Chapter Ten

Rose

Frederick County, Virginia

1864

Damon kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he and thousands of others from mixed companies marched. It was late at night and he had been walking for four hours straight. He had blisters forming on his heels and his muscles begged him to pause for just a moment, but he kept moving. He was almost grateful to finally be going somewhere after being still for so long.

As always, he found himself trying to find balance on the slippery mud the men left behind. The echoes of footsteps rang all around him, but he could not see far past the fog.

"Is that not a bad omen?" Damon wondered out loud.

"What?" Ric replied, his breathing loud.

"The fog."

"What about it?"

"I don't know… the fog… the crows… It is unsettling."

"You should be grateful for the cover," Ric huffed. "The Yanks will never see us coming."

Damon nodded, his eyes returning to the ground, but he was not comforted. They were only marching this late in order to sneak up on their enemy, and fog did provide a good cover. Still, he had a strange feeling that danger lurked in the horizon.

"You're just nervous about your first fight, kid."

"How much longer do you think we have to march?"

Ric shrugged, "This is the farthest I've ever gone before. It won't be long, now."

There was too much fog to clearly see what lay in the distance, but if they were drawing near, then the officers would have put them in order. Now, the men walked where they felt comfortable and talked freely if they were not too tired. "Maybe the Cap knows."

Disobedient to his own burning muscles, Damon picked up his pace in order to catch up with Captain Phineas, who rode on a horse far ahead of them. He heard Ric groan, but Damon knew he was following from the sound of his canteen clanking against his belt buckle.

Phineas looked elegant on a horse, even beneath the dirt. He held himself with an air of confidence and sophistication beyond the haggard men around them. Damon hoped he would look like that at the end of his service. "Sir?" he huffed.

"Yes?"

"How much longer is it going to be?"

"We'll be getting into formation any time now. Do you think you can make it?"

"Of course. I was just curious."

Phineas looked down at him, his eyes suspicious. "I wonder about you sometimes, Salvatore."

"What is there to wonder at?"

"Look around you. You stick out."

Damon frowned. He was just beginning to think he was starting to look like a real soldier. His face was often unshaven and there were bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. He was often sick from the cold and his cheeks were sinking in from a poor diet. Long before, he stopped wearing his entire uniform because it was too heavy, and everything was covered in dirt. His hair was even shaggier than usual and often fell in front of his eyes. How could he stick out? He felt sunken in. "What do you mean?"

"Don't take offense, private. I don' mean it like that." There was a moment of silence, and Phineas let out an annoyed sigh. "Boys with names and fathers like yours don' end up among men like these. Your father is well connected, so it's odd that you ended up here."

"Where should I have ended up?"

"I was a courier when I first joined, thanks to my father."

"Are you saying I should have been a messenger?"

"I'm not saying anything."

"He's sayin' you shouldn't be up on the front lines with the likes of me," Ric grunted.

An awkward silence came over the three men as Damon pondered their words. It had never even occurred to him that his father had any control over where he was. His father could not have known either, of course.

Ric fiddled with something inside the frayed pocket of his coat. "Damn thing," he muttered.

"What's that?"

With a disgruntled sigh, Ric slipped a ball of pink string and a needle out of his pocket. The string was wrapped around a crumpled piece of paper, so riddled with holes Damon almost could not read the script on its face.

Private Alaric Jedediah Saltzman III.

19th Virginia Regiment, Co. A., Army of Northern Virginia, CSA

If found, please return my coat and pocket watch to my wife,

Jennifer Noel Saltzman

in Boston, Massachusetts.

Thank you.

"Boston?" Damon said.

"My daddy was from Texas," Ric smirked. He took the needle and string, looping it in and out of the paper before sewing it on the inside of his jacket. "Jenna sent me away with this when I left a couple of years back. Told me she wasn't gonna wait around like a fool if I was lyin' in a ditch somewhere."

Damon grimaced.

"I think it's lucky," Ric went on. "Haven't gotten hardly a scratch all these years."

Shouts filtered towards them from ahead and the company began tightening their lines. "Get in formation, boys," Phineas called. He dug the backs of his heels into his horse's side and raced off. There was no more time to talk.

The fog seemed to grow almost as thick as smoke as Damon moved forward, and he kept reminding himself that it was a good thing. With each passing second, the footsteps slowly fell in to the same step and the unanimous clamor of a thousand men was all to be heard. Ric finished securing his note in place before adjusting the rifle on his shoulder.

