A House Divided (closed)

1867 - Somewhere in central Georgia

John Robert Holloway was born in 1839 to James and Mary Holloway in eastern Tennessee, the last of four children. He learned to work the land with his father, just as his two brothers had before him, and eventually left behind his home to work his own land. The soils of Georgia called to him, and soon he settled with his wife and a small plot of land, and began to reap a life from the earth.

By 1861, Georgia had seceded from the Union, and the smell of blood was in the air. While his farm was too small to support slaves, and his family had never truly been comfortable with the practice, the South was his home, and he felt it was in his marrow to defend it. He left the farm in the care of his wife, joined the Confederate Army, and went off to fight against his fellow countryman.

This was not the history of the man who stood at the end of that farm now, looking towards the home that stood on the property.

He had been going by John for nearly six months as he worked his way from a hospital bed to this Georgia farm, and now it was second nature to respond to it, just as he did his own name. The test had come nearly a month ago, when an unexpected meeting with a friend of John's just outside the recovering city of Atlanta showed him he could pass for the other man without actively trying to, now. There was apprehension in his chest as he walked down the lane, kicking up little puffs of dust underfoot, but he was confident. It had been at least three years since she'd seen her husband. This would work.

The two men, John and not-John, had been in a unit together, fighting the Union Army in Tennessee. The men in the unit had noticed the striking similarities between them almost instantly, and the coincidence of it seemed to draw the men two each other. They spoke often, of what they had waiting for them when they got back, of things they missed, of women they'd loved. Not-John had known of the woman who's dwelling he now approached for years, but the plan he was now carrying out had not been conceived until he first saw a photograph of the woman. What had started as a terrible fantasy in the dark corners of his mind soon blossomed into a twisted plan, the soil fertilized by events far beyond his control yet playing out just as he had secretly hoped.

The John Holloway that stopped just in front of the wooden door of the modest house was tall, a couple hairs over six foot, with the same thick dark hair, now unkempt and grown out nearly to his shoulders of the man whose name he now possessed. Deep-set green eyes, perhaps just a shade lighter, were set above fine cheekbones, now covered by a thick salt and pepper beard. He was lined in lean muscle, his forearms and chest wearing a fine coat of dark hair, and now, virtually everywhere, he seemed to be covered in dirt and dust. His clothes, a simple shirt and pants, were a few shades darker than they had begun, had picked up a few small holes in his journey, and the big toe on his left foot was visible through a hole in the worn leather of his shoes. On his right temple, reaching down towards his cheek and disappearing into the thicket of his beard, a red scar stood out. A souvenir of the battle that had conspired to turn him into the man he was now.

A final glance around him was taken, a moment to search for her outside one final time and to ready himself for what was to come.

"Hello?" he called, his voice breaking as the sound left him. A cough cleared most of the dust from this throat, and he tried once more, louder this time.

"Hello? Is anyone... are you still here?"

Beth-Ann Holloway

There was a certain strangeness in the air; Beth-Ann Holloway thought to herself as she cast her pale blue gaze to the heavens. An ever darkening sky hovered above, and there was the scent of rain on the wind. Her slender fingers worked quickly to prize the freshly dried laundry off the clothesline. It would hardly do if they were to get soaked. Sunshine had been rare in these parts of late be it springtime or not, winter’s chill clung tightly to the land.

Truth be told there had been a cold and constant emptiness ever since the battle for the South had begun. This summer would mark two years of supposed peace and yet the cloud over the land that was war had not lifted. Instead it lingered, plainly visible in the pain and loss felt each day by all who were left. Beth pushed the thoughts of her own pain and loss to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it - what was done was done; those who were gone were gone – her sweet John included.

