Summary: Adam and Joe find themselves in the middle of the Civil War.

Rated: T (13,640 words)

 

Interlude Series:

Interlude
When We All Die

Interlude

 

“At the moment near the close of the day when the remnant of the retrograding army was driven to refuge in the midst of its magazines, with the triumphant enemy at half-gunshot distance, the advance division of a reenforcing army arrived on the opposite bank of the river, crossed, and took position under fire at the point of attack; the attacking force was checked, and the battle ceased for the day. The next morning at dawn the reenforcing army and a fresh division belonging to the defeated force advanced against the assailants, followed or accomplished by such of the broken columns of the previous day as had not lost all cohesion, and after ten hours of conflict drove the enemy from the captured camps and the field.”

April 6-7, 1862. Report of Maj. Gen. Don Carlos Buell, U. S. Army, commanding Army of the Ohio

~ * ~* ~

 

1862, March 22nd, Nashville

 

Joe Cartwright wandered along the streets, no particular destination in mind. His feet ached, his back reminded him that it needed a break, and the general drizzle that fell down on him did nothing to improve his mood. Wet, cold and hungry, he wanted nothing more than to sit down somewhere dry, preferably warm, and rest his body before getting something to eat and lying down for a good night’s rest. He sighed. Without enthusiasm he blinked the wetness out of his eyes, then looked back at the masses of people moving beside him, busy with their own everyday worries, and wondered once again how he had ended up here.

 

What had begun as a reasonably pleasant journey had soon turned into an almost disastrous undertaking. Accompanying the wife and daughter of one of his father’s friends to St. Louis had sounded like fun when it was first reluctantly proposed by his father; and though he had shared friendly jokes with Hoss at the stage coach station, there had been no denying the fear and worry in his family’s eyes. Even so, he had thought he had been prepared for any eventuality they might meet on the journey – there was a war going on after all – but nothing could have prepared him for the destruction he had seen, or the hostility they had experienced along the way.

 

It had been difficult to get through to St. Louis, but eventually he had seen the family reunited with the father, and been able breathe a sigh of relief. True, the mother had been friendly and the daughter lovely, but they both had been so anxious to get back to their home and friends that talk during their journey had been kept to a minimum. Pleased that with their arrival in St. Louis the responsibility had been lifted from his shoulders, Joe had settled on two days of leisure in the city before starting back to Nevada, not realizing that the unpredictability of the stage coach service would delay him even more.

 

Dispiritedly turning his head once more towards the sky, Joe sighed again. He had delivered wife and daughter safely back home, and he had enjoyed his stay in St. Louis. And then he had heard some rumours, which had alerted him at once -and had changed all his plans.

 

Getting from St. Louis to Nashville had been even more difficult. Union armies had just occupied the city, and vestiges of fights were clearly visible for everyone to see. Women, their faces thin and haggard, were rushing past him with barefooted children and empty hands, men were standing together in small groups, suspiciously regarding any stranger that passed their way. Slogans had been smeared over destroyed walls, rubble not yet cleared away, and Joe, after carefully manoeuvring himself through the battle-torn city all day, wished that he had never left Nevada to come here.

 

Impatiently, he shook himself. It was true, he wanted to be somewhere else, do something else, but…

 

Most of all, he wanted to find Adam.

 

Again, Joe looked around, despairing for just a moment, then doggedly made his way through the crowd. He didn’t think it would get him anywhere, but he didn’t know what else to do. Of course he had inquired at headquarters, several times already, only to be told to wait outside, or come back later, tomorrow or never, if possible. At first he had sat down to wait, but four hours of activity around him without his brother showing up had left him frazzled and ready to explode. He had convinced the clerk to write him a list of all the places his brother could have gone to, had made him promise to tell him when Adam came back, but so far he hadn’t met with success in any of his endeavours. He’d tried every office, every bureau there was, only to discover that his shadow of a brother had been there “some time ago.”

 

Joe felt overwhelmed just visiting the places on the list; he didn’t dare to imagine what Adam’s head must feel like after a long day of work. It wasn’t that Joe disliked cities – he really enjoyed visiting San Francisco – but after several more hours spent walking the streets of the town trying to locate his brother, Joe felt like he was swimming against the tide. Now he leant against the wall of a saloon, looked at the people moving along and cursed the day Adam Cartwright had joined the US army.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The air in the saloon was blue with dancing wisps of smoke, but the sweet, heavy fragrances of the city entered through the door and crawled along the well-worn floor. They lingered in the corners and sneaked glances into the room, until the more powerful fumes of cigars teased them from their hiding places and drew them into their deathly embrace.

 

Inhaling softly, Joe settled into his chair, then sighed when the pressure taken off his feet sent waves of pain up his spine. For a moment he closed his eyes und enjoyed sitting down, then he remembered the glass in his hands and let the cool beer run down his throat. Only then did he lean back and surveyed the barroom in which he had sought shelter in from the rain.

 

The saloon was well-filled; groups of men occupied almost every available table, playing, drinking, discussing. Every now and then, the clinking of glasses would sound through the room like bells struck underwater, accompanying the murmur of the men that was like the soft hum of a bee-hive in summer – reassuring and comforting in its dependability and never-ending symphony. Occasional bantering voices of the “girls” would tickle laughter from the men, and Joe couldn’t help but smile in response when they fluttered their eyelashes at him as well.

 

Still, he made no move to invite them. He had only just arrived in the city, and the suspicious glances thrown his way had accomplished more than his father’s advice to keep him mostly to himself wherever he had gone. Instead, Joe had studied the faces of the other customers and noted with a kind of dreadful fascination the emotions that ran unchecked, and the passion with which the debates were waged.

 

Not surprisingly, talk about the war was ever-present. In the beginning, he had strained his ears to listen to the conversations, interested as ever in the ongoing discussions about who was right and who was wrong, discussions that seldom had been held at home.

 

His father hadn’t encouraged talk about a civil war that he deemed “madness”, and though Adam had agreed with him, he had talked about it – until the day he had informed his family of his decision to enlist. Then he was gone, the talk had died altogether, and Adam seldom wrote.

 

Joe sighed softly. Insidiously, the typical scent of the saloon had crept up his spine to remind him with painful sharpness of Virginia City, and the beer only emphasized the sudden longing to be home again – back among people Joe had known all his life. He had listened to stories and discussions at home, and in the saloons, as well, had seen heated arguments fought over seemingly trivial issues, had sometimes paid for the damages while he had nursed a black eye. And yet, it all felt surreal now in comparison to the horrid immediacy he had faced here.

 

But still, from what Joe could see, war had the same effect on men everywhere. It dragged them out to the saloons and public places and made them linger in the streets, their ears and minds eagerly listening for any scrap of news they could get hold of – chattering, discussing, waiting – while their emotions whirled just beneath the surface.

 

“…yep, but The Black will get it fixed.”

 

“He won’ thish time. Not’in time, anyways, an’ ya cain jus…”

 

Loud voices brought Joe back into the saloon. A quick glance around told him that the atmosphere had heated considerably while he had allowed his mind to wander. Not wanting to be caught in a brawl about who was the better officer, he set his empty glass on the table and got up slowly and deliberately, so as not to draw any attention to himself.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Stepping outside, he heard the first chairs flying. Joe chuckled softly to himself, while inwardly he thanked his father for making him promise to not let himself be drawn into any fight – and for making him swear on his mother’s Bible. Whistling now, he took another step, only to be reminded with mocking accuracy of the drizzle that had made him seek refuge in the first place. He shivered and grimaced, then shrugged. Both hands in his pockets to keep warm, he squared his shoulders and started walking. He had decided that he needed to clear his head before returning to the hotel.

 

Wandering through the town and lost in his thoughts, Joe found he actually enjoyed the cold, bracing air of the night that revived his numb senses. He had just passed the building the army employed as temporary headquarters when a sudden flash of light made him look up in surprise. For a moment he stared hard at one second floor window, then went back, his mind made up. He was sure that the window belonged to Adam’s office.

 

~ ~ ~

 

He took a deep breath and knocked.

 

“Come in.”

