Karl opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness. He sat up with an awful start to the rich scent of cool, aged wood and musty body odor. He assumed the latter must be his own stench, which he paid no mind. For a panicked moment, he thought he was back at Camp Chase, but like earlier, the smells did not match. Sure, he smelled wood and hay, but there were other smells, different ones from the last time he woke.
The tut-tutting of chickens overhead explained the acrid coop smell. Karl knew plenty of men who would have killed to get those chickens. He was not one of those men, not when chickens came with those smells.
“Got to stop waking where I don’t know where I am.”
He sniffed the horse blanket covering him and recoiled. He kicked it off, gagging.
Karl still had no idea what his name was, so he noted what he knew with certainty. He was in a barn. Sweat drenched his body. His head throbbed. His stomach complained. His bare feet stung like the dickens. The chickens smelled bad. He sat on straw; it pricked through his threadbare clothing.
Karl shifted, trying to measure the size of the room. It was long but narrow, bounded by short walls and a padlocked door. The walls and door cleared the floor by a couple of inches, not enough to escape. He found a pile of fabric on the other side of the door and threw it over his shoulder. Perhaps those women had left him with replacement clothing.
He took a deep breath and choked on a chicken feather.
Karl felt the fabric slip from his shoulder, which is when he noticed how much there was… and there was a lot.
Karl felt around the floor again for the fabric, suspicious. The amount of fabric was far too much for a pair of pants or a shirt. He picked it up, curiosity giving way to horror.
There were sleeves, a dainty collar, small buttons down a front bodice. A tiny waist. Yards upon yards of fabric that could only make a skirt.
Face hot, Karl dropped the dress as if it were on fire.
A low moan came from the stall beside him.
Karl rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth dry. “Who’s there?”
All he could hear was breathing.
“Is this… your… dress?” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. There was a horrible silence. Karl could feel his heart in his throat.
“Want it back?” Karl shook his head and said to himself, “Of course you’d like it back. Stupid I even mentioned it.”
Karl grunted, frustrated it was taking so long for his eyes to adjust in the dim light. His mind raced with possibilities. He was not sure of anything these days, and this was the most lucid he had felt in weeks.
He could not stand the silence, and he tried again.
“If I did… anything untoward,” Karl said, “please, accept my—my apologies.” He ran his hand down his face and exhaled. “I’ve—I’ve been out of my head so long, it feels funny to be in my head.”
A soft moan, this time sounding far less human.
Karl looked up to find huge doleful eyes staring at him from above the wall dividing his stall from hers. He could not help it. He shrieked.
Somewhere else, behind a thick wall, he heard the chickens cackle and caw in response to his panic. Large nostrils blew hot air in his face. Karl rubbed his eyes.
Details came into focus. The log-slatted wall separating them stood about chest-high. His barn-mate, a cow, angled her neck around the wall, trying to see him. Karl’s laugh, while relieved, held a slight edge of hysteria. “Hey there,” he said, his voice shaking.
Big eyelashes swept across high cheekbones. She crooned as if they were having a conversation.
“Wouldn’t happen to know whose dress I’m holding?” Karl asked, not expecting an answer.
The cow huffed and turned away.
Karl began dragging his fingers along the dirt floor for a stick he could use to pick or break the padlock. He did not spend all that time in prison to end up in another one. He paused, panting. All this movement was exhausting.
Breaking the padlock was not the answer. He turned instead to study the hinges, but the barn door burst open, blinding him.
He stumbled back, arm thrown up to shield his eyes.
“What have you done?” he heard Tante Klegg say.
Karl dropped his arm. “What?”
“You screamed. You frightened our guest.”
Tante Klegg was not the sort of woman to tell a falsehood to, not with her formidable silhouette blocking the only way out. Her hands rested at the apex of her wide skirts, and she did not bother to enter.
“There was something breathing and moaning. It turned out to be a cow, but I didn’t expect her face so close…” Karl’s voice trailed off. He could hear how ridiculous he sounded.
“You are in a barn.”
He felt the back of his neck grow hot. “Y’all left me alone in the dark with strange noises and smells. What was I supposed to think?”
“That you are a man, and cows are not frightening to a man who has survived a war.”
Karl clamped his mouth shut before he said anything that made her any more huffed. If Tante Klegg was anything like Gretchen, she hid a revolver and was ready to shoot him right there. No one would miss a dead Confederate in the middle of Ohio.
“We hid you for our safety,” Tante Klegg explained while unlocking the stall.
Karl nodded, then frowned. “Our safety?”
She ignored his question. “What is that you hold?” Tante Klegg’s voice grew colder. “Is that Gretchen’s dress?” She bent to snatch it from the floor by his feet.
Karl’s mouth went dry.
“What have you done?” Tante Klegg said.
He blanched. “Don’t know.”
“This is Gretchen’s dress,” she insisted, shaking it at him. When he stared at her, she ran her hand down her face, rambling on in German. “Dummkopf,” he heard Tante Klegg say more than once.
“How did that end up in here with me?” Karl said, gesturing to the dress in her hand.
She sighed and a sinking feeling settled in Karl’s gut.
“You must stay,” Tante Klegg announced.
“Meaning I had the chance to leave?” he said. They both knew how far he would have gotten with his shaking limbs, dizziness, empty stomach, and bare feet.
Tante Klegg folded the dress until it was a square package, but even that could not hide the blood from view. His blood.
“I do not know what has happened, but you cannot leave. My foolish Gretchen changed in here…” She descended into a string of German again. “I meant her to change behind the barn or the outhouse. Foolish, stupid girl!”
A frisson of pain struck Karl’s temple. He winced. He was ready to crawl back into the stall and sleep until this family forgot all about him.
Tante Klegg smiled. It was terrifying, and he wished she would stop. “Yes. This will be sehr gut. It will be penance.”
“Beg pardon?” Karl said. “Penance for whom?”