At this moment, Michael did not know what was awaiting him within his home. He sighed deeply as he opened the door.

Rachel looked intently at her husband of thirty-four-years. "What do you mean you're not going?"

Michael replied, "That's what I said."

"You're going to let Alexander go alone?"

"Right. That's his choice. Pap can do what he wants."

"Michael, how do you think that will look to everyone?"

"Don't think I really care."

"Well, I do!" Rachel pushed back graying tendrils of hair falling down from her upswept hairdo. Her countenance was not only one of concern but of increasing irritation at her husband.

"I'm not going, Rachel."

"I think Benjamin needs you there, too."

"I've got a lumber order to fill tomorrow."

"That's a lame excuse, Michael, and you know it."

Yes, Michael knew it was but he wasn't in any mood to relent. "My customers come first and I made a promise to have it ready."

"What kind of warped thinking is that? Your family comes first."

"That doesn't pay the bills."

"You are as stubborn as an old mule. You owe it to your son to help him through this."

"Oh, I do, do I? What about what he owes us? How about some respect and honor of the family name?"

She was exasperated. "Sometimes I don't understand you at all, Michael. You want Benjamin to honor you but when he might need you, you turn your back."

"He got into this. Let him get himself out of it."

"Well, you are wrong about this."

"Wrong, wrong! How the h.e.l.l do we know that he didn't mean to kill the kid?"

Those words made Rachel angry and she lashed out at her husband. "How dare you say that about our son. You know better! Benjamin does not have an evil bone in his body. I'm ashamed that you could even think that!"

Michael knew he was going too far but he ignored the impulse to stop. Rachel was going to defend her son no matter what he thought about Benjamin's actions. Although Rachel often would be rather pa.s.sive, when moved, she could become quite a tiger in her pa.s.sionate outcry. Especially when defending her children. That was a trait he often envied, and that was a trait he knew he too often lacked. He waited for her words as he knew what was coming next. Silas.

"If this was Silas in trouble you would have been there in a second," she said with condemnation.

"I don't want to hear about Silas."

"When are you going to face it, Michael? You've never treated Benjamin the same as Silas. For years it has been like that. And don't think for a minute that Benjamin doesn't know that."

He wondered why he always pushed Rachel far enough to the point where she would go into the comparison of his treatment of his two oldest sons. Was it that he wanted to hear that from her as the only way he knew to confront the guilt he carried? Did he have to hear it from her lips so he could get defensive and deny it?

His response this time was no different from any other time. "That's not so," he told his wife. "I'm done talking about it. I'm not going." He turned away and went up the stairs toward his bedroom.

Rachel remained silent as she watched her husband ascend the stairs. When he was out of sight she sighed and shook her head. "Oh, that man," she mumbled under her breath.

Chapter Twelve: Sat.u.r.day, the 23rd Day of May 1863.

Young's Point, Louisiana My Dear Beloved Companion, It is once more I take pen and ink to inform you of my health which is tolerable good at present and I hope these few lines may find you and the children well. I have not received any letters from you, Janie, for some time. I know you must have your hands full with our little one, Katrina. Please excuse my not writing for weeks. I lost my Knapsack and everything in it and did not have anything to write with. It is only through the death of one of our boys that I again have pen and paper. I will try to write oftener.

We have been traveling steady for four or five weeks. After we lay three or four miles above Grand Gulf in full view of the gun boat fight below, we marched down that night and early the next morning before Grand Gulf we crossed the river into Mississippi the last day of April. That day we marched out into the country a few miles and stopped to eat. After that we continued our march and sundown did not stop us. About midnight we ran into the Rebels. They opened fire on us and we were ordered to fall down. Their sh.e.l.ls pa.s.sed over us as thick as heavy hail. We had to lay under their fire for some time until the officers could find position for our battery on a side hill out of danger of their sh.e.l.ls. I was never so frightened as I was that night. We had one man killed during the night. But by morning, I was as cool as a cuc.u.mber.

