Let There Be Light (7 page)

She was coming to a clearing. Suddenly she saw a myriad of uniformed men lying dead on an open field, along with several dead horses. Her hand went to her mouth, and she swallowed hard as she stepped out of the trees and let her eyes roam over the sea of torsos that were sprawled in three directions. Some were lying on top of others, their heads and limbs twisted.

Jenny halted. She smelled burned gunpowder and blood. A foreboding atmosphere hung over the battlefield, like the calm before a tornado. Somehow she felt that she should keep walking among the dead. Forcing her feet to carry her forward, she moved slowly, weaving among the corpses that were clad in both gray and blue.

Barely breathing, Jenny looked down at the lifeless form of a Confederate officer. He lay faceup, his vacant eyes staring toward the sky. His revolver was in his hand, held in a death grip.

A few feet ahead of her lay a Union officer. A quick glance at the emblems on his shoulders told her he was a captain. Her eyes went
to his face. Suddenly she drew a quick, sharp breath. A shiver touched her spine. “Papa!” Captain William Linden lay dead, with two slugs in his chest.

As she stood over her dead father, the sight she beheld set her limbs trembling with horror. It was as if a fist were tightening and twisting in her chest. She dropped to her knees, touched the cold face, and began to cry in great wracking sobs. “Papa-a-a-a! No! Papa, don’t be dead! Papa, please don’t be d—”

Abruptly, Jenny was aware of two Confederate soldiers standing over her. One was tall and slender, the other, short and stumpy. They both started laughing.

The tall one grinned at her evilly. “What’s the matter, girlie? You don’t like to see a dead Yankee?”

Jenny heard a triumphant ghostly Rebel yell coming from somewhere across the field. Suddenly a powerful unquenchable rage claimed her. She jumped to her feet and screamed, “This is my father! You filthy Rebels killed my father!”

The stumpy man in gray threw his head back, laughed, and held his ample stomach. “Too bad, girlie! Your father’s dead. We killed him, and we’re glad!”

Jenny wheeled, dashed to the body of the Confederate officer, bent over, and wrested the revolver from his tight grip. Swinging back the hammer, she lined it on the stumpy soldier. Her eyes glittered dangerously. “You killed my father. So you’re glad, eh? Well, let’s see how glad you are about this!”

The revolver bucked in her hand as it roared, and the Rebel went down with the bullet in his heart. The thin one sprang toward her, eyes wild. Jenny snapped the hammer back, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The slug dead-centered the Rebel’s forehead, and he went down in a heap.

Jenny’s blood was boiling. “You killed my father! How does it feel, dirty Rebel? Huh? How does it feel? Nobody kills my father and gets away with it!” With that, she fired two more bullets into his head.

Jenny moved to the other Rebel corpse. “You killed my father. How do you like it, fatso?” She put the last two bullets in his head, then threw the gun down and ran toward her father’s body. “Papa! Papa-a-a-a!”

Suddenly, Jenny was awake, sitting up in her bed. “Papa-a-a-a! Papa-a-a-a!” She threw her hands to her face and sobbed, “Oh, Papa, don’t be dead! Please don’t be dead!”

The bedroom door opened, and by the soft moonlight that was coming through the windows, Jenny saw her sleepy-eyed mother framed in the doorway. “Honey, are you all right?”

Jenny drew a shaky breath. “Yes, Mama. was having a nightmare. I’m all right. Sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s okay, honey. I’ve had my share of nightmares for the past three years, as you well know. Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

“Uh-huh. It may take a few minutes, but I’m sure I can.”

“Well, sleep peacefully this time, honey,” said Myrna as she stepped into the hall and closed the door.

Jenny’s face was soaked with sweat. She wiped it with the sheet, lay down, and turned on her side. Within ten minutes, she was fast asleep.

The rising sun wove its golden fingers through the windows into Jenny’s room, and when it touched her eyelids, she rolled over and opened her eyes. “It can’t be morning already,” she mumbled.

