Free Spring Will Come by Ginny Dye

that water was up to our knees.  I even saw a snake or two slither by.  I reckoned they were trying to get away from all that noise.” 
                  Carrie shuddered as she listened. 
                  “When I done got shot, I reckoned I was just going to slip down into that water and drown.  Then one of the boys came by and propped me up against one of them stumps.  I guess my mama’s prayers was answered sure enough ‘cause I didn’t catch no more bullets.  I guess I passed out at some point, ‘cause the next thing I knew I was in one of them ambulance wagons heading this way.” 
                  Carrie tried to force out of her mind the picture of Robert fighting in conditions like that.  The only way she knew how to deal with the not knowing was to give all she could to the men surrounding her.  Gently she washed Johnny’s face and hands.  “Drink some more water, Johnny.”
                  “What you trying to do, Miss Cromwell?  Drown me?”
                  Carrie laughed, a genuine laugh, as Johnny looked at her suspiciously.  “The water is good for you.  You don’t want that fever to take you, do you?  Drink as much as you can.  I promise it will help.”
                  Johnny still looked at her suspiciously, but he drained the glass she offered him. 
                  “I sure would like some of that water, ma’am.”
                  Carrie turned quickly and met the eyes of a young man two beds down.  “Why, of course!”   She filled a glass with water and hurried to him.  “What’s your name?”
                  “Alexander Bedford, ma’am.”
                  Carrie looked at him closely.  She was almost certain she had seen him before, but the dirt and strain on his face made it hard to tell. 
                  “I’m from Bedford Plantation about fifty miles down the river.”
                  “Of course!  My father, Thomas Cromwell, knows yours.”
                  “And I know who you are, Miss Cromwell.  I was there two years ago when that gray Thoroughbred of yours beat Nathan Blackwell.”
                  “I think the man riding my horse, Granite, would like to take some of the credit for that,” Carrie said with a laugh.  The tournament at Blackwell Plantation, when Robert had ridden Granite to victory, seemed an eternity ago.  It had been a time of lighthearted fun, when her largest concern was whether Robert would capture enough of the rings to be declared winner in the competition.  She forced herself back to the present.  “How badly wounded are you?”
                  “Well, I suppose I’m luckier than most.  I caught a couple of balls in my left leg, but they decided to leave it on after I objected most strenuously to their suggestion of taking it off,” Alexander said indignantly.  Then his voice dropped.  “I realize they may still have to take it, but as long as there is a chance...”
                  Carrie laid her hand on his arm.  “I know the doctors will work as hard as they can to save it.”
                  Alexander nodded.  “Yes.  Of course, they will.”  Then his eyes filled with pain.  “I have so little to complain about.  My best friend... Mark.  He - he didn’t make it.  I watched him die.  A bullet hit him in the head...”  He gulped as his face twisted in agony.  “At least he went quick.  I don’t think he even felt it.”  His eyes darkened as he traveled back to the horrors of the day before.  “Men were falling all around me.  I barely managed to drag myself behind some trees after I got shot.  There were about five hundred of us who took part in that charge.  Less than half of us made it out.” 
                  Carrie listened, white-faced, as Alexander told his story.  It