Civilized Love

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The bloodbath of Gettysburg would forever remain in his memory bank and forever mark the significance of hatred and bloodshed in our history books.
The blood of his slain brother would be an image that would haunt him until the end of time.
The blood of an adversary; he’d always loved.
John was his brother, two years older than he and they’d always been close.
John, however, was like minded with his father.

“We bought our slaves fairly! We paid full price for them.
We aren’t bad owners…” that was their mindset.
William, however, never agreed.
He saw the ‘slaves’ as humans.
His father chastised him often for his ‘ignorance’. From the time William was a child he would often play with the young black children when given the chance. He had to play in secret, but thoroughly enjoyed the company of three children.
Sam, Donavan, and their little sister. Riding back, he wondered how they fared in this battle. He also tried to remember the girl’s name, but simply couldn’t bring the name to memory. She was tiny and sweet.
Pretty as a picture—he recalled. She’d be a woman now…he figured. Maybe she made it through to be free and free to marry someone who would treat her well.

One time William was caught playing with the ‘black children’ and his father tanned his hide but good.
“No son of mine is going to play with the slaves! You will not disgrace me like this again… you understand boy!?”

Despite the many moments of ‘lecture’, William could simply not believe in owning another human being.
Even though the common mindset placed the slave below a human’s status, William knew in his heart it was different.

His mother, Caroline, didn’t say one way or another, what she believed.
She was the wife and had to know her place.
It was Caroline’s sister Margaret who felt differently and often said so to those who’d listened.
Most folks just referred to her as the mindless spinster.
Fact of the matter was, she was the only woman willing to speak.
That didn’t sit well with most men.
Yet, William liked that about her.
He’d often sit with her and talk; listening the ramblings of the town’s loon.
Caroline barely spoke to Margo, because she could not condone her meddling ways.

Then, when war was declared and folks were called into battle, William took a stand for the north; walking away from his family’s beliefs for that which was right.

As the horse cantered through the entrance of Georgia, jarring the pain that still wracked his shoulder; his mind began to melt over the memory of the bloodiest battle he hoped to ever see.
‘Enough blood for a lifetime or two, he thought.’
He’d been shot and left for dead, piled among the bloody carcasses of his friends and allies.
The river beneath him ran red as the smell of rot and gun powder competed with the summer’s willowing breeze.

The final picture replayed in his mind, slow motion, sounds muffled to the memory, as the battle unfolded.
If he thought hard enough, he could still hear the big bangs of the cannons as the rumbled like thunder through the valley.

They’d charge into battle, both sides in the battle of all battles.
There in the midst of ‘the Battle of Gettysburg’, in Adams County, PA. North and South were to head off in a bloody battle that took the lives of more than 7,000 men.
As the dust settled and William was able to find his footing once again, he began to pull himself back to his people.
The few who were left.
Thought to have been killed along with the rest, they’d almost left him entirely.
As he came into view of his comrades, something caught his eye.

He’d walked over one corpse after another. He tried not to look.
He tried not to let it sink in.
He didn’t want to think about the loss.
He just wanted to go home.
Now, a coat from the other side caught his attention among the thousands.
It was John.

Williams’s blood turned cold within him as it left his face and dropped him to his knees.
Looking upon the blood spattered body of his brother, he knew without a doubt, that John was dead.
William hung his head and cried.
“What has hate brought to us brother?
What has it brought?” he sobbed and sobbed.
His comrades heard the cries of a pitiful man and soon recognized their friend.

“William?” asked Dobbs, one of his fellow privates.
“Why do you cry over this confederate?”

“This…is my brother” William replied.

Dobbs stood silent as William tried to stand. Then suddenly, in the shock of the aftermath and loss of blood, William collapsed.
It was three days before he awoke in the hospital, lying beside the window of amputated body parts and in a room with those who were left to live with the memory of the momentous hill of slaughter.

#

William smiled and nodded at the few slaves he’d remembered as a child. Their smiles were hesitant, but sincere.
The occasional tip of the hat was offered in recognition for his willingness to stand. He’d been one of the ‘good guys’, they’d concurred, yet—he was still a Jacobs.

As his horse neared the house, William could hear the voice of a very familiar soul shouting for glee.
“William!”

William turned his head to see the bountiful aunt he’d always loved running to him with open arms.
Eager to see her, he quickly dismounted and embraced her with open arms.
His shoulder hurt like hell, but it didn’t matter.
He was glad to have seen her first.
It made coming back seem less awkward.

“Oh dear boy!” she said joyfully. “It sure is good to see you!”

“Good to see you too Aunty Marg.”

“How you doing?
How’s the shoulder?”

The family had been telegrammed with the news of both sons.
John’s death would no doubt cause a ruckus for William.
His shoulder wound was minor to the pain he’d have to face with his parents.

“It’s fine Aunty, just fine.”

As they got reacquainted, the door to the house opened and shut.
He looked to the porch and saw his father standing there, staring him down with cold resentment.
Unwilling to embrace his treacherous son, he left the porch and walked to the barn; shunning William’s existence.

Still William had to try.

Entering the house, his mama was waiting for him quietly at the bottom of the staircase. She wore a long yellow dress with white lace.
She looked old and smelled of booze.
She stared at him as if she was staring at a stranger.

“Hi Mama” William said.
“I’m home.”

She looked at him with wonder.
“William…” That was all she said.
She smiled slightly, but then heard the footprints of her husband as he came up the porch.

Door opened and William turned around quickly.
“Hello father” he said.

“I am not your father” he said sternly.
“My only son was killed fighting for our pride.”

“Gerry!” scolded his mother.

“You stay out of it!” he said harshly.

“He was my son too.
Both of them are” she said.

“You remember whose side you were on!”

“Father…you can’t treat her like that!”

“You…Yankee…You are NOT welcome in my home!”

“We can’t turn William away!”

“You want to lay down with the slaves; you stay in their quarters and fend for your own feed.
I wash my hands of ya!” his father began to turn and walk away and then said “You best not be babying him now.
He’s a trader and the William you loved is dead to this family.
You remember that good woman!”

As Gerry stormed from the house, the room fell silent.
Margaret, who’d been outside entered the house and frowned at her sister.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself Caroline!” Then with nurturing eyes she looked at William and said “Come son.
You can stay with me” she said. Feeling the loss of his family, William agreed and went with Margaret’s to stay.

#

He hadn’t noticed anything strange when he first entered the restaurant, but then one of the fellows recognized him and sneered. “It’s one of them damn yanks!”

“Damn Yanks!” the people growled. “Fool don’t belong here…”

Suddenly William became aware of the cold, chilling daggers of their death sneering eyes, but William kept his cool and walked by them until he found a table of his own; away from the immediate eyes of the
‘Southern Gentlemen’
.

He confidently sat down and then began to read the local paper.
It talked of the war and the new life of the south.
He was pleased, but it was keenly apparent that was not a shared view at this restaurant.

As he read the paper, he heard a sweet voice say “Coffee sir?”

“Yes please” he said. At first he didn’t make contact, but continued to speak until he noticed the darkened hand as she poured the dark brew. As he looked into her young face, he noticed immediately that she was young… and vaguely familiar. Strolling through his memory, he final remembered the name of the little girl he’d played with all those years ago… was it her? He had to ask... “Denny?”