Her weary brain protested at the thought of a new day starting so soon. She had gone through another nightmare shortly after getting back to sleep. She rubbed her puffy eyes while trying to rid her memory of the horror imbedded there.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and sat up. After a few seconds, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stretch the kinks out of her back. She glanced out the window at the pink and gold sunrise, and thought about her father and Nate. She wondered where in the South they might be, and if they were able to see the sun rising on another day.

Jenny rose from the bed to get ready. It took her a little longer than usual, for she stopped often to contemplate her nightmares and ponder on what they might mean. A strong feeling of dread hovered over her as she walked down the hall toward her mother’s room to awaken her.

When Jenny turned the knob and pushed the door open, she was surprised to find her mother up and dressed. Myrna was at the dresser mirror, putting the finishing touches on her hair with a brush. She looked at Jenny in the reflection, noting her tired eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Jenny nodded. “Yes.”

“I thought so. I heard you cry out, but it was only for a moment, so I decided not to disturb you. I figured you would go back to sleep quicker if I left you alone.”

“How’s your appetite, Mama? You think you can put down a good breakfast?”

Myrna laid the hairbrush on the dresser and turned around. “I’m really not feeling any hunger to speak of, honey. How about you?”

“I’m not very hungry, either. How about leftover biscuits dabbed with butter and jam and some hot black tea?”

Myrna walked toward her daughter. “That would be just fine.”

Soon they were seated at the kitchen table with steaming cups of tea next to plates that held two biscuits each. As they drank the tea, it seemed to revive them some.

Myrna looked across the table at Jenny. “Want to tell me about the nightmares?”

Jenny shrugged. “If you want to hear it.”

“I do.”

“All right. The first one took place on a battlefield somewhere in the Deep South. I could even smell the moss.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. I was walking through a thick forest toward an open field when I saw all these bodies of men and horses strewn everywhere.”

Jenny went on to describe the nightmare in detail, and when she finished by telling how she had shot the two Confederate soldiers dead who were laughing because they had killed her papa, then put slugs in their heads just for the sake of vengeance, Myrna shook her head. “Honey, it’s a good thing you’re not a man. If you were, you would take vengeance on every Confederate soldier possible, making him wish he had never donned a gray uniform.”

A strange light filled Jenny’s eyes. “I most certainly would,
Mama, right down to General Bobby Lee. Then I would go after President Jeffie Davis, himself. And before I killed him, I would make sure I told him what a low-down cuss he is.”

Myrna touched the tips of her fingers to her temples. “Jenny, I hope no one ever crosses you. That person would certainly wish he—or she—hadn’t, when you got through with them.”

Jenny laughed. “You’re right, Mama. When somebody purposely does someone else wrong, they deserve to suffer for it.”

Myrna took a small bite of biscuit, chewed it briefly, then swallowed it. She took a sip of tea. “Tell me about your other nightmare.”

“Well, I found myself in an army camp where Nate was, and a Rebel spy had come into the camp, dressed in Union blue. Somehow I knew the man was a spy, and that he was there to kill Lieutenant Nate Conrad. I saw the spy enter Nate’s tent and ran that direction, shouting a warning to Nate. There was a scuffle inside the tent, and by the time I stepped in there, the spy was dead with a knife in his chest.

“Nate was standing over him, breathing hard, and his eyes were wide as he looked at me and thanked me for calling out the warning. He asked how I knew the man was a spy. I told him I didn’t know. I just knew it. I … I looked down at the dead man, realizing that he would have taken Nate from me if I hadn’t called out the warning. I was angry, Mama. Really angry. I needed to vent my vengeance on him. Even though he was dead, I grabbed Nate’s revolver from his holster and put all six bullets in the dead man’s face.”

Myrna’s pale features twisted with revulsion. “Jenny, I wish you didn’t have such a vengeful spirit. What you did in both of those nightmares scares me.”

