GLORY II Chapter 9

Chapter 9

  The evening before, Will and Laura had sat talking and sharing each other's company until late in the evening.  Despite his desire to stay awake, Will had gone without sleep for so many days, he fell sound asleep well before midnight.  Just after sun-up this morning, he had saddled Squirrel and said his good-bye’s, promising to return in a week or so for a church social, providing of course his commander would release him for the event.

  Laura told him during their long conversations the night before that she would find a way to get into Tupelo and do some shopping the day before the Saturday social.  The Church social was a special event held by the local residents each spring.  It afforded everyone the opportunity to get out and talk with their neighbors and to brush away some of the cabin fever of the long winter.  It also provided young adults the opportunity to meet others of their age group.

  The day was a perfect spring day, not a single cloud in the sky.  A gentle and warm southerly breeze spread the aroma of honeysuckle and wild flowers on the wind, while wild squirrels and eager rabbits played chase in the trees and briar patches.  Chattering blue jays flew back and forth and small flocks of black birds scattered to the winds as he interrupted their early morning feasting.

  He had met a courier after an hour's ride to the south.  The man told him that all of General Forrest's commanders had been ordered to Tupelo for a big meeting and that Colonel Duff and the 8th Mississippi were already encamped there.  The man acted as if there was something big about to happen and he was part of history in the making.

  As he neared the small town of Tupelo, pickets began to challenge him.  Obviously something was happening or the men would not have been on such alert sentry duty.  Finally he caught sight of the headquarters standard of the 8th, and reined Squirrel in and dismounted before the tent.  A junior officer, one of Colonel Duff's aides, approached him as he neared the tent.

  "Lieutenant Welch?" the young officer questioned, as Will was not familiar to him.

  "Yes, Lieutenant, reporting as ordered."

  "Lieutenant Shoup, Sir," the young officer continued.  "Colonel Duff asked that I bring you to him as soon as you arrived."

  "General Buford's messenger did report my location?" Will asked, worried that perhaps Colonel Duff thought him to be absent without proper authority.

  "That he did, Sir.  We thought you captured by the Federals until the courier showed up.  You may go in, Sir," the young lieutenant stated, holding the tent flap aside for Will to enter the commander's tent.

  Colonel Duff was sitting behind a field desk writing dispatches when he entered.  He signaled for Will to stand at ease and pointed to a jar of whiskey sitting on the desk in front of him, an offer that Will politely refused.  After a few moments, the Colonel held the paper up and waved it back and forth to dry the ink, then turned his attention to Will.

  "We thought you captured or dead, Lieutenant," he stated.  "Last time you were seen was when your troop stayed back as a shield to hold off the Yankees several days ago so the command staff could escape.  General Buford provides a glowing report of your fortuitous escape and even goes so far as to state that you saved his life and the life of the troop he was with from a Union ambush north of Ripley."

  "The General is kind sir."

  "You and I both know General Buford is not kind, Lieutenant.  The man is a walking book of rules, rules he seldom bends.  The fact that you saved his hide puts you into his debt, that's probably why General Forrest wants to see you immediately."

  "The General wants to see me, Sir?"

  "As of this moment you are detached to General Forrest's staff as a junior aide.  Evidently Buford thinks by rubbing elbows with the General, you'll glean some knowledge of tactics or strategy or something to that effect."  It was obvious that Colonel Duff was finished, so Will saluted and did an about face.

  "Good job, Son," the Colonel said, as Will opened the flap and emerged into the bright clear day.  Why the Colonel chose to sit in a hot stuffy tent on such a beautiful clear day mystified him.

  "Old ruff Duff don't like to pay compliments to anyone," Captain Beverly Matthews said, as Will emerged from the tent.  "The old man must like you."  Matthews was Will's Company Commander and went by the name of Matt.  The fact that parents would name a boy Beverly didn't quite sit straight in his way of thinking.

  "I've had your things sent on over to the General's headquarters.  Best you be getting over there as soon as you can."

  "On my way, Sir," Will replied, "I sure would like to shave and clean up a bit first though." The thought of meeting the legendary Nathan Bedford Forrest looking dirty and out of uniform didn't seem proper.

