House Divided
An Alternate Universe Simon and Simon Story
September 1864
Andrew Jackson Simon sat on the hard ground, leaning back against a tree, writing fast and furiously on a tablet of paper. He paused for a moment, looking out at the encampment before him, squinting as the late afternoon sun assaulted his eyes.
The sounds of men’s voices raised in boisterous talk and laughter drifted over to A.J., carried easily by the gentle, fall breeze that stirred the yellow and gold leaves above his head. A young man of perhaps seventeen years old was playing a lively tune on a harmonica while nearby him a cut throat game of poker ensued. One of the poker players, a large, dirty, grizzly bear of a man named Stevens, tried to get the young harmonica player to join in the game. The other men laughed as the freckle faced musician simply shook his head and went on with his song.
"Hey, Stevens, the kid ain't dumb, ya' know. He knows he's no match for us old dogs. We've been fightin' this war and playin' cards since before he was born," a ponytailed man in bad need of a shave quipped, causing the other card players to burst out in a renewed round of laughter.
A.J. smiled with amusement at the teasing of the young boy before turning back to his work.
"Writing, writing, writing. This is all I ever see you doing. You must have plenty of news to tell the President."
"Some," was all A.J. said before looking up as his friend, Lieutenant Gerald Reiner, made himself comfortable on the ground, sharing the wide oak tree trunk A.J. was leaned back against.
Jerry craned his head to look over the blond man's elbow, "What are you telling him?"
"What an ass you are and that I recommend you be demoted to camp cook," A.J. teased without cracking so much as a smile.
"There's days when that doesn't sound like such a bad job," Jerry agreed. "But what are you really writing?"
"The usual. The President wants a full report of the latest battle as always," A.J. said, his mood suddenly taking a down swing. He thought briefly back over the past four years, the things he had done and seen, the battles he had been a part of. Nothing ever changed much, not really. Men on both sides were still gravely wounded, many more than that killed, nothing A.J. did or reported seemed to change that fact in the slightest.
Having been a friend for many years now made it easy for Jerry to detect the black aura that seemed to suddenly surround the blond. Trying to coax his friend into better humor, Jerry teased, "Four years as a special envoy to President Lincoln has almost caused you to lose that southern accent of yours, Andrew Jackson."
The Lieutenant instantly regretted that remark, fearing he had said the wrong thing when A.J. didn't readily have a sharp retort. A few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before A.J. informed his friend, "I will always be a Southerner no matter where I live or what I do. My heart bleeds for the South and what she is going through. I just..........I couldn't stand by her on this issue."
Jerry slowly nodded, knowing this was a sensitive subject for his friend. He hadn't meant to make things worse with his teasing. He took note of a folded piece of paper in the breast pocket of A.J.'s uniform and decided it was a good time to change the subject.
"Is that from your mother or your sweetheart?"
A.J. gave a mirthless chuckle. "I realize now, my old friend, that it's been a while since I've been with your unit. Janet wrote me a Dear John letter over a year ago. She returned the engagement ring saying she couldn't marry a traitor."
Jerry, who knew the situation well, cocked his head asking, "Her words, or her father's?"
"Oh, her father's I'm sure. But by the time this war is over it won't make a lick of difference. I'm a Southern boy who chose to side with the North. Even if Janet does yet have feelings for me she'll never be allowed to act upon them. I'm not exactly popular down home, you know."
"Your mother still writes you," Jerry pointed out, having guessed correctly who the letter in A.J.'s pocket was from.
"And she always will. No one can ever turn Cecilia Simon against me. She's tried very hard to understand my reasonings. Who her sons are fighting for isn't the point. That they're fighting at all is what matters. Mama just wants us home."
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"Ten months ago. I was covering the battles surrounding Richmond and was able to get down to see her for a day."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes. So far we've been lucky. The plantation isn't near where any of the fighting has occurred. I fear it will only be a matter of time though. It seems like the Union army wants to raid every Southerner's home it can."
"A.J.,.........we're not all like that."
A.J. smiled, looking into the eyes of his college friend. "No,....no you're not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that."
"I know you didn't. You're just worried about your mother." Jerry commented with understanding.
A.J. nodded. "Yes,........yes I am. I've been away a long time, Jerry. Four years. It seems like a life time ago now, like I'm not even the same person I was then."
"I think it seems that way for all of us, A.J., believe me," Jerry sympathized, then asked, "And Rick? How's he doing?"
A.J. shrugged, looking away. "I don't hear from him of course. According to Mother he sees her as often as he can, which makes me happy."
"He hasn't written you at all then? Answered any of your letters?"
