Tattered Gray

Chapter Three

After hours of solemnly traipsing through the dead and shadowy devastation, a sickening wave of hopelessness washed over me as I realized that my father was nowhere to be seen. My tired, aching feet pitter-pattered no more along the trodden ground, and in defeat my bony shoulders fell. I finally stood still, no longer searching and no longer wondering whether or not Daddy was dead. A little gust of wind stole away the flame of my lantern just as I had lost nearly all of my faith. With a sigh I tilted back my head, and my gaze rested upon the crisp white moon in the cloudless heavens. For whatever reason, I perceived this as a sign to return to our wagon.

With dragging steps I made my way back to our vehicle, and all the while I did my best to forestall my troubled mind. Regardless of my efforts, those dark thoughts that swirled around in the recesses of my mind wouldn't lie down and be still. What if no one else found Daddy? What if he is dead? How shall we handle Mother without him? And then I thought about Aunt Betsey watching over the house alone. What if the Yankees are at the house right now, destroying and stealing everything? I wondered about the prospect of seeing to the wounded. There are so many of them . . . How are we to care for them all and tend to the crops and animals? I was made dizzy by my thoughts, and I shook my head so as to clear my mind.

Just get back to the wagon. Perhaps everyone is there with Daddy and they're waiting for me so we can all go home and rest.

A cynical grin met my mouth for just a moment, for I knew that the resolution I had just conjured up was far too uncomplicated to ever be true. The nasty expression left my face as I saw our buggy in the distance, Mother sitting in the driver's seat with her face buried in her hands and Mammy Charlotte planted beside her with an air of either numbness or indifference. It became difficult to swallow as I tried frantically to interpret the scene before me.

Surely Mammy would be sad if Daddy had died. Perhaps Mother is crying tears of relief because they found him. No . . . that seems strange for some reason. Oh God, please don't let my father be dead!

I lifted my skirts, and my feet that were so tired before carried me swiftly. Tears streamed down my face, and in between breaths and sobs I hollered, "Is it Daddy? Is he dead?"

My cries received no answer, urging me to run faster. I struggled to breathe as sobs dammed my throat, but somehow I managed to choke out again, "Is Daddy dead? Tell me! Is Daddy dead?"

Finally I reached the wagon, and my trembling body fell forward against the side of it at Mother's lap. Like a little child, I tugged helplessly at her skirts, needing her to tell me something—anything. Surely knowing the worst would be more palatable than existing in the unknown for even a second longer. My breaths quickened even more, and the sobs grew more painful.

"M—Mother, p—please . . . Is—is Daddy g—gone?"

My mother's face remained hidden in her small, pale hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The ghost of the great woman that once was sat rigidly upon that seat, her formerly elegant frame reduced to that of a wilted rose. Surely this meant that the worst had happened, that the man who held her heart had been taken and sent to wait for her in the other realm. The sweeping heaviness of despair overcame me, and with the help of the wind I fell to my knees, my fists balled up in my hair at either sides of my head as I bawled.

I felt a little warm hand rest upon my shoulder. I didn't care to have Alex attempting to comfort me . . . He couldn't bring Daddy back, so the gesture was futile and nearly irritating.

Oh, no . . . That is what Mother would think.

I couldn't be like her. And what if he needed me? I felt him grab onto my shoulder and begin to shake me.