After the War.

CHAPTER 1

Mary looked out of the window, watching the scenery change as the stagecoach rumbled and shook with each bump it rode over. It was over-the life she had gotten accustomed to was over.

Anyone watching her would think that she was taking in the scenery, but she wasn’t looking at the houses and vast land space as much as she was thinking about how different everything felt.

It was quiet. Things had not been dead for a long time, and now, as she felt the coach rumble, even the noise it made could not compare to the humdrum she had lived with for a long time. She should be happy, be glad that it was all over, but she could not find the energy to smile.

“Why do you look so gloomy? You ought to be happy- the war is finally over. I never thought a time would come when I saw my wife and children again, but now, I can finally go home to them. The last time I saw my wife, she was carrying our little one. She begged me to come back alive,” the coach driver said, turning around to look at Mary briefly.

Mary nodded but said nothing.

“You are not happy to be going home, miss? I’m sure you have some folks you left behind. They will be nothing but pleased to see you,” the coach master prodded.

Mary thought about what to say in reply but came up with nothing. How could she explain the way she felt to this man who she barely knew? Yes, the war was over, and everyone could go back home to the people they left behind. She knew a few who had children they had never seen and wives they left behind just after getting married.

But she wasn’t sure any place would feel like home to her anymore.

She had volunteered to be a nurse during the war to help out sick, injured, and dying people because she could not just stand by and watch life happen without her doing something to alleviate the suffering she knew happened at the front lines.

But what she had seen, the gruesome wounds, the muffled screams from soldiers who had their limbs amputated without any form of anesthesia, the pleas she got from near dying people for another chance to live or to die quickly and painlessly. Some of the soldiers who had died had given her messages to give their loved ones, messages she could never deliver because she had no idea who they had been talking about in their last moments. She had watched people die in her arms as she spoke to them to ease their pain.

She had watched people struggle against every odds to stay alive.

She could still close her eyes and see the looks on the soldiers' faces there were brought in every minute- casualties of war.

How could she be happy going home when she had lived through all that? When tending the sick and treating the injured had become the only life she knew?

She did not know how to feel about going home. She did not know what she was going home to. She did not know what to do when she got to where she was going because she had nowhere to go to—no one left for her to miss.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed. She felt tired and weary to the bones. Working as a nurse gave her no time to sleep or catch her breath- she had to be around as there was no shortage of injured people and not enough people to volunteer.

It felt as if she had not slept in forever.

“The war was a tough one for everybody,” the coach driver said again in an attempt to start a conversation.

Mary looked at the driver fully for the first time.  Had he served in that war? Did he carry the memories the way she did? Did he think about the people who died in the war?

“Sir, did you serve in the war?” she asked.

“I almost did, miss. But they said I was too weak. So, I joined the squad that provided rations for the soldiers,” he answered her.

“Did you go to the front lines?” Mary asked.

“No, miss. We were not needed there. Did you work in the war?”

Mary sighed.

“Yes, I did.”

“Oh. What did you do?”

“I worked as a volunteer nurse. Took care of the soldiers they brought into the medical camps,” Mary told him.

“That must have been tough. I heard from a friend of mine that if a man- or woman goes to war, they do not come back the same way,” the driver said.

“But if you have folks, it helps. You do have folks, right, miss? It would be a good thing to stay with them for a bit,” he added.

“I do,” Mary told him.

Even though she had no one, it was easier to tell this man that she did. She did not want him asking her more questions. All she wanted to do was to be left with her thoughts.

“Good. Family is everything. The thought of my wife and little ones kept me going strong even when I feared that the war would not end.”

Mary thought about his words for a while. It was true that family made some things better, and it was also confirmed that having someone around made things easier.

Maybe she had to do it. She had thought about it during the war and had put it aside, but perhaps now was the time to make a different decision.

Opening her carry bag, she reached into a small space and brought out a letter. The white paper the letter had been written on was now the color of a brown envelope. She had kept the letter in this bag while the war was still going on, hoping to come back to it one day, but she had gotten caught up in all the activities and nursing.

Tattered and torn from the places the bag had been and the months it had stayed in, the letter was barely legible in some areas. But she could still point out the essential parts of the letter if she looked hard enough.

Could she? She wondered. The war was over, and no other duties were keeping her away. She had done her job and now had a chance to live a life of her own.

“Sir,” she called out.

“Miss?” the coach master spared her a brief glance.

“Would it be possible for you to stop at Boston, just before you get to my town? Just north, high up in the White mountains. I’m afraid I have changed my mind about going home,” Mary asked.

“You do not want to go home? What will happen to your folks? They sure must be expecting you. Maybe you go home and then take the next stage coach tomorrow to Boston? Spend a night with your family,” he answered.

“I don’t want to go to the town anymore. Wouldn’t it be possible to drop me off in the White mountains?” Mary was persistent.

“Miss, if I drop you off there, it will take me more time to get to my folks. Is it important?” the stage coach driver sounded annoyed.

“I would not keep you away from your wife and children, if it wasn’t. I am truly sorry for the inconvenience, but this may be the most important thing I will ever do,” Mary said.

“Then if it is that important, I’ll take you there. Don’t you worry.”

Nodding, Mary looked outside and thought about what she was about to do.