by Al Lacy
Jenny nodded, biting her lips.
“I’ll help you take the food from the stove,” said Myrna. “I see we’ve got ham steaks in the skillet.”
Jenny served their plates and carried them to the table, which was covered with a white cloth embroidered with yellow daisies. Returning to the stove, she poured two steaming cups of coffee and placed one beside each plate.
When the two sat down at the table, Jenny was still having a difficult time with worry. She looked at the food and felt like a lump was in her throat and a hot ball of lead had settled in her stomach. She wondered if she could swallow a bite. However, she knew that in order to entice her mother into eating, she would have to find a way. Ham steak, red-eye gravy, and buttermilk biscuits were among Myrna Linden’s favorites, but if her daughter didn’t eat, she might not eat, either.
Jenny dug in and her mother followed suit, bragging on her daughter’s cooking skills. While they ate, they discussed the War, commenting on what it would take to end it. They agreed that President Abraham Lincoln was working hard with his military leaders in an effort to bring the bloody War to an end.
Jenny was actually unaware of what was going into her mouth. Soon she realized that her plate was empty, and a quick glance across the table revealed that her mother had eaten a good portion of her own food.
Smiling, Jenny reached across the table and patted her mother’s thin, blue-veined hand. “I see my choice for supper was a good one, Mama. You ate more than you have at one meal in a long time.”
Myrna smiled in return, her eyes showing a bit of a sparkle. “Yes, dear. I really am trying. I want to do everything I can to cooperate with Dr. Griffin. Maybe he’ll soon have some answers for me with this appetite thing.”
Jenny was about to make a favorable comment when suddenly, as if a shade had been pulled down over her mother’s face, the smile disappeared from her lips and her eyes took on that dreaded vacant look that had haunted Jenny since her father had gone off to the War.
Myrna’s lips began to tremble and her voice was hollow. “If only I could hear from your father. If only he would come home.” Desperation joined the hollow sound. “I … I think I’m going to die if my William doesn’t come home soon.”
Jenny rose from her chair, moved around the table, and put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. Leaning down close, she spoke softly into her ear. “Now, Mama, what about your positive attitude? You’ve got to take care of yourself so you will be here when Papa comes home. As hard as President Lincoln is working to bring the War to an end, it will come soon.”
The vacant look was still in Myrna’s eyes. “Do … do you really think so?”
“Yes. We must hang on to that hope. Now you sit there and concentrate on the day Papa will come home to us while I clean up the table and do the dishes.”
Jenny was concerned while she did her cleanup work, for each time she looked at her mother, the blank stare was still there. It was as if Myrna Linden was in a world all her own.
When she was finished, Jenny was pleased to see her mother focusing more normally. She took her hand and said, “Come, sweet Mama. Let’s go into the parlor.”
Myrna moved unsteadily down the hall with her daughter gripping her tightly. Jenny noticed that she was shivering a bit. When they entered the parlor, Jenny slid the rocking chair close to the small fireplace, then settled her mother in it. “Night’s chill is in the air, Mama. Let me cover you, then I’ll light a fire.”
Jenny stepped out of the parlor long enough to take a large afghan out of the hall closet. She spread the afghan over her mother’s shoulders, then hurried to light the fire. When it was burning, she leaned over and hugged her. “There now, Mama. You’ll feel the heat shortly. When it gets going, you’ll be all nice and warm.”
The vacant eyes were beginning to focus even better. A tiny smile appeared. “Thank you, Jenny. You are such a good girl. What would I ever do without you?”
Jenny leaned close and looked into her mother’s eyes. “That’s one thing you never have to worry about, Mama. No matter what, I will be here for you until Papa returns from this dreadful war.”
Another tiny smile appeared. “That means more to me than I can ever tell you.”
“You’re my mother. And I want you to know that even when Papa is home, and I am married to Nate, I will always be close by so I can look after you.”
Myrna cleared her throat gently and said, “I’d like to read the rest of my newspaper, now.”
