On Furlough
People living in Adams County, Pennsylvania, were eager for word of the battle that raged not far from their own back yards. Prior to July 1863, all the major battles of the Civil War—with the exception of one at Sharpsburg, Maryland—had been fought in the South. Now Robert E. Lee was fighting George Meade in nearby Gettysburg. No one was more anxious for news than Betty Sue Cowdry whose husband, Clifford, was fighting with a Union volunteer infantry regiment in the Army of the Potomac.
Sunday morning, July 5, Betty Sue put on a clean dress, climbed up into the seat of the buckboard wagon and headed for the white clapboard church at the center of the small Pennsylvania town. After tying up the horse to the hitching post, she hurried to the church steps where the members of the congregation were gathered to discuss the war.
"Word is our boys licked them rebels and sent Lee running back to Virginia," one elderly farmer said with sectional pride.
"I heard the armies fought for three days and that the casualties were staggering," the town doctor added.
At hearing his words, Betty Sue felt as though all the air had been expelled from her lungs.
Is Clifford one of those casualties? she wondered fearfully.
The church bell rang, and people went inside. Taking a seat in a rear pew, Betty Sue closed her eyes and immediately began to pray for her husband's safety.
"Dear God, please let him be all right," she said repeatedly as the church filled up, only stopping her mantra when Reverend Joseph Bancroft took his post behind the lectern.
With her mind on her husband, Betty Sue did not hear a word of Reverend Bancroft's sermon.
She and Clifford were married less than six months when the war started. Although she had begged him not to go, he insisted it was his duty to fight for his country.
"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't answer President's Lincoln's call to arms," he told her as she lay in his arms the night before he enlisted.
Her instinct was to beg him to stay, but she did not want to put him in the position of having to choose between his conscience and his love for her.
"If you must go, then go," she said. "But promise me you'll come back to me."
"How can I make such a promise?" he laughed. "I'm going off to war not to a church social."
"Don't take any unnecessary chances—that's how. Don't volunteer for any dangerous missions."
"All right, my love. I promise I will do my best to come home to you, maybe not in one piece, though."
"Even if you lose an arm or a leg, I still want you back."
For two long years she dropped to her knees every night before going to bed and prayed for Clifford's safe return. During that time there had been dozens of letters, usually written after a battle, meant to reassure her that he was safe. The last one had come at the end of April. That was more than two months ago; she had not heard from him since.
Oh! When is this awful war going to be over? she cried as she made the drive home after Sunday services.
When she returned to the house, she put the horse in the stable and fed him. It was a lot of work to keep the farm on a paying basis, and with her husband away, the responsibility fell squarely on her shoulders. Oddly enough, the long hours she spent planting, harvesting and caring for the animals were a blessing in disguise. The physical exertion kept her mind off what dangers Clifford might be facing.
Sunday evening had always been Betty Sue's favorite time of the week. When she and Clifford returned from church, she would always cook a big dinner for the two of them, including freshly baked bread, churned butter and a pie for dessert. It had been two years since she ate so well.
Hungry, she walked into the kitchen that July evening and went into the larder.
What should I make to eat? she asked herself, scanning the shelves at her supplies. Cornbread. Green beans. There are still some ....
The dog's barking alerted her to a disturbance in the yard. She picked up her husband's shotgun and went to investigate.
"Hey, Rusty," she heard a voice call to the animal. "Don't you remember me, boy?"
The barking abruptly stopped, and Betty Sue let the gun fall from her hands.
It can't be!
But it was! The door opened, and into the house walked Private Clifford Cowdry.
Betty Sue did not waste time with questions. Upon seeing her husband, she ran into his arms and covered his face with kisses. It was several minutes before they broke the passionate embrace.
"I can't believe you're here!" she cried, staring adoringly into his eyes. "When word came about Gettysburg, I feared the worst."
"Now that I'm here you can forget all that worrying."
"Does that mean your enlistment is up?" she asked hopefully.
