Free Undaunted Love by Jennings Wright Page A

was talking. “I’m Master Sergeant Lawrence. We’re gettin’ a lot of new volunteers just now, since Lincoln’s called up the Yanks. We got you all housed in a room here for the time being, but you’ll be movin’ out come the first. Don’t get comfortable.” He swung open a door and Rafe saw three rows of bunks, thin hay-stuffed mattresses rolled up at the end of each bed, a square of rolled up blanket placed in the exact center of each. A half dozen other young men were sitting around a table, playing cards. They looked up when the newcomers arrived, saw Sergeant Lawrence, and scrambled to their feet to attention.
    “Gentlemen, this here’s our newest volunteer, Rafe Colton. Congratulate the man, he got married today.”
    The men kept their eyes forward. Rafe tried a brief smile, found it didn’t fit on his face, and put his satchel down at his feet. Unsure of what, if anything, to do or say, he merely stood. Finally Sergeant Lawrence said, “At ease,” and the other men relaxed their stance.
    “Cox, show our Mr. Colton a bunk, tell him the basics, and teach him cards. A couple more days of waitin’, and we’ll be off. After that there won’t be time for lollygagging, so enjoy it now.” He nodded to Rafe, made a snappy turn, and left the barracks.
    The young men broke the line and moved forward to greet Rafe. A middling tall youth with shaggy brown hair the color of mud came forward with his hand extended. “Jonathan Cox, from Kershaw.” They shook. “This here’s Patrick Donavan, from out Columbia way, and these boys is all brothers from Aiken: Abner, David, Isaac and Hezekiah Mitchell. Him you can call Hez.” The other men nodded their heads when their names were called.
    “Where you from, Rafe?” Hez asked.
    “Byrd’s Creek. Small town on Edisto Island.” He looked around at the room. It was stark, hastily put together to house new recruits. The three rows of six bunks each were rough hewn, as were the table and chairs. A fireplace at one end of the room looked like it hadn’t seen a fire in many a day. At least there were windows but they looked out onto trampled field, the formerly green grass now turned to churned dirt and rock.
    “You really get married today?” Patrick asked, sitting back down at the table.
    Rafe nodded, but he wasn’t ready to talk about Livvie. The thought of her in the inn without him was almost too much to bear. He knew she was there. There was nothing for it but for her to stay until tomorrow, as planned. So he would sleep in this Spartan barracks, and she would sleep in their marriage bed, alone. He closed his eyes at the thought.
    Livvie woke with the sun shining in her window. She rolled over and laid her hand on the pillow next to her, closing her eyes and trying to imagine Rafe sleeping there, the sun glinting off his lashes, his face relaxed and handsome in sleep. She pictured his strong straight nose, his lips, high cheekbones, straight brows. His hair falling over his forehead. She buried her face in the pillow, wishing it smelled like him.
    Rolling on her back, she stared at the ceiling awhile, willing herself not to cry. She was a grown woman, a wife. If she was old enough to marry, she was old enough to take what the Lord gave her. This didn’t surprise God, so He thought them strong enough to deal with it. And so she would be. She got up, poured water from the blue and white jug on the chest of drawers into the matching bowl, and washed her face. She glanced at her image in the looking glass and gasped at the sight.
    She pulled her nightdress over her head, trying not to remember that she’d brought it especially for her wedding night. Standing on an oilcloth, she used a piece of toweling to wash her body. She scrubbed herself dry with a large towel until her skin glowed pink, then dressed in Rafe’s favorite blue dress, attaching the white collar and smoothing the fabric. He might not see her today, but she was his wife, and she would look the way