I'm not exactly sure why I'm trying to do this,
writing down my memories. I've never been much of a writer even though
I've gotten a lot better over the years mostly thanks to Lou. She's
probably one of the smartest people I know. She always was reading
books and writing in that journal of hers even when the boys and I still
thought she was a boy. Never dreamed I'd be married to a teacher
one day. Guess it's true what they say about married folks, they
start to rub off on each other. I suppose it's because of her that
I'm finally facing the nightmares that are part of my past, that disaster
that was "the glorious war for Southern independence." I've carried
the guilt and horror alone for too long, but I can't bring myself to tell
her about it face to face. I couldn't stand to watch her horror as
she learned what I once was, me and a thousand men like me who thought
that war would never change us. We were wrong, so wrong. So,
I will write what I can and when I'm finished I will let Lou read my words
and hope she understands. I never wanted to be a captain, never wanted
to wake up my wife and children for years afterward with my screams, never
wanted to smell the phantom scents of gunsmoke and blood and sickness on
an ordinary spring wind that carried the smell of flowers for other people. The only reason they promoted me was because
there was no one else. They'd all been sent home in a box or crippled
for the rest of their lives because the docs had no time to heal.
All the surgeons did was amputate. It was widely whispered that you
were better off lying on the battlefield for days praying for death than
going to the surgeon's tent. Funny thing is, I heard that the same thing
happened to George Custer in the Union army that happened to me.
He'd graduated at the bottom of his class at Westpoint and ended up a general
at the end of the war. Go figure. He loved the position.
I was only a captain and I hated it. It's only now, years after I've
returned home and the Confederacy has surrendered and been dissolved that
I can even think about what I saw and did. I'd only been enlisted about three weeks before
I forgot what had made me leave my beautiful Louise, who was already expecting
our first child, back in Rock Creek to seek out some outdated and stupid
idea of honor on a battlefield. Even the beauty of Virginia wasn't
enough to keep me going. My home state had changed in the time I'd
been gone. Southerners all over the state were taking up arms against
an enemy who was really themselves. Anyone who wasn't one hundred
percent behind the war was seen as a traitor to the South, and if it's
one thing Southerners know, it's vigilante justice. Class differences
were forgotten only if you were willing to throw your life away for a way
of life that most of us had never enjoyed. For those of us fighting
to preserve our memories, we soon found that the very fighting we thought
would save our homes would actually destroy them and rape the land we'd
hoped to farm. My adventures with the Express seemed like
child's play after my first two battles. I watched in horrified fascination
as one young private next to me in the charge had his head nearly blown
off his neck from the force of the shrapnel that struck him. I'd
barely ducked in enough time to avoid becoming the shell's second victim.
It was nothing like even the worst of our adventures while we were riding
for the Express. At least then we could see our enemy. We'd
gone after them because they were outlaws or murderers. This enemy
you only saw if you were lucky, or unlucky depending on how you looked
at it, to stay alive long enough to reach their front lines. Even
victory was hallow as you walked away from the battlefield, the stench
of blood and gangrene and any other manner of human sickness burning your
nostrils. We never camped far enough away that we didn't hear men
and boys calling for their mothers and loved ones or the women's weeping
and screeching as they found the body of a lover or a husband or a son. Battle after battle I watched friends die,
men younger and older and better than me. I'd lie awake in the bivouac
and wonder what made me better than them. Why was I still alive while
they had died? Even more men died from the countless fevers that
seemed to sweep through the camps. I was a lieutenant in no time
and as an officer, I was transfered into the mounted corps. It was
a relief to finally have the familiar routine of caring for a horse to
alleviate the boredom in between battles and take my mind off the death
and destruction. My only other distraction from war was the
letters I constantly wrote to Lou, knowing full well that she may never
receive them until after the war. I got few of hers, but I knew she
wrote faithfully. The ones that had reached me, I kept tucked in
my shirt and reread them often trying to imagine her as she wrote and the
things she wrote about. One long one I still have to this day.
