Jeff slouched at a corner table in the tavern. His frantic hospital escape had been so exhausting, he risked a public breather. He drank and watched the room.

Several boisterous Yankee soldiers occupied a long table near the door. The only patrons, they were celebrating "Bobby Lee's skedaddle" from nearby Gettysburg.

Mindful he was wearing blue, Jeff lifted his tankard their way and feigned an approving grin.

"Another one, soldier?"

Jeff turned to the barmaid's voice. "Please ma'am."

"Name's Hannah. Welcome to the 'Two Brothers'."

"Surely, Hannah, you are nobody's brother."

"Merely a widow. My husband Mark died at Bull Run. I run the tavern until his brother quits chasing Rebs and begins chasing me."

"Sorry about your misfortune."

"What about yours, private? You look done in. The blood stain on the empty sleeve seems fresh. When did it happen?"

"Two days ago." Bitter, he squeezed the sleeve hard, "Sawbones said it was life or death. He sawed, I passed out. Once awake, I was simply Jeff Hill, no rank, no left arm."

"Jeff, you are alive."

"Yet, I guzzle ale and ponder whether life with one arm is my desired future."

"I'll bring more elixir."

The brash barmaid withdrew. Watching, Jeff muttered, "Assertive for the 1800s. But, who am I to say? I'm a castaway."

In May of 2018, Jeff was hiking in West Texas. Then, inexplicably, he was under fire on a Virginia battlefield in 1863. Afterward, he marched north with Lee's army.

At Gettysburg, a minie ball splintered bones in his arm. Hours after gangrene forced a Yankee doctor to amputate, Jeff stole a blue shirt and fled into darkness.
While waiting for Hannah, dizzying fatigue cruelly returned him to battle.

Charging through smoke, Jeff saw a cannonball tear apart Sgt. Bill Davis. Twenty yards further, a lead ball struck Luke between the eyes. Jeff slowed and was also shot. On the ground, he mourned them.

He was mumbling incoherently when Hannah set down his ale and some bread, "Jeff?"

"Both dead. I should have told them the truth."

She nudged him, "Wake up!"

"Oh, Hannah...I dozed off."

"Listen. Take the drink to the shed out back and bed down. I will wake you early and you can leave."

"Sounds good."

"Jeff, how far do you have to travel?"

"The family farm is four miles this side of Carlisle." Jeff continued to play wounded soldier in blue.

"Stop lying, Jeff." Hannah pulled up a chair and plopped down. "You are not from Pennsylvania. Probably not even a northern soldier. You may be a Reb, maybe not."

"Lower your voice, Hannah."

She calmed, "Your name is Jeff, right?"

Yes, I am Jeff. Take the drink back."

"Jeff, I am going with you tomorrow. Wherever you go. I feel in my head and deep in my bones, you carry a promise of better."

Jeff, stood. "I'm off to the shed. And Hannah, get some rest. You'll find Texas quite a trek."

Hannah sipped some ale and smiled.