New Mexico, December, 1864
Being small, Heath had done more than his share of digging the tunnel that they hoped would become an escape route. It never used to bother him much, working in small underground spaces. He had done plenty of that growing up in the mines. But lately, since Linceul, he didn't know what was wrong with him. He was having a hard time with it.
He was taking his usual nighttime turn at tunnel digging. He was crawling toward the back of the tunnel, his only light the stump of a candle inside a jar. He jostled the jar while squeezing through a tight spot, and the candle went out. This was not an unusual occurrence, and Heath had in the past been content to dig and fill his debris bag in total darkness.
On this occasion, though, something was terribly different. Heath found himself near paralyzed by the blackness. The dark suddenly felt like a physical presence, pressing in on him, squeezing his chest, pushing into his mouth and throat so he couldn't breathe or swallow or yell for help. He felt he was drowning in blackness. His heart was hammering in his chest. The tunnel seemed to turn sickeningly around him, disorienting him, and he struggled not to vomit up what little food he had gotten to eat that day. Frantically he tried to think through what was happening to him. He felt like he was dying. Was the tunnel full of poison gas? Forcing himself into motion, he did the only thing he could think of to do. Back up. Get away. Just get away now.
He scrambled backward on shaky arms, his breath panting and shallow, feeling an odd numbness around his mouth and his hands. The tunnel seemed endless. As soon as he reached a spot where he could turn around and then stand, he ran for the dim light of the entrance, half-expecting the blackness behind to reach out and drag him back in.
He emerged into the root cellar, crossed the cool, dimly lit space on unsteady legs, and slid to the ground with his back against the wall facing the tunnel entrance. He was shaking all over, staring at the black mouth of the tunnel and trying to sort out what had just happened.
"Heath? Is that you? What's the matter?" A woman's voice, contralto, German-accented. She looked out at him from behind the curtain that sectioned off a corner of the root cellar as a living space for her and her children.
When Heath did not answer, she became concerned, crossing the cellar to his side. She was a strong-boned woman, with thick dark hair wrapped in a single grey-streaked braid. She wiped her hands on the skirt of a plain, but well-made dress. She knelt by him, her eyes intelligent, active as they assessed the boy who had become so dear to her family. "Heath," she repeated. "Look at me, boychick. What's the matter?"
Heath took a breath, and shook his head as though to clear it. He looked at her, confused. "I - I don't rightly know," he said. "I was fine, and then my candle went out, and then I felt like I was dying and I had to get out. I don't know what happened."
"Like you were dying?"
"I felt like I couldn't breathe, like everything was pressing in on me - " As he spoke, he tensed up and he could feel his heart racing. He began to feel short of breath. His pupils were so dilated she could barely see the blue of his eyes.
"Easy, Heath. You can breathe. Just breathe. Think of something else, something that makes you feel safe. I'm right here next to you. Think of a fine Fall day and you galloping the mail from one town to the next like you told me about. Shhh. Breathe. I'm right here."
Heath looked into her serious, intent face, keeping his eyes on hers and doing his best to follow her instructions. He trusted her, and for whatever reason, what she was doing seemed to be helping him not to die from whatever the problem was. Slowly, the terrible feeling of dread and suffocation eased, and he could relax against the dirt wall behind him.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll tell you again, there is no need for such formality. My name is Hadassah. It's been a while since I had students to call me ma'am."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, smiling up at her. "You remind me a bit of my Aunt Rachel," he said wistfully. "She was a teacher, back East. She taught me to play chess, taught me math. She never could teach me not to call her ma'am, though." He sighed. "I miss her and my Mama. What happened in that tunnel?"
"Fear, I think."
"Fear? But I've been in that tunnel a hundred times, been in plenty of worse spots underground planting charges in the mines. What's to fear?"
"I read some papers my Uncle Jacob wrote. He's a physician, in Pennsylvania. He treats men who have been in combat, who have had terrible, traumatic experiences in the war. The fear, the hurt, takes on a life of its own. He describes just the kind of symptoms you had, sometimes out of the blue, sometimes triggered by a situation or a feeling that reminds one - " She stopped, as she saw Heath go still, as though he was listening - no, as if he was bracing himself for something. "What is it?"
