Esther

by Jim Cox

  “That has to be my son!” Esther exclaimed. “Everything you say fits his description perfectly.” She then placed her head into her cupped hands and cried like a baby. For the last several minutes all eyes and ears in the infirmary had been on Esther, and now many of the men were wiping tears for the joy Esther was experiencing.

  Minutes later, Esther raised her head and with red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks asked Simon, “Was Mark with you in the fighting a few days back?”

  “No, ma’am. He was injured in a fight before that and was taken to a Union hospital in Little Rock before our troops came on to Oklahoma.” Esther’s stomach knotted.

  “Do you know if the injury was serious, Simon?”

  “He was grazed in the right shoulder, Mrs. Taylor. I don’t think it was all that bad.” Simon could see the concern in Esther’s eyes. “Mrs. Taylor,” he said with a wide grin, “your son is gonna be fine.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Please be seated, Mrs. Taylor,” Major Engle said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Esther placed her clothes bag beside the chair as an attendant handed her a cup of coffee. She nodded with a smile to the attendant.

  “Thank you, Major Engle for all the arrangements you’ve made on my behalf to get my son back,” Esther said. “I’ll be forever indebted to you.”

  “It’s the least I can do for you, Mrs. Taylor. Your devotion to our injured soldiers in the infirmary is a debt we will repay any way we can.” The major leaned over his desk with smiling eyes and in a soft voice said, “Mrs. Taylor, I share your joy in finding your son and will do everything in my power to help bring him to you, but there are certain restrictions the army puts on me I have to abide by.” The Major's smile turned into a wide grin, “We may have to improvise a little since your son is a Confederate soldier in a Union hospital.”

  “What are you talking about, Major?” Esther said returning the grin with a similar smile of her own.

  “I’m sending a letter down to Colonel Malone, who’s in charge of the Union regiment at Little Rock. The colonel has been a friend of mine for years. I’m requesting he allow a Confederate prisoner by the name of John Mark Taylor to be extradited to me at Fort Gibson as soon as the prisoner’s health allows him to travel. I say in my letter the prisoner witnessed an undeserved beating of a Confederate soldier by a Union officer and his testimony is needed in a Prisoner of War Brutality charge coming to trial at Fort Gibson. Corporal Norman, along with two other men under my command will escort the letter and bring the prisoner back home.” Major Engle paused a bit before he asked, “What do think, Esther. Is it enough to get your son released to Corporal Norman?”

  “You don’t have a trial case pending, do you, sir?”

  “Not that I know of, Mrs. Taylor.” They both wore big grins as more coffee was being poured.

  “You said Corporal Norman and two other men will be traveling to Little Rock to get Mark, and,” Esther was cut off.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Taylor; the men will be heading out within the hour.”

  Esther glared at the major. “You were planning on me going along, weren’t you, Major?” His face turned stern.

  “I wouldn’t advise it, ma’am. A buggy would require a different route to be taken and would slow down the travel considerably. We need to hurry to get there before Mark’s health returns, and he’s sent to confinement.”

  “A buggy is not needed, Major Engle. I can ride a saddle horse as well as any man you have in this fort…maybe better.” Esther stood and said in a firm tone that allowed for no arguing, “Would you direct me to a room where I can change clothes for the trip, Major?”

  »»•««

  It was twilight when Esther and the three Union soldiers rode into Fort Smith, Arkansas two nights later with a pack horse following behind, tethered to one of the soldiers horses. “As I recall,” Corporal Norman said, breaking a long silence, “there’s a hotel with a dining room in the heart of town, Mrs. Taylor. We can rest-up there and get an early start to Little Rock in the morning.” She nodded her approval. “We’ll drop you off at the door, ma’am, and after we board the horses, we’ll join you at the hotel.”

  The fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and freshly baked bread hit the spot after eating camp food on the trail for two days. The soft bed and a cool night breeze in Esther’s room were a welcomed change.

