Battle of Lookout Mountain (11 page)
Read Battle of Lookout Mountain Online
Authors: Gilbert L. Morris
“Oh, Pete, don’t tease me,” Leah begged. “Let me have the letter.”
Mangus took pity on her and handed it over. “I was just funnin’ you, Leah. It’s from Jeff, though. I know his handwriting.”
Leah snatched at the letter and walked quickly away.
“Hey,” Pete yelped, “aren’t you going to read it to me?” When she paid no attention to him, he kicked the mule’s flanks. “Get up, Clementine! Gettin’ so a fella can’t get no gossip on this here mail route no more.”
Leah sat down on the porch, holding her letter. She stared at her name, written in the full, open manner of Jeff’s handwriting, and felt her heart beat faster. She did not get many letters. When one came from him, it was a high hour for her.
She delayed opening it, dreaming of what he would say. The last time, he had mentioned that she had pretty hair, and she had read and reread that letter until it was almost worn out.
Finally she could put it off no longer. Opening the envelope, she pulled the letter out and was disappointed to see that it was not very long—only a single sheet filled on both sides. She was surprised to see that it was written on an odd sort of paper.
“Why, this is
wallpaper!”
she exclaimed. Jeff had told her that paper was scarce in the South, and she
smiled, briefly wondering if he had ripped the paper off the wall to have something to write on. Then she turned her attention to the letter itself:
Dear Leah,
You’ll be surprised to get a letter written on wallpaper, but it was all I could find. Not a very pretty pattern either—but I didn’t have any other choice. Sorry about that. Next time I’ll try to find something better.
Pa and I are fine. The army is resting now, building itself up, as always happens after a big battle. That last battle at Gettysburg left us pretty lean. It’s real sad to see all the empty cots. Fellows that I knew real well. Some of them never got back. Some of them were shot up pretty bad and have gone on home to be with their folks. At least they’re out of the war.
I was sorry to hear in your last letter how poorly Tom was doing. We were lucky to get him back alive, but I sure never thought he would take losing his foot so bad. I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for him to come back here to Virginia. Course, Pa and I will be pulling out almost any time, and he couldn’t go with us. I wouldn’t know where he would stay—unless it would be with your Uncle Silas. Makes me a little sad to think that we don’t have a home anymore.
The food here is pretty lean. Prices have gone sky high in Richmond. It takes twenty dollars to buy a little old bit of flour you can almost stick in your eye! Everything else is high too. Blockade’s gotten pretty bad, so nothing can come in. When a ship does come in, the docks
are always lined, and people are there with all the money they can find, bidding on anything it brings.
The only news I have is that I went to a birthday party the day before yesterday. You remember Cecil Taylor? Well, it was his sixteenth birthday, and Lucy Driscoll brought me an invitation. Said that Cecil wouldn’t hear but what I’d come to the party. I didn’t have any kind of present, but Lucy begged so hard that I went anyway. I put on my new uniform that Pa bought me, polished up my boots, and off we went.
Lucy has changed a lot. It seems like she’s growing up real quick. She had on some kind of a rose-colored dress with embroidery all over it, and she’d fixed her hair some new way that I never saw before. Sure did look pretty.
When we got to the party, it was real nice. They had some musicians there, and it was kind of a dance and a birthday party combined. Everybody asked about you, and I could tell that they wished you were here. So do I! Lucy said to tell you “Hello.” We didn’t get back until real late, but we sure had a good time.
Well, keep on doing the best you can for Tom. I’m praying that he’ll get his mind straight over this thing. We sure appreciate all you folks have done for us. Give Esther a big kiss for me.
By the way, Lucy’s dress wasn’t as pretty as the one you wore at our last birthday party—and Lucy’s not as pretty as you are, either!
With warm regards,
Jeff Majors
Leah exclaimed angrily when she read that Jeff had gone with Lucy to a party, but then she read the last few lines over and over, her cheeks glowing.
She was startled when a voice said, “Get another letter, Leah?”
Leah turned around to see Ezra passing by. “Why, yes—it’s from Jeff.”
“He all right?”
“Yes, the army’s not fighting right now.”
