Chapter 2

Till Death Do Us Part

When Adam woke up from the sound of the early morning birds in the back garden of the hotel, he still felt satisfied. Well rested and content. He stretched out under the thin blanket, feeling the ruffled silk bed cloths, and couldn’t help but grin smugly. Without looking, he reached out to his right, but instead of the soft sleep-warmth of a naked body, his groping hand wandered over a deserted, cool sheet.

Disappointed, he sat up and inspected the room: he was alone. He raked his hands through his tousled hair, scratched at the side of his neck, groaned heartily, then got out of bed and, snatching from a chair his robe and slipping into it, crossed the room to the half-open door connecting both chambers of their suite.

Peering into what normally would have been the parlour, but had been converted into a nursery, he found what he’d been looking for: in the early morning light flickering through half-drawn curtains, Juliet sat on a comfy chair, nursing Henry. Her dressing gown was open, her nightshirt (when had she slipped into that?) unbuttoned at the top; Henry was lying relaxed in her arms, suckling only lazily, apparently nearly finished with his meal.

“Lucky little fella,” Adam said softly.

Juliet looked up, only remotely surprised, and smiled. “Good morning.” Her smile widened to a fully grown grin. “Are you jealous?”

Adam stood behind the chair, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair for a moment inhaling her unique scent of honey and perfume, then brushed a soft kiss on her cheek and whispered huskily into her ear, “Nope. I had everything I wanted last night, and then some more….”

“So I assume you found the celebration of our first wedding anniversary…satisfactory?”

He pushed her gown out of the way and nibbled a trail down her neck, eventually resting his lips on the soft white skin of her shoulder and sucking ever so lightly, humming, “Mhmm.”

“Even though we missed the ball and you couldn’t have another discussion with Mr. Hohmeyer?” She readjusted her hold on Henry, who had let go of her breast and fallen asleep, and shifted into a more comfortable position. “But it’s too bad that we couldn’t say goodbye to him on his last night in San Francisco.”

Adam sighed. He planted a kiss on Juliet’s shoulder, squeezed them one last time, and then straightened himself, walked around the chair and stood facing his wife.

“I’ll apologise to him later.”

Juliet chuckled. “You can’t. He’ll be off to Virginia by midday already.”

Adam chewed on the inside of his mouth. He sank down to sit on the low table in front of Juliet, rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. His gaze found hers, and he realised that she wasn’t suspecting anything. Her expression was mildly amused, expecting, completely unaware.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll do it on the way.”

She frowned, then blinked. Her mouthed moved soundlessly while her eyes darted around the room, then to her lap, to the baby, to Adam’s face, back to Henry. Then she looked up at Adam, her eyes bright, fear written all over her face.

“No.”

“Juliet…”

“No, Adam, no.”

“I have to—”

“No, you don’t! Just because Hohmeyer is going to enlist doesn’t mean you have to do it, too.”

“You know Hohmeyer is not the reason. He just, well, he has great insights being a friend of General Schurz, and he happened to provide the last spur I needed. ”

“Oh. Is that so?” She raised her chin. “Then, pray tell, what is the reason you want to go and get yourself killed?”

“I don’t—” He cringed at his tone, paused and calmed himself with slow deliberate breaths. “Juliet, you know why I am going. We’ve talked about it many times.”

“It’s the Emancipation Proclamation, isn’t it? Ever since Lincoln issued it you’ve been much more inclined to join into that stupid—”

“This war may be a lot of things, Juliet, but it surely isn’t ‘stupid.’ But yes, the Emancipation makes it even more urgent that the North wins, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. A clever gambit Lincoln has made with it, that much is sure.”

“A gambit? It was necessary, and it is what you and I believe in—you’ve been into that topic ever since I’ve met you.”

Juliet made a “pfft” sound. She rose from her chair, carefully, so not to disturb the sleeping baby, placed Henry in his cradle, then turned around sharply and, pulling at Adam’s arm, she hissed, “Let’s continue this next door.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just hurried into the other room. Adam could read even in the way she moved how agitated she was. Not that he’d expected this to go smoothly, but for some reasons he’d been prepared for tears or rage or even pleading; certainly not for a political discussion. He snorted. When will you ever learn, Adam? Expect the unexpected with Juliet, isn’t that what you’re always telling your family?

He followed her, quietly closed the door between his peacefully sleeping child and his pacing on-the-warpath wife and looked expectantly at Juliet.

She stood there in the middle of the room, her arms akimbo, her right foot tapping angrily, and then she raised her hand and wagged her finger vigorously into his direction. It would have been extremely funny if Adam hadn’t known what her lost composure told him: she was terrified.

“Of course the Emancipation is what I believe in, and what I support. I’m not objecting to that. But you and I know that Lincoln was inclined to let the South have their way with the slaves just as they were used to if that had provided him with a stable union. But when the North was under such duress and people needed new motivation, he finally proclaimed the Emancipation. You don’t want to call that coincidence, do you?”

