The battle raged on around him. The smell of gunpowder was heavy in the air, and the soot from it covered every blade of grass and leaf on a tree. The sound of artillery and cannon blasts split through the air every second, half a second, millisecond, until a man might go mad just from the sounds of it. In times like this, it was easy to forget what you were fighting for, why you were fighting, and blind instinct for survival overshadowed family, land, country, and God.

He crawled along behind the bushes at the edge of the battlefield, knowing he’d be safest here. True, bullets still whizzed by his ears, heating his skin, but he hadn’t been hit. Yet. When a cannon exploded in the ground five feet from where he crouched, the air filled with smoke and soot.

Coughing and barely able to see straight as his eyes stung from the smoke, he felt his way along the dirt, his rifle held close to his side and just ahead of him. A Union soldier stumbled in front of his path, and, hating himself for it, Brian squeezed the trigger and watched him collapse in the dirt. There was no room for conscience, only room for the most base of all survival instinct.

And then he was in the middle of the field again. The bushes that had protected him were gone, and he’d crawled right back into the center of battle. There were torn and bloody bodies around sprawled on the ground around him, and another was thrown into his path from a nasty cannon blast.

He felt the bullet graze his temple, and his vision hazed for one, hideous second. Then, he was up and running, firing shots right and left, not caring who or what he hit. He’d seen the forest at the edge of the battlefield, and, though it was still seventy yards away, he was desperate to reach it, to find a hiding place.

He didn’t register the next bullet that buried itself in his upper arm, didn’t even feel the pain as he was so intent on reaching cover, safety. Damn you, Papa, he thought with a despairing anger. If it hadn’t been for his father’s fury, he wouldn’t have been fleeing the battle as a coward would. But his father had been firm. Brian had freed a prized slave, and his punishment was to join the ranks of the Confederate army in the War of Northern Aggression.

Brian had spent years going to a university in Boston, and, by the time he’d returned to the family plantation in Georgia, he’d been dead set against the idea of slavery. For three years, he’d argued with his father, and, finally, in an act of what he’d thought was heroics, he’d let his personal valet go. He’d never seen his father so angry. Despite his mother and younger sister’s pleading and begging, Brian had been sent off to war.

A hopeless war, he thought now, as he eyed the last few yards to the forest. Crouched behind a boulder, he wondered when the battle would end. He could hear his ragged breathing and smell his own blood. He peered over the boulder at the battle, hoping beyond hope, that no one would see him run and fire at him. When it appeared all was clear, he bolted.

Just as he’d ducked into the cover of trees, he felt the stinging impact of a bullet in his back. Even as he stumbled from the hit, a cannon blasted nearby and tossed his body in the air. His head struck rock when he fell. Despite the dizziness and abrupt nausea, he fisted his hands in determination and pushed himself to his feet. Gasping for air as blinding white pain burst through him, Brian began to move forward again. Away from the battle.

It seemed as though hours passed as his blood ran sticky through his fingers, as his vision grayed before he gritted his teeth and kept moving. The sounds of battle had grown faint by the time he lost the strength to stay on his feet. Now, he crawled through the woods, his fingers clutching at the dirt, determined to pull him just another foot. Then one more. Somewhere where he could die peacefully.

For he knew death was his only option now. He’d lost too much blood—it stained his gray uniform to brown—and couldn’t breathe for it felt as though sharp knives stabbed in his chest.

When he saw the bright light ahead of him, he thought of heaven and God and begged for mercy. The light grew stronger, and Brian, not realizing it was the sun peering in from the end of the woods, moved towards it.

He didn’t feel the sunlight warm upon his face as he dragged himself the last few inches into, what he thought, was death. He saw the horse and the man that stood next to it. Even as he collapsed in the meadow grass, he heard his own voice, thin and wheezing, ask if this was heaven.

Green eyes filled with concern and fear were the last thing he saw before he faded into nothing.

His face was grim as he rode as quickly as he could from the edge of his fields to his home. The body he carried in his arms continued to bleed, though the man was unconscious. Kevin Richardson wondered if he’d be bringing a corpse home with him.

He was calling for his wife even before he’d dismounted from his horse. "Kristin! I need your help! Hurry." His horse, Galileo, whinnied nervously at the scent of blood, and his coat carried flecks of it.