The faint male voice that called out from the front of the house pulled her from her thoughts. As she folded the last of her laundry, she wondered who it could be. She wasn’t expecting any of her neighbors to come calling this evening. Old Mr. Thewes and his wife had been kind to her in the years since her John had gone off to war, always looking in on her and lending a friendly hand when they could. While Beth appreciated their kindness, she much preferred the solitude that the remote location of her farm offered. As she gathered up her basket the voice sounded again, louder and somewhat clearer this time. Now she was certain it wasn’t Mr. Thewes, the voice was far too young. Unsure of whom it might be or what they might want, she chose to walk around to the front of the house rather than through it. The war may be over but there were still a good deal of folk looking to start trouble. As a woman alone, she thought it safer to face potential trouble outside rather than run the risk of inviting it into her home.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her as she rounded the side of the house. “Can I hel … “, she started before the words died on her lips, her voice now trapped deep in her throat. The wind seemed to rush up behind her, as if seeking to capture the sharp breath of surprise that left her as she stood staring at the figure on her porch. The basket that sat neatly upon her hip slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the ground; its’ clean, sun-drenched linen contents spilling out onto the rich earth beneath her feet. Beth took little notice of this; instead her eyes were fixed upon the tall slender male form before her that seemed foreign yet at the same time all too familiar to her.

It couldn’t be, and yet there he was standing before her as though he had never left. Standing in the shade of the porch as he was, it was difficult for her to see his face clearly. His hair was longer, his body leaner, yet still she knew it was him -she was sure that she could feel it in her bones. It had been five years since she seen him last, save one brief winter’s furlough. Five long lonely years filled with worry and then despair.

“John?” she whispered, her voice sounding strange to her ears. It sounded nothing like the woman she had been before - bright and full of hope; nor was it the voice of the woman circumstance had forced her to become – hard and unyielding. Instead she sounded fragile and afraid, as though her world would shatter and end if this proved to be a dream. She walked towards him, her steps hurried and unsure. Never taking her eyes from his, she faltered on the steps almost tripping over her skirts. On reaching him she stretched out a hand to touch him certain he was an apparition. When her fingers touched his cheek and slid into the thick dark hair of his beard, a smile broke out across her face.

“John!” she cried happily, as she threw her arms about his neck, pressing her supple form against him. Full cherry lips pressed kisses to his cheek, before sliding to his ear to whisper, “I prayed … I prayed so hard that you would come back to me.”

The dam she had built up inside her to hold her emotions burst with sudden force; and the torrent of tears and sobs she had long since denied herself now flowed freely from her. Nuzzling her fine porcelain features against his neck she continued to hold him tight, as though afraid he would slip away from her again should she let go. At last her John was home and all was right again with her world.

Beth he mouthed, his chest suddenly feeling hollow, his breath empty, like his lungs worked in a vacuum. He only nodded then as she crossed to him, nodded and took a small step forward, the exhaustion of travel, the exhaustion of war, the terrible exhaustion of missing her seemingly taking it's toll on his body in that moment, the weight of it all almost too much for his weakened body to bear. He watched her as she approached, his feet rooted to the soil below when she reached out for him, and only when her hand touched him did he allow his eyelids to drop closed, his head to turn slightly into that touch.

He took a stumbling step backwards when she threw her arms around him, the force of her body pulling him up at the roots, and his wiry arms slid around her. His hands slid across the small of her back, and then he pulled her tighter against him, crushing her breasts to his chest, his nose diving into her hair, swimming in the scent of her.

"Beth," he whispered, hoarsely, faintly, "Beth, Beth."

When she began to cry, one of his arms moved from around her, his fingers slipping into that same soft hair his nose had found a temporary home in, and he held her tight to him. The wind swept hard around their combined shape, the fierce signal of an oncoming storm. Neither were in a hurry to move from that spot, to break the spell that seemed to be cast upon this moment and step into the unknown moments beyond here.

"It was so hard, Beth," John whispered at last, his voice stolen away by the steady sweep of the wind nearly before it had found his lips. "I forgot who I was, for a time. I was in a hospital, and nameless, and a stranger to the world. To myself."

Both hands moved then, framing her face between calloused palms, tipping her head back to look up at him, his thumbs alternating across the fine shape of her cheekbones, dragging tears out of their tracks.