  "Best if you be reportin' in first, son, there's something in the wind and General Forrest ain't one to sit still for long."

  The ride to General Forrest's headquarters area took less than an hour.  He had met half a dozen staff officers along the way, each bearing important messages for one or another unit, each man's face frozen in a perpetual scowl as if the information they carried could win or lose the war.  As he neared a small building where the General's flag was posted, he spotted a giant of a man sitting out front trimming his toenails with a small folding knife.  The man was in his late forties or early fifties, wearing buckskins and resembled no type of soldier that Will had ever seen.  It was clear that the man was no civilian by the brace of colts he wore and a gigantic Bowie knife tied down on his calf.

  Will dismounted and tied Squirrel to a makeshift hitching rail and walked over to the fierce looking man.  "Lieutenant Welch reporting in to General Forrest," he said, presenting a good salute since he did not know if the man was an officer or not.

  "Don't be salutin' me, son," the man replied, looking down at Will as if he was something smelly the man had recently stepped in.  "I ain't no damn pussy-foot officer," he growled, spitting a stream of tobacco juice into a small fire.  "What for you want to see Old Bedford?"

  "I was ordered to report here, Sir."

  "Told you I ain't no damn ‘sir.’  Name's Stiehl.  Sergeant Major Stiehl.  "Heavy on the Sergeant part. Got that, son?"

  Will's mouth fell open at the mention of the man's name.  Sergeant Major Stiehl was perhaps more famous among the men than Bedford Forrest himself.  There were many who said if it weren't for Stiehl, Bedford and many other senior officers would have been killed long ago.  Many colonels and even generals mentioned his name with reverence and awe.

  The man was the eternal soldier; premier knife fighter, original pioneer, mountain man, Indian killer, and the list went on and on.  There were even those who said he had fought at the Alamo, saved Colonel Jeff Davis in Mexico, fought against Jim Bowie, and ran with such famous men as Jim Bridger, Davy Crockett, and Andy Jackson.

  "Close your mouth boy before you swallow a batch of flies," Monday stated, glancing at the wide eyed lieutenant.  "Bedford told me you was comin'.  Asked me if I would see to you.  Soon as I finish cuttin' my claws I'll show you where you can bed down."

  That night Will had one of the best meals he'd had in months.  Some of the local farmers had given the general a mess of new potatoes and an entire herd of fresh beef had been driven into the camp the day before.  Sergeant Major Stiehl had shrewdly appropriated an entire side of beef and had been cooking it all day.  He had mixed special herbs and salt and spread it thick on the beef as it slowly cooked.

  Obviously the fierce Sergeant Major had taken a liking to Will because he sliced off a juicy beef rib that must have weighed at least five pounds, and slapped it on the small tin plate Will presented at mess time.  The rib steak was so big it overlapped the plate, the hot juices burning the tender skin of his wrist.  In another hand, the Sergeant Major forced a heaping plate of new potatoes and fresh green beans at Will.  His only comment was, "Eat hardy boy, you'll need it."

  Monday knew all about Lieutenant Welch.  As soon as he had been told by Bedford that the young officer was coming on line for a little staff duty training, he had raided his sources to find out what kind of man the lieutenant was.  He had received nothing but outstanding reports, from officers as well as enlisted men.  The fact that Will's sergeants thought of him as a good steady man in a fight and a dependable commanding officer made up Monday's mind to take the youngster under his wing.

  There was also another, much more personal reason.  Monday had learned during his research into Will's background that he was the son of a William Welch from Columbus, Mississippi.

  Monday had fought alongside a Captain William Welch, of Columbus, Mississippi, during the Mexican War.  Welch had saved Monday's life during the battle of Monterey, and they had remained close friends until they separated to go their own way after the war.

  Monday also remembered that "Wild Bill" Welch had a two-year-old son back home at that time, and after checking it out, discovered that Will was none other than his old friend's son.  For the sake of friendship, if nothing else, Monday owed it to his onetime friend to look after his young son.