Kevin dismounted, careful not to jar the body he held in his arms. Pressing his fingers to the man’s throat, he felt the thready pulse and sighed, relieved. Then, the front door was thrown open, and his enormously pregnant wife hurried out as quickly as she could. When she saw the body he carried, she froze.

"Kevin. Is that…That’s a Rebel." Her voice conveyed her momentary shock before she moved forward again. "Is he alive?"

He pursed his lips for a moment. "Right now, he is. We have to help him."

She heard the worry and hesitation in his voice. His thoughts were so obviously running along the same lines as hers. "All right. Let’s get him inside."

Kevin carried the body in easily enough as Kristin hurried ahead of him and cleared off the wooden trestle table in the middle of their sunwashed kitchen. The scent of blood mixed eerily with the fragrance of the fresh bread that she’d been baking. In silence, they went off in different directions. Kristin retrieved bundles of linen and a basket full of medical supplies. With precise movements, she slit the soldier’s clothing off and discovered where the blood flowed from. Her eyes filled with pity and horror, and she hoped they’d save him. Rebel or not, he was still an American.

By the time Kevin returned with pails of fresh water, the wound on the soldier’s upper arm and the graze wound on his temple had stopped bleeding. Kristin had bandaged up his head and was now bent over his arm. She’d been trained as a nurse before she’d married Kevin, and that training had stuck with her. Carefully, she slid the bullet through damaged flesh and dropped it onto the table.

"How bad is it?"

Pressing a hand on her belly, she looked over at her husband. She managed a small smile, but he could see the grim look in her eyes. "We need to turn him over. I think there’s something in his back because all this blood did not come from his arm."

Nodding, Kevin stepped forward and, gripping both shoulders, he slowly turned the soldier over. Kristin muffled a gasp, and his own stomach roiled from the sight. The poor man’s back looked as though it had been ripped apart.

"My God," Kristin whispered. "How is he still alive?"

Kevin grabbed water and linens and began to try to staunch the flow of blood. "I don’t know, but we’re going to try to keep him that way."

Swallowing hard, Kristin soaked more linens with water and went to work to save the poor man.

***

It took three hours, but they cleaned and bandaged up the wound on his back and laid the nameless Confederate soldier in a bed. Kristin tried to pour medicine between his lips, but most of it dripped back out. Unable to do more, she eased herself into a chair next to the bed and sighed. Her patient looked so young, but so many of the soldiers fighting on either side of the war were young. At least this one looked as though he’d made it into his twenties. She brushed a hand over his sun-streaked curls and wondered who he was.

They hadn’t been able to find any identification on him, and Kevin had told her that they were not to mention that they had taken in a Rebel soldier. Their neighbors would be furious at the act, but neither husband nor wife had been able to just let the man bleed out on their land. So they would simply wait until he either died or awoke before they decided what to do with him.

She heard the front door open and the cheerful voice of Kevin’s younger sister filled the house. Kristin smiled a little at the sheer innocence Chelsea had in the face of all their family had been through. When the voice quieted and she could hear only the quiet murmurs between Kevin and his sister, Kristin knew that Kevin would be telling her about their patient.

"Kristin!" The whirlwind that was her sister-in-law burst into the room, her bright green eyes full of concern, her dark hair slipping out of the bun she’d put it into that morning. Her eyes caught on the man lying in the bed. "Oh, my goodness. Kevin told me what happened. Are you both sure this is best?"

Chelsea, though innocent, was in no way naïve. She knew what it meant to Kevin to care for an enemy soldier. They’d lost a brother to this war, and the loss had made Kevin more furious with the rebellious South. Not only would it scandalize the rest of Gettysburg that they’d taken in a Rebel, but it was, she knew, a moral dilemma for Kevin himself. She’d seen the uncertainty in his eyes when he’d told her about their charge.

Now, she stared at the deathly pale man lying on the bed and wondered what would happen if he lived.

"We couldn’t let him die, Chelsea." Kristin shut her eyes briefly. Beneath her hands, her first child kicked fiercely. "It wouldn’t have been right."

"Of course. We must do our Christian duty." Chelsea’s voice was full of sarcasm. "It doesn’t matter how many men this soldier killed or the fact that he believes in enslaving people, we mustn’t let him die."

"Chelsea."

