GLORY - II Chapter 2

Hearing the pounding of horse's hooves and the creaking springs of the small pram as it stopped in front of the house, Margaret Tyree picked up a lamp from the foyer table and quickly rushed to the front door. She well remembered the seething anger her husband had displayed as he hurriedly rushed out to look for Laura, and although she knew for certain that James would never physically harm his daughter, the tongue lashing he could and would vent upon her could be just as painful.

Her interference, where necessary, would also serve to calm the fire and brimstone minister. However, upon opening the front door, her eagerness and anticipation was curtailed by the unexpected sight of a third member of the party being assisted from the carriage by both James and Laura, a young, very attractive, but somewhat dirty and disheveled young man. Her short span of surprise was brought to an abrupt halt by the authoritative voice of her husband.

"Go heat some water and cut some clean bandages," he ordered, in an unusually calm and tender voice. "This young man needs immediate medical attention."

Margaret could tell from the expression on the young man's face that he did not care for all the fuss and attention being generated on his behalf, nor did he appear to be severely injured, at least from a cursory glance. Laura, on the other hand, standing several feet to the right of her father, looked as if she'd been in a fight. Her hair had come loose from the normal braid she wore and hung about her shoulders as if it had a life of its own, a small twig and what appeared to be a piece of briar bush was embedded in the mass of thick golden curls, and her dress had a dirty damp spot all across the back side as if she'd been sitting on the ground or in a mud puddle. Margaret wasn't sure if she even wanted to know what had happened in the Yankee camp much less her daughter's role in the entire sordid affair.

"Third shelf down, towards the back in the linen closet, you will find some old bed sheets," she told Laura, "go fetch a couple and bring them to the kitchen. Tell your sister, Elizabeth Jane, to join me there, you're far too young to be in the presence of a young gentleman who isn't properly dressed." Seeing the hesitation on Laura's face, she added, "Now hurry up, child, before this young man catches his death from cold."

Laura didn't have to look for Elizabeth Jane, the rest of the family had already crowded to the front door, pushing and jabbing and shoving in their eagerness to witness the scene unfolding in the front yard.

"Mom wants you in the kitchen," she blurted to Elizabeth Jane, as she hurriedly sliced her way through the gawking mob and rushed towards the back linen closet. Too young, she thought to herself, flustered by her mother's over-protective words. Wasn't for me, he'd still be hanging from that darn old tree. Always either too young or too old. Too young for real life, too old for make-believe.

"Who is he," the whispered question came from behind her. "Where'd he come from?" Turning around, she was confronted by the curious face of her fifteen-year-old sister Rebecca Ann, her pretty, freckled face no more than a few inches from Laura's.

"One of our boys," Laura answered, sounding as if the question was too silly or too stupid to answer. "He was a prisoner of the Yankee nigras, I freed him," she boasted, "well, me an’ Pa did, that is."

"He's awful purdy," Rebecca Ann stated, "reckon that's why you brung him home." Her meaning was more than clear to Laura who pushed past her without answering, a condescending look on her face as if she were avoiding a child. She and Rebecca Ann got along well with each other, but there had always existed a fraction of rivalry and competition between the two, especially considering the mere fifteen months difference in their ages and the fact that Laura tended more towards being a tomboy than Rebecca Ann. That Laura was more popular with the young boys who attended their father's services was understandable since she had displayed little or no interest in any one of them.

Upon entering the kitchen she noticed that the young man was sitting at the small kitchen table where the family had their meals on weekdays and on less formal occasions. He was bare to the waist, the torn and dirty remnants of his uniform blouse lying on the floor. Her mother and father were standing by the old potbelly stove that was used to heat the kitchen during the winter months and to boil water for coffee or tea. Her elder sister, Elizabeth Jane, was stoking up a small fire in the stove to heat water and probably warm leftover food for the poor, starved boy to eat.

"Place the sheets on the table and leave," Laura's mother ordered, her voice very stern and protective. As Laura complied and turned to leave, the young man spoke for the first time. "No, please don't leave," he asked, turning to address Mrs. Tyree. "Please don't make her go ma’am. I would like to thank her for probably saving my life."

"I don't know," Margaret replied, stealing a quick glance at her husband. "She's awful young to be experiencing things of this nature."

"Please, I insist," pressed the young man. "If not for her timely intervention, only the good Lord knows what those nigra soldiers might have done to us."

"Let her stay," Reverend Tyree solemnly stated. "The way she fought those two Yankee officers in their camp was a sight to see. She's a Tyree all right. She did justice in our name for standing up to the devil's spawn like she did."

Laura could hear pride in her father's voice, pride as well as a hint of resolve. Evidently her impulsive actions in the Yankee camp far outweighed the trivial matter of her earlier disobedience in her father's eyes. At least she hoped so.

"If you're going to stay," her mother relented, "go to the cupboard and get this young man some bread and butter. My! He must be famished after the ill treatment those heathens inflicted upon him. Hurry up with that meat and soup Elizabeth Jane."

Lieutenant William R. Welch was angry with himself for acting like such a weakling in front of this generous and gracious family, the more so because the prettiest girl he had ever seen had played a major role in his release from captivity. In his adventurous and daring mind, damsels in distress were rescued by brave young knights in shining armor, not the opposite way around.

His arms still ached from the agonizing way the Negro soldiers had hung them from the tree limbs and the welts on his back were very tender and painful. Why they had been so brutal and down-right beastly in their torture was beyond him. Although he had been at the battle and capture of Fort Pillow a few months ago, to his knowledge neither he nor any one of the men captured with him had been involved in the alleged Fort Pillow massacre. In fact, he had never met anyone who either admitted to being brutal or to having witnessed for themselves the alleged brutality.

