Soldier Boy's Discovery (13 page)

Startled, Ezra looked hard at the older man. “Why, sure—but you'll be all right.”

“I hope so. But a day like today starts a man thinking about his own end, especially when he's
feeling poorly. It's good knowing that you're here to take care of things. I've come to lean on you a lot, Ezra. I think God sent you to be a part of our family.”

Ezra flushed. “I've never had folks before. Sure am glad God sent me your way.”

After Dan Carter had climbed into the wagon, Ezra sat for a long time thinking of how he'd come to this place in his life. Finally he said quietly, “God, You've sure been good to me!”

Just a few miles away, across Antietam Creek, Jeff lay on his back, burning with fever again. He would awaken at times, struggle to his feet, and try to walk.

“Got … to find … Pa!” he mumbled, but the woods were thick with saplings that caught at him and roots that caused him to stumble. He had vivid dreams, but when he fell into a feverish sleep, it seemed that the whole world went dark.

When he recovered enough to look around, he saw no one and knew a moment of bleak despair. “Can't find my way …” he muttered.

He finally lay down beside a large tree and began to pray. “God … I can't do anything … please … send somebody to help me … please!”

Overhead, the stars burned in the velvet sky. A part of the moon appeared, sending pale gleams down on the still form of Jeff Majors. Once a fox came out of the wood and sniffed at the boy, then leaped back and disappeared into the dense woods.

A
mos Golden was a Quaker. He had lived in Sharpsburg all of his life and knew everyone, not only in town but on every farm in a thirty-mile radius. Now as he stood outside his farmhouse door, he wondered if he would ever be able to forget what had happened the previous day.

“What is thee staring at, Father?”
Golden turned to find his older daughter, Ann, watching him.

She was a tall young woman with black hair and dark blue eyes. She came to stand beside him, and together they looked toward the rolling hills where the battle had taken place the day before.

Golden said simply, “I'm grieved, daughter, over the terrible ways that men treat each other.”

“It is a terrible thing.” Ann nodded. The two of them stood staring out into the afternoon air. The sun was high, and they could see clearly the moving forms of soldiers in the distance. “What are they doing?” she asked.

“Tending the wounded and burying the dead,” Golden said shortly.

Ann Golden shook her head. “What a pity! So many fine young men gone for nothing.”

As a Quaker, Golden did not believe in war. He had no sons, but he had four daughters, and now he wondered what he would've done if his sons had been in the battle. Suddenly a thought came to him,
and he turned to face his daughter, his blue eyes intent. “Something comes to me, Ann.”

“Yes, what is it, Father?”

“Maybe some of those men will die if they don't get help. I think I'll go see if we can offer any assistance.”

Ann turned to her mother inside the house. “Thee had better get ready, Mother. Father is going to see if he can help the wounded. It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't bring some of them here.”

That indeed was on Amos's mind. However, when he reached the battlefield, he grew so sickened by the sight that he almost faltered. Nevertheless he found his way to one of the rough field hospitals and watched as the doctors did their best for the wounded men. Their best, he saw, was not a great deal. Those who'd had arms or legs shattered by musket balls immediately had them amputated.

Amos wandered around until finally a surgeon wearing a bloody apron noticed him. “What's your purpose, sir?” he demanded.

“Does thee need help?” Amos asked quietly.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, I'm a farmer.”

The surgeon unfortunately had been working all day trying to save as many men as he could. His temper was short, and he snapped, “You civilians run away when the battle starts, and then you come around asking if you can help when it's over. Be off with you!”

Golden did not reply. He was a meek man and had never been in a fight in his life. He had learned long ago to control his temper. He walked away to do his best to help the wounded without permission. He found many of them suffering from thirst.

Finding pots and canteens, he went to the river and spent the afternoon offering water to the thirsty men.

Many of them he saw were very young. For these he felt special compassion. One young boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen, was obviously dying. Golden stayed with him for a long time murmuring encouragement, moistening his lips with water, and finally praying for him when he could do nothing else.

