1862
Doran had just deposited another load of his belongings in the room beneath the church floor. The war was still raging, thousands of men were dying, and it didn’t look like there was any end in sight. Emma had been right. Three more years of this, and the states would be torn to shreds, not to mention all the men that were dying and all the families that were split over the war.
He let the door slowly close, and stood looking around the church. He wondered what God thought of this war? Was God for the North because they were fighting to stop slavery? He must be, since the North would win out in the end, according to Emma.
Claiborne Fox Jackson, had been elected governor in 1860. By then everyone knew the states were gearing up for a war. Jackson, was a career politician and an ardent supporter of the South. He campaigned as a Douglas Democrat, favoring a conciliatory program on issues that divided the country. After Jackson's election, however, he immediately began working behind the scenes to promote Missouri's secession. In addition to planning to seize the federal arsenal at St. Louis, Jackson conspired with senior Missouri bankers to illegally divert money from the banks to arm state troops, a measure that the Missouri General Assembly had so far refused to take.
Missouri's presence at neutrality was tested in a conflict over the Saint Louis Arsenal. The Federal Government reinforced the Arsenal's tiny garrison with several detachments, because of widespread reports that Governor Jackson intended to use the Missouri Volunteer Militia to attack the Arsenal. The intended plan was to evacuate the majority of the munitions to Illinois. 21,000 guns were secretly evacuated to Alton, Illinois.
At the same time, Governor Jackson called up the Missouri State Militia, for maneuvers in suburban St. Louis at Camp Jackson. These maneuvers were perceived by the Union government, as an attempt to seize the arsenal. They attacked the militia and paraded them as captives through the streets of St. Louis which caused a riot to erupt. The troops, mainly German immigrants, opened fire on the attacking crowd killing many and injuring even more.
Abraham Lincoln sent someone to meet with Governor Jackson to persuade Missouri to remain neutral, as Governor Stewart had intended the state to do, but they quickly deadlocked over basic issues of sovereignty and governmental power. Jackson, along with others, were working to construct the new Missouri State Guard in nine military districts statewide, and wanted to contain the Federal toe-hold to the Unionist stronghold of St. Louis. Jackson demand that Federal forces be limited to the boundaries of St. Louis, and that pro-Unionist Missouri Home Guards in several Missouri towns be disbanded. Of course, the Union refused, and stated that if Jackson insisted on so limiting the power of the Federal Government This meant war. After Jackson was escorted from the lines, the Union soldiers began a pursuit of Jackson and his elected state government. Jackson and the pro-Confederate politicians fled to the southern part of the state where they remained to fight against the North.
Sadly, Mark went to join them, but left his wife and children at the plantation, under Doran’s care. Many of Doran’s black workers had left to join the war against the south, since Governor Stewart had not been able to keep the state neutral, once Governor Jackson took over. One of his workers, Sam Jones, who had left to fight, knew how to write, and he kept Doran appraised, concerning the war, and his part in it.
Mark had been right. Doran learned through Sam, that the blacks were being used for labor, and not allowed to go to the front line. On top of that, they only paid the black soldiers ten dollars a month, while they paid the white soldiers thirteen dollars a month. One regiment was so outraged they refused to take any pay. Eventually, that regiment was allowed to fight at the front, and the other black regiments were paid thirteen dollars a month, like the rest of the soldiers. Sam was not in that regiment, though, even though he could read and write, and one of the excuses for not letting the blacks fight against the enemy was that they believed that blacks were too ignorant to understand written instructions from those in charge.
Hearing about the war, from Sam’s point of view, tended to sober Doran, as he learned of the death and carnage. Sam described how part of his duties was plundering the plantations, and burning out towns, even though the people in the towns were not fighting against them, and most of the men were away fighting someplace else. But they didn’t want the enemy to have anything to come back to, he explained, and Doran thought about how Emma claimed his plantation had been burned down during the war. Would it be pay back from the southern states, that had been burned out, by those fighting for the north, to burn out the plantations of people who supported the North, he wondered?
The official war had not touched where he was yet, but there were areas where neighbor-versus-neighbor bushwhacking each other persisted. Now thousands of black refugees poured into St. Louis, where the Freedmen's Relief Society, the Ladies Union Aid Society, the Western Sanitary Commission, and the American Missionary Association set up schools for their children.
It seemed like the world was being turned upside down, and Doran was caught in the middle of it. Knowing its outcome was helpful, but that did not tell him what would happen to him or his family. If the plantation ended up being burned, like Emma claimed it would be, he wasn’t sure what he would do.
Governor Jackson had already sent his general with troops into Missouri, trying to recapture it for the south, at one point, but the North fought them back, and chased them out again, back to the southern part of the state.
Doran headed back to the house, his head filled with worries, and concerns. Someone was riding up to the plantation, and approached just as Doran reached the front of the house. He bent down from his horse and handed Doran an envelope, addressed to Mark’s wife, and then rode away. Doran could tell the letter was not from Mark, because the envelope had an official seal on it. The man handing it to Doran had looked somber.