  They woke to rain the next morning, but it didn’t curtail their plans. After a delicious hotel breakfast with constant coffee refills, they headed for the boarding stable. Corporal Norman wanted to bring Esther’s horse to the hotel door, so she wouldn’t get wet, but Esther wouldn’t hear of it. “Don’t patronize me, Corporal, I’ll pull my own weight.”

  They all wore rain gear as they rode east alongside the Arkansas River, but somehow the pesky rain found ways to get inside and soak their clothing, making travel uncomfortable. A fast noon meal was eaten, and two stops were taken for coffee and to allow the horses to graze and eat their fill of grass and rest a bit.

  The rainy gray day seemed to have no end, but it was becoming even darker when Corporal Norman saw an ideal overnight stopping place across the river. It was a rock shelf, ten or twelve feet above ground level protruding outward several feet. The shelf ran alongside the hill for several yards and would provide plenty of room for the travelers and their horses. “We’ll spend the night under that shelf across the river,” he said, pointing to its location. “The river’s water level is low and doesn’t look to have much current, but be careful; there might be a hole or some other kind of obstruction under the surface. I’ll cross first. When I’m completely across, and I wave that everything is okay, you can cross next, Mrs. Taylor, but be careful.” Esther nodded.

  After another day of traveling in the rain and one more day under a steaming, hot July sun, they stopped on a hilltop in early afternoon looking down on Little Rock. “I’ve been thinking, Mrs. Taylor,” the corporal said, “It might be best if you don’t go with us to the hospital. The authorities might get suspicious about your presence, since you’re a civilian, and they could start digging as to why you came along. It would be hard to explain, ma’am.”

  Esther thought on his reasoning. “You’re right, Corporal. That could easily happen. What do you suggest I do?”

  “Why don’t you meet us back here at four o’clock? That’ll give us a mite over two hours to deliver Major Engle’s letter and tell our story to the colonel. If we run into trouble or can’t get back here by 4.00 o’clock, I’ll send one of the men back here to tell you what’s going on.”

  Esther agreed to the plan and told the corporal she’d go to a café in town to kill some time but would be back by four.

  »»•««

  Esther pulled her pocket-watch from her shirt pocket and flipped it open. “It’s nearly five o’clock,” she mumbled. “Wonder what’s keeping ʼem.” She took another long gaze toward town, being alert for any possible movement but all was quiet. She returned to her sitting log.

  Time passed slowly. Long shadows were starting to form when Esther looked at her watch again. A little after six; something has happened, or they would have been back by now—at least one of the men would have come. “If they’re not here by seven, I’m riding in to see what has happened,” Esther mumbled.

  In the meantime, Esther leaned back against a tree, losing all track of time as her thoughts went to Doyle. She thought of his kindness, his gentleness, and how he always put her first when they were together. She recalled his story about how he became a riverboat captain and how all of the men on the steamer looked up to him. She remembered his proposal and the kiss that followed. The promised travel to far off places came to mind. But foremost in her mind was his promise to return to her. “Only death could keep me away from you,” she remembered him saying. Esther had become so engrossed with her memories of Doyle she failed to see the three men in blue uniforms and one in gray riding up the hill toward her.

  Corporal Norman and Mark w
ere a few yards ahead of the other two men as they rode up the hill toward Esther. Mark was slumped over in a depressed mood with his eyes focused downwardly and had not noticed the corporal had fallen several yards behind him. When Esther came into view, the corporal stopped and whispered to his men, “We’ll let them have some time alone. They ain’t seen one another for over three years, and I imagine they’ll both be emotional.”

  Mark was within ten yards of Esther when his horse stepped on a tree branch, making a snapping sound, which caused Mark to raise his head and Esther to look toward the sound. There was a period of silence as the mother and son gazed at one another. “Is that you, Ma?” Mark asked in an unbelieving tone. Esther couldn’t speak because of her hard sobs, but she immediately ran to her son with streaming tears and open arms. He had dismounted by the time she reached him, so they fell into a tight mother and son hug and kisses. It took several minutes for them to collect themselves but when they did, Mark asked, “What are you doing here Ma? You’re the last person in the world I expected to see.”

