Forgotten Soldiers (18 page)

I glanced over one last time to the porch as Ezer’s woman helped him to his feet. He leaned on one of the posts with one hand while holding his stomach with the other. A part of me felt bad for hurting him since it seemed he had been telling me the truth. However, another part of me didn’t care who I hurt. I needed answers and Ezer didn’t appear to have them.

Adjusting the bag on my back, I started back toward town. I’d find someone there with answers to what was going on or I’d tear each one of those new buildings down trying.

CHAPTER 12

During my walk back to town I tried to find a word that might describe what I was going through. Confused? Baffled? Worried? Angry? None of them worked. They were all too limiting. Too small. None encapsulated everything I was experiencing.

Hundreds of thoughts ran through my head, but I couldn’t focus on any of them. I knew that birds probably chirped and breezes rustled leaves in the trees, yet I heard nothing and felt less. The smell of familiar fields no longer tickled the inside of my nose. My legs moved on their own accord.

I made it back to the curve in the road near the small hill and tall oaks before my head cleared. I stopped in the middle of the road, unsettled. I was alone for the first time in years, caught in a place I had hoped would bring me joy. It hadn’t brought me anything yet but more pain.

Denu Creek felt as foreign to me as Genesha once did.

A growing sense of unease crawled up my spine. Now was not the time to grow careless—regardless of how my life had just been turned upside down. I needed to think.

Taking a deep breath, I decided quickly that my gut reaction to return to town was still the best strategy. I needed to find someone, perhaps Nason, who could tell me what happened, why Lasha had abandoned our home, and most importantly where she and the kids had gone.

The chilly reception I had received going through town worried me. Getting the information I sought might be harder than just asking a few simple questions of the first person I came across. Creativity in my approach might be just as crucial to my success as caution.

I cursed myself for coming home with blinders on. I should have been better prepared for something like this, regardless of how remote the possibility had seemed.

I’m not sure how long I stood in the road beating myself up, but eventually I came out of it when a memory of Lasha’s smiling face came to mind. It seemed like she stood in front of me. I swore I even heard the pattering of tiny feet running through the house as the kids played. I closed my eyes, and my hands in determination. I’d get the answers I needed.

My eyes opened as the footsteps grew louder. That had not been part of my imagination. Someone was running on the dirt road up the other side of the hill. I picked up my bag and ran off into the nearby oaks. I hid behind the tree closest to the road with sword drawn. I heard only one set of footsteps, but my heart raced as though there were ten. Who’d be coming this way, at this time of day, and in such a hurry?

Had the town sent someone after me to find out my identity?

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as the irony of my situation struck me. I was set to ambush someone from the spot that I spent half my life worrying I’d be ambushed from.

The footsteps closed. I nearly jumped in front of their path until something about their sound gave me pause.

A boy zipped past me. I let him go since he wasn’t a threat. Turning my ear back to the road, I listened for others following in his wake but heard nothing. My muscles relaxed.

I flicked my eyes back to the boy who had stopped just up ahead. He bent over and huffed for air. Sure of no immediate danger, I examined him from the shadows. He looked like he was maybe twelve. He was certainly poor. He wore no shoes despite the cool weather, feet black with dirt. Both his trousers and shirt had holes in them. He straightened and looked toward the farm I once called home. I made note of the black, curly hair on his head and the darker tone of his skin.

A note of familiarity struck me. Could it be him?

“It’s not there,” I heard him whisper, voice sullen. His hands balled into fists. He spoke again through clenched teeth. “She was right. I swore it would be there.”

He cursed, using a word I didn’t think a boy his age had any business using. He kicked at the dirt, then stooped over, and began picking up rocks off the road. He hurled them down the hill toward the house, grunting and cursing with each of his throws.

After the emotional wave I just experienced, the last thing I wanted was to go through that disappointment again. Despite the hope burgeoning inside me, I approached the situation cautiously.

I slid out from behind the oak and onto the road, staying in the shadows of the low hanging branches.

He finished throwing rocks and stared silently at my old farm. I sheathed my sword. “What’s not there, boy?”

He jumped and spun around, taking a step back in fear. Tears streaked down the dark skin of his crusted cheeks. He wiped them away in embarrassment.

I considered what could have upset the boy. I doubted anyone from town sent him after our wagon.

I asked again. “What’s not there?”

“A wagon.”

That startled me. Maybe I was wrong and someone had sent him after us. “Did someone send you out this way?”

He swallowed, looking nervous. “No, sir. Did you happen to see the wagon?” He paused. “Were you in it?”

I tried to soften my tone. “That depends. Why were you looking for a wagon?”

“I thought there might be someone on it I once knew. Please just tell me if you were on it or if you saw it pass at least.”

My stomach knotted and my mouth went dry. I croaked. “Who were you looking for exactly?”

The boy seemed hesitant. He composed himself. He flicked his head back in a way that made my heart drop and my palms sweat. In that small gesture I suddenly saw how much he favored his mother.

“My pa.”

I stepped out from the shadows. “Zadok?”

“How did you know . . .” His mouth dropped as he eyed my military garb.

Zadok had his second name day the week before I left home. I doubted he would be able to recall what I looked or sounded like at that young of an age. Yet, something gave him the reassurance he needed.

“Pa!”

Zadok closed the distance between us and dove into my arms. By the time I picked him up, tears streamed down my face. We both squeezed each other with an intensity that said neither of us wanted to let the other go again.

The loss of my home no longer mattered while I held my son.

