The Voice of the Grave

   I ignored the rain pounding at my face.  It didn’t matter.  Nothing did.  Nothing but this mound of dirt at my feet with a wooden cross in front of it.  “H-Henry?” Ann’s voice quavered.  I looked blankly at her.  Big brown eyes gazed up at me, tears streaming from their corners.

    “What?!” my voice came out coarse and harsh. 

    She stared down at my muddy boots and gulped.  “W-what are we going to do?”

    I bit my lip.  Good question.  One I had been asking myself for the past day.  What could a fourteen year old do with his mother dead, father gone off to war, and a little sister to care for?  Why me?  I looked up through the rain into the gray sky.  I thought you cared.  How could you do this?  What type of God are you?  Then I voiced the words-those three words I had never before thought I would say.  “I hate you.”

    “Sammy!” my voice thundered through the empty barn.

    “Yes suh?” a young Negro boy lept out of the loft and landed lightly on the ground.

    “Get the two Arabians out of the woods.  Then saddle them up and get some food.  Enough to last for a long trip.”

    “Suh, are you leavin?” Sammy’s dark face took on a worried look.

    “Noo!” Ann wailed grabbing my leg. 

    Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath.  “Ann, stop it.”  I reached down and scooped her up into my arms.  She laid her head on my shoulder, her body still shaking with sobs.  “Yes, Sammy, we are.  I don’t see no other way.  The Yankees are getting closer.  We should flee while we can.” 

    “Where will ya go?”

    I clenched my jaw.  This was the hardest part of it.  “North to New York.  I have an Aunt who lives there.  I’m going to leave Ann with her then come back down and join the army.”  How I hated the thought of having to travel through that hated country. 

    Sammy said nothing.  He just stared down at the ground a mix of emotions on his face.  “I’ll go an’ get da horses.”    

    I kissed Ann lightly on the head, “Come on, let’s get ready.” 

   

    I didn’t pack many clothes.  Food was more important since we weren’t taking a pack horse.  I knew that  was a risk.  Hunting would be a necessity, which would slow us down.  But then there was the flip side.  If we ran across any soldiers, we would be more likely to out run them if we didn’t have the pack horse.  “Ann!” I eyed a set of boys clothes.  She entered my room, face pale.  I tried to smile has I hunkered down on her level.  “Try these on.”  To my surprise she did not voice a complaint, but took the clothing and left the room as silently as she had come.  A worm of fear wiggled through my mind.  Why couldn’t she cry or yell ?  At least she would act human.  The silent act scared me.

    I tightened the saddle bag and swung it over my shoulder and headed outside.  The horses stood calmly in front of the house, their heads held high.  They were the finest stock around.  “I’m sure glad we hid you when the army came lookin for horses.”  I patted the gray’s neck then tied my saddle bag securely to the saddle.  A sack of food hung from each saddle horn and a rifle sat in the boot.  “Thanks Sammy,” I shook the black boy’s hand firmly.  “I’ll miss you.”

    “Yes, suh.”  He looked away quickly, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. 

    The front door opened revealing a pale faced Ann.  The clothes had fit perfectly, and with a hat, she could pass for a boy.  She ran down the steps and into my arms.  Her small body quivered in my grasp.  I hugged her tightly then swung her up onto the bay’s back.  I shook Sammy’s hand one more time before mounting.  Without a backward look I rode out of the yard and past my mother’s grave.  I tightened my grip on my sister’s reins.  We would make it.  We had to.

The Light's Last Touch--Part 3

I wrote this a different day than the rest and I wasn't in the same mood--I don't think it is very good. But I promised I would post it so here it is:

“Missus?”

The voice woke me from my reverie.

“Missus?” the voice sounded nervous.

“Yes Cadie?” I retreated farther into the darkness so my slave wouldn’t see me.

“Thay’s a man here, says he’s brought a trunk with things that belong to you, Missus.”

“Ask Tom to bring it up here.”

Was that voice mine? The voice that spoke nicely to Cadie, after anger had spoken to her so cruelly the past months? Was this my voice that gave the orders for the trunk, that he had taken to the war with him, to be brought up here? Here to my room where I was trying to shut out all memories of him?

A hesitant knock sounded on the door and I quickly drew back even further into the sheltering darkness.