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t call that coincidence. But I also don’t care. Whatever Lincoln’s motives, it was good to make the proclamation. And, yes, it did motivate me. It does. It’s a cause to fight for, a good thing; the right thing.”

“I don’t oppose the cause, you know that.” Juliet’s finger shot out and stabbed into his chest. “I only oppose you fighting in a war.” There was another stab on “you” and one on “war.”

Adam took her finger delicately between his thumb and forefinger and removed her hand from his chest. “You think I should let others fight my wars?”

“This isn’t your war, Adam.”

“This is my country, my convictions, my conscience. Don’t you think that makes it my war?”

“I…” She looked down.

He was ashamed about his harsh tone, but then sometimes it was the best way to get Juliet’s attention, to make her sharp mind work in more than one direction.

“It is my war,” he added much more softly. “It is my war, and I have an obligation to—”

“You have an obligation towards your family,” she interrupted him. “You have an obligation towards your child. What about Henry? What about me? Us?”

“I want Henry to grow up in a land that does not make distinctions between white men and black. I want him to grow up in a land that does not sell one human being to another. A land that defends the equality of all men, as stated in its constitution. And I will do everything in my power to help make this country that place.”

“And so you decided to have one more splendid night with me, and then leave the next morning, telling me in passing that you’re going to play the hero and save this great land from the evil South.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Juliet.”

“Melodramatic?” She screamed now. “Melodramatic? And what about your heroically delivered speech? A land that defends the equality of all men, as stated in its constitution. Pfft. I will do everything in my power to help make this country that place. Oh, come on, Adam, who’s melodramatic now, you or I?”

“Juliet…”

She pointed to the door. “And what about Henry? Isn’t it more important that he grows up with his father at his side than with a memorial for a dead hero somewhere?”

“You make it sound as if I’m already dead, Juliet.” He managed a chuckle.

“If you go you’re as good as dead.” She looked at him, pleadingly. “Adam, don’t do that to us, don’t leave us. Don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear…” She bit her lip.

He took her hands. “Mylady—”

“Don’t call me that.” She pulled her hands out of his grip. “Don’t call me that when you are hurting me.”

He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to do what I think is right. Weren’t you the one who told me I’d never do anything I think is wrong? Well, I think staying out of this would be wrong.”

He considered her, reading the dawning understanding on her face. Maybe now is the time to… He retrieved a bundle of sealed letters from a chest of drawers. “I wrote these in case of—”

Juliet was at his side in a split second, snatched the papers from his hands and, spitting, “I don’t need your blasted letters, I need you!” she threw them into the fire place.

Or maybe not, Adam thought, watching the paper turning black and then dissolving into ashes. “I spent some hours composing those,” he said mildly.

“Oh, you planned this all so well. What was in those letters? ‘I’m sorry you’ll never know me, Henry, but remember I died for a good cause?’ Or did you even round up your beliefs and motives for him so that he can at least read who his father had been?” Her hands accompanied her words with overdone dramatic gestures. For a moment it looked as if she’d even start to tear at her hair, but apparently she thought better of it. Or her fire was finally dying down.

He didn’t answer her. He knew he wasn’t supposed to. He knew she was raging, knowing she was defeated. But he also knew she wouldn’t give up completely, she just needed time to—

“I’ll come with you.” Her tone was defiant, her shoulder square, her arms crossed. “I’ll come with you and…write* about the battles. I’m sure Mr. Lincoln will appreciate a good war correspondent.”

“And Henry? What about Henry? You can’t take him with you, and surely you wouldn’t leave him alone, would you?” It was ridiculous, and Juliet knew that. Or not?

“Oh, he can come with us, too. Then we can all die for a good cause; now wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Her arms fell, and her head slumped down. She heaved a shuddering breath.

“You know, I don’t plan to lose my life. I’d much prefer to survive,” Adam said gently. He pulled her into his arms and was relieved to find her relaxing into his embrace. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you.”

She freed herself and held him at arm length. “If you go you might lose anyway. It’s either your life or—” She broke off and looked down, then left him standing there, shocked, stunned: she couldn’t make him choose, could she?

Juliet crossed the room and sat down on the bed, slowly fastening the buttons on her nightshirt. When she had completed that task, she folded her hands in her lap for a moment before she went up again, opened the drawer of the nightstand and took something out, then went back to Adam and thrust it into his hand, saying softly, “I want you to take this with you.”

It was a small photograph, showing Juliet with Henry in her arms. She must have had it made that day she’d insisted on going out on her own. Henry was wide awake in the photograph, his eyes big and full of wonder, and Juliet looked calm and content and even had the shadow of a smile on her face. My family, my life.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Juliet whispered.

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“Then promise me you’ll try.”

“I will. I promise.”

He cupped her face and kissed her: her mouth first, hungry and full of passion, then her forehead, long and savouring.

They didn’t talk while he washed and dressed himself, even though Juliet watched him all the time and followed him as he went through the room, getting his things together, packing; and she was at his side when he crouched down at Henry’s cradle, tenderly kissed the baby’s forehead and trailed his little face with his finger.

