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Authors: Into the Wilderness
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he eager for Lily’s opinion.
The two of them were approaching the hospital when she said, “Thank you for your concern on my account and for sharing memories of your mother. Death is hard, but perhaps it shapes us in ways known only to God. We must believe something good ultimately comes from such experiences.”
He prayed it could be so, but nightmares and insomnia argued to the contrary. “Your outlook is more sanguine than mine.”
She looked up at him. “It would appear we are both searching for answers.”
To lighten the dark mood, he said, “Perhaps we should turn to the poets. John Donne would say, ‘Death, be not proud.’”
She smiled sadly. “Indeed.”
They had reached her door. “Thank you for coming to my side this morning,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, the blue-gray cast to the skin beneath her eyes an indication of her exhaustion.
He gave a short bow. “Miss Kellogg, we seem to have traveled some similar roads. It is a comfort to know I am not alone.”
Now the smile relaxed and her eyes deepened into pools of blue. “Lily. My name is Lily. Your friendship is most welcome.”
He exhaled in relief. “Lily.” The name was melodic on his tongue. “Until we meet once more.”
He waited until she was safely inside and then ambled toward his quarters. The sun was full now on the horizon, and morning activity buzzed all around him. But he was ignorant of it, lost in the memories of his mother, the horrors of battle and of the one person who might either understand it all or condemn him. Lily.
Chapter Five
O n an afternoon in late April, Rose, Lily and two lieutenants’ wives, Carrie Smythe and Virginia Brown, gathered around Effie Hurlburt’s dining room table to sew bandages for the hospital. Talk ranged from the gardens they planned to variations on bean recipes. Effie, ever cheerful, laughed when they complained of the upcoming heat of summer. “You cannot stop the seasons in their turn. Just as the cold winds blew in January, so July will become an oven. Best not to let either overwhelm your spirit.”
Lily acknowledged Effie’s sound advice even as she felt weighed down by the prospects of boiling temperatures. “I wish I shared your optimistic nature,” she said.
“Bother. It’s all in what you decide—life is either a pleasure and an opportunity or a dismal ordeal to be endured.”
Carrie shrugged. “You are undoubtedly right, but there are days it is hard to keep positive.”
“I think what Mrs. Hurlburt is trying to say,” Rose interjected, “is that it serves no purpose to let conditions we can’t control alter our natures.”
Lily lowered her eyes to her sewing. Was her sister criticizing her desire to escape the frontier? In fairness, each single day was bearable, made sweeter by proximity to her family. But taken in total, day after day of this existence with no end in sight ravaged her soul. Boredom was the greatest enemy. Perhaps she should be grateful for her work at the hospital, the occasional conversations with people like Effie and Caleb and the solace of a good book.
Effie’s warm voice intruded into her thoughts. “What we need is to create diversions to occupy us and help pass the time.”
“What do you have in mind?” Virginia inquired.
Effie laid down her sewing. “Now that the weather is better, the men are starting to play baseball again. Perhaps we could organize a pie supper after a few Saturday games. Not just pies, but cakes, too.”
Rose warmed to the idea. “The men enjoy home-cooked food. It would occupy us and please them. Sometimes we forget that they are far from home, just as we are.”
“Excellent point, Rose.” Effie looked around the table. “What else?”
A thought occurred to Lily. “We could organize a monthly reading—poetry, biographies, travel books. I’ve seen several of the men in the library, so I’m confident we could engage their participation.”
“I like that idea,” Carrie
The two of them were approaching the hospital when she said, “Thank you for your concern on my account and for sharing memories of your mother. Death is hard, but perhaps it shapes us in ways known only to God. We must believe something good ultimately comes from such experiences.”
He prayed it could be so, but nightmares and insomnia argued to the contrary. “Your outlook is more sanguine than mine.”
She looked up at him. “It would appear we are both searching for answers.”
To lighten the dark mood, he said, “Perhaps we should turn to the poets. John Donne would say, ‘Death, be not proud.’”
She smiled sadly. “Indeed.”
They had reached her door. “Thank you for coming to my side this morning,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, the blue-gray cast to the skin beneath her eyes an indication of her exhaustion.
He gave a short bow. “Miss Kellogg, we seem to have traveled some similar roads. It is a comfort to know I am not alone.”
Now the smile relaxed and her eyes deepened into pools of blue. “Lily. My name is Lily. Your friendship is most welcome.”
He exhaled in relief. “Lily.” The name was melodic on his tongue. “Until we meet once more.”
He waited until she was safely inside and then ambled toward his quarters. The sun was full now on the horizon, and morning activity buzzed all around him. But he was ignorant of it, lost in the memories of his mother, the horrors of battle and of the one person who might either understand it all or condemn him. Lily.
Chapter Five
O n an afternoon in late April, Rose, Lily and two lieutenants’ wives, Carrie Smythe and Virginia Brown, gathered around Effie Hurlburt’s dining room table to sew bandages for the hospital. Talk ranged from the gardens they planned to variations on bean recipes. Effie, ever cheerful, laughed when they complained of the upcoming heat of summer. “You cannot stop the seasons in their turn. Just as the cold winds blew in January, so July will become an oven. Best not to let either overwhelm your spirit.”
Lily acknowledged Effie’s sound advice even as she felt weighed down by the prospects of boiling temperatures. “I wish I shared your optimistic nature,” she said.
“Bother. It’s all in what you decide—life is either a pleasure and an opportunity or a dismal ordeal to be endured.”
Carrie shrugged. “You are undoubtedly right, but there are days it is hard to keep positive.”
“I think what Mrs. Hurlburt is trying to say,” Rose interjected, “is that it serves no purpose to let conditions we can’t control alter our natures.”
Lily lowered her eyes to her sewing. Was her sister criticizing her desire to escape the frontier? In fairness, each single day was bearable, made sweeter by proximity to her family. But taken in total, day after day of this existence with no end in sight ravaged her soul. Boredom was the greatest enemy. Perhaps she should be grateful for her work at the hospital, the occasional conversations with people like Effie and Caleb and the solace of a good book.
Effie’s warm voice intruded into her thoughts. “What we need is to create diversions to occupy us and help pass the time.”
“What do you have in mind?” Virginia inquired.
Effie laid down her sewing. “Now that the weather is better, the men are starting to play baseball again. Perhaps we could organize a pie supper after a few Saturday games. Not just pies, but cakes, too.”
Rose warmed to the idea. “The men enjoy home-cooked food. It would occupy us and please them. Sometimes we forget that they are far from home, just as we are.”
“Excellent point, Rose.” Effie looked around the table. “What else?”
A thought occurred to Lily. “We could organize a monthly reading—poetry, biographies, travel books. I’ve seen several of the men in the library, so I’m confident we could engage their participation.”
“I like that idea,” Carrie
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