Chelsea studied the man on the bed one more time before she knelt by Kristin. "Why don’t you lie down, sleep a bit? Kevin wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself. This baby could come any day."

"I know." Kristin opened her eyes and sighed before she struggled to stand. "Sometimes, it feels as though I’ve been carrying this child for years. I need to hold it in my arms. Soon."

"You will." Chelsea led her sister-in-law to another bedroom and helped her get comfortable in the bed. "I’ll take care of dinner. You just sleep all you want."

Kristin adjusted the pillows and felt the ache in her back subside. "Thank you, darling. And Chelsea?"

Chelsea stopped at the door. "Yes?"

"Make sure to keep an eye on our patient. He has a fever. If it gets any worse, he’ll start seizing. Call Kevin and I if that happens."

"All right." But, even as she passed their patient’s room, Chelsea sniffed contemptuously. Truth be told, she thought, if the man died, she’d be fine with that. At least it would give their family peace.

***

Kevin rode through his expansive fields of wheat and tried to ignore the distant echoes of the battle. This was the second day that the war raged on in Gettysburg. He could only be so thankful that it hadn’t extended west of town, or his home would have been caught in the middle of it. Reports from town claimed General Meade would lead the Union forces to victory against Lee’s men. Kevin didn’t care much as long as the war moved away from his home.

But he’d brought the war into his home, he reminded himself with a sigh, as his eyes scanned the wheat for any signs of weeds or unhealthy stalks. Even now, there was a man in his home who’d fought for the Rebels and might die in his spare bedroom.

He’d tried to protect his family as much as he could, but the war had already claimed his brother. Jerald had been so proud to wear the Union blue and had strutted around in it proudly before riding off to join the troops. Three months later, Kevin had buried his twenty-seven year old brother. Now, he had only his twenty-two year old sister and his wife to keep safe. And their baby.

Kevin worried about the world he was about to bring his child into. It was a dangerous place, full of war and strife. Brothers fought brothers in this awful war, and he wished, for the millionth time, that the South had quietly freed their slaves. Maybe then men wouldn’t have died by the thousands, and families wouldn’t have to grieve their dead sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers.

After tending to Galileo, milking the cows, and making certain that Chelsea had gathered the eggs from the chicken coop, he carried the brimming milk pails into the kitchen and set them on the freshly scrubbed table. Chelsea hummed as she stirred the cooking pot. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, she smiled.

"Everything taken care of?"

He set his hat beside the pails on the table and ran a weary hand through his nearly shoulder-length dark hair. "Yes. Where’s Kristin?"

"Resting as she should have been doing all day instead of running herself ragged over a Rebel soldier." Her voice was bitter, and Kevin sighed.

"Chelsea. We talked about this."

"I know. It doesn’t mean I have to like it."

He just shook his head and knew it was best to leave his sister alone when she was in such a mood. He headed upstairs and, checking on his sleeping wife, he entered the sickroom.

The young soldier was still alive, he saw with a mixture of relief and anxiety. Sliding the sheets off the man’s shoulders, Kevin examined the bandages and noted that he hadn’t bled through anything yet. His skin, though still hot, had cooled since this afternoon. Perhaps, with luck, the man would pull through, and then…

And then what? Kevin slumped in the chair by the bed, his forehead resting on his hand. And then he’d have to deal with a conscious enemy soldier in his home. One who could hurt his wife, his unborn child, or his sister.

When the man moaned, Kevin glanced over and noted that there was sweat pearling on his forehead. Knowing that that meant his fever was beginning to break, he sighed. Tomorrow. Their patient was sure to wake tomorrow.

Once he did, things would never be quite the same.

The darkness weighed him down. It felt like he was swimming through water, pitch-black water. He was several feet down and fought to get clear of it. As he swam closer to the surface, he could hear a mix of sounds and felt warmth on his eyelids. When his eyes opened, light seared them, and he shut them again with a moan.

“Oh, my. Kevin, did you see that?” Kristin secured the fresh bandage in place and grabbed for her husband’s hand. “His eyes opened.”

Kevin placed a hand on her shoulder and studied their patient. “Are you sure? I thought he just made a sound, like he was in pain.”

“Well, of course, he’s in pain.” She brushed her hand over the man’s blond curls, fussing like a mother hen. “Come on, now. You can wake up. It’s all right. We’ll take care of you.”