  "Fatso wanted you here to learn about staff work," Monday stated between heaping mouthfuls of meat.  By Fatso, Will deduced he was referring to General Buford, who weighed in at around three hundred pounds.  "Most promising officers get sent to the General Staff to learn them how to lay out battle plans, and learn 'em something about real war.  Not the killin' or the grand charges or anything like that.  I'm referring to something called logistics.  Know what that is boy?"

  "Supplying the troops?" Will carefully answered.

  "Like that Frenchie General Napoleon said a few years back, any man can win a battle using tried and tested methods, but it takes a real officer to master logistics.  If you can't feed an army, or if you can't get them bullets and artillery ammo when they need it, you done lost the battle before the git go."

  "Logical," replied Will, trying to talk around a mouth full of potatoes.

  "Ain't no logic to it, son, plain common sense is what it is. Problem is, there's lots of officers out there what ain't got no common sense, an most of 'em wouldn't know where to get some even if they went out to buy it."

  Will already knew from camp gossip that the Sergeant Major had been offered a commission in the Confederate Army by President Jeff Davis himself on many occasions, but, for some reason the man refused the offer each time it came down.  Well, that was his personal business.  He concentrated on eating the huge meal he had been given.  Having gone without food for so long, he felt as if his stomach had shrunk and he was having difficulty finishing it.

  "We're going into Tupelo come Friday," Monday continued.  "There's a herd of new horses coming in at the railhead and Bedford's needin' a new mount.  Got the last one shot out from under him up near Bolivar last week.  Man goes through horses like other men go through women or whiskey.  Friend of mine said there was a couple of good ones on this run and a horse trainer said he'd be sending a few for Bedford to select from, figured it might be worth the effort to take a look see."

  "I need to get some new uniforms anyway," Will stated, looking at the torn and stained shirt he had borrowed from Laura's mother.

  "Some officer brought you some new ones," Monday replied.  "Might near forgot."  He stood and walked over to his horse, no doubt the ugliest animal Will had ever seen, and pulled a package wrapped in brown paper from the saddlebags.  Returning to the fire, he threw the package in Will's lap.  When he opened the package, several crisp new uniform fell out.  The jackets even had officer's bars sewn on their collars.  Problem was, they were the wrong rank.

  "These shirts have Captain Bars on them," Will mentioned. "Unfortunately, I'm still a third Lieutenant and I wouldn't presume to wear them."

  "That's where yer wrong boy," Monday stated.  "Fatso promoted you to Second Louie, said you'd likely be a Captain in a few months.  You musta done something awful nice for old Buford for him to take such a shine to you."

  Over the next half-hour or so, Will explained to the Sergeant Major the events leading up to his capture, his ordeal with the colored soldiers, the stay with the Tyree family, and his fortunate intervention with General Buford's patrol.  By the time he finished, several other officers had joined them, among them his good friend from the 8th Mississippi, Lieutenant Govan.

  When they got into a serious conversation about Will's adventures and started telling good ol’ home boy stories, Monday stood and headed for NCO country.  He was more comfortable around ugly sergeants than around, 'wet nosed officers', as he put it.

  Friday found them in the small town of Tupelo.  Actually, it was just a collection of shacks, nowhere near as big and exciting as Ripley or even Booneville.

  True to their promise, the drovers had a large herd of horses penned in a corral not far from the train station. Most of the herd consisted of worn out nags and cavalry rejects, but, half a dozen looked to be prime horseflesh.  One in particular, a large black stallion, who stood at least sixteen hands, caught the Sergeant Major's eye.

  "Now that's the kind of animal Bedford likes to ride," Monday stated, looking closely at the black stallion.  The horse had a fierce powerful look to him and a way of standing that gave the impression he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

  While a staff major looked over the rest of the herd and culled out the better animals to buy, Monday made a separate deal for the purchase of the stallion.  The man who owned the herd was happy to make the side deal because Monday paid him in gold coin.

  "The quartermaster could have bought the horse as part of the herd," Will stated, looking at the gold pieces Monday counted out into the man's callused hand.  "There's no need for you to spend your own funds."