"No, but let's be realistic, Jerry, I'm a traitor to the South. If you were a soldier in the Confederate army would you write to your brother the Turn Coat?"
"I don't know. Maybe not," Jerry answered honestly. "But you two are awfully close."
"Were awfully close. But this war has divided us in a way I would have never thought possible. It's funny when you think about it, that something as senseless as a war could tear my brother and me apart. It's happened though, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it," A.J. ended bitterly.
"How is he doing? Rick I mean. Does your mother ever say?"
A.J. smiled. "Oh certainly. She's a sly one, our mother, that's for sure. In a very nonchalant way she always manages to write me that latest news of Rick, just as I'm sure she writes him the latest news of me."
To prove this to his friend, A.J. pulled the letter from his pocket, unfolded it, and read a paragraph out loud.
"Rick is doing well, although the last time I saw him, two months ago, I thought he was much too thin. This war has been hard on your brother, Andrew, just as I know it's been hard on you. He was recently promoted to the rank of Major, but other than that doesn't say too much in his letters about the battles he has fought or the like, just relates funny stories and all the devilment he is up to. You know Rick. He doesn't talk about the bad times. He asked about you the last time he visited. I know he cares about you very much and worries about your well being, just as you worry about his. It will do your mother's heart good to see you two mend fences once this terrible war has come to an end."
A.J. let the open letter fall to his lap as he finished reading. "So you see, my mother still wishes for the impossible."
Jerry shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe it's not so impossible. I have a feeling that once this war is over a lot of people will see things more clearly. When the final body count is made and the maimed and battle scarred young men go marching home, be it to the North or to the South, a lot of folks are going to be rethinking their position on things. And not just in the South either. We're all going to be wondering if any of it was really worth it."
"I already know first hand that none of it has been worth it," A.J. replied in his soft, southern drawl. "The destruction has been immense, both in term of lives lost and land ruined." After a pause he added softly, "Not to mention the destruction of the most important relationship in my life."
"You and your big brother."
"Yes, Jerry, me and my big brother," A.J. sorrowfully agreed.
The sadness on the twenty six year old A.J.'s face was easily discernible. Jerry reached out and patted his old friend on the knee. "Just remember, A.J., time heals. It can heal you and Rick too, if you both let it."
A.J. shook his head in uncertainty and doubt, "We'll see," was all he replied to his friend and confidant.
A loud "Lieutenant Reiner! Lieutenant Reiner!" hailed Jerry from somewhere in the camp. Jerry gave A.J.'s knee a final pat as he rose to go see who was in such desperate need of him. "I'll see you later, A.J.," the man said while walking away.
A.J. sat his pad of paper and pencil down on the ground beside him, then refolded his mother's letter and returned it to his jacket pocket. He tilted his back against the tree, looking up and taking in the brilliant colors of autumn. He thought back to another beautiful autumn day four years, and a lifetime earlier.
**********
Fall 1860
A.J. was twenty two years old that fall and had graduated from Harvard University in May of that year with a degree in law. He had chosen to stay up north upon graduation, working in a law office in Maryland. Tensions began to mount throughout that summer between the North and the South, causing A.J. to decide to return home to Virginia in early September.
The blond man hoped that in returning to his boyhood home he might be able to clear his jumbled head of the many conflicting thoughts that seemed to constantly be running through it of late.
A.J.'s mother, Cecilia, was forty six years old that fall of 1860 and had been a widow for twelve years. She was a strong, independent lady who backed down to no one, not even her husband when he had been living. For just that reason she had been managing the family business quite successfully since Jack Simon's death, although she told her youngest quite often that she was more than ready to turn the running of the large plantation over to him whenever he said the word. A.J. had known for a long time that this was his mother's and older brother's wish, that sometime after college the younger Simon would take over the family business from their mother. A.J., however, wasn't quite so sure those were his plans. He hadn't revealed these thoughts to his family yet, but had no major misgivings in this area. His mother showed him her most recent financial statement on one of his first nights home that fall. The papers proved to A.J. what he had always suspected, that his mother was a shrewd and intelligent business woman. He knew then that if he chose to direct his life down other paths he could do so freely and without feelings of guilt.
The young A.J. had stepped off the train in Richmond that fall day in 1860, luxuriating for a moment in the smells and sounds of the South,.......of home. He looked up and down the dirt street, straining to spot his mother in her carriage, or at least one of the familiar black faces from his familys' legion of slaves. All around him debarking passengers were being joyously greeted by family members and slaves alike, but A.J. quickly came to discover that he had no one awaiting his arrival. With slightly hurt feelings, the blond man picked up his suitcase and began threading his way through the crowd of people. The puzzled expression became a permanent fixture on the young man's face. He knew his mother was expecting him and according to her most recent letter, eagerly looking forward to his arrival. Why she wasn't here to greet him, A.J. had no idea.
