Chapter 3
Like so many other dead soldiers, Joel Casey frequently tortured himself by visiting the place of his death. After vanishing for a while, he knew it was time for him to head back to Devil’s Den.
He visited at daybreak. At that hour, it was peaceful and there were few visitors. Aside from the occasional jogger, Joel was alone. As always, his thoughts turned to the horrific violence of that first weekend in July of 1863. Some soldiers, like Jesse, stayed away from the place where they died. Others, like Joel, were drawn to the bloody fields where they took their last breath.
Invisible to the living, Joel sat on one of the rocks in Devil’s Den. He recalled so clearly the day those rocks dripped with blood.
He thought back to the days at camp, when they were all rudely awakened by the sound of the bugle far too early in the morning. And the drills. Oh, lord, the drills. It was a wonder they didn’t march in their sleep. It wasn’t all hard work, though. War was very much a “hurry up and wait” affair, with flurries of frenetic activity followed by lots of downtime.
Joel had been lucky that his best friend from childhood, Charles Clearwater, had volunteered for the 124th Infantry. The two, known as “the brothers” in camp, were inseparable. It was not uncommon for someone to ask Joel to “tell your brother to shut up. I’m trying to sleep!” as Charles had a habit of singing constantly. In the evenings around the campfire, his loud and jolly voice was welcome, as it often reduced the soldiers to uncontrollable fits of laughter. Charles had a tendency to sing about things that would make even the most hardened soldier blush. He also led the troops in boisterous patriotic songs, which helped raise their spirits when they needed it most.
Joel and Charles were like brothers in every way. They teased and harassed one another, and they shared the same competitive streak. On long days in camp when the soldiers would organize a baseball game, the two always played on opposite sides. They spent the long nights gambling, and it was not uncommon for one of them to lose his shirt––literally––to the other when they played poker.
Most importantly, they kept each other sane when the fighting got intense. Chancellorsville had been particularly horrific. They had lost many friends that day, and the ferocity of that battle had been a shock to all of them. They had witnessed fellow soldiers, who had been singing and laughing with them just days before, literally blown apart before their eyes. Only those who had lived through the horror could possibly understand, and it had solidified their brotherly bond all the more.
Then came the battle of Gettysburg. Now Joel sat, transfixed in the early hours of the morning, staring at the rocks where they had faced the bloodiest fighting yet. In addition to horrifying cannon fire and the hail of distant bullets, there was a lot of hand-to-hand combat that day. Dear God, you could see the faces of the men you killed. Joel could still see them. He and Charles had fought side-by-side, doing their best to stay together during the battle. The cannon smoke was so dense and the din of the bursting shells so loud it was difficult to see and hear one another. Yet they had somehow stayed close right up until the end.
The color bearer of the 124th New York Infantry was shot down right in front of Joel. It was horrible, but no surprise. Color bearer was a suicide mission. Carrying that huge regimental flag, you were a moving target to the enemy who would love nothing more than to capture and destroy the flag. It was like a macabre version of a childhood game. One that ended in death.
Joel had managed to catch the flag of the 124th New York before it hit the ground. He remembered the surge of adrenaline and raw fear that had charged through his body. A war raged within him. I don’t want to lose our flag, but I don’t want to die. He had grabbed the flag and held it high as the smoke thickened around him. Through all the noise and confusion surrounding them, Charles somehow managed to catch Joel’s eye and grinned at him, giving him the strength to carry on.
When the smoke finally thinned, Joel and Charles found themselves face-to-face with a line of Rebels. Fighting hand-to-hand, their bayonets were so close they could have been impaled with one jab. A fellow soldier took several bullets to his back and slammed into Charles as he fell dead to the ground. The impact had knocked the musket out of Charles’s hand. With a panicked look, Charles raised his hands in surrender.
And that goddamned, twisted, sick Rebel soldier looked Charles right in the eye and rammed his bayonet straight through him. Joel watched helplessly as his childhood friend was gutted right beside him.
In that moment, he saw not the twenty-five-year old man before him, but the face of twelve-year-old Charles. The one who had “died” a hundred times as they played cowboys and Indians.
Joel had been filled with a primal rage and sorrow he could never have imagined possible. War sends a man’s emotions into overdrive, to heights the civilian man could not possibly understand. His eyes blazed with fury and his body surged with adrenaline. Joel looked into the Rebel”s eyes, then aimed his musket and shot him in the head. He watched the man fall to the ground, and then looked over at Charles lying dead right next to him.
How will I survive the rest of this war without him?
As it turned out, Joel would only live for a few more hours. The end was mercifully quick. He was blown apart by a cannonball, shot from a distance. He was still holding his regiment’s flag.
When Joel could no longer bear the horror of his battlefield memories, he allowed his mind to drift to far better times. Memories of his wife, Emma. Even after a century and a half, he remembered her face as if he had seen it yesterday. Her warm yet mischievous blue-green eyes, her long honey-blonde hair. Joel stared out at the battlefield, but instead of the grass and rocks, in his mind’s eye he was reliving his time with Emma. Time that had been cut so short.
Joel thought about his days working as an apprentice in the shoemaker’s shop that Emma’s father had owned. Richard Arlow had liked Joel right away because he was a hard worker. Emma Arlow was just eighteen years old when Joel first laid eyes on her. When she visited the shop the first time, Joel felt like he already knew her. Richard had spoken at length about his wonderful, virtuous daughter. He had three sons, too, but it was clear that his sweet Emma, the baby of the family, was the apple of his eye.