 

The voice hadn’t changed. Deep and rich, it immediately reminded Joe of home, conjuring up images of evenings spent laughing and singing. Now there was a faint undertone in it he could only just detect, but he couldn’t place it. Not daring to think about what it might mean, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 

Adam Cartwright sat at his desk, facing the window. Clad in the dark blue wool befitting an officer, he didn’t turn around at the intrusion, but continued writing as if no one had entered the room.

 

Joe found himself staring at Adam’s back, suddenly unexplainably shy. Had it been any other time or place, he would have clapped his brother on the back, laughed at him in greeting or simply hugged him. Instead, he just stood and watched the back of the man he had last seen a year ago, saw the shoulders raise and sink with even breaths. Then, realizing that he had stared for what seemed like hours, he shuffled his feet, rapidly becoming uncomfortable with the stretching silence. The pen scratched on the paper.

 

Finally Adam stopped for a moment.

 

“What is it?” he asked distractedly before he resumed writing.

 

Joe cleared his throat.

 

“Hi Adam,” he said. And waited.

 

For a moment it seemed that Adam hadn’t heard him. Then the hand on the paper went still.

 

To Joe everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He watched as Adam placed both hands on his desk in order to push himself upright, watched as he caught himself on the edge of the chair but didn’t notice, watched as he squared his shoulders just before turning around.

 

“He’s too thin,” was the first thought that came to Joe’s mind as he looked at the dark figure in front of him. His eyes travelled over the sharp lines drawn by chin and cheeks that were too pale, then flickered to the pools of amber above.

 

Adam’s eyes met his gaze and for a moment there was a light in them, making them shine with life, and a twitch of his mouth as though he guessed what Joe was thinking.

 

Then suddenly there was nothing awkward anymore. Before Joe could take another breath, he was in Adam’s arms, being pounded on the back until his teeth rattled in his skull. Smiling, he looked up into his brother’s beaming eyes, the gold warming him as if he had lived in perpetual winter since Adam had left.
Finally, Adam let go and took a step back to size him up and down.

 

“Joe”, he said, and the pride and excitement in his voice made Joe shiver. “What brings you here?”
“Escorted two ladies to St. Louis,” he answered, “then heard you were here and thought I might meet you, surprise you.”

 

A strand of hair fell into his face, and impatiently Joe lifted a hand to push it away, hardly able to take his eyes off his brother. Unfortunately, the contact with the wet locks also reminded him of his aching legs and the damp pants that clung to them. Suddenly uncomfortable, Joe shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They were still standing in the middle of the room, and Adam showed no inclination of settling down somewhere. He was leaning against the desk, his eyes still locked with Joe’s face, drinking in the familiar features.

 

“Where are you staying?”

 

“A place near the station. It’s a fine hotel, all dandy.” Joe put his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the trembling that ran through him. Suddenly he realized that he had never spent one thought on what he would do after he had seen his brother, and knew that he had somehow expected Adam to decide. Yet, just as he opened his mouth to ask, his eyes fell again on his brother’s pale face and Joe stopped himself. Adam’s body, always brawny, had become so lean that Joe had been able to feel his ribs through the heavy wool and Joe temporarily suspended any thought of his own well-being.

 

“I’ve been trying to catch you all day long. Where have you been?” Joe’s voice, tinged with concern as it was, only got a few blinks from dark lashes.

 

“I’ve been busy.” Adam smiled, but it was an evasive smile as he waved a hand towards the desk behind him.

 

Joe almost gaped at him. “Busy, my foot! I couldn’t find you anywhere. Didn’t your clerk tell you I was here?”

 

“Mmm? Oh yeah, I guess he did.” Adam sounded a bit distracted, but Joe, standing on sore feet and feeling his aching back, was not inclined to let him back out. He hadn’t seen his brother in months, Adam hadn’t written and now, after having wasted half a day, they were still standing in the office, talking like they had only just met. He opened his mouth to say as much, but a knock at the door forestalled him.

 

“Enter.”

 

The clerk, by now well known to Joe from his earlier inquiries, stuck his head in.

 

“Telegram from the General,” was all he said. Before Joe had time to blink, Adam had snatched the sheet of paper from the man’s hand and half-turned to read it. Only after he had finished did he seem to remember that Joe was still there. He turned back and faced his brother, totally disregarding the look on Joe’s face. Adam’s eyes mirrored his regret, but Joe wasn’t inclined to notice. In the course of a moment, his brother’s whole stance had changed, urgency taking the place of the earlier composure, and Joe knew without doubt that he had already been dismissed.

 

“Joe, I’m sorry. You have to go now.” Adam nodded to the clerk. “Mr. Kayle will see you out. Perhaps we can have dinner the day after tomorrow?” he added as an afterthought; and despite the words Joe could see that his mind was already on the note in his hand.

 

There wasn’t much left for Joe to say. A wave of bitter disappointment washed over him as he found himself suddenly staring at Adam’s back, watching forlornly as his brother sat back down at his desk and unfolded the paper. Anger started to build inside of Joe, but just then he felt the hand of the clerk on his arm, guiding him purposefully towards the door. Joe shrugged it off, threw his brother one last look and stormed off.

 

“He didn’t even ask how I was,” he thought resentfully.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The hand that held the telegram was trembling, but Adam didn’t notice. Absent-mindedly, he restlessly got up and listened for the retreating steps of his brother in the hallway. Only a faint echo of Joe’s voice lingered in his mind, but Adam remembered the huge, disappointed eyes well enough – eyes that had lost nothing of their haunting reproach. Then, as if trying to erase the memory from his mind, he rubbed a hand over his face and leaned against his desk.

 

The short visit, unannounced as it had been, had shaken him thoroughly. He had never expected to see a familiar face here, had secretly hoped he would never see one as long as the war was raging. Raking a hand through his hair, Adam sat down, staring blindly at the note in his hand.

 

His last memories of home weren’t easy ones; a year later they still made his stomach tense. For days on end, dejected faces had watched his every move while he had tried to avoid as many confrontations with his brothers as possible. It had been his father’s embrace and reluctant smile at the stage coach station that had eased his conscience and which he had kept in his memory. At his insistence, and very little resistance from his brothers, he had taken his leave of Hoss and Joe at home. Adam was well aware of the fact that it had been this decision and the resulting hour of solitude with his father that had made the hesitant consent possible.

 

Still, Adam wondered what Joe’s presence meant for their relationship. At home, Joe had been unusually subdued after a single outburst, and had seemingly accepted his brother’s decision without further argument.

 

Hesitant steps in the hallway brought Adam’s mind back to the task at hand, and, pulling himself together, he called out to his secretary whom he knew to be waiting just outside the office.

 

“Sir?” Kayle stuck his head in.

 

“Please send a note to Lieutenant Sheale to have the men at the ready at noon tomorrow. Full equipment.”

 

“Very well, sir.”

 

Knowing that Kayle expected him to ask for Joe, Adam, with a short nod, turned back to his desk, effectively ending the conversation. Only after he had heard the door close behind him did he pull out the maps and lists he would need during the night, rubbing his brow in concentration. Then he pulled his cup of coffee, now cold, towards him and started his calculations.

 

He was so tired.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Of course they never had dinner.

 

The following evening, Adam sent a message saying that he was too busy and wouldn’t make it to dinner the next day, asking whether they could perhaps meet another time.

 

Joe crumbled the note in his hand. After the disappointment of the day before he had almost suspected that his brother wouldn’t take the time to meet him, but now he realized that he still had harboured some hopes. In sudden anguish Joe kicked the bedpost, then stood with his fists clenched, breathing heavily while he tried to control his irritation.

 

It wasn’t only that he had looked forward to seeing his brother again. During his impromptu journey, Joe’s conscience had told him repeatedly that he should have gone home straight away. His father had even made him promise, but so far Joe had been able to ignore the voices in his head, hoping that his Pa would understand his motivation, if not his actions.

 

Joe had longed to spend some time with Adam; visions of the two of them laughing, drinking and telling stories had made the decision easier, had lightened up the ride in the stage coach. The thought that Adam wouldn’t be able to meet him had never entered his mind. It seemed that his brother was too busy to see his family. Remembering their short encounter, Joe had realized that Adam hadn’t even asked about their father and brother. There hadn’t been time. And perhaps Adam had stopped thinking about them.

