A Gathering of Light

where that horse came from. I reckon I was ashamed.” Andrew confessed to his newfound niece. “I had no idea that he’d done what he done, though. Well, no, that’s not exactly the truth. When we found out what he done to that gal in Maryland, two years later, I started wondering what might have happened to this lady here.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I’m ashamed, myself, for blaming you both in my heart all this time.” Sarah said. “If I would have thought about it for a minute I would have known it could only be the one man.”

  I was so ashamed at being related to a man hung for raping a girl that I moved out of Maryland. She was just a little thing, only about 15 years old and pretty as a rose. I was just mortified. So I packed up my gear and lit out for Virginia.

  “I guess I thought if I moved a little closer, maybe I could find...your momma...and try to make it right. I live over in Hanover County. Got me a new start, and now I breed horses. Yonder are two I brought for your momma. Guess they’re yours, now.”

  Sarah started to protest, but Andrew cut her short. “Don’t tell me no. It took me 23 years to get up the nerve to come here. I’m a long ways too late, but I’d sure be obliged if you would take them, for your sainted momma. And for my conscience.”

  All those secret questions Sarah had since childhood were finding answers. Her estimation of the kind of man her father had been was not far off.

  Andrew told her more about him, even though he hated to speak of him. “He was a banty rooster, you know the type: a short man with a tall attitude. Always picking fights, going around all puffed up like a cockerel. Even as a little boy he was mean. He used to twist the tail on a piglet just to make it squeal. “It’s funny, ain’t it, that old Chester got me? He was probably after David and missed! Anyway, he was always picking on smaller boys, or even girls. Just before we went to sell those hogs, our little sister moved to Grandpa’s farm, saying David was mean to her. I’ve wondered ever since, exactly what kind of mean he was to her.” He said the last sentence almost to himself, then continued..

  “It’s a puzzle to me, how an apple can fall that far from the tree. Our Pa was an honest, God-fearing man. Ma was a fine woman. Not a one of our family ever crossed the law even once. Then here comes David to do every wrong in the book.” Andrew shrugged his bewilderment.

  Sarah shared part of the story with Andrew, but she held back more than she told. She told him how she was raised by her Grandmother, who just happened to have been in town on that fateful day. She told him how her mother had died giving birth to her, but she did not explain why.

  She didn’t talk about what it had meant for her to be a product of such conception. Sarah didn’t tell Andrew that, because of how it happened, David had killed her mother.

  Andrew felt guilty enough, she thought, he didn’t need to know that her mother died directly because of David.

  Sarah very carefully avoided talking about her mother’s gift of light. If the conversation seemed to be headed in that direction, she steered it elsewhere. She certainly did not reveal that the gift was now hers.

  Andrew stayed in town for two days, spending the days at the cabin. Sarah learned she had an aunt and four cousins in Hanover County, plus more relatives in Maryland. He invited Sarah to visit him in his home, to meet his family. Andrew wanted very much to show her that, even though it was the bad apple that left his seed, she came from very good people. All in all, Andrew felt good. He had done something very difficult for him, and it turned out well.

  A burden he had labored under for over two decades was lifted. He rode home with a lighter heart.

  April 15th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

  Caleb ran, red-faced into the cabin with a newspaper in his hand. “Lincoln’s been shot! Sarah! Lincoln is dead!” Like any young boy, Caleb was much influenced by the opinions of others. He believed that Lincoln was personally responsible for the war. He was taken aback by Sarah’s reaction.

  “Dear God. What will happen to us now?” She sat down, pale with anguish. Sarah could see the puzzlement in Caleb’s eyes. “Lincoln was the one leading the way for a peaceful reunification. Other leaders want to hang all the Southern soldiers, and punish the South in general. Lincoln was the voice of reason. It may go bad for us, now.”

  She saw dark times ahead for the South. “He said he would pardon the Southern boys who were ordinary soldiers. Since General Lee surrendered, Northern people want to be vengeful. That must not be, or it’ll be war again. Lincoln was one of the few who saw that, and tried to prevent it. Who will speak for peace, now?”