It was four pages of detail after detail concerning the twins' birth, all
of her thoughts and sensations and wishes. That letter became more
precious to me than a Bible and a couple times I rushed blindly back into
the fray after realizing I had dropped it. It was the emblem of all
the reasons I wanted to stay alive. I'd long ago stopped fighting
for ideals. Now, it was simply because I was beholden by an enlistment
and because there was a whole army of Union soldiers who wouldn't think
twice about running me through. I wanted to go home to Rock Creek, to hold
the sons I'd never seen, to make love to the wife I loved and missed so
much. Lee's army wanted to promote me for being a killer and for
staying alive any way I could. I did everything I could to talk my
way out of the promotion to captain knowing that as a captain I'd be forced
to order men to their deaths. Finally, the general himself was called
in to talk some sense into me. Needless to say, I was out voted. In my sleep, I saw every one of my men, each
one accusing me of murder before God and man. I agonized over every
decision I made carrying the guilt for their deaths like a cloak over my
shoulders. The worst part was having to take orders from men who'd
bought their commissions with no idea of what the men faced on the battlefield. Many a time I was forced to order some of my men into a formation or maneuver
that was pure suicide because some arrogant planters' son wouldn't listen
to my suggestions. The men's faces and voices haunted my dreams
so often that I even tried to desperately drown them away in liquor, but
it wasn't long before I discovered that whiskey doesn't really work.
It doesn't take away the memories and after a time it didn't even numb
my senses anymore. Hardened and disillusioned after three years
of fighting, I no longer bothered making friends with the men under my
command because they never lasted long. Somehow they loved me anyway.
I heard one of the other officers once comment on how my men would run
through the gates of Hell if I told them to. And, God help me, they
did with me leading the charge--leading them to their deaths. I dare
not hope their souls or their families will ever forgive my part in their
massacre.
"Kid?" He looked up with a start smiling as his diminutive wife walked into
the small den where he'd sought refuge to write in private. It had
been her idea to write down his experiences, believing that writing about
them would do the same thing talking about them would. He'd never
been able to speak completely about his war memories, not even to Lou.
No one had understood the continuing nightmares but her. Her own
nightmares of the night Wicks had raped her continued even after over ten
years of marriage to Kid. When he awoke screaming, Lou merely held
him, stroking his hair gently until he fell asleep again. She'd made
no demands on him when he returned home despite her curiosity. Kid watched her grinning as she waddled towards the desk where he sat,
one hand on her lower back while the other rested gently on her swollen
belly. He could hear the ten-year-old twins, Jamie and Adrian, trying
to entertain five-year-old Billy and two-year-old Mary Emma in the parlor.
Four children and ten years together and now they were expecting another
baby in two months. As Lou stopped next to his chair, Kid could see
the lines of weariness on her face even in the dimness of the room. "How can you even see to write in the dark?" Lou asked with a smile.
Lou'd felt the tension in the room and knew he'd been too involved in the
memories to even notice the beautiful sunset that cast its purplish light
through the window in front of him. She moved to light the lamp on
the mantle and brought it over to place it on the desk where it illuminated
the pages covered with his small handwriting. "There!" My angel, he thought emotionally. When he'd first come home to
Rock Creek the town was still as divided as it had been before he left.
No one wanted to understand the reasons he'd fought for the South, all
many of the townspeople saw was a dirty Rebel. They talked about
the McCloud family viciously and for a time even refused to allow Lou and
Kid to patronize some businesses. The school board even tried to
oust Lou from her teaching position as Rachel's assistant. When she'd
found out why, Lou at eight months pregnant had been furious and marched
straight into the school board meeting. You could hear her shouts
clearly outside the school building and a crowd gathered outside to hear
her harrangue the board for their ignorance and hatred. The crowd
had listened as she emotionally told them how their hatred was manifesting
itself among their children. Kid had never been more embarrassed,
emotional, and proud than he was as he struggled to contain the tears threatening
to spill while he listened to Lou's defense of him. The crowd had
parted in silence as Lou stormed out of the schoolhouse slamming the door
and headed to the relative safety of Teaspoon's office. The town
may have forgotten Kid but they hadn't forgotten Louise McCloud and after
they found out what the school board had intended, during the most delicate
time of a woman's life, they rallied around her and got her position back. Kid pulled her close, his large hands caressing her belly as he kissed
it. Her hands wove into his sandy curls as he spoke to the child
within her who lurched and kicked beneath his lips.; "Hey in there,
Baby McCloud. Go to sleep and stop kickin' your mama so she can relax,
okay," Kid coaxed. He looked up into her face. "How's your
back today?" She smiled as she felt the baby's kicking ease. "Not bad.