“Come in Tom. You can put it at the foot of the bed.”

“Yes Missus.” I waited until I heard the door close softly behind him and then I got down on my hands and knees and groped forward.

My hand struck the chest and I pulled it back in pain. The pain was not only physical. I wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to look at what a man he had been. And what a woman I had been at his side--at the woman I should still be.

I rested my head against the side of the bed. Not yet, I wasn’t ready yet. Maybe if I could forget about it for a while, maybe then I would be healed.

I crawled on hands and knees to the cabinet that I now knew so well. My hands felt around inside. It was empty. I had nothing, not way to make myself stop thinking. Alcohol, my constant companion for that past several months was gone. Gone, like everything else. Like him, like our dreams together for the future, like all the money from our plantation, like the light.

I looked toward the window, my mind remembering the light’s last touch. Was it gone forever for me? A faint glimmer looked back at me. What was that light? I again crawled across the floor and pulled myself up on the window sill. A star shone brightly in the dark sky even though the sun had gone down. Was there still hope for me even though the light’s last touch was gone? No, there was nothing to save me. Nothing and no one now that he was gone.

“Cassy do you trust me? Will you trust me?” the gentle voice came back to me again.

Was there someone then? Some one who wanted me to trust them? Some one who could save me, save me from this pit I was falling--allowing myself to fall into? Perhaps, perhaps this someone had been there all the time, waiting for me to trust them? Perhaps I had known it? Known they were there but instead chose to walk open eyed into the pit I falling in? Could they catch me, pull me out to safety, and most of all, would it hurt?

“Who are you?” the tears coursed down my face and I began groping frantically for his chest.

My fingers found the latches and I undid them fumbling in my hurry. They were undone, and I threw up the lid.

His smell wafted up to me crying at me to stop, my emotions couldn’t handle this right now but I put my hand in and immediately felt what I was looking for.

I pulled out the small leather book and hugged it to my chest then I crawled to the door.

“Bring me a lamp quickly please Cadie!”

I heard a slight gasp and then hurried footsteps came from Cadie’s room which was next to mine. Her door opened and she appeared holding a lighted candle.

“Give that to me please Cadie!”

I took it out of her trembling hands and shut the door behind me. The worn book felt soft in my hands, where in all it’s hundreds of pages was I supposed to look? I was sure what I was looking for was there, but where?

It fell open and I saw a sheet of plane paper flutter to the floor. My hand trembled as I picked it up; it had his writing spelling my name on the front!

I smoothed out the paper lovingly and laid it on the floor.

“Dearest Cassy,

The doctors have given me four days to live. I will soon be in heaven with Jesus. I wish you would meat him Cassy because I would love to share paradise with you. Please, for my sake, read my Bible, you will find hope and strength to guide you through what may be coming. You will need it, for, as a Southern lady it will be hard to survive when this war is over and the North has won. Yes Cassy, I have been in fights, and I have seen the North and they, with their new general, Grant, will win this war. God bless you dearest Cassy. It is my prayer every night that you will come to know God like I have. Let me share with you my favorite verse,

John 8:12

Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, “I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life.”

I love you dearest Cassy!

Your loving husband,

John Warth”

There was someone there, some one who could bring me back to the light. I felt the words pouring out from me in a torrent I couldn’t control. I lay face down on the floor and begged for God’s forgiveness, begged him to take me out of this darkness. As I finally ran out of words the morning’s first rays of light poured in through my window and lit my face.  I closed my eyes and basked in it warmth until a bird landed on the sill and began to sing.

“Yes sing! Sing your heart out to God!” I jumped to my feet and began to wildly tear down the thick curtains around the other windows. The light and fresh air poured in. I leaned out the window and took in breathed in deeply, John’s Bible still held tightly in my hand.

I saw a horse gallop up the drive and Tom flung himself off it.

“Lee’s surrendered to Grant! The war is over! We all free! Free!”

I smiled as I leaned against the window and began to read John’s Bible. The hard times were coming as John had predicted and I wanted to be ready for them.

The Light's Last Touch--Part 2

I felt it coming up, tried to force it back down but found myself losing it and was sick.

