Bring the Boys Home

by Gilbert L. Morris

  Without another word, Squires sniffed, then stepped through a door at the back of the room. He came out shortly and said reluctantly, “You can go in now.”

  “Thanks for your courtesy, Squires.”

  Stepping into the back room, Nelson advanced to the large walnut desk and greeted the man behind it.

  “Hello, Dave.”

  He waited, for he knew that Dave Pimberly had also been a Union man, and he expected that the banker would greet him coldly.

  Pimberly, however, got up smiling. He stuck his hand across the desk and gripped Nelson’s with a firm pressure. “I’m glad to see you made it through, Nelson. And your boys too, I hear.”

  “Yes, we did. Thank God for that. How about your family?”

  “We lost Mackey at Gettysburg.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. He had a great deal of promise, Mackey did.”

  “Yes, I guess you might say all those that fell had a great deal of promise,” Pimberly said. “Sit down, Nelson. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  Lowering himself into the oak chair across from the banker, Nelson sighed heavily. “I guess you might say I’m not doing anything, Dave. Got mustered out of the army and thought about staying in Virginia.” He looked out the window to where a pair of robins perched in a tree, one of them feeding worms to a baby. He studied the sight for a moment, then turned back to Pimberly. “But this is home to me—at least I’d like for it to be.”

  Pimberly studied him. He had known Nelson most of his life. They had disagreed about politics and about the war, but Pimberly now said quietly, “You’re going to find some folks who are not glad to see you—but you expected that.”

  “Yes, I did. I’ll just have to prove myself, I suppose.”

  “We’re going to have to learn to live together, North and South,” Pimberly remarked. He leaned forward and asked, “What can I do for you, Nelson?”

  “I was talking with Dan Carter about the old Turner place. I need a place to put my family.”

  “You want to buy it? Not much to it, you know. You remember the place.”

  “I can’t buy it. In the first place, I don’t have any money, and if I did, it wouldn’t be to buy that. What I want to do is rent the old house.”

  Pimberly shook his head doubtfully. “It’s not fit to live in. You’re married now, I understand from Dan.”

  “Yes, and my wife’s going to have a baby.”

  “Then you don’t want that old shack.”

  “Not much choice, Dave. If you’d rent it to me, we’ll fix it up. We’ll make do for a while.”

  “Move in any time you like. It’s not worth any rent. Actually, I thought you’d come in to ask for a loan.”

  “Not yet, Dave. I appreciate your kindness.”

  Nelson got up, shook the banker’s hand, and left the bank.

  He had not gone more than ten steps down the street toward the general store when a voice called out, “Go home, Rebel! Go back to the South where you belong!”

  Looking up quickly, he saw three men standing across the street. He did not recognize two of them, but one of them he knew at once. Young Dewitt Falor. Falor was glaring at him with anger in his eyes.

  Nelson felt a streak of annoyance go through him. He almost stepped into the street to cross and challenge the men. Then he remembered that he had to live with these people and that starting a fight would not be the best way to begin. He went on down to the store and picked up a few groceries.

  The clerk, who knew him, said, “Now, you can’t pay for those with Confederate money, Nelson.”

  “I know that, Sy.” Nelson reached into his pocket and pulled out some greenbacks that he had been forced to borrow from Silas. “These will spend, won’t they?”

  Relief washed over Sy’s face. “Sure, they’re fine. Glad to have you back.”

  Nelson left the store, mounted the horse, and started home. As he left town, he heard again a voice filled with raw anger call out, “Go back where you belong, Rebel!”

  “The breeze feels good, Jeff,” Leah said.

  “Sure does. It’s been a hot day!”

  The two had gone for a late-afternoon walk and now were some two miles from the Carter house. Leah had chosen to wear her pale blue dress today, and her hair was tied back with a dark green ribbon. Jeff had on a pair of faded jeans and a worn white shirt. His hair, as black as hair could possibly be, framed the olive skin of his face. She thought he looked very tall and lean and handsome as they walked along together.

