The Gettysburg Miracle

​My name is Malachi. Malachi Benson. It’s July 2nd, 1863, and I’m a soldier in the Confederate Army. This is the second day of fighting in the Battle of Gettysburg, and I’m already exhausted. Food rations are low; they have been for a while now, and the temperature is getting hotter as the day goes on. Bullets are whizzing past my head, the exploding of cannon balls are reverberating in my ears, and men are dropping like flies all around me. Oddly enough, though, all I can think about is Anabelle. My Anabelle. I can see her in my mind’s eye and hear her voice as if she were standing right next to me. I fell in love with her when I was eleven years old. Can you imagine that? Falling in love at such a young age? It’s true, though. Those blonde pigtails and blue eyes that sparkled when she playfully pushed me into the lake just pulled at my heartstrings in a way I hadn’t understood at the time but came to understand much later. She is so special, and I love her more than life itself. I think that’s why I’ve survived this horrible war for so long; thoughts of Anabelle have kept me going.

I’m running through a field, coming face-to-face with a Union soldier, and we have a quick, heart-pounding moment of hand-to-hand combat. I try to block out the expression on his face when I push my bayonet through his heart, but my stomach turns and my hands shake as I force myself to run on. How much more of this can I take? I want so badly for this war to be over. I’m tired of the fighting and killing and the smell of death that sticks to my clothes and lingers in the air like a heavy fog. I want to go home with my sweet wife and spend the rest of my days with her. We were married in ’61, just before I enlisted, and I’ve only seen her a handful of times since. Oh, how I miss her. How I wish I could hold her in my arms right now.

Suddenly, two of the bullets whizzing by make contact. I feel a horrific, burning heat in my shoulder and another in my side. With a gasp, I manage to stumble to a nearby tree, where I collapse in a panting heap. I writhe in pain, which is almost more than I can bear, and I lay there watching the rest of my regiment run by like a blur of tattered, gray smoke. Is this really the end? Will I be thrown among the other thousands of dead men on this battlefield as if I’m nothing more than a dog or horse? Will I even be found, or will I simply be listed as “missing in action” while my family back home worries and hopes I’m still alive?

Hours tick by with agonizing slowness. The battle moves further and further away, but I can still hear the blasting of cannons, and the smell of smoke hangs heavily in the air. My shoulder has, thankfully, gone numb at this point, but fiery darts of pain continually shoot through my side and around my back. The day is growing dim, and I can feel the life slowly draining from my body. I fade in and out of consciousness, and my mind takes me back to my childhood home. I see my mother, can feel her soft touch on my brow, and I can hear Anabelle calling to me from the porch to come out and play. I see her beautiful blue eyes, warm with love on our wedding day, and I long to see her just once more before I die.

Suddenly, the sound of an approaching horse meets my ears, and I force my swollen eyes to open. There, through the growing shadows, I see the silhouette of a man sitting atop his horse. I’ve been mumbling Anabelle’s name, and he stops to look down at me. It’s then I realize he’s a Union officer, and I flinch in fear that he’s about to finish me off. Perhaps it would be a blessing, though, if he did. Then I wouldn’t continue to lie here, suffering.

“Anabelle,” I continue to whisper, unable to stop myself. “My sweet Anabelle. Oh, how I wish to see you right now.”

The man climbs down from his horse and walks toward me. He kneels down, and to my great surprise, offers me a drink of water from his canteen.

“What’s your name, soldier?” he asks.

“M-Malachi,” I reply. “Malachi Benson. Can…can you take me to my Anabelle?”

He hesitates for a moment before saying, “Who is Anabelle? And where might I find her?”

“She’s my wife,” I say, my dry throat yearning for more of the refreshing liquid. “She’s a n-nurse.”

I don’t know if I was able to say anything more or not. I slipped into unconsciousness once again, and the last thing I remember is the man climbing back onto his horse and riding away.

—————

Anabelle

I’m standing in the hospital, staring at the Union officer in utter shock. He just told me of my husband, Malachi, and I feel like the world is crumbling beneath my feet.

“He may not even still be alive when we return, but I’m willing to take you to him,” the man was saying.

I can’t believe my ears, and I tilt my head curiously. This man, this enemy of my people, was willing to sneak me behind enemy lines to see my husband, whom he’d never met before. But why? Was there a catch? I knew going with this man would be very dangerous, but I had to at least try. If Malachi really was badly wounded, I had to go to him.

