Soldier Boy's Discovery (6 page)

Jeff looked around uncomfortably. “I'm not really dressed for church. I wish I could've gone back to camp and at least got my uniform.”

“Well, what you're like on the outside don't really matter that much,” Silas said. He winked at Jeff, and a smile touched his lips. “The preacher said once that some come to eye the clothes, and some come to close their eyes!” He laughed at the old joke and then shrugged. “This isn't a real fancy church anyhow. We're mostly farm folks here. Come on, Jeff. Maybe we can get a seat up front.”

Jeff would have preferred a seat in the very back row or even in the balcony, if the church had one.

As they made their way down a side aisle, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that there was a balcony and that it was almost filled with the slaves who had brought their children and come with their
masters. The main part of the church was fairly crowded and already beginning to warm up.

Jeff looked quickly over the congregation and saw only one person he knew. Cecil Taylor was sitting a third of the way from the front. Cecil was the same age as Jeff, fifteen. The two of them had met at Lucy Driscoll's birthday party. Cecil was a thin boy with chestnut hair and bright blue eyes. He looked surprised when he saw Jeff and winked at him as he passed by.

“Here—this is a good seat,” Silas announced loudly. He was hard of hearing and didn't know that his voice carried almost over the singing.

Jeff slipped in beside him and scrunched down, hoping no one would pay attention.

“Got plenty of room, Jeff?” Silas demanded, just as loudly.

“Yes, sir,” Jeff whispered.

“Good.” Silas looked around and said with satisfaction, “Always like to get a good seat up front, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” Jeff mumbled.

“Here, we can share this songbook. Let's hear you sing out, boy! I love these old songs!”

The congregation was singing “Amazing Grace,” a song Jeff was thankful he knew very well. It was one of Stonewall Jackson's favorites, and the general insisted on the troops' singing it at every service. Jeff knew the words and sang along while helping to hold the book for Silas.

When the song was finished, the song leader, a tall thin man with a head of bushy black hair, said, “Fine singing—very fine! Now let's sing ol' Hundred.”

Jeff didn't know the name, but he recognized the song as the congregation vigorously joined in:

From time to time Silas would smile at Jeff, saying, “Sing out, Jeff! God gave you a good pair of lungs.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” Jeff always responded, hoping people wouldn't get too annoyed at the old man's somewhat disruptive enthusiasm.

Halfway through the song service, Jeff spotted Lucy, sitting with her parents. They were to his right, and her eyes met his. He saw that her face was pale, and she looked very serious.

She makes me feel like a sheep-killing dog
, he thought.
I didn't have any business taking off on her like I did
. He continued to hold the songbook, but all during the singing he was practicing his speech of apology.

Then a tall, heavily built man got to his feet. He wore a black suit, a white shirt, and a heavy gold chain that glinted in the light as he walked. Jeff knew he was imagining things, but he felt there was as much power in this man's voice as in his body.

“We're delighted to have you here this morning. Those of you who are not of our particular flock, we welcome you especially. The good Christians of Richmond are pleased to open our place of worship to the many visitors we seem to be attracting during this time of trouble in our land.”

“That's Preacher Jones, Tyronzo Jones,” Silas explained to Jeff. “He sure do know how to preach the Word. Wait'll he gets going.”

Jeff slouched a little lower in his seat as the lady on the other side of him glared at Silas's interruption.

Preacher Jones welcomed the visitors, exhorting them all to come back, then made a few announcements about the upcoming church picnic, the ladies' relief society meeting, and the choir's new fall practice schedule. Then he cleared his throat and announced, “We'll take a special collection this morning. It'll go for food and medicine for our brave soldiers who are in the hospitals here in Richmond. I exhort you to give liberally.”

A wooden collection plate soon came by, and Jeff reached into his pocket and pulled out several of the bills he had gotten from the lieutenant the previous day. He felt Silas nudge him and heard him say, “It goes for a good cause, boy.”

“Yes, sir, it sure does.”