  "Two reasons," Monday replied.  "This horse is a gift from me to Bedford, and these men have worked hard to gather this herd.  The quartermaster pays in Confederate script.  'Bout the only thing that's good for is toilet paper.  The little gold I gave this drover will just about pay an honest price for the horses the quartermaster selected.  They also know they can get gold or Union dollars from the Yankees.  If we force the Confederate script on them, next time they will go to the Yankees.  Patriotism, like Confederate money, can't feed a hungry family and we need all the decent mounts we can get.  Besides, I got more gold than I'll ever spend squirreled away."

  They spent the rest of the morning checking out the herd then wandering around the small town.  There were a large number of civilians in town, looking for hard to find items such as coffee, sugar, and tea.  Will noticed there were also quite a few young ladies running around buying dress material, ribbons, and other fancy doo-dads.

  Late that afternoon, just about the time they were getting ready to head back to camp, Will finally spotted Laura, her sister, and half a wagon full of people pulling up before the general store.  He asked Monday to wait for him and went to talk with her.

  "Mornin' Lieutenant," Samuel Agnew said, as Will walked up and greeted them.

  "Morning Mr. Agnew," Will replied, "May I talk with Laura for a few moments sir?"

  "Reckon so son," Samuel said, looking over his shoulder at Laura who had already jumped down from the wagon.  They walked over to a quiet spot near the corner of the store.

  "You tell your friends about tomorrow night?" Laura asked, "It's turning into quite a shindig.  General Buford was invited by Reverend Young and some of the Bryson boys brewed up a batch of corn liquor."

  "Half a dozen said they'd go.  A few of them don't have a decent uniform to wear so they declined the invite."

  "I didn't expect to see you here today Will, I thought you'd be stuck up at New Albany, we heard that Colonel Ruckers' unit was up that way."

  "I've been detached to the General's staff, sweetheart, so I have plenty of freedom to come and go."

  They looked deeply into each other’s eyes, their desire to kiss each other was overwhelming, but they knew such a public display of affection would be frowned on at best.  Will noticed that the Sergeant Major was sitting on his ugly horse staring at them like they were something unusual.

  "I gotta go," he finally said, pulling her close and hugging her real tight.  "We have to get a herd of horses back to camp."

  "The social starts around five o'clock, try to get there early," Laura replied, releasing his hand as he turned to go.  She watched as he mounted up.  He was still riding her horse Squirrel, but she thought of them as a team now and would never ask for her back.  Besides, she knew Squirrel was a wonderful horse and her fiancé needed a dependable mount if he was going to fight against the Yankees.

  "Get a move on, boy," Monday said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice in the grass.  "If we're gonna be at that shindig on time, we best be moving out now."

  "Coming Sergeant Major," Will replied, adjusting his new officer's jacket for the tenth time.  Will wasn't aware that Monday and Reverend Young were close friends.  Evidently Monday had saved the life of the Reverend's son, who was now fighting in Georgia and Tennessee on several occasions, and the old pastor was beholding to him.  In fact, quite a number of people were beholding to the old Sergeant Major, including President Jeff Davis himself.

  As he left the tent, he was suddenly shocked to see a gang of officers sitting on their horses grinning down at him.  "Word got around," said his best friend, Wild Bill Govan.  "All I did was mention the word girls, and every officer in the command put in for leave."

  Will noticed several of his friends among the group.  Lieutenants Pope, Arrandale, Revely, and Black.  Like Wild Bill said, word sure got around.

  The day was an absolutely gorgeous spring day.  White fluffy clouds sailed the skies like clipper ships on a windy sea, the temperature appeared to be holding near eighty, and a gentle breeze whispered a soft song as it flowed through the leaves.

  On the way to Brice's, they were like a pack of teenage boys, boasting of yet to come accomplishments, laughing, racing each other down the road for stretches at a time, and even singing songs, most of which had nothing to do with battle, but spoke of love, tenderness, and home.

  When they entered the crossroads around 4:30 p.m., there were already a large number of carriages, prams, wagons, and saddled horses tied along the road and in a small field next to the Brice's home. Several large tents had been erected next to the small Bethany Church and people were coming and going in pairs and singly.