Heartbeat quickening, Damon swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He yearned for the monotony that he had once so dreaded. Wake up, scavenge for something to eat, drill, drill, drill, sleep, wake up, repeat. Not a day ago he resented it. His eyes shifted from the faces he could partially see around him, hoping he to find the same anxiety on someone else's face. They all looked blank, featureless, but when he thought about it, he realized he was making a conscious effort to look calm too.

Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena. Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena. Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena. Elena. Elena. Elena.

The words dominated his thoughts. Elena would still be asleep at the moment. She would be warm under the same thick quilts he had slept under since he was young. She was safe, and the thought of her peace calmed him.

Gripping his weapon tighter to his chest, he took a deep breath. "I've forgotten what to do," he gasped.

Ric smacked a hand on his shoulder, falling out of step with the others for a moment. "Aim low. Don't let you bullets pass over the bastard's heads."

Damon nodded, and for the first time he wondered if he would be able to see a man's face and pull the trigger. He was never one for hunting, even. When he was eleven, he had put a horse down with his father's rifle, and had nightmares about it ever since.

His thoughts were shattered by the sounds of men shouting, and a low buzzing coming from ahead. Sweat fell from his hair and down his jaw. Why were his feet moving forward still? Why did he continue to walk? Death surely loomed ahead of him, and all he knew was that he did not want to die.

Stepping into the Yankee camp was like falling into a great hornet's nest, bullets buzzing angrily through the air. Damon looked to Ric for instruction, but he found himself suddenly alone and more fearful than ever. He fell to the ground, crawling to safety behind and old stump of a tree. A bullet ricocheted off the thick bark just as he came to rest in the cold grass, hugging his rifle to his chest. "Please, God," he heard himself say. "Please, let me live."

Across the way, he spotted a young man creeping through a patch of weeds. His coat was dark blue and his face was full. Just as Damon had done a hundred times at camp, he raised his rifle to his shoulder. Without instruction, his arms seemed to take over. His shoulders braced, his fingers tensed, the trigger clicked, and a loud crack erupted from his gun. The man stumbled for a moment before falling to the dirt.

Damon stared at the spot where he had stood, his ears ringing and hot. Again, came a voice from within. Mechanically, he stood a little taller, aiming his rifle at a group of blue coats. His mind was blank and he lost count of how many shots he fired.

The sound of Ric's triumphant crow caught his attention and he turned just in time to catch him duck behind an old table. He made to join him, when he saw another man in a blue coat creeping up behind the table. Damon shouted, drawing the soldier's attention as he raised his weapon, both weapons went off simultaneously, but Damon was the only one to fall.

There was a jolt in his abdomen, almost like a punch. A second later, pain followed and his vision went black for a moment. It felt like someone lit a fire in his stomach and all he could do was lay there and burn. There was another shot, and Damon wanted to cry out for his friend.

He looked up into the new morning sky, breathing heavy. There was blood on the grass beneath him, likely more than just his. Just a few feet away from his extended hand was a bloodied torso with just one arm and one leg. Where did his limbs go? he thought absently. His vision went black for a moment and he felt warmth spreading across his legs and belly.

"Kill me!" someone shouted in the distance. "Please, kill me!"

"Damon," huffed another voice. Ric's face came to his mind but he did not see him. "Damon," he said again. "Are you hurt, brother?"

Yes, he thought. He no longer felt warm. Pain, dull at first and then suddenly sharp, tore through his insides. The sweat above his lip was cold and every ragged breath he took seem to rock the bullet inside of him like a ship at sea.

Greasy fingers grasped his face and he could feel his eyelids being pulled upward. Faint light hit his pupils. "I hear you breathing," Ric said. "Can you hear me?"

Damon dragged his eyelids open. "It hurts," he choked. "How do I make it stop?"

Another angry hornet flew by and Ric tucked his head into Damon's shoulder. "Don't think of that," he ordered, looking around him. "Think of something good. What about Rose? You remember her?"

Long, brown ringlets shook with laughter in his memory. He saw big, brown eyes with long lashes. Rose? he thought. No, that is not her name.

"She took you to her room, you remember? She wore that pretty red dress and smelled like fine perfume. C'mon, I'll never forgive a man who forgets a woman as pretty as that."

Then he saw the woman for a moment, but how could he know her? "Who is she?"

Ric grunted, almost like a laugh. "Damn, kid. Did 'ya get shot in the head? I took you to Fell's Church, remember?"

