Monday, October 29, 2018

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 10

As of this writing, an invasion force is less than 40 days away from the U.S. Southern border. We want to avoid a clash, but the world needs to know we mean business. Please join me in praying for our Border Patrol and Military professionals that God will grant them His wisdom for dealing with this avoidable confrontation.

For new readers of this story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2-4 are linked under September and Chapters 5-9 are linked under October.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.


Chapter 10

Independence Day


Barrack number 5 buzzed with sounds never heard within its walls over the past three years since construction ended in 1862—excitement, laughter, and joy. At its seam-splitting peak, the building housed over three hundred Confederate officers. This day, the remnant ten packed their few belongings and prepared for a final roll call. Then they would stand in line to process parole papers, receive one month’s pay of twenty dollars, and a one-way train ticket to their home of record.
“What are you going to do when you get back to Kentucky, John?”
“I don’t know, Major Graham. I ain’t smart like you officers, ain’t had much schooling, neither. I hope my folks have held onto the farm. I read in the papers, many folks had to sell out. I ain’t heard from them for more than a year. I’m a feared they’z may be dead.”
“Oh.” Nathaniel stopped tying his bag. “Maybe, they are fine. Have you written to them?”
“A couple of times.”
“I see.” Nathaniel grabbed his journal. “I know you can read.”
They both chuckled and Private Hicks said, “I guess you can say that Major.”
“No need to recognize rank anymore, John.”
Nathaniel took his writing quill, fished his inkbottle from his bag and began to jot something. “If things do not go well for you in Kentucky—” he ripped the page from his journal—“head further south and find me in Tennessee.”
Private Hicks accepted the paper, examined it, and, with gratefulness in his tone, said, “Thanks, Pastor.”
Nathaniel stuffed his things into his travel bag, tied it tight, threw it over his shoulder. “Take care, John. Maybe our paths will cross again.” The two former soldiers shook hands. “Well, my friend,” Nathaniel said. “I have a ferryboat to catch.”
“I betcha I get there first.”
Nathaniel smiled at the younger man who had fewer opportunities in life. “We’ll see.” He hurried through the bunkhouse, passed the dinner table, stepped past the threshold, and then outside of barrack number 5 for the last time.
Nathaniel crossed the compound and stood in line like the day he first arrived. He picked up his envelope, which contained his parole papers, a sum of US currency, and a train ticket. To the very best of his ability, he marched demonstrating a sense of accomplishment as he drew closer to the prison gates. He knew that he had not compromised his principles and values and that he had been obedient to his Maker’s commands, finding true liberty in Christ even in captivity.
Before he reached the exit, Sergeant O’Brien stood in his path. “Graham, a word?”
Now what? “I don’t want to miss the boat, Sergeant.”
“I know the schedule. I won’t keep you long. I just wanted you to know, I was ordered to keep an eye on you. Even though you gave me more trouble than I thought you were worth, you always acted with honor.” Sergeant O’Brien extended his hand.
Nathaniel hesitated. He studied Sergeant O’Brien’s eyes. Nathaniel pulled his bag free from his shoulders and let it down to the ground. He rubbed his right hand on his army provided trousers. He hiked them up and clasped Sergeant O’Brien’s hand. “No hard feelings?”
“None, Graham.”
Nathaniel pursed his lips. “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but, I’m not sorry I caused you a few sleepless nights.”
Sergeant O’Brien chuckled. “We were enemies then.”
“I see.” Nathaniel shifted his weight, nudged his bag with his right leg, and leaned in that direction. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday, Sergeant.”
“Call me Sean, Graham.” O’Brien smiled. “We’re fellow countrymen now. I wanted to be the first to welcome you back into the United States of America.”
“Thanks, Sean. Call me Nate. All my close friends do.” A squint emerged. “You sure you don’t hold any grudge against me for trying to escape?”
“No Nate. I would have done the same if the tables were turned.”
“Fair enough, but what about refusing to take the oath? You know it’s different and, in my opinion, demands too much—violates a man’s conscience, something no government can do. Does the Almighty King of the Universe violate a man’s free will?”
O’Brien’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t know about that, but between you and me, I wouldn’t have taken it, either.”
Digesting O’Brien’s last comment, Nathaniel extended his hand, this time in friendship. “Take care of yourself, Sean.”
“When you see your wife, Nate, tell her I’m sorry, we were…”
“A bit rude?” She’s not mine yet. She may yet refuse.
“Well, tell her I’m sorry.”
Nathaniel shouldered his US Army issued duffle bag. “I’m sure all will be forgiven.” I hope.
“Thanks. Good-bye, Major.” Sergeant O’Brien took one-step backwards, came to attention, and snapped a proper salute—respect shown from one man to another.
Nathaniel exchanged the time-proven honor and walked through the prison gates. Once on the other side, he performed an about-face movement and looked up at the sign that warned him to abandon all hope. “That is one order I’m glad I never obeyed.  Lord Jesus, You are my hope and future.”
A few moments later, Nathaniel stepped aboard the ferryboat a free man.
Watching the departure from the compound catwalk, Colonel Hill inquired, “Do you think he bought it, Sergeant.”
“I suspect so, sir. He is a trusting fool.”
“I guess we’ll hear soon enough.”
“Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“Yes, Sergeant, you may speak freely. What’s on your mind?”
“He seems like a whole lot of nothing special. I don’t understand why we had to keep such a close eye on him, sir.”
“Sergeant, he did come close to breaking a bunch out of our prison.”
“We had that situation well under control, sir.”
“It was a little too close for my comfort, Sergeant. And your informant played both sides and came within minutes of making a clean get away.”
“I know but why did he,” Sergeant O’Brien jammed a thumb toward the ferryboat pulling away from the dock, “demand so much attention?”
“We all have orders, Sergeant, and others more important than us expect us to follow them.”
Thanks for reading. As I compare the condition of our nation then and now, I have hope that the United States of America can once again be "One Nation Under God" "With Liberty and Justice for all." A country that lives up to its motto, "In God We Trust."