Zadok eased his grip and rested his head on my shoulder. “Myra said you wouldn’t be here. But I had to find out for myself when I heard people talking about the wagon with soldiers. I never believed you were dead. I knew that letter was wrong.”

“Dead?” That jarred me from my joyful stupor. I set Zadok on the ground and squatted next to him. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

Up close, I could see the shadow of the little boy I left behind. Though his skin was not nearly as dark as his mother’s, it was far darker than mine. For the most part, he had much of Lasha’s foreign features—thick curly hair, deep brown eyes, full lips. The only parts of me I could see in him were my nose and jaw line. I think the combination worked well. Cleaned up, he’d be a sharp-looking kid.

“What letter said that?” I asked.

“The letter the army sent us. It was about four years ago. It said that Turine had taken heavy losses at Wadlow Hill and it was too difficult to figure out the names of everyone that died there.”

I frowned. That had been true enough, but I hadn’t heard of any letter about Wadlow Hill that went out to the citizens of Turine.

Zadok continued. “It said that if a follow-up letter wasn’t sent within a year, we should assume you died serving your country.”

My head spun in confusion. “No, that’s not right. The letter you should have gotten said that the cost of sending messages had grown too high and that unless a letter specifying an individual’s death was received, families were to assume their husband, father, son, or whomever was alive.”

He wrinkled his brow. “We never got a letter like that.”

“You must have. I read a copy of that letter.”

“I promise, Pa. I read the other letter myself when I got old enough. Ma used to look at it when she thought we weren’t around. Then she’d go off somewhere and cry.”

The thought of Lasha so pained at my death had me shedding fresh tears for her sake. She didn’t deserve that. I wiped my face and forced a smile for Zadok’s sake. “Take me to her. I’ve got a lot of work to do to set that right.”

Zadok didn’t return my smile. He stared at the dirt. “Ma died last year.”

“What?” My legs gave out and I fell back. Numbness threatened to take over. I stared at Zadok.

“I’m sorry, Pa.” His shoulders shook as he sobbed. “I tried to help her, but I’m too small. I couldn’t stop him.”

My body stiffened. The numbness gone, my voice went cold. “Stop who?”

“The man that killed her. He was drunk and just kept hitting her. I tried to hit him back but he hit me too. When I woke up Myra was shaking me awake, crying. Ma was on the floor dead.”

My fists clenched tight. Every muscle in my body flexed as hundreds of questions ran through my head. I wanted to ask them all. Where did all this happen? Who was the man? What happened to him? Why was a little boy trying to defend his mother? Was no one else around? Where was Uncle Uriah? I asked none of them.

Struggling to calm myself in that moment was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I wanted someone’s blood. Badly. My chest ached with the knowledge I’d never have the reunion with my wife I had been dreaming about. However, it ached more for the boy who obviously blamed himself, at least in part, for his mother’s death. The responsibilities of a father that I had been forced to neglect for years overrode the sorrow burdening me as a husband.

Zadok stood head down and hunched forward. I reached out and pulled him to me. He sat on my lap and tucked himself into a ball, weeping.

I rocked him in the middle of the road for some time, thankful no one was there to disturb us. I did my best to console him by telling him it wasn’t his fault and that there was nothing he could have done to stop the man.

He finally began to calm down when I promised him that I wasn’t ever leaving again.

* * *

Zadok eventually recovered enough to fill me in on some of what I had missed during the last decade. He did so as he led the way to his sister. Both had taken work on Jareb’s plantation.

Due to his age, it was difficult for him to convey everything and when certain things had occurred. Most of what he recounted had originally come from Myra, Lasha, or Uncle Uriah.

Each new detail hit me like a spear to the gut. By the time he finished, I realized my son and daughter had more strength in them than many of the men I had fought beside.

The woes started shortly after I left. Because of a drought followed by a locust infestation, crops came in much lower than expected that first year. Money was scarce. Still, Lasha and Uncle Uriah had managed to keep food on the table.

Two hard years went by before they saw improvement. Uncle Uriah had begun to grow bitter because of their hardships, especially since it seemed nearby farms were recovering faster. He got impatient and made a couple of bad business deals behind Lasha’s back. He put the farm up as collateral in order to purchase extra land and new equipment, hoping to recoup their losses at a quicker rate.

I wanted to wring Uncle Uriah’s neck for doing something so stupid. But then again, I’m the one who asked him to stay with Lasha to begin with. I’m sure he thought he was making the right call.

Uriah’s gamble failed. After a couple more years, the bank repossessed the farm. It had gone through two separate owners since then, a third if you counted the couple I met earlier. Some in town considered the place cursed. I filed that bit of information away. If Ezer and his woman couldn’t make things work, I might try to buy the place back at a discount and bring it up to what it had once been. I knew how to get the most out of that land.

I asked Zadok about Uncle Uriah.

“He died a year before we got that letter I told you about.”

“That long ago?” I shook my head in disbelief. Lasha never said a word about his death or any of the other stuff everyone endured in her letters.

“Yeah, losing the farm really brought him down,” said Zadok. He walked a few steps ahead. “He started drinking away what little money Ma earned cleaning people’s homes. One day he and Ma got into it. Both said a lot of bad things to each other. Uncle said some stuff about you too, blaming you for our troubles. Ma slapped him for that. That ended the argument. Uncle Uriah left.” He kicked the dirt. “They found his body the next day. He hung himself out in the apple orchard.”

“Molak be cursed.” I blew out a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”

“It’s not your fault, Pa. Ma never blamed you. She said that you were doing the right thing, something I should be proud of no matter what the rumors said. We knew you weren’t killing kids and stuff. Right?”