Jenny moved quickly, picked up the paper, and placed it in her mother’s hands. “You enjoy every word, Mama. I’m going to sit right here on the sofa and read that new novel I started last night.”
Myrna watched her daughter go to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. As Jenny picked up the book and headed toward the sofa, Myrna asked, “What’s the name of the novel?”
Jenny lifted the book so her mother could see the cover. “It’s called Toward the Sunset. See?”
Myrna focused on the cover, which showed a blazing sunset, and nodded. “What’s it about?”
“It tells the story of a wagon train going out west—the hardships of the trail, including sickness, bad weather, and savage Indians. Their final destination is Los Angeles. So far, it’s really good.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy it to the last page.”
“Someday I’d like to go out west and see it for myself, just like the people in this novel. The Kansas plains, the Colorado Rockies, the Arizona desert, Los Angeles, and the Pacific Ocean.”
With her nerves now calm, Myrna began reading her newspaper. Jenny was immediately involved in her novel.
Mother and daughter had been reading for over two hours when Jenny glanced at Myrna while turning a page, and saw her head bobbing and her eyes drooping. Closing the book, she left the sofa and laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “All right, sweet Mama, time for bed.”
Jenny guided her mother down the hall to her bedroom, helped her put on her nightgown, tucked her into bed, and doused the lamp on the bedside table. Myrna was asleep instantly. Jenny leaned over, kissed her forehead, then left the room.
She went back to the parlor, doused the lamps there, and went to her room.
When she was in her nightgown and ready to put out her own lamp, Jenny glanced at the magazine that lay on the nightstand. It was the latest edition of Harper’s Magazine, which she had purchased at Henderson’s store a few days earlier. Picking up the magazine, she ran her eyes over the photograph on the cover, which showed a group of weary, bedraggled Union soldiers in a wooded area, looking into the camera.
Jenny had already read through the magazine, but it held her interest because it had an article about battlefields in the South, along with several photographs of battlefields in Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, and Arkansas. Inside the magazine, the editor explained that the photograph on the cover was taken in Virginia.
She looked at the cover for a long moment, then looked inside once more to view the photographs of the other battlefields. Each one had Union soldiers in a small group, looking at the camera. In some, there were cannons close by. Others showed small tents in the background, indicating that the soldiers were camped on the very ground where they had fought the Confederates.
Jenny’s eyes teared as she focused on a picture of two Union officers who were on a battlefield in Tennessee, standing over the bodies of four of their men who had been killed that day. One of the officers slightly resembled her father. “Oh, Papa,” she said, “I want you to come home before some Rebel bullet takes you from us. Mama needs you. I need you. Please come home, Papa.”
Jenny closed the magazine, doused the lantern, and crawled into bed. As the darkness surrounded her, she wiped tears on the sheet. “Oh, Papa, I love you so much. And I miss you so much. Please come home.”
Her mind then went to Nate Conrad. “Oh, Nate, even though you have never put it in so many words that you love me, I know you do. Please come home so one day we can meet at the altar
to become husband and wife.”
Soon, Jenny fell asleep with tears still on her cheeks.
4
JENNY LINDEN FOUND HERSELF walking alone through a dense forest. It was late afternoon. The mossy smells invading her nostrils told her she was in the Deep South, and the air was so still it clung to her like a shroud. The sky was overcast with clouds that seemed to be made of smoke. With all the trees that surrounded her, there was not a bird to be seen … or heard.
She was coming to a clearing. Suddenly she saw a myriad of uniformed men lying dead on an open field, along with several dead horses. Her hand went to her mouth, and she swallowed hard as she stepped out of the trees and let her eyes roam over the sea of torsos that were sprawled in three directions. Some were lying on top of others, their heads and limbs twisted.
Jenny halted. She smelled burned gunpowder and blood. A foreboding atmosphere hung over the battlefield, like the calm before a tornado. Somehow she felt that she should keep walking among the dead. Forcing her feet to carry her forward, she moved slowly, weaving among the corpses that were clad in both gray and blue.