A.J. crossed the street, looking this way and that, hoping to spot a neighbor going in his direction that he could hitch a ride with. He paid no attention to the heavy boot steps that clomped rapidly up behind him on the wooden sidewalk. Two large hands suddenly descended on A.J.'s shoulders, causing him to give a yelp of startled surprise.
A smile quickly spread across A.J.'s face when a deep voice greeted in his right ear, "Welcome home, stranger. I almost didn't recognize my own baby brother. Ya' surely look like a grown up Harvard man, A.J."
That grown up Harvard graduate turned and launched himself into the arms of his older brother. "Rick!" he exclaimed joyously, not expecting this surprise.
Rick pulled his brother close in return, the bear hug they shared being long and full of feeling.
When they finally broke apart Rick held his sibling at arms length. "Ya've changed, A.J. Ya' went and grew up on me. I guess I ain't gonna have no cause to peel the bullies off a' ya' now. I gotta feelin' ya' can take care of yourself just fine."
A.J. smiled. "I do okay. And speaking of changing, so have you, big brother. What's with the moustache?"
Rick sheepishly pulled off his hat to reveal his recently receding hairline. "It kinda makes up for what I'm losin' on top."
A.J. laughed at his brother's soulful expression and balding head.
"Hey, knock it off, Squirt," Rick ordered, reaching out to grab his brother in a headlock.
A few minutes of playful scuffling ensued, a laughing A.J. disengaging himself from his brother's hold when he'd had enough. He looked Rick up and down, then gave a smart, crisp salute. "You look quite important, Captain."
Rick looked down at his freshly pressed blue uniform of the Army of the United States of America with its shiney brass buttons and the newly added insignia indicating his recent promotion. "The ladies like it," Rick smiled slyly.
A.J. rolled his eyes. "It figures. Only my brother would chose a career in the military because the ladies like it."
"Actually I chose a career in the military 'cause Daddy sent me off to military school when I was fourteen," Rick reminded. "The admiration of the ladies is just a side benefit, little brother."
"One I'm sure Daddy didn't count on as he sent you to military school in the first place to get you away from Rebekah Sue Miles," A.J. teased truthfully.
"Yes, and to give me the "discipline you are so badly in need of Richard," Rick finished, mimicking their father and quoting him exactly.
A.J. laughed again, recalling some of Rick's wilder schemes and how even their strict father couldn't seem to keep a tight rein on his eldest. Military school had been Jack Simon's way of instilling discipline and maturity into his impetuous young Richard.
A.J. could still recall clearly the day Rick left home for the military academy in Georgia. He had been nine years old and had clung to his older brother, crying as the carriage was being loaded with Rick's suitcases.
Rick had shown far more bravado than he was feeling that day, hugging A.J. tightly and telling him, "Hey, Kid, don't cry now. I'll be home for Christmas. That's not very far away. Only four months."
"Will you write?" A.J. had sniffled.
"Every chance I get," young Rick promised.
It seemed like those years flew by and before A.J. realized what was happening, it was him that was going far away from home. He was seen off to college from this very same train station four years earlier by his mother and brother.
In the intervening years Rick's military career had sent him to the far
wilderness corners of America as well as Mexico, while A.J. was busy with his studies. The brothers had last seen each other in December of 1858, when they were both lucky enough to be home for Christmas. Amazingly enough, no matter how long they were apart, or how many miles separated them, Rick and A.J. remained as close as they had been as boys.
Rick now flung an arm around his brother's shoulders, picking up A.J.'s suitcase as he did so. Leading A.J. toward the polished black carriage Rick drawled, "Boy, Kiddo, ya' sure are the spittin' image of Daddy, ya' know that?"
"Mama mentioned it last year at Christmas," was all A.J. said. "Speaking of Christmas, I sure missed you, Rick. Christmas just isn't the same without you home."
"I missed you too, Kid. And Mama. Believe me, I was sure wishin' I could be home but I couldn't get leave. By the smells that were comin' from the kitchen when I left home a while ago, I'd say Mama's got a belated Christmas dinner planned for us tonight."
"Sounds great! I sure do look forward to some of Naomi's good old southern cooking."
"Maybe a fine ole' Virginia ham and sweet potatoes will help ya' lose some of that shameful northern accent ya've gone and acquired, A.J.," Rick teased.
"Northern accent! I don't have a northern accent!" A.J. declared.
Rick's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Yep, A.J., I do believe you're gettin' to a full fledged Yankee."