Julia must have seen the messenger from the window, because she opened the door, just as he rode up, looking from the man to Doran, with worried eyes, when the envelope was exchanged. Doran turned, handing the letter to Julia, but the moment she saw the seal, she started to back away. “You have to read it,” Doran encouraged. “Mark may be wounded, or was captured. If he is a prisoner of war, I will do all I can to get him released.”
Slowly, Emma took the letter from Doran’s fingers, but she didn’t look like she was actually going to open it. Doran gave her a stern look, and finally, her shaking fingers broke the seal. Tears began running down her face, as she read.
“He’s alive,” she half whispered. “Only he has been taken to Gratiot Street Prison in Saint Louis, awaiting to be transferred north, to another prison.”
“I will ride out, and see if I can do anything to get him released,” Doran stated, turning to head to the stables.
“What can you do?” Julia questioned after him.
“I know a few people in high places. If Mark agrees to remain with me at the plantation, and not enter the war again, maybe they will let him go. The prisons are being over populated. It would be one less mouth for them to feed.”
“Then go and bring him back to us,” Julia begged.
Doran hitched up the buggy himself, since he had few workers on the plantation now. Meanwhile, Julia was packing him clothes and food to take with him. As he rode up the drive, she handed the supplies up to him. “God go with you,” she whispered, and then he cracked the whip over the horse’s head, and was off down the road, with Julia watching on, as she wrung her hands in nervous anxiety. She then went in to tell Doran’s mother that he would be away for a day or so.
Doran did not pause along the way. It was a half a day’s ride there, but it had been mid-morning, when the letter had arrived, and it would almost be dark by the time he got there. The fall weather was becoming nippy, threatening snow, and he was not sure who he would have to bargain with in order to get Mark out of prison? He didn’t even know if it was possible, since he had never been put in that situation before.
At th
e beginning of the war, he heard that prisoners were being exchanged back and forth, but now the exchanges were too time-consuming and difficult to accomplish, so the prisoners were held in prisons on both sides. Everyone was sure the war would not last that much longer, anyway, but Doran knew better.
Emma had been writing him letters, telling him of the horrors the war caused, and how almost as many men died in prisons as on the battle field. She had told him that in her time they had fought a war in a place called Vietnam, and that as many prisoners of war during the Civil War died in prison camps, as did men killed in the Vietnam War, which had lasted longer than the Civil War. Somehow he had to find a way to save Mark from such a fate.
The Prison had been a medical school, before it was converted into a prison, and though it was built to only hold about 1,200 people, he had heard there were at least 2,000 prisoners waiting to be transferred up north, where they would be held until the war was over.
He pushed through the main doors, and asked for whoever was in charge. Because he was well known for helping the north with supplies, and many of his workers had joined the north in their fight, he was granted his request to visit Mark. Doran wanted to convince Mark to promise to remain neutral concerning the war, so he could bargain with those in charge for Mark’s release.
When the guards brought Mark into the little room, where Doran sat waiting to see him, he was appalled at Mark’s appearance. His once bright eyes, that had shown excitement, were now dull and disinterested. He was thin, and unshaven, with scabs on his skin. He glanced briefly at Doran, and then looked away. “Are my wife and children well?” he asked in a scratchy sounding voice.
“They would be much better if their father and husband could be with them,” Doran replied.
“There is little chance of that,” Mark sneered.
“I could try to pull some strings if you would promise not to enter the war again,” Doran offered.
Mark shrugged. “You are asking me to take away my loyalty and manhood,” he said softly. “I can’t do that. I have to stand up for what I believe in.”
“Don’t you believe in America as a whole?” Doran questioned.
“The government has no right to try and dictate to us what we can do and can’t do. Slaves were always legal, until the North decided to change the law. The Supreme Court has ruled that Blacks are property, and they have no rights. Just because the northern states don’t need to use slaves to keep their lively hood does not mean the south is able to.”
“I have managed, Mark. You worked on my plantation long enough to realize it can be done. It may change the dynamics, and there will not be as many overly rich land owners, as before, but it can be done.”
“Only if one wishes to do it your way. You cannot force your will on others,” Mark insisted.
“Swallow your pride and come back with me, Mark. Your family misses you, and worries about you.”
“Why aren’t you out fighting and defending your beliefs?” Mark changed the subject.
“I help by giving supplies to the North. I can do a lot more that way instead of offering up my body to be shot or captured.”
“Go back to your plantation, and forget about me,” Mark murmured.
“If they send you to the North, no telling what will happen to you. I know you don’t believe this, but I have inside information that this war is far from over, and you will end up rotting in prison, or starving there, if you don’t let me try and get you out of this mess.”
“I could never live with myself, if I gave up the fight. I would sneak away and fight again, if I could.”
“So you would rather die a prisoner, than just live in peace?”
“The south will win this war soon. They outnumber the north two to one. You have no way of winning this, Doran. We have more money, more supplies, and more men. You can’t possibly win.”
“But we will win. At the last minute the tides will turn, and the south will be overtaken. You have to believe me!”
