Child Bride

Disclaimer: The characters from the Harry Potter universe in this story remain the property of JKR.

*=*=*=*=*

Child Bride

Chapter 3

The loud rapping on the front door interrupted Megan's morning chores. She made sure that Wyatt was secured in his high chair quietly eating his gruel as she peered through the front windows to see who her visitor was.

A man in the officer's uniform of the United States Army stood on the veranda outside the door. He was tall, dark-haired, and when he turned towards her visage at the window, she saw a questioning pair of brilliant green eyes.

"Miss Greenfield? Miss Megan Greenfield?" asked his warm baritone.

Meg hesitated before opening the door to the soldier. "It's Mrs Reuben Wessex now."

The soldier nodded in acknowledgement.

In truth, Megan did not know what this unexpected visit was about. Unlike the Jamesons next door, she had no men folk in the Union Army. Her son was still a toddler, and her husband did not enlist in the war. Her brothers have all moved up north to find their fortune, and the last she'd heard from them, they had not participated in the war. In fact, the only person she knew that had enlisted in the Union Army was - no. No, it cannot be.

Megan's dark brown eyes grew wide as the realisation dawned on her.

The blue clad officer read all the emotions that played on her face, and knew that he had found the right person.

"Please, do come in."

*=*=*=*=*

Sitting in the warm, sun-kissed kitchen, next to a red-haired cherub of a boy, 1^st Lieutenant Harold Porter played nervously with the now empty teacup in front of him. It was a surreal feeling sitting in such a peaceful idyllic setting, having to be the bearer of bad news. And when the news he bore was that of someone to whom he had owed a life-debt to...well...

Fortifying himself with a bracing breath, Lieutenant Porter reached into his satchel and withdrew two leather-bound journals and placed them on the table. His forefinger tapped a silent tattoo over the top book, before he pushed it across the table to her.

"He wanted you to have these."

With trembling hands, Meg reached out to the books, and on opening the cover of the top book, traced the familiar handwriting with shaky fingers.

"How?"

He almost didn't hear that whisper - it was like an exhalation of breath.

"At Petersburg, Virginia. He was a hero." She had flinched at his use of the past tense. "I owe my life to him."

Meg bit her lips, while her eyes reddened. She blinked rapidly to stem the tide of tears that threatened to fall.

No. Not her Sam. Not him.

Lieutenant Porter's heart went out to the young woman. He'd rather face a whole platoon of Confederate soldiers with only his bayonet than to do this. It never gets easier, no matter how many times he did this, he thought solemnly.

Whilst allowing the woman to regain her composure, his mind recalled the severe and taciturn schoolteacher he had gotten to know when they had both been mustered for service to the Army of the Potomac, in Wilmington on August 14^th, 1862. They had both been assigned to the 4^th Regiment of the Delaware Infantry Volunteers, where living and drilling together, the charismatic Porter had discovered that Samuel Sullivan's aloof behaviour was not because of pride, but because of his naturally quiet demeanour. Harry had tried to engage the quiet man in some of the camp's rather rowdy evening amusement, but his discomfort in a crowd was clear, and for a long time, Sam remained quite alone. One night, after an introspective heart-to-heart involving moonshine brought in by one of the men, a drunken Sam had charged Harry to deliver his journals to a Miss Megan Greenfield in New Castle County, if he should ever fall to the Rebs. Unlike Porter who had his wife and children waiting for him back at his orchard, Sam was an orphan and had no family who would think of him. Miss Greenfield was a childhood friend, and was his student for a time in his schoolhouse in the County. Thus, when Sam took the fatal blow meant for Harry at Petersburg, Harry had risked it all to retrieve the two journals in order to fulfil his life debt to Sam.

*=*=*=*=*

August 21^st, 1862

My Child Bride,

I doubt that this journal will ever survive this oncoming war, nor would your dark eyes ever see the words written here, but I like to think that one day, God willing, you might find the truth contained within this book, and know of the things I have not the courage to tell you.

"Child Bride..." she whispered. Sam had used to teased her with that silly pet name when they were children, calling her his "Child Bride", and sometimes shortening it to "Child" in the presence of company. It had been many long years since he'd last called her that.

I know you are now quite upset with me for leaving without saying goodbye, but I was angry and confused. Angry men are not known to be thinking men, and I am no different. Now that the reality of what I've done in mustering up for this war has hit home, I suppose that the whole idea of returning to New Castle to explain myself any further is moot. Likewise, it would not serve any purpose in writing to you about why I ran away; as it would merely further muddy this sad business. No. It is better that I keep my reasons in this book for posterity, and one day, far into the future, when all is said and done, I might be able to look back on this poor decision I'd made with some equanimity.

*=*=*=*=*

September 1^st, 1862

Dear Meg,

Apart from daily drill, there is little news about when we will engage in a battle with the Rebels. Time moves strangely here. We spend a great deal of time preparing for battle, but there are still large pockets of time left to kill. The men spend their evenings in music - we have a fairly accomplished musician in young Lee Clements, who never fails to have a ready "Aura Lee" on his fife, attempting to lift the spirits of the men on nights such as this. As for myself, I find my companionship with Melville, Irving, Hawthorne and Poe, as you would already have expected.