"Yankee! I'll Yankee you!" A.J. threatened taking his turn at wrestling his brother into a headlock. The two brothers laughed and playfully brawled like bear cubs all the way to their carriage. Laughter and lively conversation continued during the hour it took Rick to drive them to the large, luxurious plantation they had both been born on.
***********
Cecilia Simon rejoiced at having both of her children home that fall. She easily envisioned the day when A.J. would open his own law practice nearby and Rick would return from the military for good. They would both live on the plantation in it's big, roomy mansion with their future wives and children, working together to run the family business as their father had before them and their grandfather before him and their great grandfather before him.
A.J. is so intelligent and personable. He will make a fine lawyer and business man, a wonderful financial planner for all our investments and business dealings. And Rick is a natural leader, so funny and well liked that he will run this plantation without any problems, I'm sure, overseeing the slaves and hired men with ease.
Cecilia would often daydream about the future at those times, hearing in her mind the pitter patter of little feet and seeing clearly the large number of brunette and blond grandchildren she would love and spoil to death.
As for the brothers themselves, Rick was on an extended leave from his unit due to an arrow wound in his shoulder. One of the Army's first major encounters with a western tribe of Indians had quickly turned sour, causing the deaths of many of Rick's friends and he himself to almost lose his arm to infection.
A.J. was mulling over his future, trying to decide if he wanted to pursue a career in law here in his home territory or choose from several other intriguing options that had been presented to him over the course of that summer. Options that for the time being he chose to keep from his family.
Years later A.J. would look back and deem that fall to be one of the best times of his life. Many fond memories stayed with him long after it was over. His mother, ever the regal hostess, threw party after party in honor of her sons' homecoming, A.J.'s recent graduation, and Rick's rise in rank. There was also a belated engagement party for A.J. and Janet Fowler. Although he had given Janet a diamond ring at Christmas time, A.J. had asked his mother to hold off on any celebrations until Rick could attend as well.
That particular party was a huge success, the newly engaged couple smiling brightly, eyes only for each other. Rick, looking splendidly handsome in his dress uniform, was a hit with all the unattached young women. Cecilia watched from a far as her tall, handsome oldest worked the room, his charm gushing forth as he filled up the dance cards of a multitude of beautiful, southern belles. Watching Rick eagerly pursue a variety of young ladies caused Cecilia to realize that it might be quite some time yet before her wild oldest would be ready to settle down and commit himself to a wife.
Very unlike my A.J., Cecilia thought with a smile, watching her youngest and his fiance glide across the dance floor in harmony. The wedding date had not yet been set, but by looking at the happy couple Cecilia knew it would only be a matter of time now. Her smile turned wistful as she remembered a recent conversation with her future daughter-in-law.
"God willing, Mrs. Simon, I hope A.J. and I are blessed with children soon after we are married. I can picture in my mind a little boy who looks just like him with the same thick blond hair and big blue eyes. We'll name him John Andrew, after A.J.'s daddy of course. And call him Jack if that's okay with you."
Cecilia had laughed a little that day at Janet's enthusiasm, reminding the girl that she and A.J. hadn't even set a date yet. She added with a wink though, "I picture a little boy just like that for my first grandchild, too, Janet. And when the time comes I would love it if you and A.J. chose to call him Jack."
For most of that fall the Simon brothers' evenings were taken up with parties and other informal social gatherings of young people. A.J. often spent time alone with Janet as well, while Rick courted whichever young woman struck his fancy at the moment. During the day the brothers were inseparable, working together to run the plantation, being happy to allow their mother an extended vacation from the business. Cecilia took the entire month of October off, traveling north to visit relatives in Pennsylvania and New York. When the day's work was done Rick and A.J. would hunt or fish together, or simply explore old boyhood haunts in the surrounding fields, woods, and town. The Simon brothers were thrilled to be able to spend time together again. So many years had passed with only brief visits and letters being exchanged between the two to satisfy their brotherly bond. It was a pleasure to now be able to reinforce that bond in person.
For a brief period of time that fall A.J. could almost see a future for himself filled with contentment and satisfaction. Like his mother's vision he could picture himself and Rick working together well into old age, running the family plantation. Janet would be at his side, as would be the five or six children A.J. was sure she'd bear him. And at Rick's side would be,......well, Katherine, or Faith, or Darla Jean, or Hannah, or Elizabeth,..........one of these girlfriends eventually, of that A.J. was sure.
However, in the far recesses of A.J.'s mind, his sunny vision turned dark with impending storm clouds. Too many conflicts were rapidly heating up in the young country at present. Somehow A.J. had the feeling he would never fully live in the happy picture his brain was painting for him.