After the offering, Preacher Jones got up and announced that his text would be from the apostle Paul's letter to the Roman church, the tenth chapter, verses nine and ten. He read, “If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.”

The preacher began his sermon soft and low. Jeff had to lean forward at first to be sure he caught every word. As the preacher warmed up, pleading with his congregation about the importance of confessing Jesus Christ as Lord, his voice rose and fell—one minute almost sobbing his compassion for poor, lost souls; the next minute shouting with joy for the marvelous gift of salvation.

“It's not enough, folks, simply to believe that Jesus is the Savior,” he admonished. “You must say it aloud with your lips.” His voice echoed and rattled the windows. “No man can follow Jesus silently, nor a woman either!”

Jeff listened intently to the sermon. He had never felt he was an “on fire” Christian like Dan and Silas Carter. He'd come to admire Stonewall Jackson, who made no secret at all of his belief in Jesus Christ. The general spoke publicly in meetings and privately to many individuals. Jeff remembered vividly how the great Stonewall had spoken to him and Charlie Bowers, his fellow drummer, when they first joined the brigade. The general had been pleased to talk about his faith with them and had insisted on their coming to the revival going on near their camp. He sure was brave about his faith.

Now as Preacher Jones continued to preach, Jeff thought,
It takes a lot of nerve to come right out and tell people you're a Christian. Why, I think I'd rather charge a bunch of Yankees with those newfangled breechloaders!

The last fiery echoes of the sermon rang more than an hour after Preacher Jones had begun so softly. His voice reverberated from the corners of the church. “The time is now! Those of you who don't know Jesus, I invite you to come—to believe in your heart that He is the Savior, to confess that fact with your lips. Come while we sing!”

As the congregation joined in singing “As We Gather at the River,” Jeff watched at least a half dozen people move down the aisle toward the front.

“Look at that, Jeff!” Silas whispered loudly. “Good to see all those sinners finding Jesus!”

Preacher Jones talked to each one of the penitent folks briefly and prayed with them, while other members came to speak with them as well. Finally he said, “These have come, taking Jesus as their Savior. We'll be counseling with them.” He hesitated, shaking his head. “This is one battle, folks, you'll be glad to lose. I encourage you, do not sleep tonight without giving your life to Jesus. In these uncertain days, none of us knows how soon we'll be meeting Him. Please, please, be ready!”

After a short, deliberate pause, Preacher Jones motioned to Silas. “We will now have the benediction. I ask Mr. Silas Carter to pronounce it.”

Jeff was a little startled. He knew that Silas Carter was a fine Christian, but he had no idea that he was so well thought of.

Silas prayed in his usual, firm voice, asking the blessings of God on those who had just entered the kingdom. Before he closed, he prayed for the soldiers on the field of battle about to face death.

“Both North and South,” he said firmly, and Jeff felt a rustle over the congregation. “These are all the concern of Jesus Christ—Southern and Northern boys—and we pray for all of them.”

There were a few “Amens” after Silas ended his prayer, and the congregation began leaving the pews.

Jeff went at once to where Lucy stood with her family. He knew he would never be able to apologize in public, although he intended to try.

Mrs. Driscoll said, “Why, it's our young friend from the Stonewall Brigade. Jeffrey, isn't it?”

“Yes, ma'am. Jeff Majors.”

“Well, it's good to see you, my boy.” Mr. Driscoll leaned forward and shook Jeff's hand firmly. “I
understand you've been to Kentucky for supplies. We thought at first maybe you had gone with the army.”

“I expect I'll leave right away to catch up with them, Mr. Driscoll. I just got back.”

“Well, I insist on you and Mr. Carter having dinner with us,” Mr. Driscoll said. He looked over at Silas and smiled. “We can continue the discussion we had the last time we spoke about our Lord's coming.”

Silas smiled slightly. “Yes, I thought you might appreciate a little more enlightenment on that, Brother Driscoll. We'll be glad to go, won't we, Jeff?”

“Yes, sir, that would be nice.”

“Well, you just follow us,” Mr. Driscoll said, then turned to leave the church with his wife and Lucy.