"No. I'm on furlough."
A frown appeared on Betty Sue's pretty face. She knew the Union Army issued veteran's furloughs to men as an enticement to reenlist.
"You've signed up again. Haven't you?"
"Let's not talk about it now," Clifford suggested. "I'm tired from my journey."
"I'll bet you're hungry, too," she said, putting on a show of cheerfulness.
"Are you kidding? I could eat a horse!"
She returned to the larder and got out enough food for the two of them.
"It's too late to make a big meal now, but tomorrow I'll make a traditional Sunday dinner, dessert and all. It'll just be a day late."
Smiling, the weary soldier watched his wife's every move as she prepared them both a light supper.
"I've missed you," he said.
"Is there any hope that the fighting will be over soon?"
A look of pain darkened Clifford's features.
"I'd rather not talk about the war."
"My sister had another baby last month," Betty Sue announced, promptly changing the subject. "A healthy boy she named John William after my father."
"And your brother-in-law, how is he doing?"
"Good. Losing his leg at Bull Run hasn't stopped him from trying cases in court."
"Your sister married a lawyer and has three children already, and you ...."
"I married a farmer that I love more than life itself; and once the war is over, we'll be parents, too. After all, you don't need a law degree to father a child."
"Apparently, you don't need a right leg either," Clifford joked, his high spirits returning.
For the remainder of the evening, they spoke of fond memories of the past and hopeful dreams of the future. Neither said a word about the mounting casualties on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line. By unspoken agreement, the war was ignored.
* * *
One week passed and then two. During that time, the reunited couple behaved like newlyweds.
"I really ought to invite my sister and brother-in-law over for dinner before you go back," Betty Sue said. "Neither of them will forgive me if I don't. You know how much the two of them like you."
"I'd just as soon you not tell them I've come home."
"Why? Is something wrong?"
"No. But I'm afraid being away so long has made me selfish. I want you all to myself. I don't want to share you with anyone, not even your family."
"All right," she agreed. "I won't tell them."
"In fact, I'd rather you didn't tell anyone I'm here."
Clifford's words sent a shiver of apprehension through Betty Sue's middle. To her knowledge, her husband had never lied to her or kept things from her. Yet she had the distinct impression that he was not being truthful with her now.
Could it be that he's not on furlough? she wondered. That he's a ... a deserter?
The thought made her feel as though she had committed an act of betrayal.
I mustn't judge him. After all, I don't know what horrors he's seen or the hell he's lived through these past two years.
Her suspicions grew stronger two days later when Reverend Bancroft visited the farm.
"Father? What are you doing here?" Betty Sue asked with surprise when she opened the front door and saw him on her doorstep.
"You haven't been to church the past two Sundays," the minister replied. "Since Clifford left, you haven't missed a single week. I was afraid something might have happened to you."
"I've been a bit under the weather, but it's nothing for you to worry about."
"Mind if I come in?"
Her heartbeat quickened with fear. If he saw her husband inside the house, word of his return would soon spread. If Clifford was a deserter, he might be arrested and court-martialed.
The Army shoots deserters, she thought with panic.
"The house is a mess. I haven't had time to clean it yet. I ...."
"That's all right," the clergyman replied, pushing his way past her. "It's not so bad in here. Why, my house is often in much worse shape."
To Betty Sue's relief, there was no sign of Clifford.
He must have heard the minister's voice and gone upstairs, she reasoned.
"Are you sure nothing is wrong?" Reverend Bancroft asked, taking notice of the young woman's odd behavior. "You seem distracted."
Thankfully, an excuse for her conduct was readily available.
"I haven't received a letter from Clifford since April, and now there's all this talk about Gettysburg."
This was a situation the minister felt more than qualified to deal with, as many wives and parents in his congregation had husbands and sons off risking their lives for the Union. There were even a handful of Adams County men fighting for the Confederacy.
"You mustn't give up hope, my dear," he said, taking her hand in his own. "I'm sure God is watching over him."