*=*=*=*=*

Her tears streamed down at his first entries, and she shook her head. Just like Sam to make light of a difficult situation. Since the Delaware Infantry men were mustered out in June that year, she'd known about the hardships the men had to face in the early days of the war. The cramp living conditions, the harsh environment in sleeping in tents, at times the lack of food... Spending time with his books indeed, she snorted, just like the teacher he'd been.

Meg had known Sam all her life. Her earliest memories were playing with Sam and her friends in the peach orchard after school was over. Sam was the oldest child in the group, whereas she was the youngest. At 5 years old, she would beg her mother to let her join her older brothers after their lessons were over to play by the river. Sam, at 12 years, would always keep a close watch over all the younger children, especially those from the orphanage, like him.

Sam was a brilliant student, even old Mrs Tate, the schoolmistress said so, and she had allowed the young boy to read to the younger children in the school. When Sam turned 16, Mrs Tate had taken him in as her teaching assistant, intending for him to take over her duties when she retired, two years later. Thus, when she turned 11, her childhood playmate became her schoolteacher, Mr. Sullivan.

For five years, Mr. Sullivan taught her the three 'Rs, as well as Geography and History, and had introduced her into the world of books. He was an extremely strict teacher, and would have little tolerance for high jinks in class. Many of his students who had been his childhood friends soon found out that Sam and Mr. Sullivan were as different as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; and these selfsame friends could not understand the why their Sam was so unreasonably strict in school and thus avoided him at their social gatherings. A few, like Meg were able to reconcile the difference between the somewhat shy Sam and the strict Mr. Sullivan, and were able to continue their friendship after lessons were over.

Meg recalled that particular morning in August, when she'd gone to the schoolhouse only to find that Sam had gone to Wilmington to enlist in the Union Army. She was upset and distraught to find her good friend gone without a word. He had never indicated in any way that he felt so strongly about the issue of the secession of the South, not even in the year before when he had voted for Delaware to remain in the Union.

Wyatt Wessex cried for his mother's attention. At 2 years, the little one had no idea why his mother wasn't paying attention to him. Putting the journals in a safe place, Megan got up to prepare dinner, for Reuben will be home soon.

*=*=*=*=*

November 26^th, 1862

Well, happy birthday to you, my Child Bride. You're 18 today and how I wish we could meet as we used to by the river. I still remember your 11^th birthday - you weren't sure if I remembered our custom or if I'll still meet you there since I became your teacher. Truth be told, I was unsure myself. However, I couldn't very well let my Child Bride remain standing all by herself beside the river, now could I?

Meg, I've been such a fool. I've got your 18^th birthday present ready for the past year, but I dare not give it to you earlier. Do you have any idea how terrible the last 3 months were? When I overheard Reuben telling McKenzie that you've accepted his proposal, I could not think straight. I still cannot reconcile it. Did you really not know my heart?

I guess everything is moot now. You would be Mrs Reuben Wessex come December.

*=*=*=*=*

Megan, grim-faced and chewing her bottom lips, flipped through the journal entries. Most entries were little anecdotes about daily camp life, interesting observations in his usual droll humour. But there was always that undercurrent of loneliness and sadness that occasionally reared its head. Meg, knowing Sam like she did, could easily read between the lines.

"It's not fair, Sam," she whispered angrily, sorrowfully, mixed emotions colouring her eyes and nose a botchy red, melancholic tears streaming down her face. "You're gone, and all I have left of you are your words. They hurt, Sam. You should have told me, Sam. You should have told me before leaving me - you didn't know half of what happened."

Meg remembered that day again in her mind's eye, as she looked out her kitchen window at the verdant orchard outside. When she had gone to the schoolhouse and found her dear friend missing, she had immediately thought that he had left because he felt strongly about the war, and abandoning her behind. She had sought him out for advice - Reuben had proposed, but she had asked for time in order to consult her best friend. She was called away by her duties at the orphanage, and by the time she went to the schoolhouse, Sam was gone.

For months, she waited for news of Sam, but to no avail - it was as if he dropped off the face of the earth. She feared for his well-being, but with no written communication, she allowed herself to believe that Sam had left for good. During that time, Reuben was most comforting and attentive, and during the spring of the following year, she accepted Reuben's proposal and married married.

*=*=*=*=*

March 29^th, 1863

It's spring, Meg, and we are now encamped by a peach orchard. The worst of winter is over and the peach trees are blossoming again. Even at night, the heavy sweet scent of the peach blossoms is pervasive; it has even invaded my dreams.

I had a dream about you last night, walking down the aisle, dressed beautifully in your wedding dress. You had peach blossoms arrayed in your hair.

It reminded me of those glorious spring days so long ago, playing behind the schoolhouse beneath the peach blossoms. Do you remember those days?