  When they dismounted and tied their horses to low tree branches, Monday walked off in the direction of Brice's store.  Since Will had been the one invited to the social, he took the lead and led them towards the largest of the tents, outside of which a dozen men and ladies stood conversing.

  Doctor Agnew, Samuel Agnew, and Reverend Young were among the gentlemen waiting to greet the guests.  Will walked up and removed his hat and bowed to Reverend Young, whom he knew was the senior minister and likely the originator of the social.

  "Reverend, Sir, I would like to introduce some of my close comrades in arms," he stated, making a half turn to bow to Mrs. Agnew.  He had been told that Reverend Young's wife had passed away a few years before the war.  He  introduced the young officers, starting with his best friend, Wild Bill Govan.

  "You are most welcome, sirs," Reverend Young replied.  "Please enjoy yourselves and accept our humble hospitality.  We have little to offer but what we have the Lord has seen fit to provide."

  "Thank you, sir," Will replied, looking around for Laura.

  "She's over at the Brice's home putting her war paint on," Letitia Agnew said with a smile.  "Pray tell you don't disturb her or her silly friends until they are absolutely ready.  You know how it is with girls Lieutenant; they love to be fashionably late."

  "Indeed I do Ma’am."

  "There are refreshments in the small tent if you and your friends are thirsty.  We will be serving a buffet in a couple of hours if you young men with your never ending appetites can wait."

  They all thanked her by removing their hats then strolled over to the small tent.  They could see several musicians warming up as they passed the large tent, two fiddlers, a banjo player, an organist, and several others with an odd assortment of instruments.  There were already a number of people in the small tent as they entered; among them was General Buford, his rotund figure holding up a large mug of some wet liquid.

  He waved to them as they walked up and pointed to a drum. "I'm afraid there're no alcoholic beverages here," he said in a deep jovial voice, "These people being rather religions and what not, but there is plenty of apple cider, sun tea, and lemonade.  If you've a mind to partake of something stronger I understand some gentlemen over at the Brice's store have some homemade brew."

  "Thank you, Sir," Will replied, taking a tin mug and pouring himself a cup of lemonade.  "So that's why the Sergeant Major went straight to Brice's store," Wild Bill said with a grin, "the old coot knew all along where the good stuff was."

  "That or his nose told him," Lieutenant Pope replied.  "The Sergeant Major is famous for seeing or smelling things that an ordinary person would miss."

  For the next half-hour or more, they talked and introduced themselves to the other guests who were steadily coming in from all directions.  By 5:30 Will was beginning to wonder if Laura would ever show her face.  He finally decided to head over to Brice's store to check out the other beverage.  He would also be able to watch the house, which was right across the street.

  As he entered the store, the first person he spotted was Sergeant Major Stiehl, balancing a small throwing knife with his right hand.  Monday let go of the knife and it sailed across the long room and buried its tip in the center of a small wooden target hung on the far wall.  There were already two other knives in the target, no more than half-an-inch apart in the bull’s eye.

  "Pay up!"  Monday bellowed, holding his hand out to a man standing at the store counter.  The man reached over and handed Monday a small crock jug.  Will could hear it sloshing as Monday turned it up and took a long satisfying gulp.  "Good stuff," he stated, "you wanna try double or nuttin?"

  The man shook his head in a negative reply.  "Not against you Sergeant Major," he said with a smile.  "Nobody told me you were 'that' Sergeant Major."  The man was referring to the legendary figure, which Monday had become over the years.

  "Have a drink son." Monday said, handing the small jug to Will.  "Just won this here hair of the dog.  Careful it don't bite back."

  Will took the proffered jug and took a sip of the harsh liquid.  Even though he took only a small sip, he felt as if his mouth and throat were on fire, and his eyes started to water.  "Good stuff," he croaked, handing the jug back to Monday.  If that was the kind of brew the General was talking about, he'd just as soon stick to the lemonade.  It didn't appear to have any effect on the huge Sergeant Major though, who turned the jug up and took another long swallow.