"I know, Father. I have faith it won't be long until the war is over and he returns home to me."
"That's the spirit!" Reverend Bancroft exclaimed, rising from his seat and heading toward the door. "And I expect I'll be seeing you in church on Sunday."
"I'll be there," she promised.
With a false smile on her face, Betty Sue watched the minister navigate his buggy down the long driveway to the road. Only when he disappeared from view did she let out a sigh of relief.
"Is he gone?" Clifford asked, suddenly appearing behind her.
"Yes."
"What did he want?"
"To see why I haven't been to church the past two weeks."
"What did you tell him?"
There was no denying the fear that flashed in her husband's eyes.
"That I haven't been feeling well and that I was worried for your safety."
"Good. He ought to believe that."
"How much longer are you going to be on furlough?"
"Why? Have you grown tired of me already?"
Clifford took his wife in his arms and silenced any further questions with a kiss. But he could not bring an end to the doubts that haunted her.
Why did he deliberately avoid answering my question? she wondered.
* * *
The weeks passed and turned into months; and still Clifford showed no sign of returning to his regiment. To avoid any further suspicion being cast by her absence, Betty Sue went to church alone every Sunday.
"Here, let me do that for you," her husband offered, taking the reins from her when she returned home after the weekly service.
"Thank you. While you're seeing to the horse and wagon, I'll go start dinner."
Clifford smelled the aroma of baking bread when he entered the house.
"Mmm! Did I tell you your cooking was one of the things I missed most in the Army? If I ever have to eat salted pork again, it will be too soon."
Betty Sue turned to face him, gathering the courage to finally ask him the question that had been preying on her mind.
"When do you plan on going back?"
"Once my furlough is up."
"And when is that?"
"Why? Have you grown tired of me already?" he said, resorting to the same response he had previously given her.
"Stop it!" she cried. "You can't keep avoiding my questions."
For the first time since she had met him, there were tears in Clifford's eyes, and it broke her heart to see him so distressed. She threw her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him.
His body stiffened and he admitted, "I don't want to go back."
"I know you don't."
"I want nothing more than to remain here with you."
"Tell me the truth. Were you given a furlough?"
"No."
Betty Sue was torn between advising Clifford to leave and begging him to stay. In the end, her decision was based on what was best for him, not for her.
"The Army shoots deserters during times of war."
"They won't come looking for me."
"How do you know? Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder? Hiding from people like Reverend Bancroft?"
"Are you trying to send me away?"
"When you enlisted you told me you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't answer President's Lincoln's call to arms. How do you think you'll be able to live with yourself if you shirk your duty?"
Clifford had sincerely believed that she wanted him home with her above all else. To realize she now wanted him to return to his regiment was a severe blow.
"Why are you trying to send me away?" he asked. "It's as though you want me to go back."
"How could you think such a thing? I never wanted you to join the Army in the first place. I hate having to worry every minute of every day that you might be killed. Oh! Damn this war!"
Betty Sue collapsed to the floor, sobbing hysterically.
"Don't cry," her husband said soothingly, as he helped her to her feet.
"I don't want you to go, but to be a deserter ...."
Words escaped her, and she left her sentence unfinished.
"You're right," Clifford reluctantly agreed. "I can't stay here any longer."
"I didn't mean ...."
"Hush, now. I've made up my mind. I'll leave in the morning."
Betty Sue did not sleep at all that night, not wanting to miss a single moment of what might be their last hours together until the war came to an end. Coupled with the fear for his safety was the guilt that she could possibly be sending him to his death. When the sun rose and light filtered in through the bedroom window, each stared at the other, cementing the moment in their memories.
"I guess I better be getting ready," Clifford said as he got up from the bed.
Although it had been more than three months since he showed up unexpectedly that July afternoon, the time had passed quickly.
"Let me make you some flapjacks for breakfast," Betty Sue offered. "And there's bacon and cornbread."