 

All of a sudden, Joe’s temper flared. The crumbled note was at his feet, the fine script hardly visible. Fine then. Adam had postponed their meeting? Fine. He was here. If Adam wanted to talk with him, he would know where to find him. But Joe wouldn’t be the one to come knocking. He had his pride, too.

 

However, when on the third day Adam still hadn’t called, Joe’s patience, thin to begin with, had vanished. So far he had never strayed much from the hotel, always hoping for a note from Adam, but he realized that he couldn’t spend his days in Nashville in the hotel lobby. The wire Joe had sent to inform his father of his change of plans had been answered approvingly, encouraging him to spend as much time with his brother as he could before returning home. Joe had snorted when he read it, startling the postman. However, upon finding out that the earliest stage coach wouldn’t leave Nashville before next week, he was resolved to make his stay in the city as enjoyable as possible under the circumstances.

 

During the few days Joe had been in Nashville, he had become quite used to it, even though the general hustle and bustle of the city and the sheer quantity of people still managed to unnerve him on occasion. Everywhere people were busy clearing away the last traces of the recent battle, hauling, carrying, transporting stones, and Union soldiers were seen everywhere on the streets and treated with indifference to overt hostility. Even so, most of the shops had already re-opened out of simple necessity, and business and entertainment were, if slightly slower, running, much to Joe’s pleasure.

 

Still, talk about the war and the next battle met him wherever he went, returning his thoughts to Adam with predictable regularity, making him wonder just what it was that his brother was doing that was so urgent that he hadn’t been able to spend a bit of time with his own brother. Already more than a week had passed without a word from Adam, and Joe’s departure date drew nearer.

 

Standing at his window one evening, Joe sighed, feeling more forlorn than he had in a very long time. Then his eye fell on the wire and his father’s words of greeting. Joe sighed again. He knew he should at least take his leave of Adam.
~ ~ ~

 

The longer Joe waited, the more angry he became.

They had done it again. At first no one seemed to know where Adam was, then they made him wait. His patience was wearing thin. He didn’t know how often he had inquired after “Captain Cartwright” – nobody seemed to know where he was or wouldn’t tell him. One aide-de-camp had raised a brow to him and asked whether it was “Black Cartwright” he was talking about. Joe, astonished into speechlessness for a moment, managed a faint nod, but the man shook his head and walked down the corridor. Joe had stared after him, wondering what else he had failed to notice during his stay in town and ready to jump down Adam’s throat should he ever see him again. For now, he ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and sat down to resume his waiting.

When the night fell, he glanced at the big clock on the wall and sighed. Five hours. Another five hours had been wasted. Wearily Joe got up and stretched his back. Way beyond caring, he took a step and bumped right into someone. The impact left both of them trembling, and only when Joe looked up he noticed whom he had run into.

“Sergeant Kayle?”

The clerk was at least as astonished as Joe.

“Mr. Cartwright, what are you doing here?”

Given that his only purpose in ever coming to Army headquarters was to see Adam, that question seemed odd.

“Why, to see my brother.”

Mr. Kayle looked stunned; Joe noticed the gaze the sergeant sent a passer-by.

“But … Captain Cartwright is not here at the moment,” the sergeant said with just the slightest hesitation, and the realization that he addressed the wall rather than the man opposite him made Joe’s stomach jump. Exasperated, he ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair and tried to remain calm.

“Yeah, I know as much. Can you tell me where he is?”

It was obvious that the sergeant wished nothing more than to be somewhere else at this moment, but seeing the look on Joe’s face, he relented.

“Captain Cartwright is in Columbia right now. His company left town more than a week ago; they are headed for Savannah.” Joe’s astonishment and fear must have clearly shown in his eyes, for the older man patted his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I thought you knew Captain Cartwright was called away on a special assignment the night he wanted to have dinner with you. I suppose he didn’t have time to tell you in person. “

Joe’s mind was still too numb to fully realize what had been said.

“But there are rumours all over town, rumours of a battle coming on and … ,” he stopped dead when he saw the face of the clerk. It was true then. It wasn’t just rumours.

“What is he supposed to do?” he asked with a calmness he didn’t feel.

“I’m not…,” Mr. Kayle started, then glanced at Joe and obviously thought better of what he had been about to say. Instead he shrugged.

“Captain Cartwright is Exploring Officer on General Buell’s staff.” When Joe just blankly stared at him, he continued to explain.

“He’s an engineer. They’re supposed to explore the terrain, mark where cannons can be fired, bridges or trenches be built, forts bombarded… Sometimes they do a bit of mapping, sometimes they get attached to Intelligence…,” Mr. Kayle’s voice faded as he tried to remember.

“Captain Cartwright decided at one point that, although officially he worked as topographical engineer, he wanted to keep some of his regular army responsibilities, too.”

He looked back at Joe and gave him a tiny, sympathetic smile, knowing that Mr. Cartwright had conveniently ‘forgotten’ to inform his family of his decision.

Apparently he came to a decision, because he took Joe’s arm and led him to Adam’s office where he made him sit down behind the large desk while he rummaged in the drawers. Joe had the chance to throw a quick glance at the maps that were filed on the shiny surface and instantly recognized Adam’s neat penmanship.

Then a few letters were pressed into his hands and he looked up into the sad eyes of Mr. Kayle.

“I know that your brother wrote letters to his family in case something happened to him,” he said. “I think he won’t mind if you take them home with you.”

~

 

Joe’s sat in Adam’s office, the letters still in his hand. He had asked the clerk for half an hour of privacy and Mr. Kayle, probably knowing too much about battles, had agreed to let him stay. Now Joe was sitting at his brother’s desk and tried to find out what he should do.

 

He looked down. Three letters were lying in front of him, each one addressed to one family member. Adam’s distinctive hand, precise as ever, was broader than usual.

 

He must have been tired, Joe thought, and suddenly remembered the slowness of Adam’s moves when he had pushed himself up from the chair, and the lines around his eyes. He hadlooked tired, Joe admitted to himself. And no wonder. Of what Joe could see in front of him, the maps, the plans, everything, Adam must have worked day and night without break. But then, Joe wouldn’t have expected anything different.

 

He looked down again. The spiky black ink crawled over the creamy-white paper, calling him. Tucking the letters carefully into his shirt, he pushed the chair back.

 

He’d send a message to his father.

And then he’d look for his brother. He owed him a good-bye.

~ ~ ~

 

Joe hadn’t known battles could happen so fast.

 

Of course he had heard the rumours that freely roamed the pubs and saloons of Nashville, but used to the lazy-coiling chatter of western towns, Joe hadn’t actually expected a battle to occur. Now, equally cursing Fate and Destiny, he found himself near one of his own free will, found himself approaching the middle of chaos.

 

The ride first to Columbia, then to Savannah, had taken him four days. All along the way he had counted days and distances, had calculated them in his mind over and over again, always praying he would reach his brother before any fight began.

 

The sergeant had told him that Adam had left nine days before him. Joe had recoiled when he had heard it, cursing the time he had wasted waiting for a letter that had never been written. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Kayle’s statement that Adam had stopped in Columbia to re-build a bridge the Confederates had burned, he would never have attempted to try and catch up with his brother.

 

In Columbia, Joe had seen the boat-bridge Adam had helped construct to replace the one the Confederates had burned, had even used it himself, his eyes taking in every detail of the wooden construction as if it held a connection to his brother. A vision of Adam had flashed in his mind at the sight, telling a bed-time story of Xerxes paving the sea over the Hellespont. Fascinated, he and Hoss had listened as children. Joe had remembered seeing his father’s hidden smile, and his own disbelief, and growing up he had often doubted the practicality of such a bridge, not to mention the truth of the story. In Columbia, he had seen with his own eyes what belief, dedication and need could accomplish.

 

Encouraged by the evidence that Adam had been there shortly before him, Joe had spurred the horse on, only to waver within the next miles. It was then that he had realized that finding the way had been the simplest task to achieve.

