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>Maybe it was his face, or the way his red hair glowed >in the sunlight. Could it be the beads of sweat on his >on his forehead, chest and neck. > She didn’t really care, watching him while he worked >brought a measure of comfort to her eyes. She never >tired of watching him. > He didn’t seem to notice at first. >She stared, eyeing every move, every gesture, every >strand of his hair flowing in the soft spring breezes. >Surrounding his face, and some of it, dripped with >sweat. He raised and lowered the ax he was using to >cut the wood. Each swing, each time the blade sliced >the wood, it was poetry in motion. She pretended to >read, pretended to be too occupied. As hard as she >tried to pretend to concentrate there was no mistaking >her nose taking a dive in to her book, when he looked >up. He could see the motion and the glances. She >seemed to sit and read at that bench when he worked. >She was never there at any other time during the day. >Not like she was ever going to cross the hedge to >talk, to him or offer, a cold drink of water. > > He wiped the sweat off of his eyes. His white shirt >drenched, his throat was dry. He gave the ax a final >swing and went to the well. Water waited down at the >bottom, as he raised the bucked his arms strenuously >turned the handle. The water was cold and his fatigue >began to take over. The cold water reached his lips >and he poured it on his head. He wiped his chin when >he heard the sound of the broken twig.. he looked up. >She was standing in front of him. >“May I ….” She inquired. >“Help yourself.” He told her. He put the ladle he >was drinking out of, back in the bucket. He moved away >from the well and with out so much as another word >headed back to the woodpile. She watched the black >tall knee length boots, the tight gray trousers and >the unmistakable strut as he walked away. >“I think he likes being watched.” She said to her >self. She smiled. Her impish grin was ear to ear. He >is a tough one. His attitude, his posture, and the >weight of step as he walked, all of attitude. >“She is a stuck up snob and I know it. I don’t need >her type in my life.” He said to himself. “Woman like >that are not worth time.” > >She had been sitting at that bench for weeks. She >tried to look out for a time that he was working so >that she could conveniently be at the right place at >the right time. Not once the whole entire time he was >there did he dare come over and introduce himself . >Even though she knew his name and she employed him you >would think he would show some sort of respect towards >her. She turned and walked away. > >As she sat sipping her tea in front of the fireplace >she thought of the ways she would make his life of oh >so interesting. As the fireplace crackled she ran for >her butler. >“What is the condition of our wood supply?” >“I really am not certain” >“ See to it that the fireplace has all the logs we >need and I want double the supply in the wood shed. >“Double.” His eyebrow raised. “Mame, he shed will not >hold double.” >“Then we will simply have to build a larger shed. Tell >me what are the other duties of our wood cutter.” >“The stable, the horses .” He told her. >”Hmmm “the plot begins to take shape.” Very well >double the wood and shoe all the horses for starters.” >“The horses all have shoes” >“Well reshoe them. “ > >When the butler went to the woodcutter he smiled. “She >wants all that she is going to pay for it.” >That night he went in to town. He bought a silk top >hat and a gold handle cane and a long black coat. That >night the bar he attended noticed that his battered >and bruised hands never gave indication he belonged to >a much richer society. > >Some times the richest of men were really most common >in appearance. > >She enjoyed the attention she was paying for. The view >as he pulled the loaded cart of freshly cut wood to >the shed. By days end he was tired. Every muscle ached >he laid in bed totally exhausted sleep came quick for >him. She knew it would. > >In the deepest darkness of night she crept out of the >large house though the family cemetery and towards the >cabin. The door was a jar, she pushed it. It opened >with a slight creaking noise. She carefully crept >where he slept. The sweat from the hot night beaded on >his forehead and arms. The cabin was unkept, his >clothes both clean and dirty were every where. >He began to stir. She froze would she be seen. He >coughed and turned over his movement was strained. He >continued to sleep she made her way out of the cabin >back to the house unaware to her, she dropped a >handkerchief. She did not notice until the next >afternoon. She was looking for it. > >He was amused by the find. Pure white,. Crisp and >delicately embroider he decide that the best place for >it was tied to the ax handle. He took a few minutes to >think about the fact that she was there He wondered >how long she stayed and why she came in the first >place. The next day during the hottest part of the day >he went to the river and took time out to bathe in the >cold waters. Soaking wet he came out tossing his hair >back. His hair soaked with water rained all round him. >He got out, dried himself off and went back to the >cabin. When his got there, there was a message. >You are invited to a picnic at the lady Bromwells >estate 2 p.m. RSVP >The mistress was sending a formal invite. > >Sorry I think I will be busy at the time. > >He didn’t want to go didn’t want to attend and did not >want to be finding himself in the middle of a ritzy >affair. He never like high society people. > >What the picnic was, a special event for two. With out >the RSVP answered she figured out that he was not >going to let himself be bothered. Okay next plan she >had the cook put together a large basked of a picnic >lunch. She decided she would take the mountain to >Mohammed she would have better luck. > > The tree in the middle of the estate where she could >see everything was her best bet. Laying out the >blanket she made sure the freshly cooked chickened >could be smelled for miles. >Passing by on his wagon he stopped where she was. >“Pretty odd place for a picnic.” >“Maybe so, Join me?”