"He would blindfold me." His voice was matter-of-fact, but she felt as though he was speaking to her from a great distance.
"Linceul."
"Yes. And then - and then I never knew what he would do next." He had started shaking again. "Every time he would touch me, I never knew. Sometimes that's all it was, him just touching me. But he had so many ways to hurt, and he'd go looking with his hands for more ways - " Heath raked his hands into his hair, squeezing his temples, wishing he could push those memories out of his head. "I never knew what he was going to do. And when I couldn't see, it was so much worse. He loved that. I couldn't stop him. I killed him, but that didn't stop him. He's still here in my head, I still feel him looking at me, I still feel his hands, when it went black in the tunnel it was like he was all around me - " He was crying now, silently. She was struck by the expression on his face. Despite the tears, he was staring again at the black mouth of the tunnel as though it was a problem to be solved.
"Heath," she said quietly. "Heath, can I touch you? Just for a minute?" She felt it was important to ask his permission.
He looked at her, puzzled, but nodded.
She sat beside him on the dirt floor and put her arms around him. He leaned into her and rested his head by her shoulder. She deliberately stroked his hair, murmuring, "He is gone, Heath. Don't let him take you with him into the dark. Stay here with the ones that love you and need you. You are not alone. Stay here."
He wept for a good while. Hadassah knew some of what had occurred when Linceul had taken Heath away from them, and she had done much to treat his injuries and help Heath recover afterwards. She had sat with him through the worst nightmares. It was heartbreaking for her. He was such a good-hearted, brave boy, and she could see the brave, good man he would become. All she could do now was show him her heart, and help him remember his.
Hadassah had trained as a physician, in Berlin and in London. In Germany, as a Jew and as a woman, she was forbidden to practice medicine, so she taught where she could and kept up her studies. Her husband Solomon was a well-respected rabbi. They decided they would emigrate as a family to America, to Albuquerque, where they had family in a growing Jewish community. The community there consisted mainly of merchants and shopkeepers, and they were eager for teachers and rabbis and people of education as their families grew. Hadassah could even begin to dream about opening her own medical practice in the wide open West.
The couple miscalculated, as their trek to their new home collided with the war between the states. Solomon had traveled ahead to establish their homestead in Albuquerque. Hadassah was unable to follow with the children before their route was cut off by the fighting in New Mexico. They were swept up in the conflict, and now found themselves under a death sentence, hiding from the occupying Confederate Army.
She looked across at the curtain, behind which slept her three children. Her twin boys, Avram and David, were not yet three years old. When they were all running for their lives that terrible night of the ambush, Heath had scooped up both boys and carried them, shepherding her and her daughter through the maze of arroyos, making sure all they all got to their hiding place, when he could have been fleeing himself in the other direction. The twins thought of Heath as their own personal playmate, and when he came back to them they could barely wait until he was healed up enough for them to tackle him and wrestle him to the ground. The boys were the first to get a smile out of Heath after he came back from Linceul. It sometimes seemed to her that Heath would seek out the boys to help keep his mind off his time in that tent.
Her daughter, Rivka, was 12. Hadassah smiled thinking of her. Was is just her age that made her such a charming mix of contradictions? Thoughtful and studious, opinionated and ambitious, yet self-denying and generous to a fault. She planned to follow in her mother's footsteps and become a physician. Always expecting the usual "girls can't be doctors", Rivka often carried herself belligerently, but Heath's honest enthusiasm and admiration of her ambition won her over immediately. While Heath was getting his strength back - not yet tough enough to take on the twins - he and Rivka would play chess. Early in their hiding, they had discovered their mutual interest, and she and Heath had made a project of carving a board and pieces out of wood and sandstone. Some of the men in his unit had teased Heath about his "art project". The two could laugh and talk together, being not so different in age. At those times, it seemed to Hadassah that she could see Heath as the 15-year-old boy he was, instead of the soldier, old beyond his years. It was Rivka who sat with Heath and cried with him when his friend Jimmy died of the influenza.
Hadassah was grateful for anything that would help her children engage in something normal, something good. Their days and nights were filled with the fear of being discovered. Heath and the other men of his unit, though they were prisoners themselves, made them feel protected, not alone in this hellish place. Her soul ached for the suffering of these men, captors and prisoners alike. The violence victimized them all.