That fall was filled with talk of discontentment between the North and the South, of borders drawn, of secession from the Union, of money and valuable resources the South would lose if forced to do things Abe Lincoln's way, and finally then, there was talk of war.
By the end of October this was the topic at every party Rick and A.J. attended. It soon became all that was talked about in the general store, the barber shop, the livery stable, and at every other business in town as well. Rick was quite vocal in his opinions, expressing his loyalty to the South, sharing with others that there was talk of soon starting a Confederate army to fight for Southern independence if necessary. "An army I'll proudly be a part of," Rick would often say to their neighbors and friends.
A.J. kept his thoughts to himself whenever talk turned to secession and war, not even revealing to his brother all that was on his mind.
**********
It was one afternoon in December of that year when the Simon brothers could be found walking together amongst fields of slaves, checking on the progress of the crops that were being harvested late due to rainy, fall weather.
"I hope things can be salvaged," Rick commented as the harvest hurriedly occurred around them. "The weather has been strange this year, so rainy and cold in October, and now sunny and warm in December. It feels more like May."
"Yes, it does," A.J. agreed, taking note that he and Rick were both wearing short sleeve shirts. "I think things will be okay. If this weather holds they'll have everything out by next week. I found a good market for the corn, even this late in the year."
"Good. It's been so many years since the Simons have lost money here, I don't want you and I gettin' the blame for a bad crop," Rick teased as he and A.J. turned toward the house.
"We won't lose money. I've already seen to that," A.J. assured.
Rick smiled with pride. "I knew I could count on you, little brother. You're quite the astute business man."
"I had nothing to do with it, Rick. You were the one that made the decision to hold off on the harvest when the weather got bad. It was a gamble, but one that paid off. You've done a fine job here this fall."
Rick shot his brother a look of puzzlement. "What do ya' mean I’ve done a fine job? You've been as much a part of running this place since September as I have."
A.J. shrugged, making no comment, not sure he wanted to be a part of any of it any longer.
"What's wrong, A.J.? Ya' been awful quiet these past couple weeks. Is Janet still holdin' out 'till the weddin' night?"
"Rick!" A.J. scolded with just that one word. "Janet is a true lady. Unlike some of the women you set your eyes upon I might add."
"Oh now don't ya' go gettin' all high and mighty on me," Rick scoffed. "I met that friend of yours from college, Jerry Reiner, a few summers back when you brought him here, remember? He told me a story or two about you, little brother, that I know Miss Janet would not want to hear. Especially regarding some promiscuous female by the name of Ruby Lee."
A.J. tried to act nonchalant, as if the information Rick had didn't bother him in the slightest. "Janet and I weren't engaged then."
"No, but you had been school yard sweethearts, and everyone knew you two would go and get yourselves hitched some day. If I remember correctly you gave Miss Janet a pretty little locket when you left for college, promising her she was the only one for you. I don't think our refined, genteel, Janet Fowler is gonna want to find out her fiance has already been bedded by another," Rick pointed out with glee.
A.J.'s face turned a dark shade of red while Rick laughed. Only Rick and Jerry would consider something I think of as private to be a savored piece of information freely used for teasing or blackmail, A.J. thought with chagrin.
Rick must have been able to read his brother's mind as he took pity on the embarrassed blond. "Aw, hell, Andy, I'm only teasin' ya'. I'd never tell anybody, you know that. And it's nothin' to get all red in the face about. Men have needs women folk just don't understand."
"You'd know," was all A.J. said in reply.
Rick laughed again, affectionately draping an arm around his brother's shoulders. He surveyed the land around them, taking note of the slaves hard at work. A thicket of woods formed the plantation's boundary on the north, a clear flowing stream on the south. To the east was a long, wide tree lined lane leading up to the large white house, and to the west, for as far as the eye could see, was lush, fertile, Simon soil.
"Look at all this beauty, little brother. First it was Great Granddaddy's, then Granddaddy's, then Daddy's, and now ours. If we guard her and protect her from those who want to steal her from us, she'll pay us back tenfold. We'll be partners here, A.J., until we're two old men sittin' up there on that front porch in our rockin' chairs watchin' our grandchildren work together to keep her in our family. She'll always be ours. The Simons, for generations to come, will fight for what's rightfully theirs. Them damn Yankees are gonna be in for a big surprise when they come a' callin' here."
A.J. as well, took in his surroundings, but he did not see them in quite the same way his brother did. Several of the negro men at work in the Simons' fields were bent and old, far too old to be doing this type of hard labor. Several more bore the scars on their bare backs from the Overseer's whip. Women were picking corn with nursing babies strapped to their chests. Even small children, some as young as three and four years old, were busy working, hauling water barefooted from the well for the other workers, or loading the wagons with freshly shocked ears of corn.