  "Sit down boy," Monday ordered, walking over to the only table in the store and plopping his huge frame down.  He offered Will a chaw of tobacco, which he quickly but politely refused.

  "Gotta tell you something I oughta told you sooner," Monday stated, tilting the jug for another drink of the fearsome brew.  "Knew your Paw down in Mexico a few years back, old Bill even saved my mangy hide once."

  "You knew my father?"

  "Said that didn't I?  Me and your Paw had us some good times we did, and some tough ones.  I'll tell you one thing son; I'd have your Paw guard my back any day.  Wouldn't say that about many men I've met, 'cept maybe Bedford, Jeff Davis, Bobby Lee, and perhaps Pete Longstreet and Sam Grant."

  "Is that why you've been teaching me things and sort of watching out for me?"

  "Partly the reason, might say it started off that way.  I since learned, that you're not your Paw, you're like him but you have your own character.  Enough of old Bill wore off on you though to make you into a fine young man.  A good leader and a respectable person with proper morals.  Not that morals are my cup of tea, seein' as how I've lived over the past fifty plus years, but you'll be somebody one of these days, I can see it in ya."

  Will felt strange being praised by the grisly old Sergeant Major, but he could see in his eyes that the man meant every word he said.  Will and his father got along tolerably well, but the war had not been kind to his family either.  After his older brother had died at Gettysburg almost a year ago, his father had gone into the bottle real hard and was still in it.  The last time he was home, he couldn't even talk with the heart broken man, and his mother sat at the kitchen table looking out the window most of the time, lost in thought.  Only time would heal the pain and loss they were flooded with.

  "Pa took Robert's death real hard," Will said.  "My older brother Robert was killed at Gettysburg at a place called Little Round Top.  Pa's been sort of nursing the bottle ever since."

  "He'll get over it," Monday replied.  "I know Wild Bill too well.  He might nurse the hurt for a spell but he'll get over it eventually."  Ironic, he thought, I was at Little Round Top when I was with Longstreet.  Didn't know any of the local boys were there.  Now, that was one heck of a real fight.  Might near got captured by that Yankee Colonel of that Main outfit myself.

  "You called my Pa, Wild Bill?"

  "Yeah, he was a real wild one, son.  Probably got the name for the same reason you call your friend, Lieutenant Govan, Wild Bill."

  "The girls are here," Lieutenant Arrandale said from the front door of the store.  "Come on Will, you gotta introduce us."

  Laura and Rebecca Ann and half a dozen of their friends were heading for the church tents when they spotted a small knot of officers approaching them.  They stopped and waited, whispering and giggling to each other.

  Will was shocked by the appearance of Laura.  He already knew she was a beautiful young lady, the most beautiful he'd ever seen, but now she was outrageously gorgeous.  She was dressed in a snow white, low cut gown, almost like a wedding dress, her shiny golden hair was piled on top of her head with sweet smelling curls dangling down.  She wore long white gloves with mother of pearl shoes, and topped it all off with a small lacy parasol.  She looked like an angel or a painting that some old master had made come to life.

  He stood, gaping at her for long moments before Wild Bill jabbed him in the ribs.  "Introduce us," he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  The introductions didn't go very well because for some reason he forgot half the names of his friends even though he'd known all of them mere moments before.  The sight of Laura had jolted him down to his very foundation, throwing his mind into a state of total confusion.

  "Well, Miss Rebecca Ann, will you honor me by allowing me to be your escort?" Wild Bill said, holding his arm out to Laura's sister, who took it with a smile and a tiny female giggle.

  After all of the other officers and young ladies had paired off and left for the tent, Will still stood and regarded Laura with a dumbfounded stare.

  "What's wrong Will," Laura finally asked, her face a study of puzzlement.  "Are you ill?"

  Finally the spell broke and he returned to semi-normal.  "When I first saw you, I mean when I saw you just now, you were, I mean, are, so beautiful it took my breath away," he blurted out.  "I never knew you could be so beautiful, I mean I knew you were beautiful but, you know?"  He decided to shut his mouth before he dug himself deeper into trouble. Laura could see he was struggling with his thoughts and decided to let him off the hook.