He must be a sight to see, he thought to himself, aware of the polite but unnerving stares from the family around him. He hadn't washed in weeks and he must smell to high heaven, what with the dirt and grime and horse manure packed into his clothing. His mental brow-beating was suddenly interrupted by a question from the older sister, now tearing sheets into wide bandages.

"May I be so bold as to ask who our new house guest might be, sir?" she questioned. "You are obviously a member of our own army, as is my dear Tony who is in the service with General Joe Johnson somewhere near Atlanta."

Suddenly shy, he answered, "Third Lieutenant William Robert Welch ma’am, Company G, 8th Mississippi Cavalry. I've been with General Buford and General Forrest for a spell now. Most everyone back home calls me Will."

"And what did ornery old Bedford have you doing that placed you into the clutches of those heathen Yankees?" Reverend Tyree asked, sitting down heavily in a chair across the table from Will and pulling out a well-worn pipe and small bag of rich-smelling tobacco, which he began to prepare for smoking.

Will could tell from the look on the man's face that he and General Forrest were evidently well-acquainted. "We were rear guard, sir," he respectfully answered. "The Yankee cavalry set an ambush for us just south of Bolivar. The six of us fought a delaying action so the rest of the company and the General's headquarters section could escape to Ripley. We almost got away, but two men were shot and an entire Yankee regiment got between us and freedom."

"Then you and your small patrol sacrificed yourselves for the freedom of your fellow soldiers, "Reverend Tyree declared in a matter of fact tone. "An admirable and brave thing to do young man, very admirable indeed."

Uncertain how to respond to the reverend's praising remarks, Will simply kept silent and turned his attention towards Mrs. Tyree who was preparing to clean his wounds with warm water and a soft damp cloth. As she patted the raw areas made by the whip to remove the dried blood, pure agony shot across his back. Knowing full well that both young ladies were watching him intensely, he held back any groans or signs of pain even though a simple touch made him want to scream with release and climb the walls to get away from the unintentional torture.

Mrs. Tyree, no stranger to pain, and well-schooled in the mannerisms of young boys who would rather die a thousand deaths than to admit to discomfort or pain in view of pretty young girls, draped the hot rag over his wounds to soften the encrusted blood and turned her attention to helping with the food.

Reverend Tyree, puffing contentedly on the bellowing pipe, pointed at Will and said, "Got two boys ourselves fighting under Colonel Falkner from down Ripley way. Don't suppose you'd know them, though, army being as big and spread out as it is?"

"Don't know many of Colonel Falkner's men, sir," Will replied, suddenly aware of the wonderful aroma of warming food. Several days had come and gone since his last meal, that being no more than old cornbread and a small gamy piece of greasy fatback choked down quickly while still in the saddle. "Word is they're up in Kentucky recruiting, but they'll be joining us at Tupelo if the rumor holds true."

"They'll be joining Bedford in Tupelo," Reverend Tyree corrected. "Don't forget General Sturgis will be back tomorrow to pick you up young man, and I gave my oath as a man of God that you would be here for that rendezvous."

The punctual manner in which he delivered those words told Will that he had every intention of keeping his pledge. Both Laura and Elizabeth Jane glanced at their father, then in the direction of their mother who stared back at them with a noncommittal look. Her lack of reaction told them she agreed with and had no intentions of challenging their father's resolve in the matter.

As she placed a large bowl of thick, rich soup in front of Will, she remarked, "I'm certain you understand our position. We couldn't possibly risk the wrath of the Yankees by allowing you to escape. General Sturgis, although seemingly a gentleman and man of honor, is still a Yankee and has been known to be without pity when dealing with civilians who dared to defy him. Not only that, the Yankees have been increasing the number of atrocities they have been committing against innocent Confederate patriots."

Well aware of the Union atrocities brought down on patriotic Confederate citizens, Will nodded his head and picked up the soupspoon. The steaming soup was more than delicious, it was absolutely heavenly, and the large chunk of corn bread, generously spread with fresh butter, seemingly melted in his mouth.

While eating, as mannerly as his starving body would allow, his gaze kept returning to the beautiful young girl leaning against the kitchen sink. For some unknown and inexplicable reason, he was drawn back to her each time he tried to look away. True, she was undoubtedly the prettiest young lady he'd ever seen; however, pretty girls had never bothered him before, much less made him feel all funny inside. Something about her was different other than just in the physical sense.

Closely watching Will as his gaze continued to wander towards Laura, Mrs. Tyree suddenly remembered. "My goodness," she exclaimed, placing a small platter of leftover roast in front of Will, "We forgot to even introduce ourselves. How impolite and un-Christian of us. This," she continued, pointing at her husband, "is Reverend James
Tyree, my daughter Elizabeth Jane, and the one you wanted to thank, Laura Jean. I, of course, am Margaret Eleanor Tyree."

"Thank you for your Christian hospitality ma’am," Will responded, the cutting edge of his hunger finally dulled. "And thank you in particular, Laura, for your brave intervention with the Yankees. I owe you a debt I fear I can never repay."

Laura found that she could still say nothing, for the constriction in her throat would not go away and her breathing was heavy and unpredictable. She feared she might croak like a frog if she so much as opened her mouth. Instead, she simply nodded her head and played with the dishcloth. What's wrong with me, she questioned herself? I'm too old to be acting like a silly young girl with a crush. I've been around a lot of boys many older than me. Heck, I've even wrestled with them, even beat a few of them. This feeling just ain't natural.