Let me know what you think by leaving a comment.

Friday, October 26, 2018

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 9

Our Constitutional Republic is under attack from both foreign and domestic enemies. Radical mobs are provoking a 2nd bloody civil war. Leftist sponsors are funding Illegal aliens mounting an invasion of our southern border. And Democrat leaders are calling for incivility. Will this government of the people, by the people, for the people, perish from the earth?

For new readers of this story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2-4 are linked under September. Chapters 5-8 are linked under October.


Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.


Chapter 9

Disclosures


The grandfather clock struck its single, half-hour chime. Its deep, resonating bong drew Paul’s attention away from the pressing legal matter at hand. He sat with quiet uneasiness in the new high-back, burgundy leather chair set in his father’s former, now redecorated office, which appealed to well-to-do clients. Across the expanse of what seemed a desk large enough to suit the President of the United States sat his attorney reviewing a document, which he held before him with both hands. He grunted, or hummed, every now and again as he read.
Another five minutes passed. The attorney set the document down, rose from his chair, and strolled across his office. He stood in front of Paul’s father’s ceiling-to-floor jurisprudence library.
“What is it?” Paul asked.
“We might have a slight problem.” Paul’s attorney said. “It’s not insurmountable. However, there is a formality we’ll have to pursue before you can legally exercise the contract provision.”
“I’m curious, what formality.”
“I’ll have to file a petition with the court requesting that it declare the one party to the contract deceased.”
“Will that be a problem?”
The attorney pulled a book from the shelf and leafed through its pages. “Only if…” He seemed to find what he sought. He read aloud completing his sentence, “…someone disputes the petition. According to case law here, we need to publish our intentions.”
“Like in the newspapers?”
The attorney’s eyes rose from the book and connected with Paul’s. “Yes, exactly and if after ninety days no one raises an objection, we can request a hearing and ask the county judge to make a final pronouncement.”
“Then, we could proceed?”
“Yes, we can complete the ownership transfer.” The attorney crossed the room and stopped his chair. “As I see it, for the most part, you’ll have to come up with enough money to cover the court costs and, of course, my fee.”
Paul scanned the place of business he spent so many hours in as a child opening mail for his father with a letter opener embossed with an ornamental design. Angrily, he said, “I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Several seconds passed with the ticking of the old walnut grandfather timepiece. “I see,” the attorney said. “By the way, how is your sister?”
Paul shifted his posture to relieve some nagging lower back pain. He looked away, clenching his jaw. “I suppose in a small town like this everyone knows or assumes they know something. Let me first apologize for her. I’m sure you must have been surprised when she broke off your engagement, Mr. Merritt.”
“Yes, I must admit I was taken back. I couldn’t imagine why.”
“I think I know, but mind you, it is only speculation on my part. I can’t tell you how angry I am at her. I never thought my sister would become…”
Merritt probed. “Become what?”
Paul stared across the office. “A loose woman.”
A grin surfaced on Merritt’s face but shifted to a frown. “I see. How do you…I mean, what gives you cause to think this of her?”
“Well, at least she had the decency to break off your engagement so as to not implicate you in her wrongdoings.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She’s about to have a baby.”
Merritt’s eyes widened. “Oh, you don’t say…a baby.” He paced behind his desk, then walked into the open area where he kept a couch and coffee table. “I guess that explains her disappearance…why no one has heard from her.”
“Again, I’m sorry.  She claims the baby is a result of a man raping her.”
Merritt placed the book on the tabletop. “Did she say who?”
“No, that’s why I think she got herself in trouble. But I can guess.” Paul blinked. Maybe she met with her Rebel friend. “There are a few scoundrels in this town.”
“Do you think it was Mr. Burgess?”
“I don’t know, but the whole thing is a terrible mess. She’s ruined any chance she might have for a decent future.”
“Where is she now?”
Paul suspected Mr. Merritt knew the answer anyway. “With the Moody family in Chicago.”
Merritt nodded. “They will take good care of her.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Well, it’s all water under the bridge now. Let’s see if we can get the shop back into your hands. What do you plan to do with it?”
“I became quite proficient with mending uniforms during the war. I’m going to turn the shop into both a men’s and women’s clothing store.”
“That is a terrific idea. Maybe I’ll have you make me a new suit.”
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Merritt. When would you need it?”
“Not anytime soon, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves. However, the Federal government has offered me an administrative position as part of their reconstruction plans for the South. I haven’t decided if I will accept it, yet. But if I do, I imagine I would need a new suit. I should look my best, don’t you think?”
Paul smiled. “Yes, and you won’t be disappointed. You will look brilliant. I personally guarantee it.”
Merritt approached Paul and extended his hand. “Then I suggest we make you the rightful owner of your mother’s shop.”
“Thank you, Mr. Merritt. You’ve always been a good friend.”

