Excerpt from Chenneville by Paulette Jiles, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

In the days to come, he understood that he was in the great field hospital Grant had set up just outside of City Point, Virginia, on the James River. A model of its kind. They brought him some clothes. They were stacked neatly beside his bed.

John looked at them. He realized the nurse, Lemuel, and the doctor and who knows who else had cared for him and fed him and done all that was necessary all that time of semi-coma. It was a sobering thought. Gratitude was part of that thought.

As soon as the doctor said he might get up he slowly fought his way into the clothes. He was not sure if they were his or not, and they were too loose, but they were the right length and he was hard to fit. He pulled on the uniform trousers and blouse. It took some time to do this. They were his, then, cleaned, but still with some blood specks here and there. His body was very white and thin, his hands soft, unused, and apparently his own clothes were too big for him. He found this deeply disturbing. In three years of fighting, it had been burned forever into his mind that if you were not strong and unceasingly alert you would not live. He could not shake this. Nor would he ever.

The young male nurse brought him a large pair of brogans, which fitted well enough. John braced himself on two canes and went out slowly into the hospital grounds to see the trees throwing their yellow leaves and to feel the cool nip of the wind. He fought for balance with a grim, fixed expression and managed to make it to the entrance of the hospital grounds and back again.

Last he remembered it was early spring, or late winter of some year. He had arrived, like it or not, back into this world. While he had lain for months, half-conscious and drifting, carefully fed and tended as he floated in some bright pallid neverland, Lee had surrendered, Lincoln had been assassinated, and the great Union Army had gone home. They left behind only the troops of the occupation and the wounded. The war was over.

The 80th New York had gone without him, and he alone of all his company was in this field hospital with an empty past. Speech returned to him but not coherent memory. He recalled a great deal as he lay on his bed, but he could not put things into order. He ate anything and everything they brought to him, determined to fill out his uniform and his civilian clothes again.

One day a sergeant came to him with a sheaf of discharge forms in his hand and tried to fill one out for him: his age, place of birth, height, coloring. The height and coloring were easy enough, but John's frustration was bitter and infuriating when he could not remember the rest. He could not even read it. Finally the sergeant said, "Never mind, sir, it's all right, just fill it out yourself when it comes back to you." He gave John a hearty slap on one shoulder and went on down the aisle from one patient to another, filling out the forms for them.

The doctor came down the aisle with a jaunty walk, greeting patients. "When can I leave?" John asked. "I have my discharge, and it's a long way home." He held it out, blanks and all. He lay outside his blankets in trousers and shirt; they almost fit him now.

"Yes," said Dr. Jameson. He examined the blank spaces. "Where is home?"

"It is, I now distinctly remember, someplace north of St. Louis. When can I start?"

"Soon." The doctor listened to his heart. "When you stand, lift your head; don't let it fall forward. Keep your back straight and your head level."

"Yes, I will."

"Now. Your uncle Basile from New Orleans has been sending me telegrams, letters, very concerned. Basile Chenneville. Do you remember him?"

John made a silent internal effort, called up a face much like his father's. "Yes." He ran his hands down his upper arms, feeling their slackness. He was turning into a boneless pudding. His feet were long and white and without calluses.

"And so I have emphasized to him that you are not to be troubled with anything untoward or negative, but your mind should, as it were, glide down the stream of health and healing undisturbed."

Excerpted from Chenneville by Paulette Jiles. Copyright © 2023 by Paulette Jiles. Excerpted by permission of William Morrow. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.