The Long Journey Home

Middle of Nowhere

Dewy had been walking for days, stopping to sleep. If he caught a rabbit or a squirrel, he ate. Otherwise, he only drank. He was glad for the hunting skills he had developed as a boy. At least he wouldn’t starve completely.

Somewhere along the way, he had come across an abandoned homestead. There he'd found some canned provisions, clothing, and other necessary items he needed to aid his journey some. Now most of that had been spent, but at least he’d changed from his uniform. People didn't take kindly to Yankee soldiers; especially Southern sympathizers who'd fought for the North. He'd likely end up shot if someone found him walking in a U.S. uniform instead of a haphazard looking Southern one.

He had a hunting knife, the one his Paw had given him on his twelfth birthday, that he kept in his boot for emergencies, but he’d shucked his rifle a while back. That was an identifier. He’d found a pistol in another place, but no ammunition to speak of. Those were hard to come by, much less the bullets to use them, but he’d kept it anyway.

The truth of the whole matter was this: He had no idea where he was, but he was sure it was the way home.

~~~~~

As night began to fall, and the sky darkened, Dewy happened upon a small abode with a barn in the back. The farm lands had been burned. Shameful. He decided to say hello as he walked past.

Waving his arm, he greeted the older lady and gentleman seated on their porch. They were smiling, laughing, and talking like the worst possible thing hadn’t just happened around them.

“Good e’en.” The man said, waving back. “You needin’ a meal? The wife here’s got a stew on and some fresh bread.” Dewy loved the country and the folks in it. They were just friendlier here.

“I’d be much obliged. Say, any idea where I am? I’ve been walking for two weeks. Came from Georgia; headin’ home to Texas.”

“A soldier?” The woman asked, putting her hands on her face in shock. “Why, we lost our son  and grandson while they were fighting at Antietam. You come on in and sit a spell.”

The man piped in. “Yes, little old Luverne (he said it like Loo-Vun instead of Luh-vern), Alabama has lost many of her native sons. You’re more than welcome to eat at table with us and stay over. Restore for a spell before headin’ on; that’s what you need to do.” 

“I much appreciate the offer. These feet sure are tired.” Dewy exclaimed as he rested his laurels on their porch step.

The lady disappeared into the house briefly, coming out with bread and a cup in her hands. “Fresh lemonade? Here’s a little something to eat. That should tide you over until dinner.”

“I surely do appreciate your hospitality. Name’s Andrew. Andrew  Montgomery; but everyone who knows me calls me Dewy.” He stuck his hand out to shake the man’s hand, and then kissed the back of the woman’s wrinkled hand, as well.

“Otis and Tiva Brown. Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Montgomery. Please, do come in and rest a bit.”

Dewy smiled, wiped his brow with this shirt sleeve, before resting his pack on their front porch and following them in to the modest cabin. It was really a one-room house, with a loft built over the main area for sleeping. They were modest accommodations, but Dewy learned at a young age that a beggar couldn’t afford to be picky. He was happy he could receive a home-cooked meal.

“Here’s some water to wash up with. We have a small cot in the cellar. Otis will get if for you after we finish eating.” Tiva explained.

“If you don’t mind, I can get it, Ma’am. I don’t want him going out of his way for a passerby.” Dewy really didn’t want the elderly man moving anything. He looked like he was more frail than a newborn.

“Otis doesn’t mind a’tall. He’s proud to help one of our Southern boys.” Tiva waved him off. Dewy didn’t bother to correct her. She’d probably shoo him out with a broom and that shotgun over the hearth if she knew he fought with the Yankees. No, he’d just as soon keep quiet and appreciate their hospitality, asking forgiveness to God for the omission of truth.

~~~~~

In the morning, Dewy politely folded up their cot, placing it back from where Otis had brought it. He washed his face, accepted Tiva’s meager food offerings, and picked up his bag. With his apologies for the early departure, and many thank you’s, Dewy set off, once again walking away from the sun.

His letter would be taken to the nearest town, but whether or not it ever reached his Ma, he couldn’t say. The system was past broken. It was destroyed: A tactic the Yankees had deployed to slow the South down.

Many were still hostile, and most every family on both sides was grieving a loss. Dewy tried not to think about those who wouldn’t be returning with him. In fact, he wondered if he was the only hometown son headed home on his own two feet. He thought about Clem Jenkins, his parents, and Ellisa. She was always in the forefront of his mind. His father was next, and Dewy said a prayer that the man would soften his heart and be willing to allow Dewy back. 

That thought was on an endless loop in his mind. He kept thinking on it. He couldn't let it go no matter how hard he tried until the idea switched places with the image of Ellisa. He'd think of her lovely face, the flavor of her kiss, the feelings in his heart when he held her close, until he wanted to scream. She was his heart and soul. He prayed she would accept him again. 

One phrase made its way into the forefront of his brain: Going to war had ruined his life. Shaking his head, he kept walking. No, it hadn't. Going to war had been the only choice. Every capable man was needed. His father had decided not to go to war, and Dewy was glad for it for one simple reason: If they'd both gone and died, she'd be left alone. His father's body wouldn't have been able to handle battle anyway. He'd been injured as a teen in a serious horse and buggy incident. He wasn't supposed to be able to have children, but Ma married him anyway. Dewy was the youngest son of four. The doctors had thankfully been very wrong. Dewy had an older brother, an older sister, and a twin sister. Now, his sisters, Emma, his twin, and Mary, were married with and children. Emma had married William Logan and Mary was married to Joseph Klein. His brother Philip was still in Comfort, but never really had many dealings with his parents. Still, they considered him the "good" son who agreed with Paw on the war. Dewy wondered if maybe Philip was near and more present to them now that Dewy had chosen the "wrong path."

He prayed for his two sisters and Philip, as well as his Ma and Paw. He prayed for Emma and Mary's husbands who had gone off to war. He'd hate to see them widowed so young. Joseph and William were boys from Comfort, but had enlisted before Dewy, so they had been in different Regiments. 

The next town wasn't more than half a day's journey, and by noon, Andrew was hot as he approached it. He stopped under a shady oak and took a little of the food Miss Tiva had given him from his satchel. Thanking God for the provisions, he ate and rested a while before continuing on. He'd be in Mississippi in another day or two. 

A smile formed on his unshaven face. He was that much closer to home. Maybe he could find a way to travel some on what trains were running, or find a coach to take him part of the way. Until then, he'd keep walking.