  Looking up suddenly, he pointed, “You see that hickory tree over there?”

  “Sure. What about it?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Don’t you remember that tree?”

  It was an enormous hickory that had limbs stretching out in all directions.

  “That’s where we found that hairy woodpecker’s egg. We’d looked for it for two years. I’m surprised you’d forget.”

  Leah clapped her hands together and smiled. She ran to the tree and reached up to touch a limb. “I do remember! You had to boost me up to get me into the tree!”

  “You want to go up again?” He grinned and reached for her.

  She squealed. “No! I’m not climbing a tree—not in this dress!”

  Jeff laughed aloud. “You ought to get a pair of your old overalls on.”

  “You remember your fourteenth birthday?” she asked, leaning back against the tree and changing the subject.

  “I remember every birthday. It’s nice we have them on the same day. My fourteenth was the last one before the war began.”

  “Yes. And I remember you got me a set of paints from the store, and I got you the knife that you’d wanted so long.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Jeff pulled it out. “Still have it. Cut up quite a few meals with this throughout the war.” He opened the blade, which was worn from sharpening. “Sure has been a good one.”

  “I still have the paints too. I looked at them last night—and at some of the pictures I painted.” She giggled. “You should see the ones I painted of you.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

  Later, on the way home, he brought up Tom and Sarah.

  “Tom hardly ever even speaks to her,” Leah said as they came in view of the Carter house.

  “I guess he’s just afraid that she won’t want him.”

  “He’ll never know until he asks, but I know she wants him.”

  “Why don’t you tell him, Leah?”

  “You tell him. You’re his brother.”

  “I have tried to tell him, but … well … I don’t know. When a fellow’s lost a leg, he does feel kind of like a misfit. I can understand how Tom feels.”

  “He’s wrong, though. Sarah didn’t fall in love with his leg.”

  “You’re quite an authority on love and romance. You used to read books about them all the time,” Jeff teased. “You may be right about this one, though. I know Tom’s still in love with her, but besides the problem with the leg, he doesn’t have a penny. None of us do.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Don’t talk foolish!” Jeff said sharply. “Of course, it matters! You’ve got to have a place to live and food to eat. And don’t tell me that God’s going to take care of it all. God helps those that help themselves. It says so in the Bible.”

  Leah waved her hands in exasperation. “It does not say that in the Bible! It says that in Aesop’s Fables! You know as well as I do—God helps those who can’t help themselves.”

  This seemed to strike Jeff as being true. “I know. You’re right. So many times during the war when I just couldn’t help myself at all, God always saw to it.” He smiled at her and took her hand. “You were in some of those escapades.” He suddenly lifted her hand, kissed it, and then watched her face.

  Leah felt herself blush, but she did not pull her hand back. “Now you’re the one who’s getting romantic. You practiced up hand kissing with Lucy, I suppose?”

  “Now, don’t start on Lucy. She and Ce
cil are going to get married and live happily ever after.” He held her hand a moment longer, then said, “Let’s go in the house. You can tell me some more about hand kissing later.”

  Late that night, Sarah was preparing for bed. She was brushing her hair, seated at a dressing table.

  Leah watched from her own bed. She asked suddenly, “Has Tom said anything to you?”

  Sarah did not miss a stroke. She had beautiful dark hair that came down to her waist and dark blue eyes that looked back at her out of the mirror. She had one of the most beautiful complexions that Leah had ever seen.

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk much.”

  “Jeff and I were talking about it. He says Tom is just afraid again to pay you any attention because he lost his leg, and he thinks you’ve probably changed your mind, and he doesn’t have any money. Also, he knows Dewitt Falor’s courting you.”

  “I wish he’d say that to me. I could set him straight in a minute.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “That’s not the way it is. A woman can’t just go up and start explaining things to a man. He has to say something first.”

