah what’s wrong?”  “Mr. Washburne, I need to tell you something.  Miss Catherine sent me up here to explain things to you.  Mr. Charles Sankey has arrived at our doorstep today seeking shelter. He is a friend of the Cooney family.  His home has been burned to the ground by the United Army during a battle near his home and he has nowhere to go.  We mustn’t allow Mr. Sankey to know who you are so Miss Catherine and Miss Mary told Mr. Sankey that you are a distant cousin from Fracti but that you don’t speak a single word.  They told Mr. Sankey that you are a mute and you accidentally shot yourself while hunting on the plantation a few weeks ago.”  

Confused I say “Wait, I’m a mute?”  

“Yes sir, a mute.  You can’t speak a single word.”  

It is obvious that Catherine and Mary made me a mute so my accent wouldn’t be discovered by this Mr. Sankey, but couldn’t they have come up with something better?  If Catherine and her family were discovered harboring a United Soldier they would easily be put to death as traitors to the Rebels.    I nod to show my understanding and Susanah leaves the room.  So now I am a clumsy mute. This should be an easy part to play since I do not have much to say.