Emma was indeed virtuous, but she had a flirtatious streak, which showed when her father wasn’t around.
“You’re quite a handsome man, Joel Casey,” she informed him the moment Richard had stepped out of the room. “Such pretty blue eyes.”
Joel, who was hardly pure and virtuous, found himself blushing and stammering. “Th-thank you, Miss.” She had laughed softly, and seemed amused that she had flustered him.
Emma was constantly catching Joel’s eye whenever her father had his back turned. It thrilled him that she found him attractive, and her boldness aroused him. He adored her combination of sweet yet sexy.
Joel was desperate to be with her, but he was terrified of what his boss might think of him courting his beloved princess. One day, he finally got the nerve to ask Richard if Emma had a suitor. Joel knew she didn”t, but he figured it was a subtle way to let her father know that he was interested in her.
Richard had broken into a huge grin and said, “Son, I thought you were never going to ask.”
Joel eagerly courted her, and they fell in love quickly. No woman had ever made him feel the way she did. Emma loved to read and learn, and he found her intelligence alluring. She lit a fire within him; his entire body tingled with desire whenever he saw her. She was determined to remain n a virgin until marriage, mostly in deference to her loving father. Even so, she made it clear that she desired Joel as much as he did her. They talked at length in private about how much they were looking forward to their wedding night.
They waited to get married until Joel had saved enough money to get a small house for them in New York, not too far from her family’s home. The wedding had been lovely, and Emma had looked so beautiful—and so sexy—that Joel could hardly stand the wait anymore.
Finally, the time came for them to consummate their marriage. He eagerly carried her over the threshold and laid her down on the bed. Breathlessly, they tore at each other’s clothes, expressing their feelings with “I love you” and “I need you.” After waiting for so long, the explosion of pleasure Joel felt upon first entering her was beyond anything he had imagined…and he had imagined it a lot.
He’d had his eyes closed at first, and when he opened them he was horrified to see tears streaming down his beloved wife’s face.
“Oh, my God. Am I hurting you?” Joel asked.
Emma nodded silently, the tears still coming.
“Oh, Emma,” Joel whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Charles had warned him that the first time could be painful for a woman. He’d reminded Joel that he would essentially be tearing something inside her, and that he should try to be gentle. How could he have been so careless?
Joel wiped the tears from Emma’s face and very gently eased out of her. She began to weep openly.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. After all this time…I’ve ruined it!” Emma said between sobs.
“Emma! You didn’t ruin anything. This is my fault. Entirely my fault. I should have realized…” Joel stroked her cheek gently. “We have time, my love. All the time in the world.” Joel looked down at the bed sheets and saw that she had bled a little. A surge of guilt ripped through him as he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. It had been so exciting to finally see Emma’s beautiful, naked body and he was still quite aroused. He felt horrible for even thinking such a thing with Emma lying there in pain.
“You just rest. I’m going to get you some hot tea. I’ll be right back!” He kissed her mouth gently and got up. She was still crying.
Joel quickly went to the outhouse, where he leaned against the wall and stroked himself until he found relief. He wanted to take care of his wife, but he had been so aroused that he could hardly think straight. He sighed, slumping against the wall and catching his breath. He rushed back into the house to fetch the tea.
He found Emma the way he had left her, in bed, sobbing. Joel set the tea next to the bed and gathered her in his arms.
“Shhh, my love. Shhhh,” Joel said, gently stroking her hair. “It won’t hurt anymore. I won’t ever hurt you again.”
“You didn’t…it’s not your fault—” Emma argued.
“I love you, Emma. I love you.” Joel grinned suddenly.
“What?”
“You’re my wife!” Joel exclaimed, as giddy as a schoolboy. “Do you have any idea how wonderful that is? This is the happiest day of my entire life. I can hardly believe it. It’s real. It’s happened. I can’t believe you married me, Emma Arlow!”
Emma smiled and said softly, “No. Emma Casey.”
Joel’s grin widened. “Of course. Mrs. Casey.”
Joel took her in his arms, and he felt her relax. She was safe there. They held each other until they both fell asleep. Perhaps it wasn’t the wedding night he had imagined, but it was still wonderful.
After allowing Emma some time to heal, they more than made up for the initial disappointment of their wedding night. They spent hours exploring each other’s bodies and learning how to please each other. Joel loved that Emma enjoyed sex as much as he did. She loved pleasuring him, and nothing made him feel more like a man than when she cried out his name when they were making love.
It was no surprise when Emma got pregnant soon after they were married. She was a fairly small woman and had a low tolerance for pain, so childbirth had been difficult. The sound of her agonized cries tortured Joel, but he was proud of her for soldiering through it bravely. One of his favorite memories was the day the two of them wept together as they held their son for the very first time. Little David had Joel’s piercing blue eyes, as did his little brother, Mathew, who arrived just two years later.
Joel’s memories turned darker. He recalled the last time he and Emma had made love before he went off to war. It was a somber event, both knowing it could very well be their last time together. The only physical pain Joel could feel anymore was that familiar ache in his chest where his heart had been when he was alive. He still felt it every time he thought of the last time he had held Emma in his arms. Joel remembered stroking her hair as she tried her best to keep from breaking down in hysterics in front of their children, aged only four and six when he went off to war.
The sharp pain in his chest worsened as he thought of his precious little boys. He could still hear Mathew’s voice. Where are you going, Daddy? Where are you going?
Joel jumped up from his perch on the hill. He simply could not bear these thoughts anymore. This horrible place where not only his body but his dreams and hopes for the future had been exploded by that cannonball.