The boy looked up once and whispered, “I'm going to die, ain't I?”

“We all have to do that,” Amos said gently.

“I'm only sixteen. I haven't even lived, and now I've got to die. I'm afraid!”

“Thee need not be afraid, my boy,” Amos said. “The good Lord will receive you to Himself. Do you know the Lord?”

“No—no, I didn't never pay attention to God.”

Amos pulled out a thick New Testament from his waistband and for more than an hour read Scripture after Scripture to the dying boy. From time to time he would encourage him, saying, “Put your trust in the Lord Jesus. He died for thee.”

The boy's life slipped away slowly. He held the big thick hand of the farmer, clinging to it as if it were life, and finally prayed to God for forgiveness.

“That's good. That's good, my boy,” Amos whispered. Ten minutes later the lad slipped out to meet his Savior.

Amos folded the boy's hands, searched through his pockets, and found a Philadelphia address. He copied it down, saying, “I will write your people, my boy, and tell them you died believing in Jesus.”

The earth seemed to be pressing in on Jeff. His head seemed to weigh as much as a bale of cotton
when he tried to lift it. His lips were pressed down into the dirt, and he could taste sand and grit. Finally he rolled over onto his back. The sun was going down, and it made a huge red wafer in the sky that almost blinded him. His lips were so dry he could not speak, and his tongue felt as thick as his arm.

“Got to get up … got to get help!” he croaked and managed to get to his hands and knees. He trembled so badly that he knew he'd never be able to stand erect, so he tried to crawl. Once he tried to call out, but no one came.
I'm going to die
, he thought and fell flat once again, lying face down on the earth.

He never knew how long he lay there, but then he heard footsteps and managed to call in a strange, croaking voice, “Help … help me!”

Then Jeff felt strong hands. He felt himself being pulled into a sitting position. He blinked, opened his eyes, and saw the round, reddish face of a man with a full beard looking at him. His voice, when it came, seemed to come from far away.

“Why, thee is only a boy!” the voice said.

Jeff whispered, “Help me! Don't let the Yankees get me!”

Golden had no political opinions, except that all men should love one another. He saw that this soldier was very ill indeed and, reaching down, he put his arms under the boy's knees and lifted him up. He was a strong man and bore his burden to a creek that wound through the trees. There he put the soldier down and dipped his handkerchief in the water. He wiped the boy's burning face, and the lad cried out, “Water!”

Amos had nothing to hold water with except his hands, and he made a cup of them. The young soldier drank, and the water seemed to refresh him a little. His lips became less tight. “Who won the battle?” he whispered.

“That I cannot tell thee,” Amos said. He suspected from the boy's tattered rags that he was a Confederate, for the Union soldiers wore neat blue uniforms. “Thee is part of Lee's army, I take it?”

“Yes.” The soldier nodded. “Don't let the Yankees have me. I'd rather die than go to prison.”

Amos Golden looked down, and a resolution formed in his head. “I will take thee home,” he said. “Then we'll ask the Lord what to do.”

Reaching down, Golden picked the young man up again. He had to stop three times on the way home, for the boy was not a light burden. Finally, however, just as darkness completely fell, he walked up to the front door of his own house.

“Father, who hast thee brought us?” his wife asked.

“One who needs help,” Golden answered. He moved inside and walked into the only bedroom. He lay the boy, who was now unconscious, on the quilt-covered bed and looked around at his family. “God has given us a task. We will do our best for the one He has sent. He will need care, but I feel that God will be with him.”

Jeff finally awoke from a sound sleep, his head aching. The sun was shining through the window, and it blinded him. As he moved, he heard a voice say, “Thee is awake.”

Jeff looked quickly at the woman who stood by the bed, a young girl beside her. He was frightened,
not knowing where he was, and he tried to speak. “Where—where is this place?” he whispered.

“Thee is safe,” the woman said. “My name is Martha Golden. This is my daughter, Ann.”

Jeff stared at them. “How did I get here?”