A while after sunup we were ordered to pitch into the Rebels. We marched through a sugar cane break into open field. The Rebels were in another break and we opened fire on them. They wounded four of our company in a short time. Later in the day, Alvy Smith was wounded. I helped carry him out and I did not go back. I was with Alvy when he died. Although I had been in the hottest part of it, I fired only twelve rounds.

Our regiment made a charge on Black River Bridge. We were successful in taking it along with about sixteen hundred prisoners but we lost a great many men in a short time. We had about one hundred twenty-five or thirty men killed and wounded. We had three killed in our company and the 29th Memphis.

We came up the river with prisoners. We now have between three and four thousand prisoners and it takes three regiments the size of the Iowa 23rd to guard them.

You would not believe a regiment could decrease as fast as this one has in three weeks. We now number only between two and three hundred able for duty.

At Black River Bridge, Irvin Benson was killed, George Culver was wounded in the leg, and Uncle Perry McCord was wounded in the leg and it had to be taken off.

After fighting eight days we left Young's Point last Monday. I cannot tell you how much longer we will have to fight before we take over Black River Bridge but we do have it completely surrounded. I cannot tell whether we will go back there from here or go further up river. The word is that we might take prisoners up river but I do not count on that.

I must bring my letter to a close. We are on a boat and it is so crowded that I can hardly write. So this will be all for this time.

Your loving husband, Silas

Chapter Thirteen: William.

"Miss's Madeline, come quick! Ta so'dier, he got Sadie out in da yad." The old Negro's dark eyes were wide and he was panting heavily. "Hurry, Miss's, hurry!"

Alarmed, Madeline dropped her knitting beside her on the sofa and jumped to her feet. "Where is she, Nicholas?"

Nicholas's calloused, trembling finger shook as he pointed toward the back of the house. "Out da kitch'n!"

Madeline hurried to the desk, pulled open a drawer and picked up a revolver and dropped it into her dress pocket. Nicholas's eyes grew even larger as he saw the revolver and his feet began to dance around. "Oh, Miss's, dat not good."

"You let me worry about that, Nicholas."

He shrugged his big shoulders. "Yes, Miss's. I not worry," he lied.

She followed her servant to the kitchen. The door slammed hard behind them as they ran across the yard toward the peach orchard. At the edge of the orchard a Rebel soldier had Sadie by the arm and was attempting to drag her into the orchard.

Madeline called out, "Soldier, let her go!"

The uniformed older man looked her way but continued his movement into the trees.

Nicholas stopped in front of Madeline, attempting to block her way. His old craggy face was filled with anxiety and his voice shaky as he said, "Miss's Madeline, you betta not go there."

She brushed Nicholas aside as she moved onward. When she reached the grove of trees, the soldier had Sadie on the ground and was holding her in place with his boot on her chest. He was unb.u.t.toning his pants and laughing. Sadie, her face covered with her hands, was crying but not struggling.

Madeline stopped close beside the man. She said quietly but firmly, "You just leave it in your pants."

The soldier, obviously drunk, staggered slightly as he faced Madeline, not moving his foot from the center of Sadie's chest.

His voice rough, he told her, "I'm just borrowing your n.i.g.g.e.r for a few minutes, lady."

"Oh, no you're not." She ordered in a voice of authority, "Get your foot off her."

He laughed, his eyes narrowing, "Hey, maybe you, huh? Who needs a n.i.g.g.e.r wench when someone as fine as you is here."

Madeline was standing close enough to him that when he moved his foot from Sadie's chest and moved in her direction she could smell the stench of stale whiskey. She took a couple of steps back but he staggered toward her. "Yeah, mighty fine. Come here, pretty lady." He reached out for her.

Nicholas moved toward the soldier. The soldier saw his movement and turned to him. "You just stay right there, n.i.g.g.e.r man," he demanded. "I'm talking to the pretty lady."

Nicholas saw the warning from Madeline's eyes and stayed where he was. Sadie remained on the ground but her face revealed terror.

The Rebel returned his attention to Madeline. He gruffly laughed as he watched her. "Your n.i.g.g.e.rs won't save you, will they?" He moved closer and Madeline stepped back, staying out of reach.