Yes, he thought.

He was laying in his tent, praying that he would wake up dry. "Wake up!" came a voice, grabbing him by the ankles and ripping him out into the cool night air. He was already praying that whoever it was would kill him quickly, when his face finally met Ric's, flashing a booze-soaked grin. Damon wrestled his way out of his grip, crying "Bastard!" as he fell backwards into the dirt. He had been so scared it didn't even occur to him that his father would have his mouth sewn shut if he heard him using that kind of language.

"Come on, kid," Ric said, unbothered, "ain't got the time to throw fits, now."

Damon rubbed the side of his arm. "You did not have to be so rough."

Ric rolled his eyes at the gesture and pulled him to his feet by the bruised spot. "I don't listen to anyone whine unless it's because someone's corset is too tight and they're just dying to get out of it. Now, grab that bottle of whiskey you're hiding and let's go."

"Where are we going?" Damon asked as Ric began to pull him in to the dark line of the trees that bordered the camp.

"Shh," Ric insisted.

Damon did as he was told and lowered his head to the ground to make sure he didn't fall. The liquor sloshed around inside its glass and he was sad to have to use it. He'd been drinking a little every night to help him fall asleep, but if he knew Ric, that wasn't going to be an option anymore. Once they were a safe distance from the camp, Ric slowed and Damon heard voices. He grabbed for his pistol, but Ric only relaxed. "You ever been out this late?" he asked.

Damon shook his head no. "Where would I go? Nothing is open."

Ric laughed, a little too loud, and shook his head, but before Damon could repeat his question, they were approaching a group of men standing by a tree. It took a moment, but Damon realized that all of them were from camp too. "You get the horses?" Ric asked.

A short man who was eyeing the bottle in Damon's hand nodded. "Tied 'em up on the outskirts o' the woods."

Damon squared his shoulders as he prepared to ask one more time, agreeing with himself that if he didn't receive an answer, then he would stop asking. "Where are we going?"

"Fell's Church," Ric explained, "is a town just a few miles away from here. I try to go there at least once every time we stay in Frederick's."

"What do you go there for?"

Damon looked around gingerly as all of the men began to snicker. Have they brought me here as a trick? he thought. "I do not understand," he said out loud.

"Don't worry, kid." Ric chuckled. "Once you see it, you won't need to understand."

Ric was right. At first, he was terrified the men had brought him along just to leave him and make a fool out of him in front of the officers. The town was quiet, though dimly lit by burning lanterns and candles that occasionally appeared in people's windows. It wasn't until they approached a tall building in the square that he realized what was happening. On the journey there, he had shared the bottle with Ric, and with the other man who had spoken to him, Luca. He could feel the liquid floating around in his head and he couldn't tell if his brain was buoyantly floating or sinking like a stone. They stumbled up the steps of the establishment and the scent of tobacco and perfume filled his nose.

It was a saloon. Just like the ones he had heard about from the men when they told their stories around the campfire. To his left, a long bar ran along the wall, decorated with shiny bottles and colorful ladies to match. Men sat at tables and stood around, but no one turned to look as they entered. Perhaps they didn't notice because the sound of the piano coming from the corner mixed with the loud chatter of drunken men and laughing women were too loud. Maybe they didn't care. They all looked like they were having too much fun.

Damon took a final pull from his bottle and sat it on the table to his right. He followed the others to a table and tried to focus on his surroundings. He was a little angry with Ric for not telling him what was happening; he never would have drunk so much if he thought he was going to want to remember what was happening. Most of the other men wandered off in search of drinks and other pastimes, but Ric leaned back in his seat and smiled. "Sorry we couldn't bring you earlier," he half-shouted. "I figured we'd have gone on a march by now and it's usually better to get that out of the way first."

"Why's that?" Damon half-slurred back.

"It's rough, kid. Let's leave it at that."

Damon nodded.

A few moments later, a pair of long, skinny arms slithered around Ric's neck and the woman attached appeared from behind him. "Well if it isn't my favorite customer?" she giggled, kissing him on the cheek.

Damon blushed. He'd seen plenty of men drink a little too much and get handsy with some young little thing who would giggle and smack his hand away. He always made sure he took the lady's hand and removed her from the situation, and perhaps laugh about it later when he recounted the episode to his brother, or even Elena. He had never seen a woman act so forward before. His eyes widened when she slid a hand down Ric's chest and onto his inner thigh, "I guess you've missed me as much as I've missed you?"

