“Damn, Slaughter,” another asked, “where the hell were you? You missed a helluva party.”
Matt just smiled in reply. He looked around him at the soldiers taking their leisure. “Anybody seen my brother?”
“I saw him earlier this morning,” the lanky farm boy replied. “He was with Lieutenant Lowder when we charged up the bluffs. I expect he’s down the line a piece.” He pointed toward the lower end of the camp. Matt nodded and took his leave.
He found Owen perched on a log, drinking a cup of coffee. His brother’s eyes brightened when he spotted Matt striding toward him. When Matt approached, Owen got up to greet him, extending his coffee cup. “This is the last of the coffee beans,” he said.
Matt accepted the cup and took a quick swallow of the fiery-hot liquid, then handed it back. “Thanks. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“We didn’t expect to be here,” Owen replied. “General Gordon ordered everybody out for a night march. We got here at about four o’clock this morning and waited around for about an hour before the attack.”
Matt smiled, grateful that his brother had survived another skirmish. Although Owen was the elder, Matt felt a sense of responsibility to make sure his brother returned home safely to Abby and the boys. He had always felt responsible for Owen, ever since their parents had perished in a cabin fire. He sat down on the log. “Yeah, if I’d have lingered a few minutes longer this mornin’, one of you boys mighta shot me. I’d just left that creek bank when I heard all hell break loose behind me.”
“We heard two rifle shots not more than ten or fifteen minutes before we got the signal to advance,” Owen said, nodding his head as he recalled. “Was that you? It sounded like that Whitworth, come to think of it.”
“I was wishin’ I had my carbine with me when I heard all the shootin’. I thought it was the Union Army coming down on me.” He gave Owen a wide grin, happy with the knowledge that both he and his brother had survived yet another battle.
* * *
The men of General Early’s Confederate forces were not to celebrate their victory long, for General Sheridan returned to take command of his demoralized Union troops. He mounted a counterattack at around three o’clock that afternoon, driving the men in gray back up the valley in an all-out retreat. There were several more battles fought in November, but the Confederate forces were so badly outmatched that the Shenandoah Valley was virtually lost before spring of 1865. Through it all, Matt and Owen Slaughter managed to stay alive. In a final crushing blow by Union forces near Waynesboro, backed up to the South River, their company put up a fight for as long as they had ammunition. Finally, it was every man for himself as General Early fled along with some of his aides, leaving the valley in the hands of the Union Army. Seeing what was developing, Matt grabbed Owen by the arm. “The officers have cut and run,” he exclaimed. “Come on, we ain’t stayin’ here to get captured!” Along with droves of others, the two brothers escaped up the mountainside. The war was over for the Slaughter boys.
Chapter 2
It took four days of hard riding along mountain trails and back roads before they reached the last low ridge between them and Owen’s farm. During that time, they sighted only occasional Union patrols along the main road. Still, they thought it best to avoid the Valley Pike. With no ammunition to spend, the two were unable to take advantage of any game they happened upon except an occasional squirrel or rabbit curious enough to get caught in a snare.
When at last they reached the ridge that protected his farm on the eastern side of the little valley, Owen galloped ahead to the crest, unable to contain his excitement. When Matt joined his brother at the top of the ridge, he found Owen sitting silent and disconsolate. Below them, the fields were black and scorched. The house was a pile of charred timbers around the stone fireplace, its chimney standing like a solitary grave marker. The two brothers stared dejectedly at the remains of the second Slaughter homestead burned to the ground, the first having been the cabin that had claimed the lives of their parents.
With thoughts of his parents’ fate with the burning of the original cabin, it was all Owen could do to keep from choking on a sob. He looked fearfully at his brother and gasped, “Abby.” Then he kicked his horse hard with his heels and drove recklessly down the slope. Matt followed, instinctively scanning the valley back and forth with his eyes, cautious in case there were Union soldiers about.