Brian heard their voices and wondered who they were. Where was he? His head hurt, but it was nothing compared to the scorching pain that raged in his back. Reluctantly, he forced his eyes to open. Blinking in the sunlight, he tried to focus on the face in his view. Blue eyes framed by soft blonde hair. There was concern in her expression, and a certainty in him that he’d never seen her before.

“Where am I?”

Kevin stepped forward to stand next to his wife. “You’re safe. Do you know what happened to you last?”

Brian took several breaths, fighting the pain, and studied his doctors. “N-no. I’m hurt. I was hurt. How?”

“You were bleeding from several bullet wounds. You haven’t been awake for two days.” Kevin’s green eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

“How did bullets get into me?” Brian’s eyes blurred as he tried to recall what he could remember. A sick dread slowly crept through him. “I don’t remember.”

“Anything?” Kristin settled on the edge of the bed, one hand on her belly. “What about your name?”

He shook his head. “Brian, it’s Brian. I can’t, ah, I can’t remember the rest. I don’t know where I’m from.” His eyes widened with terror and uncertainty. “Oh, god, I can’t remember who I am.”

Kevin, too, was frowning. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected. How were they to send the man on his way if he didn’t remember who he was? They couldn’t just send him back to the Rebel army as it had just suffered a sound defeat. The war had moved out of Gettysburg after raging for three days, and the wind carried the scent of dead bodies as far as the Richardson farm. He sighed. Well, they’d just muddle through this one, wouldn’t they?

“It’ll come back to you. You must have hit your head.” Kevin pursed his lips as he thought. Then, making up his mind, he spoke. “Do you know of the War Between the States?”

Brian’s brow furrowed as he searched through his thoughts. “Yes.” His voice was hesitant at first. “Because of the slaves. The southern states don’t want to give up their slaves. I do remember that.” He looked down at the bandages on his arm. “Was I fighting?”

“Yes, you were. It’s where you were injured, and you dropped, bleeding, onto our land.” Kristin smiled. “We took care of you, and you’re safe here as long as it takes for you to heal and remember what you need to remember.”

Kevin didn’t bother muttering about his wife’s over-generosity. “Until we can figure out where it is you’re from, you’ll stay with us.” He held out a hand. “My name is Kevin, Kevin Richardson, and this is my wife, Kristin.”

Brian took hold of the hand rough with calluses. “You’re farmers.” He’d seen the ripening fields through the window. “In the North.”

“Yes.” Kristin rose. “You’re in pain.” She’d seen the flicker of it in his eyes. “Your back is where the worst of the wounds are. We just changed your bandages, but you haven’t been drinking medicine while you’ve been unconscious. I’ll get some for you, and you’ll rest awhile.”

“Thank you. Thank you both.” Brian took a slow, deep breath and tried to calm the panic that raged in him. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“There’s no need.” Kristin gave him a warm smile and bustled out of the room.

Brian watched her go before he looked up at Kevin, who wasn’t smiling. “You have a lovely wife. Your child is due soon?”

“Yes. Our first.” Sighing, Kevin sat in the chair by the bed. “Brian, I don’t like hiding things, so you should know that you nearly died. You had lost so much blood and had such a terrible fever. We thought we’d be burying you instead of speaking with you. We couldn’t find any identification in your uniform. No letters from home, no indication of your address. I’m sorry.”

Without thinking, he reached out and touched Kevin’s hand, though his back protested the movement. “Please, don’t apologize. You saved my life, and there’s nothing more that you owe me. I, however, owe you much. It’s very gracious of you to let me stay on until I know where I’ve come from.” He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the growth of stubble and realizing he didn’t even know what his face looked like. “I can promise you that, once I’m able to, I’ll help you with your farm. It appears to be mid-season, and I can do whatever you need.”

“Brian, there is no need to worry about the future at this time. You need to rest.” Kristin returned, carrying a bowl. “If, when you are able to stand, you would like to help Kevin in the fields, you may. Right now, you need to drink this.” She handed him the bowl.

Sniffing at it, Brian wrinkled his nose. “It smells awful.”

Kevin grinned as Kristin shook her head. “Nonsense. Smell doesn’t matter. It’ll help with the pain, so you should bear up and drink it.”

Trying hard not to gag, Brian swallowed the concoction as quickly as he could and grimaced. “That was terrible.”