On Friday, July 7, 1865, the Federal Government took the life of a civilian without due process of law. Thus began a false doctrine that the Federal government must concentrate its powers to act with greater efficiency and effectiveness. It descended to a new, unchecked low.
Mary Surratt owned and operated a boarding house in Washington, D.C. The mock trial proved that Lincoln’s assassin, John Wilkes Booth, knew her son, met in her house, and that she sympathized with the South. They failed to prove that she knew anything about the plot to kill anyone. If anything, they proved that she was guilty of not revealing the whereabouts of her son, John, hiding somewhere in Canada. What reasonable person would expect a mother to trade her son’s life for her own? Regardless, at 1:31 in the stifling July afternoon heat, Mrs. Surratt hung until dead with the others who carried out different acts associated with that fateful, Good Friday night.
After the news of the final execution reached the remaining prisoners on Johnson’s Island, Nathaniel delivered another sermon in the hope he could set a reconstruction tone for the men. Many would be counted on to help reform their respective communities. Nathaniel sensed a need to remind them of the firm foundation upon which they must build.
Nathaniel held up his Bible. “Men, I cannot emphasize enough your personal responsibility to study His words and apply them to your life.” He laid his Bible down on the podium and picked up a copy of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. “Our founding documents are based on the Holy Scriptures. Our founders understood the Republic will survive if a moral and virtuous people govern themselves by the tenants contained herein.” He patted his Bible. “Remember, government cannot do anything God prohibits people from doing. For example, Scripture is clear. His word bars me from committing murder. Would you all agree? Have I correctly interpreted and applied His word?”
The mixed audience of a few faithful attendees and assorted others who had little else to do in these lazy days of summer heat and humidity all grunted assent, nodded, or otherwise kept silent so as not to raise an objection.
Nathaniel limped to his right. “I cannot steal from another man, woman, or child, correct?”
A similar response followed.
“So before we allow any government to tax us for all the rebuilding, we better make sure we agree to the taking. We must remind our people that our local town counsels should only do things that individuals cannot do for themselves. For example, from the mail I have received, my hometown will need to repair or rebuild the bridges crossing the Harpeth River. I’m confident the people of Franklin will want this done. But we must be careful not to allow a bridge construction project turn into a perpetual building program. Otherwise, we will lose sight of the benefits to our local community members and the builders will usurp control as they have done throughout history. Recorded here,” Nathaniel used his Bible like a pointer, “men attempted to build their own bridge to God. The Bible calls it the Tower of Babel.
“The same holds true for the State and Federal governments. The State of Tennessee should only do things that we as a local community cannot do. Also, the objective of whatever is done must benefit the whole State of Tennessee, not one city, county, or region.” Nathaniel pointed to the Constitution. “According to this, the Federal government should only engage in acts the states cannot do for themselves and for things that benefit the entire country, not a single state or enterprise. If we keep these keys in mind, and teach them to our children and children’s children, they and we will be able to guard against government abuses and corruption that are sure to come because we have all sinned and come short of the glory of God. Due to our sin nature, we are corruptible. Once corrupted, we can use the power of government to do evil, even if we think we are doing good deeds.”
Cheers erupted from outside. It sounded much like the feared Rebel yell of their military glory days long past. All heads in the chapel turned for the windows or entrance doors. Below the high-pitched shouting, tuba-resonating footsteps approached, clomped up the narrow wooden steps, and then the chapel doors burst open. Private John Sanders Hicks, “Newsy,” to those in camp, the man who had been incarcerated longer than any other prisoner, panted as he yelled with all of his might, “We’re free!”
Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think about the story by leaving me a comment.

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 8

With midterm elections 2 weeks away, the left has thrown out its pretended civility. We're watching Psalm 2:1-3 manifest. 5,000 invaders march to our southern boarder. Who is paying for their food and water? Radical angry mobs destroy private and public property. I pray in the name of Jesus; the Leftists never achieve their goals—the destruction of the Constitutional Republic. Oh, they want to control the land and its population, but they care about one thing—power. If the infantile left rises to power, God help us. Giving them control would be like putting Dracula in charge of the blood bank. I wrote it before, never underestimate the diabolical nature of revenge.


Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.


Chapter 8

Dismissed


The spring of 1865 advanced toward summer. Conditions in the prison improved for several reasons. First, many men decided to take the oath. Colonel Hill and his men processed their applications and he signed and issued orders granting their release. Crowding disappeared. The second, Colonel Hill allowed mail to flow, and third, the prisoners expanded their gardens beyond the compound. The potential for a bountiful harvest lifted almost everyone’s spirits.
A pair of Johnson’s Island inhabitants engaged in what an observer might describe as a, “spirited,”conversation. The apparent superior, or leader of the two, threw his hands in the air and marched away saying, “We’re done here.”
The obvious subordinate yelled, “I thought we had a deal.”
The leader swiveled and faced his underling to make his final point. “The situation has changed. The war is over. It is time to move on and rebuild. You’re going your way, and I have a new objective to pursue.”
“But the deal was for after the war. What’s going to happen to me, now?”
“I’m going to my office and you’re staying in here.”
Mail contributed to camp disposition improvement more than any other thing. Nathaniel grasped the almost daily transmission and hurried to take his place of prison solitude, the chapel. He sat on a bench near the sunrays streaming through one of the windows.