“My husband found thee in the woods. He brought thee here last night.”

Jeff tried to sit up, and the woman helped him. “Here. I will get thee some food. Ann, thee must watch him.”

The woman left the room, and the tall, black-haired girl asked, “What is thy name?”

Jeff stared at her and swallowed. “Jeff. Jeff Majors. Why do you talk so funny?”

The girl smiled at him. “We are Friends,” she said.

“Friends?” Jeff asked, surprised. “But I never saw you before.”

“No, I mean we are ‘Friends'—you might know us as ‘Quakers.' We always say
thee
and
thou
—it is respectful. And we do not believe in war.”

Jeff stared at her, his head still swimming. “I don't believe in it much myself,” he said. He looked down and saw that he was wearing a white gown of some kind, and he stared back at the girl, wondering how he'd gotten bathed and in bed.

At that moment, Mrs. Golden came in with a bowl of soup. Just the smell of it made Jeff hungry.

“Here. Thee must eat. When did thee eat last?”

“Day before yesterday, I think.” Jeff ate the soup and, as soon as he finished, felt terribly sleepy.

“Don't know what's wrong with me….” And then
he fell over to one side, sound asleep.

“Is he dead?” Ann whispered.

“No. Just worn out. He'll be all right.” Mrs. Golden went to her husband, who was sitting in the kitchen, and said, “He ate something.”

Amos drew a sigh of relief. “I feared he might die, he had so much fever.”

“He's still very weak. He might die yet.”

“No. God has brought him here. We will care for him, and we will see that he gets back to his people.”

Jeff awakened later in the day and found the big man sitting beside him. “I remember you,” he said. “You found me in the woods.”

“Yes. How does thee feel?”

Jeff coughed. “Terrible! My bones hurt, and I'm on fire.”

“Thee has a bad sickness.”

Jeff said, “You won't turn me over to the Yankees, will you?”

“They may come looking,” Golden said. “I could not lie if they ask if we're harboring anyone.”

As sick as he was, Jeff's mind worked quickly. “Will you do one thing for me?”

“If I can, lad.”

“Go to the Union lines. Ask for a sutler named Dan Carter. Don't talk to anyone else. Tell him that I'm here. Tell him Jeff Majors is here. Will you do that for me?”

Amos Golden stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes on the boy, and finally he said, “What would a Yankee sutler do for
thee?”

“We're close friends. He's almost like a second father to me. He'll help me. Take care of me.”

Amos Golden looked at the boy and nodded slowly. “Yes. If he's to be found, I'll find him.”

He rose and left the room, and Jeff began to pray. “O God, let him find the Carters. Don't let me go to prison—I couldn't stand that!”

H
e doesn't seem to be getting any better, Leah. I'm plumb worried about him.”

Leah stared at Ezra, her troubled face echoing his words. Her father had gotten steadily worse since the battle.

“I think we'd better get him home as quick as we can,” she agreed. “If he can stand the hard trip.” She was worried, and her face showed it. “Maybe we can get some farm family to take us in here until he gets better or rent a room or something like that.”

“Maybe.” Ezra scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Might be a little hard to do. People are pretty standoffish, what with the battle and all.”

“I sent a letter to Ma, but I don't know how long it'll take to get there. And I don't know what good it'll do, because she can't come here anyhow and leave Esther alone. We'd better start back right away.”

“All right. The animals are in good shape,” Ezra said. “I'll grain them extra good tonight. We'll start home first thing in the morning.”

The two of them went about their chores then. They'd distributed all of their supplies to the soldiers, so the wagon was practically empty. Leah had moved her father back into her cot inside the wagon, and now she used some of the last of their provisions to cook supper.

She had seen enough of the wounded to disturb her dreams for the rest of her life and had wept over the death of Dave Mellon. He had been a friend for so long it was hard to believe that he was gone. She was grateful that Royal had been spared. He had come to her the day after the battle and told her about Dave's death and the loss of two other boys from Pineville. Now as she fixed supper, she could not help but think about them.