Then it was time to say goodbye, and they found they were at a loss for words. Everything seemed to have been said already, and Adam knew Leopold Hohmeyer would be waiting impatiently by now; he needed to leave.

“Shall I give your regards to General Schurz?” he finally managed.

“He won’t remember me. I was his pupil for only a few weeks—he left London before I learnt much. Really, he is to blame for my poor German.”

“Mylady, I’m sure you were unforgettable. Shall I tell him you said, ‘Guten Tag, mein Herr? ’”

She gave him a small smile. “No, tell him I said, ‘Schicken Sie mir meinen Mann zurück, sofort! ’”

He chuckled. “Now what makes me think I better not tell him that?”

“Common sense?” She lifted an eyebrow into that sarcastic arc he knew so well and waited for a few moments, giving him time to ponder possible translations, before she sighed, “Actually, it simply means ‘send my husband back to me.’”

“Wasn’t there more? I thought I heard a ‘right now’ wedged in that.”

“I didn’t think you would notice.”

“There’s no way I wouldn’t notice one of your ‘now’s’—whatever the language.”

They didn’t laugh, but they smiled. And then Adam took her face in his hands, one last time, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her. Kissed her, not in that hungry way as before; it was a soft kiss, a kiss not of passion but of love and devotion. A kiss that made words unnecessary, especially those three words they didn’t say too often anyway, because they felt they didn’t need to.

Only one word was left to say, and he breathed it into her ear. “Forever,” and she whispered it back, “Forever.”

On his way to the meeting point with Leopold Hohmeyer, Adam was surprised to find himself praying. It was amazing, he thought, how worry converted a doubter into a believer—even though, admittedly, he saw himself more as a hoper. And even though the cynical part of his brain suspected that God might not listen too closely to such an occasional Christian, he couldn’t help but chant his prayer over and over again, long after he’d left San Francisco and was well on his way to Virginia: “Don’t let us fall apart.”

In the hotel room Adam had abandoned, Juliet stood frozen to the place, staring at the door that had closed behind her departing husband. She stood there until she heard a clock striking somewhere, and then she turned her back to the door, took a deep breath and swiftly finished her morning toilette and got dressed as if nothing had ever happened.

She rang for the chamber maid and gave orders to issue her invoice and reserve a seat on the morning stage coach to Virginia City for the next day, then packed the bags. Eventually she had retransformed the two rooms from her and Adam’s home away from home into an impersonal hotel suite, only her and Henry’s laid out clothes for the next day indicating that they were inhabited at all.

Juliet checked the room for forgotten items, fully knowing that she was unlikely to forget anything considering the accurate, methodical way in which she had tidied up their things. Her gaze stopped when it fell upon the standing mirror, and she slowly approached it until she stood in front of it. Just like yesterday evening. Had it really been only yesterday?

You are beautiful, she heard Adam’s voice saying in her head.

She looked at her reflection: a pale woman, with too-bright eyes and inexpertly pinned hair, in a plain brown dress. A lugubrious woman, less than a shadow of the radiant lover from the night before.

I see you, Juliet. You and me together. And that’s the most beautiful thing I can imagine.

You and me together. She was alone now, only her lonesome frame in the mirror. It was the ugliest thing she could imagine.

And then her eyes finally spilled over. A choked sob forced itself out of her chest, and even though she pressed her lips together to keep it from escaping she could hear the strangled sound. In the mirror, she watched her tears running down her flushed cheeks, and that image was even uglier; but she couldn’t tear herself from her reflection, from that picture of utter despair.

“No!”

She wouldn’t have it. Couldn’t have it, couldn’t bear it, couldn’t…

She slammed her fists into the mirror; punching, pounding, pummelling, again and again, until the glass broke into a million shards that scattered over the room, over her ugly brown dress, her ugly limp hair, her ugly sad face, leaving dozens of small lacerations in her ugly pale skin.

There was no pain. But when she looked down in disgust at her ungoverned hands, she saw blood seeping out of numerous cuts and one particularly large gash on her left palm; and she felt sick.

She heard the blood rush in her ears, felt herself shivering from cold despite the heat, felt the itching of a thousand sweat pearls on her skin, saw darkness clawing its way in from the edges of her blurring vision. The room began to spin around her, which made her nausea even worse; but just when she thought she’d have to throw up she felt she was pulled down into a spiralling black mist and, too weak to put up any resistance, she finally gave in and let her grip on reality go.

Before the darkness took over completely, she heard the wailing of her son, who must have woken up from the sound of the bursting mirror, his piteous cries damped by the buzzing in her ears, and then—nothing.

__________

Walking, working, barely breathing
My thoughts, far away
Heart aching, mind racing
Sleep does not come easily, nor last long….
~Peter Winstanley

***

 

* Juliet is a reporter, or has been one before she and Adam got married: The Art of Horse Selling

The words given were: anniversary,celebration, passing, memorial, roundup