 

Soldiers were lining the road, their number increasing with every mile. Their cheeks hollow, their clothes in rags, they were barely able to move, fatigue and sheer exhaustion paralysing mind and body. Some lay where they had fallen, too weak to even crawl and seek shelter. Sometimes leftover equipment showed where bodies had been plundered, some rare piles of clothes marked where soldiers had become civilians. Joe shuddered as he rode along, yet his eyes were inadvertently drawn to the still figures huddling on the ground. Mosquitos and flies swarmed over them, scrambling on their skin and the tattered remains of their uniforms, making no difference between the living and the dead.

 

The swamps and bottom lands with their jungle-like shrubbery would have been hard to cross if not for the wide belt of trampled ground that showed where thousands of feet had marched towards battle. One or two times Joe halted, reluctantly asking men for their unit, but all they could tell him was that the officers had driven them on to the point of exhaustion until they had dropped out of rank, asleep on their feet.

 

If Joe had thought he had seen hell before, he had been wrong. After passing Savannah, it got worse. Dusk was approaching as he overtook company after company, and the sunshine of the morning had turned into a constant drizzle that impaired his sight and transformed the unmoving forms beside the road into hungry shadows that were crouching low, waiting for their prey.

 

Joe’s resolve to seek Adam was faltering even more. While in Nashville the idea had appealed to him, had attracted him by its promise of glory, it now lost that appeal with every mile he drew nearer to the battlefield. He had heard rumours all along the way, rumours of an impending battle once Buell had joined forces with Grant in Savannah, and the thought made him tremble. Several times he had halted already, uncertainly watching the road before him that wound its way into the hills in the distance like a serpent. In the end, it was the promise he had given himself that drove him on, a promise not to turn back before he had seen his brother – a promise given foolishly in the safe proximity of Nashville, as he had come to realize. Now, all he could do was urge his horse forward and hope for the best. Then, all of a sudden, the ground started to shake.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Joe saw the reason for it when he reached the summit of the next slope. The horse was shivering beneath him. The river was winding down below in the valley, furiously fighting its bed of rocks, and both sides of the river were swarming with soldiers. Lights were hurrying back and forth in the falling darkness, blinding his eyes. Then he lifted his eyes and looked beyond the swarming masses of soldiers on the banks, looked towards the hills that were thundering death and perdition. Lightening from canons and rifles flashed through the night, eerily illuminating the trees and bushes, the valleys and hills that hid soldiers and armies from sight. Pitiful cries could be heard from the unseen wounded and dying, cries that echoed through the night and made the hair on Joe’s neck stand on end.

 

Swallowing hard, he left the exhausted nag in a hollow near the road and continued by foot. It was easy to fall in line with the worn out soldiers; many, too tired to notice the man walking beside them, just hauled themselves forward, letting habit and the voice of their officer rule their sore feet. Drenched to the skin and his jacket the colour of mud, Joe was rapidly swallowed by the darkness. Soldiers came up behind him, passing him on their way to the river, pushing forward, their faces just pale blurs in the evening. It was too late to try and turn back, and so he let the masses carry him along and to the steamboats that were to take them into Hell.

 

The other side of the river was Hell. It was pitch-black by now, and while even the furious shots from the hills had stopped, the hectic bustle on the bank left him confused, afraid and feeling more lost than ever.

 

Soldiers were everywhere around him, streaming in every direction. Some were wounded, dirty from head to toe, trying to get to safety; others, still in ranks, were waiting for their officers to direct them into the chaos, others had lost their regiments and battalions and were struggling through the darkness on their own.

 

Under the trees, soldiers were standing, sleeping, crying, stained with blood and dirt. Some had spent the day in battle; some had just arrived and prepared for the next day. Fires had been lit to boil water for meagre soups, the flames hissing when the water met it. Some tents had been erected in the hollows that hid them from view. Their spines stood out darkly against the night sky, though, and the cries that came from them told their purpose nevertheless. Joe tried to avoid them, but there were men everywhere, and he was soon lost.

 

Cautiously he walked around, using shadows to move unnoticed between the haggard, exhausted men. Some of them looked up when he passed, and for a second he saw the question in their eyes when they regarded him. Then fatigue and indifference overtook them, their eyes growing dull as they stared back into the fires.

 

Joe backed away. It was just too much. He could feel the fear around him, the apprehension of the next day’s battle; he saw it in the men’s faces, and, step after step, he retreated into the shadows that offered uncertain safety, trying to stay invisible. Suddenly everything people had told him from battles had become real, and he felt small and unimportant, and completely lost in the storm.

 

Everything was real around him – as real as Adam’s furious voice suddenly shouting behind him. Joe jumped. Long practice had given his brother even more command of his vocal cords, and right now they were being exercised on the Light Company of Adam’s division.

 

Joe stood rooted to the spot. His mind empty, his face in the shadows, he watched the man he hardly recognized as the brother who had left home more than a year ago.

 

Adam looked even more tired than before, was as haggard and gaunt as the men around him. His eyes, dark with fatigue and irritation, were flashing with anger. “Black Cartwright” indeed, Joe thought absently. And it was that moment that his brother’s glance fell upon him.

 

~ ~ ~

 

For a second Adam just stared at him, looking as if someone had just pounded him on the head. The next, he had turned his attention back to his company, back rigid and fists clenched.

 

Joe sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling colder than ever. He had ridden like the Devil and not slept properly in a day or two, but he knew it was nothing to what the men had endured. Had he really thought that Adam had time to worry about him on top of his men? The best he could do was to find a way to leave, as soon as possible, and with a little luck he would even find his horse where he had left it. He wasn’t even sure whether his brother had actually recognized him, and now he would never know that Joe had even been in this place.

 

Lost in thought, he hadn’t seen Adam beckon to one of his aides. Suddenly strong arms grabbed him from behind, and before Joe could even think of struggling or shouting for help, he had been thrust into a dark tent, hands and feet bound, and left alone.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Silently, Joe lay in the darkness. As loud and hectic as it had been outside, inside the tent there seemed to exist only his fear and the sound of his breath. Miserable raindrops were beating the heavy canvas, pushing the gloomy walls towards the ground and restricting the tiny space inside. Barely recovered from the sudden attack, Joe sat up, awkwardly trying to move his limbs. The bindings weren’t tight, but efficient enough to limit any explorations on his part. For some time he sat still, all muscles tensed, poised for whatever was to come, but time went by and nothing happened.

 

Finally Joe lay down again, listening hard into the world outside, then curled himself up against the cold that invaded the tent and let his hands and feet grow numb. He wondered where his brother was, wondered whether it had been Adam who had caught him, or whether the battle had already begun and he would be forgotten.

Hundreds of questions were in his mind, and all of them warring with each other. Exhaling deeply, Joe rubbed his nose and wearily closed his eyes.

 

He must have fallen asleep, because suddenly he woke with a start. A low, undeniably irritated voice mumbled something about Shakespearean drama near his ear, while at the same time long, spider-like fingers fumbled with the bounds. Too stunned even to flinch, Joe blinked, trying to see in the gloom, and finally thought he recognized a familiar outline.

 

“Adam?” he ventured hesitantly, unable to hide the tremor that ran through him when clammy fingers moved over his skin.

 

The answer was a low, shushing sound, but then Joe’s hands were free and he was pulled towards a chest that he would have recognized blindfolded. The heartbeat underneath his ear was strong and even, and Joe deeply inhaled the fragrance of his brother, smelled wet wool and gunpowder and unwashed men – and Adam. Adam.

 

Then hard hands grabbed his forearms and shook him slightly.

 

“Are you crazy? What are you doing here of all places? I almost died of shock when I saw you.” The fervour behind the words told Joe better than the physical onslaught just how much he had worried his brother. He knew Adam had more than just good reason to be angry with him, but his still bound feet reminded Joe that he wasn’t the only one to be charged with misbehaviour.

 

“Is that why you had me lying here, bound like any common criminal?” he muttered, awaiting a well-deserved retort, but the hold on his arms loosened at once, and in the darkness he could see that Adam ran a hand over his face, his movements slow and tired. Then the low light of a dark lantern flashed up, momentarily blinding Joe. The next moment he felt his bonds fall away and darkness descended once more.

