Crossing the Deadline by Michael Shoulders

Author:Michael Shoulders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sleeping Bear Press

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Tonight’s a good one for food. We have beef. Every ten days or so real meat finds its way to us, or so I hear. Chicken is rare. Rotting pork is more common. Before gathering rations, I pat the letter in my pants pocket to make sure it’s still there. I hope Mrs. Gardner comes to the hole so I can give it to her to post. I start the fire and begin boiling water for the ground corn. Hopefully, when it’s cooked into a mush and the meat’s added, everything will be edible.

I keep one eye on the pot and one on the opening in the fence. Soon, the sign appears. I wait for the guard to turn away and dash for the wall. “Mrs. Gardner?” I call.

“Yes,” she answers. “How are things in the Castle this fine day?” she asks.

“Fine, thank you, ma’am,” I say, peering out of the opening.

“Ma’am?” she echoes my word in surprise. “You were raised right.”

“Thank you, ma’am. My mama would love to know that.”

“That’s how my son was raised,” she says.

“Your son?”

“Yes,” she says quickly. “Do you have something for me?”

I had almost forgotten about the letter. “Oh, yes. Yes, I do.”

Mrs. Gardner smiles at me and pauses. “Can you give it to me?”

“Ohhh, yes.” The coiled envelope passes easily through to her. I have no idea where the boldness comes from, but I need to ask her for more. I feel there are two debts to be repaid. “Is there any chance to get two envelopes and one more piece of paper? I have one sheet left but need to write letters for two friends.”

Without hesitation, she fishes into an apron pocket and passes me two envelopes, already stamped, and paper. Did she expect the question?

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly. Then five pieces of sliced pumpkin pie slip through the hole, one at a time. “Perhaps these will go well with the feast you’re having in the Castle tonight.”

“Indeed, they will,” I tell her. “Bless you, ma’am, bless you.”

Mrs. Sarah Dorman,

Today is painful as pen is put to paper to write you. I do not know you personally, but feel I do through your husband. Henry served in the same company with me. He was a fine man, and his passing is a great loss to the Union. When we arrived at training, he could only make what might have been called goose sounds with his bugle. But he worked at it, sometimes after drills were over, to make sure he was an asset to the army. It may not be of any comfort, but Henry died experiencing no pain and was holding a bugle in his hand.

He spoke of you often, and his son. His comments were always kind and gentle. Every soldier he met could tell by how Henry talked about you all that he was a good family man. Henry is surely with God, looking upon the two of you as you read these words.

Although I do not know your grief, my only brother was lost to the war two years ago.

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