Hard Way Home

By Velda Brotherton

A short story - All Jacob wants is to get back home to his beloved wife Mary and their children. But battles rage on in this Civil War, and all he can do is pray for their safety in a country gone mad with killing. What lies in wait back home, he cannot possibly imagine, and how he will react he could never believe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Velda Brotherton
• Release date: Apr 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458057426

Book preview

Hard Way Home

A Civil War Journey

by

Velda Brotherton

Smashwords Edition

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Hard Way Home

Copyright 2011 by Velda Brotherton

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This story first appeared in Echoes of the Ozarks, an anthology published by Ozarks Writer’s League. This is a work of fiction, based on a true occurrence from a bit of a story recorded and treasured. The names have been changed.

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Hard Way Home

Jacob lifted the stub of a pencil from his leather bound journal and leaned against a fallen log. Around him men snored in their sleep, or cried out, tortured by memories of the day’s battle. In the flickering firelight he read the scrawled words, nodded and wrapped the book and pencil in oilcloth before stowing them away in his knapsack.

The night settled uneasily around his shoulders. A horn of a golden moon peeked through a scud of autumn clouds to cast dappled shadows on the ground. Leaves fell in the wake of a gentle wind, rustling in whispers around the exhausted troop. Sounded near peaceful. Hard to believe a war raged.

Writing to your woman? Major Ames asked.

The man’s silent approach sent a shudder of fright through Jacob. Could have been some damn Yank, come to shoot his head clean off, and him not hearing till it was too late. The major’s gauntness, touched by the play of light and darkness, made him out to be more a ghost than a man. Like the rest of them, he looked and smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in months. Course, he hadn’t.

Don’t reckon letter writing’d do much good, Jacob said, too shy to tell the major he was keeping a journal of this war.

You’re from Arkansas, ain’t you? The major squatted next to Jacob and rested his Colt carbine across a nearby log.

Yes, sir. Fayetteville, sir.

A far piece from Richmond. He was silent a moment and Jacob offered nothing. Loneliness needed no words between men who had marched this land killing each other and wondering when