Ric laughed a husky little laugh Damon had never heard before as he pulled her onto his lap. "You can't possibly know how much I've missed you, Meredith. Not yet, at least." The two laughed and Damon realized he had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He was suddenly very aware of how straight he was sitting, but when he tried to slouch, as he had grown accustomed to around these men, he felt ridiculous. Then there were his hands, which fiddled and twitched in his lap, then on the table, and then on his lap again. He looked straight ahead and willed himself to stop blushing.

"Who's this?" Meredith asked.

"This," Ric said, with a smirk on his face that made Damon fearful, "is a very good friend of mine. He's new, see, and the boys and I just wanted to treat him to a night out for being such a good soldier."

Damon looked around, but there was no "boys" to be seen. "Well, how well are you wanting to treat him?" Meredith smiled. Unlike Ric, earnestness lay on her lips and in her eyes.

Ric leaned in closer to her again and said something that Damon couldn't hear. Meredith just nodded and gave him a small kiss on the lips before hopping up and parading off into some unseen corner.

"She seems nice," Damon said tightly.

Before Ric could respond, they were joined once again by the other men, each with a drink in one hand, and a few with a girl in the other. They played around, howling and guzzling down the golden liquid in their glasses. Occasionally, they would send off a girl to get another, but she always came back quickly. Damon tried to laugh and join in, but Meredith had been gone for a long time now. He could feel Ric smirking at him, and he couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

Finally, when Damon feared he would grow sore from fidgeting so much, Meredith returned empty-handed. She took her original seat in Ric's lap and acted as if nothing had happened. Damon calmed down at once. He wasn't sure what he was nervous about – or perhaps he was absolutely sure, because it wasn't soon after that another woman appeared with a full glass in hand and her eyes locked on his. The sight of her scared him even more. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, with long hair. Her skin was olive-toned and her hair was so light it almost matched. He could not help but wonder if she spent long periods of time out in the sun when she was not… working.

"I saw your glass getting empty," she said simply, putting the full one down on the table.

Damon looked to Ric for instruction, having never been in this sort of social situation before, but Ric only continued to look at him as he had been. "Thank you," he finally stammered.

The entire table was watching him now, waiting for him to say something – anything - to the girl before him.

"He's shy," Ric said to her. "Probably just used to charming the ladies with his looks, not his greenbacks."

Damon blushed furiously this time, but was relieved to see a way out. "I am afraid I have no money," he said, honestly. "Sorry, I won't waste your time."

"Oh, don't worry about all that," the girl giggled, scooting closer to him. "Your friends have been very generous… to both of us."

Damon's stomach turned and he couldn't tell if it was from her words or her perfume - it was overwhelming and smelled like roses. "Oh, no. No need." He struggled to find words. "I am quite content. Thank you."

The table laughed. One man, louder than the others, said, "Content? You've been away more than a month! You got that girl o' yers sneaking into camp or what?"

The table roared with laughter and Damon wanted to be anywhere else. He willed the image of Elena away from his mind; he did not want to think of her here, but he was so embarrassed he could not find room to be angry.

"It's fine," Ric sighed. "We've all got a girl somewhere, kid. They don't need to know about what goes on when we're away."

Damon took the drink and gulped it down, shoving both of his empty glasses at the girl. He frowned apologetically once he realized his rudeness. "Could I please have another?" he said guiltily.

She only smiled and took both of the glasses, "I'll fill both."

Once she was gone, Ric leaned in and smacked him on the head. "'S the matter with you?"

Damon shrugged dejectedly.

"Those manners ain't gonna do you any good here, son," one of the older men said.

"You don't gotta feel guilty," another added. "They're just doing their job!"

"It's not that," he sighed, frustrated. "I-"

He had been so concerned with finding a good excuse that he hadn't noticed Meredith whispering into Ric's ear again. Just as she had finished her thought, he slammed his fist on the table and crowed to the air, throwing her from his lap and stomping his foot. "Boys, I just figured it out!"

The entire room was listening now, not just the table, and Damon leaned his elbows onto his knees and put his face in his hands. He was caught.

To his credit, Ric delivered the blow swiftly. "We got ourselves a cherry!" he shouted. All at once the crowd of people went into an uproar and he could feel a group of men rush on him. Ric grabbed him by the back of his head, laughing wildly. "You'll thank me for this!" he said as someone grabbed Damon by the arms.