 

“I didn’t know.” Adam’s rueful voice was so low that it was almost swallowed by the sounds of the night. He fumbled with something that Joe couldn’t identify, but when moments later a blanket was pulled tightly around him, he gratefully snuggled into it, unable to suppress a sigh.

 

“It was McKenzie, I guess.” Adam’s preoccupied voice carried easily, and Joe could tell from its sound that his brother was probably trying to recount what exactly he had said. Then he scratched his neck and Joe knew that he would have seen Adam shrug if it hadn’t been so dark.

 

“I told him to make sure you stayed inside the tent; and this is what his overly dramatic mind made of it.” Subconsciously, Joe rubbed his wrists, but Adam already went on. “Obviously he read you correctly, even though he’s never met you.” Adam chuckled softly, and Joe couldn’t help but grin, despite himself.

 

“What will happen now?” he asked, drawing the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, the terrifying thought of the battle returning to his mind at the mention of the soldier. The heavy rain of the evening had lessened into a lazy drizzle, but dampness had made the temperatures drop severely, and Joe suddenly realized that, though wet through, his brother was fully armed.

 

Adam sighed wearily. “I’ll leave you now. My men are already assembled on the battlefield, I have to get back as fast as possible.”

 

“But…” Joe’s protest was stopped short when Adam leaned forward and grasped his shoulder.

 

“I can’t, Joe.” Adam’s face was so close that Joe could see his brother’s painful grimace even in the darkness. “I wish I could. My men need me.”

 

This time Joe could see the shrug, feel the desperate decision and knew that Adam would return to his chosen responsibility and not stay with the one he was bound to by blood.

 

“Adam…”

 

“Promise me you won’t fight.” There was steel in Adam’s voice now, and a hint of urgency, but the hand on Joe’s shoulder was still gentle. “Promise me you won’t try!”

 

Joe lowered his head. He had never consciously thought of joining the fight, but his brother’s insistence now and his own unexpected hesitancy to give the promise Adam had demanded made him realize just how immense his own longing was. He swallowed hard, then looked at Adam, saw the dark eyes glittering in the grey light.

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Thanks, Joe.” Adam’s words were simple, but his relief was palpable. He quickly hugged Joe, then got to his feet, taking the dark lantern with him.

 

“Go to sleep, Joe.” His voice was soft, but whatever he had seen in Joe’s face made him bow down and brush his brother’s face with his palm.

 

“Go to sleep,” he repeated gently. “If it’s God’s will, we’ll see each other tomorrow.” Then he slipped out, the darkness swallowing him in moments. And Joe, for the longest time, sat still, completely at a loss what to do or say, his mind as empty as his soul. Never had he been in a more dangerous situation, never had he been more alone. And his brother was gone.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Adam walked swiftly through the jet-black darkness, wishing he hadn’t left the dark lantern with the quartermaster as he repeatedly stumbled over clumps of grass and dead bodies. It wasn’t easy to move silently and not alert the sentries unnecessarily; with every step water splashed around his boots. The misty rain of the evening had intensified into a full-grown storm and Adam was sure that the first lightening would strike within the hour.

 

He pitied the men. His company had been among those who should have stayed in Columbia, until Grant’s letter to Buell had sped up their pace. The nine miles distance had been hard to cover, the swamplands making the direct route impossible. Most of the men hadn’t eaten properly since breakfast, and he doubted they would before this battle had been decided.

 

As if it had been waiting for a reminder, Adam’s own stomach rumbled reproachfully, but he dismissed quickly it. At least he would have enough breathing space during the night, and perhaps find a tree to seek shelter from the rain. When he had led the men into the field and into position, the lines had been so tight that soldiers had been able to lean against the ones next to them. He had shaken his head in disgust seeing it, as it had been apparent that they would spend the night that way, and sleep where they stood – but the orders had been clear-cut.

 

When the first lightening flashed, Adam automatically ducked his head. Momentarily blinded, he closed his eyes to get his night-vision back, while slowly counting under his breath. However, the second-long brightness had served to show him that he had almost reached the skirmish line. Moving slower now, Adam purposely overtook the row and, letting out a low whistle, beckoned to the one man who hadn’t met his eye when he had passed. Taking a few steps to the side, he waited until McKenzie had saluted.

 

“Someone kidnapped my brother and tied him, Sergeant.”

 

Adam, his voice low and cold, resisted the impulse to cross his arms over his chest, wishing desperately for a light to see his sergeant’s only dimly discernable face more clearly. When he glimpsed McKenzie’s Adam’s apple move, though, he consciously unclenched his fists, reminding himself to keep his voice down.

 

“I don’t like my orders misinterpreted, Sergeant.”

 

“No, sir. Of course not, sir.” McKenzie’s voice was stoically flat, his shoulders bearing the reprimand patiently – the result of his long experience as a sergeant. However, the fact that he had used more words to answer than the standard “No, sir” showed Adam that McKenzie had taken his words to heart. Adam rubbed a hand over his face.

 

“You may fall in.”

 

“Sir.” McKenzie turned away then, hesitating just a moment to add the words, “Thank you” under his breath.

 

Adam exhaled. Another flash showed him the expectant faces of the men who, though not able to listen to the exchange, had followed with their eyes, their bodies tense.

 

“I guess I’m lucky that you didn’t use your wife’s apron strings for ropes,” he added a little louder for the men to hear and grinned bittersweetly at the resulting laughter. At dawn, they would need all the luck they could get.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Joe awoke to the thunder of the cannons. For several moments he didn’t know where he was and confused he lay still, trying to orientate himself, and trying to remember.

 

Then another cannon fired.

 

The ground shook.

 

Joe clutched the sheets and counted slowly under his breath until he got a grasp on his nerves again. He had heard the canons already the evening before, had seen their destructive power in the gloom. Yet even then they had been further way, hadn’t sounded as close as they did now.

 

Slowly Joe let go of the blankets and staggered to his feet, then tried to pull on his boots while the ground shook again. During the night, his clothes had dried on his body, but the even drumming on the canvas told him that the rain hadn’t stopped. An involuntary shiver ran through his body, knowing he had to leave the comparative dryness of the tent soon and step out into a world that had been turned upside down.

 

Then he looked up.

 

 

Joe wondered where his brother was now. The evening before it had been obvious that his brother’s thoughts had been preoccupied with his company, and Joe prayed that Adam was safe. He had been able to throw a quick glance at his brother’s pale face when the dark lantern had flashed for a moment, and during his long vigil had conjured it up again and again, just to be certain he would never forget it.

 

Casting his eyes around the limited space of the tent, Joe to his surprise noticed small bundle near his feet that he was sure hadn’t been there when he had been brought into the tent. Upon opening, it revealed some biscuits that reminded Joe of his own meagre supplies, but it was enough to provide a small breakfast. He was sure it was more than other people would have this morning.

 

Then the cannon fired again.

 

And Joe, getting up, began the long hours of waiting.

 

Still, it was hard for him to sit idle. On several occasions he carefully stole glances, now and then he stepped just outside the tent to stretch his legs, until finally he found himself unable to return inside. For the first time he was able to get a look at the surroundings he had found himself in, and wished for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t come here.

 

The ground was uneven, and the gun smoke that drifted through the irregular standing trees and bushes lingered in dents and cavities, adding to the surreal feeling that was created by the lingering mist. Shadows scurried through the haze, visible for only moments before the noise of the battle and the smoke swallowed them.

 

Sharp blasts from thousands of rifles broke the eerie silence under the trees, their flashes a depressing illustration of the screams and yells that followed each volley.

 

When Joe’s eyes caught a glimpse of a continuing line of men that vanished in one of the hollows, he curiously followed, only to behold seconds later one of the big tents that he had seen the evening before.

 

Dozens of rows of dead, their faces covered, outside the tent and the stream of stretchers brought into it would have made its function clear even to the most casual observer, and the cries sounding from within told their own story. It cost Joe quite some effort to step nearer, to smell the stench of blood and hear the flies that had come to feast. Still, the moaning of the men inside called out to him, and Joe, remembering his promise to Adam, decided to help his brother the best way he could.

