Consumption

January 3, 1866

It was fortunate Cora and I went to the market today—the snow was up to our ankles on the walk back. And as far as I can tell by moonlight, the great white gusts have only gotten greater. It could be a week before the lane is passable. I only wish we’d thought to pick up butter, but there are worse fates than eating dry bread for a week. I would have liked to bake something sweet for Cora, too, but we’re also out of sugar. Perhaps there was a reason our mother kept a list.

Still, I don’t mind a storm like others do. I would be reading by the fire regardless of the weather, and the swirling snow makes it all the cozier. We have plenty of firewood and the icebox is stocked with the essentials, at least. I only worry about the effect all this isolation will have on Cora. Christmas was more difficult than I had expected, and her daily walks have become an important ritual.

I knew William’s absence would be felt, but we’re three days into the new year and she’ll still hardly speak to me. Yet another dreary Christmas with just the two of us must have finally broken her, especially because it should have been a doubly festive holiday now that Lee has surrendered. Frankly, I’m surprised her spirit lasted as long as it did—Cora has neither the comfort of her husband, nor the comfort of knowing he is resting peacefully now. Blind faith can only carry a person so far.

This last week I’ve watched her suffer through a routine of long solitary walks in the mornings, and constant mournful music every other hour of the day and night. And I thought nothing could be worse than watching her wait for him on the porch all summer. I would be more worried if she had stopped with the piano altogether, but all this Chopin isn’t good for anyone’s mood. She’s still at it now, though it’s half-past ten and she always wakes before sunrise. Perhaps I should go remind her of the time.

***

I scarcely believe I’m writing this…I may still be dreaming, given the hour. William has returned! He’s just downstairs with Cora, half-frozen and exhausted, but alive. Alive! What a joy it is to write that!

An hour ago, I woke to a knocking I thought was the wind. But Cora, who had spent every night of the last four years listening for such a knock, flew down the stairs to the door. When I found them, he was there at the threshold, asking to be let in as if he were some stranger who only wanted shelter from the storm! He was so changed, too. I wouldn’t have recognized him at first if Cora hadn’t thrown her arms around him.

His uniform hung off his skeletal frame in wet ribbons, rusted brown with old blood. His hair was shorn, and his eyes…they looked through us more than at us, glassy and sunken with red circles underneath. I know I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I can admit now (as I couldn’t then for fear of upsetting Cora) that it broke my heart to see him so.

We had to cajole him into the house like a wild animal, and then he was so skittish I couldn’t get his uniform off to check for wounds and put him into dry clothes. Actually, apart from cowering from my touch, he hardly acknowledged Cora and I at all. She didn’t seem to notice—she was so deliriously happy she couldn’t stand still, and she was talking enough for all three of us.

After checking him over as well as I could without touching him, I returned to my room to give them privacy. Though I do worry Cora doesn’t understand the manner of care he needs. Does she know to feed him clear broth, and that he shouldn’t sit too close to the fire in case of frostbite?

I would look in on them now, but I don’t want to rob Cora of this first night of reunion. They spent so little time alone together before he enlisted—they’ve never even lived as man and wife. Surely she’ll come to me if anything goes wrong? Not that I could fetch the doctor in this storm if it were anything serious…the snow is falling so fast we could hardly open the door to let William in.

A good night’s sleep by the fire and a few hearty meals will revive him somewhat, but I can’t imagine he’ll be back to his good-humored self anytime soon. That will be a slow process, I think. I only hope Cora isn’t too disappointed. She’s been so strong in his absence, and I would hate for this long hoped-for reunion to bring her more grief than joy. I shall remind her to have patience, and that the William she remembers will find his way back to her in time.

The sun won’t rise for a few hours yet, but my nerves are too excited to sleep. Worse, I know I’ll see that haunted expression on William’s face every time I close my eyes. What a blight on humanity this war was, and what a miracle that God delivered William through it. I’m usually skeptical of so-called ‘miracles,’ but even I know it was something far beyond human ability or comprehension that carried him to our door tonight in such a storm as this.

