"You stay strong while I'm away, Pap. I don't want to hear any stories that you're working too hard, either."

Alexander chuckled. "Afraid these bones won't let me work too hard anymore, Benjamin."

"Did my father tell you we settled some matters and things are better 'tween us."

"Yeah, he told me. Funny how people can hold in those things and hurt so much, isn't it?" He studied Benjamin intently.

"I know," he said, aware his grandfather was waiting for him to say more. "I talked to her and told her goodbye, if that's what you mean."

He smiled. "You're a smart boy."

"Don't I wish. If I was smart I never would have let her go years ago."

Alexander reached out and put his hand on Benjamin's shoulder. "Sometimes life is a mystery and we don't know why things happen like they do. It just is what it is. We just have to learn to roll with it, take the ups and downs, take the good things and live through the bad things."

"If you say so, Pap. You're the one around here with all the wisdom. Don't know what we'd all do without you."

"Ah, Benjamin, you'd all be just fine. You got some strong blood in you, and you're a Storm man, and we make good, strong Storm men. And don't you forget it." He chuckled. "Now, you get on your way and you stay out of trouble, you hear?"

Benjamin laughed and then hugged Alexander. He told him, "Thanks for everything, Pap, thanks for being there for me."

Alexander chuckled, "Ah, h.e.l.l, you're my grandson. Of course I'm here for you."

Chapter Fifty-three: Sunday, the 18th Day of September 1864.

Morganzia Bend, Louisiana Dear wife, I seat myself this Sabbath morning to answer your letters. I hardly know what to write as we have been still for sometime. We had general inspection yesterday and company inspection this morning. Although we have been here for some time, we may leave within six hours but are not likely to be gone more than three or four days. Our men have been skirmishing with the Rebs and I understand that the Rebs have retreated across the Atchafalaya River. A force of our men have been sent around to the rear of them to gobble them. Whether they will be successful or not, I cannot tell. I heard that the Rebs had taken seventy-five of our men and our men had taken eighty of the Rebs. I cannot tell if it is so or not but one thing I do know is I heard cannonadering yesterday morning between two and three o'clock. I was on guard and was up in the afterpart of the night and I heard a dozen shots fired. And yesterday while on inspection a gun boat sh.e.l.led the woods. The Rebel force is estimated at 1,800. Our boys killed or wounded is very light.

Well, Jane, we have an old regular in command of our brigade and he makes us drill twice a day, company drill in the morning and brigade drill in the evening, and dress apparel at night. It is healthy for us but some of the boys growl. Some would growl if the general fed them on sweet cakes and pies.

I just returned from dinner, Jane, and I will go on with writing my foolishness. I said some boys would not be satisfied fed on sweet cakes and pies but I am satisfied with hard tack and worms in them half-an-inch long and bugs that would weigh a pound.

Since I have went so far here I will explain myself. We have had the poorest grub here at Morganzia that we ever drew. Our meat and coffee is as good here as any place we have been but our crackers are pretty nigh all wormy. We draw some flour and get it, but baked beans, rice, and sugar is the same here as any place else. It's not the government's fault that we get such grub, it is the Quartermaster's fault. Our General says we shall draw flour while we stay here but cannot get potatoes and onions at present. They are very scarce yet. Potatoes are worth $7.20 cents per bushel here. But I am hearty now and I can eat whatever grub we have, but when I am not well it is hard to eat such grub.

The greatest trouble with us now is tobacco. We have no place to buy and we have not been paid for some time. We have to do the best we can. I think we will be paid soon.

This is the pleasantest day I have seen this side of Texas. This year we have had tolerable cool nights but generally warm days. It is foggy in the morning and that you know is August weather.

Please send me a dollar's worth of stamps on receipt of this and you will oblige me.

I must close by saying our regiment will go for Lincoln by a large majority.

Tomorrow will be two years since we were sworn into the United States Service. One year from today if I live I will think considerably of seeing my Janie and my two children.

Your husband, Silas

Chapter Fifty-four: Twilight.

James Garrison had not allowed himself to think of his wife, Lucinda, for some time since he brought Rebecca into this life. For many months he had missed Lucinda, missed their lovemaking, their teaching together, missed her smile and her laughter. Early on after leaving Iowa he often cursed each mile that was between them, usually five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred or more as the crow flies. Although he loved her, somehow the memories of her had begun to slowly fade away and were being replaced by his time with Rebecca.

