William Henry is a Fine NameI Have Seen Him in the Watchfires Set by Cathy Gohlke

Author:Cathy Gohlke
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8024-8294-5
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 2006-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Four

The Maynards waited, curious about my day, but I was not of a mind to talk. They didn’t pry I thought well of them for that.

At breakfast next morning Mrs. Maynard asked me if I’d be going over to the fort. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to leave for Ashland and never look back. But I nodded. I owed Emily that.

“Perhaps your cousin would benefit from more broth. If he’s not been eating, a good strong broth and bread could do him a world of good. I’d like to send some along if you are willing.” Mrs. Maynard’s kindness shamed me.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

By the time I boarded the supply boat I toted a crock of soup and two loaves of fresh bread for Cousin Albert. The Maynards convinced me to ask the guards if I could carry fresh bread to other prisoners. I’d had good luck getting Emily’s things to Cousin Albert, and what harm could asking do?

Cousin Albert needed help to eat the soup, to tear and soak the bread. But he seemed to gain a little strength with each mouthful. When he’d finished half the broth he turned his head away. “No more. No more.” I hinged the crock for later. He closed his eyes and lay back against his pillow and blanket roll. I watched him breathe. I couldn’t hate him. I couldn’t touch him in kindness and hate him at the same time, no matter that I struggled against it. And I wondered if it was like that for soldiers thrown together, left on the field. I wondered if they helped the men they’d shot, after a battle, or if they left them wounded or dying, and how a man would choose.

“Thank you, Robert.” It was the first kind word he’d given. We sat in the stillness, listening as the pendulum of the ticking clock counted off the minutes. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I know you didn’t mean me harm. War and starvation make a man-made me—behave in ways I never would have done before. I’m sorry.” It was a long speech for a sickly man.

“I never meant you anything but good, Cousin Albert. And I’d do anything in the world that Emily asked me.”

His face relaxed. “I’m too weak to talk on, Robert. But stay a while; talk to me.”

I wanted to ask him for the picture, just to see the picture, to run my finger over Ma’s face, to touch Emily’s hair. But I couldn’t ask him and keep my voice steady. Not yet.

I thought of when Miz Laura was sick, before she’d died, how she wanted folks to sit with her and talk, when it was just too much of a strain to keep her eyes open. So I talked about Laurelea, about the fields we’d turned, what we’d planted and hoped to plant. I talked about the fine tobacco at Ashland and Mitchell House, wondered how it was doing, wondered if Noah was still his driver.

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