  Everywhere he went in the days that followed, Caleb heard the two opposing viewpoints. Many people believed that Lincoln deserved what he got. Others saw him as the leader in peace time who might force the North to treat the South with generosity.

  Sarah, like Southerners everywhere, was concerned about what might happen to their beloved generals. Robert E. Lee was very nearly worshiped by everyone. He also had a great many admirers in the North.

  Grumblings had already started about Jefferson Davis. People were looking for someone to pin the blame on; Jeff Davis was being groomed for a scapegoat. Davis was seen by the common folk as a little stiff, too serious and too cold to earn him much love.

  Other political leaders were being blamed, too, but mostly it was Davis who bore the brunt. Some people laid all the responsibility on the doorstep of South Carolina, the first state to secede. Almost no one accepted any blame of their own–especially those who had cried the loudest for secession four years earlier.

  The soldiers who had come home spoke loyally of their commanders. Many of them got teary-eyed, speaking of Robert E. Lee. Their affectionate names for the general, Marse Robert for one, showed their devotion and how close they felt to him. Sarah prayed Lee would be treated like the Christian gentleman he was.

  People started trickling in to the South almost as soon as the surrender at Appomattox was signed. Missionaries made up a big portion of those; the rest were scoundrels of various sorts, and carpetbaggers. It was a painful time for Southerners.

  Sarah believed that with Lincoln gone, it would only get worse. There was always the hope that people in the North would honor the dead president’s intentions, but she doubted it.

  April 15th, 1865--Washington DC

  Hixson was in Washington DC the when Lincoln was assassinated. He was waiting in the outer office of his commander’s quarters; he was to be reassigned. While he was waiting, word came in that Lincoln had been pronounced dead that morning.

  The city was in shock. Authorities chased the assassin Booth and his co-conspirators. The citizens of Washington DC mourned. Hixson listened to the talk around town and wondered at the change. The same people who reviled Lincoln the year before, now spoke of his kindness and sagacity. Death affected people in strange ways.

  Most of the soldiers felt a strong bond to the president. Lincoln had visited several battlefields, meeting with commanders. Many men had heard him speak on different occasions. They felt he had a personal interest in them.

  Hixson had been present in Richmond when Lincoln visited there. No one in the regiment cheered louder than Hixson to hear that Lincoln was seated at Jefferson Davis’ desk.

  There was something in Lincoln that drew the soldiers to him. He seemed like an ordinary man, beset with troubles, just like they were. His difficulties with his wife were well-known. He was gangly and homely and had a high voice. He was relatable.

  Lincoln was exceptionally intelligent and persuasive, qualities the men admired. He was also folksy frontier stock, allowing the men to feel a special kinship to their commander-in-chief. People like Hixson, who paid attention and read the newspapers, realized that Lincoln was a shrewd politician. Hixson thought it remarkable that Lincoln had managed so well, in a time of such great trial.

  The fact that he had been re-elected in the midst of civil war revealed what a pillar he really was. He hadn’t retreated. The voters were willing to see the thing through to the end, thank
s in part to Lincoln’s leadership.

  Hixson mourned with the rest. A remarkable President had been taken from them. Lincoln was a man, maybe even the man, whom the country needed to survive the trials ahead. Hixson hoped that Lincoln’s own words, spoken so very long before, might prevail. He hoped that people might listen to the better angels of their nature.

  July 1st, 1865 --Dover, Pennsylvania

  Eliza Morris was behind the kitchen bringing in the wash, when a silhouette appeared on the horizon. She knew without further study that it was her beloved brother, home at last. Soldiers had been straggling home since the middle of April; every day she watched for the soldier she missed the most.

  “Momma! Poppa! Charlton! Come quick! He’s home!!” She hollered out with her biggest little voice.

  Momma came running out of the kitchen, Poppa from the barn, and Charlton ran in from the lower field. No one needed to tell them who was home.

  Hixson was mobbed by his family, the dogs and soon the neighbors. Momma wetted everyone with joyful tears. Poppa pumped Hixson’s hand for what felt like hours, before he gave in and threw his arms around him and wept into his son’s hair.

  Their son had come home, walking under his own power and looking strong. They had seen so many come home on crutches or in pine boxes. To see, with their own eyes, their