It kind of goes with the territory," Lou replied. "It's incredible
how you do that. She's not even born yet and you've already got her obeying
your every word." Kid was such a good father. It was like he was making up for the
time he was away from the twins. When Billy and Mary Emma were born,
he'd been in the room with her refusing to leave even when the doctor threatened
him. He'd gotten up with her every time she woke to feed or change
the babies, often changing them himself or bringing them to her to nurse.
When she stopped nursing, he always made time during the day to give them
their bottles at lunch. Kid would drop anything in the world if his
children needed him. Many were the days he turned down business that
had come to their small ranch in favor of taking the twins fishing or going
picnicking with his family. "She, huh? You think we're gettin' another little girl?" he asked
with a pleased grin. He loved his boys, but it was Mary Emma that
had him wrapped around her little finger. She looked exactly like
he'd imagined Louise looked as a child except with his curls. "Memma"
as Billy called her was Kid's baby girl and she adored her father.
The sheer unadulterated adoration was evident even as she climbed up on
his lap for stories or to show him a butterfly she'd caught. "Don't know," Lou replied, letting him pull her onto his knee.
Kid's hand still stroked her stomach as she wrapped her arms around his
neck. "This time doesn't feel like when I was expectin' Mary, but
it doesn't feel like when I was carryin' the boys either." "Maybe we're havin' three," Kid joked. Lou's eyes widened in horror. "Bite your tongue, man! Don't
you dare even speak it 'cause every time you make a guess about the babies
when I'm carryin' them it comes true. On our weddin' night we were
talkin' about children and you just had to mention twins. So, what
happens? I have twins! I refuse to believe that I'm carryin'
three children inside me." "Ya never know, angel," Kid said rubbing her lower back. "Anythin'
could happen." As if on cue, there was a loud crash from the parlor and three voices
called, "Mama!" Lou groaned and leaned her head against his. "See what I mean," he continued flashing her a grin as she rose awkwardly
from his knee. Louise started waddling toward the door. "Well if we do have three,
we're sellin' two of them to the gypsies 'cause I refuse to feel like a
milkcow again," she complained. "It was bad enough with the twins.
I can't imagine nursing three babies every three hours for six months.
I'd never sleep!" Kid laughed as she left the room. Trust Lou not to mince words.
Looking back down at the pages before him, he picked up the pen he'd laid
on the desk and dipped it into the inkwell. He paused to glance out
the window before him at the beautiful sunset casting its colors over the
land and hills. With a moment's thought, he set the pen to the paper
and began to write again.
Many a day went by when, in the midst of fierce
battle, I'd look up and scan the horizon for some sign of the sunset.
An army can't fight in the dark and the sunset was the signal to the officers
of both armies that there had been enough fighting for the day. Many
a day went by when it seemed the sunset would never come and it took all
my strength to keep from hiding amongst the dead until the battle was over. War makes savages of good men, even me.
