The sky was like a painting, portraying the end of the world. Dark red at the horizon, lightening to pink and orange, before it finally spread into a thick yellow that covered the rest of the sky. Smoke billowed through the air, sometimes pervasive enough that simply breathing would make a person gag and choke. It seemed that not a single blade of grass could still be standing. The ground was thick with mud, small rivers flowing through it, the same color as that horizon. The stench of death and dying hung in curtains, wafting around on the breeze, churning stomachs, causing nostrils to flare. Standing here, one no longer needed to imagine what hell must be like.
Cordia was picking her way through an endless sea of dead men’s bodies, piled to her knees and higher. She looked into the eyes of every single one of them. Sometimes, she had to turn them over to get a good look at their faces. Occasionally, parts of their corpses would stain her hands with blood, body tissue, maggots. She would try to wipe the stains away on her dress, but they would not come off. No matter how hard she tried to make them clean, her hands stayed dirty.
A little way in the distance, some men were digging a pit. They were throwing some of the bodies inside, mostly the ones dressed in blue. They would topple down the slopes, falling on top of each other, like marionettes whose strings had been cut. She tried to yell at the gravediggers not to go so fast. She hadn’t checked those men yet. She didn’t know if they were tossing in a familiar face. But they continued their work as if they could not see or hear her.
Then, it didn’t matter. She looked down, and there he was. He wasn’t piled on top of anyone else—just lying there on the filthy ground, almost as if he was asleep. Except, his eyes were open. Open and staring into the sky. As she studied his face, she began to think how peaceful he looked. But then, she was horrified to see his face twist in an angry grimace. He was looking right at her now—his blue eyes squinting up at her in a way she never knew they were capable of doing. “Why didn’t you come?” he demanded. Cordia began to back away, but his icy eyes trapped her. Again, he yelled at her, “Why didn’t you come? I called you—but you didn’t come. You just left me here!”
She began to back away now, tears pouring down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered, but he did not listen. He was still lying there, most of his body lifeless, unmoving. But he continued to bombard her with angry words, insisting that she answer. “No, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she sobbed. Then, she began to scream. “I never meant to hurt you!”
Cordia was still screaming as she shot upright in bed. She heard a commotion in the hall, and before she could even register what was happening, both of her parents and Frieda were in her room.
“What is it?” they all seemed to be asking at once. Cordia’s eyes darted around the room. Where was he? Where was Jaris? She had just seen him—he had been here, yelling at her. But then, she looked around and realized she was not on a battlefield. She was in her own bed, drenched with sweat.
By now, her family had realized she had just had a bad dream. Her mother sat down on her bed, smoothing her hair, as Frieda poured her a glass of water. “There, there now,” her mother was saying. “Darling, you were just having a nightmare. It’ll be all right now.”
But what she had just seen would not leave her, and Cordia was well aware why that was. Though what she had dreamt did not really happen, Jaris and Will had both been on that list of casualties earlier that day. And she still had no idea of their status. How could she possibly sleep under these circumstances?
She took the glass of water from Frieda and drank the whole thing. Her throat felt as if she really had been choking on smoke. She looked out the window and could tell the sun was nowhere near coming up. “What time is it?” she asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” her father said, standing behind her mother. “Don’t usually wear my pocket watch to bed.” He was smiling at her, trying to make her feel better.
Frieda went out into the hall and looked at the clock. “It’s a quarter past three, Miss Cordia. You had better get back to sleep, child. You are likely to have another long day ahead, if I know you.”
A quarter past three. Almost three hours until the sun came up. And not likely to be any more word until who knows when. She could not possibly go back to sleep. She could not possibly stay in that bed, or that house, or that town one more day not knowing.
“No,” she said. They were all looking at her blankly. Frieda was just about to turn and go back to bed, but now she stopped and stared at her, along with her parents. She said it again. “No. I can’t go back to sleep. I won’t go back to sleep.”
Her parents looked at each other uncomfortably. Her father gave a little chuckle. “Why, Cordia, sweetheart, what do you mean? Are you saying you just intend to get up this early?”
Before she could answer, Frieda chimed in. “Child, you know that there won’t be any word from anyone this early. And even if there was, Mr. Ward ain’t gonna open up the courthouse where the telegraph is any time soon.”
Cordia was already putting on her robe and trying to free her legs, though it was rather difficult with the weight of her mother on her blankets. “No, I am tired of sitting on the courthouse lawn. I am tired of waiting.” She managed to free herself and stood up. “I’m going to Springfield.”