My arms were shaking but I forced them to push me up off the hard boards and into a half sitting position. I was in my room but it felt unreal to me. The boards I had long ago memorized all the knots in seemed as if they were leaning in, closing up, trapping me. The light from the one window I hadn’t covered dared to penetrate the gloom and lit up my soiled black dress and the spot on the floor where I had been sick.

“I must not think--it hurts too much.” I muttered the words over and over to myself. “Must not let anything remind me of what has been, what could have been, what will never be—Stop it Cassy!” I screamed in frustration.

The harder I tried to not think about it, the more my mind focused on that one forbidden thing.

I had to stop thinking and since sleep insisted on evading me only one choice was left. My hand felt for the bottle and I brought it to my lips. It was empty.

I heard a tinkling of glass and found me head lying where I had been sick. What was this that controlled me, caused me to throw things in anger, with out even realizing what I was doing? Who had I become since the news came to me? Who would recognize the great blood in me as I lay on the floor in my own vomit, a broken bottle laying near, my black dress disheveled my hair stringing over my face, to week to even roll over.

I heard a squeak as the door opened and a dark girlish face peered in on me. Two large eyes peeped cautiously at me from under a spotless white cap.

“Get out of here!” a voice that was not my own screamed at my once petted slave. “Get out of here! Out with your spotless white cap! Out with your face that reminds me what he died fighting against! Out! Out!” The uncontrollable anger raised me up to my feet. I tottered towards the door waving my hand threateningly and the dark little face I had once loved disappeared, its tears silently reproaching me.

The bedroom tilted and I grabbed for a bed post. Leaning my confused head on the ornately carved wood I struggled to stay upright.

“Cassy do you trust me? Will you trust me?”

The quite voice haunted me.

Had that been a dream--a nightmare? Or had it been reality?

“Who are you?” I forced the words out of my dry lips.

The light slowly moved further and further across the room as the sun sank lower. It was like a groping hand, groping for me, trying to find me, to tell me that all was not darkness if only I---It crept closer, its rays lighting up the glass fragments. Closer even now, lighting up his picture where it lay crushed and torn on the floor where my anger had thrown it. Now it was lighting up my black dress expending its last moments searching for my face.

With the its last, and most beautiful touch the light finally found what it was looking for. It blinded me, for a while and then dropping my head so I wasn’t looking directly at it, I could see my black dress, wrinkled and covered with my vomit. Then it was gone and darkness wrapped me in its stifling arms.

In the light’s last touch I had seen what I allowed, even made myself into and it wasn’t pretty.

That was why I covered the windows, and this ugliness from even myself. Only this one window, I could not cover, the light that came from it somehow seemed to be trying to pull me back from what I had become and somehow, I wanted that.

Just for the record, I'll not post the final part of this story until someone besides Angela or I posts something.

The Light's Last Touch

Angela told me that she didn't think my last post was very exciting...is this better?  

The Light's Last Touch

Down, down, down. My hand was reaching up towards the light, my whole soul screaming to not let it get smaller but I couldn’t stop myself. It was my own fault. I had played near this pit, walked close to the edge with my eyes wide open, knowing what was there, what would happen. And yet, I had come, willingly come, and willingly stepped over the side. Now and only now, did I regret my choice. And what chance, what chance was there for me? I could hear the screams from below me of the others in their agony, of the beasts in their murderous joy, oh why, why had I ever made this foolish choice? There was no going back now, nothing to catch hold of and pull myself up on, no one to grab me and pull me back to the light. I wished to scream, every muscle in my body strained towards that one purpose but I couldn’t make a noise.  The bottom was coming closer, I could see the other people, reaching up eagerly to pull me down to them, to share in the agony they had caused for themselves. The beasts too looked up, their sharp teeth glinting in anticipation.

“No! No! No!” I was finally able to scream. “I’m not ready for this! This isn’t what I wanted! This can’t be happening to me! Help! Someone help!”

A hand from up near the light caught my arm and jerked me to a painful stop. My legs dangled inches away from the miserable out stretched arms below me.

“Cassy do you trust me? Will you trust me?” The voice was gentle and quiet but I could hear it above the screams below me.

“Who are you?”

~

I jerked awake the words dying on my lips.

What had happened, where was I, why was I here? My head felt like a hatchet was being thrust into it, my stomach churned, my vision swam.