“I guess he’s wondering about Tom.” Ezra looked solemn. “I wish Tom could see his brother and his pa. Maybe they could talk some sense into him.”
“That doesn’t sound very likely,” Leah said.
“What else did Jeff say?”
“He said that … well … he said I was prettier than Lucy Driscoll.”
Ezra grinned at her. “I could’ve told you that.”
“You don’t know Lucy Driscoll.”
“Sure don’t—but you’re prettier than she is.”
It was the most extravagant compliment Ezra had ever paid Leah, and she laughed aloud. “You’re getting to be quite a ladies’ man—tossing those compliments around. Next thing, you’ll be writing poetry.”
“I don’t reckon I’ll do that,” Ezra said ruefully. After they’d talked awhile longer, he said, “I guess you pretty much favor Jeff.”
Leah looked up quickly and studied his face. “We been best friends for a long time, Ezra. We grew up together.”
This seemed to trouble him, but he said, “It’s nice having a best friend.” He got up and walked away.
Leah knew that Ezra fancied himself to be more or less in love with her. She liked him very much but wished that he didn’t feel this way.
“I’ll have to find a girl for him,” she said. “He’s such a nice boy.” She thought for a minute.
Alice Simpson—I’ll make sure that Alice sits next to him when we go to church Sunday. She’s pretty, and she’s got more sense than most girls. She’d be about right for Ezra
.
Tom Majors grew more despondent as Sarah’s sickness continued. His appetite dropped off, and he was more silent than ever. Any attempts to bring him out of it were met with a rebuff, and he found himself sitting in his room for long periods, thinking of the past.
Something happened during this time that surprised him, however.
The Bible was not a new book to Tom, for he had been brought up in a Christian home, and he’d become a Christian at an early age. But since his wounding at Gettysburg, he’d become so bitter he had practically shut the door on the Bible and on church. He even refused to go to services with the Carters.
But one Sunday night after everyone else had gone to bed, he picked up the Bible that was lying on the dresser in his room. It was an old black Bible, worn limp. Inside the front cover was written “Daniel Carter. Born 1827. A gift from his father, Randolph Carter.”
The yellow gleam of the lamp illuminated the page, and something about it caught Tom’s attention. He had already undressed and was ready to lie down but was not sleepy. Propping his legs up on
the bed and stuffing a pillow behind his back, he began turning the pages. He was interested to see small, handwritten dates by various verses. Sometimes the date had “Answered” printed beside it, sometimes not. Finally Tom figured out that the marked verses indicated God’s promises. These, evidently, Dan Carter had claimed, and when an answer to prayer came, he had carefully dated it.
Thumbing through the Bible, Tom was amazed at how many answers were noted. He read for a long time, examining the verses and studying the dates. Evidently Mr. Carter had begun this practice as a young man.
Resting the Bible on his lap, Tom closed his eyes. He had always admired Dan Carter. No one in Pineville was more honest or devoted. Thinking back, he remembered how many kind words Dan Carter had had for him.
Why, when I was just a kid, knee high to a duck, he thought, Mr. Carter always took me fishing with him when Pa couldn’t go. He taught me how to ride a horse. He was always ready to pay attention to a small boy. I guess he’s one of the best men I ever met
.
The lamp flickered, casting long shadows over the wall. The window was open, and a brisk breeze blew in, making the yellow flame dance. Silence filled the house except for the occasional groaning of timbers and the sighing of the wind—low, almost like a moan—as Tom continued to read in Dan Carter’s Bible.
He came to the story of Joseph. Tom had always loved this story, and he realized that he had not read it in years.
He read about Joseph’s being his father’s favorite. He read about how his brothers hated him
and threw him into a pit. Then they sold him into slavery, and he went off to a strange land.
Still, God was with him. Tom read more slowly as the story developed. Joseph found favor, first with his owner, then later with the jailer in the prison where he was thrown unjustly.
Tom paused and said aloud, “Pretty bad for a young boy to be thrown into a pit. Then sold into slavery. Then chucked into jail for something he didn’t do.”
He thought about that and began to read again. He traced the story of how Joseph was able to interpret the king’s dream and become second in the land of Egypt. And of how, in the closing chapters of the book of Genesis, God used Joseph to rescue his family.
