Chapter Six
Tom decided to help Mr. Thornberg bury many of poor souls left on the battlefield, more primarily because he didn’t want to have corpses littered across his fields by the time winter hit, then crossed over to spring and the planting season. Tom was walking across the fields, turning over the bodies of the fallen soldiers to get a first hand sense of whether or not the soldier was dead or wounded. He walked over to a Union soldier on a hill, turned his body to be amazed that the man was still alive.
“Help! Help! He’s still alive,” Tom cried. Several of Thornberg’s workers came rushing over.
“What’s the matta sa,” asked one of the men.
“Get something, I don’t know, something to help this man out. He’s still alive,” Tom told the three men beside him.
“Right away sa,” said one of the men as they ran off to get a make-shift stretcher to help the soldier out. Tom stood beside the man, he was talking to him, the man had a deep gash over his right eye. Thornberg rode over after he heard the commotion.
“What is it? What’s the problem?” he asked Tom.
“This man is still alive, he needs to see a doctor,” Tom said.
“There’s not a doctor around here for twenty miles,” Thornberg said from his horse, “but I’ll have my people take a good look at him, patch him up real good,” he finished. “And I also think you should see a doctor with that leg wound you sustained.” As he finished the men that were with Tom moments ago returned, placing the body onto the stretcher and taking him back to Thornberg’s ‘Castle.’ “How many is that Stephan?” Thornberg asked.
“Twenty-one,” Stephan replied to his master. “I don’t know how many more we can take in sa,” he added.
“Just keep doing your jobs, and make sure we get this placed cleared out before the rains or snow comes, that wouldn’t be a pretty sight to see.”
“Yes sa,” Stephan replied.
Tom wiped his mouth from shock and saliva. He looked out at the field all around him, the sun was still shining, the many workers were spreading out across the fields, and Tom was unaware of the horror that must fill the men who were left here alive by their own comrades. He looked over to his left, there was already a grave-hole dug up for several hundred or more soldiers to be dumped into, not much of a proper funeral for any of these men who have given their lives for their respective country.
“I’m fine,” Tom said in response to Thornberg’s previous question.
“Where did you say you were headed, umm, Tom. Someplace in Kentucky right?”
“Yes sir, but I hardly think I need do that anymore,” Tom said.
“Just look out at this place, it was peaceful, calm, and it was quiet. Torn up in the middle of this war, the birds don’t sing anymore, the sun run red with blood, hell, families are torn apart by this conflict,” Thornberg said.
“I know,” Tom said with a scent of dissidence from the last comment, despite it being true.
“One day,” Thornberg began with a nod, “this country, this great country we lived in will be restored. The Union won’t accept anything less, and the Confederates won’t stop until they have their full independence from the Union government in Washington. This war can last for the next ten years,” Thornberg finished as he looked at the ground.
“I hope to God you’re wrong,” Tom said as he stood straight up at long last.
“I hope so too, but I’m just pointing out the sad truth. I guess I can’t ask you to stay much longer, if you wish to leave I give you the liberty to do so. If you want to stick around a little longer, I don’t mind. It will be nice to have some company again, I mean, besides all these men and women you see out here. My three sons are all gone now, two of them are in the Confederacy, the other is in the Union, and my wife died a few years back. It’s just me and my friends now.
“You know all those terrible stories that come from the Deep South, none of it happens here. I like to think I treat these men as if they were my own family, I mean, they are after all. Oh hell, why do I bother, I can give you a horse and you can head out to wherever you need to go.”
“That would be splendid,” Tom said as the sun glimmered behind him, his shadow so divine as it hit the ground beside him.
~ Wilson’s Creek, Kentucky.
“All I’m saying is, Uncle Bill, I think,” Nate began to say.
“Nonsense, I’ll have none of it! That man is nothing but a lying coward, he wouldn’t stop at anything less than to kill every last person in this house, and that includes you Nate. Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me this past month, and I’ve given your mother and father the letter saying you’re spending the winter, but please, when I tell you something listen to me.”
“Of course Uncle,” Nate said with a new tone of voice, a more obedient one.
Outside, Jeb was sitting in the rocking-chair, his hands clutching an old hunting rifle, loaded at the very moment. He was rocking back and forth, watching his siblings play in the fields as it was probably one of the last times they would be allowed to go outside before winter set in. Across the road something caught his attention. He yelled out for his brothers and sisters to come back into the house.
Jeb got up from his seat; his many brothers and sisters came running towards the house, the younger ones like: Seth, Elisabeth, and Mary began to scream as they rushed to their home. The noise caught both Mr. Smith and Nate’s attention.
“What’s the matter Jeb,” asked his younger brother Dill.
“Just get inside,” Jeb said as he cocked the flint primer back into position. The man on horseback came closer; Jeb took careful aim with the weapon. “Hold it right their mister or I’ll blow your head right off of ya!”
“You’re kidding,” the man on horseback said back.
“Does it look like I’m joking with you I reckon!” Jeb shouted back at the man. As he did, his father and Nate came rushing out of the door, both armed with weapons. The horse flinched at the sight of them.
