Chapter 25
Love does not die easily.
—James Bryden
Sarah felt like she was on a wave, ebbing in and out, floating this way and that. It seemed time had taken her back a thousand years and she was no longer herself. Although she caught involuntary visions of angry battles, glimpses of cannons and horses, and the eerie cry of sentinels in the distance, what it all meant she could not discern.
As she grew stronger and began to talk, her mind became a storehouse of names without faces to fit them and faces with no names attached. She concentrated on tearing down the invisible doors that shut her in, and slowly felt new life surging through every vein.
Over the coming days and weeks, Sarah began to make order out of the confusion, but while some of the faces became familiar in her memory, others remained dim. The man they called Colonel Benton continued to mystify her.
Although she had been told it was he who ensured her every need was met, his manner conveyed only courtesy, never the tenderness that others expressed. He did not seem to try to avoid her, yet neither did he go out of his way to seek her out.
In fact, he generally presented an impenetrable cold shoulder whenever they chanced to meet. If he happened to come upon her in the house, he passed her only with that token of recognition that is required, never the type of friendliness that is voluntarily bestowed. His distant manner only made Sarah’s curiosity about him grow over the weeks until he had become a wonderful, irresistible mystery. Even though he treated her distantly and visited her not at all, she had begun to imagine that there was more to the man than his withdrawn attitude revealed.
Sarah thought back to the event of a week ago when a number of soldiers and women from the community had been gathered on the yard frolicking. It had been an unusually warm day for the season, and one of the women had suggested it would be nice to have a swing.
Within minutes, one of the men had produced a piece of wood, and another, a length of rope. Along with the others, she had watched as the rope was thrown high over an upper limb. From the corner of her eye, she remembered seeing Colonel Benton hand his glass to someone and stride hurriedly toward her. She continued to stare at the tree limb, mesmerized and rapt, when she felt his hand on her elbow.
“Come away, Sarah,” he had said in a gentle, low tone. “Follow me.”
Sarah tried to turn, to follow his calming voice, but suddenly her vision began to distort. A loud roaring had commenced to take the place of the laughter in her ears, and her body had felt strangely out of control.
Slowly, as if in slow motion, she had started to fall, only to be swept up effortlessly in solid, powerful arms. His strength had been immense yet comforting, and she felt herself being carried away with a sense of ease and security.
She had wanted to say, “Thank you, Colonel Benton,” but somehow it had come out as “Doug,” and just as the roiling fog that had been floating above her descended fully, she heard a woman yell, “Give me a rope if that is what it takes to gain the colonel’s attention. I shall hang myself to the highest tree!” And then she had heard no more.
* * *
The next thing Sarah remembered was awakening slowly, listening to the sound of the house before actually opening her eyes. She heard Mrs. Ramsey and the doctor conferring together in low voices, and the sound of something else. A constant, vexing clink, clink, clink.
Opening her eyes, she saw the two speakers come slowly into focus, then, more slowly, the source of the other noise. Colonel Benton could be seen through the window pacing restlessly on the porch in his noisy cavalry boots and spurs. Yet as soon as he had been assured she was awake and resting, he had departed without a word to her, leaving her feeling more unsure and confused than before.
Besides that almost-dreamlike recollection, Sarah had other visions that came frequently and without mercy, independent of any real memory she could recall. When she was awake, she could not escape thoughts of him. When she slept, he intruded upon her dreams. In her mind, he had taken on the image of a chivalrous knight, whose devotion to her she felt rather than remembered, and wished for rather than experienced.
As the weeks progressed, Sarah grew stronger, and began challenging herself to talk to the men of the camp even if she did not remember their names or faces. Major Connelly soon became one of her strongest allies. With his warm, easy smile and patient tutoring, he repeated names and told stories about the command and its members that helped her associate faces with names.
“The men seem to admire their commander very much,” Sarah commented one day, as they walked the grounds.
“There is no more noble man on or off the battlefield,” Connelly replied, following her gaze toward Benton as he walked along the riverbank in deep conversation with another officer.
“Is he shy around women?”
Major Connelly laughed aloud until he saw the look in her innocent, upturned face and stopped himself abruptly by pretending to cough. “No, not particularly.”
“Then I wonder if I have offended him.” Sarah did not mean to say the words out loud, but when she did she quickly looked up at Connelly. “I mean, he seems to wish to keep his distance.”
“He is a busy man, Sarah.” He gazed at her with what appeared to be a look of concern and sympathy. “With many duties and responsibilities.”
She forced a smile. “Of course. It’s silly of me to seek his attention. It’s just that…”
Connelly looked at her closely. “Do you remember something?”