Two women had his heart. He was in love with Rebecca. There was much to love about her. He loved her open s.e.xuality, her beauty, her humor, and even the war had not satisfied his sense of adventure, but Rebecca fueled it, excited him, and he loved protecting her, not only from the present but from her past.

She had shared the pain of her early childhood with him, telling him details of the s.e.xual madness of the preacher man who was said to be her grandfather. She told him about the man who saved her from that and showed her how love could be. She told him of the other men she had pleased, most without any emotional attachment, and James and to admit to her he loved hearing the stories. Actually it turned him on, gave him an odd sense of being her protector now, and she turned him on with her s.e.xual knowing. He did not care where she had learned all she had learned about sensual ways to please him and to please herself. She was good at it and his sense of adventure was fulfilled every time he reached out and drew her close to him.

With Rebecca constantly on his mind, there no longer was room there for Lucinda. It had been quite some time since he had written a letter home to his wife, or to his mother, and he did not allow himself any guilt. And to keep the guilt away, he had not even opened the last few letters Lucinda had written. In his quiet moments he wondered why. Had it been the rape of his beautiful wife that had done something to his psyche, or was it living in the present, living on the edge, with the new woman in his life. He didn't know, and he really did not want to spend time trying to figure out the answer.

There also was not a lot of room in his mind for the war and his safety.

He did not see the attack coming. The bullets found their mark and threw him backward onto the hard ground.

And that was the last thing he remembered for much longer than he realized.

Rebecca went with James when he was transported to the field hospital where he had surgery to remove several bullets. The worst of his wounds was his left leg. Apparently the bullet had hit the artery in the lower leg, and they were able to stop the bleeding but it was likely the lack of circulation below the wound would kill the lower leg and foot and he would undergo an amputation of his leg, but the doctor held off on that until he felt James was more stable. The doctor told Rebecca there was danger in waiting as James may well get gangrene and an infection, and the next twenty-four hours were going to be a critical time for his welfare.

James awoke from surgery and even though his mind was still clouded by the effects of the chloroform anesthetic, and he felt waves of nausea, he was glad Rebecca was with him. He reached out to touch her.

"You're going to be just fine, James," Rebecca told him. She had a wet cloth in her hand and placed it across his forehead. "This should help," she said. "Just close your eyes and be still."

He followed her advice and in a couple of minutes his eyes opened big. "What happened to me?"

She told him about the shooting, about the bullets that were removed but did not tell him what the doctor had said about his leg. They would know soon if circulation was blocked or if infection set in and if it would be impossible to save his leg. She did not want to think about it nor did she want him to know.

But she knew he would know soon enough that something was wrong with this leg as the pain would come as the effects of the anesthesia wore away.

And it wasn't long until he was in pain, tremendous pain. He was given opiates and Rebecca prayed it would dull his pain soon.

The next day the swelling from infection had already done damage and James was running a fever, and it was climbing higher. The doctor decided he had to amputate James's leg before the infection spread throughout his body and gangrene set in, and it would, very soon.

James's pain was so intense that he knew very little else, and the whiskey and opiates he had been given in the hopes of averting pain had not helped much. He had tried to sleep to get away from the pain, but he could only doze off a few minutes and then the pain would force him awake again. No matter what position he was in, the throbbing nearly sent him out of his mind. And although he was not sure what the surgeons were about to do, he welcomed the chloroform cone over his nose and mouth, anything to take him away from the extreme pain.

Rebecca had to leave as she could not be close by as they sawed off his leg. She found a spot to be alone, away from the others, and cried. She felt helpless, and almost overcome with fear that James might die. She had no idea how long she had been crying but she wiped her face on her skirt, got up and went back to the hospital tent.

She was met by a nurse. "Rebecca honey, he is out of surgery but is sleeping. We will keep him full of pain medication for now."

"Thank you, Hanna. Where is he?"

Hanna patted Rebecca's arm, "The last cot on the right," she said.