The Beginning

   Louise gasped and lifted a shaking hand to part the chiffon curtains.  A chestnut horse covered with mud wearily made its way up the drive towards the house.  The rider on its back sat slumped, staring down at the ground.  Fear made its way up her throat.  Something was wrong.  She ran as fast as her hoops would allow and threw open the front door.  The man looked up as he reached the front of the house and tried to smile.  Yet the sadness and tinge of fear on his face made it look more like a contortion of pain.  “Ben..?” her voice trailed off and she walked out onto the large porch.  With a sigh he slung himself out of the saddle and landed heavily on the ground.  His large boots clumped up the steps leaving globs of mud on the once clean wood.  He folded Louise into his arms.

    “It’s started honey.  The south fired on Fort Sumter.”

    She pressed closer to his chest and took in a shaky breath and closed her eyes tightly trying to press back the tears.  They poured down her cheeks, refusing to stay checked, and dropped onto her husband’s jacket where they disappeared into the already wet folds.  “Come on, honey,” he gently guided her into the house.  The wind moaned softly as it whipped around the house; seeming too also mourn what had happened.

One April Night

This is not one of my best stories by any stretch but  I wanted some feed back on it. So please don't just say "Nice" but give me some real, honest feed back. Thanks!

One April Night

Corporal Pip reigned in his tall bay mare in front of the drive way that led up to the house’s veranda. The stars shining brightly above his head seemed dim compared to the light streaming out from the large bay windows. Strains of pleasant music wafted down towards him on the chill night air carrying with it the happy sound of laughter which was even more pleasant to the weary traveler.

“It looks like a jolly party don’t it, eh laddy?” a Scotchman passing by on a big farm horse asked.

“Yes indeed.” Corporal Pip agreed.

“I recon they be the only ones in this ‘ere neighborhood that’s got enough cheer to have a ball in celebration of the North a‘win’n this ‘ere war. They got a son gone to war but they still find a plenty to be happy about.” The man seemed a bit awed.

“They sent a son to war?” Corporal Pip asked.

“Sure, sure. Ah fine laddy Jimmy was too. They’s all fine children them Strakersons. Maltilda the oldest is vary talented at the organ. Jimmy was toller’ble in the ol banjo.” He paused and then went on reverently “I’ve heard tell though that that Carry the youngest of ‘em could wup ‘em all with her cheller playen. A beauty o’ a young woman she has become too. Grown so much the past five years I bet her brother wont know her when he gets back.”

“Really! Grown from a girl into a woman no doubt?”  Corporal Pip turned back to the window. “Tell me; is she any of the young ladies dancing now? I might just step in and ask for a dance of you say she’s so beautiful.”

The farmer chuckled. “Aye, she’s a rare beauty that lassie.  She is wearing a blue dress or I’ll be switched. She and Matilda alaus wear somat blue to remind them o’ the brother. There she be, the one to the right of the end dancing with the dark haired young man.”

“Sweet girl.” Corporal Pip said watching the young form gently swaying to and fro in time to the music.

“What be ya saying?” the farmer asked. “I’m a bit deaf in my ol ears so ya’ll have to speak kinder loud like.”

“Oh nothing.” Corporal Pip answered loudly. “And the parents, what do they think about their son?”

“Oh their right proud o’ the boy. The lady is always a read’n the newest letter to any company. I’ve heard a few myself. He says he’s doi’n wonderful like. Took part at Gettysburg he did. Poor laddy.” He went on affectionately “I just hope he is none the worse for all he has seen.”

“So am I, for his sisters… and family’s sake.”   Corporal Pip paused. “I did some fighting there. It was a hellish fight though and I am sure that very few soldiers came away without memories they would like to forget.”

“You’re a soldier then too laddy?” The man leaned forward in his saddle peering at Corporal Pip. “I can’t see well in this blackness and couldna’ see yer uniform.”

“Oh there is not much to see, no medals or anything. Just a few little holes made by a bullet nearly hitting home.”  Corporal Pip shifted in the saddle so the wind wasn’t blowing in his face and down his the collar of his buttoned up coat.

“Ah laddy, those are medals in themselves to be worn just as proudly. I would a’ liked to ha’ got me a blue uniform and ha’ a couple o’ holes in it but Uncle Sam wouldn’t ha’ taken one as leathery as me. I did alaus want to be a soldier.” He mused. “Step yer horse a bit nearer laddy and let me look at you uniform a bit more closely.”

