Yours, Anonymous

     Hayden rode out of town that afternoon with his daughter beside him and his conscious heavy on his shoulders. This monster had consumed him, and he’d behaved cruelly to Grace, of all people. He should not have let his anger rule. By all rights, it should be him taking care of her.

     However, rather than championing her and caring for her needs, he’d instrumented her downfall. And all of his reasons had been selfish, because she was right, and because she was a painful reminder of happier times, when he’d been invincible. His knobby kneed, little shadow, who had worshipped him regardless of his faults, had grown into an alluring woman. She'd made him feel inadequate, standing there as glowing and amber as a glass of warm brandy.  He’d felt every cell in his body begin to throb with an urge he hadn’t recognized in some time. He'd wanted to be weak, craved comfort, and longed to be held in the arms of a warm and passionate woman, who would see past his infirmities to the man he used to be, the man he knew he would never be again.

     Damn her for awakening his tortured soul to its plight. He was secure among his dark clouds. But to treat Grace the way he had was unforgivable. He would find a way to make it right, because he carried enough guilt and regret, to take this episode on his conscience.             He would make it right for her, and then he would walk away and never see her again. And Caroline would forget her over time. 

     He had to break this pattern of hurting people. Because he had the feeling it was the only way he would break free of hell, where he currently resided.

     Maybe his mother was right. Washington was no place for him. Perhaps, he stayed because it was easy for him to be alone in the city. True, he was surrounded by hordes of people, but he was close to none of them. He could socialize from dusk till dawn, and still not let anyone into his private world.

     His mother’s invitation to move back to the farm was becoming more appealing by the day. He was tired of the balls, weary of the parties. He was tired of women looking for husbands, who honestly thought he might be a candidate, simply because he had little to say, and nodded politely as they spewed their inane chatter. He could surely find solitude back home in the valley, and, maybe, peace.

     Peace was something he had not experienced since the war had shattered his illusions about his world. He had difficulty seeing beauty in anything, after having been exposed to such powerful ugliness. He could not see the goodness in his fellow humans, when he had seen of what they were capable. And how could he find peace, when he had been a part of war?

     The world around him was visible, but Hayden imagined it must surely be part of someone else’s dream, not his. Grace was a perfect example. She clearly lived in a different reality. The damned goodness in her radiated. It emanated from her in a golden, coppery warmth that smelled of sugar cookies and cinnamon. It glowed like embers in the hearth. And it surely tasted as rich and full as sweet wine.

     But if she had walked his path, had seen what he had seen, been a part of his particular nightmare, he would see that in her instead. It would be a cold, dark shadow that followed her always. It would take the glow out of her radiant skin, move across her eyes, darkening them from their cheerful green to a deeper, drab olive. It would seize her heart, closing it off from the rest of the world. The shadow would become her, as his had become him.

     Then, maybe, he could understand her, and she him. Then she could give him advice on how to raise his daughter, would know why it was so important for Caroline to never see that shadow in him. She would understand why he kept himself from her. A child should never see that brand of torment, never even know it exists. He knew how frightening a glimpse of it could be. His shadow mocked him every time he chanced to look in a mirror, and it scared the hell out of him.

     Hayden lay in bed that night, stretched out, his back pressed firmly in the old, thin feather tick mattress, with his hands cradling his head, his legs spread wide, and nothing but a thin, worn, cotton sheet across his waist. The oppressive heat prohibited more than that.

     Thoughts of Grace filled him, flashing across his memory, creating an ache for his nobler self-lost somewhere in time. He had vague memories of her as a young child. She was much like his own little sister then, as he’d harbored a deep affection for her. Though at times, she’d also caused extreme aggravation for him and his friends. She’d worshipped him from the time she could walk and talk, and he’d taken that for granted, had kept it in his back pocket.

     Then she’d grown into a tempting, young woman in her teens, and his interest in her had changed. Suddenly, her constant dogging of his heels had become somewhat of a problem. She’d had no idea what she was about, flirting with him, declaring her love in secret notes, insisting on swimming with them in nothing but her undergarments.

     And then one day, foolishly, he’d acted on his growing attraction to the vibrant woman she was becoming. One cold, September night at the county barn dance, he’d tried to kiss her.

     Hayden smiled into the darkness as he remembered her reaction. Despite the fact that she’d hounded him her entire life, the one time he’d made any reciprocating advance, she’d been appalled. She'd slapped his face, and he’d stood there feeling terrible for committing such a breach of trust. He’d deserved that slap, but somehow he’d convinced himself that he and Grace had a possible future together. She’d started to show the promise of the woman she was to become, and he’d been intrigued by what he had seen.