Owen was out of the saddle before his horse came fully to a halt, frantically pulling burnt timbers this way and that, searching for what he hoped he would not find. He picked up broken pieces of dishes and scraps of singed cloth, remnants of his life, now destroyed. Finding nothing whole, he finally sank to his knees defeated, tears streaming down his face.
Matt watched his brother’s sorrowful return to his home, in silence to that point. Then he sought to comfort him. “We’ll find Abby and the boys,” he said. “We’ll rebuild the house. The Yankees burned the crops, but they couldn’t hurt the ground. We’ve still got time to plant this spring.” He paused to judge if his words were enough to rally his brother. “You know, Abby most likely took the boys to my cabin. Maybe the Yankees didn’t find my place.”
Owen looked up hopefully. “Sure, that’s probably where they are. Come on!” In the saddle again, they loped off along the river, following a narrow trail that led through a wooded gulch to a small meadow beyond. There, at the far end of the meadow, the simple log cabin remained, apparently unmolested by Union troops. The brothers galloped across the open expanse of grass.
“Ma!” Jeremy exclaimed, “Somebody’s comin’.” The nine-year-old ran to fetch his mother. Abby Slaughter moved to the window. Six-year-old David clung to his mother’s skirt as she peered out to see who it might be. Not certain if her eyes were deceiving her, she continued to stare at the two riders driving hard toward the cabin. In the next instant she was sure. It was Owen and Matt. Suddenly she felt as if her strength had deserted her and she almost collapsed, forcing her to hold on to the windowsill for support. There had been no news after the fighting at Cedar Creek and the Confederate retreat. The only word that had reached the tiny valley was that hundreds of men on both sides had been killed. Abby had tried to steel herself to the possibility that Owen would not be coming back. But in her heart she feared she could not survive if he had perished.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, her fearful expression replaced by one of joy as the riders approached. She ran to the door, almost knocking David to the floor in the process, hurrying to greet her husband. Owen leaped from the saddle to meet her. Matt, grinning with pleasure, dismounted and watched the joyful reunion. Abby released Owen long enough to give Matt a hug, then flew into her husband’s arms again, her sons clinging to their father’s legs.
“We saw the house,” Owen said, “at least where the house once stood.” He looked at his wife, reassuring her. “Don’t you fret, honey, me and Matt’ll build us a better one.” Matt nodded in agreement. Owen continued. “It’ll soon be time for spring plowin’. We’ll have us a garden goin’ in no time, and we can stay here till Matt and I can build the house back.” He turned to his brother. “If that’s all right with you, Matt.”
Matt grinned, surprised that Owen would even bother to ask. “Of course it’s all right,” he said. “I’m just sorry it’s so small.”
Abby placed a hand on her brother-in-law’s arm. “I don’t know what we would have done if the Yankees had burned this cabin down. I don’t know where the children and I would have gone.”
He patted her hand gently. “Well, you know you’re welcome to the cabin as long as you need it.” He smiled at Owen. “Matter of fact, I think I’ll sleep in the barn. I’ve spent so many nights sleepin’ with my horse till I’m not sure I can stand being shut up in a cabin.”
“Bless you, Matt,” Abby whispered. Then realizing that the two men were probably hungry, she said, “Come on inside, and I’ll fix something to eat. I’ve got some corn left, and a little piece of side meat. The
re may be enough flour to make a little gravy.”
Matt and Owen exchanged glances. Then Owen spoke. “Is that all the food you’ve got?” When she nodded silently, he asked, “What happened to the money I buried under the comer of the corn crib?”
“Owen,” she exclaimed in despair. “It’s all gone—long ago.” When she saw his look of disbelief, she insisted, “You’ve been gone for over a year. All we’ve had to eat for the last six months is some corn and some side meat from time to time from Reverend Parker and his wife. The only way I could get food for the children was to borrow money from Zachary Boston.” She read his eyes and pleaded her case. “I had no choice. My babies were hungry. He said it was all right, and that you could just pay him back when you came home.”
