“He’s right. If my old bones weren’t a’creaking and this old rheumatism making them stiff I would be a volunteer’n.
“Silas says there should be less volunteering and more drafting and they would get some of those ‘brave men’ who stay at home and they’d teach them a thing or two about war.”
He told her, “They’ve been talking about drafting. If they can’t keep the quota of volunteers up, they may have to draft in our county. You wait and see what will happen. Lots of healthy men will be running off to old Doc Samuels complaining and limping around saying they’re not able to go to draft.”
She moved back to the stove and stirred the simmering apples. “You know, Pap, you’re probably right. The cowards find their way out of fights. Silas says it would look well in such men that want to stay at home to say very little and to mind their own business and let the men that are fighting for their country alone.”
Alexander said, “Silas wrote me about the hardships he has and how a good soldier learns to take it with good cheer. Some men who are enjoying the good life at home have nothing to do but blow off about the true men who are out there fighting for the Union cause. When Silas comes home he will set men like Mr. Bennet straight, and if he don’t, I will.”
Elizabeth Jane laughed. “Oh Pap, you don’t have to worry, Silas will enjoy setting him straight. Silas says that he’s for the Union and has to be ruled by the President. He says they will thrive and do well and finally succeed in putting down the rebellion,” she said. She stared into the bubbling sauce for several moments and then added quietly, “I just wish he’d come home.”
Alexander remained silent, puffed his pipe and drank his coffee.
Elizabeth Jane removed the kettle from the heat. She poured a cup of coffee for herself and refilled Alexander’s cup. She returned the coffee pot to the stove and then sat down at the table with Alexander. “You know Pap, Silas wrote he could have a furlough but he said he doesn’t want it. I don’t know why not. His baby will be here soon, before the newly planted corn seeds grow to our knees.” Her eyes were tearing. “I just don’t understand.”
Alexander reached out and gently and reassuringly patted her hand. He said nothing but he understood well the sadness she was feeling. Life without the one you love at your side can sometimes be devastating, and always, always, lonely. And, as Alexander had discovered, loneliness can occur even with your loved one nearby.
Chapter Five: Sally
Sally Day Storm’s world, and in turn, that of her husband, Alexander, began to change drastically during one harsh winter month in 1823, when two of their young children’s lifeless bodies were buried deep below the surface of the near frozen ground on their Iowa farm.
The fever that was to take her children had begun more than a year before in the vicinity of the Schuylkill River in Pennsylvania along the Appalachian Trail. As settlers and frontiersmen made their way along the trail they were accompanied by the fever, in many cases, unbeknown to them. The fever took many lives as it spread out in all directions across the country, and the prairie land was not immune.
Death and grief were no strangers to Sally. It had been a part of her life almost from the moment she was born. Her father, John Day, had left the green, fertile Shenandoah Valley of Virginia for the offerings of Clermont County, Ohio in 1797. Shortly after the arrival of the family to their new homestead, Sally was born, having the distinction of being the first White born in Claremont County. Her birth was followed in minutes by a twin brother. The second born, Isaac, was tiny and frail and his struggle for life ended two days after he made his entrance into the world. Tiny baby Sally, weighing only three-and-a-half pounds, apparently not only had determination but an eagerness for life. Much to the surprise of her parents, she grew fast and before the age of ten months was walking and talking. Her words came fluently and soon her single words grew into phrases. Of course, too young to understand that she had been a twin and that her twin brother had died, Sally was a young child when she had to confront death for the first time. By the time she was ten years of age, four of her siblings had died. Two years later, when Sally was twelve, her mother died soon after giving birth to her tenth child. The baby lived only two days. Five years later, her father passed on. It appeared Sally had taken all the losses in stride and moved forward, but apparently somewhere deep in her psyche all the grief she had endured was about to burst wide open with full emotional effect.
When Sally’s own child took his last breath, she was inconsolable. Less than two weeks later, her three-year-old daughter gave up her battle with the fever.
Alexander, although overcome with his own grief, struggled to give his grieving wife comfort but she had closed herself off to receiving comfort from anyone.
He would never forget the pain he felt as he stood in the softly falling snow not far from the two fresh graves of his children. Sally sat on the cold ground, a child’s rag doll clutched tight in her arms, rocking back and forth. The light snowflakes were building up on her dark hair and clothing. There was absence of sound—no wind blowing, no birds singing, no crickets chirping—nothing to be heard in the silence of the falling snow except the mournful wailing of a grieving mother. Now and then, the wailing would stop and the pain-filled voice that Alexander did not recognize would break out into verses of a familiar hymn—the lyrics crescendoing and falling with heart-pained emotion.
He had stood there for nearly three hours, afraid to leave her, and unable to get her to leave the graves.
Their world was never the same after that. Sally grieved for months, at times neglecting her two older sons. As she slowly began to emerge from her deep grief, life seemed to be about to return to normal. But it did not. She would go through periods when she would curse God, shake her fists at the heavens, rail anger at Him for taking her precious babies from her. Following those all too common outbursts, she would then be overcome with feelings of guilt and retreat into a world no one could touch, not even Alexander.
