The Sentinels of Andersonville by Tracy Groot Read Free Book Online

course correction came from the North. I hope you all don’t get uppity about it.” He winged the hat and ringered the stump again. He tried to reel it in, but it snagged. “Is all off your chest?”
    “As I feel mostly relieved, I guess we can be quit of that topic. Yet there is one thing more.”
    “Go on,” said Emery, patiently tugging the line.
    “On June 28, I was due to muster out   —the day after Kennesaw.”
    Emery stopped pulling the line.
    Lew forced a smile. “There’s a kick in the teeth, hey? Did my three years, all set to go home, and now this. Colonel Ford didn’t even tempt me with a reenlistment bounty. He was a Penn boy, too.He knew I did my part.” He picked up a twig and dug at the ground. “I miss my children, Emery. Miss my farm, my dogs. And I miss Carrie like . . .” He fell silent. He broke the twig into little pieces. “I’m a farmer. I’m not a warrior. I never figured on fighting a war in my lifetime. Never thought I’d miss three years of my children’s growing up. And that is all, Emery. That is everything.”
    After some time, Emery pulled the hat line again. “You’ll get home, Lew. This war won’t last forever. And what about prisoner exchange? Always chance for exchange. You hang on to that.”
    Lew scattered the broken twig pieces and sat back against the tree. He looked up at the leaves.
    The day was sulfurous hot, but under this tree, next to this woodpile, it was nearly pleasant. It felt good to rest after one miserable conveyance on the rails after another.
    “I have to tell you that Northern Negroes are different from Southern Negroes,” Lew said. “I found this out a few months ago when on campaign in Tennessee. It’s the singing. A group of ’em were following camp. One of ’em led off in song, then the rest joined in chorus, and I tell you, though I couldn’t understand half the words, yet I was drawn into that song and felt of it. Felt where it came from, and where it was going. All of us quieted down to hear it, and when it ended, felt like the sun went down and left the sky a thing of beauty. All was sad and quiet and good. Sure wish I could hear that again. I think the Northern Negroes would learn something from the Southern, when this is all done.”
    Emery held up his hand.
    “Is that a religious affirmation?” Lew asked. But Emery put a finger to his lips, and motioned to the squad of men behind the dry goods store. All of them were looking at something on the other side of the woodpile. Something dangerous, by their stares. Emery slowly stood and crept over to the woodpile. He raised himself up, and peered over.
    It was a girl.
    She had not yet noticed the squad of men staring at her, nor did she see Emery looking down. It was evident she was listening intently to the conversation on the other side of the woodpile, and soon it was evident that she wondered if she had been caught; then her eyes widened as she caught sight of the staring men across the way, and a blush leapt to her cheeks; and then she realized where some of them were looking, and slowly looked up.
    A face full of blue eyes framed by dark hair and bonnet gazed up into Emery’s. His first thought was to bless her out for eavesdropping, but no one could take up with a face like that. Lovely cheeks, lovely lips, and eyes gone slightly wild with what Emery took to be fear, and fear in a woman got his gourd. The entire effect melted his perturbation like butter in the sun.
    “How do,” he nodded.
    She nodded back.
    He touched his forehead since he’d not reeled in his hat. “Corporal Emery Jones, 22nd Alabama Volunteers, Company C. Appreciate it if you keep quiet on anything you may have heard, ma’am.”
    She nodded.
    “Rather not have things go hard for me from simple misunderstandin’.”
    “Of   —” She cleared her throat delicately. She rose, and discreetly dusted off her backside. “Of course not,” she said, mighty dignified. “Besides . . . well, I do