 

Before he knew it, he was knee-deep in blood, vomit and bowels and didn’t have time to think or worry about Adam anymore. It didn’t matter that he didn’t belong to the medical corps; within moments he had been put to work. There had already been too few hands trying to care for too many wounded, and injured soldiers were coming in in a constant stream, demanding attention.

 

Fetching water, staunching wounds, carrying wood, making splints soon turned into a never-ending circle, and the flood of the injured soldiers didn’t stop for a moment. Occasionally Joe searched the wobbling masses with his eyes, silently praying for his brother’s life, then returned to his work, adrenaline pushing him far beyond exhaustion.

 

His back ached as much as his heart, but Joe carried on without pause, knowing his help was badly needed, and thankful to be standing on his own two feet. That thought alone almost made him retch, recalling the amputation he had only just witnessed. He had turned away from the rows of beds in front of him, trying to compose himself, only to have a sharp shout call him back.

 

Time ran, but Joe never noticed. In the late afternoon he knew the battle was finally over. Soldiers who had sustained only minor wounds told him in some precious moments of inactivity when the flow ebbed, told him while they comforted their dying comrades. But still men moaned and bled, and Joe addressed himself to his task, his clothes stiff with blood.

 

He continued to look for Adam. When Joe found men from his brother’s battalion, he asked for Adam, but all they could tell him was that The Black had fought like the devil when they had last seen him several hours ago.

 

Then, finally, Joe spotted his brother and heaved a sigh of relief. Adam was bloodstained, black with powder and dirt and pale under his stubble – but alive, alive, stumbling into the little tent that was the surgeon’s room, supporting another man whose face was contorted with pain.

 

A group of soldiers followed them in, most of them from the Light Company, Joe noticed, and he lost sight of his brother before he could reach him. Above all the noise he could hear Adam shouting orders with a voice made hoarse from use and gunpowder. Joe wanted to touch him, feel for himself that Adam was back and well, but that would have to wait. First, there were men to care for. He turned back to the blood and horror and within seconds had been drawn back into the frantic activity.

 

~

 

The night brought little relief. The moaning had died down, exhausted soldiers slept where they sat. The wounded, too, had become quiet, and only the morning would show whether they would ever get up from their cots. However, the madness had stopped. Joe leaned against a table, too exhausted to think or move. His clothes were stiff with dried blood, soaked with vomit and sweat, and with longing he thought of his clean sheets at a home that seemed an eternity away.

 

He knew he had to move before he fell over. With difficulty he opened his burning eyes, staring hard at the rows of beds in front of him. The image of his brother’s face as he had seen him hours ago still lingered in his mind. Resolved, he pushed himself away from the table and all thoughts of private luxury to the back of his mind. First, he had to find Adam.

 

Clinging to the knowledge that he had actually seen him standing on his own, Joe stumbled through the vegetation outside, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He consciously avoided looking at the casualties still lying untended outside the medical tents, but searched the faces of the soldiers who were lingering in the open, without success.

 

By the time Joe had reached the forth tent, sharp needles were tormenting his eyes, and even his continued rubbing helped little. Carefully he went through row after row of small cots, and finally blinked hard, sure that his eyes were playing a trick on him.

 

Adam was sitting on the ground, propped up against a tent post. His head leaned back, eyes closed, he seemed oblivious to the agony around him. His jacket and shirt open to the waist, Joe could see a bandage peeking out from under the dirty and sweat-soaked linen, making his heart miss a beat.

 

Someone had bandaged his thigh.

 

Tentatively Joe took a step forward, then stopped short, startled by the sight.

 

Adam’s hand held on tightly to a man who lay next to him, heavily bandaged. Joe recognized him as one of the men who had been standing behind Adam at the landing, but he had seen too many dead today not to realize that any help had come too late. The blood from the ugly wound in his groin had stopped soaking into the ground, and the faint green tinge of the man’s skin told a sad story all of its own.

 

Nevertheless, Joe crouched down next him and searched for a heartbeat he knew he wouldn’t find. Then, silently, he looked at Adam’s worn-out features and gently laid his hand on his brother’s arm.

 

“He’s dead,” he said softly.

 

Adam didn’t open his eyes.

 

“I know,” he whispered hoarsely, but his fingers opened and he let go.

 

Joe grasped his hand, revelling in the feeling of warm, living skin and the over-whelming knowledge that Adam had survived.

 

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said.

 

Adam didn’t react, not immediately. It was as if every thought was delayed, needing much longer to reach his mind.

 

“Can’t move,” he finally said.

 

Joe ran a dirty hand over his face. His whole being raged against the idea that he could leave his brother in this place of death, but he doubted he would be able to carry Adam’s weight on his own. Still, his brother had lost weight, and Joe knew he had to try. Gritting his teeth and grabbing the front of Adam’s shirt, Joe, fighting his own tiredness, heaved and pulled until, after considerable effort, he had him actually standing.

 

Adam had opened bloodshot eyes at first, obviously surprised that someone had actually come to wake him from his stupor. However, when his feeble attempts of resistance failed, he tried at least not to work against Joe.

 

Yet, by the time Joe had Adam’s arm around his shoulders, they were both drenched in sweat and trembling with fatigue. Adam had hissed with pain when Joe accidentally touched his shoulder, but, somehow more alert, he had nodded to Joe to keep on trying. He too seemed to want to get out of the hell that was the surgeon’s tent.

 

Joe soon realized that Adam had been right in his assessment, though. He was hardly able to move on his own. By the time they had made it out of the tent, his leg gave out under him, and Joe only barely managed to keep them from collapsing and crashing to the ground.

 

Staggering under Adam’s weight, he tried to force his tired mind to think of a way to get them both to the tent he had spent the previous night in, when suddenly he found the weight lifted from his shoulders. It took his mind a moment to register, only to find a broad sergeant on Adam’s other side, supporting him.

 

Joe, grateful beyond words, just feebly smiled his thanks; he was too tired to speak.

 

Together they managed to get Adam to the tent and carefully removed his jacket and shirt off him before covering him with the blanket. Joe doubted that Adam noticed any of the things they did to him, but he wasn’t sure whether he’d passed out or was just deeply asleep.

 

By the time he had shed his own stained clothes, the sergeant had returned with hot water. Joe felt unable to do more than clean his hands and face, then watched through blurry vision as the other man gave Adam a quick wash before spreading the blanket over him. It took all of the energy Joe had left to return the nod of the sergeant, then he fell down on a blanket on the ground, dead to the world within seconds.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Adam woke with a start at predawn. He knew he should be somewhere, do something, but his aching head made remembering impossible. Lying still for a moment, he tried to gather his thoughts, but unfortunately, his memory was not the only thing that returned with waking. So did the pain and the haunting scenes of the day before. Groaning, he struggled to turn to his side, then hesitated and lay back down, mentally taking stock of his injuries.

 

His shoulder hurt, as did his leg and head. Adam knew his shoulder wasn’t too bad off; the bullet had gone clean through, right below the collarbone. He didn’t think that his leg had been seriously injured, knowing the bullet had only grazed him the day before. The pain had increased when he had just tried to move, however, reminding him that he needed to keep an eye on the injury. As for his head, he badly needed to drink something.

 

Cautiously he pulled himself up to a sitting position – and stopped short.

 

Disbelief written plainly on his features, Adam couldn’t help but stare hard at the picture that presented itself next to him: Cuddled in one blanket was his brother, sleeping, dirty from head to toe, or the little Adam could see of him. There must have been attempts to clean the blood and streaks of mud away, even if result was more than disputable. Adam just stared.

 

He rubbed a hand over his face, but the image wouldn’t change.

 

Adam was at a loss. He vaguely remembered that he had seen Joe before the battle, remembered his brother’s frightened face and the tremor in his voice. He had left then, had had to leave, with Joe’s eyes burning into his back and his shadow escorting him to his company. Afterwards, he had sought out McKenzie, he remembered that, as well the miserable hours spent in an open field where the moaning of wounded men had tormented their ears and minds all night. All too soon though the bugle had sounded, and Adam preferred not to dwell on the hours that had followed.