But her eyes would not leave his lanky figure as he continued to devour the food placed in front of him. He wasn't a real tall man, perhaps a few inches shorter than her father who stood at an imposing six-foot one, but even sitting in the chair he seemed to dominate his surroundings. He had sandy blond hair, somewhat on the long side, and a smile that brought forth cute little dimples. A slight hint of dimple also creased his chin, but the most dominant feature of all was his sparkling blue eyes. A girl could get lost forever in them and never find her way home. There was nothing out of the ordinary about his physique, other than the fact that he was muscular and well-proportioned, but leaning towards the slim side.

Reaching down and picking up his torn and dirty uniform jacket from the floor, Margaret Tyree remarked, "There's no way to salvage this, I'm afraid. My son, James Thomas, left a uniform jacket here for me to mend, you'll just have to take it. Can't have a young officer walking around out of uniform, now can we, young man?"

Will answered her with a warm smile and a nod of his head since his mouth was stuffed with meat and cornbread.

"Of course, James is a first lieutenant so I guess you'll just have to accept the promotion," Mrs. Tyree continued. "Unless you prefer that I sew your rank on to one of John Philip's gray jackets."

Choking down the mouth full of food, Will replied, "No ma’am, no need to bother. Long as they know I'm a soldier, the Yankees should be satisfied. Least they can't shoot me for being a spy."

"Don't believe I'm familiar with the 8th Mississippi," Reverend Tyree remarked, tamping down his pipe for another smoke. "Reckon they don't come from around these parts. Of course, I don't know all the units that have been formed lately, even Bill Falkner's outfit is on again off again."

"Actually, sir, we're the 19th Battalion under Colonel William Duff. Most of the boys are from down south, Calhoun and Lowndes counties," Will answered. "We were with Colonel Jeff Forrest when he was killed near Okolona then assigned to Colonel McCulloch. Word has it we're going to be filled out to regimental size and designated the 8th
Mississippi as soon as we get to Tupelo. Probably be assigned to Colonel Rucker's brigade, at least we'll be under General Forrest." His voice sounded as if General Forrest was some kind of idol or demigod that he was looking forward to worshipping.

The heat from the old potbelly stove had spread throughout the kitchen raising the temperature to an uncomfortable and exceptionally humid level. It had so far been a very hot and wet spring and it looked as if the approaching summer was eager to beat the early records that spring had set.

Many farmers who had the misfortune to own bottomland had not yet planted crops due to the high flood stages of most of the local creeks and small streams. Luckily, Reverend Tyree's cleared acreage was on a gentle sloping hillside with good drainage, and although seed grain was in short supply, he had managed to save enough from last year's
crops to put in twenty acres of corn and five acres of new potatoes. Mrs. Tyree, due to her frugal nature, had saved enough seeds and cuttings to put in a large, two-acre family garden that, though back breaking labor, would provide fresh vegetables for the summer and canned vegetables for the short winter months.

He and his brothers John and Luke were among the first settlers in Tippah County, arriving in the early thirties as soon as all or most of the Indians had been relocated. John had been killed in Mexico and Luke had died several years later with the fever. With the help of his neighbors, he and his family had survived, had even prospered, until now.

With the Yankee army stealing or destroying half the farms in the area, a man never knew from one day to the next if he and his family were safe or not. They were like the Biblical plagues visited upon the Egyptians; unavoidable, unwanted, unexplainable.

"Laura I think it's time you went upstairs and got out of that dirty dress," Mrs. Tyree suddenly remarked, still remembering the excessive attention the young man had been giving her. "It's getting on to bed time any way, and that goes for everyone else standing outside the kitchen!" her mother added in a loud voice.

Although the words in themselves had no real impact on Laura, the look her mother gave her signified all that was necessary. It was the proverbial look of, me mother, you daughter, you obey. Laura looked at Will to determine what reaction, if any, her mother's statement may have had on him. She was disappointed to see that he had not even heard it, or chose to ignore it. Either way, she was suddenly downcast and disappointed. All she could do was obey.

Hours later, unable to sleep due to the rampant thoughts coursing through her mind, Laura got up from bed and sat in the small wicker chair next to her window, pushing the thin curtains aside to gaze at the moonlit front yard. It had been a while since she had heard any sound in the house. Her parents had gone to bed some time ago, climbing the creaking stairs with a few whispered words, then silently disappearing into the large master bedroom on the opposite side of the
house from her room.

She had heard one of her brothers noisily using the chamber pot, and Skeeter, the old mongrel dog, growling at something in a nearby bush, then all had been still and quiet. The only noise came from within her own head where her thoughts continued to beat like savage drums.

As she pressed her bruised knuckles to her lips, the memory of the tall Yankee officers pushed forward into her thoughts, and her anger started to rise within her again. But, it was suddenly cooled as yet another picture quickly formed and forced its way to the front; the hate-filled eyes of the Negro sergeant, full of venomous anger and overflowing with inner turmoil. The look on his face still brought forth a shudder of fear. It was as if he had assumed the role of all the nightmare images she had ever conceived.

Must not think of it, she told herself, pushing her thoughts in another direction. The image of Will suddenly filled her head, for the hundredth time since she had gone to bed. Those hypnotic blue eyes still mesmerized her. His brazen white smile and cute little dimples made her feel all warm and funny inside.

Another, more sinister thought suddenly popped into her mind. What will the Yankees do with him? Will they torture him to force him to give information? What if they turn him back over to the nigra soldiers? Wonder where they put him to sleep? Pa's smoking room? Probably. There was an old couch in there that Pa sometimes slept on when he stayed up late working on a lengthy sermon. Tomorrow, the Yankees will take him away and I'll never see him again.

Is that important? She quickly asked herself. Suddenly, she knew that it was. She didn't know why, simply that the thought of his leaving, regardless of where he went, created a hollow feeling in her chest and an anxiety in her mind. Just as quickly, she also realized that she must see him one last time, talk to him, feel his warm presence.