Alexander recalled when there came a time it appeared Sally had released her anger, but throughout the years there would be short periods of rational behavior and then something might occur that would produce long periods of deep bouts of melancholy, often lasting for weeks or months at a time.
Alexander was frustrated that he was unable to help her. Every time Sally had a good period he would pray that things would be completely normal again, but despite the prayers and his hope that normalcy had returned, those periods never lasted long. There was nothing left of their marriage except two people living under the same roof in desperate isolation, he isolated from the woman he had known and loved, and she isolated from the woman she had once been.
And it was that fact that turned Alexander’s interests to another woman. He found in Abigail all he had lost in Sally. Those few who knew about Abigail did not scorn Alexander. It was some of those same few, who for several years had suggested to Alexander that he take Sally to the mental asylum in Des Moines. Alexander could not do that. He had recurring nightmares at the thought of locking Sally away in a place such as that. But he also had recurring nightmares of Sally locked in her own mental and private world and he couldn’t find the key to let her out.
Many dark and lonely nights he had cried on his pillow as he heard her babbling and irrational outbursts coming from the next room. The most difficult times for him were his attempts to explain to his two remaining sons, Valentine and Michael, what was wrong with their mother. He was often at a loss for words. As they grew older, they did come to a place of understanding but for Alexander it was those years when they did not understand that were so difficult. All he could do was to comfort his sons in the only way he knew how, by giving them as much of his loving attention as he could. He would take them for walks, or hunting, or fishing at a nearby stream, and most often out to the fields to work alongside him—anything to remove them from what they had to endure on a daily basis.
Abigail became Alexander’s rescue from the d
arkness that prevailed in his home. With her, he found solace, comfort, and what turned out to be a deep and enduring love. But under the circumstances, it was a love that could not be fully recognized in the way they wanted.
The last three years of Sally’s life were extremely painful for Alexander. She most often needed full time care, unable to care for herself in basic ways. But something happened one spring morning that Alexander would never understand.
His two barking dogs awakened him in the early morning hours just after dawn. He got up from bed, the dogs insistent in their howling and barking. He hurried downstairs, grabbed his rifle from the wall rack above the fireplace mantel, emerged into the yard where he was met by his hound dog, Rascal.
“What is it Rascal? Do we have some varmints out here?” he asked.
Rascal pranced at Alexander’s feet, seemingly impatient. Alexander reached down and patted his head. “Okay, boy, what is it? Does Laddie have a fox cornered?”
Alexander moved toward the incessant barking of his sheep dog, Laddie, who was a couple hundred yards from the house. As he approached in the early light of dawn, Alexander saw the prone figure of his wife atop his children’s graves. Laddie stood over her, barking and obviously distressed. Alexander knew before he reached her what had happened.
He knelt on the ground alongside her lifeless body. “Oh, Sally, my sweet one,” he said softly. She was dressed in a white lace nightgown he had not seen on her slender body since their wedding night. Her right hand limply held a revolver. Clutched in her left hand was her Bible. Laying across the top of each of their children’s graves were small bouquets of fresh picked flowers still wet with morning dew.
Alexander took her Bible from her hand. A folded paper stuck out from between the pages. He opened the Bible to the marked page, the 23rd Psalm of David. He unfolded the paper. There in the dim morning light with eyes filled with tears he read her words:
My dear Alexander,
Please do not feel sad for me. I am so sorry life has become so terrible for us. I cannot find happiness nor can I give you happiness. My only happiness will be with my children in heaven. I trust there I will find the peace I need. My little ones need me. They need me more than you do, or my sons. You are a good father and I know my boys will be just fine. You will be just fine, too. You are a man of strength and you have endowed that on your sons, Valentine and Michael, who are now young men in their own right. My heart was taken when my little ones died, and I have none left to give to you and the boys. I pray that my heart will mend when I see my precious babies in heaven. I will always love you and the children. Please, please forgive me. May the Lord watch over you and the children.
Blessings, Sally
Alexander replaced the letter in the Bible and pulled his wife into his arms. He held her for several minutes, unmindful of the fact that the moistness of blood was soaking his shirt. Both dogs had quieted and lay on the ground near by. Alexander was aware of the rustling sound of corn stalks moving in the gentle morning breeze and the chatter of birds looking for worms that might be found in the moist earth of early morning. The sun was rising above the clouds that lay low on the eastern horizon, coloring the sky.
He rose to his feet and held her body tight across his chest as he carried her toward the farmhouse. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest in faster rhythm with every step he took. Following close were his two dogs. As he approached the porch the dogs ran ahead and stopped at the bottom of the steps and sat. They watched as their master ascended the steps onto the porch. Alexander swung the door open with one hand and moved through the threshold with his wife in his arms as he had done so many years before.
Only this time, his tears were not tears of laughter and joy, but of sadness and heartbreak.
