The Long Journey Home

The Farm

Six weeks had passed since Dewy left Luverne, Alabama. He’d come across many kind folks on his journey. He'd been through Hattiesburg, and remembered thinking it a hostile town, for certain. Now, another week had passed and he was sure he was halfway through Mississippi. As he traveled on, he passed a sign:

Welcome to Jackson, Mississippi.

“Jackson? Oh boy!” Dewy thought to himself: “I’m deep in Rebel country now.” He passed through the town about the supper hour, but moved on, hoping to make it to the outbound road before nightfall.

His goal achieved, Dewy pressed for the homestead he viewed in the distance. Not more than another hour’s walk and he’d make it there. Maybe they’d allow him to sleep in the barn, out of the weather that was brewing on the horizon.

“Hello!” He waved and called to the man on the porch.

“Howdy, stranger. Looks like it may rain. Need a place for the night?” The man said, sticking his hand out as Dewy approached. “Come on in.” He walked with a cane, as he was missing a leg, and hobbled slowly towards the house. “The Mrs. is working on supper. I hope you like chicken. It’s about all we have now. Most of my cows died in the drought last summer and the Union decided they needed 'em more than me, so they took much of what was left. Why on earth would a troop of soldiers need a herd of cattle? Anyway, we have a few left, but mostly for milk. We’re raising chickens and hogs, and hopefully we’ll be able to put up enough for the coming winter. Where you coming from?”

Dewy smiled, glad to have a person to converse with instead of his own thoughts for company. “I left Georgia two months ago. I’m heading home to Texas now. It’s a bit of a trip, I’ll say.”

Mr. Monroe nodded. “Indeed it is. A horse would do you some good.”

“Yes, sir, it would, but I’m grateful to the Good Lord for my life and legs. I’ll get there, by and by.”

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Andrew Montgomery. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held a hand out to shake.

“Pleasures all mine, Montgomery. The name’s Lawrence Monroe.” He  took Dewy’s pack and placed it in a small room off the main family room. “Guest room’s in there, and you’re more than welcome to stay the night. It’ll do my wife some good to have a strapping young man in the home again. Our youngest was your age. I’m guessing you’re about twenty?”

“Yes, sir.” Dewy chuckled at the odd turn in conversation. The man seemed eager to have a man’s company.

“Our boys, all five of ‘em, went to war. None of ‘em survived. Our oldest three were married with children, so we’re blessed to have our grandchildren. It still hurts my wife to think that none of her boys are coming home, though. How was it? The war, I mean?”

“I’d rather not say, sir. It was dreadful. I saw too many dead, including my best friend. The Almighty saw fit to preserve me, so I dwell on that; no sense remembering the bad stuff.” He surmised.

“Very true. Say, tomorrow’s Sunday. Would you care to attend church with us?”

“I haven’t stepped foot in a church in months. I greatly appreciate the offer. That way, when I get to my Maw, she won’t be hounding me about not going for so long.” Dewy chuckled, and then Mr. Monroe let out a guffaw that shook his whole being, making Dewy laugh harder.

“I imagine you are right, there, son. We’re glad to have you. Let me see if she’s ready for dinner. Catherine? We’ve company. Do you have enough for one more?” He said in a slightly raised voice.