Flames of Passion fueled by War

In the ruins of the once lovely plantation, Greenwood, the terrifying sounds of the explosions from the gun powder, could be heard down the road. Sean Madere had just returned from the war as a wounded soldier. Lindy O'Grady stood in her parent's ruined bedroom. All the beautiful lace curtains and cherry furniture from Ireland had been destroyed by Yankees. Lindy's parents lay in makeshift graves behind the house, both dying from the fever a few months apart. Their way of life was gone now; the hideous Civil War had changed all that.

Sean and Lindy were embracing, looking through the torn curtains at the moss on the great dead tree. The moss, the robe of things dead, reached its gaunt dripping fingers in the failing light, reaching toward the glory and luxury that was once Greenwood. Lindy cried softly. Sean began to kiss her throat passionately; they both needed proof that that life still existed in this land surrounded by the stench of death.

She had been so proud, watching him march off to war in his Southern finery. She was still a virgin, waiting for him to come home for a proper wedding. Now the passion was a burning flame to prove there was life and it excited them both. His large hands reached to pull the pink ribbon from her long dark hair. He ran his hands through the luxurious strands. She felt the tingling all over her body. He curled a strand of hair around her pink nipple. He removed the satin and lace, touching tender areas that caused sparks. Her soul was crying out for more.

There were searing hot flames of passion, ignited by exploring each other's bodies. Even cooling down after the peak was thrilling. "We are alive again!" she had never felt this kind of intensity. They lay drenched, holding each other. Lindy traced her finger over the ugly, almost fresh scar across his chest. "A damn Yankee got me and there's still a bullet in there. The surgeon said he couldn't remove it and to be very careful." Although Sean was home, he knew there was still a death sentence hanging over his head. But he was careful not to say too much to Lindy.

For weeks he worked the gardens around the house for possible food. He found yams, carrots, and turnips. The sharp pain would cause him to clutch his chest at times. Lindy would fuss at him to rest, but he was a driven man with a built-in hourglass reminding him that time was moving on. There was no one there except the two of them and an old Negro cook. He knew his time was short and he did all he could to help Lindy so she could survive. At least, she would have firewood, squirrel and rabbit meat, potatoes, and an occasional chicken. He didn't realize there was a baby on the way and would never know.

Three months after getting home, he was outside repairing a fence. He became very short of breath, and then it felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. Shooting pain like fireworks came next. Then everything was very quiet and a sense of peace came over him. It was the first real peace he had since the beginning of the war. He was bone weary and glad to give in to it. He would miss Lindy but was very glad she wasn't there. He was grateful to die on his own land rather then on a bloody battleground. He knew he would be buried here with family. He had left a letter for Lindy pouring out his heart, some money and his Mother's ruby ring in the desk. He considered that Lindy's wedding ring and said his vows to her in the letter. His last thoughts were of the happiness she had brought to his life.

By Kathie Stehr