Jeff and Silas in their buggy followed the Driscolls' carriage to their home, a large mansion two miles down the road. As they dismounted and joined the Driscolls, slaves came to take the teams away.

“Come on inside,” Mr. Driscoll said jovially. “We don't cook on Sunday, but we have a mountain of food cooked up on Saturday. I hope you like cold fried chicken and potato salad, because that's what dinner is.”

“Nothing better than that,” Silas agreed heartily. “Isn't that right, Jeff?”

“Yes, sir!” Jeff replied with enthusiasm.

He was somewhat nervous about Lucy. She had not spoken to him at all, and he was having second thoughts about the speech he'd planned to make.

The visitors were ushered in, and soon they all sat down at a large, oval mahogany table covered
with a sparkling white tablecloth. The crystal glasses caught the sunlight filtering down from the high windows. A house servant, wearing a spotless white dress, set down a huge silver tray. Removing the cover, she said, “There it is. I hopes you likes fried chicken.”

The table soon was loaded down with vegetables, potato salad, pickles, three kinds of bread, and large pitchers of milk.

After Mr. Driscoll asked the blessing, he said, “Now, you two start in. I know what it's like to be starving to death after a long sermon.”

Jeff put a chicken leg on his plate, and Mr. Driscoll laughed, “That's hardly enough to whet your appetite, young man. You need more than that to keep yourself growing strong!” He piled Jeff's plate high and then added, “You lay your ears back and fly right at it, Jeff.”

He laughed again, turning to Silas. “Help yourself while I try to help Mr. Carter here see the light on this business he thinks he knows so much about in the book of Revelation.”

Mr. Driscoll and Mr. Carter engaged in a rather lighthearted discussion of the second coming of Jesus. Actually their ideas were not greatly different, but they enjoyed arguing doctrine. Mrs. Driscoll talked incessantly to Jeff, barely giving him time to answer her questions and put away a healthy portion of all the good food.

After the meal, Mrs. Driscoll gave the two young people the chance Jeff had been waiting for.

“Lucy, why don't you go show Jeff the new fish pond you designed? I know you're proud of it, and Jeff might be interested.”

“Yes, Mother.” Lucy rose from her chair.

Jeff couldn't tell from her tone of voice, or her almost expressionless face, what she thought of a chance to talk to him alone. Feeling foolish and uncomfortable, he followed her from the room.

They proceeded down a long hall with a polished oak floor, out the sunroom door, and along the expansive veranda to the side lawn.

Jeff tried to start the conversation on safe ground. “That was a good meal. I don't get cooking like that very often.”

“Rosalee's a very good cook,” Lucy answered briefly.

She led him around a pathway to the side of the house, and there under a huge oak they came to stand beside a pond that had been built of cement and stone. It was at least ten feet across, and lily pads covered some of the surface.

“Daddy had it built because he likes to watch the fish,” Lucy said. “He let me design it.” She was not smiling and seemed to be depressed.

Jeff looked down and caught the flash of a reddish fish. “I see one!” he cried. “Look! Right there!” He leaned over and looked down into the depths, where he saw the fish as they came toward the surface, eager for the dried food they had come to expect every time people approached.

“They sure are pretty. I've never seen pet fish before. Your father called them ‘goldfish'—they look more red to me. Are they good to eat?”

“No,” Lucy murmured. “They're just to look at. One of my father's fancy habits.”

Jeff tried to carry on a conversation about the fish. Finally he gave up the pretense, took a deep breath, turned to Lucy, and blurted out, “Lucy, I
was mean to you yesterday. I should have accepted your apology. I hope you'll accept mine. I'm sorry.”

At once, Lucy, who had been staring into the water, turned to face him. Shock mingled with surprise and happiness were in her expression. “You
were
mean,” she said. “But I guess I deserved it.”

“Well, like Silas Carter says, I guess we all deserve a whipping sometimes—and I've done worse than what you did. So I really came to church to meet you. I really wanted to tell you I was sorry. And I am.”