“Jesus, this is like a goddamned fortress over here,” the man said as he wheeled back, his pistol clearly visible for the moment he turned…
Tom decided to help Mr. Thornberg bury many of poor souls left on the battlefield, more primarily because he didn’t want to have corpses littered across his fields by the time winter hit, then crossed over to spring and the planting season. Tom was walking across the fields, turning over the bodies of the fallen soldiers to get a first hand sense of whether or not the soldier was dead or wounded. He walked over to a Union soldier on a hill, turned his body to be amazed that the man was still alive.
“Help! Help! He’s still alive,” Tom cried. Several of Thornberg’s workers came rushing over.
“What’s the matta sa,” asked one of the men.
“Get something, I don’t know, something to help this man out. He’s still alive,” Tom told the three men beside him.
“Right away sa,” said one of the men as they ran off to get a make-shift stretcher to help the soldier out. Tom stood beside the man, he was talking to him, the man had a deep gash over his right eye. Thornberg rode over after he heard the commotion.
“What is it? What’s the problem?” he asked Tom.
“This man is still alive, he needs to see a doctor,” Tom said.
“There’s not a doctor around here for twenty miles,” Thornberg said from his horse, “but I’ll have my people take a good look at him, patch him up real good,” he finished. “And I also think you should see a doctor with that leg wound you sustained.” As he finished the men that were with Tom moments ago returned, placing the body onto the stretcher and taking him back to Thornberg’s ‘Castle.’ “How many is that Stephan?” Thornberg asked.
“Twenty-one,” Stephan replied to his master. “I don’t know how many more we can take in sa,” he added.
“Just keep doing your jobs, and make sure we get this placed cleared out before the rains or snow comes, that wouldn’t be a pretty sight to see.”
“Yes sa,” Stephan replied.
Tom wiped his mouth from shock and saliva. He looked out at the field all around him, the sun was still shining, the many workers were spreading out across the fields, and Tom was unaware of the horror that must fill the men who were left here alive by their own comrades. He looked over to his left, there was already a grave-hole dug up for several hundred or more soldiers to be dumped into, not much of a proper funeral for any of these men who have given their lives for their respective country.
“I’m fine,” Tom said in response to Thornberg’s previous question.
“Where did you say you were headed, umm, Tom. Someplace in Kentucky right?”
“Yes sir, but I hardly think I need do that anymore,” Tom said.
“Just look out at this place, it was peaceful, calm, and it was quiet. Torn up in the middle of this war, the birds don’t sing anymore, the sun run red with blood, hell, families are torn apart by this conflict,” Thornberg said.
“I know,” Tom said with a scent of dissidence from the last comment, despite it being true.
“One day,” Thornberg began with a nod, “this country, this great country we lived in will be restored. The Union won’t accept anything less, and the Confederates won’t stop until they have their full independence from the Union government in Washington. This war can last for the next ten years,” Thornberg finished as he looked at the ground.
“I hope to God you’re wrong,” Tom said as he stood straight up at long last.
“I hope so too, but I’m just pointing out the sad truth. I guess I can’t ask you to stay much longer, if you wish to leave I give you the liberty to do so. If you want to stick around a little longer, I don’t mind. It will be nice to have some company again, I mean, besides all these men and women you see out here. My three sons are all gone now, two of them are in the Confederacy, the other is in the Union, and my wife died a few years back. It’s just me and my friends now.
“You know all those terrible stories that come from the Deep South, none of it happens here. I like to think I treat these men as if they were my own family, I mean, they are after all. Oh hell, why do I bother, I can give you a horse and you can head out to wherever you need to go.”
“That would be splendid,” Tom said as the sun glimmered behind him, his shadow so divine as it hit the ground beside him.
~ Wilson’s Creek, Kentucky.
“All I’m saying is, Uncle Bill, I think,” Nate began to say.
“Nonsense, I’ll have none of it! That man is nothing but a lying coward, he wouldn’t stop at anything less than to kill every last person in this house, and that includes you Nate. Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me this past month, and I’ve given your mother and father the letter saying you’re spending the winter, but please, when I tell you something listen to me.”
“Of course Uncle,” Nate said with a new tone of voice, a more obedient one.
Outside, Jeb was sitting in the rocking-chair, his hands clutching an old hunting rifle, loaded at the very moment. He was rocking back and forth, watching his siblings play in the fields as it was probably one of the last times they would be allowed to go outside before winter set in. Across the road something caught his attention. He yelled out for his brothers and sisters to come back into the house.
Jeb got up from his seat; his many brothers and sisters came running towards the house, the younger ones like: Seth, Elisabeth, and Mary began to scream as they rushed to their home. The noise caught both Mr. Smith and Nate’s attention.
“What’s the matter Jeb,” asked his younger brother Dill.
“Just get inside,” Jeb said as he cocked the flint primer back into position. The man on horseback came closer; Jeb took careful aim with the weapon. “Hold it right their mister or I’ll blow your head right off of ya!”
“You’re kidding,” the man on horseback said back.
“Does it look like I’m joking with you I reckon!” Jeb shouted back at the man. As he did, his father and Nate came rushing out of the door, both armed with weapons. The horse flinched at the sight of them.
“Jesus, this is like a goddamned fortress over here,” the man said as he wheeled back, his pistol clearly visible for the moment he turned…