Owen shook his head. Zachary Boston was about as unlikely a man to help a neighbor in need as anyone Owen could think of. I guess the war does peculiar things to people, he thought. Maybe it taught an ol’ skinflint like Zachary Boston to give a helping hand. “I’m real sorry, honey. I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you. But I’m home now. We’ll get that place up and runnin’ again.”
Abby pulled a chair back from the table and sat down, suddenly overcome with a feeling of exhaustion. She had not let herself dwell on the hardship of having spent so many long months of waiting, not knowing if her husband would return to her. It had been her endeavor to never look beyond the day that was presently before her, trusting in God to take care of things. It had not been easy when weeks would pass with no word of Owen’s unit, or even where the fighting was. But now she sank back against the chair, watching the two brothers eat the meager repast she had scraped together, and she knew that everything would be all right again. Owen was home.
She didn’t realize that she was smiling as she gazed at the two strapping young men. Though dirty and unshaven, they looked beautiful to her. Owen was the shorter by an inch, but heavier through the chest and darker of complexion. She turned her gaze toward her brother-in-law. Matt, the fairer of the two, had always put her in mind of a mountain lion, moving with a wild grace that seemed effortless. There was something different about him. He had grown a mustache. She smiled warmly at him when he glanced up to meet her gaze. Then she looked back at her husband. It was so good to have them back, both of them. The long, empty months were finally over.
* * *
The next month passed quickly, with the two brothers working every day to restore the house and prepare the scorched fields for planting. Seed was supplied by Reverend Parker, who insisted that Owen could repay him by coming to services every Sunday. Matt even attended one Sunday in order to personally thank Parker for his help.
Owen’s farm and Matt’s small strip of land by the river were not subject to much traffic from the world outside. It was almost May when word of Lee’s surrender reached the little hollow deep in the valley. The news was met with stoic regret from both Matt and Owen, but it came as no surprise. As far as they were concerned, the war had ended in March when they had retreated up that mountain along with their officers.
Some of the men at church had brought news that Union soldiers had been posted in Lexington, and the area was officially under martial law. The news was somewhat unsettling, but the brothers and their closest neighbors didn’t anticipate seeing any soldiers in their isolated part of the valley. There was no time to worry about who won, anyway. Now was the time to recover what had been lost in that unfortunate struggle between North and South. All that mattered was the land. There were no plantations in the Shenandoah Valley, no slaves to be freed. Every man they knew worked the land with his own back, and the two brothers set out to reclaim Owen’s farm with a determination that already showed dramatic results. By the first of June, crops were in the fields, and the house was almost completed. It was at that time that Zachary Boston made his appearance.
A lawyer by profession, Zachary Boston had never been held in high esteem by many who had dealings with him. He kept a small office in a crossroads settlement called Rocky Bottom, about eight miles from Owen’s farm. When most of the men marched off to defend the valley, Boston stayed behind to take command of the Home Guard. A short, pinched man in his mid-forties, he always rode a big black Morgan stallion. Matt recognized the horse before Boston was close enough to see his face.
“Looks like we got company,” Owen remarked, pausing to watch the rider approach. He dropped his hoe, and he and Matt walked to the edge of the field to meet their visitor.
“Afternoon, boys,” Boston offered as he pulled up before them, the big Morgan stamping aggressively and snorting at Owen’s mule. “I heard you boys had gotten back from the war.”
“Boston,” Owen acknowledged. “What brings you out this way?”
“Just checking on my property,” Boston replied. He paused to take a long look around him. “You boys have done a helluva lot of work out here, but I can’t understand why you’d trouble yourselves to work someone else’s land.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Owen retorted. He didn’t like Boston’s tone.
“I’m talking about you working my property.” He said it as if explaining to a child. “Didn’t your wife tell you she sold me this land in exchange for supplies?”
Both brothers were stunned for a few moments. Unable to believe his ears, Owen could only stare at the smug face while he searched for words to reply. “Like hell she did,” he finally blurted. “This land belongs to me. It was my father’s, and now it’s mine.”
