Let There Be Light (31 page)

Jenny’s heart was suddenly heavy for Maggie. She dropped out of the tag game and hurried to the table where Maggie sat. Maggie looked up at her through a wall of tears while drawing a shuddering breath.

“Maggie, what’s wrong?”

“All … all the other children here have their mothers with them, Jenny. But my mother is dead.”

Jenny put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry that your mother
died, Maggie. If I could, I would take all the hurt out of your heart.”

Maggie hugged her tight. “Thank you, Jenny. You are a true friend.”

Jenny continued talking to Maggie in a soft voice until the weeping stopped. Maggie thumbed the tears from her cheeks and told Jenny she felt better. She would be all right now.

Jenny headed back to the picnic table where her parents were sitting and talking to the parents of a boy and girl from her school. She set her eyes on her Mama and Papa and told herself how awful it would be if one of them were to die.

The sound of her own sobbing awakened Jenny. She sat up in the hotel room bed, trembling. “Oh, Mama! Oh, Papa! It
is
awful! It’s terrible! I miss you so much, and I will never see you again!”

Early the next morning, while Jenny was brushing her hair at the mirror, she stopped and looked at herself in the reflection. “Since you’re already in the South and you still have some money, why not go over to Andersonville and see if you can find Papa’s grave? I think it would make you feel better if you could visit his grave.”

She firmed her jaw and nodded. “Yes. I like that idea.”

When she arrived at Chattanooga’s depot, she approached a ticket agent.

“Good morning, young lady. May I help you?”

“Yes, sir. I need to go to Andersonville, Georgia. Can you route me there?”

“I can put you on a train that will take you to Atlanta, ma’am. You will change to another train there that will take you down to Macon. At Macon, you will have to hire a buggy at the depot that will take you down to Andersonville.”

“All right. How soon can I get a train to Atlanta?”

“There’s one that leaves in forty-five minutes.” He checked a sheet of paper. “You’ll arrive in Atlanta at nine-fifteen. The train I’ll book you on in Atlanta will leave at nine forty-five. You’ll arrive in Macon at eleven-thirty.”

Jenny opened her purse and took out the wad of currency. “Let’s do it.”

At noon, Jenny walked out of the Macon railroad station and approached the driver of a buggy who was putting grease on an axle. He rose to his feet and smiled, wiping grease from his fingers with an old rag. “You needin’ a ride, ma’am?”

“Yes, sir. I want to go to Andersonville.”

“Well, it just so happens that this ol’ buggy has been wantin’ to get down to Andersonville again and so has my horse.”

“I … I need to go to the prison camp there. My father was a prisoner in the camp during the last few months of the War. He died just before the War ended. I want to visit his grave. Do you know where the prison camp is?”

“Sure do. Been right by it many times.”

It was just past two-thirty when the driver pulled the buggy up to the gate in front of the Andersonville Prison Camp. The gate stood open, and from what they could see, the place was deserted.

Jenny craned her neck, peering as well as she could inside the stockade. “Do you know where the graveyard is?”

Before the driver could answer, an elderly man appeared from under the guard tower and came through the gate. “Somethin’ I c’n do for you folks? I’m Jess Walz, the attendant here.”

“Mr. Walz,” said Jenny, “my name is Jenny L–ah … Jenny Blair. My father was a Union soldier. He died as a prisoner in the camp shortly before the War ended. I would like to visit his grave.”

“Well, ma’am, I need to explain somethin’.”

“Yes?”

“First, let me say I’m sorry that your father died here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You see, ma’am, the prisoners weren’t buried in individual graves, but in mass graves. There is no way to know which of the mass graves holds the body of your father.”

Jenny bit her lower lip. “Oh.” She took a deep breath. “Would it be all right if I just go there for a little while?”

“Of course.”

“Where is the graveyard?”

He pointed north. “It’s just over that ridge, ma’am.”

As Jenny alighted from the buggy, the driver asked, “Would you like me to go with you, Miss?”

She set soft, teary eyes on him. “Thank you, but I’d like to go alone.”

“Sure. I understand.”

“I won’t be very long.”

“Take your time, Miss. I’ll be right here.”

Jenny slowly made her way over the ridge and down the gentle slope to where the mass graves scarred the land. She stood on level ground and ran her eyes over the countless lengthy mounds of dirt, now speckled with weeds and tiny patches of grass.

“Papa … I’m so sorry I won’t be able to bring justice to the man who murdered you. I love you. I always will. Good-bye, Papa.”

Jenny turned and with shoulders slumped, made her way toward the slope, her eyes scanning the massive stockade wall that surrounded the Andersonville prison camp.

T
HE
N
EW
M
EXICO SUNSET WAS A GLARING BLAZE
without clouds. It was Thursday, June 1, and Dan Tyler stood on the small balcony outside his second story room in Santa Fe’s Buena Vista Hotel, looking west toward the rugged Jemez Mountains. The mountains were taking a dark, uneven bite out of the sunset, and their long shadows were shading the desert in purple toward the spot where Dan stood.

“Lord,” he said, his voice full of awe, “You sure know how to paint pictures that would bankrupt the greatest orator on earth for words to describe them. That is beautiful!”

Dan was feeling the exhaustion of the long train rides he had taken since leaving Chattanooga seven days ago. The two-day layover in Little Rock due to a train wreck that tore up a lengthy section of track served only to weary him more.