May 15, 1865

My dearest Nathaniel,
I so hoped to come see you for your birthday. However, Doctor Norcross told me travel at this stage of the baby’s development would put both of us at great risk. I did think it would have been a good idea to marry on your birthday so you would never forget our anniversary. Once again, we face another delay.
I heard that the government is releasing prisoners if they agree to one year’s service in the Federal Army. One part of me wants you out of prison, now. Yet another tells me that there must be another option. What do you think?

How can I tell her my decision, Lord? I need Your wisdom.
Silence.
Nathaniel began to form an answer as he read.

Regarding our child, something different is happening to me.

I like the fact that she wrote,“our child,”because he will be ours. It will be my duty to raise him to serve God and others, Nathaniel thought.

I find myself praying for him that God will take control of his life even now, as he forms. I do not even know if the baby is a boy or a girl; however, I do have a sense of things. I hope you won’t think this odd, but I think I have been given a gift and the only way I can explain it is this: as I pray I feel a deep release, as if I’m already giving birth to a spiritual beginning before the natural occurs.

“Lord, I wish I could talk to her. I would like to reassure her that what she wrote does make sense.” He wondered. Maybe, I should reconsider. Nathaniel looked forward toward the podium that represented the chapel’s alter. His head dropped. “I will obey.”

So, with this in mind, I pray for your release everyday. On that day, come to Chicago.
With deep affection,
Eleanor