Lording over all this activity was the Simons' Overseer, Charles Rantem, a man A.J. had despised since childhood because of his cruel ways. The man had always possessed such a smooth, polite manner with Jack Simon, and now with Cecilia and Rick, fooling them into believing he was somebody he wasn't. But A.J. knew the truth. He had even as a young boy. The sensitive A.J. had always seen Rantem for who he really was, a hard, mean man who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, whether it be with his ever ready whip, or his sharp tongue, nasty cutting barbs readily spewed forth to humiliate those who were unlucky enough to cross his path.
Rick had no idea his brother was seeing things differently than himself, so was taken aback by A.J.'s hesitant comment.
"Rick.........I'm not sure as to how I feel about all this. About a war between the North and the South. I'm not sure I want to fight for....."
"And I don't want you to," Rick interrupted firmly, displaying his well known 'big brother' streak of protectiveness. "I'm the military man, A.J. I'm the one who's spent the last thirteen years of his life trainin' for this type of thing. Your place is right here. I'll sleep better at night knowin' that you're here protectin' our mother and our land from them damn Yankees. If they get across southern lines, A.J., I know they'll destroy everything our people have worked so hard for. The Yanks just don't respect land........heritage, the way we here in the South do."
A.J. had no reply for his brother's words. He looked out at all that was before him, the land his great grandfather had worked so hard to clear, the mansion his grandfather had built, all the improvements his father, and now more recently his mother, had made. These things made what he had to say next that much harder to get out. "Rick,.........you know how much I love this land, don't you? And Mama. You know how much I love her."
Puzzled, Rick answered, "Sure I do."
A.J. couldn't hold his brother's intense gaze. He looked instead at the slaves in the fields, as if what they represented made what he had to say easier. "And I hope you know.....how much I love you. You're my only brother, but you've been much more to me than just that over the years. You're my best friend, my confidant, and sometimes even my father."
"A.J..............?"
A.J. raised his hand, indicating for his brother not to interrupt. "I'm proud to be a Virginian. I want you to know that. I'm proud to be a Southerner, too, but that doesn't mean I'm always proud of what the South does,.......of her ways."
Suspiciously, Rick asked, "What's that mean, A.J.?"
A.J. turned to look at Rick. "It means that while I don't want to fight for either side, I can't reconcile declaring my loyalties to the South."
Rick took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. He knew if he lost his temper and started yelling things would quickly turn in the wrong direction.
Remember now, A.J.'s young, confused, and he's always been sensitive to the plight of others. If I stay calm I know I can reason with him, make him see where his rightful place is.
"A.J., now I know there's things about our ways that you don't cotton to. Things that have bothered you since you were just a little guy, but........"
"Rick, don't say it. Don't waste your breath."
"What do you mean?"
"I.........I'm leaving at the end of the week. I'm going to Washington D.C. I've........got a job waiting for me there."
Rick's eyes narrowed. "A job? And what kind of a job would you a' been offered in Washington D.C.?"
"Working for President Lincoln. As a special envoy."
"As a spy is more like it," Rick spat out.
"Rick,.......no, it's not like that at all. I'll just be reporting to the President about battles, where they've occurred, how many casualties there were, how many men were injured,........"
"For the Union Army I assume?" Rick asked sarcastically.
A.J. hesitated, "Yes."
"A.J., I don't care if all you're tellin' Lincoln is how many latrine holes were dug! It's still spyin'!" Rick shouted.
A.J.'s expression was pained. "No. No, it's not. It's......."
Rick grasped his brother by the upper arms and squeezed gently. In a placating tone he imparted, "A.J.,..........A.J., don't ya' see what's goin' on here, little brother? What them underhanded Yankees are up to? They see before them an intelligent, Southern boy, a boy who's not so sure just what he thinks of all this war talk, and they take advantage of his youth,.....of his gentle nature. Sure as I'm standin' here they're only intention is to use ya', A.J."
A.J. struggled free of his brother's hold. "Rick, no. I know President Lincoln. I know he's not like that."
"You know President Lincoln?" Rick mocked. "He was only elected four days ago. He won't even be inaugurated until next March. How do you know the great savior of the North, college boy?"
A.J. refused to be angered by Rick's tone or biting words.
"The owner of the law firm I work for was elected to the senate last year. I met the President through him. I did some work for his campaign."
Rick was angry. "Your letters conveniently left out that little piece of news."
"Because I knew you wouldn't understand. Because I knew you'd react exactly as you are."