Barely breathing, Jenny looked down at the lifeless form of a Confederate officer. He lay faceup, his vacant eyes staring toward the sky. His revolver was in his hand, held in a death grip.
A few feet ahead of her lay a Union officer. A quick glance at the emblems on his shoulders told her he was a captain. Her eyes went to his face. Suddenly she drew a quick, sharp breath. A shiver touched her spine. “Papa!” Captain William Linden lay dead, with two slugs in his chest.
As she stood over her dead father, the sight she beheld set her limbs trembling with horror. It was as if a fist were tightening and twisting in her chest. She dropped to her knees, touched the cold face, and began to cry in great wracking sobs. “Papa-a-a-a! No! Papa, don’t be dead! Papa, please don’t be d—”
Abruptly, Jenny was aware of two Confederate soldiers standing over her. One was tall and slender, the other, short and stumpy. They both started laughing.
The tall one grinned at her evilly. “What’s the matter, girlie? You don’t like to see a dead Yankee?”
Jenny heard a triumphant ghostly Rebel yell coming from somewhere across the field. Suddenly a powerful unquenchable rage claimed her. She jumped to her feet and screamed, “This is my father! You filthy Rebels killed my father!”
The stumpy man in gray threw his head back, laughed, and held his ample stomach. “Too bad, girlie! Your father’s dead. We killed him, and we’re glad!”
Jenny wheeled, dashed to the body of the Confederate officer, bent over, and wrested the revolver from his tight grip. Swinging back the hammer, she lined it on the stumpy soldier. Her eyes glittered dangerously. “You killed my father. So you’re glad, eh? Well, let’s see how glad you are about this!”
The revolver bucked in her hand as it roared, and the Rebel went down with the bullet in his heart. The thin one sprang toward her, eyes wild. Jenny snapped the hammer back, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The slug dead-centered the Rebel’s forehead, and he went down in a heap.
Jenny’s blood was boiling. “You killed my father! How does it feel, dirty Rebel? Huh? How does it feel? Nobody kills my father and gets away with it!” With that, she fired two more bullets into his head.
Jenny moved to the other Rebel corpse. “You killed my father. How do you like it, fatso?” She put the last two bullets in his head, then threw the gun down and ran toward her father’s body. “Papa! Papa-a-a-a!”
Suddenly, Jenny was awake, sitting up in her bed. “Papa-a-a-a! Papa-a-a-a!” She threw her hands to her face and sobbed, “Oh, Papa, don’t be dead! Please don’t be dead!”
The bedroom door opened, and by the soft moonlight that was coming through the windows, Jenny saw her sleepy-eyed mother framed in the doorway. “Honey, are you all right?”
Jenny drew a shaky breath. “Yes, Mama. was having a nightmare. I’m all right. Sorry I woke you up.”
“That’s okay, honey. I’ve had my share of nightmares for the past three years, as you well know. Do you think you can go back to sleep?”
“Uh-huh. It may take a few minutes, but I’m sure I can.”
“Well, sleep peacefully this time, honey,” said Myrna as she stepped into the hall and closed the door.
Jenny’s face was soaked with sweat. She wiped it with the sheet, lay down, and turned on her side. Within ten minutes, she was fast asleep.
The rising sun wove its golden fingers through the windows into Jenny’s room, and when it touched her eyelids, she rolled over and opened her eyes. “It can’t be morning already,” she mumbled.
Her weary brain protested at the thought of a new day starting so soon. She had gone through another nightmare shortly after getting back to sleep. She rubbed her puffy eyes while trying to rid her memory of the horror imbedded there.
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and sat up. After a few seconds, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stretch the kinks out of her back. She glanced out the window at the pink and gold sunrise, and thought about her father and Nate. She wondered where in the South they might be, and if they were able to see the sun rising on another day.
Jenny rose from the bed to get ready. It took her a little longer than usual, for she stopped often to contemplate her nightmares and ponder on what they might mean. A strong feeling of dread hovered over her as she walked down the hall toward her mother’s room to awaken her.