. >Very bold of her. He at first rolled his eyes but when >she pulled out the chicken his mouth began to water. >How could he refuse free meal. Not only was it fresh >but it was not table scraps supplied but the cook on a >regular basis. Okay he said (the stomach wins out.) He >pulled the wagon off of the road and allowed the >horses to have shade and join her on the red and white >gingham picnic cloth. “Help you self.” She said. She >had, had enough. He was very big man. She planned >extra just in case. >He ate, again she watched him. His hair kept getting >in the way of his face. >“Here.” She said tying back his red locks with yet >another handkerchief. She happened to have. Soulfully >her eyes rested on him. >“You work hard, surely you do not plan on staying here >for ever.” >“I need to lie low and save up some money” >“Why?” > >“The fighting I used to do took its toll. I owe money >and I owe my self some peace and quiet.” >Fighting in a circuit?” (It sounded dreadful to her >how could such a handsome man with such a gorgeous >body spend his time and trouble beating him self to >death)(maybe the answer is..$) > >“Oh.” She said “Well if that is what you feel you have >to do.” >“It pays better, but there are other things that come >along with it, they make up for the cost.” >She could only imagine. She was used to hearing >stories about the fighters that came to the town and >what happened after the fights were over. >“You are welcome to stay as long as you want no one >will know that you are here.” > >At first he thought, “What on earth is she saying. She >just handed me a weeks worth of hard work and now she >says she wants me to rest??” He reserved the thought >and gave her another answer. >“I appreciate that. I have muscle injures that will >never heal.” Still munching on the chicken and sipping >the cold lemon aide she poured. >“What a minute” he said “you were in my cabin last >night!” >“Who me???” She smiled.” I was.” Carefully confessing >her crime. >“You should come more often “ >“I want to but.… what will the neighbors say? “ >“I never paid any mind to what anyone thought. “He >answered, she smiled. “You have a fantastic body.” >“Forward aren’t you.” (When ever I have the chance I >am) >“Well If I wait the time for saying what needs be >said, the time is passed , it is lost. It will never >come again.” >He became relaxed her eyes rested on him. >He was larger than life and the best she had seen in a >long time. She just loved every minute of it. >After he ate his fill of the picnic lunch he rested in >the shade. She could see he was beginning to get >sleepy. >The blond in his red hair seemed to turn in to flame. >The forehead hair was beginning to recede to her it >just didn’t matter. It maybe a sign of his age, but it >was more refined he bore the signs of a life >experienced. His waste line showed signs of soft >bulging skin.(lately he starting to look like a tall >skeleton) All she wanted to do that moment was nestle >close to him, the heat from the day was beginning to >discourage her but her imagination was not. (Never >does.) > > The next day while in town visiting the local pub >a solider dressed in a civil war uniform approached >the patrons. > > “There was a call to arms. It is a call heard loud >and clear. Help is needed. A battle wages on at >Antietam. We need help to win this battle. Who will >come.” >Again more recruits for the Civil War. The insignia of >the soldier bore the badge of the Irish Brigade’s >88th. Unit. >He spoke up. The resolve in his voice. “I know what it >is to be a slave. I will come.” >When he got back to the estate he made his intentions >know. >“I appreciate you telling me this and not just >disappearing off the face of the earth.” >“I am going. It is time I gave something back.” >“You could be killed!” >“It is the price of war. Die so that others will live >free.” >She looked in to his eyes. “Don’t do this.” >“I am sorry, I have to.” >As if he plunged a dagger in to her chest. She sat >down and stared away. She could not look at him. >“ Will you come back.?” >“I do not know.” >She sunk deeper in to the black depression that he >just created. >She closed her eyes. As if she had hoped it would all >go away. But, when she opened them it was all there. >The same pain like before. >“Will you write me?” >“If I can.” >She knew that was as good as not. >He turned and left. >A month has passed, then two, then she got word that >the 88th took a sever hit. Many were thought to be >dead. She asked about her woodcutter. The Wrestler >healing his injuries who wanted to join an noble >cause. They could not tell her anything. She packed >what she could and set out for the land. She had to >try to find him. To see for her self. Before it was to >late. She had to know of his condition. The roads were >lined with solders making their way both to the north >and south. She asked everyone she could about the >88th. Did anyone see him. Did anyone know him. Where >was the 88th last. All the answers were vague, all the >answers were hopeful and hopeless. All the answers. >Finally she managed to secure a room at the Lutheran >Seminary. While she was there she went in to the >battlefield daily assisting with burials and trying to >find him. > It did not look good. > Finally, the flag of the 88th appeared stretched >out on the ground. Her Co-workers took sympathy on her >and let her search the area. >She found him. > His lifeless body laid out stretched on the ground. >His eyes were open. She gently closed them. Her grief >consumed her. People rushed to her side. >“Is it him?” >She nodded her head too consumed in grief. >“I want to take him back. I do not want to bury him >here.” >They agreed and helped her find a carriage and the >means to transport him. A newly built pine box was >furnished to make the trip easier. She was alone. Yet >she was not. As if he was riding in that carriage >right beside her. She often felt warm air surround >her. (Phenomenal Breath) >The carriage traveled back to the estate. The tree >where they had their picnic loomed ahead of her. As if >to say “this is where I want to be” . The journey was >long and hard. The butler assisted her in hand digging >the grave. >As she dug no words were spoken, for in her mind the >memories of the life they shared how ever so briefly, >came back to her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as >she remembered the day. His eyes glorious, his red >hair and great strength. What a loss. She took the >suit he died in, had been ruined with bullet holes. As >she went through the pockets she found her white >handkerchief. > > “Oh” She said. His blood was on it. Going back to the >cabin she had hoped to find anything that he had left >behind. The new wood cutter did not use it. She had >hoped he had left something behind. She found the top >coat, white shirt, the gray trousers and the black >boots and that is what she buried him in. As the last >of the dirt was placed over the wooded box . >She stood back and looked at the tree. As the breeze >began to blow around her.(his phenomenal breath.) A >breath that she had been bathed in once before. His >body was gone but his spirit remained... the bonds of >Love …are eternal.

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