“This might be a problem.” I understand after a prisoner receives parole, the government sends him to his home of origin—not where he might want to go. “I need to find out if they will let me go to Chicago.”
The Federal Army by Corps, Divisions, Regiments, and Companies camped all around Washington. With this military protection and without the knowledge of the people, the Federal government reorganized. Office titles and positions remained, but a power shift occurred. Who performed which function could not, would not, be detected unless an astute eye paid close attention.
For the most part, Edwin Stanton, the Secretary of War, consolidated Executive power under his office and used the seventeenth president, Andrew Johnson as a figurehead. Stanton ignored the Constitution to get things done. He took advantage of Andrew Johnson’s stated desire to punish the South, although Johnson heralded from Tennessee. Stanton wished to make examples of anyone who objected. He alone would enforce iron-fisted orders and dictate subjugated behavior.
First, Stanton exacted revenge on the co-conspirators surrounding Lincoln’s assassination. Although the Constitution guaranteed a civilian charged with a crime a fair trial before a jury of his peers, Stanton would have none of it. He convened a military tribunal, whereby he could control the desired outcome.
Even though President Lincoln ignored the Constitution and used the Federal Army against American citizens and put down the insurrection, Stanton thought it necessary to remove any symbol of this beloved leader. He knew Lincoln wanted to restore full constitutional restraint on the Federal government’s operations. Thus, on May 22, 1865, Stanton hastened Mrs. Mary Todd Lincoln’s departure from the White House and helped his puppet president become its next resident. Unfortunately, the transition of power, ripping it from the people, continued unchallenged and unabated. Many assumed the Army would disband. After the grand reviews on May 23rd and 24th, going home seemed, to the troops, inevitable.
However, on July 1, once again, the men formed for assembly.
Colonel House stood before the regiment and shouted, “By order from Headquarters, Army of the Potomac, June 28, 1865. By virtue of special orders No. 330, current series, from the Adjutant General’s office, this army as an organization ceases to exist.”
Private Paul Ellis’ ears registered further sounds and tones, but he failed to comprehend anything. His mind repeated, “Ceases to exist.” I made it. He heard, “Dismissed.”
Men all around Paul fell out of formation. Some cheered and threw their hats in the air; others embraced; a few wept tears of joy. But Paul stood still like a Washington, D.C. marble monument. His younger brother, Lieutenant John Ellis grabbed Paul’s shoulders and, with the broadest smile John ever projected, shouted, “Can you believe it, we can go home.”
Still stunned and standing in a state of confusion and numbness, Paul shook his head and asked like a lost, forlorn child, “Can we really go home?”
Excitedly, John said, “Ye-e-e-s.”
A smile surfaced on Paul’s face. “How soon?”
John erupted with a volcanic belly laugh. “God almighty, big brother, start packing.”
Paul took one unsteady step forward, then, another. At last the truth reached his mind, stimulating his heart. He yelled a crazed, “Hurrah!” He took off his hat and swirled it over his head. The energy transferred to his legs, and he sprinted to the nearby tent city. He shouted over his shoulder. “Coming?”
Now it was their turn. After more than three years of facing unspeakable horrors—man’s inhumanity to his fellow man—Private Paul Ellis and his younger brother, Lieutenant John Ellis, packed to go home. Because John had risen to an officer’s status, he had other duties to perform for his company before he could focus on his personal needs. Paul, unencumbered by such matters, gathered his meager personal affects as if his very survival depended on speed to exit camp. Try as he might, memories of the war invaded his travel preparations. Some drove him to his knees in a deep, true repentance over two years earlier.
Private Paul Ellis stuffed his well-worn Bible into his haversack and asked of his tent mate, “Davy, can you believe it? We’re going home.”
“I have to admit, I never thought I’d live to see this day.” Private David Woods rolled his bedding, pressing down on the wool blankets with both knees to make the roll as tight as possible.
Paul buckled his pack’s straps and said with a somberness that overshadowed his joy, “Many didn’t.”
“Yeah, I know.” Private Woods suspended his progress. “I try not to think on it too much.”
Paul half smiled, “But, we have to; otherwise, I fear a day will come when no one will remember what they did for freedom. I know President Lincoln claimed at Gettysburg, ‘The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.’I hate to disagree with him—he’s smarter than all of us put together—but I think, given time, no one will remember.”
David folded his cot. “You know what I think? You think too much.”
Paul started to roll his bedding, but stood up straight and faced David. “Do you remember details about the war for our independence against Great Britain?”
“Sure, we beat the English pretty good.”
Paul blinked. He realized his friend missed his point. “Not the outcome of the war, but those who fought it—who died for our liberty.”
“My grand pappy fought in the war. He’s one of the reasons I joined the army.”
Paul shook his head. “How in blue blazes did you ever reach the rank of corporal? ‘Course, that didn’t last too long.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Hey, we both did regretful things.”
“I may have gotten drunk and started a brawl, but at least I didn’t desert. You’re lucky you didn’t hang.”
“I know. I should have. God spared me. I know that now. I just wish I would have put my trust in Him long ago.” Paul frowned. “But this is why we must remember and teach others to do so because except for the notable few, like George Washington, I don’t remember any of the regular men.”
Davy finished his side of the tent, stood, stretched, and grabbed onto the center support. “I think I see what you mean. My children will never know our friends, like Corporal Rivers. He was a good man.”
“Talked too much, for my liking.”
“Maybe, but there was no better farmer from our county.”
Paul asked, “Do you remember Henry Patrick? He was one of the first from our outfit killed in action—at the second battle of Bull Run.”
“What a mess that was. But it didn’t compare to Antietam Creek.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t lose anyone.”
“We didn’t fight—made me madder than a rabid dog. We could have destroyed Lee right then and there, but we let that old gray fox slip away.”
“Is that why you got drunk?”
“Partly. Stupid generals: Pope, McClellan, Burnside, and Hooker. Worthless leaders. I’m surprised we won this war.”
Paul’s countenance fell to the grassy tent floor. “I’m not sure you can call it, won. Those boys in grey still had fight in them when they laid down their arms. I could see it in their eyes—proud men—yet exhausted, starving skeletons. How many good men, gone…for what? I’m still not sure what we accomplished. Those Southerners may be right. All we proved was that the Federal Government has the military strength to subjugate the people.” He threw his pack out of the tent. “Oh well. You ready to break our palace down and return it to the army?” He bent over and stepped outside—a free man.
Like he and Private Woods, other men scurried to pack their government-provided shelters, cookware, gear, munitions, and weapons.
Seeing Paul, Corporal Mark Stallings, another farmer from North-Central Illinois, pried out a tent stake and yelled, “Are you heading home today, too?”
Paul grinned. “As soon as we finish here and muster out, I’m hiking to the Union Station and catching the first train to Chicago.”
Stallings shouted, “Me too. Can’t wait to see my wife and children.” He untied another stake and his former abode collapsed. “My farm will need my attention, but it will have to wait. I will say this: it will be good to work the land, again.”
Private Woods asked, “What do you plan to do now that no one will be around to tell you what to do all day long, Paul?”
“I suspect my sister, Eleanor, will most likely have a long list of things for me to do.”
Another former soldier lifted a coffee pot hung from an iron hook above a smoldering campfire, and doused the hot cools with the steamy elixir. Paul stared in the direction of the train station. I have to douse the flames of her pending wedding.
Soldiers throughout the bivouac rushed to secure their army-issued tents, weapons, and cooking gear. Paul had never seen them pack so fast.
Stallings asked, “What were you two ladies talking about? Sounded like you reminisced over our company’s grand exploits.”
“Not exactly,” Paul said. “I thought we should remember the friends we lost.”
“Yeah.” Stallings hung his head. “I lost my best friend at the debacle at Fredericksburg. Sergeant McCoy was one of our best non-coms.”
Paul gulped. I wonder if he knows what happened. He shifted to another battle. “Then we suffered through another disaster at Chancellorsville. The Rebels lost many good-Christian men, too; some from strange happenings. Their best, Stonewall Jackson, died from an accidental shooting by his own men. And one of our troopers fires a lucky shot and mortally wounds General Stuart at Yellow Tavern. I still can’t believe a stray bullet killed our drummer boy, Marty Banks, as he waited for us in the rear near General Hooker’s HQ. That mess led to our greatest losses at Gettysburg—Captain Adams and Corporal Rivers. We all prayed to the same God. As President Lincoln said, we each invoked His intervention on behalf of one side against the other. But God could not have been for either side in this business.” Paul stretched. “I have to agree with Lincoln, the Almighty has His own purposes. Now he’s gone, too.”
With deepening sorrow, Private Woods said, “Then, we started the long summer chase of Lee and his army. We lost Corporal Birney Dorn during the butchering of Cold Harbor.”
Paul concluded the memorial. “And the most tragic loss, Private Mercer, just three days before his enlistment was up.”
Army life perfected the practice often referred to with angry sarcasm as “hurry up and wait,”even when that life came to the natural conclusion of its cycle.
With his company companions standing in a loose formation, Paul said, “I sure hope we can process out of here quick. I’d hate for the army to change its mind.”
Standing to Paul’s right, Private Davy Woods said, “Oh, they can’t and they won’t. They can’t afford to feed, clothe, and house all of us any longer—not with folks back home starving. The government needs us working again, generating revenue; not consuming every tax dollar they can squeeze from the people.”
Paul nodded. “I suppose you’re right. They need us making money so they can take it to pay for the war.”
“I heard this government is going to force the South to pay for it. With all they’ve lost, it could take a generation or two,” Davy said.
Paul’s indignation surfaced. “They should pay for it. I don’t care how long it takes. Serves them right.”
Davy seemed resigned. “I think we’ll get stuck with the bill no matter what.”
“We who fought it shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden any longer,” Paul shot back. As if on cue, the formation moved forward. “We’re getting closer to getting out of here. Sure is crowded with men. Haven’t seen so many pressed into one building like this before.”
Davy adjusted his soon-to-be-gone musket. “No fooling. You couldn’t swing a dead cat with its rotting tail and not hit someone in this crowd.”
Paul picked up his gear and moved forward a few steps in the massive, unorganized line, waiting to muster out and said to no one in particular, “It is too bad that many of our friends didn’t live to see this day.”
With that, they put all joking aside.
About thirty minutes later, Paul, Davy, and others walked out of the government-leased warehouse as civilians. They shook hands, some embraced, and after saying heartfelt good-byes, departed for their respective homes.
July 4, 1865
To my dearest Eleanor,
I cannot wait to see you, and I believe that day will be here soon. I hope this letter finds you well. As your letter indicated, the baby will be along soon, too. Pardon my pun, but I guess we are in a race to see who will be delivered first. My prayers are filled with warm, loving thoughts of you and our future together as a family.
Conditions have improved everyday. One hundred and fifty men remain. One of our fellows received a newspaper clipping indicating the prisons will be disbanded, too, now that the armies have dissolved. I pray this is true.
Have you heard from your brothers, and when they will return home?