  At the entrance to the large tent, they were introduced to several new arrivals to the social.

  "This is John and Venecie Magill," Reverend Young stated, "John is with the 7th Mississippi Cavalry, and he's from Ireland.”  He also introduced William Spence, a captain in the infantry, Hamilton Dubbin, a cavalryman assigned to Colonel Barteau's command, and Kate and Alfred O'Shields, friends of the Magill's from the old country.  After a period of polite conversation, Reverend Young also introduced his son, Samuel, who was serving somewhere in Tennessee.

  The next three hours were like a Cinderella story.  Will and Laura clung to each other as if they were afraid someone would come and take them apart.  They seldom noticed the other guests at the social, and the one time that General Buford asked to dance with Laura, Will waited nervously like a man going through harsh withdrawal for the dance to finish.

  For Laura, the dance, with her prince charming holding on to her was as close to heaven one could ever hope to get.  Time went so fast, it was dusk before they even noticed it.  Neither had eaten, they were too full of thoughts of each other to pay attention to the complaints from their stomachs.

  Finally, the musicians took a well-earned break to satisfy their own hunger and thirst and they followed their example.  While eating, Laura noticed several riders coming down the road.  From the distance, a few of them looked familiar, and as soon as they came close enough to identify, she abruptly stood and exclaimed.

  "My brothers John Philip and James Thomas."

  "I thought they were in Kentucky with Colonel Falkner?" Will asked, seeing the puzzled expression on her face.

  "They're coming from up north, they must have gone home."

  They walked towards the road and met the two young men half way. Both were happy to see their sister but Will could tell they were hiding something from her.

  "You look so down cast," Laura finally stated.  "Is everything well at home?  Mother isn't sick, is she?"

  "Worse than that," John Philip stated with a sigh.  "You might as well hear it now Laura, the Yankees burned the farm, house, barn…everything."

  Laura put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, and then turned to Will.

"That's not all," John Philip continued, looking down at the grass as if he was afraid to look Laura in the eyes.  "It's George.  The Yankees shot and killed him.  He's dead."  James Thomas had said nothing, preferring that his older brother do the talking.

  "George?" Laura asked.  "Ten-year-old George?"

  John Philip shook his head, still looking at the grass.  "And Elizabeth Jane got word that Captain Jones was killed in northern Georgia.  Seems like everything bad is happening at once."

  Will was just as shocked as Laura.  His first thought was that he was responsible for the destruction of the farm and death of the young boy.  But, he still couldn't see why the Yankees would have done such a terrible thing.  There were a few despotic men among them, just as there were bad men in the south, but they were, for the most part, honorable men.  To kill a ten-year-old boy and burn a ministers home?

  Their wonderful day was suddenly shattered.  The Cinderella story had turned into a nightmare.  Laura turned with tears in her eyes and walked toward a group of dogwood trees away from the church.  John Philip started to go to her, but Will placed his hand on his arm and turned to catch up with her.

  For half an hour or more, Laura alternately sobbed and cried.  When the tears had finally dried up, Will held her until he saw a glint of resolve in her beautiful eyes.  By then the sun had set and lanterns has been lit and hung in and around the tents.  The sound of happy music and people dancing helped to soothe the hurt.  No matter what he said, Laura still felt it was her fault, that she had brought disaster and death to her family.

  It was the rough Sergeant Major who finally brought them out of their morose state.  Monday dropped by and handed both of them a large mug of warm apple cider liberally dosed with the potent moonshine and ordered them to drink it.

  "I know you're both blaming yourselves for what happened," Monday stated.  "Fact is, ain't neither one of you to blame.  If there's any blame to place, it's this stupid idiotic war.  Weren't no general or high muckey-muck done it.  Most likely, some wet-nosed officer or ignorant sergeant done the vile act.  Like the preacher said, God decides when it's a person's time to go, and God makes the call.  Can't nobody argue with the will of God.  You youngins got your lives ahead of you; you can't go messin' it up puttin' blame where it don't belong.  Best you do your mourning and git it over with then git on to livin'."