It bothers me more than I can say to admit that. No, I didn't rape
any women we ran across like some others, I didn't rob the dead or mutilate
them or any other number of horrible things that happened in and out of
camp. But I hated. I hated like I'd never hated anything or anyone
before. I hated the enemy, I hated the war, I hated the politicians
in Washington who'd refused to compromise and started this war, I hated
the women who sent their men out to "come home on their shields or not
at all," I hated the papers that glorified the fighting, I hated honor
and duty, but most of all I hated myself. I hated myself for abandoning
my family for a piece of land I hadn't seen in six or seven years. I hated myself for fighting against the ideals
the people I loved held dear. It got to the point where I felt like
I was fighting to keep Noah in chains even though he'd died before I'd
even decided to enlist. His face and Jimmy's and Cody's began merging
with the faces of the men I'd sent to die, their fingers pointing at me
as they shouted, "Traitor!" Even in the midst of it all, I still
prayed for their safety. I prayed they were still scouting in the
Western Curtain where the fighting wasn't as fierce. God, I hoped
that they could all at least understand why I'd done the things I did if
they couldn't forgive me. The cold and damp and fatigue and illness and
hunger only added to the tribulation we felt. Some men just couldn't
deal with it all and went crazy. Others went AWOL only to be found
and hung for abandoning their posts. When I finally started back home after the
signing of the treaty at Appomatox, I felt twenty years older. As
I stared at the reflection in the glass of the train window, I looked twenty
years older, my hair longer than I'd ever let it get, a beard I'd never
worn hiding the scar on my jaw. Even after I'd shaved and gotten
my haircut, there was a haggard look to my face, my eyes sunken and wild
looking. How Lou knew it was me when I rode out to the farm is beyond
me. Rachel and Teaspoon still lived at the old waystation and had
kept Katy there just waiting for my return. I nearly broke down as
she greeted me enthusiastically like I'd never left. Having Katy
beneath me as I headed toward the reunion that had me nervous as hell granted
me a small measure of confidence and reassurance. I remember it was a Saturday the day I came
back. The boys were out playing in the yard and were about four at
the time. They heard me ride over the hill and looked up, fear and
curiosity in their eyes. I knew they recognized Katy even if they
didn't know me. Jamie ran to the open door of the house and
called for Lou. "Mama, come quick," he'd called. "A man's stolen
Papa's horse!" By this time I'd ridden close enough to dismount
and Adrian watched me with wide eyes. I stood at the bottom of the
steps and watched as Jamie pulled Adrian onto the porch. My eldest
son placed himself in front of his brother as if to protect him from me.
Even though the action hurt, I knew that Lou had done a wonderful job as
their mother instilling in them the meaning of brotherhood. A girl with long blonde hair held back by a
ribbon stalked out onto the porch, a look of annoyance on her face.
"James Isaac McCloud, what has your mama told you about hollerin' in the
house?" She looked up, absently wiping her hands on an apron, as
she saw me. She stared for a moment before I saw the light of realization
dawn on her face. her jaw dropped and she brought both hands up to
her face. "Oh, my God! Louise! Louise, get out here!"
she exclaimed. I heard Lou running through the house to the
front door. "Theresa, what in the world..." She looked up as
she reached the doorway, her face going blank in shock. I'd never
seen anything so beautiful in all my life. There she was real and
whole before me and I was suddenly so aware of how shabby and strange I
must look to her. She hadn't changed....No, that's wrong. Her
bosom and hips were just the tiniest bit fuller than they'd been when I
left her, her hair longer and pinned out of the way on top of her head.
I blinked hard, my heart refusing to believe it was real. After what
seemed an eternity of us just staring at each other, I finally heard myself
whisper her name. At the sound, Lou burst into tears and ran
down the steps nearly tripping in her haste. She stopped short just
inches in front of me as if she too wouldn't believe what was before her.
Her eyes perused my face searching my eyes for something. Slowly
she brought one small hand up to trace the scar running along my cheek
and jawline. I flinched involuntarily at the contact not having felt
a woman's gentle touch for three years. I could see the hurt in her
eyes and quickly grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, closing my eyes
against the relief her scent and touch sent through me. "Kid?" she sobbed. At my nod, she launched
herself into my arms and clung to my neck desperately as she sobbed.
I couldn't speak, couldn't even cry as I held her tightly just drinking
in her smell, the feel of her clutched against me, the sound of her sobbing
my name over and over again. We held each other forever until suddenly
it hit me. I was home and it wasn't a dream or fevered hallucination. "I'm home," I whispered into Lou's hair.
She looked up at me quickly as I began to laugh. Lou must've thought
I'd lost my mind for a moment. Realizing that I wasn't crazy, Lou
smiled that beautiful smile I'd dreamed about for so long and joined in
my laughter as I lifted her and swung her in circles until we were both
dizzy. Lou wouldn't let me stray far from her for
months after that day so it was no wonder that we were soon expecting another
baby even as I was getting to know my twins. The nightmares were really bad for the first
couple weeks I was back. I'd wake up not knowing where I was, thinking
I was on the battlefield. A couple times I even got out of bed and
walked outside thinking it was time to march on. The habits ingrained
from three years in the army emerged in my sleep. I slept deeply
when I slept, my knife within reach. The first morning I awoke in
the house, Lou had come upstairs to wake me for breakfast. I'd awakened
quickly at her touch and unconsciously pinned her against the wall with
the knife at her throat before I was completely awake. I still tremble
at the memory of what I might have done. To counteract the instincts,
I started telling myself that I was home and not at war over and over before
I fell asleep. I made Lou lock up all the weapons in the house.