“No I haven’t,” Eleanor said. She felt her tumbler roll and watched the letter move. “I don’t know what to tell them about you.” Another kick and stretch caused Eleanor to take a slow, deep breath. “Maybe we will let you remain a surprise.” She addressed Nathaniel’s letter. “I’m more concerned when you will come. What are you going to do?”

I hope you will understand what I am about to say. I have given this matter to prayer and I believe God has directed me to stay here until all of us that remain receive a parole. I believe God wants me to minister to these men until we are all set free.

The baby kicked again as Eleanor resisted the flash desire to rip the letter, wad it up, and throw it into the trash. “No, I don’t understand.”
A one-horse, four-wheel carriage pulled away from Chicago’s Union Station, at a walking gate. The traffic heading into and out of this busy city, bridging the eastern with the western sections of the nation, kept a slow, steady pace under the mid-afternoon summer sun. The driver, Reverend Moody, said, “Eleanor would have been here; but, this stifling heat is hard on her.”
The passenger, former US Army Private Paul Ellis, removed a handkerchief from a rear pants pocket and wiped his brow. Sporting a new tan suit, the perspiring new arrival to Chicago stated, “You said the doctor ordered Ellie to bed rest. Did he say what he thinks is wrong with her? Is she seriously ill?”
Urging his horse to a trot, Reverend D. L. Moody answered, “No, she is not ill, but she does need to rest for a while. I think it would be more appropriate for her to tell you.” Changing the subject, Reverend Moody asked, “So, why didn’t your brother, John, leave Washington?”
“He applied to stay in the army. They accepted his application, and when I left, he was waiting for an assignment. My prayer is that he will not be sent to an occupying post in the south, or a remote fort out west in Indian Territory. I hope he becomes a supply officer. I think it would bore me beyond reason, but, he would be far from harm’s way.” Paul shifted in his seat. “You said, Ellie is not ill, but I don’t understand why she requires bed rest.”
Reverend Moody shrugged. “Suffice it to say, it is a female matter. We’ll be home soon. You’ll see for yourself.” Reverend Moody found it difficult to honor his promise to Eleanor, so he asked swiftly, “When are you leaving for Rockford?”
Paul scratched the stubble of his near clean-shaven face for a second. “I guess it all depends on Eleanor.”
Reverend Moody nodded as they bounced along the road. Minutes later, he directed the horse toward the hitching post standing by the street in front of the Moody’s home. “We’re here.”
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Thursday, October 18, 2018

Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 7

Everyone knows some decisions are harder than others. As a follower of Jesus, the Supreme Judge of the Universe, it’s important to render reasoned decisions rather than emotional ones. I have to applaud Senator Susan Collins of Maine for her sound approach to voting for Judge (now Justice) Kavanaugh’s confirmation. She upheld her oath to preserve and protect the Constitution. There have been times, when the Federal Government abused its powers and used oaths to control behavior. This chapter demonstrates one of those times.

For new readers, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2-4 are located under the month of September 2018 and Chapters 5 and 6 under October 2018.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.