       She’d been too young to understand what he'd been about in kissing her. While some girls married at fifteen, Grace had still been an innocent, and a tomboy at that. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t disappointed by Grace’s horror, but looking back now, that path would have led to misery for them both, as it had for him and Amelia.

     Hayden frowned. Amelia, though only a few years older than Grace, had clearly been of an entirely different sort. He remembered the way she’d lured him into the Napier’s barn that same night, assuring him that she had something urgent to discuss. He’d followed her, and when she’d pressed herself against him, offering herself, he had gladly accepted. Amelia was a beautiful girl, and what boy of nineteen couldn’t convince himself that he was in love when consumed with such an overload of the senses?

     When she’d come to him a month later and told him she was with child, he hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance to marry her. A lifetime was a big sacrifice for one night of pleasure. Regardless, they’d married right away to dispel any rumors, any suspicion about the timing of the coming child. Marrying her, he convinced himself at the time, was the absolute right thing to do.

     But was it? A baby was never forthcoming. She’d offered no remorse or explanation. A slight shrug and an evasive, “I lost it,” was her response to his natural concern for her condition, or lack thereof.

     His life with her from there out had been hell. Though she’d never refused him her bed, he found it to be cold and passionless, very unlike the night in the barn. Had it all been his imagination; her desire for him, his desire for her? Once they were married, she’d treated him more like a worrisome servant. The war had provided a welcome diversion from his marriage. It was a sad statement that he preferred the thought of going off to war, to kill or be killed, to that of his married life. And Amelia was all too eager to see him go.

     He often wondered why she’d deceived him into marrying her, because he’d realized eventually, she’d never been with child. She could have naively thought that she’d actually been pregnant. Even now, however, he had a hard time imagining that she’d had a naive bone in her body. She could have had any man. She’d been that beautiful. But she’d chosen him, when she clearly had no feelings for him. It left a bitter taste.

     He’d not exactly lived the life of a monk since Amelia’s death, but Grace’s being here was causing a different sort of stirring in him, a deep, restless ache that wouldn’t go away. And he had no idea what to do about it.

     With a heavy sigh, he accepted that it was the time of night when he faced his dilemma. He rolled on his side and punched his pillow. ‘Do I lie awake with memories and present desires,’ he wondered silently, ‘or do I sleep and face my nightmares and ghosts?’ Finally, fatigue overcame his will, and he was off to face his sleeping demons.

                                                        *****

     Hayden and Reid walked along, the cold earth burning through the holes in their shoes, worn thin from walking. The wind was bitter, and they pulled their coats tighter around them. Hayden stole a glance at his friend. He could see that Reid’s gut was open, the wound protruding with flesh and blood. Still, Reid walked beside him.

     The black circles around his eyes created a hollow sunken look to Reid’s ashen face.   Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, still he walked beside Hayden, quietly, steadily.

     Hayden stopped. “You should rest. Here, lie down.”

     “I’m fine,” Reid answered.

     And they continued to walk. Hayden looked behind them and saw the trail of blood. As he looked at the landscape, it transformed into never ending, rolling, crimson hills.

     “You’re bleeding,” he pleaded with Reid. “Lie down. Rest!”

     “It doesn’t hurt, Hayd. I’m alright.” Reid assured him. He put his arm around Hayden, and they continued to walk. Hayden could feel the warmth of his friends arm around his shoulder. The warmth became a burning that seeped down into his own belly. He looked down at his midsection. He touched it, and when he pulled his hands away, blood dripped from his fingers. He looked to Reid in question, and saw that Reid had healed. His face was youthful and full of color again. Gone was the deathly parlor and sunken eyes. Gone was the gaping, bleeding hole in his belly.

     But as Reid healed before his very eyes, Hayden could feel his own life force fading.    He could feel his strength slipping away. As he collapsed, Reid caught him and laid him down on the hard, frozen ground.

     “You’re the one that’s hurting, Hayd. I’m okay, but you truly suffer. Let it go.”

     Hayden’s eyes snapped open, and when his vision cleared, he saw the shadowy, pale, glow of the ceiling looming above him in the dark. He swallowed the sob in his chest, but let the tears fall down the sides of his face and around his ears.

    Burying his face into his pillow, he pulled the covers up securely around his neck. His room was cold. His blood pounded in his ears. Sometimes, he thought, it would just be easier to be dead.