GAINS AND LOSSES
Patrick?” Enola burst back into the theatre. It was like a graveyard, and those slowly rising were walking dead, it seemed, looking stunned. They coughed from the dust, tears streaming down their faces from the heat of the place. There wasn't a man walking who didn't have blood. “Patrick? Jacob?”
“Enola,” her father stated and put a hand on her shoulder. “We will help you look.”
Her knees actually quaked at those words. She was so afraid that he was going to tell her that he could see their bodies.
The Natives spread out, stopping to help those who were struggling to rise, or crushing their foot onto an American who dared to rise. There weren't many, on either side.
“Enola!”
For the second time that day, Patrick grabbed her in joy. She crushed her body against him. She didn't care who was watching, she kissed him long and passionately.
He pulled her even closer, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. She wanted to be one with him, her soul meshed with his forever.
“Thank God,” he said, stroking her hair. “Thank God for you.”
“You're alright?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I'm alright. I'm alive. Are you alright?”
“Yes, I'm alright,” she said. “But I can't find Jacob.”
“I was watching,” Patrick said. “I'm not sure they were close enough to the door to get out.”
“What?” Enola paled. “No, no that can't be true.” However, she knew that they should have come down by now.
“Officers go down with the ship,” Patrick told her softly. “They wait until their men are out safely, and only then...”
“No,” Enola broke free of him, searching for the quickest way up to the catwalk. Patrick knew better than to stop her, and followed her up a side passageway from the stage.
Enola had moved quickly in her life, when hunting deer, when running carefree through the forest. However, she had never moved as quickly as she did right now, up the staircase to the catwalk.
Creator, don't be so cruel, she begged. Don't reward me with Patrick but punish me with the death of my brother.
She practically threw herself against the catwalk door, which came out behind the balcony.
“Harold,” Patrick knelt down to help the commander, who was struggling to sit. He appeared to be dazed but alright. “Sit quietly, man. Just sit quietly a moment.”
“Did we do it?” Harold managed, his mouth thick with sawdust. Patrick smiled.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, we did it.”
“Good,” Harold leaned his head against the railing.
“Jacob,” Enola demanded. “Did you see Jacob?”
Harold looked around, confused. “He was just here...” he said. “But then he wasn't...” His eyes fixed on part of the catwalk that had fallen away in the explosion.
“Oh Creator,” Enola felt tears come. She was afraid to look over the rail, afraid of Jacob's lifeless body below.
“Enola!”
She glanced toward the other end, and her jaw fell open. There was Jacob standing at the door, looking impatient, and most importantly, unharmed.
“Are we going to rescue Mary or just stand here?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes.
“Jacob, don't you ever frighten me like that again,” she said. “Or Nature will find your body sooner than she expects.”
He bounced on his feet a moment, impatient to the core. “Sure. Fine. Let's go.”
“Patrick,” Enola held out her hand and Patrick grasped it, following her after making sure Harold would be alright for the next few moments.
They took the opposite staircase down, and outside the theatre.
There were crowds gathered everywhere, gaping at what had happened. Part of the upper wall had blown away, and they could see straight in to where the balcony used to be.
Enola ignored them, letting Jacob and Patrick push a path through the crowds to get to Town Hall. “Do either of you have a plan?” she asked as they ran.
“Charge?” Jacob asked and then reached for his weapon. “I don't have my sword.”
“Brilliant.” Enola realized that she was the only one with a weapon; the tomahawk still hanging by her belt. Jacob made a move for it, and she pulled back. “I don't think so. You're awful with one of these.”
“Enola, I'm not letting you...”
“Mate, take it from me,” Patrick interjected, interrupting them. “If you're going to marry your sweetheart, you've got to learn to listen to her, especially when she's right. Let her throw it.”
“Don't miss,” Jacob put in, and she rolled her eyes.
“Really? When have you ever known me to miss?”
“You clipped me once,” he replied. Enola smirked at Patrick.
“I may have meant it,” she said, and Jacob nudged her. She thought it was out of annoyance, but she saw that they were at the town hall. “Right.”
“They were standing fairly close to her, in the front row,” Jacob said. “She's tied to the bench and although they aren't hurting her, I doubt they will let her out without a fight.”
“They will when one of their skulls is cracked in,” Enola answered, squaring her stance as her father had taught her. She'd never thought that she would have to throw it in the middle of a town hall, or at people. This was for animals; hunting. Nevertheless, that was the way the war had been. They were just hunting each other, in the end, and hoping to survive.