Always a slave to impulsiveness, Laura slipped her robe over her nightgown and quietly made her way to the door. Before opening it, she again asked herself, why? Again, the answer that came back was Will’s face and the remembered words of Albert/Jenny, why not? Having easily conquered the rickety stairs, for she had learned the secret, quiet places to step from innumerable childhood trips to the kitchen late at night while her parents slept in unknowing slumber, she headed directly for the study and silently opened the door.

To her surprise a small fire burned in the old fireplace near the window and the bittersweet smell of burning tobacco permeated the room. The young Lieutenant was sitting on the floor near the fire, puffing on one of her father's old pipes, his gaze hypnotically drawn to the burning embers, the flickering light dancing across his strong, handsome features.

It was one of those unexpected moments in time that she wished would last forever. However, whether from her sudden appearance or from the slight draft created by opening the study door, the young man turned and stared vacantly in her direction, a look of contentment on his face. He was not startled when she spoke, almost expecting it.

"Couldn't sleep," Laura whispered, as an excuse for being where she was. She moved closer to the fire. "Thought I'd check on you, make sure you didn't need anything." She knew it was a lame excuse, but it was the only one she had, the only one that readily came to mind.

"Me neither," Will replied, although he had not slept in over 48 hours. She could tell that he also had a lot on his mind. Without asking permission she lowered herself to the floor next to him and sat facing the fire, feeling the heat wash over her to add to the heat flowing inside her. Hidden beneath the strong tobacco smell she could detect the aroma of lye soap, and very faintly, a hint of alcohol. It had to be the medicine her mother spread on his wounds for her father had no tolerance at all for the devil's spirits, as he called whiskey or any other beverage containing alcohol.

"What will they do with you?" Laura asked, bringing out the thought that had been bothering her the most. "The Yankees, I mean, what will they do? They won't turn you back over to the nigra soldiers will they?"

Will, thinking along the same lines for a while now, tried to sound confident when he replied. "No, don't reckon they will. They'll probably send me to one of the prisoner of war camps up in Kentucky or Ohio. Last I heard that's where most of the prisoners from this area are winding up."

"Elizabeth Jane's husband, Captain Tony Jones, was captured after Shiloh," Laura interrupted. "He was exchanged within a few months for a Yankee Captain that we held prisoner. Think mayhap you'll be exchanged like that? Her voice sounded both hopeful and uncertain.

"It's almost unheard of nowadays," Will replied, "unless it's some real high-up general. Guess the Yankees finally figured they had a lot more men than we do so they can afford to loose a lot of them. I reckon once I get to the prisoner camp, unless I can somehow escape, I'll be sittin' out the rest of this here war."

"We've heard awful stories about the prisoner of war camps," Laura stated, backing away from the fire a few feet to escape the popping wood. "Tony said the food was like dishwater and there was no privacy or even sanitation. He said most of the men stayed sick and they were treated worse than slaves, sometimes even whipped or beaten."

Will did not reply but slowly nodded his head in agreement with her statement. Now that she was much closer to him and the fact that she had leaned even closer when she whispered, he could see the vibrant beauty and sparkling youthfulness of her face and smell the clean womanly scent emanating from her presence. She was young, probably
sixteen or seventeen, but there was no doubt that she was a fully developed and mature woman. Heck, I'm only nineteen myself, Will thought, barely a man. The more he looked into her twinkling emerald eyes, the more relaxed and serene he became. It was if she placed him into a trance, a warm, gentle, welcomed trance.

Laura also felt the sudden change in herself. Where, a few minutes before her blood had been racing and her heart going thumpety-thump, she now felt a calmness and serenity and sense of security and safety. His presence had not only a calming effect, it acted as a source of power, a magnetic force that attached itself to her and wiped away fears and worry, flooded her with feelings of happiness, gaiety; cloaked her in a shroud of comfort and tranquillity. It was something akin to the way she felt for her father, but not quite, different somehow. She would give anything for this feeling, this time and place, to go on forever and forever.

She hugged her knees, staring into the fire, lost in comforting thoughts of nothingness. She was aroused from her lethargy by Will, who stated, "If this were another time and place and if things were different, I sure would like to ask your Pa if I could call upon you sometimes." His courtly intentions sent a sudden surge of blood to her heart, making it go thumpety-thump again. The palms of her hands became damp and clammy and when she answered, it was with a stutter of hesitation.

"I see no reason, Lieutenant, why we can't make plans for a later date." The formal way she spoke those words and the poor selection of words made her feel stupid and very immature.

"Will," he replied, "not Lieutenant. I only carry that title on account of the Army. Family and friends call me Will. And, after what you did for me, I feel more like you're family than merely a friend. Friend just ain't close enough to describe the feeling I get while you're sitting here like this."

"What do you mean?" Laura shyly asked. "What feeling?"

It was a while before he answered, but when he did, a sudden jolt of hope flooded her thoughts. "I feel all warm inside," he replied, "all warm and happy."

"Me too," Laura blurted. "I mean, I feel that way sitting here with you."

Her father had told her to always look into a person's eyes when she talked with them. A person might lie, but their eyes would always give them away. The eyes would always show the inner thoughts and secrets. Now, looking closely into Will's beautiful blue eyes, she saw only truth and honesty. She also saw the same look she often saw in her father's eyes when his gaze lingered on her mother. A look of contentment, one of possessiveness, understanding, and above all else, what she had come to identify as the look of love.