He fought as the men dragged him up the staircase and down the hall. They shoved him into a quiet little room, cheering all the while. It was suddenly quiet when they shut the door, and he could hear them retreating back down the hall to the main room. The room was dimly lit, but he could make out the pink curtains that hung over the windows and the matching paint on the walls. It was a simple room with just a bed, a small table, and a chest, but it was cozy, he thought.

The door opened and the woman who went to fetch his drinks entered, the two promised beers in hand. "I'm sorry about that," she smiled. "I take it you're one who likes to keep these things quiet?"

"I don't prefer these things at all," he muttered taking one beer and gulping it down quickly. He could feel himself becoming quite drunk, but he was desperate to wash away the embarrassment. She waited patiently for him to finish before trading him glasses. When he was done, she set them both on the table.

"They're only teasing," she said.

"Hilarious," he grunted. Feeling suddenly relaxed, he stood and snatched a silver cross from a little bowl of jewelry on the table, swinging it from his fingers. "So," he slurred, dramatically falling across the bed, "is this where you deflower me?"

She laughed. "Is that what you want?"

He sat up, squeezing the necklace until it left imprints in his hands. How was he to answer a question like that?

She paused for a moment before leaning in slowly, kissing him softly on the lips. He sat still for a moment and he could feel his ears get hot. How long had it been since he felt the touch of another human? It was only another moment before he clumsily smashed his face to hers. She was the softest thing he had felt in months, and warm too.

He ran his hands up the girl's leg and then her abdomen, all the way up to her face, where he held it and pulled away. "What is your name?" he breathed.

She opened her eyes. "Rose."

He almost felt disappointed by the name, like he was expecting her to say something else, and perhaps he was. Rose was soft and beautiful, but she was wrong in every way. Her perfume was too strong and sickly sweet, her hair and eyes were too light, and her voice was too deep. She was not Elena.

"I can't do this," he blurted.

She smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "I know."

"I have someone at home... I can't be anymore without her than I already am… I know it does not make sense, b-"

"It's all right," she reassured. "Does she know?"

"What?"

"How you feel?"

"I think so."

She rolled her eyes.

"That is not good enough?"

She scoffed, "Anyone can 'think so', but not everyone can know."

"You think she does not know?" he said, confused.

"I think that you're not sure."

He frowned, "Maybe not."

"So make yourself sure. Make her sure. Tell her. When you get back, tell her that you can't be without her."

He sighed because she was right, and he hated that he had not said anything before. "What about everyone downstairs?" he asked after a moment.

"Let them think what they want," she said, kissing him on the cheek. He leaned back so his back was against the headboard. He focused hard on the wall in front of him in an attempt to get it to stop moving. "Do you want me to leave you?"

His head lulled to the side so he could look at her. "Will you just lay with me?" he asked quietly, and he was surprised to feel a lump rising in his throat and the corners of his mouth turn down hard.

She smiled softly and scooted up next to him, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder like he had so often pictured Elena doing. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend it was her, but nothing was right. "Rose," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"What if I don't make it back?"

Damon groaned as the pain spread from his back to his chest. Ric had rolled him to his side so he would not choke on his own vomit, and he retched into the wreaking grass in front of him. "I remember," he choked. "I remember Fell's Church."

Ric laughed and smacked him on the back. "How could'ya forget?"

"I'm dying," Damon said, though he did not mean to. The sound of Ric's voice fell to the background as Damon pondered what lay ahead of him. He hoped heaven, if he made it there, would be soft and the color of chocolate, mahogany, her eyes. Everything was too bright, too loud, and too painful, and he hoped it would all fade like sunlight on a warm summer's day.

Saving his friend was the first choice he had made for himself in a long time, perhaps the first since he decided to love Elena. He did not regret it, though all he could see was her face when she received word of his death. He would never tell her that she was the only thing that was important to him. Not honor. Not glory. Not adventure. Not family. Elena. It hurt him to think he let her down in that way.

He selfishly resented that her tears for him would run out. She would find a new man eventually, and bear his children. She would go on to live her life, perhaps only thinking of him when she had a private moment in the dark. That was all he would become in death, a broken memory hidden away like pictures in the attic.

Ric hovered over him, shaking his shoulders. A sound like a whip cracked from behind him and Ric was no longer shaking him. Damon listened for him, but he could only hear his own pain, screaming like a kettle in his belly; his heart beating faster and faster; and her voice saying his name in that way she did. He would die without ever hearing it again, and that was greater than any pain he could imagine.