She gazed at him and then over his shoulder. “Sometimes I see images. But they fly by so swiftly and seem so vague, they scarcely seem real.”
“You remember nothing about Colonel Benton?”
“No.” She shook her head, dismayed at herself that she did not. “But I feel it.” She put her hand on her heart and looked at him with woeful eyes. “Deep.”
Connelly took her arm and led her away from some other soldiers standing nearby. “You must not try so hard to remember,” he said, seeming to fear what it would do to her fragile mind if she did. “It’s important for you to look forward, not back.”
Sarah blinked back tears that rose unbidden to her eyes. “But why? Did I do something to him?” She searched his eyes as if they held all the answers.
“Sarah,” he started, then stopped and cleared his throat and stared at his boots a moment. “This is much more complicated than I can possibly…I mean…” Again he stopped. “I wish you would discuss this with the colonel.”
Sarah sighed deeply, almost as if she were in physical pain, and then nodded. “Yes, of course, Major. It was very inconsiderate to have asked you.” She picked up her skirts and turned away, but not before he had a chance to see the tears she had been unsuccessful in restraining.
“Sarah”—he caught her by the arm—“Sarah, you must understand that Doug…I mean, Colonel Benton…he feels somewhat responsible for your…It’s just that he blames himself for the…He does not wish to—”
Sarah put her hand on his arm and forced a smile as she managed to rally her emotions. “I understand, Major…it is complicated.” She gave him a nod and a teary smile and turned toward the house.
“He regards you highly,” Connelly said, in desperation to her back, but she did not stop walking. “Above all others, I believe,” he added. But she had already disappeared through the door.
* * *
Major Connelly searched for Benton, and finally found him talking to one of the scouts that had just come in. From a distance it appeared that Benton was back to his old self—yet Connelly knew he was not the same man at all.
One had only to spend a few moments in his company to see that all traces of arrogance and vainness had disappeared from his character. He was amiable still, could briefly flash his charming smile, but he was different. And though he made an obvious attempt to avoid Sarah, the strong attraction he felt for her was always apparent in his lingering gaze.
Recalling his conversation with Sarah, Connelly could feel his anger building as he strode toward Benton, and it was evident in his tone of voice when he reached the colonel. With little sign of official military order, Connelly grabbed Benton by the arm and pulled him aside. “Sir, I need to have a word.” He did not give the colonel time to speak. “You’ve got to tell her how you feel.”
Although he mentioned no name, the topic was apparently not far astray from Benton’s own mind. He pressed his lips more tightly as if enduring some secret torture. “You presume to know how I feel?”
“I know how she feels and that you are the only one that can help her.”
“I am not worthy of her.”
“No one is worthy of her.” Connelly took a deep breath to regain his composure and led Benton into the seclusion of some trees. “There is not a person in this region more honored than she. You could show her some consideration.” He paused and stared intently into Benton’s eyes. “She has a reliance on you, an attachment to you. She feels it, though she doesn’t understand it.”
“I want her to forget me—”
“Forget you? She believes you despise her. Why must you treat her like this?
“I need to suffer as she suffered. I need to sacrifice as she sacrificed.”
“But she is still suffering.” Connelly threw his hands in the air. “You have been given the luxury few men get—a second chance. And you have somehow managed to mangle it worse than the first.”
“Again you make presumptions,” Benton said quietly. “You presume I did not already know that.”
“Why can’t you just tell her how you feel?”
Benton shrugged and stared into nothing. “I want to do this the right way.”
“There’s no right way to do the wrong thing.” Connelly realized how loud his voice had become and spoke the next sentence in a mere whisper. “She does not want your pity. It’s your affection she seeks.”
Benton appeared detached and unmoved as he looked straight into his friend’s eyes. “I killed the first Sarah Duvall,” he said in a low, steady tone. “I intend to stay away from this one and do her no harm.”
When Benton started to walk away, Connelly noticed he no longer moved like a warrior, but a man carrying a great weight upon his shoulders. Connelly grabbed his arm to stop him. “They are one and the same. Sarah Duvall did not die.”
Benton stared at him with a look that was intense and grave. “She is different now. No one can deny it.” He lifted his gaze and stared into the distance. “I may as well have put that rope around her neck myself.”
Connelly took a step closer and gritted his teeth as he spoke. “Do you believe God gave her back to us so you could torture her with your indifference?”
“God gave her to the world—certainly not to me.”
“But she does not blame you. No one blames you.”
Benton looked at him hard and forced a laugh. “You are quite wrong on that account, Major.” He turned and spoke over his shoulder as he continued to walk away. “I blame me.”