She insisted that she trusted me, that I was overreacting but I wouldn't
listen. There was no way I wanted even the possibility of me hurting
her or the children to exist. Over the days, my brain learned to
recognize Lou and the twins' touches when they woke me. However,
if anyone else tried to wake me by touching me, I was still more likely
to choke the life out of them first.
He wrote furiously for hours as if once he'd started he wouldn't rest
until it all came out. All his frustration, fear, anger, and guilt
came out upon the pages beneath the pen. Kid wrote about his reunion
with the other riders Cody and Jimmy granting him the forgiveness he'd
searched for in his dreams. He sought refuge from the death in his
dreams in the life he struggled to build and live, the farm he worked,
the children he fathered and raised. Ironically, war had taught him
the value of life, of his life that somehow he'd been found worthy to live. Kid looked up and rubbed his eyes wearily. The house was silent,
darkness showing through the window and he realized that his family must
have all gone to bed without him realizing it. In the stillness,
he could hear not the screams of death that had been such a part of his
life, but rather the singing voices of soldiers. His memory replayed a specific amazing incident that had been buried
beneath all the death and destruction. It had been Christmas Eve
and both armies had ceased fire until after the New Year. As happened
often, the Union and Confederate forces were camped very close together
sharing the same small creek as their water supply. Kid had walked
down to the creekside to wash up and write a letter home. He was
sitting under a tree when he heard some Union soldier on the other side
begin singing Christmas carols. It wasn't long before men on both
sides of the creek had joined in, temporarily forgetting their differences
and the color of their uniforms. Some men exchanged gifts of tobacco
and homemade carvings, while other asked after loved ones serving on the
opposite side and sent messages to them. Kid remembered thinking
that some things were universal and not even war could kill--the love of
family and the peace found on Christmas Eve in the observance of a holy
day. In his mind, Kid couldn't help but think that he was hearing men who'd
finally found peace somewhere beyond this life. It struck him that
by writing about his memories, the men within them were not forgotten,
their deaths were not in vain. And in that moment, he felt a reconciliation
with his memories. Kid wasn't innocent enough to believe that they
would ever go away, but he knew that now he could live peaceably with them. He gathered the sheets of paper together and dug in the desk for piece
of string to tie them together. He pulled out a clean sheet of paper
and scribbled a quick note. In the note, he explained what he'd written. Kid wrote two last lines at the bottom before signing it. "Angel," he wrote,
"you'll never know or understand how your idea has become the instrument
of my salvation. Hopefully as you read these memories, you will understand
why I couldn't tell you about them." Folding it, he addressed it
to Lou and placed it on top of the bound sheets. Blowing out the lamp, he quietly left the den and walked upstairs.
He peeked into the boys' room and found them sound asleep in their bunk
beds. Adrian had kicked the covers off again and Kid softly replaced
them. He quietly placed gentle kisses on each warm head. They
were too old for holding and kissing, they kept telling their mother, so
Kid took advantage of the time he took to check the house and the children.
They were growing so fast, all of them. All too soon they'd be gone
and it'd just be him and Lou again. Pulling the door closed, he walked down the hall to the nursery where
his baby girl slept. He peeked in to see her sitting up in the middle
of her crib jabbering to herself. When she saw him, her face lit
up. "Papa, I'm up," she said loudly extending her arms to him. He strode to the crib and lifted her out to cuddle her. "I see
that, sweetie," he said softly. "What're you doin' up while everyone
else's sleepin'?" Kid put a finger to his lips indicating that she
should whisper. "I waitin' for you, Papa. No kisses," she whispered loudly indicating
that she hadn't gotten to say goodnight to him. He chuckled at her kissing her forehead and brushing the damp curls
back. "You're just like your mama," Kid said. "She won't go
to sleep until she gets kisses either." Mary Emma yawned hugely. "I know," she said. Her long lashes
came down to shutter her eyes even as she tried to fight the sleep claiming
her as its own. Kid gently replaced her in the crib, pulling the blanket up under her
chin and setting her favorite doll next to her. He smiled as she
immediately popped a thumb in her mouth. Lou was trying to break
her of the habit, but Kid couldn't bring himself to tell her not to do
it. She'd grow up quick enough he knew, might as well let her stay
a little girl just a while longer. He patted her back before heading
toward the room he shared with Lou. The lamp was still lit and Lou was sitting up in their bed snacking
on a sugar cookie from the batch she'd made that afternoon. She looked
up from her book with a slight grimace as he came in and began undressing. "What're you doin' up? You know you're teachin' our little girl
some bad habits, don't ya? She was sitting up waiting for me too,"
Kid said with a laugh as he crawled beneath the covers. He leaned
over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips tasting the sweet remnants of
her snack. "Hmm, sugar cookie. Every time I kiss you it's another
flavor. Guess it's better than the pickles you craved carrying Billy,"
he joked. Lou ignored his comment as she framed his face in her hands, her shrewd
eyes searching his. "Are you okay? I checked in on you when
I was getting the children ready for bed and you were writing so furiously
that you never heard me. So, I decided not to let them bother you.