 

But at least, from the look of things, Joe had stayed well out of the fight. Adam gave a short smile, knowing he had to be thankful for small favours.

 

Adam carefully got up, always testing and slowly putting weight on his injured leg. Finding it not too painful, and more than bearable, he cautiously took a step, and to his relief his head neither swam nor did stars dance through his vision. Adam knew he’d be on horseback all day, so his leg had time to heal.

 

Slowly, trying not to make too much noise, he gathered his things and started to limp outside. Just then, a small moan came from the figure on the ground.

 

~

 

Joe was drowning in a sea of blood. His arms and legs wouldn’t obey him. Kicking out, he tried hard to stay on the surface, but waves pulled him down into the red ocean where thousands of soldiers, dead soldiers, were floating along and tried to pull him down. Countless hands grabbed his hands and legs, while he tried to kick them, but he sank down and couldn’t move, and the hands grabbed him again.

 

One got his collar, and he screamed, and then Adam’s voice was next to him, and it was a warm hand that Joe could feel on his skin. He opened his eyes and breathed deeply.

 

Adam’s dark eyes were in front of him, urging him to look at him. Joe could feel sweat running down his face, and shadows flickering through his memory, but Adam’s hands were on both sides of his face, forcing him to look straight at him, and then there was nothing else but just his brother’s warm amber eyes, welling over with affection.

 

Joe took another breath. Adam’s voice was in his ears, strong and warm.

 

“You’re safe”, it said. “No one’s going to harm you.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Joe didn’t know how long he held on to his brother’s hand, but eventually his heartbeat slowed down and the panic subsided. Adam made him lie back down on the blanket, gently washing his face with a wet cloth. Joe, still shivering slightly, closed his eyes. Somewhere above him voices sounded, but they soon faded to a murmur as comforting as the rumbling of a deep river, and Joe fell asleep once more.

 

It was broad daylight when he woke again. Disorientated at first, he turned his head, looking for Adam, and it was then that he noticed the other man sitting in the door watching him with amusement. The man’s features were familiar, but Joe fruitlessly searched his memory until the man spoke.

 

“I’m Sergeant McKenzie. We’ve … met before.” A grin as sudden as quicksilver lighted the other’s features, and for Joe several pieces connected. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, but his questions of “how” and “why” were interrupted when McKenzie stood.

 

“The Captain told me to keep an eye on you and to tell him when you’re awake. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” It was a pleasant voice, and a precise answer to the unspoken questions in Joe’s mind, but he could only gulp when he fully took in the implications.

 

“He’s out? Out there? But he’s wounded!” he said in dismay.

 

A shadow flickered over the sergeant’s face, but he bowed down and handed Joe a linen towel.

 

“He said he was fine,” he answered evenly.

 

Joe rolled his eyes. “He always says he’s fine.”

 

The sergeant laughed.

 

“He’s a real bastard, isn’t he?” His eyes twinkled in sudden merriment and Joe’s concern lifted a bit. Obviously McKenzie cared a lot for Adam. Relieved, he grinned back.

 

“Bastard doesn’t begin to describe it,” he confided.

 

~

 

“Shouldn’t he be back by now?” Joe glanced at the tent entrance to judge the light. As before, the waiting was shredding his nerves, and despite the fact that he had a nanny to look after him, he found it impossible to keep still. Earlier, the sergeant, whom Joe judged to be in his early twenties, had apologized to Joe for leaving him bound in war territory, and Joe had accepted. He knew he had made a good friend that day. Apart from the short conversation, McKenzie displayed a placid disposition, answering Joe’s numberless question with patience, goodwill and a lot of humour, making Joe suspect that he kept the devilish, spirited side of his being hidden well out of sight.

 

McKenzie shrugged good-naturedly. “Something must have kept him. Something always does.”

 

Joe had to admit the truth of that statement, but sighed nevertheless. “Yeah, I know.” He took up his wandering around the small space, managing three steps before he had to turn and walk the other way. McKenzie just watched him.

 

“Impatient, are ya?” he finally asked.

 

“Is he a good officer?” Joe’s question came out of the blue, but if McKenzie was surprised, he didn’t show it.

 

“One of the best.” Underlying pride filled McKenzie’s voice, and Joe knew the answer was an honest one, even if given to the brother of the man spoken of. He turned questioning eyes on the sergeant.

 

“Why do they call him The Black?” Joe was curious. Ever since he had heard the name he couldn’t help wondering whether it was because of Adam’s dark moods that other soldiers surely must have witnessed.

 

“Huh?” Sergeant McKenzie managed to look amazed, “because of his hair, of course.” He loudly cleared his throat, but Joe never saw the grin he hid in his hand.

 

“Hmmm.” For a second Joe just stood, gazing pensively at the entrance, then suddenly faced McKenzie.

 

“I wondered whether…”

 

Neither of them had heard the steps approaching, and Joe jerked when the door of the tent was thrown back to reveal Adam. For a second he squinted his eyes until they got used to the dim light, then he smiled one of his rare smiles.

 

“There you are”, he said. McKenzie stood to attention.

 

Joe regarded Adam, left arm in a sling, dark stain on his right pant leg, puzzled by the odd question and the hardly disguised concern in Adam’s voice.

 

“Where else should I be?”

 

The quick, inscrutable glance that Adam threw McKenzie didn’t go unnoticed by Joe, but the sergeant just nodded and left. Adam limped to the blanket and sat down, stretching out his leg.

 

“Ah, that’s better.” Exhaling deeply, he quizzically looked up at Joe who was still standing, staring down at him with his brows raised.

 

“Are you ok? Did you get something to eat?”

 

Joe nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Callum…,” he saw Adam’s face and quickly corrected himself, “Sergeant McKenzie got me something.”

 

“That’s good.” Adam closed his eyes for a moment, then regarded Joe thoughtfully.

 

“I want to thank you for what you did,” he said quietly. “For helping with the wounded,” he explained, noticing Joe’s look, “and for not fighting. I’m glad you didn’t try.”

 

Joe looked pointedly at his brother’s thigh, but Adam, flexing his leg, just grimaced slightly and ducked his head before grinning at Joe. “Just a graze. I’ve had worse.”

 

Joe’s eyes narrowed. Biting his lips, he quickly glanced towards the tent door, then back to his brother, uncertain whether to tell Adam of the decision he’d made.

 

“Adam, I …”

 

“I’ve send a messenger to Savannah. He’ll wire Pa that you’re here.” Adam’s voice, soft and clear, easily filled the space. Joe stared at Adam in dismay, but his brother just went on, oblivious to Joe’s rapidly rising agitation.

 

“He’ll be waiting for you in Denver. I’ve told him you’d leave as soon as possible.”

 

Despite himself, Joe felt his temper flare. How dare Adam tell him what to do? How dare he make decisions for him? Joe clenched his fists. He breathed deeply, trying to get a grip on his emotions

 

“I’m not a …”

 

“You’re 20.” Adam spoke again, so soft that Joe had to strain his ears to hear him. Adam looked at him then, his eyes dark and fathomless.

 

“I lead men your age, Joe. I lead them to death.”

 

Silence. A shiver crept down Joe’s spine as he recognized the truth in his brother’s words. His anger, just a second before burning high, disappeared like it had never existed and was replaced by a painful realization. He knew the fine hairs on his arms were standing on end, but he couldn’t stop looking at his brother. Seeing the agony in those dark, deep golden eyes, Joe knew suddenly what it cost Adam. He lowered his eyes, fighting the urge to cover his ears as Adam went on.

 

“Do you know how many men I lost today? Thirty-four. Thirty four, one lieutenant, two sergeants.” Adam’s voice was hoarse.

 

Joe didn’t know what to say. He could feel Adam’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he looked at his brother’s wounded leg where he could only just imagine the bloodstain in the darkness, saw in his mind all the wounded men he had tried to help the day before, and knew that Adam was right. He didn’t belong here, as heroic as the notion had seemed for a moment.

 

After several minutes of silence, Adam spoke again.

