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would have made deMonde and Hardesty s situation a little easier.
They had vowed they would never be apart, and despite the war, they kept that vow.
He paused. At least, they did their best to keep that vow.
He stopped abruptly, shook his head, and then tried to speak. He wrenched out each
word as though it tore out his heart.
They went through two years of campaigning. Two years of battles and skirmishes.
DeMonde always at Matthew s back. They found that if they were discreet, they could be
together in every way. They shared a tent and made love quietly. It helped that both were
without fear on the battlefield, and Matthew s men admired his bravery. Often around the
campfires, deMonde would sing for the men, everything from popular parlor songs of the day
to operatic arias. They applauded them all, stamping their feet and whistling. The sound of
his voice comforted the soldiers on both sides of the fray. Memories of home grew brighter
listening to him, and often he d sing requests from the wounded men, whether hymns or
love songs. They proved their worth, these two men, and no one cared if they were more
than Damon and Pythias to each other.
He poured a glass of the tonic and sipped it, offering some to me that I turned down. I
wanted to focus on his words and not on his voice.
The Gettysburg Campaign began on a hellish day in June and continued far past the
third of July. Everyone saw the irony of fighting on the day that marked America s freedom
from England. The men were dispirited. They had lost so many battles. The Union Army had
had so many commanders, and each one seemed worse than the previous ones. Meade took
over that month with little hope of changing the course of the War. And now they faced
Robert E. Lee, the greatest Confederate general. You know how bloody the battle was, but
miraculously, Matthew and deMonde came through with only minor wounds. Ron gulped
and cleared his throat before he spoke again.
The Sweet Flag 75
Keeping up the advantage, Meade followed Lee as the Confederates retreated into
Virginia. They fought at Williamsport and Boonsboro in Maryland, regrouping; the Union
troops always close on the heels of the Southerners. The men were eager to pursue them,
their spirits high from the victory.
Ron s voice grew more hoarse as he spoke, emotion ripped through him as he struggled
to get the next words out. I didn t need to be a mind reader to see how much it cost him to
continue.
The battle of Wapping Heights was a footnote in the War. It began at dawn on the
twenty-third of July as the Union soldiers attempted to cut off the Confederates at Front
Royal, Virginia, by guiding them to Manassas Gap, an opening too narrow for a speedy
retreat. The day was hot and dusty; the wool uniforms clung to the men and scratched the
tender skin of the young flag bearer that deMonde had taken under his wing. The youth
loved music and often played the harmonica as accompaniment to deMonde s more frivolous
songs. He gave the boy his handkerchief to cover the uniform s stiff collar and reminded him
that he d want it back after the battle.
Ron gasped out a laugh and flung himself on his back, clutching his stomach as if he d
taken a knife to his gut. Laughter changed to anguish, and I reached out to comfort him. He
seized my hand and hauled me into his arms. He gripped my hair and ground his lips against
mine, bruising my mouth and abrading my skin against his five o clock shadow. He
wrenched his face away and whispered fiercely, No more. Not now. I cannot. Later. Please.
Later.
I rocked him in my arms and didn t give a damn if he never told me what happened
next.
* * * * *
We slept through the night, or at least we tried to. Ron thrashed and moaned, often
calling out Matthew s name. He whispered Non, non, and tears rolled down his face. I
76 Jeanne Barrack
drifted off once, waking to find his fingers gripping my throat and had to pry them off since
he couldn t or wouldn t wake up. At last he slept, exhausted by his struggle with his
unknown demons. I followed suit, drifting off into darkness again.
I awoke to find him sitting cross-legged on the bed, already dressed and staring at me
intently. He handed me my watch. One o clock. It was the earliest I d awoken since we d
made our bargain. He held his gaze a moment longer then broke it, looking down at the
rumpled sheets.
I woke up earlier, but I let you sleep. I know I was restless last night. I always am
whenever I -- He stood. Get dressed. I ll meet you in the kitchen. I fixed some lunch.
He turned without a further word at the door he shut behind him.
I fully expected him not to join me, but he did eat, though not much. He d melted the
cheese on the bread, sliced some tomato, and sprinkled some basil on top, grilling it briefly
under the broiler. Simple but delicious, and when I saw that he wasn t going to finish his, I
snagged it. He offered me both the heated tonic and the instant coffee. I poured a deep
draught of the family brew, infusing it with some honey. He smiled at my choice.
You re developing a taste for it, I see, even though you turned me down last night.
I laughed. It was either that or the lousy instant you have. Not much of a choice.
You re right, and sometimes there is no choice, or only a choice between two terrible
options.
He cleared the table, placing the dishes in the sink, and picked up his cup and mine,
leading me into the parlor. I sank down onto what had become my accustomed place on the
couch and waited until Ron set my cup on the hassock, took a sip from his, and put it next to
mine before I said anything. I didn t plan what came out of my mouth.
You don t have to tell me anything more. DeMonde brought Hardesty s body back
north and buried him. I guess since Hardesty s the only Civil War battle casualty buried
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