Chapter 7

Submission


One unintended benefit of accurate Yankee artillerists was that the vast majority of Petersburg, Virginia, homes endured the long seize unharmed, for all practical purposes. Because the Yankees preserved and, where needed, reconstructed the railroad line between City Point and Petersburg, it did not take the army long to provision the occupying Federal soldiers and citizens of the city. Food and other necessities provided some sense of order for all.
The two hostile armies had overrun this region of Virginia for the last two years and now it was a scene of desolation. Marauding bands of the depraved and soulless took advantage of others’ misery. The disorder demanded a response. Yankee soldiers patrolled to break up, drive off, or hold at bay the hordes hovering about the many towns and farmhouses, Petersburg included.
The two-story, three-bedroom Nesbit home on High Street near the center of town had received additional mouths to feed since the surrender of arms. Former Confederate officers, Michael LeConte and Marvin Jenkins thrilled their respective spouses when they showed up the afternoon of April sixteenth. So far, vandals spared the house, but now in the middle of May, the inhabitants prepared for defense.
Worse, what little food they had, ran out. Hungry, the family members swallowed their pride and decided to appeal to the Federal Army’s quartermaster and obtain sustenance from its commissary.
“I wish Marvin could have come with us,” Mrs. Margaret Jenkins opined.
Former Confederate Colonel Michael LeConte repeated their earlier decision. “I understand, Margaret. However, we had to approach this errand like a military operation. Someone needed to stay home and protect it from looters. Between your father and husband, I’m confident they’ll be able to defend it from being robbed or burned to the ground.”
Mrs. Louise LeConte commented, “I am so glad the Yankees let you keep your sidearm.”
“I understand General Lee is responsible.” Michael said, patting the revolver holstered under his long, tan, civilian outer jacket.
Louise and Margaret’s mother, Mrs. Abigail Nesbit, said, “I pray you don’t have to use it.”
Carrying empty cloth bags, ten-year-old Lewis and eight-year-old Conner lagged behind. They turned their wide-eyed faces at each other. Conner pointed his right index finger at his older brother and pretended to shoot him. The two boys laughed as the six neared the Federal commissary set up on the south bank of the Appomattox River.
“I can’t tell you how many times me and Star crossed the river,” Michael said.
“That’s another thing,” Margaret said. “I wish we would have brought your horse.”
“Star is safer back in the barn behind the house.”
“But we would have been able to carry more food.”
“And, we would be a more tempting target. If one of those evil bands attacks us, they could steal our food and my horse.”
“I haven’t seen any disturbances,” Margaret said.
Michael pointed to the two trailing boys. “It’s not empty bags that draw attention. Our challenge will be reaching home with them full.”
As they reached the commissary grounds, Margaret whispered to her older sister, Louise, “I wish we had some more men with us.”
Once inside, in an instant they observed Yankee ingenuity and organization. The herd of people—civilians, former soldiers, and former slaves—stepped at a snail’s pace along a snaking rope line. It directed all recipients of Federal government aid to move in a one-way direction, as they proceeded up and down aisles lined with a variety of foodstuffs.
However, before they could enter the line, a sign with large, bold print declared, “By order of the United States Government, all beneficiaries of Federal subsistence shall first declare by oath their allegiance to the United States.”
As the adults stared at the offensive words, a Yankee Private shouted, “They can’t come in here.”
Shaking her head, Louise asked, “Excuse me.” She noticed her husband’s command with his eyes and added, “Sir?”
Michael stepped forward and addressed the soldier. “I’m sorry, Private, I don’t understand. There are other Negroes here.”
“They ain’t children. Do you see any children in here?”
Michael scanned the warehouse. “No, I don’t. Why not?”
“They steal food and waste it.”
Michael’s forehead furrowed. “Where do they go? What do we do with them while we’re in here?”
“I don’t care, but they can’t be in here.”
Margaret took the canvas bags from Lewis and Conner. “You boys go outside and wait for us.” She stood erect and searched the building. She pointed to the far east wall and said, “Wait for us outside over there. We’ll come out that door. Do you see it?”
Lewis rose up on the tips of his toes and said, “Yes’m.”
“Alright then, Lewis; take Conner and go. We’ll be along directly.”
The boys had to wait for a break in the flow of the incoming human flood. They slipped outside. The crisis resolved.
Margaret marched to the soldiers officiating the oath and corresponding paperwork. “What’s this oath business all about, soldier?”
The supervising sergeant said. “You want to eat, lady, swear allegiance to the government.”
Louise said, “Margaret don’t.”
Margaret appealed in her sweetest, Southern Belle, tone. “Can you explain to me why this is necessary?”
“Strict orders, ma’am. You want food from the government, we want some assurance you aren’t going to use it to help Rebels still fighting in the field.”
Several pending patrons in front of Margaret raised their right hands, recited the magic words, signed a piece of paper, passed through the chest-high gate, and took their place at the end of the line.
Margaret asked, “Sergeant, if I fell injured on the street by an accident that was no fault of my own…let’s say one of your supply wagons ran me down…wouldn’t humanity, honor, and compassion command you to render me aid and comfort, including food?”
“Ma’am, I’ve heard it all before. You’re a Rebel. Either take the oath or leave. It’s that simple.”
“As I see it, my only offense is that I reside in the South, and I kept faith with my family over the government. I’ve done nothing to warrant this deprivation.”
Margaret’s mother pulled on her daughter’s arm. “Margaret, it is alright. Let’s do what they want so we can be on our way.”
Margaret faced her mother. “You can go ahead, but I would like to speak with an officer who might be able to explain this to me and to my satisfaction.”
The sergeant stated, “Suit yourself, ma’am.” He switched his attention to the others. “If you want to get in line, step over here and take the oath.”
They did. The fact that Michael complied bothered Margaret. She would discuss it with her husband, Marvin, later. She did not, could not understand how a man who had fought against these people for his freedom and for the freedom of his fellow countrymen and family members, could in good conscious subject himself to this subtle form of servitude.