  “I know, son,” she said giving Mark another hug, only to feel him flinch. “I’m sorry, Mark, I forgot about your injured shoulder; does it still bother you?”

  “What’s going on, Ma? How do you know about my shoulder?” Esther turned and waved for the men in blue. “I’m their prisoner, Ma. They’re taking me to Fort Gibson to testify in a trial.”

  “You’re going to Fort Gibson, son, but it’s not to testify in a trial. You’re a free man, son…a free man. You don’t have to fight in the war anymore.” Esther hugged her son again. “My prayers have been answered; we’re going to be a family again.”

  “I don’t understand, Ma. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s a long story, son. I’ll tell you the details when we stop for the night.”

  As the men in blue rode up to continue their way home, Esther gave her son another hug before they mounted their horses and followed—both wearing wide grins.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  A lot took place the morning Mark arrived at Fort Gibson four days later. Papers were signed in Major Engle’s office, giving Mark a Prisoner of War Military Discharge but restricting him to his mother’s custody. Afterward, Mark and Esther enjoyed a noon meal with the major and Dr. Potts, and then they went to the town’s mercantile to shop for some much-needed clothes for Mark. It wasn’t long before Mark selected a black low-crowned western hat, a black leather vest, a pair of pointed-toe western boots, and several sets of shirts, drawers, and pants. When Mark came from the back room wearing his new duds, his mother was a bit taken back. He’s the spitting image of his pa when he was that age, Esther thought. Tall and slender with black wavy hair. Extremely handsome, especially when he flashes that contagious smile of his.

  “How do I look, Ma?” Mark asked as he straightened his shoulders and pulled the brim of his hat down a mite.

  “You look great, son,” she answered, but after a long pause, she started smiling.

  “What is it, Ma? What’s making you smile? Do I look funny? Like some kind of a dude?”

  “No, son. I’m thinking how hard it’s gonna be to keep the young ladies away from you. Remember young man, you’re under my custody,” Esther laughed.

  Mark was ready to leave and headed for the cashier, but Esther waved him back. “We’re not finished shopping yet, Mark.”

  “What else do I need?”

  Minutes later Mark was carrying another bag containing chaps, spurs, leather gloves, bandannas, and a pistol inserted into a holster. The two then headed to Virginia’s boarding house for a short visit before going on to the Crooked Rail.

  »»•««

  Mark was received well at the Crooked Rail, and as the days went by he strived to make friends with everyone. With his charm and wide smiles, folks were naturally drawn to him. Bunkhouse evenings were fun around a table of cards or checkers before the men made a final check on the barn animals. Then they’d crawl under covers for the night before another day’s work. Mark was surprised to find his mother practically running the place and at how often people sought her advice. Even Mrs. Winslow wholeheartedly valued her help and welcomed Mark with open arms.

  Mark and his mother spent a considerable amount of time together. Many times, they’d take rides into the prairie and have long talks catching up on one another’s lives during the four years they’d been apart. Mark talked mostly about his cargo voyages to foreign countries. The customs, lifestyles, and people’s view on America. He also talked about the cities and the various other parts of the country he’d traveled to during his war days, but he was guarded when it came to relating details. Esther asked about the fighting, but he sidestepped her questions, and she didn’t press the issue.

  Mark especially wanted to hear information pertaining to his father, but his mother had none to offer. However, when Mark asked about his sister and the details concerning her marriage, Esther was enthusiastic, and the two lingered for nearly an hour as she related the whole affair, telling of Joan’s growing up years, her courtship, marriage, and the wonderful characteristics of the man she had married. Esther also admitted to the weeks of loneliness experienced when Joan first moved to Cape Girardeau.

  Often as the two rode along, only an occasional squeak of saddle leather or hooves brushing against the tall grass could be heard. During one of these silent periods, Mark saw his mother looking toward the far-off horizon with a sober face. “What’s wrong, Ma? What’s bothering you?”

