The Ferals

My mind is so muddled with conflicting thoughts that I barely hear father's booming voice until I've already scaled the window and walked halfway across the great field. My feet trip more often than usual in the darkness.

“Georgina!” he bellows. I imagine that his face is quite red. He sounds a mixture between hideously angry and desperate. This is the very first time he has caught me sneaking out of the house before the early hours of the morning. I'm sure that mother already knows about my habits – but she is the type of mother not to mind.

Father is standing on the edge of the tiny porch dressed only in his long underwear and a furry cap. His brows are squeezed tightly together as he directs his intense eyes towards me. I'll have to lie about where I've been – he can't know the truth. Me, Mr. Allen, and Nathaniel will be in deep trouble. The least I can do is limit that list to myself, and if possible, bring it down to no one at all.

“I swear, I won't be able to help killing that man someday,” father mutters to himself. When I come close, he clamps one hand down on my shoulder, probably seeing to it that I don't run off. “Georgina,” he uses his best impression of a stern voice. “Why is it that you've been at Allen's for the last hour, when you should be in bed asleep? Please, spare me the excuses.”

He already knows.

I feel a nervous heat creep up my neck. “Well, you see, father... don't blame this on Mr. Allen. He is a bit unpredictable at times, but I swear that I went on my own accord. I woke up when I heard a coyote outside of the window; it gave me quite a start. I went outside to see that the chickens were safe, and then noticed that one had been attacked – again! So I thought it would be nice to warn our neighbor about the coyote. Unfortunately, Mr. Allen was very much asleep. So I took my time walking back and enjoyed the fresh night air.”

Father continues to stare at me with narrowed eyes, but he releases my arm from his grasp and steps back a pace. I've always been a good liar, yet I can only hope that he will believe me this time. With his reluctant nod, I know that luck has graced me. “Alright, but do not go wandering off so late at night by yourself, Georgina!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “It is much too dangerous, especially if you had a scare of this coyote. I'll see to the chickens tomorrow. And perhaps you can assist me with steadying the fence.”

Now I let my smile show. “Yes, father, thank you for understanding. Now let's sneak back inside and hope that we do not wake mother, yes?” We share a hushed laugh at that.

Even after I am snug under my quilt and immersed in the gentle glow of a candle that is soon to go out, I cannot find a trace of sleep. My eyes are wide awake. They stay this way for the remainder of the night. Only when the sun rises do they begin to droop, yet I cannot sleep now. It will only be a matter of time before we must go into town for the monthly recruit, and I cannot get Nathaniel's haggard face from my mind. The way he growled at Mr. Allen. The glint in his eyes when he reached out to me for help. His pain is like a spreading plague to me, yet there is no cure. Even the forest is not safe anymore.

Across the room, father continues to snore as mother begins to stir. I slowly dress myself and throw on a pale bonnet, tying it close to my chin. My apron comes on next. I make sure to wash my handkerchief in the basin, watching the water turn a sheen of reddish brown; blood. I dump it out the window quickly and replace the dirtied water with fresh from the pump.

I'm ready now. There are times when I am not particularly certain of what I am preparing myself for – another day? The eyes of the townsfolk? The war itself? I suppose it does not matter much. As long as I feel prepared, I may be able to control my tongue. And my nerves; if I'm lucky.

I sit atop the fence outside with my hands clenched around the old wood, waiting for mother and father. I do not wait long. With no words, I take both of my parent's hands. We all know that the army has become desperate. I'm sure that they worry for me; I am more than old enough now to be recruited as one of the nurses, should I request it. But they know I won't. Much more than that, we worry for my father; he would be placed nearer to the battles than I. He is old, yes, but not old enough.

The walk into town takes longer than usual. I suppose it's a nice day for a stroll in the fields – soft sunlight, no clouds, and a continuous melody of birdsong. A lone crow, sleek as night, caws at me. But my mind is elsewhere.

The first thing I glimpse beyond the short barrier of trees is not the tidy lines of soldiers, but an entire crowd of them, mixed in with specks of tattered clothing and furious shouts. Someone has quite obviously started a fight. It's almost too ironic, really. We are in the midst of a civil war, yet our own side is still struggling to choose their fate. I want nothing at all to do with it, none of it; so I step behind mother and watch as father makes his way towards the ruckus. Mother's hair seems more gray than golden today and her hands tremble. I reach out to grab one, trying to rub her fragility away.

It's only when I hear a familiar growl that I look back to the crowd. I can see Mr. Allen now, his feet as bare as a child's. I quite doubt he returned his boots willingly. Beside him, pinned motionless by two of the heavier-set soldiers, is Nathaniel. His mouth is foaming and his yellow teeth are bared. For the first time in a long time, it looks as if he has put up a fight.

There is a sinking feeling in my chest, almost as if my heart has dropped right out of my body. My expression goes numb in the width of a breath. I do not have any idea of what might happen to Nathaniel now that his presence has been discovered by the militia. Somehow, he will be sent away.

I begin to listen intently to the shouted voices.

“This young man is beyond mad! I beg of you not to send him into training. Can you not see that he is mentally ill?” My father is shouting at whoever will listen. Not many do. My heart sinks once again, but I manage to keep a firm grip on my mother's hand. She is looking at me with a soft, hazy sheen in her eyes; she must know already about my trips to see Nathaniel, but does she also realize how much I care for him? I shake away the thought.

Somehow, the attention of every person is now on Mr. Allen. He is not being held down, but now it is obvious that he is stuck in a deep situation. His face is reddening and his jaw is gritted. “Don't take me, take the boy,” he whispers, then spits. It takes immense effort for me to stop myself from marching up to my neighbor and spitting in front of him at that very moment. I suppose I cannot blame Mr. Allen for what he is doing, but all the same I hate him for it. How could he be cowardly enough to send Nathaniel to war in place of himself? What little respect I harbored for the man is successfully quashed within those few tense moments.

One of the women to our side glances my way. I hold her gaze, face stony, until her eyes dart away. It's unnerving how the townsfolk are so skittish and petty. I know they judge me by what they see and know; I am the daughter of a liquor-prone man who owns no land or weapon. They expect me to make something better of myself. They expect me to become one of the nurses.

And finally, I agree.

“I wish to volunteer as nurse Georgina Dawson,” I declare, stepping forward and sliding my hand from my mother's. I can barely hear her gasp, but I pray for her to remain strong. Now the attention of everyone is directed at me. I watch with disgust as Mr. Allen takes this opportunity to slink away, leaving Nathaniel with no one familiar but myself.

My father is staring at me, his mouth dropped open and his brow furrowed. I walk towards the leader of the group, General Roger, and shake his hand mechanically, not even bothering to meet his eye. On my way to the wagons, as I pass my father I grip his arm. “I know this is not how you would like me to choose my fate, but please, allow me my freedom this once. Take care of mother.” My voice seems to be fading, but I manage a choked goodbye before I carry on.

No other words need be said; I have just done the worst possible thing for my family, and I have chosen Nathaniel over them. But, as I take the offered uniform and cap with a solemn thank-you, I cannot bring myself to regret these actions.