 

“I wish I could give you a new horse, but the army has none to spare. I know the journey will be dangerous, but you made it here, after all.” Adam’s mouth twitched, but in the next moment he was serious again. “Pa will wait for you in Denver and take you home.”

 

Joe just nodded. Silently he regarded his brother who had closed his eyes with relief, for a moment absent from the hell around him.

 

“I need to know that you are safe, Joe”, he heard him whisper.

 

Joe laid his hand on Adam’s arm, startling him.

 

“I’ll go back”, he said quietly.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The order to march came the next morning.

 

Adam and Joe had spent the night together, talking. Joe had tended Adam’s wounds, Adam had listened to Joe quietly telling him of the surgeon’s tent, had grasped his shoulder in comfort and understanding. At one point Adam had asked for thirty minutes solitude in which to compose a letter to the family of Lieutenant Sheale, the man whose hand he had been holding in the medical tent. Joe, seeing how tired his brother was, had offered to do it for him, but Adam had sent him one of his golden looks.

 

“It is my responsibility, Joe”, he had said gently. “I accepted it.” His eyes, amber in the candlelight, silently begged Joe. “Please.”

 

Joe had relented.

 

Later, he came back in and, finding Adam asleep at the small table that served as his desk, made him lie down and covered him with the blanket.

 

For a long time he just sat and watched his brother sleep, watched as the lines on his face softened slightly. He’d leave in the morning. And perhaps he’d see Adam never again.

 

Joe knew that the brother he had known at home had changed. But caring for other people had always been Adam’s nature, and it was exactly what he was doing here, day by day. By joining the army, he had accepted the responsibility for other lives, and no matter what that would cost him, he would go on, protecting, defending, guarding.

 

In the darkness, next to Adam, Joe suddenly remembered one of the discussions Adam had had with his family before he had left. “Soldiers fight for people who cannot fight for themselves”, Adam had quoted then, his eyes silently daring them to contradict. And Joe had left the living room in the miserable knowledge that their father would give in, simply because there hadn’t been anything else to say.

 

Joe sighed softly. Adam’s place was here, with his men. His family had lost him a long time ago, perhaps because they didn’t need him as much. And now Joe had finally realized that it had been the right decision to let him go.

 

He put his hand on Adam’s shoulder and felt the deep breath that went through the powerful body. He smiled, almost against his will.

 

“And I love you, too, you stubborn granite-head Yankee,” he whispered.

 

~ ~ ~

 

In the morning mist of the next day, Joe saw Adam mount his horse, getting ready to parade the company, before organizing the marching order of the unit. He stood next to the tent and watched the graceful movements he had seen a million times before, storing them in his memory in the precious chest called “Adam”.

 

They had embraced, and Joe had been stunned at the obvious pride in Adam’s eyes. Joe had grinned at the thought, and the memory that his brother had actually called him a “sensible man” made the resentment he had felt earlier vanish. Joe had come to understand that though Adam’s place was here, his wasn’t. Adam had shown him, and now he had finally understood.

 

Joe watched as the division left, then turned and walked towards his horse.

 

Suddenly a shadow fell over him.

 

Surprised he looked up. Adam grinned down on him. Awkwardly he held the reigns in his left hand, still in the sling; with the right, however, he reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope that he handed Joe.

 

“In case of need,” he said.

 

Joe’s cheeks burned. “I’ve already…”

 

“I know you’ve sent the other letters home,” Adam interrupted him as seemed to have become his habit, but Joe didn’t hear a trace of anger in his voice. He looked up, trying to gauge his brother’s mood.

 

“But…”

 

“Kayle sent me a note,” Adam grinned at Joe’s appalled face. “It’s his job to tell me, you know.” His eyes sparkled with amusement at Joe’s obvious discomfort.

 

A bugle sounded behind him. Adam became serious again.

 

“In case of need,” he repeated, then reached down and quickly grasped Joe’s shoulder. ‘Love you’, he mouthed, and with a swirl was gone, taking his place in the column.

 

Joe stood still. He waited until the urge to cry had subsided before tucking the letter safely inside his shirt.

 

Then he turned, and left.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

13. 1. 1863

To Benjamin Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada:

Major Adam Cartwright gravely wounded in Nashville hospital after Battle at Stone River.

Sg. C. McKenzie

~ ~ ~ ~

Joe put the telegram down on the desk. Over the last two weeks, he had read it more often than he cared to count, his eyes hurrying over the words while his mind tried to deny the horrible truth.

 

Immediately after its arrival, his father had left for Nashville, but until now they didn’t have news of him, didn’t know whether Adam was still alive or dead.

 

Joe didn’t want to think of the worst scenario possible, nor did he want to think of what his father had to endure, alone in Nashville. Visions of his own experiences in Shiloh kept coming back to him when he least expected it, were haunting his sleep. Still, he had survived, hadn’t suffered the loss of a brother, or a son – yet.

 

He and Hoss had wanted to accompany their father, but that plan had been impossible to accomplish. Ben Cartwright had gone alone, and so far they hadn’t heard of him, apart from a short note that had told them that he had safely reached St. Joseph and was on his way to Nashville.

 

Joe fumbled the small paper again. By now it was getting yellow, the edges frayed, though the tiny scrip was still readable enough. He looked towards the calendar. It had been eighteen days since their father had left. Counting, for the umpteenth time, under his breath, Joe knew it should be enough time to reach Nashville. But there hadn’t been any message, and they were getting anxious.

 

Joe sighed. Hoss was out, checking on the herd, leaving Joe alone to choke on the thoughts that were over-whelming him. He looked out of the window, then back at the desk, and with a sudden decision opened the bottom drawer.

 

Adam’s letters were in there, letters they hadn’t read yet, respecting his brother’s privacy. Now Joe’s hand hovered over them, hesitating, then he pulled out the one addressed to him. Carefully he opened the envelope, when his glance fell on the first words.

 

“Joe,

I’m proud to call you broth …”

His throat constricting, Joe snapped the letter shut and took a deep breath. No.

 

His hands were trembling, but even without that unmistakable sign of distress he knew he was afraid. Long ago Joe had realized that he would never be able to imagine his brother’s death. After all, there was no need for him, as no one knew anything specific. Nevertheless, as Joe stared mesmerized at the white sober envelope, his gaze suddenly fell on another letter.

 

‘In case of need’, Adam had called that one, and Joe took it and let his fingers stroke the soft surface. For a moment he closed his eyes, conjuring up his brother’s face in his mind, then opened the letter. There was just a single sheet of paper inside.

 

“Joe, remember?” it read. “The day when you put the honey in my boots? I hereby declare I forgive you, once and for all times.

Adam

PS: Sorry about the green pepper in your soup that evening. I couldn´t resist. “

 

Joe laughed out loud. Through the tears in his lashes he saw Hoss coming into the yard, but his gaze fell back onto the spiky black letters.

 

He grinned. Not sure what to expect, Joe had mentally braced himself for some wise words about the importance of love and family, when he should have trusted Adam not to do what people wanted. Served himself right, he thought with a meek grin, that Adam had to remind him of what really mattered – even if Joe doubted that he would ever tell him so.

 

Hoss burst through the door, slamming wood without caring. Joe jumped to his feet. His stomach lurched when he spotted the small piece of paper that was almost swallowed by Hoss’ fist.

 

“It’s Adam, isn’t it?” His voice trembled, but he didn’t care. “Is he…”

 

“Holding his own, Joe! He’s holding on!” Hoss cried out loud, unable to restrain himself any longer. His face lit up, radiating with joy, and Joe stared at him, almost unable to grasp the news, but his knees were buckling so it had to be true.

 

He breathed deeply, and when the news had sunk in, his skin began to tingle.

 

“Yeehaaw,” Joe yelled, scaring Hoss, making him jump, and the both of them danced through the living room, overcome with relief.

 

Neither of them noticed that in all the commotion the letter had fallen to the ground, and neither of them saw the words on the back.

 

“Live, Joe”, they said. “Just live.

It´s all that matters.”

 

~

 

The end

 

Next Story in the Interlude Series:

When We All Die

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.