I wanted to make sure you were alright," she replied. Lou's eyes
took on a haunted, far away look, her brow furrowing slightly. "Besides,
you know I never sleep when you're not here." Kid kissed her again in reassurance. Her insomnia when he was
gone from his side of the bed was legendary amongst their family and friends.
It was the one scar she still carried from their time apart, her one outward
sign of her dependence upon him. "I'm fine," he assured her.
"No worries, now. It's not good for the baby." He reached across
her and turned out the lamp before pulling the book from her hands and
laying it on the stand. "Listen to you, the expert on babies now. You'd think you fathered
all twelve tribes of Israel the way you talk," she giggled as she snuggled
down next to him. "So, when do I get to read the big project?" He settled her against his side, his hand unconsciously moving to rest
on her tummy. "Tomorrow, angel. It's waited this long, it can wait
another night. Now, go to sleep." Lou stroked his bare chest absently as she yawned. "Sweet dreams,
Kid," she wished him as her eyes closed. "For the first time in years I think they will be...thanks to you,"
he murmured against her hair.
Judgement Day
Judgement Day
by Becca
A story inspired by the song Judgement Day from the CD The Civil War: The Nashville Sessions. The song is the property of its author, and is used here purely for enjoyment. The author of this story, and the owner of this website take no credit for the lyrics included herein. That said, enjoy the story, and don't forget to send Becca some feedback!
(liner notes: A battle weary Confederate Captain faces the consequences of the field decisions he makes, on both the lives of his men and the condition of his conscience.)
...And sometimes it's too much to bear
The dead and dying everywhere
And every day, for me, is Judgement Day
Every day, for me, is Judgement Day....
I sit among my charts and maps
And hear the lonely call of taps
Like the wind across the moon
I pray to God that I am right
And then I send boys off to fight
And travel home in boxes far too soon
May God have mercy on my soul
For all the years that I have stolen
From the men who follow what I say
And may their families all forgive
The orders I so calmly give them
As I march their sons into harm's way
And out there on the killing floor
I hear the bloody sounds of war
And watch a thousand more souls slip away
And sometimes it's too much to bear
The dead and dying everywhere
And every day for me is Judgement Day
Every day for me is Judgement Day
I write to mothers of their sons
And say "They were the bravest ones,"
And then I pour a drink and sleep
But sleep is only filled with drums
A slice of death 'til morning comes
The heart of darkness
Where my soul can weep
Come walk a mile in bloody shoes
And lose the men that I am losing
Watch them pay the piper for my tune
Come walk among their ghosts with me
And look through eyes too used to seeing
Faces who have joined the lost platoon
Come Judgement Day God only knows
If man will reap the pain he sows
And what will be the price he has to pay
But down here on the killing floor
Among the crimson rags of war
For me, each day I live is Judgement Day
Every day for me is Judgement day
May God have mercy on my soul
For all the years that I have stolen
From the men who follow what I say
And may their families all forgive
The orders I so calmly give them
As I march their sons into harm's way
And out there on the killing floor
I hear the bloody sounds of war
And watch a thousand more souls slip away
And sometimes it's too much to bear
The dead and dying everywhere
And everyday, for me, is Judgement Day
Every day, for me, is Judgement Day
Every day, for me, is Judgement Day
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