Page 107 of Inferno
Evangeline nodded. “He was convinced that he wouldn’t make it back home to his family.Which is understandable, since many of his fellow troopersdidn’treturn home.As the nightmares increased over time, he became more and more consumed with the growing certainty that he was going to lose his life in battle.”
Stan frowned. “But…he didn’t.”
“That’s right. He didn’t.” Evangeline smiled, her eyes gleaming with the preternatural wisdom of an ancient sage—though, of course, she was anythingbutancient. “Despite the terrible nightmares that plagued him as a soldier, Bishop Wolf lived to the ripe old age of ninety-three and fathered seven children.”
Just then a shiver passed through Stan, as if he’d briefly encountered a spirit from beyond the grave.
Evangeline quietly observed his reaction. “Like you, Bishop was a lieutenant.A leader of men.And like you with firefighting, he knew the risks involved when he enlisted in the army, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to serve. And though he was tormented by visions of his own death, he fought bravely and heroically in every battle.”
Stan swallowed tightly as he stared down at the stack of letters in his hands, unable to dismiss the uncanny parallels between himself and his distant forefather.
“I can’t tell you when your nightmares are going to end, precious heart,” Evangeline continued with tender solemnity. “But I believe that reading your ancestor’s letters will bring you some peace and comfort, and show you that sometimes history repeating itself can be a blessing in disguise.”
***
Over the next two hours, Stan and Prissy sequestered themselves in their room, cuddled in bed and read Bishop Wolf’s letters together.
Although his black regiment had fought in a surprising number of battles—including the famous 1898 battle on San Juan Heights, Cuba, for which he’d earned the Medal of Honor—Bishop Wolf didn’t dwell on the fury and bloodshed of warfare, nor did he share many details of the nightmares that plagued him.
But when hedidspeak of dying on the battlefield, Stan felt his fear and despair as acutely as if they were his own.Because he could relate all too well.
As he read his ancestor’s letters aloud, it was like being transported back in time. The prose was so aesthetically powerful that Stan could almost smell the smoke rising from the soldiers’ campfire, could almost taste the cold hash and beans they’d consumed for dinner.
Curled against Stan with her head resting on his chest, Prissy listened raptly as he read from one of Bishop’s early letters to his wife Sadie.
On tomorrow we continue advancing to the West. We have been making slowprogress because many of the horses we were given aresickly and crippled. Negro regiments are not deemed worthy enough to receive the finest mounts. But the troopers are learning to take good care of the horses, some even better than they care for themselves. And speaking of my men, you may be amused to know that they have taken to calling themselves the Wolf Pack—
Stan paused to share a delighted grin with Prissy.
“So the nickname goes back eventhatfar,” she marveled.
“Long live the Wolf Pack,” Stan proudly declared before he continued reading, picking up right where he’d left off.
—and the younger ones like to howl at the moon until they have to be hushed. You see, when long stretches of time pass with no other signs of civilization, some of the men tend to let their guard down, which none of us can afford to do. Because the Indians are stealth as wraiths, and they have been known to lie in wait to ambush an unsuspecting cavalry.
My dearest Sadie, I would never wish to burden your serene spirit with dire predictions of my own demise, but as we march deeper into enemy territory, I feel it is my solemn duty as your husband to share with you a matter that has weighed heavy on my heart and soul. For nearly a year now, I have been besieged by the most horrific dreams of my death, the details of which I will spare you. As it is I fear that I have already written too much, and if these revelations should cause you even a moment’s pain and suffering, please know that this was the very outcome I most wished to avoid.
Whenever I awaken from these night terrors, I immediately reach for your photograph and hold it up to the moonlight. I stare at your beautiful image, and I long for the day that we will be reunited.
If I should fall at the hands of the enemy, I will remain forever grateful for the time we had together. In a world that has been more cruel than kind to our people, you have always been my refuge. Thank you for the precious gift of your love. And thank you for raising our beloved young sons to walk tall andproud,and to hold their heads high as free men should.
Until we meet again I am,
Eternally yours,
Lt. Bishop M. Wolf
10thCavalry Reg.
By the time Stan finished reading the letter, his vision was blurred by tears. Meeting Prissy’s luminous gaze, he saw that she, too, had been deeply affected by his ancestor’s poignantly moving words.
“Oh, Stanton,” she whispered as he carefully returned the letter to the envelope. “That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”
Stan nodded in agreement and swallowed hard, then swallowed again when the knot in his throat wouldn’t dissolve.
Prissy smiled softly through her tears. “Sometimes I forgot that the letters weren’t addressed to me. He called Sadie his ‘refuge.’ You called me the same thing during your acceptance speech at the fireman’s ball. Do you remember?”
Stan nodded. “It’s true,” he murmured, gently brushing her hair off her forehead. “Youaremy refuge.”
