Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(41)

She looked back at Jake, not certain her voice would hold. “This isn’t my husband,” she managed, her lungs betraying her. “This is . . . Emmett Zachary.”





CHAPTER 16

“Emmett Zachary?” Jake repeated, uncertain if he’d heard her correctly. But her expression, filled with heartrending anguish, confusion, and—could it be—a glimmer of relief, told him he had, then told him far more.

She bowed her head, her breath coming hard, same as that of the wounded soldier in the bed. After a moment, she lifted her gaze and tenderly laid a hand on the man’s bandaged forehead.

“Shhh,” she whispered through tears. “It’s all right, Emmett. Your Kate will be overjoyed to see you. To know you’re alive.”

Zachary sucked in a breath, his body shuddering. He attempted to speak but his voice came out raspy from disuse, the words scarcely intelligible.

“You don’t have to talk right now,” she said softly. “It’s all right.”

But he shook his head, determination in his eyes. She reached for a cup of water and a cloth on the bedside table and held it to his lips. He drank, coughing as he did, water running down his chin. She dabbed it away with the cloth and leaned closer.

“I’m s—” His voice broke. Fresh tears slid down his temples. “—sorry . . . Mrs. Prescott.”

She took his hand in both of hers and a moment passed before she spoke. “Were you with him? Were you with Warren when he . . .” Her voice faded.

The answer showed clearly in Zachary’s eyes even before his slow, single nod. Then he squeezed his eyes tight as though reliving the awful memory, and she bowed her head, her shoulders gently shaking.

Jake felt a coolness on his cheek but didn’t bother wiping the tears away.




Mrs. McGavock stared, unblinking, her face pale. “So you’re certain then, Mrs. Prescott?” she whispered. “There’s not a chance that another mistake has been made? That—”

“No, ma’am.” Aletta shook her head. “We’re certain.”

Aletta felt as though she couldn’t possibly have any tears left in her, yet they kept coming. She was weary beyond comprehension. Her eyes ached and her head throbbed. It seemed like this day might go on forever. She looked over at Jake seated on the settee opposite hers, and he seemed to understand her unspoken request.

He leaned forward. “After visiting with Corporal Zachary earlier today, Mrs. McGavock, it became clear what happened. Second Lieutenant Prescott—” He paused. “Mrs. Prescott’s husband, Warren, was killed on the sixteenth of October when his division came under fire from a regiment of Federal troops outside Nashville. They were outnumbered ten to one. Zachary saw the Second Lieutenant get hit. Multiple times.” His voice softened. “He said that Mrs. Prescott’s husband was dead before he hit the ground.”

Aletta bowed her head, grateful to have learned that Warren hadn’t suffered. That his death had been swift.

“The Federal army was closing in,” Jake continued. “So our troops had to retreat, which meant leaving behind those who’d fallen. It was several days before the ambulance corps was finally able to get back in and collect the bodies. But the Second Lieutenant couldn’t be properly identified—until they found a letter in the pocket of his trousers. It was addressed to Mrs. Emmett Zachary, so—”

“They made the assumption,” Mrs. McGavock finished for him. “But why was he carrying a letter for Mrs. Zachary? And further, does the woman know yet that her husband is alive?”

“Yes, ma’am, she does,” Jake answered. “We went straight to Mrs. Zachary’s house after we left the hospital. As for Warren Prescott having a letter addressed to her . . . we wondered the very same thing.” He paused and looked at Aletta.

She took a breath. “As it turns out, Mr. Zachary can’t read or write. He would dictate his letters home to Warren, then Warren would address the envelopes and mail them. Mr. Zachary said that Warren had gotten leave to go into town to mail both his letter and Warren’s the next day. So . . .”

Mrs. McGavock briefly closed her eyes. “So your husband was carrying both letters. But that doesn’t account for what happened to the letter he’d written to you, and why that wasn’t found. And why they mistakenly identified Emmett Zachary as your husband.”

“Actually—” Jake looked from Aletta to Mrs. McGavock. “That was made clear as well. Zachary shared that he’d seen Second Lieutenant Prescott put a bundle of envelopes in his front coat pocket that morning. So when the Lieutenant got shot, Zachary stopped. The Corporal said that even though he didn’t think anyone could live through such an assault, he wanted to be certain the wound was fatal. He also wanted to close Prescott’s eyes.” Jake’s voice went soft. “Then he grabbed the letters and retreated with the others. Zachary said he intended to mail the letter to his wife, which he thought was in the bundle. But his division was ordered south to Chattanooga and they never met a mail wagon on the way. So later, when Corporal Zachary was wounded and brought in—”

“They found the bundle of letters and once again assumed.” Mrs. McGavock sighed.

Jake nodded. “Which you can see how they could. More than once I’ve walked battlefields where dozens of bodies couldn’t be identified. It’s not at all uncommon.”