Jenny laughed again. “Mama, Mama. Those were only dreams.”

“I know, but—”

“But I will tell you this, Mama,” Jenny said in a serious tone, “if anyone ever harmed you or Papa or the man I love, they would taste of my vengeance, for sure.”

Myrna did not comment. She picked up what was left of the biscuit and put it in her mouth. While she was chewing it, Jenny said,
“How about another biscuit, Mama?”

Myrna shook her head. “Not now, dear. Maybe I’ll have it for a midmorning snack.”

“Well, all right, but Mama, I do wish you would try to eat more. You seem to be losing weight almost every day.”

Myrna nodded. “I’ll try, honey. Maybe Dr. Griffin will come up with a solution to give me back my appetite.”

“I sure hope so. It grieves me to see you wasting away like this.”

Myrna reached across the table and patted her daughter’s hand. “Don’t you be worrying about me. One of these days this horrible war will be over and your papa will come home. I’ll be fine, then.”

Jenny squeezed her hand. “You just hold on to that dream, won’t you?”

Myrna put a hand to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll try.”

Jenny rose from the table. “Mama, I’m going to make a stew before I leave for work. Will you keep wood on the fire in the stove so it can simmer all day?”

Myrna nodded.

“All right. Now, let’s get you into the parlor.”

After settling her mother in the rocking chair in the parlor and wrapping a light shawl around her shoulders, Jenny returned to the kitchen. She prepared carrots, potatoes, onions, and chunks of beef for the stew, and put them into a heavy pot. She added wood to the fire and placed the pot at the back of the stove to simmer.

Moments later, Jenny entered the parlor, kissed her mother’s sunken cheeks, and stepped outside into a glorious, sunny fall day. Even her spirits were lifted a little as her tired eyes took in the array of color amid the trees that lined the street. When she reached the sidewalk, she turned and waved at her mother, then hurried off to work.

There were a few customers waiting in front of the store when Jenny arrived. Pressing a smile on her lips, she said, “Good morning, folks. I’ll see if I can speed things up in there so we can get you in a little early.”

“That would be nice, Jenny,” said a young mother, who was holding a toddler in one arm while gripping the handle of a baby carriage with an infant inside.

Jenny stepped inside and found Zack and Emma busy behind the counter, making ready for the day’s business. She greeted them.

“How’s your mother today?” asked Emma as Jenny moved behind the counter.

“A little better, Emma. She still has her good moments and her bad ones. But I think she’s having a few more good ones since Dr. Griffin was there to see her yesterday. He was a real encouragement to her.”

“I’m glad for that. She needs all the encouragement she can get.”

Jenny had her cash drawer ready quickly. “I told those folks outside that I’d see if we could open a few minutes early for them. I’m ready if you are.”

Zack grinned and headed around the end of the counter. “Okay, Miss Fix-it, we’ll just do that.”

As the hours passed and customers came into the store, most of them, as usual, talked about the War. Some spoke of particular battles that had been fought of late and voiced their sorrow for the Union soldiers who had been killed. Others spoke their sorrow for the Union soldiers who had lost limbs, for those who had lost their eyesight, and for those who had been captured and were languishing in dirty, disease-infested Confederate prison camps.

In early afternoon, Jenny and Emma were working the counter. Both had lines of a half-dozen customers as they tallied up the bills and sacked goods. In both lines, people were discussing different aspects of the War and its casualties while they waited.

In front of Jenny, the woman she was waiting on was in conversation with the man just behind her. They were talking about the Union soldiers who were being killed on Southern battlefields and dumped in shallow graves without embalmment or coffins, where their bodies would rot while being devoured by worms.

Suddenly Jenny dropped the pencil she was holding, put her hands to her mouth, and began to weep. While the man and the woman, along with the rest of those in line stared at her, Emma stepped to Jenny and laid a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Jenny bit her lips and looked at Emma through her tears. “All of this war talk, Emma. I just need a few minutes to get a hold of myself.”