Unable to speak for fear she might croak or stutter or say something stupid, she returned her gaze to the slowly burning fire. Later, after what seemed like an eternity and after hours of meaningless small talk, she felt as if she had known him her entire life. The unexpected crowing of a rooster was the catalyst that finally broke the spell she was in. As if awaking from a long daze, she glanced at the old clock behind her father's desk. It was ten minutes until three in the morning. The crowing had been that of Nightcrawler, their old rooster who had his timing all messed up.
They had named him after the large worms he feasted on because he was always two or three hours earlier than the other chickens to arise and feed.

Her thoughts unexpectedly turned again to the venomous and hate-filled eyes of the Negro sergeant. Suddenly, the look of eventual revenge he had given her was all she could think about. That short look had been full of a thousand words. It told her that he would never forget her face or that of her father, even the face of Will.

Again, like an electric shock, her body jumped with sobering reaction as the thought of revenge on Will filled her mind with an overflowing feeling of dread. He will find him, she told herself. He will find Will and somehow take his revenge, maybe even kill him. Her eyes were wide as she turned to Will and said, "You can't go with them."

Will, uncertain what she was trying to say, simply looked at her with a questioning stare.

"You can't go with the Yankee soldiers Will," Laura repeated, grabbing his hand for the first time. "I know that nigra sergeant will find you. He will somehow find you and kill you."

"I can't escape now," Will replied, seeing the panic and fear on her face. "If I do, they may take it out on your family. They can be very evil and sadistic at times."

"But you don't understand," Laura came back louder than she intended. "I saw his face. He will find you and try his best to kill you. You will never make it to any camp!"

The urgency and certainty in her voice made him stop and think before replying. When he did it was with concern and a whispered silence. "You don't know what they may do. What about your family?"

"Pa is very good at talking his way out of bad situations. I'm sure if he knew what I know about the nigra sergeant, he would insist that you escape tonight. Besides, I'll take all the blame. I don't think General Sturgis, or any Yankee for that matter, will do anything to a sixteen-year-old girl. Please Will, you've got to go tonight!"

The imploring look on her face and the true certainty of the words she spoke brought Will to full adrenaline alertness. The Confederacy needed every man they could get or keep, Will thought to himself, eager to justify any reason to keep from spending the remainder of the war in one of the horrendous prisoner of war camps kept by both sides.

The Union was slowly but inexorably draining the irreplaceable manpower of the South. Attrition among many units had already reached epidemic proportions. Besides, it was his sworn duty to seek escape at any price. But, what will the Yankees do? Would General Sturgis take revenge upon the Tyree family if he escaped? Could he possibly live with the consequences if Sturgis did?

Looking again into Laura's sparkling green eyes, he knew he could not risk the prisoner of war camp or the possible vengeance of the nigra sergeant. Not if he wanted to live and someday return to claim this beautiful young girl as a bride. He now knew for certain this was what he wanted more than anything else in the world.

"I'll go," he finally replied, half-choking on the bitter words.

Laura, almost faint with sudden relief stated, "I'll get some meat and bread from the kitchen. You can use my sorrel horse, Squirrel. I will not add the sin of theft to all the sins I've broken this day. 'Sides, Squirrel is about the best horse on the farm anyway." She stood and motioned for him to follow, leading him in the direction of the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, as quietly as possible, Laura placed a loaf of white bread, some leftover meat, a small slab of bacon, and several other items in a flour sack. At the last minute she threw in a small frying pan with a broken handle and one of her mother's less used paring knives. Will stood absentmindedly watching her, his thoughts not on escape, but the beautiful girl before him. As they left the kitchen and quietly made their way towards the large barn, they were accosted by angry growling.

"Shut up, Skeeter!" Laura shushed in a loud whisper. "It's only me, you dumb old dog." In the barn they were once again startled by the unexpected flurrying and squawking of a large red rooster anxious to get out of their path. Nightcrawler, I presume, Will thought, as the frightened bird stood in a far corner clucking and making irritating noises.

The sorrel was one of the prettiest and best kept horses he'd ever seen. Even in the moonlight the mare's dark chestnut coat gleamed with a healthy shine. It was obvious that Laura had lavished a lot of attention and affection on the graceful animal. She was definitely a far cry from the over abused and worn out horses he was accustomed to riding in the cavalry.

Laura's offer to help him, combined with the gift of this wonderful, obviously cherished horse, made him suddenly hesitate. Why was she helping me? he thought. Why is she risking so much to help someone she had just met less than twelve hours ago? I know she has a strong Christian upbringing and her entire family is definitely very patriotic, but, to give up this fine animal, to risk everything, she must in some way care for me? If only that was so, he hoped.

"The saddle is one of Pa's old ones, so it should fit you," she stated. "I worked hard for it, so it ain't Pa's and I ain't stealing." After saddling the horse they slowly walked across a field for at least two hundred paces so that the animal's heavy pounding hooves would not be heard as he left. Before he mounted, he turned to her again. The full moon was out in bright force and brought out her beautiful features in exquisite detail. Her golden hair, hanging loose like a waterfall of molten gold, framed the perfect contours of her delicate, smooth face. So much like an angel did she appear.

Laura steadily gazed up into the liquid blue eyes of the tall man before her, his gentle face and achingly handsome features subdued by the shadowy moonlight. Suddenly, powerful but gentle arms embraced her and she felt the firmness of his muscular chest as he pulled her to him. Melting against him like soft taffy, she reached up and placed her hands behind his neck and pulled his head down towards hers. Ever so gently, their lips parted then met like burning embers, each trying desperately to quench the sweet raging flames that engulfed them. For a moment of eternity they held onto each other, the fast rhythm of their hearts beating as one, the world beyond completely forgotten.

