Linda Castle: The Return Of Chase Cordell

But it was not.

Weeks of agonizing and analyzing kept bringing him back to one inescapable thought. The injury sustained in battle did not appear to be the reason for his missing memory. His thoughts kept returning to a question he did not want to ask, but knew he would have to face.

Was the Cordell bloodline responsible?

Had the affliction that manifested itself in his grandfather now touched Major Chase Cordell in the form of his missing memory?

The shrill train whistle jarred Chase from his tortured thoughts. He sat bolt upright in the seat and stared out the window. Green fields and wildflowers dotted the landscape. Mountain laurels shaded lush meadows with their gnarled branches. It was beautiful, this town that had no connection to him, this place that was nothing more than another stop on a long, lonely journey into his unknown past.

The passenger car lurched to a grinding halt while the metal brake screeched against the tracks. A cloud of steam rose up to obscure Chase’s view of the station and the town. He tried to massage some of the stiffness from his leg so he could rise from the hard seat.

Jeffrey appeared in the aisle and smiled. “Here, Major Cordell, let me take your valise to the platform.”

Chase accepted the young man’s offer to help. He adjusted the wide-brimmed Union officer’s hat and waited until several other passengers had cleared the aisle before he attempted to reach the door. He was slow and his limp was worse today—the result of the cramped seat, the only partially healed wound, and his long legs being pinched into confinement, he guessed. He rubbed his gloved palm across his thigh and concentrated on getting the blood back into his foot while he limped toward the exit. He did not look up until he reached the outer door of the car.

The metallic rhythm of a brass band starting up froze him in place. A large, cheering crowd of strangers was standing outside the train car waving hats and hankies. They were calling a name—his name.

He felt all the color drain from his face and his knees went liquid. A rotund man with a tall black hat pushed his way forward. Sunlight winked off a huge red stone set in a gold stickpin while he vigorously pumped Chase’s gloved hand.

Chase didn’t have the slightest idea who the man was. He willed himself to smile and tried to ease the nervous tension he felt bracketing his mouth. The heat intensified beneath his heavy dark blue uniform and moisture beaded his forehead under the sweatband of his hat.

What were all these people doing here? a voice inside his head screamed.

“Major Cordell, it is an honor to receive you home, sir. The whole town has turned out and it is my very great pleasure, as mayor, to be the first one to welcome you back to Mainfield.”

Mayor. The moon-faced man was mayor of Mainfield. Chase tried to conjure up a bit of recollection to go along with that information, but none would be dredged up from the pit of darkness in his head.

Chase stared glumly out across the sea of faces. It was going to be harder than he dreamed, to pretend he was whole and that nothing was wrong with him.

For a moment he regretted not telling the army surgeons the truth—that he had no recollection of his life, or of the many small incidents they spoke of. Perhaps they could have done something, had some remedy, some treatment. At least he would have been spared this farce; he could have remained in the hospital, instead of trying to return to a place where he was a virtual stranger inside his own skin.

“Well, Major, it’s been a pleasure traveling with you, sir.” Jeffrey’s voice wrenched Chase from his misery. Chase turned back to see Jeffrey standing stiff and straight.

“Have a good journey.” Chase managed to give the young soldier a smart salute that denied the watery feel of his own legs. A loud cheer rose up from the crowd when Jeffrey returned the gesture.

A bright flash of painful recollection ripped through Chase’s thoughts at the sound of the mob. In his mind’s eye he saw a group of small boys taunting an old man with silver hair and a long, flowing mustache. The children were chanting a litany.

“Crazy Captain Cordell.”

Chase gulped down his emotion and felt the cold, steely resolve sweep over him. No matter what it took, no matter how he might flounder in this strange and unknown place, Chase was not going to let anyone find out the truth about him. He no longer wished he had told the surgeons, he no longer pined for the safety of a hospital bed. Chase would sooner be struck dead than be an object of ridicule like his grandfather.

There was no indecision in him now. His course of action was clear and straight. He would bluff and wheedle and lie to keep his secret. He would inch his way through this nightmare until—by the grace of God—he might regain a tiny scrap of memory, but until that time he would keep his silence.

Chase looked down and saw the mayor’s pudgy hands holding a bright scrap of ribbon. The politician babbled without end while he pinned it to the blue uniform. He marveled that the mayor could find an empty spot on his chest among the decorations the Northern army had already bestowed upon him. The small strips of ribbon felt heavy as stone on his Union coat because he didn’t remember what they represented.

Suddenly it all became a blur. The crowd, the banners, all whirled in front of Chase without substance. He felt detached, alone, apart from everyone standing in the sweltering April heat.

He stared over the short mayor’s shoulder and searched every face in the crowd, hoping against bitter hope that perhaps there would be one face amidst the throng that would spark some remembrance.

A heavy, cold weight grew in Chase’s belly when no one was even vaguely familiar.

Except for one.

His tormented gaze kept returning to a tiny blond woman, nearly hidden beneath a straw bonnet and lace-covered parasol. She was biting her bottom lip. As unhappy as Chase was to be a war hero with no past and little hope for the future, she appeared to be even more miserable.

She met his eyes and a tiny quiver of her chin sent his belly plunging to the vicinity of his boot tops. He looked away, but something about the woman reached out to him.

He felt an odd affinity for her. She seemed to be a kindred spirit adrift in a sea of strangers. While all those around him smiled brightly and wished him well, her face held a measure of sadness. He would like to have spoken to the woman, to give her reassurance, but for the life of him he didn’t know why he should feel that way.

“Now, Major, I’m sure you are glad to be home.”

“Yes—yes, Mayor—I am.” Chase found it difficult to pull his gaze away from the clear blue of the woman’s compelling eyes. There seemed to be a silent question deep inside them.

For a moment Chase thought he knew what the question was, but it may have been fancy, because it had simply flitted away like a butterfly over a field of sweet, ripe clover like the rest of his past. Every feeling, every thought was no more substantial than a wisp of smoke he could not grasp.

“Come, Major Cordell, don’t be shy. It’s been a long time. There’s not a man jack among us who would blame you for giving your little wife a kiss right here, in public.”

Chase watched while the mayor took hold of the pretty blond woman’s gloved hand and drew her forward. She stiffened beneath the politician’s hold and Chase saw the color in her cheeks intensify when his body and hers abruptly made contact from breastbone to waist. The end of his sword scabbard swung around and hit him in the shin with a plink of sound. Several of Chase’s medals poked him through the fabric of his uniform while the mayor shoved the woman with the intense blue eyes tighter against his chest.