He reached his hand out. "Come on, we'll go into the trees where we can have a little privacy. You're too pretty to have a n.i.g.g.e.r audience."

She told him, "Don't get any closer, soldier."

He laughed again. "Come on, sweetie. Let's not make this complicated." He moved forward and reached for her arm. She avoided his grasp and stepped away.

His voice reflected his anger. "No games, sweetie! You get your a.s.s over here," he commanded, pointing to the ground at his feet. His right hand was now on the grip of his holstered revolver.

Madeline moved swiftly and he never saw the revolver fly from her pocket until the moment of the flash from the barrel. And it was then too late. The impact of the bullet exploding in his chest threw him off his feet and backward. He hit the ground with a thud and a gasp.

Sadie let out a yelp and jumped to her feet. Nicholas's big eyes scanned the area but he remained silent. Dogs barked but no human sounds were heard.

Madeline lowered the gun and returned it to her pocket. She turned to Nicholas and said, "See if he's still alive."

Nicholas shook his head. "Nah, he ain't." He walked over to the man's body and knelt down and examined him with his eyes. He looked up at Madeline. "Nah, Miss's Madeline, he's a dead."

Sadie ran to Madeline. "Oh, ma'am, what we do now?" She was frightened as her eyes searched Madeline's face. "What if they come alook'n for him? What do we do with him?"

"They won't. I think he's a deserter," she replied.

"But what do we do with him?" Sadie repeated.

Madeline sighed and said, "We dig a hole and bury the poor soul."

Sadie grabbed Madeline's hand and kissed it. "Oh, thank you, ma'am. You saved Sadie from the evils of this man. Thank you."

"I saved both of us, Sadie. Probably all three of us." Madeline now knew what it was really like to be in war. She had just killed her first Rebel soldier, and she knew it was her duty to do so. A soldier does not have to like what he (or she) does. She just has to do her duty and do it without fear. And surprisingly, she had no fear. She did not have even regret, except maybe a little sadness for the family he might have left behind.

Madeline turned to Nicholas. "Bring out three shovels, Nicholas." He nodded and walked out of the peach orchard toward the barn.

Madeline reached up and touched a branch of peach blossoms. Petals sprinkled down onto her and onto the ground. She sighed, looked at Sadie and said, "Maybe this war will be over soon, Sadie."

Sadie nodded. "I pray for that, Miss Madeline."

"When it is, I'm leaving Virginia."

Sadie raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh."

"Yes, I'm going home. I don't belong here. I belong in Iowa. You ever been to Iowa?"

She giggled. "'Course not, ma'am. Only Virginia, my whole life, right here on your plantation."

"It's Mr. Taylor's plantation, Sadie. It's never been mine and it will never be," she said. "I'll take you with me, if you'd like to go."

"You bet, ma'am," she said with a pleased smile. "You bet I would!"

The last shovel full of dirt was put atop the discreet grave of the Confederate soldier. His name had been Joseph Cantell. Madeline had hesitated only for a moment before dropping his identification paper into the grave on top of his chest. She had gathered his weapon and ammunition, including a sheathed knife, and gave them to Nicholas to conceal in some remote hiding place. Nicholas had covered the fresh spaded ground with mulch from the orchard and satisfied that the grave would go unnoticed, he carried the shovels toward the barn.

Madeline and Sadie started for the house when Madeline saw the horse and rider approaching. "Sadie, you go on to the house, and don't look back."

"But ma'am, you don't know who that might be."

"Do as I say. I'll take care of it."

"Yes, ma'am." Sadie increased her stride and skipped off to the main house.

Madeline, her face clouded with concern, stood at the edge of the orchard and awaited the approach of the rider. When he was fifty feet out, she saw it was Lieutenant William Edson. He smiled and tipped his hat to her as he approached.

Hiding any unease she felt, she returned his smile. As he dismounted, his face was warm and friendly and for a moment she felt her anxiety fade away. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Taylor."

"Well, h.e.l.lo there Lieutenant Edson. Might I ask what brings you out here?"

"Just pa.s.sing through. I saw you in the orchard and thought I'd stop for a moment. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, Lieutenant. It's nice to see you. How have you been?"