A young Federal lieutenant observing the loyalty dispute approached. “What seems to be the problem, Sergeant?”
“This woman—” his tone conveyed a clear message— “doesn’t like the oath, sir.”
The lieutenant inspected Margaret. “Is this true, ma’am?”
“Lieutenant, it is not a matter of like. I think it is a matter of common human decency. Besides, I pledge my allegiance to God. Your government has created a conflict of conscious. And what makes you think all of those people meant what they professed, or understood its gravity? To me, you are acting no different then the beast described in the Holy Book of Revelation.”
“Ma’am, I think you are making too much of the issue. It’s a simple oath, then, you can eat.”
“Simple to you, not to me.” Margaret swirled and marched out the entrance.
The sergeant commented loudly enough for Margaret to hear. “Rebels, their pride will be the death of them. I say, let her starve.”
The lieutenant said, “She might have a point.”
Margaret thought, you’re right Yank, I do.
Margaret found Louis and Conner and waited with them until the others appeared from the commissary’s exit loaded with much needed food.
The group were almost home when a voice resounded in their direction. “What cha got in dem dare bags?” Three Negroes jumped out of a tree and landed on the street barring their way. Another remained on his perch and pointed a repeating carbine at the six civilians who carried canvas bags filled with precious food items: potatoes, salted ham, corn, wheat, and rice. Another five roughnecks took up a position behind, blocking any escape. Houses on both sides of the street appeared to have several broken windows, possibly vandalized by this same bunch.
“Hand dem over, and we’ll let you go.”
Michael whispered to his wife. “Take my bag.”
Margaret overheard and said, “I’ll take it.”
Michael handed the bag to Margaret, who was right behind him. The rear five closed the gap. The quick exchange gave Michael a chance to disguise his move and pull his revolver. He had to make every shot count and he needed to get the Bummer in the tree first.
A shot rang out and echoed off the broken homes. Everyone ducked low. The women screamed. The carbine dropped from the tree. The sniper followed, face-planting onto the dirt. A cloud of dust lifted obscuring his condition.
A squad of Yankee United States Colored Troops ran at the double-quick right for the fray. One carried a smoking, Henry, lever-action repeating carbine. A one-armed sergeant appeared to lead the squad.
The surviving marauders dispersed in all directions. Most ran away between the damaged properties.
Michael stood, motioning to the group to keep down.
The sergeant waved his arm and shouted, “Fan out. If you find any of them, administer justice to them.” The sergeant slowed as he came near Michael, his family, and friends, and asked, “You folks alright?”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Michael secured his revolver. “I’m not sure what we would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
Margaret answered for the women and children. “We would have lost everything. Thank you for rescuing us.” She reached behind her. “Boys, come here and thank this fine soldier.”
Lewis and Conner stepped aside from hiding behind the women’s dresses. The sergeant’s eyes lit up with an unexplainable joy. He shouted, “Lewis, Conner.” He dropped to one knee and extended his one yearning arm.
Margaret thought well I’ll be. I wonder how he knows the boys.
That evening, the Nesbit home witnessed a celebration that would rival Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the Hebrew Passover all together. The boys wouldn’t give their father a minute of peace—not that he minded, but he did want to show this family as much gratitude and attention as they deserved for their care of his children.
Sergeant Gabriel Bridges sought clarification. “You said you found them at your home in Tennessee?”
Marvin said, “Yes, Sergeant. Margaret convinced me they belonged to a man we later learned the government considered a criminal—Norman Macalister.”
“I always thought he was,” Gabriel said. “I’m sorry, sir. I had a personal dislike for the man.”
“That’s quite all right. Margaret didn’t like him much none neither. Anyway, when I returned to duty last year, Margaret brought the boys here. They have been here ever since.”
Gabriel’s eyes sparkled. “All through the siege?”
Smiling, Lewis answered, “Uh-huh.”
Gabriel said, “I’m so proud of you boys. I can’t wait to send a wire off to your mother, first thing in the morning.”
Michael asked, “You can do that?”
“Yes, sir, Colonel. Ever since most of the hostilities ended, the telegraph office on post, don’t have much to do, and the price of sending a message has come way down.”
“My goodness.” Michael cupped his hands behind his head and leaned his chair back a bit. “I wonder what other changes we’ll see.”
Marvin said, “There’s no telling. We’ve got to get a whole lot of people back to work. Because of what happened today, I fear managing the peace will be more difficult than fighting the war.” Marvin addressed Sergeant Bridges. “I, too, wish to express my gratitude for protecting my beautiful wife. Please extend my appreciation to your men.”
Margret smiled.
“We were just doing our duty, sir, but you are welcome,” Sergeant Gabriel Bridges said. He turned his attention to the head of the household. “Mr. Nesbit, may I ask a considerable favor of you, sir?”
“Seeing that you saved the lives of my lovely wife and precious daughters, how could I refuse?”
Gabriel pushed his glasses up to his nose. “Thank you, sir, but please hear me out.”
Mr. Nesbit nodded.
“I do not have any idea when I will be granted leave to go home and take the boys with me to be with their mother. I can’t have them stay with me in quarters. Sir, if it is not too much to ask, can they continue to stay with you and your wife? I would be happy to pay for their room and board.”
Mr. James Nesbit and his wife exchanged glances. She nodded agreement. Mr. Nesbit fixed his gaze on the day’s rescuer. “Of course.”
“Now that that’s settled, Margaret and I can make our plans for returning to Tennessee.” Marvin swiveled toward the guest of honor. “Speaking of going home, have you or your men heard when you’ll muster out, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Gabriel Bridges wiped his mouth. “Rumors, Major, only rumors. They run army life. But to answer your question, no, we’ve heard nothing official. Regardless, when that day comes, I found army life suits me. I may re-enlist.”

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