  “I guess so.” Leah lay quietly, thinking of the times that she had argued with Jeff. How often she had wanted him to speak up and apologize first, knowing at the same time that he was waiting for her to speak. “Life gets complicated, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve never known it to fail. And the older you get, the more complicated it is.” Sarah rose, blew out the light, and slipped into bed.

  Leah looked out at the half-moon shedding its silvery beams over the apple tree outside their window.

  Sarah was silent for a long time. Finally she turned over and faced Leah. “I love him so much! But he’s just got to say something to me, Leah.”

  “I know.” Leah yearned to help her sister but did not know how. “We’ll just pray, and God will tell him to do it.”

  “All right. Let’s do that. The Bible says if any two people agree that God wants to do something, it’ll be done—and you and I agree. So let’s pray.”

  In the silence of the room, the two girls prayed, first for Tom and then for the other family members.

  Leah had always felt close to Sarah, and now her heart went out to her sister. After Sarah had gone to sleep, Leah prayed silently, God, give Tom to Sarah for a husband. Don’t let him be foolish and silly.

  Then she turned over and closed her eyes. She thought about the war years that had gone by, and she added another prayer, “And thank You, God, for bringing all our men home safe.”

  9

  Tom Has a Problem

  The job of putting the old Turner house into living condition consumed all the energies of the Majorses. Nelson, Tom, and Jeff hauled out trash, mopped floors, cleaned windows—those that were not broken—set up an ancient cookstove by bracing its missing leg with bricks, and worked from sunup to after dark every weekday until May.

  One Tuesday morning, Tom thought he was getting up earlier than the others. However, he found Eileen in the kitchen baking bread and said with surprise, “What are you doing up this early?”

  “Oh, I just couldn’t sleep. Sit down and let me fix you some breakfast.”

  Taking a chair, Tom looked at his stepmother’s face. She looked tired. There were lines around the corners of her mouth that showed strain. “You don’t look like you feel well, Eileen. Maybe you better go in and see the doctor.”

  Eileen reached over and pushed a lock of Tom’s hair back from his forehead. “Pooh! Who needs an old doctor? It’s only a baby!”

  Tom sat sprawled in the chair, his mind going over the day that lay before him.

  Eileen soon put eggs and grits before him, then sat down to drink a cup of coffee. “Real coffee tastes good,” she said. “I never could get used to drinking coffee made out of burnt acorns.”

  “I couldn’t either,” Tom confessed. He sipped the hot brew carefully. “It was nice of the Carters to set us up in groceries—but we can’t keep sponging off them forever.”

  Eileen gave him a quick look. “Things may be hard for a while, but you’ll find work.”

  “That’s what I aim to do today. I’m going to walk as far as I can until somebody will hire me to do something. I’m not particular what this time. Just something to bring some cash in.”

  “Are you going around to the farms or going to town?”

  “Both. I’ll stop on the farms on the way to town. It’s a bad time to be asking for work, especially with so many Union soldiers coming back, but I don’t know what else to do, Eileen. Maybe I can get a job cleaning out stables—or just anything.”

  “You’ll find something,” Eileen said. “I’ll fix a lunch to take with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You’ll need something to eat if you’re going to walk all the way to town and back. Some sandwiches, anyway. And I’ve got two of those doughnuts left.”

  “Thanks. That would be a help.”

  By the time Tom left, the sun was coming up over the mountains. He walked as quickly as he could, wishing he had a horse. But there was no money for luxuries like that. By the time he had walked an hour, his leg was beginning to hurt. He looked down at the offending limb and knew that he would never make it to town. Yet he could not turn back. He continued to walk until finally the discomfort became unbearable and he sat down on a fallen tree beside the road.

  Half an hour later a wagon came by. Tom looked up hopefully and waved.

  “Headed for town, young fella?” The driver was a big, husky man wearing a pair of faded overalls and a straw hat. “Get in and rest your bones!”

  “Thanks.” Tom climbed awkwardly up onto the wagon seat.