“Well, I don’t believe you! I won’t be here long. The war is almost won already!”
“Is there anything you want me to tell your wife?” Doran asked at last, realizing there was no way to get a promise from Mark.
“Just tell her I love her, and will see her soon. When I do, it will be in victory, and then the north will wish they had never started this war.”
“I don’t think it was the north that started it. The south was the ones trying to split the Union up.”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing can get the south down, and if the north won’t allow us to be our own country, then they will have to suffer under our rule!”
Doran shook his head. “I fear for you, Mark. There is at least three more years of this insanity left before it will all be over. Do you think you can last for three years in a war prison? There is barely enough food to feed the troops, since there are few men left to work the fields or keep the economy going. You know they will feed the troops before they ever feed the prisoners. You may end up starving to death, or worse.”
“I will just have to take that risk. So far they have treated us well enough, even though it is over-crowded here.”
“But this is just a holding prison, in the heart of farm country. Once you leave here, the weather will be different, and the supplies harder to get. You don’t know what you are in for.”
“Go back home, Doran. I don’t believe you. The war is almost over, and everything will get back to normal, the moment it ends.”
Doran gave Mark a hug, and one guard escorted him out, while the other took Mark back to the main part of the prison. He wondered if he would ever see Mark again.
Doran arrived back home late. He was tired. He was depressed. He thought of all the things Emma had told him about the war, and wished she had never informed him of what he had to look forward to. However, if it was in his future, at least it prepared him on some level. He just hated thinking about his plantation being burned. Somehow he had to change history, and stop the burning of his plantation, he told himself. Before he fell into his bed, he decided to write a short letter to Emma.
November 10, 1862
Dear Emma,
I have had a tiring and disappointing day. Mark refuses to allow me to help him get released from a Union prison, and I fear he will die in prison, if nothing is done. I have been storing my valuables and goods beneath the church, but I have a hard time believing that my plantation will be burned to the ground. I wonder if I can change history, since I know it may happen, by being prepared for it, and stopping it from happening? If I did change history, would my plantation suddenly be standing in your day, or would it end up getting burned down in a future time, long after I have died? Can we change the future if we know what lies ahead in the future? I hope so. I wish you were here with me right now. How can I change that reality, I wonder? But maybe you do not wish to be in the past here with me during a war such as this. It is a lot to think about.
Always, your trusted servant, and friend, Doran
He was too tired to take it to the grave yard, though. He decided he would place it in the tombstone in the morning. For now, all he wanted to do was sleep, but for some strange reason, sleep wouldn’t come, so finally, he took the bedside lamp, and made his way to the graveyard, to deposit the letter. It was then he noticed two new letters from Emma, and his excited fingers began to open one, only to discover that the handwriting was different.
His eyes scanned over the words. He couldn’t believe it! He was reading the words of his future-self. On one hand it excited him, and on the other hand, he worried that it really wasn’t his future-self, but someone else who had fallen in love with Emma and vowed to have her for his own. Somehow this person of the future had discovered Emma had been writing to someone of the past, and perhaps was taking advantage of the situation.
Doran decided not to mention it to Emma, though, for fear she would try to meet him sooner, and then stop writing Doran of the past. After all, she suspected this
other Doran had been sending her flowers, and doing other things, to let her know he was lurking in the shadows. However, he told himself, he would be long dead by the time Emma met the man who had written him, since the letter indicated he was going to wait until after Doran died, before he let himself be known by Emma of the future.
Some man that Emma claimed looked just like him in the future, and apparently was sending her blue flowers, would end up gaining Emma’s love. If that was true, it would be very easy for that future person to convince Emma that he was her soul mate from the past. Maybe he really was her soul mate from the past. How was Doran to know for sure? Would he, as Doran of the future, remember his own past? He hoped so.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
1983
“I’m starting to worry about you, Emma,” her mother said, as they sat around the dinner table. Emma had come to dinner with her parents, which had been a Sunday occurrence ever since she had left to live on her own. “I’m glad you are able to support yourself with your artwork, but it seems to be consuming your life. If you are not working on new pieces, you are out at that graveyard tending to graves. It isn’t even your property, Emma. You don’t take time to meet new people or date. I don’t think you have been out with a man since you broke up with David. You need to get over him and move on!”
“It has nothing to do with David,” Emma grumbled. “I got over him a long time ago. I don’t want to date because I am waiting for my soul mate to show up.”
“How do you think you will ever meet a soul mate if you never bother to date?” her father asked.
“I have already met him. I’m just waiting for him to show up,” Emma said, knowing her parents would never understand, but she had decided that she was going to have to tell them what she had been doing ever since she was twenty years old and had found that tombstone. She knew in a few months, Doran would be killed, and then she wouldn’t be writing him any longer. The thought saddened her. She only hoped by then, his future-self would show up in her life. He must know when Doran of his past-self was going to die because she was almost certain he was the one helping her tend the graveyard, so he had to have seen Doran’s grave.
Letters From The Grave Page 17