His stomach growled. “Okay, okay. I know it’s time for supper.” He turned and went back into the room. He stopped when he saw the golden light of the lowering sun painting the walls with gold bars that were slowly changing to red. “Lord, if this is any example of what kind of sunsets You paint farther west, I’m sold on this part of the country already.”

He stepped out into the hall and headed for the staircase that would take him down to the first floor and the restaurant. He was
about halfway down the hall when he heard angry voices inside a room a few steps ahead.

Suddenly the door came open and a young woman came out, weeping. A male voice snapped, “Marlene, you get back in here, or I’ll beat you half to death!”

She paused and looked back inside. “If you touch me, I’ll scream for the people down at the desk to call the law on you!”

Dan was moving toward her when a big, husky man came through the door, red-faced, with bulging eyes. “Get back in the room, Marlene! Right now!” As he spoke, he raised a hand, ready to strike her.

Dan rushed up. “Hold it, fella!”

Both the man and the woman turned to see who had spoken.

The man’s beefy features grew darker. “You stay out of it, mister!”

Dan shook his head. “If you touch her, I’ll have to take you down.”

The look in the woman’s eyes spoke a world of relief.

The man’s face looked like a thundercloud. “This is none of your business! She’s my wife, and if I want to beat her good, there’s nothin’ you can do about it. You ain’t man enough to take me down. You get out of here before I pound you like a nail into the floor!”

Dan’s piercing eyes locked on the man. “No man is going to beat on a woman, no matter who she is, as long as I’m around. Now you just cool off, mister.”

The big man cursed through his red blur of anger and stomped toward Dan. The woman put a shaky hand to her mouth and took a step back.

Dan braced himself, fists balled.

The beefy man’s eyes blazed as his right arm shot forward like a piston behind his fist. Dan saw it coming and dodged far enough that the fist whistled past his ear. He countered with a savage blow to the man’s mouth.

The man staggered back. His massive head settled into his shoulders until his neck was no longer visible. There was a low, rumbling sound in his throat.

Dan knew better than to let him set himself. He smashed him in
the mouth again. The man staggered back, shaking his head, and fell on his back with a loud
whump
. Drops of blood flew from his mangled mouth.

Briefly, Dan saw the woman. Her own fists were doubled and her lips were drawn tight. “I’m going down to the desk for help.” She ran toward the stairs.

The big man was rolling onto his knees, fire in his eyes.

Dan stood before him, fixing him with a cold stare. “Better let it go, mister.”

The man stood up and wiped the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. He looked at the crimson brightness on his hand and let out an animal-like roar. He charged like a mad bull.

Well-experienced in handling the enemy on the battlefield when both were out of ammunition, Dan was on the balls of his feet. He dodged the muscular frame as it came his way. The big man roared, came to a stop, and whirled around, fury in his eyes. Before he had a chance to make a move, Dan’s fist caught him flush on the jaw with a loud cracking sound. The man’s head bobbed like his neck was made of rubber. Dan stepped in, cocked his fist, and unleashed another powerful blow, then hit him with the other fist.

The man’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor facedown in a heap. He was out cold.

Dan heard rapid thumping on the stairs. He turned to see Wally Ames, the clerk who had waited on him at the desk when he checked in.

Dan looked back down at the unconscious man, then met the clerk’s wide eyes. “Mr. Tyler, Mrs. Watson told me what happened up here. I’ve got a messenger on his way on horseback to the sheriff’s house. He just lives two blocks away. He’ll be here soon.”

“I was heading down to the restaurant for supper, but I guess I’d better wait till the sheriff gets here,” Dan said. “I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me.”

Mrs. Watson topped the stairs, panting, and hurried to the spot where her husband lay on the floor. She set admiring eyes on Dan. “Sir, I appreciate what you did. Louis was really angry. He would’ve hurt me.”

Suddenly there were more footsteps on the stairs. A husky man
in his early forties with a badge on his vest appeared. He looked at Wally. “I was just down the street when your messenger spotted me and told me what was going on.”

Wally nodded as the sheriff looked down at the big man on the floor, who was now beginning to stir.

“Sheriff,” said Wally, “his name is Louis Watson. And this is his wife.”

The sheriff touched his hat brim and nodded. “Mrs. Watson. I’m Sheriff Burt Benning.” Then to Dan: “I understand this man was about to rough up his wife. I assume you’re the one who intervened.”

“Yes. My name is Dan Tyler.”

“Well, Mr. Tyler, you did the right thing. Sometimes family squabbles are best left alone, but not when a man is about to beat up on his wife.”

“I can’t stand to see any woman manhandled. God made men physically strong so they could protect women, not beat up on them. Whenever I see a girl or a woman being manhandled—or even about to be manhandled—it gets to me, and I have to do something about it.”

Benning grinned. “Like I said, Mr. Tyler, you did the right thing.”

Louis Watson moaned and moved his head.

Mrs. Watson smiled at Dan. “Your wife is a very fortunate woman, Mr. Tyler. I know she appreciates your protective attitude toward her.”

Dan grinned. “Well, I’m not married, ma’am, but when I do find the right woman, I’ll take care of her.”

“I don’t doubt that. Bless you for it.”

Louis Watson rolled over, moaning louder.

The sheriff turned to Dan. “If you had something to do, Mr. Tyler, you can go. I’ll handle the situation.”

“All right. I was on my way down to the hotel restaurant when all of this started. I’ll just move on then.”

As Dan headed for the stairs, Mrs. Watson called after him, “Thank you again, Mr. Tyler.”

Dan smiled over his shoulder.