My favourite memory was that spring when you were a sweet, bullying 6 year-old. You had just attended your first wedding at St. Matthew's, and filled with childlike enthusiasm decided that you too, wanted to get married. For the next few days, you bullied and pestered the other children to play pretend. You orchestrated the entire event - seating our friends beneath the trees; appointing Tom as Parson, Charlotte as mother of the bride, and Horace as your father. Any you chose me to marry you. There were other boys there, but you insisted on Sam, because you said that there was none other that you could marry.

That spring morning, scented like today, you were my Child Bride, peach blossoms in your curly brown hair, clutching a posy of wild flowers, walking down a pretend aisle on Horace's arms, to meet me. We said our simple vows, Tom pronounced us married, and you looked so adorably shocked when you realised that I had to kiss my bride.

I remember I had feigned irritation at the time - my 13 year-old self, bullied into submission by your pretty 6 year-old self, and had even called you 'annoying girl'. But the truth was that I was secretly pleased that you chose me above all others.

For up till then, no one had ever chosen me on their own accord.

I remained behind at the orphanage because no one ever wanted me for long. My parents - no one knew who they were - they'd abandoned me. I was a sickly child, and more than one couple gave up looking after me. My weak health meant that I was always picked last at games, and finally when I grew older, and therefore wiser, I chose not to participate in games, but often stood apart as spectator.

I suppose in my juvenile mind, that day when you chose me, I allowed myself fanciful ideas about what I meant to you. I teased you mercilessly, calling you my Child Bride even when you stamped your feet and pouted that it was a silly nickname. Meg, privately, I still think of you as that - my dearest Child Bride. Do not blame me, Meg, you were my only constant friend; you understood me when others did not even try.

I have never had the courage to tell you what I felt whenever we met by the river, during our little chats about the books we've read or the local gossips. I had believed that you knew my secret heart - how wrong I was! Meg, you must know I love you!

I suppose I've never considered that you only loved me as a friend; perhaps you'd even pitied my pathetic existence - it would not be difficult to believe. After all, you are the most compassionate person in all of New County, as the other orphans at St. Matthew's would attest. I knew that you had many admirers amongst our peers, and during the peach blossom time last year, I had decided to propose marriage to you on your 18^th birthday, when we would meet by the river once more. Therefore, when I heard that you've accepted Wessex's marriage proposal, I felt the need to leave New County for a while.

The opportunity that Mr. Lincoln gave me to take up arms for a cause close to my heart was timely. I felt that taking up arms to make sure that our nation remain strong and united, would be a good way to overcome the grief of a broken heart. The experience away from the environs that bore your presence would enable me to forget what we had. The company of heroes I keep would help me see that there were greater things at stake in our lifetime than secret desires of the heart. I can honestly say that I do not think about 'what ifs' as much as I used to.

If I should fall in this war, Meg, I would like to think that my death would mean a better future for you and your children. If I should ever survive this war, I don't know if I would survive; I don't know if there were anything I'd look forward to beyond this. Perhaps when this is over, I would go back to New County and resume teaching. I would look you up - be your friend Sam, once again.

I think I can live with that.

*=*=*=*=*

A/N1: The 'Siege of Petersburg' where Samuel Sullivan fell started on 15 June 1864 and ended on 2 April 1865. That last journal entry we read, was followed by bits and pieces of "little anecdotes about daily camp life, interesting observations in his usual droll humour" for the next year and a half. Sam was uncharacteristic in his journaling on 26^th March, due to a light drinking session with Porter. Sam debated tearing out that particular entry from his journal, but left it there to remind himself that he should have been honest with Megan about his feelings. He did not expect that he would not survive the war.

A/N2: I did a Net search on Peach Blossoms and found to my surprise that the Peach Blossom was the national flower of Delaware. See? Fanfic-writing can be an educational experience. * wink*

Inspired by the polar opposite to the Chinese theme, I researched further into the American Civil War. The war backdrop was just the thing I needed for the story, as I wanted the allusion to the war backdrop back at Hogwarts.

Unlike the Chinese inspired portion which needed little research (just a few unfamiliar idioms and words), this portion required more reading as I'm not very familiar with the nuances of the 19^th Century American culture. Therefore, I tried to avoid having much interaction in the characters, so I reverted to journal entries. I figured this was better in story-telling. I suppose that what we write and what we say is slightly different, and the written form is less likely to be seen as stylistically untrue to the "voice". Also, I want to get the research right, because the American Civil war is something that occurred in real history, and poor research will result in not only insulting the readers, but will make the event less than what it was.

I'd like to thank sunshine0202002 for help in pinpointing the months the final journal entry was likely to take place.

I hope you will review this part, with the view of whether the research was worth it. Thanks!

For those interested, these are very interesting short readings about the Civil War -

http://www.civilwarhome.com/civilwararmies.htm

http://www.bitsofblueandgray.com/march2000.htm

http://members.aol.com/siege1864/