As Rebecca approached James, she saw the blanket no longer raised where his lower leg should be. He was asleep but she touched his face softly, hoping not to awaken him. She stayed with him well into the night and then returned to their tent and fell into a hard sleep.

She awoke to voices outside the tent and realized someone was calling her name.

"Rebecca honey, wake up."

She sat up immediately, realizing it was nurse Hanna. "What is it," she called out as she got up off the cot and pulled on her clothes. "Is it James?"

"Honey, he's gotten worse this morning. His fever is high, and honey, I hate to tell you but he may not make it much longer. I thought you'd want to be with him.

"Oh, no!"

"He knows his time is about gone. So you get yourself ready and come on over to be with him."

"Oh, Hanna. I don't want to lose him."

"I know, I know. It's not easy but you be strong now."

Where her strength came from Rebecca did not know except to think it came from James. He knew he was dying, and he was fading in and out and his fever was causing hallucinations at times. She tried to ease him through the hallucinations, tried to cool him down, wanted desperately to ease his pain, but there was really nothing that she could do to make it any better.

In one of his lucid moments when she asked what she could give him, meaning water or a cold cloth, he told her, "You can give me a lot of things, Rebecca, but you can't give me more time."

He was right. She could not.

James Campbell Garrison died that evening just after sunset.

Chapter Fifty-five: Sat.u.r.day, the 12th Day of November 1864.

Night Camp, Brownsville, Arkansas Dear wife, I have not had the opportunity to write for some time. I have not had a letter from you for more than six weeks. The mail has come to the regiment and the boys get some but I do not. I worry that something is wrong at home, or that you forget to write me because you do not hear from me. Well a soldier in the army has a very poor chance to write at best and sometimes no chance at all and the people at home can write whenever they feel like it. Us soldiers have to write when we can, but I will drop this thinking. Maybe I will get a letter soon.

We were at De Valls Bluff, Arkansas for some time. We went aboard the transport Nebraska and was ordered to report to the mouth of the White River. We arrived at the mouth of the river on the 16th and the next morning boarded the transport Shenango bound for De Valls Bluff, and there was soon talk of us going to Fort Smith. I hardly think we will go there but I would like to.

Well, Jane, there is considerable improvement going on in the South. A woolen factory is building in Vicksburg, and also a new cotton gin is in operation. Considerable improvements are going on at the Bluffs. A large depot is building and it is quite a business place. Mechanics get four dollars a day cash for work and also a circus was there but we are poor boys and have no money. We will get a lot of money when we are paid.

We were lucky in getting up the rivers without any shots being fired at us. I went into town and I saw the cars start out for Little Rock. A great many citizens are going to Little Rock, and this place affords some very nice looking women. It seems like home to me more than any place I have seen for sometime. I am getting to like the South very well. I expect I will want to live in the South after the war if I live to see it through. The hardest people I have seen in the South are those who are refuges and had everything taken from them and when they come to our lines they are about gone in, and I have to pity such people, especially the women and children but that is the only cla.s.s of people I can pity.

I understand that it was circulated in the Iowa papers that our regiment was going for McClellan by a large majority. Our regiment had been for Lincoln. I had said that I supposed that Mack would get 25 or 50 votes out of about 450 men and that is doing very well for Mack. I would have said our regiment was ignorant if they did not know enough to shun any man that expected the nomination by the Chicago Convention. That Convention made more Lincoln men in the army than it did Mack men. I could not support such platform or any set of men but one, and the majority of us were for Lincoln. Mack would have been better off running out Independent. He would have been much stronger but all things worked out for the better.

We got a chance to vote last Tuesday. Well, I must tell you how the election went as far as I know. Our regiment stood 362 for Lincoln, 38 for McClellan. The 20th Iowa stands for Lincoln by a large majority, McClellan only 24. The 35th Wisconsin, majority for Lincoln. The 12th Michigan, twelve hundred strong went 900 for Lincoln and 300 for McClellan. That is all I heard as we had to leave then on Wednesday and had to march to this place in one day and a half. We marched in sight of the railroad a greater part of the way. It was raining for three or four days before we marched. We marched through a prairie for most of the way and it was very level and the water was laying on the top of the ground. Consequently, we waded about six miles. We got through but many of the boys felt pretty cold and I felt cold and as old as the oldies of them. I cannot stand marching very well anyway and marching through water uses me up for a few days. We are in Brownsville, two miles and a half from the railroad.