“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to differ with you on that,” Boston insisted. “I bought it fair and square. I’ve got the paper with her signature on it to prove it.”
Owen became frantic as he realized the spindly lawyer was deadly serious. “There’s been some mistake. Abby said she signed a loan or somethin’ for some food, and that’s all. I aim to pay you back for that.”
“Well, now, that mighta been all right if you had met the payoff deadline, but you didn’t. Your wife put up the farm as collateral. It’s a simple business deal. I wish I could help you, Owen, but business is business.”
“Why, you low-down son of a bitch . . .” Owen started for him, but Boston, anticipating such a move, pulled his horse back and drew a revolver. Matt caught his brother by the arm, lest his anger cost him his life. Boston continued to back away, his pistol leveled at Owen. “This is my land,” Owen roared. “Get your sorry ass outta here and don’t come around here again because next time I’ll be carrying a gun.”
When a safe distance away, Boston turned his horse, and called back. “This ain’t the last of it, boys. The law is on my side, and I’d advise you to get off my land.”
* * *
Work effectively finished for that day, they returned to Matt’s cabin. A thoroughly shaken Owen immediately questioned his wife about the so-called loan. Confused and frightened, Abby swore that there was never any mention of putting the land up to secure the loan. She maintained that it was a simple loan, supposedly out of the goodness of his heart, for a little food. She remembered that Boston had produced some papers, but she didn’t take the time to read all the wording. He had told her that it wasn’t necessary, anyway. Her babies were hungry, so she signed.
Owen sank down heavily at the table. He said nothing for a long moment while he thought about the devastating blow to their lives. After a long silence, he looked at his wife, whose tears were streaming down her face as she realized what her carelessness had cost. For a moment, his eyes softened. “It ain’t your fault, honey That slimy snake took advantage of you. I’ll straighten this thing out. We’ll go to court if we have to. He ain’t gonna get away with it.” He looked then at Matt. “We’ll go see Judge Crawford.” He glanced back at Abby. “I reckon he’s still around Rocky Bottom, ain’t he?” She nodded in reply, her face a picture of desperate hope.
* * *
Judge Lionel Crawford listened attentively to Owen’s recounting of the underhanded deal Zachary Boston had forced upon Owen’s unsuspecting w
ife. His comments on the situation were not good news to Owen, however. “If he’s got a quit claim on the property, like he says, there may not be anything you can do about it. If the case was to come before me in my court, I’d throw the scalawag out on his ear. The problem is I’ve got no jurisdiction here anymore. The whole valley is under military law and Union regulators. I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m real sorry. I truly am.”
“Well, I ain’t givin’ up my land,” Owen said to Matt as they stepped off the judge’s porch. “I’ll shoot the son of a bitch if he shows up again.”
“Well, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Matt scolded. “That would leave Abby and the young’uns in a fine mess when they hauled you off to jail.”
“It ain’t right, Matt,” Owen complained.
“I know it ain’t, but we still haven’t heard what the Yankee regulator has to say. Maybe he’ll see what a stinkin’ trick it was.”
* * *
“I’ve been expecting you, Slaughter,” Captain Harvey Mathis said when Owen and Matt were shown into the office over the feed store. The entire building had been confiscated by the occupying Union troops, it being the only structure large enough to meet their requirements. “Mr. Boston said you would be showing up here hoping to get a piece of land from him.”
Owen was surprised to hear that the captain knew Zachary Boston. “Yessir,” he replied respectfully, after a quick exchange of glances with Matt. “That piece of land belongs to me. It’s always been in my family, and he took advantage of my wife’s desperation while I was away.”
“While you were away at Winchester and Fisher’s Hill,” Mathis quickly retorted. “Boston said you boys rode with Early’s troops in the campaign for this damn valley.”
“Yessir,” Owen replied. “We rode with General Early.”
“I was at Winchester, and I was with General Sheridan when we routed your cavalry and chased you out of Waynesboro.”
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