“Oh it’s in my saddle bags. At present I thought that it would be safest there. You know there were some confederates that had come up here and were picking up homecoming soldiers.”   He looked away as he said the words.

“That’s a smart laddy. Well I must be off or else me wife will be ater me wi’ a broom for standing in the streets all night ‘flapp’n my tongue’ as she says. Farewell laddy and I hope the lassie Carry gives ya her perty little hand fer a dance er two.” And with a final wave of his hand he galloped off down the road toward his home. In a minute he was back. “I forgot to ask ye, what be your name laddy?”

“Well sir, in the army I was nicknamed Corporal Pip.”

“Well Corporal Pip, I wish ye a goodnight.” And he turned his horse’s head and trotted off down the road again.

Corporal Pip watched him go and then nudged his horse toward the large door. In answer to his knock the butler opened the door and an old servant took his coat and hat off and then led him down a long, thickly carpeted hall and showed him into the illuminated ball room. The light from the twinkling chandeliers almost blinded him after he had been out in the dark. A new dance was about ready to start as he made his way toward the young lady he had been informed was named Carry.

“May I have this dance?” he bowed politely from the waist down.

She gasped and then threw her arms around his neck sobbing, “Jimmy, Jimmy.”

                      

                                          The End

The Quilt

So two of you have read this but I am posting it anyway because where I and writing am, there is The Quilt. Enjoy!

The Quilt

Private Jonas Camelot squinted at the bright rows of polished bayonets marching in front of him. His spiffy blue uniform with shiny brass buttons was still as new as if he had just come from the tailors. Jonas didn’t like that. For as long as he had been enlisted, he thought that he should have at least one hole made by a rebel bullet grazing his skin but there was  nothing of the sort.

 The men around him were restless. The officers, yelling at them not to break ranks or go plundering, didn’t seem to be heard. Men were leaving the division, running up to houses by the road, pounding down doors and taking anything of value.  They would have burned the houses had not the soft snow thoroughly soaked everything making it impossible.

  Jonas shivered as he watched two men charge up a little hill to a cabin and tear down the door. A woman’s scream echoed through the snow- covered valley and a moment later one of the men came out hauling a ratty quilt. Blankets were scarce and as Jonas watched the man rap the quilt around his shoulders he decided at the next house he would borrow a quilt. Borrow and not return of course. The houses down here belonged to rebel southerners; they didn’t deserve the quilts; they were sending sons, husbands, or grandsons to war against the Union. For all he was concerned they could freeze to death. 

 Seeing up ahead a small cabin, he broke ranks and floundered through the deepening snow to the strong oak door. When he hit the but of his rifle against the old lock the door flew open.   He stepped inside squinting this time because of the lack of light.

 The first time he scanned the room he saw no one and no blanket. As his eyes adjusted, however, he saw in the corner closest to the glowing embers a small rugged bedstead.  It was not the bedstead that he was looking at though; it was what adorned the bed. A quilt. But such a quilt he had never seen before; it was obviously a very strong and warm one that had been past down from generation to generation. He stepped forward, reverently feeling the green and yellow calico. A slight movement caught his eye and looking up he saw an old lady huddled under his quilt. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. He reached down and snatched the quilt off the small bed laughing with derision when she begged him not to take it. As he headed out the door, back into the  blinding light,  he heard her say something about a grandson in the army who would be heart broken when he came home and found the quilt gone and his grandma frozen to death. Jonas laughed again, how warm the beautiful quilt felt around his shoulders. He was doubly pleased when he thought how a rebel’s heart would be broken when he came home. It would serve him right for thinking he could beat Abe Lincoln’s Northern army. If he ever did come home.

 That night as Jonas lay curled up under the quilt listening to the soft sound of snow falling, he found himself watching the night sentinel as he went on his rounds around the camp. As he passed Jonas he stopped.  “I’m glad to see that you are warm.”  He paused and then went on. “That’s a beautiful quilt; it reminds me of my grandmother’s. Actually hers was one of the cabins we passed on the march in. I hope she’s warm tonight.”lives near here."t, it remindes me of my grandmotheruld keep her warm. quilt listening to the soft sound of snow falling, he fou

                                                          The End