The men pried the door open, and Enola was prepared to throw it at the guards inside if they didn't relent right away. She had known Mary for years and knew that the other woman was soft, fragile, and innocent. Mary had never touched a weapon, wrapped in a protective world that her father kept her in like a cocoon. The war had frightened her so much that she had stayed inside her house for weeks on end; only venturing out when she had to.
There were no American forces in the room, save for Mary, tied up at the front and in tears.
“Mary!” Jacob burst in and Enola looked around, surprised. Patrick took to looking up and in the corners, but the place was empty. “Mary, are you alright?”
“Where are the guards?” Enola asked, coming forward. Mary was distraught as Jacob cut her ropes.
“They just...left when they heard the explosion. I thought that no one would ever come to get me.”
“I will always come to get you,” Jacob promised her, taking her in his arms. Enola stepped back, taking Patrick's hand as the lovers reunited.
“How long have they been together?” Patrick asked her.
“Since we were basically children,” Enola replied. “I don't remember Jacob without Mary.”
“That's...”
“It's something I hope for,” she whispered and looked up at Patrick. “That one day we have such a story.”
“Every romance is a story,” Patrick answered. “It's just some that end quicker than others.”
“Enola,” Mary finally found herself able to let go of Jacob and reached to embrace the woman she had come to think of as a sister. “You are safe too.”
“I am,” Enola answered. “And I would like you to meet my husband.”
“Your husband?” Mary gaped in surprise. As long as she had known Enola, she had always known the other woman was a staunch marriage protester. Enola had wanted to remain alone as long as she could.
“Major Patrick Holde, at your service,” Holde said, taking her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, miss.”
“My goodness,” Mary looked between the two of them in shock. “War really does change people.”
Enola smiled. “It's a long story,” she said. “But it has a happy ending.” She glanced up at Patrick, who put an arm around her shoulder.
“It's not over yet,” he said.
“I think we should get out of here,” Jacob said, interrupting. “It will be safer for everyone if we return to the theatre.”
“Or what's left of it,” Enola answered. “Do you think the Americans are surrendering by now?”
“If they are smart,” Jacob said, reaching up his arm and taking off the American band. “I should burn this.”
“You never know when you need to go undercover,” Patrick put in. “I spent some time undercover.”
“I didn't know that,” Enola commented, looking up at him.
“Aye, in India,” Holde said. “I'll tell you one day.”
She lay her head against his shoulder as they walked, her head filled with dreams of a future together. The idea that they had time for those and all the other stories that had thrilled her. Enola was so used to taking life one day at a time, to simply serving. Now, she could think years into the future, seeing children, perhaps grandchildren if they were lucky.
“Tell me about your wedding?” Mary asked, as they neared the theatre. “When did you decide?”
“Decide?” Enola asked. “That's an interesting word.”
“You didn't decide?” Mary asked.
“I think Nature had it in store for us the whole time.” Enola squeezed Patrick's hand and he smiled at her.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I think that perhaps Mother Nature did.”
When they stepped into the theatre, Enola saw for the first time how much devastation had been caused. Jacob seemed to realize it at the same time and grabbed Mary, pulling her back.
“Here, Mary, my love, come with me,” he said, trying to cover her eyes. “Enola, can you stay with her, please?”
“What?” Enola asked. She wanted to see the Americans surrender as much as anyone. She had contributed to it, and she wished to see the defeat in their eyes. Patrick saw the look on her face, and turned to Jacob.
“If I may,” he said. “You represent the army and outrank me. My men will rally to you today. I will stay with her, just here, so that you can accept their official surrender for the army.”
“Can't you stay with me?” Mary begged, and Jacob squeezed her hand.
“I'll only be a moment, my love, and then I promise we will never abandon each other again. I swear it.”
“Dear God, Jacob, propose to her now or I'll strike you with the tomahawk,” Enola hissed in his ear. Jacob turned to Enola.
“But...”
“Do it,” she said and he stumbled forward, taking Mary's hand and getting down on one knee.
“Mary...” he said, seeming unsure about why he was there. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
He had asked before. It was always assumed that one day, they would marry. However, there had been a reason, and then another and another. Seeing him on his knee, face to face after so long, she knew what she had to say.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”