  With his piece said, the old Sergeant Major tilted the liquor jug, took a long gulp, then wandered back toward the tents and the happy sounding social.

  For a spell, they simply sat on the grass and looked at each other. Then, as the kind and intelligent words of the fierce mountain man soaked in, they started to smile once again.

  "I do want to marry you," Will stated, "as soon as possible.  I've wanted nothing else since the day I first met you."

  "Let's do it tonight," Laura replied.  "Let's ask the Reverend Young to marry us."

  "I would love to do just that, but I don't think it would be appropriate in view of the news we just received.  I know there is nothing we can do about it, but people will think we have no feelings of remorse if we marry tonight.  Besides, we're leaving for Tennessee soon, to get behind the Union lines, and I don't know when I'll be back."

  Laura looked back down into the mug she was still holding in her hand.  She knew Will was right, it wouldn't be proper to do such a thing.  But, she was tired of doing what was proper all the time.  She wanted to be his wife more than anything in the world.

  "When you return, we'll be wed?" she asked.

  "As soon as we can make the arrangements," Will replied.  "Perhaps by then, time will have soothed the pain everyone must be feeling now."

  "Do you believe in heaven?"

  "I believe in God.  If God loves us as they say, I think there is a heaven."

  "Will this horrible war end soon?"

  "The South does not have the materials or the manpower to fight the North much longer.  Each day that goes by, we become weaker, the North grows stronger.  Except for the leadership of such men as Bobby Lee, Longstreet, and Bedford Forrest, the war would have been over long ago.

  "Then why don't you resign your commission and get out of the war?  Why fight for a lost cause?"

  Will thought for a while before answering her.  The question was one which could not be answered with one word or one thought.

  "Honor and duty are two things which come to mind.  I have a duty to stand with my friends and neighbors against aggression.  To abandon them in the last hour would be dishonorable."

  "Then this horrible war will go on until one side or the other is totally defeated?"

  "I fear that may be the case.  They say that Bobby Lee has finally met his match in U.S. Grant.  Grant is a butcher, and he won't stop and lick his wounds and retreat like the other Yankee generals.  If he continues to push, we will run out of men and material in very short order."

  "I know it sounds terrible," Laura replied, "but I hope Grant pushes and pushes and pushes until this awful war is finished.  Then you can return to me and we can be wed."

  Will smiled down at her, then bent over and kissed her on the lips.  "I'll be back to you if this ol’ war lasts another ten years, even twenty years.  Will you wait for me?"

  "Forever, darling, even unto death."

  "Let's don't mention that word yet," Will smiled, "not until we're old and gray and have dozens of great-grandchildren."

  "I want a dozen kids," Laura blurted.  "All boys.  No, nine boys and one girl."

  "Only one girl?"

  "Girls are silly.  Besides, you'll need strong boys to help you build our home and plant the fields, and harvest the crops."

  "Then I'm to be a farmer?"

  "What's wrong with that?  Farmers are good people, hard workers."

  "I had thought to finish school and become a lawyer, a teacher, even a minister maybe."

  "No, not a minister.  They're too poor.  I want to have a big home and lots of conveniences and be able to throw grand parties for my friends and neighbors."

  He started to answer but was brought up short by a sudden cloud burst.  It began to sprinkle, then the rain suddenly let loose in torrents.  They started to run back towards the tent, then Will changed their direction, and headed for an old abandoned cabin across the road from the church.  By the time they made it inside, they were both gasping for breath and soaked to the bone.

  Inside, the cabin was dark and smelled of mildew and long stale air.  Will noticed a small pile of wood next to a stone fireplace, and within minutes they had a warm blaze going.

  Like pioneers, they sat on the cold wooden floor and watched the flickering flames.  For hours they simply sat and talked of small things, likes and dislikes, dreams, hopes and fears.  Both knew their lives had forever changed on that day a young farm girl saved a green lieutenant from the grasp of the enemy.

  Life was brutal, life was sad, but it could also be sweet, kind, gentle, and full of bliss and love.  Both knew their love for each other would last forever.