With sudden sadness and an urge to grab and hold on to him, Laura felt the gentle release as he let go and quickly mounted onto the saddle. "I'll be back for you," he whispered, looking down at her. "I swear by God and all that is holy, I'll be back for you." Before she could answer, before she even thought of a reply, he turned the horse and slowly cantered across the field. She watched as he disappeared among the thick brush and blackjack oak. "Take care of him, Squirrel," she finally choked out. "Please take care of him." Then turning, she slowly walked back towards the house.

"Why in God's holy name!" Reverend Tyree yelled for the hundredth time. "Why, child?" His features were still clouded with red anger, his eyes swollen from righteous fury. Her mother stood to the rear, her features haggard and worried, her hands clasped in a vice-like grip on an empty coffee pot she had been holding as if it were a good luck charm to ward off evil spells.

Laura, for some unknown reason, without fear and without anger, once again answered. "The nigra sergeant would have kilt him Pa. If you would’ve seen the look he gave me in the Yankee camp, you would know I'm being truthful. I have never lied to you, have I?"

Reverend Tyree, his quick temper having finally having run its course, replied, "What's done is done." He turned to his wife Margaret. "I'd like some coffee dear." As he sat down heavily in his favorite kitchen chair, he continued. "You can't stay here, Laura. Lord knows what General Sturgis will do when he finds out. We've got to get you to some place safe for a spell, at least until the Yankees have left the area."

“She could stay with her cousin, Stephanie, down in Ripley," Margaret finally spoke. "I'm certain that the Pannell's would love to have her."

"Not Ripley," Reverend Tyree answered. "Too close. The Yankees go there far too often. She needs to be some place much further south; some place the Yankees would have no reason to go to."

"My cousin in Jackson would welcome her company," Margaret offered again, putting the coffee on to boil.

"And the Yankees in Vicksburg not more than forty miles away, I don't think so," he answered, his face suddenly lighting up. "I'll send her to my friend Doc Agnew's place!" he declared in a loud voice. "She and Letitia get along tolerably well, and Enoch being a man of medicine like myself, will keep her out of mischief. Not only that, the Yankees have absolutely no need or reason to ever go to a small place like Brice's Crossroads."

"It's such a long way James," Margaret stated, her voice full of concern and worry. "She can't possibly go by herself."

"I'll go with her Mama," Sara Beth spoke up, peeking around the kitchen door from her concealed listening spot, her young face aglow with eagerness.

"You're far too young for such a long and dangerous trip. Elizabeth Jane or Rebecca Ann will have to accompany her. Go fetch Mister Jacob for me," Margaret ordered, ignoring the look of disappointment on Sara Beth's face. "Will Mister Jacob agree to take them?" she asked her husband. "He's really getting on in years and it will be a hard journey on him, too."

Reverend Tyree did not answer, but simply nodded his head in a positive response. Turning to Laura he said, "Wake Rebecca Ann, get your things together. You'll both go and spend a month of so at Doctor Agnew's. I'll write him a short letter explaining the sudden need for your imposition into his home. Enoch will understand."

Turning again to Margaret he said, "I'll have Mister Jacob hitch up the buckboard, pack enough supplies for a couple of days. I know it's no more than a good day's trip but there are some bad roads and wild country south of Ripley."

As he was talking, a tall white haired elderly Negro man came to the kitchen door. Out of long years of habit and servitude he did not enter the house, but stood silently and patiently, waiting to be recognized.

He was a freed man. Reverend Tyree, a strong disbeliever in slavery or any form of servile indenture or penal bondage, had bought him from a domineering slave owner and immediately freed him. With no place to go and no real skills with which to support himself, Jacob had stayed with the Tyree family, living in a small room next to the tack room in the barn and working as a handy man.

"Mister Jacob," Reverend Tyree stated, opening the kitchen door and walking out, they were discussing the issue as they headed in the direction of the barn.

The Agnew's, Laura thought, as she slowly climbed the stairs to her room. They're only half a day's ride from Tupelo, and Will. Her heart began to beat faster at the thought and the possibilities. A thousand schemes were already flowing across her mind as she entered Rebecca Ann's room and picked up a small pillow from the rocking chair near her bed.

"Get up sleepy head!" Laura yelled, throwing the pillow at the sleeping form under the covers. How Rebecca Ann had managed to sleep through her father's raging voice for the past hour or more confused her. Perhaps she had heard but chose to ignore it. After all, their father was often loud and noisy in the early morning.

"Go away," Rebecca Ann ordered, turning over and pulling the blanket over her head.

"You'd best get up little sister, we are going on a long trip, the two of us, all the way down to the Agnew farm. And you'd better hurry and pack, Pa wants us outta here faster'n a hen can lay an egg."

"The Agnew's?" Rebecca Ann questioned, suddenly coming up from the bed, "all the way down there?"

Laura replied, "Yes and I'll explain why as soon as we're on the road. Now pack your things and make it quick."

Half an hour later with the buckboard loaded down and the old weathered face of Mister Jacob behind the reigns, the two girls climbed aboard. Although their dresses were not the latest in fashion and their parasols were weathered and fading, they were spotlessly clean and smelling faintly of cedar shavings and vanilla extract. Laura had insisted that she stay and face the Yankee General, but her father would not agree. No matter the repercussions, he had stated, he would not stand by while any member of his family was brow beaten by any Yankee invader. He was very adamant in his decision.

"Take good care of them, Mister Jacob," Reverend Tyree stated, patting one of the sturdy horses on the flank. "You can stay with the Agnews’ servants if you've a mind or you can come on back home."

"Yes suh, Reverend Tyree," Mister Jacob replied. "I take good care o’ your girls fo’ you. Don’ reckon I be stayin' wif the Agnew's though, I be back home shortly."

"Give my regards to Enoch, Laura," Reverend Tyree continued. "The letter will explain everything to him. Just you be civil and mind your manners. That goes double for you, Rebecca Ann. I expect both of you to do me honor by acting like civilized young ladies."