"You're damn right I'd have reacted like I am! As a matter of fact I'da came up there an hauled your ass outta that Northern law firm!" Rick shouted.
A.J. had some shouting of his own to do. "No you wouldn't have! You'd have had no right! I'm not a boy anymore, Rick! I'm a man! A man who can make his own decisions without his older brother's input!"
Rick opened his mouth, then shut it just as quickly. He took a calming breath and thought about what he wanted to say next. He was angry, but not so angry that he wanted things to get any worse between he and his brother than they already were.
When Rick spoke again it was to say in a quiet, even tone of voice, "A.J., just listen to me for a minute. Please. I know you're not a boy anymore. I didn't mean to use that word in an insulting way. Ya' haven't been a boy for a long time now, little brother. Why I remember as clear as if it was yesterday when I came home on leave for the first time in two years when you were fifteen. When I had left with my unit I had been so worried about you and Mama, about havin' to be so far away. Daddy'd only been gone three years and you still weren't over his passin' But when I came home I couldn't believe my eyes. You had grown up. You weren't the lost little boy you had been when I'd left two years earlier. Mama told me what a help you'd been to her, how you'd practically run this place by yourself when she was so sick that time. That first night I was home I looked out the parlor window and watched you a' courtin' Janet on the veranda. I told Mama then, A.J.'s all grown up, Mama. He's not your baby anymore or my baby brother either."
"So what's your point?" A.J. asked at the end of Rick's narration.
"Well, I guess my point is that I know you're a grown up, intelligent, well educated man. I know you're well able to make your own decisions. But what I'm sayin' is you're still young, A.J. I've worked for the government for ten years now. I know how those bastards in Washington are, you don't. They are takin' advantage of you, A.J., no matter what they say or what you think. Please, stay here where you belong, in the South with me and Mama."
A.J. slowly shook his head. "Rick, I can't. I don't agree with what the South stands for, with what she's doing. I can't."
Rick waved his fists in the air, shouting, "Damn it! How stubborn can you be!" He turned away and began pacing the lawn of the big house. "I told Mama lettin' you go to that Northern college was a mistake! I told her you'd come home with funny ideas, spoutin' their jack ass philosophies! I told her they'd brainwash ya' and that's exactly what they've done! They've turned ya' against us! They've.........."
"Rick, please, ............calm down. Please listen to me," A.J. pleaded. "No one's turned me against you. You're my brother. I'm not against you. I never could be! I.........."
"The way I see it you are," Rick claimed in a menacing tone. "It's been a long time since I've told you to do something and expected you to listen to me, A.J." Rick pointed a finger at A.J.'s chest, emphasizing every word with a sharp poke to the blond man's breast bone. "But I am tellin' you right now, that you will stay here, and you will protect our home and our mother. You do not have a choice in the matter! You are a Simon and this is where you belong!"
Wth sudden unleashed fury, A.J. savagely pushed Rick's hand aside. "I will be making my own decisions in that matter, Rick! You cannot tell me what to do, how to think, or how to feel! I have to do what I think is right!"
Rick's body went rigid. He stood tensed, hands clenched in fists, mouth set in a grim line. "A.J., if you leave here to go work for that Yankee President, I will not call you brother again. Myself and everyone else in the South will call you traitor!"
A.J.'s eyes couldn't help but betray the hurt Rick's words caused him. "Rick,....please,.........I don't want things to be like this between us."
"Are you plannin' to go to work for them Northerners?" was all Rick asked.
A.J. hesitated a moment before confessing, "I've made a commitment to President Lincoln."
Rick ordered firmly, as if he was talking to one of his enlisted men, "Break it."
"No. I can't," A.J. held his ground.
"You can't, or you won't?"
"Both."
Rick looked away for minute, shaking his head in frustration. He turned back to his brother, getting so close to A.J.'s face they were practically nose to nose. "A.J., are you understandin' me here? I meant it when I told you that if you go through with this cock-a-mammy idea of yours I will not call you brother again. Not ever."
A.J. practically begged, "Rick, please,......that's not how I want to leave things between us."
"That's how they'll be if you do this, A.J.," Rick vowed. "If you join forces with them Yanks that's exactly how things will be."
A.J. squeezed his eyes tightly shut, unconsciously biting his lower lip in the process. For a long minute he stood like that, opposite Rick who had his hands planted firmly on his hips, his stance rigid and unyielding.
When the blond man finally opened his eyes again the blue orbs were full of anguish as he whispered, "I can't. Please try to under......"
Rick turned on his heel and walked stiffly away without another word.
"Rick! Rick! Rick,.......please, just listen to me! Please......"
