Love Remains by Kaye Dacus Page B

rolls she received when she started talking about some of the dates of each of the battles and their importance in the outcome of the war, she suspected they had already been on field trips to the Stones River battlefield and some of the historic sites around Franklin where they did more in-depth lessons about the battles. But now, the big gun was primed and she was ready to take aim.
    Zarah moved over to the enlarged copy of a sepia photo of a handsome young man in a Confederate uniform standing beside an equally beautiful, seated young woman in a hoop-skirted gown, her thick, fair braids arranged in a very Germanic coronet atop her head.
    She always felt like Vanna White whenever she used her open hand to draw people’s attention to the photo. “This is Zander and Madeleine Breitinger, my ancestors. As with many people from that era, they were not born in this country but had been brought here by their families when they were very young. Zander’s family, the Breitingers, and Madeleine’s aunt and uncle, who took her in when she was orphaned as a baby, all settled just north of Nashville—in what is now known as Germantown. Back then, it was mostly still farmland. When Zander was a young teenager, both of his parents died of typhoid, and Madeleine’s aunt and uncle took him in.
    “This is Zander and Madeleine’s wedding photo, taken in May 1861—three days before Zander left for the war. From 1861 through early 1864, Madeleine received somewhat regular correspondence from her husband. She, in turn, was able to get most of her weekly letters through to him, including the letter informing him of the birth of their son, Karl Alexander, in the spring of 1862.
    “In mid-1864, the frequency of Zander’s letters slowed until they finally stopped coming. Madeleine was convinced her young husband was still alive, though her family and friends tried to get her to accept that he was most likely dead. Every morning found her down at the telegraph office waiting for that day’s casualty reports to be posted. Every day, she returned home without the satisfaction of a letter fromher husband or the confirmation of her worst fear.”
    Zarah paused a moment, partially for effect and partially to gauge her audience’s interest in the story. From the expressions on every face, all of them were eager for her to continue.
    “In that cold, rainy late-November of 1864, the war came almost to Madeleine’s doorstep. When Madeleine heard of the fighting in Franklin, she left two-year-old Karl with her aunt, packed all the medical supplies she could find into her saddlebags, and rode south toward Franklin to try to find Zander. But when her uncle figured out what she had done, he went after her, finding her just before she stumbled upon one of the fiercest pockets of fighting of the battle. Their route home had been cut off, so her uncle took her to a nearby farm where they rode out the Battle of Franklin in the root cellar, listening as bullets and cannonballs from both sides peppered and pounded the house above them.”
    After so many years of telling this story, Zarah should have been able to do it without any emotion; but her throat tightened, and her eyes started stinging. She swallowed and was about to take a deep breath when she remembered it would make her cough. Instead, she pressed her short nails into the palms of her hands and continued.
    “When the fighting stopped, Madeleine was frantic to get out to the battlefield and try to find Zander, but her uncle would not let her leave the house until he knew it was safe. The few paltry medical supplies she had brought with her were needed in the Confederate field hospital, as were her nursing skills. What she saw in that field hospital in the aftermath of the Battle of Franklin made her believe for the first time that Zander was most likely dead.”
    An audible sniffle came from near the back of the group where three young teenage girls stood huddled together.
    “Madeleine, her