January 4, 1866

A dreadful day to follow such a night. I expected to spend it caring for William, but instead it’s Cora who has fallen ill. I came into her room when she and William still hadn’t risen at half-past eight and found her alone on the bed, white as a sheet and freezing to the touch! Her fire had gone out and I could see my breath in the air. Stranger still, William was nowhere to be seen.

When I revived Cora, she was delirious. She kept repeating that William had gone to fetch the doctor, and she wouldn’t answer any other questions. The storm had slowed by morning, but visibility was still poor and the snow was waist-deep at least. I don’t see how William could have made it past the doorstep, let alone into town, especially considering his condition last night. And his boots were still on the floor by Cora’s bed.

I thought all the excitement had confused her, but I looked in every room and didn’t find a trace of him. He must have found a pair of Father’s old boots and started the journey while I dozed off for an hour around sunrise. It was a noble gesture, but he’s been gone for several hours now. Even if he does return safely with the doctor in tow, I can only imagine how this exertion will set his recovery back. And why did he not wake me so I could sit with Cora if he was so insistent on going?

I’ve had little time to worry about William until now, however. Cora’s sudden illness gave me quite the scare. She could hardly lift her head all morning, and then suffered what I can only describe as an attack of hysteria in the afternoon. Laughing one moment, crying the next…it was awful to behold. And the similarity to Mother’s behavior just before she died struck terror into my heart. In her final days, Mother, too, oscillated between laughing and crying, though her hysteria was so acute she had conversations with a faerie she believed lived in the walls. Even if Cora did repeatedly ask for William after telling me he’d left, she wasn’t so removed from reality as that. She couldn’t have been…and her affliction is easily explained by passing a sleepless night in a cold room.

But I haven’t shared the worst bit of all. When Cora managed to sit up, the collar of her dressing gown slipped to reveal an angry red mark running down the base of her neck. And when I straightened her bedclothes, I saw drops of blood on the coverlet. Again, both are all too familiar to me. By the time she succumbed, Mother’s body was marred by a hundred such marks, and her cough was so pronounced that her handkerchief was more red than white.

The blood could have been William’s given the state of his uniform, and I haven’t seen Cora cough once today. But how to explain that distinctive red mark? Could some combination of cold air and overexcitement really cause a mark like that? I don’t want to assume the worst, and she already seems so much better. She’s been sleeping soundly for the last hour. Mother had a cough for a month before the severity of her illness became clear…surely Cora wouldn’t be showing these symptoms so quickly? And for it to happen the day after her husband returns…no, that would be too cruel. Cora is a healthy young woman showing understandable signs of physical and emotional stress. It isn’t like it was with Mother. She’ll be fine in the morning, and William needn’t have gone for the doctor. Still, I passed Mother’s cross from my neck to hers, though I like to think I’m above such superstition.

I can’t bring myself to leave her bedside, but my thoughts have turned to William. I’m beginning to picture him frozen in a ditch, or carried off by the wind. I suppose I should go out and search for him—the storm has picked up again, and what little daylight there was is gone. Unless he stopped over somewhere for the night? I wish someone else were here. The specter of Mother’s illness still hangs over the room, but I would much prefer to be haunted by her person. Not that she was some warm, maternal figure, but she

January 

I’ve been sleeping a hundred years and I’d like to sleep a hundred more. It’s dusk now but I don’t remember getting into bed. Did I leave Cora? No, that’s not right…Cora was here today. She lit my fire for me and we talked of William. William! I remember now. I saw him last night. I was worried, he was half-dead on our doorstep. All that red blood on his uniform. And the dirt under his nails. I wouldn’t have recognized him. But he looked well last night, smiling with all his white teeth. Cora will be pleased. I’m so tired I can hardly hold the pen. I don’t know why I’m writing…I must have fallen asleep in the middle. Mother's banging pots around downstairs. She’ll expect me to help with dinner. But my legs are so heavy and I twisted my neck somehow. At least the fire will be warmer...there’s such a draft in here. It's still snowing.