You know where I am and how I am getting along when this letter was written so I will close.

Yours as ever, Silas

Chapter Fifty-six: Endings.

As soon as Lucinda Garrison held the letters in her hand, she knew. Both letters were from Union soldiers in James's regiment, one an officer. She was shaking as she returned to the living room, went to the desk, sat down and picked up the letter opener. She carefully opened the letter with the return address of the officer, trying not to tear the envelope. She pulled the folded paper from the envelope, opened it and began to read.

Dear Mrs. James Garrison: The United States Government, Army Division, is sorry to inform you that your husband James Campbell Garrison, has died from injuries suffered during his gallant duty as a Union soldier fighting for President Lincoln's Union.

He has been buried near the army hospital in Georgia. If you would like to make other arrangements to have his body sent home to Iowa for interment, please contact Colonel J. W. Tuttle at St. Louis and he will make arrangements.

You will soon be receiving your husband's personal effects which include a great coat, blanket, wool shirt, cotton shirt, neck tie, 2 photographs, a gold locket, a gold pen, 2 pair of wool socks, a wallet, three dollars. You will also receive his last pay.

I am so sorry for your loss but please know that James Garrison was a brave and outstanding soldier. His family should be proud. I send my personal condolences and the condolences of his fellow regiment soldiers.

Sincerely, Colonel Vernon Downey Lucinda then opened the second letter and it was from a friend of James, a Matthew Johnson, and he told her how sorry he was. With it was a note from another person, someone named Beck, someone she had not heard James mention. She read both notes and as she finished she felt like she was in the middle of a nightmare and would soon wake up and discover none of this had happened.

Oh, G.o.d! How she prayed it would all go away.

Catherine tried her best to comfort her daughter-in-law, Lucinda, but she found her own grief of the loss of her son was at times nearly overwhelming. And it was overwhelming enough that others were worried about her depression.

She had thought it would be much better after her and Daniel pooled their money with Lucinda's to bring James home for a decent funeral service and burial. She somehow had gotten through his funeral in such a way as to be there for Lucinda and give her support but soon after she fell into a depression and she knew it but could not seem to pull herself into a good place again.

Today was no different than the days of the last week. Each day one of the family would try their best to pull Catherine out of her dark times. Daniel spent most of his time trying to cheer her, even as far as neglecting some of his farm duties, and Elizabeth Jane tried cheering her with her grandchildren. Even Denny was aware of his grandmother's sadness and would do things to try and make her laugh more.

This time, again, it was Alexander who was spending some time with Catherine.

"Catherine, you've got to move beyond this," Alexander said as he sat across the table from her.

"I know, it is so hard," she admitted. "James's brother Robert has tried to make me feel better but it doesn't work. I love all my children but I guess James had this special place in my heart that Robert, Madeline, or even Janie, do not fill. He was such a delightful boy."

"Well, he was special, yes he was. But let me tell you something. I know him well enough to know he does not want you to be like this. You've always been so joyful, so sure of things, so in charge of life, and now, you are shrinking away from it."

She shrugged, "I know. I want to run away, to hide and pretend it did not happen and he is just off to war. It hurts deeply to know he's gone."

"Well, you make me that sandwich you promised and I'll tell you some stories about life, and about death."

She rose from her chair and said, "Okay, Alex, I will get you some food, can't have you starving, now can I?"

He chuckled, "You betcha."

As soon as she began preparation for making lunch, Alexander leaned back in his chair and began to talk of his early life and his time with his first wife, Sally. He said, "I know you've heard some of this before, but I think you need to hear it again. I had some difficult times when our babies died. Then when Sally became ill, when she lived in some other world of her own making, I felt so helpless. My heart ached, it ached for her, and then later for me as well. After she killed herself I thought I could never get over it, get beyond it. But I did. You might say the Mighty Lord helped me through those times, but there was something else I learned. They were still with me. I knew it often, I felt the presence of each of them, and one of them is often around me, and that is my little girl with the golden corn silk hair. She's never left me."

As Catherine listened her eyes filled with tears.

He continued, "Don't you know James is still around you, around Lucinda, around all his family?"