As the bouncing buckboard rolled down the dirt road, heading for Ripley, Laura's thoughts once again turned to the rapid events that had precipitated this sudden journey. The chubby face and bull neck of General Sturgis entered her thoughts to be quickly replaced by the slim visage of Albert/Jenny, the little soldier of the 95th. She hoped Jenny would somehow be safe and in her own way find true happiness. Although she knew she could never understand why Jenny chose to do what she did, she could sympathize with her need to be wanted. As soon as the vision of the Negro sergeant popped into her mind, she quickly replaced it with a vision of Will as he looked down at her from the saddle. Lost in thought, she paid little attention to their surroundings as the early morning sun climbed above the treetops.

General Sturgis read the dispatch for the third time. It was very important that he got the wording properly. General Washburn was a man who wanted things neat and concise and not one to read trivial details.

Upon reaching Ripley I found that the rear of Forrest's command had passed through that place nearly two days before, he read. It was here that I hoped against hope to intercept him; (General Forrest), but he was abundantly supplied with forage, and enabled to travel by day and night. Still, I should have continued the pursuit had it not been for the utter destitution of the country from Bolivar to Ripley, a distance of forty miles. My horses had scarcely anything to eat, and my artillery horses absolutely nothing. Had I penetrated one day's march farther, and found the forage equally scarce, I should not only have failed to overtake Forrest, but have been compelled to abandon my artillery and a great many cavalry horses. I need hardly assure you that it was with the greatest reluctance and after mature deliberation with myself and my principal officers, that I resolved to abandon the chase as hopeless. Though we could not catch the scoundrel, we are at least rid of him, and that is something.

"Sounds good," General Sturgis muttered to himself. "Concise, yet detailed." Folding the letter carefully, he placed it into the dispatch pouch. As soon as he got to Salem, he would dispatch a rider to General Washburn's headquarters. The General may be disappointed that he hadn't caught that devil Forrest, but surely he would have to agree with the logic of his reasons. Animals could only endure so much privation, and humans also, he thought, standing and heading for the front of his tent.

As he pushed open the flap, the bright sunlight made him wince and shade his eyes with his hand. It looked like it was going to be a perfectly nice day. It was already late in the morning because he had slept beyond his normal waking time, and the several drafts of the dispatch he had made to General Washburn had taken somewhat longer than he had anticipated.

Upon seeing him emerge from the tent, his escort commander, Lieutenant Colonel Hess, commanding about a hundred men of the 19th Pennsylvania Cavalry, strode up and threw him a sloppy salute. In his left hand he carried a bottle and two small tin cups.

"I pray you slept well, Sir?" Colonel Hess asked. "Can I have the Commissary Sergeant prepare you some breakfast?"

General Sturgis, remembering the superb meal he had eaten the past evening and the poor excuse for food the mess normally had to offer replied, "No thank you, Colonel. I believe I will forego breakfast this morning."

"In that case, Sir," Colonel Hess smiled, "can I offer you a small dollop of this very fine Tennessee whiskey?"

Smiling in return, General Sturgis nodded his agreement. "I want to be gone of this place within the hour," he finally replied, holding forth his cup for another generous libation. "Please see to it that Colonel Waring has his command in order."

"Yes, Sir. Should I pass the word to the infantry as well?"

"By all means," replied General Sturgis, "and Colonel Hess," he continued, "please send a detail to the Tyree farm to retrieve the Rebel prisoner we left there last night."

As Colonel Hess hurriedly left to see to his orders, the disturbing memory of the incident the previous evening flooded into Sturgis' mind. He didn't, as a usual course of action, acquiesce to the requests or demands of Confederate civilians or sympathizers, but the look the pretty young girl had given him was very bewitching. Plus, the arrogant stand of the colored sergeant was inexcusable. He was satisfied that he was morally, if not overtly, just in his decision. "The incident is moot now," he said to himself, feeling the warmth of the strong liquor as it spread throughout his empty stomach. "Maybe I'll have some breakfast after all," he muttered, signaling to get the attention of one of his aides.

"They're coming!" yelled George Tyree, rounding the corner of the chicken house as fast as his ten-year-old legs would carry him. "The Yankees are coming!" He tripped and went sprawling in the dusty yard as the rest of the family quickly poured out of the house.

Soon, a troop of around twenty Union cavalrymen entered the yard and turned towards the house. The young lieutenant in charge of the detail halted them smartly then saluted.

"Sir," he stated, his young voice almost cracking. "General Sturgis' compliments. We are here to retrieve the Rebel captive."

Reverend Tyree looked steadily at the young officer who could be no more than a teenager. He was a lanky blond-headed boy with big ears and slightly buck toothed, and resembled more a farm boy than a Union officer. Reverend Tyree's voice was deep and very authoritative when he responded. "I'm sorry to say, young man, the Rebel prisoner as you call him, is no longer with us. Sometime during the night he absconded with my daughter's horse. No doubt he is some good distance away by now."

His gaze moved towards his wife, Margaret, standing behind and to his right side. "Why don't you and your men join us for a good home-cooked country breakfast? I'm certain we can find enough ham and eggs and hot gravy and biscuits for everyone."

His offer, combined with the wonderful smells emanating from the house, was more than tempting to most of the cavalrymen, but the young lieutenant smashed their hopes with his curt reply. "Sorry sir, we cannot do that. We must make our report to the General with prompt haste."

Turning in his saddle he addressed one of the men near the end of the column. "Sergeant Bruckner, you will remain here with the troops until I return. You will not go into the Rebel house, nor will you accept anything from these secessionists. Is that clear?"