After gathering a few necessary items, I hurriedly follow the soldier outside. He’d somehow managed to find a wagon, and I climb onto the hard wooden seat and clutch the handle on the side as the wagon jerks into motion.

The night is black, and the silence between us is thick and heavy as we journey toward the battlefield. My heart is pounding and stomach churning with fears and doubt. What if this is some kind of trick? And if not, what if I’m unable to save my Malachi from dying? I love him so much that just the thought of losing him breaks my heart in two.

After over an hour of driving, we’re finally nearing the battlefield. The battle itself has begun to calm so the soldiers can rest and tend to the wounded, but the sudden flash of cannon fire randomly streaks through the dark night as if to remind everyone that the battle is not truly over.

The Union soldier stops the wagon and tells me to climb down. “We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot,” he whispers.

My heart pounding, I follow him through the darkness, knowing that what we’re doing is extremely dangerous. If he’s caught by the Confederates, he’ll either be killed or taken prisoner. If I’m caught…well, as a woman in a place where females are few and far between, it would be very dangerous for me, as well. I could also be accused of being a spy and either killed or imprisoned.

Moans of wounded and dying men randomly break the stillness of the night as we creep onward. I step over the bodies of men and horses, the stench of death something I’ve grown used to over the last two years. I clutch my nurse’s bag in my hands and pray that we’ll find Malachi soon and that he’ll still be alive. What would I ever do without Malachi? His love has kept me going throughout this long, horrible war, and knowing that we can be together once it’s all over is what I’ve held onto.

Finally, after seemingly hours of walking, the soldier points toward the silhouette of a tree and we hurry in that direction. I can barely make out the shadow of a man lying at the base of the tree, and my heart catches when I see no movement. The officer kneels down next to my husband’s body and lights a match, its small flame illuminating the pale features of my husband’s bloodied face. He presses a finger to Malachi’s neck, and after a breathtaking, heart-stopping moment, he turns to me and whispers that he’s still alive.

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” he says. “You can tend to him once he’s safe inside the wagon.”

I nod as tears of both fear and joy fill my eyes. Malachi is still alive, praise God! But can we get him to safety before it’s too late?

Blowing out the small, flickering flame, the officer hoists Malachi up and over his shoulder, and I quietly follow him back the way we’d just come. As we retrace our steps, I hear the sound of thunder rumbling off in the distance, and a sudden flash of lightning streaks across the sky. At that exact moment, I look down into the crazed eyes of a dying soldier who reaches out and grasps hold of my ankle.

“H-help!” he rasps.

Suddenly, someone a few yards away yells that he’s spotted the enemy, and gunfire rips through the air. Gasping, I shake the man’s grip off my ankle and begin to run after the man carrying my husband. I leap over bodies and trip over fallen muskets, my heart pounding as the shouts and gunfire grow nearer. What will happen to us if we’re caught? My husband will most certainly die, and I knew mine and the Union officer’s chances weren’t much better. We had to escape, we just had to!

I waited for a bullet to strike one or all of us at any moment, but I forced my trembling legs to go faster. Somehow, with the weight of my husband upon his shoulders, the Union soldier manages to continue running at an alarming speed. I’m barely able to keep up, and when I spot the silhouette of our wagon up ahead, I fear my heart will burst with relief. The officer gently lays my husband in the back, and as he runs around to jump into the driver’s seat, I leap into the wagon bed with Malachi. With a loud whistle, the wagon jerks and takes off down the road away from the shouts and gunfire. I look back, wondering if anyone will pursue us, but as the battlefield grows further and further away, I realize with relief that we’re going to make it.

—————

“A-Anabelle?”

I look down into my beloved husband’s eyes and smile. We’d made it back to the hospital and I’d been tending to Malachi’s wounds for nearly two days. He was in bad shape, and I wasn’t sure if he’d make it, but with the dawning of the day came an improvement, and now he was finally awake.

“It’s me, darling,” I say with a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to be all right.”

He swallows past the dry lump in his throat and asks, “What…what happened? How did I get here?”

“A wonderful man, a Union officer, saved your life,” I reply, still in awe of the fact. “I don’t know his name; he disappeared shortly after he brought you here.” Leaning closer, I press my lips to his and whisper, “I love you so much, Malachi Benson. Thank you for staying with me.”

With a weak, trembling arm, he touches my face and says, “I love you, too, Anabelle Benson.” After a moment, he asks, “What day is it?”

“It’s the 4th of July,” I reply. “Happy Independence Day, my love. I pray that one day soon, our country will be healed and we can all celebrate together in peace.”