"No," he replied softly. "We're just postponing the inevitable. It's best if I get dressed and be on my way."
"Oh, Clifford!" she cried. "I'm ...."
"Please! Let's not make this any harder than it already is."
He dressed quickly and kissed his wife chastely on the cheek. She reached up her arms toward him, but he gently pushed her away.
"Don't, my love. Walking out that door is going to be the most difficult thing I've ever done," he declared, barely keeping his emotions in check.
"All right," she conceded, vowing not to say a word or shed a tear until after he was gone.
As the war-weary soldier opened the front door, his back toward his wife, he momentarily froze in place. Betty Sue yearned to run to him, to plead with him to stay, but, like her husband, she found the strength to stick to her resolve.
"Goodbye," Clifford said softly, and suddenly he was gone, never having looked back.
When the door closed shut behind him, Betty Sue's tears fell. There were no wails or sobs, only hot, silent tears that slid down her cheeks. She fought the temptation to throw open the door and watch her husband's form vanish into the horizon.
What good will it do? It will only torture me more.
Although Betty Sue had no appetite, she knew she should eat something. She needed to keep up her strength, after all. As she opened the door to the larder, she heard feet mount the front steps, and her heart leapt with joy.
Clifford's come back!
She raced to the door and threw it open only to find Reverend Bancroft standing there, his hand raised to knock.
"Father Joseph!" Betty Sue exclaimed, glancing toward the road uneasily to see if there was any sign of Clifford.
"May I come in?"
She stood aside to let the minister enter.
"What brings you out here today, Father?" she asked, reading the sadness in the clergyman's eyes.
"I have to speak to you about ... about Clifford."
He knows, she thought with apprehension just before she swooned and fell to the floor in a faint.
"Easy now," Reverend Bancroft warned as Betty Sue felt the brandy trickle into her mouth. "Take small sips."
She shook her head, indicating that she had had enough to drink.
"Better?" the minister asked.
"Yes."
"About Clifford ...."
"I know what he did was wrong, but please don't notify the authorities," she frantically pleaded. "He's changed his mind. He's going back to his regiment."
"What are you talking about, child?"
"Clifford. He deserted and came home to the farm, but he left this morning to return to the Army."
"You're confused and upset. You don't know what you're talking about."
"My husband ...."
"... was killed at Gettysburg, three months ago."
The minister had not meant to just blurt out the bad news as he had, but Betty Sue's hysterics had exasperated him.
"No!" she argued. "That's impossible. He's been here with me since the first week in July."
Reverend Bancroft reached into his pocket and removed a packet of papers wrapped in fabric and tied with a ribbon.
"This was forwarded to me by Lester Slayton, who served with Clifford. He thought it would be better if I were to break the news to you."
When Betty Sue opened the packet, she found all the letters she had written to her husband as well as the studio photograph she gave him when he enlisted.
"How could Lester have gotten these?"
"Private Slayton took them off Clifford's ... body ... when he was killed."
"He couldn't have! Why don't you believe me? My husband isn't dead. Up until this morning, he was here with me. Lester must be mistaken."
"No. They were friends since childhood. Lester was with him when he died. He closed Clifford's eyes after he took his last breath."
Betty Sue saw no point in further argument. There would be no changing Reverend Bancroft's mind since he was every bit as obstinate as she was. After assuring the minister that she would be all right, she showed him to the door.
"I'll come by later in the week," he told her. "We can discuss having some sort of memorial service."
"Certainly, Father."
As she stood on the veranda, watching the minister ride away in his carriage, she placed a hand on her abdomen. She had known before Clifford left that she was pregnant, but she had not told him.
If I had, would he have stayed? she wondered.
In the weeks ahead, when she slowly came to accept the truth that her husband was indeed gone, she wondered what the child of a dead father would be like. She supposed she would find out soon enough.
There are more than 1,300 monuments on the Gettysburg battlefield. This is NOT one of them, no matter what Salem says.