As the sergeant grunted his reply and rode to the front of the column, the young lieutenant gave the command for two men to follow him, then rode off without looking back.

Reverend Tyree did not like the looks of the sergeant. The man was dirty and unshaven and continued to stare at his daughter, Elizabeth Jane, with a drooling mouth and lustful look. He had seen the type too many times. He had hoped that the General himself would return. It was much easier to talk with a man of intelligence and proper bearing. To barter with a snot-nosed kid or ignorant perverted sergeant would be difficult.

"Breakfast is waiting," he reminded his family, ordering them into the house. He intentionally did not extend the invitation to the drooling sergeant who looked as if he would quickly disobey his officer's command if given the slightest chance or opportunity.

"What's a sesh-na-sist?" asked Sara Beth, her young face screwed up in a questioning frown.

"Secessionist dear," Margaret Tyree replied. "A person who secedes or breaks away from someone or something. The Yankees call us that because we broke away from the Union to form our own country."

"That Yankee man was awful mean-looking when he said it," continued Sara Beth. "You'd think we done something wrong or such."

"They're just a bunch of dirty ol’ Yankees," George Robert stated, his young voice full of spite and challenge.

"Watch your tongue young man," Reverend Tyree chastised, "They are still God's children even if they are heathen Yankees." He was standing by the rear kitchen door closely watching the Yankee cavalrymen who had dismounted and were lounging around in the front yard. The offensive sergeant was standing against the well, staring wantonly back at the house.

"The General has left for Salem, Lieutenant," Colonel Hess replied, "and I have orders to join him immediately."

"But what about the Reb prisoner," the big-eared lieutenant questioned?"

"What about him?" Colonel Hess replied in an annoyed manner. "According to the Tyree's he escaped hours ago. You'd never catch him now. Not only that, Forrest's army is down that way somewhere, and I, for one, have no desire to meet up with a bunch of angry Rebs."

"But they just let him escape," the lieutenant persisted. "No doubt they even assisted him in his escape."

"I am leaving now. You are aware of the standing orders concerning secessionist who harbor or aid the enemy, are you not, Lieutenant?" His tone of voice was like that of a father scolding an unruly child. The young officer answered with a hasty, "Yes, Sir."

"Then I strongly suggest you do your duty and catch up with the main column before Mister Forrest and his men catch up with you." Turning his horse abruptly, Colonel Hess spurred its flanks and rushed to catch up with his retreating men.

Reverend Tyree watched in nervous anticipation as the young officer approached the house. Without climbing down from his mount, the officer yelled, "Reverend Tyree, sir!" James pushed open the screen door and slowly stepped down to the dry ground.

"You have ten minutes, sir," the big-eared kid stated, obviously disliking what thoughts were forming in his mind. "You have ten minutes to remove your family to safety from the house. I will then instruct my men to burn it to the ground."

Shocked, Reverend Tyree could hardly form a reply. "I demand to speak with General Sturgis, young man," he requested. "He will set this entire matter straight."

"The General is probably near Salem by now, sir. I have my orders. You will please remove your family from the house."

"You're not burning my home!" Margaret Tyree yelled, pushing open the kitchen door and joining her husband in the yard. "You're not burning my home! It took us thirty years to build this home, thirty years of sweat, toil and blood. And my husband is a man of God, you Yankee heathen. Surely you will not vent your barbarism on innocent women and children and a man of God?"

"Sergeant!" the young officer commanded. "You will take half the troops and prepare torches." The slovenly sergeant gave Margaret Tyree a grin of anticipated delight then hurried to obey his commander's orders.

"In the name of God!" Margaret yelled again, going to her knees in the dirt "Must we beg you on our knees, young sir? Have you no Christian forgiveness nor morals left in your Yankee heart?"

Suddenly, bringing everyone to a shocked stand still, a loud gun shot rang out, the ground near the young lieutenant's horse erupting in a shower of dirt and rocks. Instinctively, the cavalrymen pulled their Spencer rifles from the scabbards on their saddles and returned fire, directing their shots at an upper bedroom window.

"No!" screamed Mrs. Tyree. "In the name of Almighty God, No!"

"That Rebel prisoner is shooting at us," yelled the frightened lieutenant, as his men continued to pour round after round into the house.

"He is not here!" roared Reverend Tyree. "I swear by all that is holy he left hours ago."

"Noticing that no return fire was coming from the house, the officer ordered his men to stop firing. With a quick motion of his hand he gave a signal for several cavalrymen to check the house.

However, before they even reached the door, Elizabeth Jane pushed open the screen and stepped out into the yard. Her face was tear-streaked and in an agony of grief. In her arms she carried the body of young George Tyree, a gaping hole in his chest, an old, rusty Colt pistol dangling from his limp hand. All they could do was to stare in horror at the body of young George, held tightly in her vice-like grip.

With a look of sudden terror mixed with uncertainty, the young lieutenant quickly turned his mount and signaled for his men to follow him. As he passed the sergeant and men who had already dismounted, he yelled in a cracked voice, "Burn it!" then spurred his mount into a fast gallop in his shameful haste to leave the scene.

"Gimme a few minutes to look for licker and possibles," the Sergeant ordered as his men advanced on the house. "They might be some valuables in there worth a pickin'."

The family had all gathered around the body of young George, sitting together in silent tears on the hard packed ground. Even old Skeeter, the family dog, had joined them with his sad eyes and whimpering whine.

In no time at all, the house became a blazing inferno as a lifetime of dreams and hopes went up in flames.

"My God! My God!" Reverend Tyree suddenly cried out in anguish. "Why has thou forsaken us?"

But it wasn't God that Elizabeth Jane was thinking of as she looked with venomous hatred at the laughing Yankee sergeant.