“It’s my wife’s special remedy.” Kevin continued to grin, and, finding his smile appealing, Brian smiled back. “She swears by it, and, surprisingly, so do I. It works.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Brian murmured, even as the pain in his back began to slowly subside. His eyelids felt heavy, and he lost the struggle to keep them open. “I suppose I’ll just…go…uhh…”

When he fell asleep, Kristin sighed a bit. “Oh, Kevin. He’s just so sweet. Worrying about how to repay us and help us with the farm and all. The poor thing doesn’t even remember who he is. How terrible must that be?”

“Pretty bad,” Kevin agreed. As much as he wished he didn’t, he’d trusted the honesty in Brian’s clear blue eyes, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to kick the man out of his home. “We’ll take care of him until he remembers who he is and where he’s come from.”

Kevin just hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it.

***

The next time he woke, he could see the stars glistening in the sky, and the room was lit by candles and a kerosene lamp. He struggled to sit up, the pain in his back not as severe as it had been before.

“So, you’re awake.”

Brian’s head turned in the direction of the voice, and he found himself facing a young woman with the same coloring as Kevin. Her dark hair was slipping out of its pins, and her green eyes were full of suspicion.

“Who are you?” His voice was scratchy, and he tried to clear his throat.

She rose and, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table, handed it to him. “I believe the better question is, who are you? My brother seems to believe that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t. And I don’t know why you’re so sure that I’m lying.” He sipped from the water and sighed as it soothed his throat. “You’re Kevin’s sister.”

“Chelsea.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Who are you?”

Brian held the glass in both hands as he studied her. “Exactly who I told your brother I was. My name is Brian, and that’s all I remember. Kevin told me I’d been fighting in a battle near here. I know we’re in the north, but where?”

“Gettysburg in Pennsylvania,” she replied, still not sure he was telling the truth. “Do you know where you’re from?”

“For goodness’ sake, I’ve just told you that I don’t remember,” Brian snapped then stopped, appalled. “I beg your pardon.”

She grinned at the first hint of temper. Kristin had claimed Brian was sweet, kind, caring, and so on, which had made Chelsea suspicious. No Rebel soldier could be so. And here he’d proved her right. “That’s quite all right. I often snap myself. Anger is another sign of healing.”

“Ah, Miss Richardson.” Brian bit his lip. He didn’t think it proper that she sit here with him, alone, but he wasn’t in the mood to have his head bitten off with suspicion any further. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

He pressed at the ache in his arm as he spoke. “Do you know what it feels like to wake up and not know where you are, why you’re in an unfamiliar place, and not have a single idea who you are? Do you know what it feels like to be unable to recall your family, your home, those you love and who love you? I have a family somewhere, I know it. And I know that they must be worried because they don’t know if I’m alive or not. Can you understand what any of that feels like?”

Chelsea had to suppress the sigh she’d felt at hearing the words and seeing how he meant them, the way it was reflected in those lovely blue eyes of his. “No,” she said finally. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been so unfortunate.”

“Then, perhaps, before you look to judge me, you’d think first of how I feel. You don’t want a stranger in your house, but I’m dealing with how much of a stranger I am to myself.” He drank down the rest of the glass before handing it back to her. “Thank you for the water. I believe I’ll try to sleep a little more.”

Knowing she’d been effectively put in her place and dismissed, she rose. “Good night, Brian. I do hope you feel better in the morning.”

“Thank you.” With that, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep again.

Chelsea slipped out of the room and shook her head. What an odd, odd man. The worst part of the whole thing was, she no longer thought he was as threatening as she’d thought when he’d been asleep. In fact, she decided it would be a change of pace to have him around on the farm. Things in mid-summer could get dreadfully boring.

With their unexpected guest, though, she doubted this summer would be quite like the others.

*cue big dramatic sigh*

I know that a lot of people were truly interested in seeing where this story was going to go, and, to be honest, I'm still curious as to what will happen in this story. Unfortunately, for the time being, I am going to stop this story and officially put it on hiatus...indefinitely.

I'm sorry for doing this, but, because I still believe that this story was going places, I have not completely shoved it off my list. Perhaps, in the future, you might see it again. But I won't make any promises.

Thanks for enjoying what little there was of it, and who knows? Maybe it'll pop back up with an update again sometime in the future.

~Sarah