  “Hurt your leg, did you?”

  Here it comes, Tom thought. Can’t dodge this. I’ll just have to tell the truth. “I lost it at Gettysburg. Confederate army.” He looked at the man and waited to be told to get out.

  But the man studied him thoughtfully. “Gettysburg, eh? That was a pretty bad fight. I was there myself.”

  Tom waited for him to continue.

  The man grinned. “Actually, I was in the Confederate army myself. Name’s Jud Mullins.”

  Tom took the thick hand that the farmer offered, and a wave of relief washed over him. “I was afraid you were going to say you were Union army and put me out.”

  “That sort of thing could happen. There’re still pretty strong feelings,” Mullins said.

  “Do you have a farm around here, Mr. Mullins?”

  “Yea, a little place. Don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “Tom Majors. My pa and my brother, we all fought. Were in the Stonewall Brigade.”

  “You tell me that!” Mullins gave him an extrahard look. “That was the fightingest outfit that I ever heard tell of. I heard old Stonewall liked to walk you fellas to death. Called you his foot cavalry.”

  “He was a hard man, General Jackson, but a good one.”

  “So I heard. Fine Christian. Too bad he had to get kilt.”

  “Jud, do you need any help over on your place? I’m looking for work.”

  “Well, now, I wish I could say I did. But the truth is, it’s just a little place, and the plantin’s over, so—”

  “Sure, I understand.”

  The wagon rattled on over the washboard road, with Mullins avoiding such potholes as he could. The two men talked about the war. They had been in many of the same battles. Finally, they came to Pineville.

  “I’ll be goin’ home at about midday, if you want a ride back. Might be a little bit easier on that leg of yours.”

  “That would be a help, Jud.”

  “I’ll be at the general store about noon. If you’re not through, I can maybe wait on you a little bit. It won’t take me long to do my business.” He grinned, exposing a large gold tooth that glistened in the sun. “Mostly I sit and play checkers and tell lies about the war. You might come on down.”

  “Might do that, Jud.”
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  Mullins stopped his horses at the edge of the village, and Tom got down. Waving to the friendly farmer, he went into the blacksmith shop where he found Clyde Potter pounding on a horseshoe.

  “Hello, Clyde.”

  “Well, bless my heart if it ain’t Tom Majors! I heard you was back!” The burly blacksmith put down his tongs, wiped his hands on his apron, and crunched Tom’s hand in a bone-crushing grip. “I’m mighty glad to see you made it.”

  “Thanks, Clyde. You’re still shoeing horses, I see.”

  Clyde shrugged. “It’s about all I know.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “Did you learn blacksmithing in the army?”

  “No, but I’ve got to learn something. I’ve got to have work.”

  Potter scratched his head vigorously. “I wish I could help you, Tom, but there’s just not really enough business here for me to take on anybody else. I’ve got one good hand, and the two of us can handle about all that comes our way.”

  “You have any idea where I might get work?”

  Potter named off a few possibilities, and Tom shook hands with him again and left.

  For the next two hours, he went into store after store, omitting none of them except the dress shop. At each place the answer was the same: No help wanted.

  Finally, discouraged and tired, Tom sat down on a cane-bottom chair in front of the hardware store and ate the two sandwiches and the doughnuts that Eileen had given him. He was thirsty, and he got a drink from a pump down the street. The water was full of iron, but at least it wet his throat.

  Taking a deep breath, he looked up and down, trying to think of another place to go. I guess I might as well go on home, he thought.

  Just as he passed one of the town’s three saloons, the batwing doors suddenly burst open, and he was almost pushed off the sidewalk into the street. He caught his balance by grabbing one of the uprights supporting the shed roof that covered the walk.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, Reb?”

  Instantly Tom grew alert. He turned to find the two men who had just exited watching him in a strange manner. He knew both of them. Buck Noland and Arlo Simms were typical town no-goods. They worked when they had to, drank when they could get liquor, and fought for no reason.