"But then I remembered. I remembered you, and I they didn't care. They thought I..." he frowned, his features clouding over like the sky above, a troubled memory passing through and then stolen away as if on the wind, his lips lifting in a smile. "So I left. I had to get back to you. I couldn't-"

His words were cut off by a sharp rumble of thunder overhead, a sound like the sky being ripped open, and then the rain poured forth, large and soaking drops falling on them both. The sound of it seemed to fill the space around them, puddles forming almost instantly as the ground struggled to soak up the water, their clothes suddenly stuck to their bodies, quickly soaked through. Still he held her face, looked at her through the falling rain. The drops his thumbs brushed away now was rain, water from the sky and not from her.

He moved forward suddenly, with a strength that seemed to come from somewhere other than this thinned body, pulling her mouth to his in a hungry, crushing kiss. His fingers slid into her hair again, fingertips pressed on her scalp, an arm around her body to pull her body close, wet clothing sliding across wet clothing, her soft curves against his hard lines.

"Take me inside, Beth," he whispered when his lips released hers finally, the rain still pounding the earth around them, drenching them as lightning flashed above. "Take me inside, or I swear I'll have you right here."

Beth stood still, reveling in John’s touch, as the roughened pads of his fingers slid over her cheeks. In that moment, with her small face held close in his strong hands, she felt fragile and feminine; a feeling that had been altogether alien to her in the years since he had been gone. She listened to him speak - his words barely audible, the steady warmth of his voice washing over her much like the rain pouring down upon them. She tried hard to focus on his words, to follow as he recounted his journey back to her – but joy blinded her to everything but his presence.

When his lips descended upon hers, nothing else mattered. Later … she told herself; she would ask again later. Make him tell her the details once more so that she could thank the heavens once more for returning him whole.

She all but swooned when he threatened to take her on the very spot where they stood, lest she take him inside. It felt natural as she turned in his arms and slipped her hand about his waist; familiar as her cheek settled against his chest with his arm draped about her shoulder, holding her close to his side. They walked slowly towards the house; each basking in the closeness of the other, oblivious to the rain and the now sodden linens strewn upon the grass. Anyone looking on at that moment would have been hard pressed to distinguish the differences if any between the young couple they once were and the people they were now.

Once inside however, the strain caused by the years spent apart loomed and threatened to crawl between them. As the door closed behind them, Beth could not help but notice how strange it felt having him in their house again, this place where they had planned to make a life together. The modest house was as much his home as it was hers no doubt, but to have him physically in the space where she had for so long been on her own was in some way troubling.

Suddenly unsure, she slipped from his embrace and made her way to the kitchen; busying herself with the excuse of stoking the hearth and heating the kettle to get him warm and washed. She could hear him moving about, reacquainting himself with the surroundings. The wooden floors creaked underfoot, as though they too would have to grow once more accustomed to the sound and weight of his footsteps.

Beth felt him come up behind her, as though seeking to close the distance threatening to form between them. His hands took hold of her waist, and she eased her frame back against his. Her eyes fluttered closed and she did her best to steady her breathing; her nerves threatening to overwhelm her. Unbidden, a memory from their past surfaced. She had been nervous with him much like she was now once before, when facing her bridal bed. The thought set her cheeks ablaze with color. She remembered that night vividly; how shy she had been in letting him gaze upon her naked body – despite her love for him and the fact that he was by rights her husband. She had asked him to turn his back, for modesty sake … but he had refused, determined to watch as she revealed every inch of herself to his eyes.

The kiss he pressed to her temple brought her back to the present. Turning to face him, she let her eyes travel up the expanse of his chest, along his neck to his chin and then his lips. Her gaze lingered there before she rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

She wanted him - the realization hit her hard and fast – she wanted him. Everything seemed to blur after that; uncertainty giving way to desire. They were both swept up in a whirlwind of desperation and need, each of them intent on claiming that which they had been denied for so long. The kiss deepened; lips parting, tongues seeking. She was vaguely aware of her back being pressed against the table, as their hands continued to grasp and claw, rending cloth and bruising skin.

It was only when she felt the hard length of him pressing into her, her breath stopping on a gasp, did her mind again become clear.

“Never leave me again.” She whispered, her lips quivering.