  Esther’s eyes became teary. “I should have told you sooner, Mark, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to it. Doyle and I started staying in touch before Joan and I left New Orleans and came to Fort Gibson. In fact, Doyle came here with us, and we started spending a great deal of time together; he stayed here until the war broke out. I’ve only received one letter from him, and it was shortly after he left. He’d gone looking for you in New Orleans, at my request, before reporting to his war duties and his letter informed me you’d already joined up with the Confederate army. I know Doyle is most likely dead, son, but I can’t get his memories out of my mind.”

  “Maybe he’s not dead, Ma. You thought I was dead too, but I showed up, and I’m guessing he will too. Maybe you haven’t heard from him because the mail service has been shut down, or he might even be in a prison camp. They rode on in silence for several minutes before Mark asked, “Do you love him, Ma?”

  “Yes, I do, son. He asked me to marry him when he returns from the war, and I accepted.”

  »»•««

  As Mark settled into the Crooked Rail routine, Bill took him under his wing and began to teach him the tricks of the trade. How to shoe horses, how to ride a roundup horse with its sudden stops and turns, and the trick of throwing a loop around a running calf’s leg. He taught him about branding irons and how to apply the brand, and many other needed lessons, but some skills had to wait; they could only be taught during an active roundup.

  Mark considered himself to be a newcomer at the Crooked Rail, and so he willingly worked from first light until dark checking on cattle in the various parts of the ranch and doing whatever jobs Bill said needed to be done. However, come Saturday, he always found a way to wiggle out of work so he could go to town.

  One Sunday morning, after one such visit, Mark was sitting alone at the kitchen table with his mother when he said, “Ma, I met a girl in Fort Gibson a few weeks back, and I was wondering if I could bring her to the ranch to meet you?”

  “I’d like to meet her, son.” Esther smiled. “I thought you’d probably met a young lady in town because of the way you always finagled out of work on Saturday. What’s her name?”

  Mark took on one of his wide grins, “It’s Sally Woodruff, Ma, and she’s about the prettiest girl you ever did see. It’s okay if I start courting a girl, ain’t it, Ma?”

  “You’ll be twenty-one years old next April, Mark, and that’s old enough to be making all of your own decisions.” Esther took a long pause. “I’m only
going to say this one time, son, but I want you to remember it for a lifetime. Treat all women with respect, and especially the woman you’ll be marrying someday. Treat her tenderly, don’t hold grudges against her, and be sure to tell her you love her every night after you’ve kissed her goodnight. Never be mean or hit her like…” Esther couldn’t finish.

  “Like Pa hit you,” Mark said, finishing his mother’s thought. “Don’t worry, Ma; I might look like my pa, but I’m not like him on the inside. I’d never be mean to a woman, neither physically nor mentally.” Esther wiped her eyes and gave her son a thankful smile.

  »»•««

  Nothing much changed as the next several months went by at the Crooked Rail. One of the old men had to return home because of illness, and a new man of a similar age was hired to replace him. Sally visited on weekends sometimes, and Mark learned the ropes at the roundup, but other than those happenings, the only thing that changed at the ranch during the year of ʼ64 was the weather; it was getting colder.

  October was the time to cut the winter’s supply of firewood. Two teams of draft horses stayed busy pulling wagons loaded with firewood to the homestead from the tree covered hills a couple of miles to the north. The entire ranch crew was involved in the process. The men stayed busy with the crosscut saws and axes while Esther and Shining Star drove and unloaded the wagons. After six days of cutting and hauling, the wood pile was more than sufficient to last the winter.

  There was a lull between wood cutting and the time to kill the winter’s supply of meat, but by the end of November, the nights had become cold enough to slaughter three two-year-old steers and five good size hogs. The beef halves were hung in the smokehouse to age, and the pork was salted-down and laying on shelves along the walls.

  One cold winter morning, a few days before Christmas, Esther and Mark were riding together on the northeast corner of the range checking on water holes when they stopped for coffee. A fire was soon blazing, made from buffalo chips, and water was on. “What are you plans, son? What do you want to do with the rest of your life?” Esther asked while holding a steaming cup of coffee.