Spirit of Gettysburg: Soulmates Across Time

Chapter 23

"General Thomas J. Jackson's nickname." He was the best general in either army. Our brigade was the best. It was called the Stonewall Brigade. We were all Shenandoah Valley boys, including our own Shepherdstown hometown boys, who fought bravely and honorably."

"Right."

He snapped a salute. "If he had been alive instead of dead, he would have swept the Federals off Culp's Hill and East Cemetery Hill the first day and outflanked them the second day. His breath jumped and his hands moved in jerks. "Voila, no foolish charge, no Longstreet's Assault or Pickett's Charge or whatever revisionist Yankee history books name it. There would be no Confederate high-water mark and no bloodbath, at least for us. Too bad he died a few months before the battle."

"Died?"

"He was accidentally shot at Chancellorsville by his own men who mistook him for a Yankee soldier. Pneumonia set in and he died. Tragic! I reckon the evil genie and his witch daughter fate worked overtime that day to kill a good man and brilliant soldier. Our army never recovered from the loss."

He tapped the black crepe, mourning armband on his upper left arm. "God rest his sainted brow, he put the fear of the Lord in them in the Valley in sixty-two and Chancellorsville in early May sixty-three, rolling up the Yankee army like a wet blanket."

His drawl was soft and hypnotic but the undertone was rattlesnake striking deadly. "I miss that eccentric warrior. He was crazy as a loon, definitely a hole in his bag of marbles, but brilliant and audacious. The smart, crazy ones usually are odd. Nobody compares to him, North or South."

The spirit's face was fire bright and his words resonated with her like lost photographs of long ago. She strained to listen to him.

His body language asked if she was listening.

She was.

His eyes drilled into her soul. "I am instead stuck here, angry and mourning for you and the South. I am dying again." He massaged the side of his neck. "We would be at Wildrose Hill with the war won living our lives. I could die a good death at home with you and be buried on my own soil."

"What is a good death?" Her words were hushed.

"Me dying telling you how much I love you, surrounded by my family, saying goodbye to my friends and getting right with God. I would be at peace with the evil genie, no matter how gruesome the cause of death. But no, I died far away from you and took my love with me to the grave."

Her emotions quickened in recognition of his words.

His eyes, wounded and sad, had a thousand yard stare in them. "I want to go home and not the heavenly home Pa pontificated on." His face brightened. "Our earthly home."

"Where is it?" Her high-pitched voice sounded like a blender stuck on high speed.

His answer was immediate. "Beautiful Wildrose Hill is near Shepherdstown, Virginia, oh pardon me, West Virginia as of the twentieth of June sixty-three, thanks to Mr. Lincoln's manipulation. It sits high on a bluff overlooking the Potomac River."

She squirmed a little. Her life with him there was a fractured dream.

"My heart is set on going home." His eyes searched her eyes for approval. "We were blissfully happy until Mr. Lincoln unleashed his unholy, illegal war on us. He destroyed our lives. Our old life disappeared in a blink of an eye, forever gone."

She was stone-faced. In her experience martial happiness was a mirage. "What happened?"

"Bloody, fratricidal war destroyed it." His voice stayed firm. "I wish you could remember our family. I wish you could remember our marriage and our love, our midnight swims in the warm river on summer nights and canoeing to our special island near Shawnee Rapids. We have a special tree with our names carved on it. I wish you could remember our picnics and ice-skating on the river. Ah me, my heart yearns for our old, happy life. I wished I had shown you this when I visited you throughout the years."

She agreed. They enchanted her.

He looked at her with a peculiar mixture of love, pity and tenderness. "Memories haunt me. The Lord blessed our marriage with happiness and we were a united, loving family. My parents, little brother Jamie and our servant Jewel loved you immensely. We were rich.

"My Presbyterian minister, Scottish father acquired wealth. He made shrewd investments and multiplied his meager savings into a tidy fortune. God and money ruled him. I earned a good living as a lawyer and following his lead, I invested wisely. I did tolerable well for us."

She focused on those lovely words of marriage and family. She wanted them back. They'd eluded her in her present life and she felt cheated. She was indifferent to their wealth. She glanced at him. He was dying.

He slid her hand along his smooth-shaven jaw and chin.

"Ghosts don't shave and you're warm." 

Author's Note:  Next update Tuesday