Abigail Wright filled the emptiness in Alexander’s heart almost to overflowing but not quite. After what both he and Abigail considered a reasonable length of time following Sally’s death, they were married. The mother of three grown children, Abigail had been widowed for several years. She owned the small general store in town and had lived in the upstairs above the store. That had been the place where Alexander could escape his problems, at least temporarily. He was not proud of the fact he was seeing another woman during those years. But he figured it might have been what kept his own sanity. He had done all he could have done for Sally. He saw to it she had good care, especially during the times when he was out tending to farming. Maude Elders had been a faithful friend and companion to Sally even through her darkest days. She had helped to raise his kids when Sally was incapable of doing so. She tutored his boys at times when they were unable to attend school. She had hot meals on the table when Alexander had spent a long and hard day in the corn fields. And even though Maude had known about Abigail she never said a word to Alexander until the day he married Abigail.
On his wedding day at the reception, held at his son Michael and daughter-in-law Rachel’s home, Maude had planted a kiss on his check and told him, “Alexander, I’m happy you now have the happiness with Abigail that you both have deserved for all these years.”
“Thank you, Maude,” he replied.
Maude’s eyes were soft and her voice gentle as she told him, “There is something you should know, Alex.”
“What is it, Maude.”
She adjusted her wire spectacles higher on her nose, and lowered her voice so none of the others in the room could hear her words. “Sally had known for years about Abigail. So many times she wanted to tell you but I think I discouraged it.”
“I had no idea she—”
“I know. But I want you to know Sally understood. She knew you needed more than what she could give. But she was unable to give to you, you know that.” Maude reached out and patted his arm. “She loved you. But she had a broken heart and you couldn’t fix it for her, Alex. You do understand?”
He nodded and said, “I do. How hard I prayed it would change.”
“We all did,” she said. “Many of us knew what you were going through. I saw the loneliness in your eyes. And I saw the day your loneliness left. Soon after, I realized it was Abigail that took it from you and gave you what you so much needed.”
“Was it that obvious?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Yes, my dear, it was.”
He smiled and patted her hand, still on his arm. He said, “Thanks Maude for telling me. You know, I don’t know how I would have managed all those years without you.”
She laughed and her eyes twinkled as she said, “Hey, you forget. You’re a Storm boy. The story that goes round is, there is no stopping you boys.”
Life was good for Alexander and Abigail until the year 1851, when the influenza epidemic hit the Great Plains. Abigail lingered near death for days. For the second time in his life, Alexander was helpless. She died peacefully. And again, Alexander was to know what loneliness was.
Alexander watched his grandson’s wife as she returned to the stove and picked up the coffee pot. Disappointment was still on her face. Silas had married a good woman. Alexander had liked Elizabeth Jane from the first time he had spotted her on Silas’s arm at a Fourth of July picnic. They were two young lovers, full of exuberance and joy. Alexander had turned to his son Michael, Silas’s father, and said, “Looks like your boy has a fine one there.”
Michael had responded, “That’s Daniel and Catherine McCord’s daughter, Elizabeth Jane.”
Alexander replied, “Well, well. The little filly has grown up. She’s quite a young lady.”
“Silas thinks so. It’s my bet they’ll be married before long.”
Michael’s words of prophecy had been valid. Less than two years later they had married. Alexander believed it to be a good solid union but he couldn’t help but wonder now why his grandson had been so willing to leave his family and volunteer for the army. He supposed he understood Silas’s desire to fight for his country as he, himself, would probably be doing the same if he was younger and capable. But then again, Silas had a young s
on, a baby coming, and a large farm to care for. It seemed to him Silas could have held off until the need was greater and they started drafting men. He couldn’t help but wonder as Elizabeth Jane was wondering, why would Silas not want to come home on furlough if he had the chance?
He asked, “Janie, what did Silas say about the furloughs?”
Her eyes were sad as she returned to the table and poured fresh coffee. She replied, “Pap, he said that it would cost too much and it would be too hard for him to go back once he was home.”
He shrugged. “Maybe he’s right.”
“But why doesn’t he want to see us? I just don’t understand. I really don’t.” She lowered herself onto the chair and stared at Alexander, her eyes pleading for an answer that might be there in the worn and wise face across the table. “Do you, Pap?”
Alexander had to admit he had no answer for her. He puffed on his pipe and wondered what he could offer in a way of comfort. He pulled the pipe from his mouth and said, “Maybe Silas will change his mind soon.”
But Alexander really doubted those words. He believed his grandson was taking his soldiering seriously and he knew good soldiers were there until the last bullet was fired.
Chapter Six: Benjamin
The busy spring school term at the Learning School had been a godsend for Lucinda Garrison. Her days were filled with the challenge of teaching and her evenings filled with school papers to read over and correct. It left little idle time for her to brood over the absence of James. Although busy, thoughts of her husband rarely left her mind for long. She looked forward to his letters and wrote him every day or two. Reading of his military adventures could be disquieting but most of his letters did not speak of the details of war and she tried not to bring it up in her letters to him. She believed the less she knew about what was really happening the better off she was. Occasionally James might share a battle he had endured but most letters were filled with philosophical renderings unrelated to the situation the country was in. James wrote of his future dreams for them, of his educational aspirations and goals as a teacher. He had hoped at some point in their future he could take a professorship at a leading university.
Corn Silk Days: Iowa, 1862 Page 6