When Jenny turned the knob and pushed the door open, she was surprised to find her mother up and dressed. Myrna was at the dresser mirror, putting the finishing touches on her hair with a brush. She looked at Jenny in the reflection, noting her tired eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?”
Jenny nodded. “Yes.”
“I thought so. I heard you cry out, but it was only for a moment, so I decided not to disturb you. I figured you would go back to sleep quicker if I left you alone.”
“How’s your appetite, Mama? You think you can put down a good breakfast?”
Myrna laid the hairbrush on the dresser and turned around. “I’m really not feeling any hunger to speak of, honey. How about you?”
“I’m not very hungry, either. How about leftover biscuits dabbed with butter and jam and some hot black tea?”
Myrna walked toward her daughter. “That would be just fine.”
Soon they were seated at the kitchen table with steaming cups of tea next to plates that held two biscuits each. As they drank the tea, it seemed to revive them some.
Myrna looked across the table at Jenny. “Want to tell me about the nightmares?”
Jenny shrugged. “If you want to hear it.”
“I do.”
“All right. The first one took place on a battlefield somewhere in the Deep South. I could even smell the moss.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. I was walking through a thick forest toward an open field when I saw all these bodies of men and horses strewn everywhere.”
Jenny went on to describe the nightmare in detail, and when she finished by telling how she had shot the two Confederate soldiers dead who were laughing because they had killed her papa, then put slugs in their heads just for the sake of vengeance, Myrna shook her head. “Honey, it’s a good thing you’re not a man. If you were, you would take vengeance on every Confederate soldier possible, making him wish he had never donned a gray uniform.”
A strange light filled Jenny’s eyes. “I most certainly would, Mama, right down to General Bobby Lee. Then I would go after President Jeffie Davis, himself. And before I killed him, I would make sure I told him what a low-down cuss he is.”
Myrna touched the tips of her fingers to her temples. “Jenny, I hope no one ever crosses you. That person would certainly wish he—or she—hadn’t, when you got through with them.”
Jenny laughed. “You’re right, Mama. When somebody purposely does someone else wrong, they deserve to suffer for it.”
Myrna took a small
bite of biscuit, chewed it briefly, then swallowed it. She took a sip of tea. “Tell me about your other nightmare.”
“Well, I found myself in an army camp where Nate was, and a Rebel spy had come into the camp, dressed in Union blue. Somehow I knew the man was a spy, and that he was there to kill Lieutenant Nate Conrad. I saw the spy enter Nate’s tent and ran that direction, shouting a warning to Nate. There was a scuffle inside the tent, and by the time I stepped in there, the spy was dead with a knife in his chest.
“Nate was standing over him, breathing hard, and his eyes were wide as he looked at me and thanked me for calling out the warning. He asked how I knew the man was a spy. I told him I didn’t know. I just knew it. I … I looked down at the dead man, realizing that he would have taken Nate from me if I hadn’t called out the warning. I was angry, Mama. Really angry. I needed to vent my vengeance on him. Even though he was dead, I grabbed Nate’s revolver from his holster and put all six bullets in the dead man’s face.”
Myrna’s pale features twisted with revulsion. “Jenny, I wish you didn’t have such a vengeful spirit. What you did in both of those nightmares scares me.”
Jenny laughed again. “Mama, Mama. Those were only dreams.”
“I know, but—”
“But I will tell you this, Mama,” Jenny said in a serious tone, “if anyone ever harmed you or Papa or the man I love, they would taste of my vengeance, for sure.”
Myrna did not comment. She picked up what was left of the biscuit and put it in her mouth. While she was chewing it, Jenny said, “How about another biscuit, Mama?”
Myrna shook her head. “Not now, dear. Maybe I’ll have it for a midmorning snack.”
“Well, all right, but Mama, I do wish you would try to eat more. You seem to be losing weight almost every day.”
Myrna nodded. “I’ll try, honey. Maybe Dr. Griffin will come up with a solution to give me back my appetite.”