Tom’s eyes grew misty. It was a moving story, and he threw his arm across his eyes.
Suddenly a strange feeling coursed through him.
Here I am, he thought, crying about losing a foot, when so many fellows are dead. Joseph here went through big problems too, but he never gave up on God!
He tried to read again, but somehow he was terribly disturbed. He closed the Bible, turned off the lamp, lay back, and tried to sleep. In the darkness, thoughts kept coming at him. Finally, he sat up. He put his head in his hands and, for the first time since he had been wounded, began to pray.
“O God,” he said—and his voice broke—”I’ve been acting like the world’s awfulest baby. So many good men are dead, and here I am, crying like a whipped puppy because I had a little setback. God, I’ve been wrong about all this, and I’ve doubted You—and I’m sorry!”
The next morning, Sarah was sitting up in bed when Tom came to her door. Something in his face startled her. “Why, Tom! What is it?” she asked. “You look—strange.”
He sat on the cane chair beside the bed and put down his crutches. “Sarah,” he said abruptly, “I want to tell you something, but first I want to do something.”
“What is it, Tom? What do you want to do?”
“This!”
To her amazement, he leaned forward and kissed her.
“Why—Tom!” she gasped.
“I’ve come to tell you that I love you, Sarah,” he said. “I guess I nearly always have. I’ve told you enough times, but I wanted to tell you again.”
Sarah reached out to him, and he took her small hand in his.
“I’ve been wrong, acting the way I have,” he said.
“What’s come over you, Tom?”
“I think it’s the Lord. I was reading your father’s Bible last night.” His face grew stern. “I’ve been acting like a spoiled kid, and God took me to task for that. But it’s all right—He’s forgiven me. And now I want to ask you to forgive me for acting like such a baby.”
“Why, of course, Tom. You don’t have to ask that.”
His eyes lit up. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said happily. “Now we’re going back to where we were before. I remember what you told me in Gettysburg.”
Sarah’s smile disappeared. “That—that may not come, Tom,” she said finally, her voice strained.
“You mean you don’t love me anymore?”
“No, no, I don’t mean that. It’s just that …” Sarah struggled for words. Then she touched her face. “You know what smallpox can do. I may be terribly scarred when this is over.”
“I thought all this time you been telling me, Sarah,” he said quietly, “that you loved me even though I lost my foot.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“But you think my love’s not as strong as yours? That I wouldn’t love you if you had a scar? That’s not fair, Sarah. My faith’s been pretty weak, but all the time I’ve known that I love you.”
Sarah’s face glowed. She said, “That’s sweet of you, Tom, but we’ll have to wait and see how bad it will be.”
“I don’t care
how
bad it is. We’re going to believe God. We’re going to take whatever He gives us. I want you to hurry up and get well.”
There was excitement in his voice, and she could see it in his eyes. It was so good to see him excited about something after the past terrible weeks. “I’ll do the best I can, Tom, but—”
He touched her cheek. “You just hurry up and get well,” he said, “because as soon as you do, I’m gonna have a surprise for you.”
“What is it?”
He laughed quietly. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew, would it? You just get ready. You get well, and I’ll take care of the surprise!”
Lori and Drake
A
nyone interested in the behavior of spoiled children might read the history of the Union and Confederate generals following the Battle of Chickamauga.
General Rosecrans, the Federal general, threw a temper tantrum. He removed some of his officers who had been in the battle, and those he could not remove he demoted. What he did not realize was that President Lincoln was furious with
him
for not winning the battle.
The Southern general, Bragg, spent a great deal of time trying to find officers to blame, and he removed most of
them
. He made one serious mistake, however—he relocated the largest part of General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s cavalry.
General Forrest marched into Bragg’s tent and called him a scoundrel and a coward. Everyone within half a mile heard Forrest say, “You may as well not issue any more orders to me, for I will not obey them. If you ever again try to interfere with me or cross my path, it will be at the peril of your life!”
General Bragg had a hot temper himself, but he well knew that General Forrest had killed more of the enemy personally than any other general on either side. He said no more to General Forrest.
The two armies lay face-to-face, neither able to move.