"I will hear no more words from the traitor!" Rick called back without turning around.
"Rick!..............Rick!" A.J. shouted while watching his brother mount a saddled horse that was tied outside the barn. The older man dug the heels of his boots roughly into the animal's side, causing the horse to whinny and buck. Rick spurred the animal past A.J. as if he wasn't even there, leaving the blond man standing in a cloud of dust.
For a long time that day A.J. remained standing in that very spot, staring off in the direction his brother taken. He debated mounting his own horse and following Rick, but finally decided against it, fearing any further words exchanged between them would now only make things worse.
A single mocking bird singing a lonely song brought A.J. out of his reverie some time later. The young man walked up to the barn, saddled his horse, and rode off in the opposite direction of that which his brother had taken thirty minutes earlier.
**********
It was well past ten o'clock that night before A.J. returned home. As he approached the house from the barn, he could clearly hear Rick's voice, at full volume, through the closed windows.
The blond man quietly entered the house through the back door, walking through the mud room and coming to a stop in the kitchen.
No one was in sight, but a full meal was prepared and sitting covered on the sideboard, evidently left there by the Simons' elderly negro cook, Naomi. A.J. could tell the food had so far gone untouched, meaning his mother and brother had lost their appetites during this long, trying day too.
A.J. chose to stay concealed in the kitchen, listening to Rick's shouts coming from the formal dining room.
"Damn it! Damn it, Mama! I told ya' something like this would happen. I told ya' that when he was seventeen and decided he wanted to go north to school! Didn't I tell ya' to make him stay here?!! Didn't I tell ya' that there were plenty of good schools in the South for him to chose from?!! Didn't I tell you Daddy would have never allowed it?!! He'd roll over in his grave if he knew what was goin' on now!"
"Rick, hush," Cecilia Simon commanded sharply when she could finally get a word in between her son's hot tempered rantings.
"Goddamn it! A traitor! Daddy's youngest son is a God damn traitor!"
"Richard! That is enough! I will not have the name of the Lord taken in vain in this house! Calm yourself right now!"
Rick shoved his hands deep down in his pant's pockets, looking up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath. He was furious, but had not intended any disrespect toward his mother.
"I'm sorry, Mama. It won't happen again. I just don't understand why A.J. would make such a decision." Rick locked gazes with his mother and in a tone reminiscent of the boy he had once been, he pleaded, "Why, Mama? Why did he do it?"
The ever practical Cecilia Simon replied matter of factly, "I don't know, Rick. I won't know until I see A.J. and can talk to him. But I can tell you what I suspect is behind your brother's decision. I highly doubt it's any of the things you say it is, Son."
Rick's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"
"A.J. has a mind of his own, Rick. Just as you do. Your father and I raised each of you to be independent thinkers, to decide what's best for you as individuals. Granted, A.J. is young, but I truly do not believe he is being influenced or used by anyone. I believe he's spent a great deal of time contemplating his decision. I doubt it came easy for him."
Suspiciously Rick asked, "Has he already talked to you about all this?"
"No. But I know, A.J. And I believe the things I said are true."
Rick stared at his mother for a moment, the still beautiful petite lady seated in the hand carved chair at the head of the dining room table. "So you agree with him? With what he's gonna do?" he accused.
"Richard, whether or not I agree with your brother's decision is beside the point. A.J. has to decide what's best for him on this issue regardless of what you or I think."
Rick shook his head. "I just don't understand how you can say that. He's your son. A son born and raised in the South. Daddy's son......."
"Rick, come over here and sit down please," Cecilia beckoned. "I have something I want to tell you. Something that I hope will enable you to see why your brother has chosen this particular path to follow."
Rick did as his mother requested, seating himself at the table with the hand crocheted white lace cloth that offered protection to its rich cherry finish.
Cecilia looked into Rick's face as she began, "Ever since A.J. has been a small boy he's been sensitive to the plight of others. He cares very deeply about people, especially those less fortunate than himself, you and I are both well aware of that. When he was just four years old your Daddy caught him running water to the slaves out in the fields just like the niggra children do. Jack scolded him, telling A.J. that was not his place. Telling him that he was the son of a plantation owner and that he must always remember that. That he wasn't to ever work along side the slaves. A.J. looked up at Jack then and told him, ‘ Daddy, they're thirsty and I'm a strong boy. I can help no matter who I am.’ "
"That's a fine story, Mama. But he was four years old. Things are different now."
"Just listen to me, Rick. I'm not finished yet," Cecilia chastised. "Do you remember when Moses ran away?"
Rick nodded, recalling the big, black man who lived on their plantation yet and now had to be close to sixty years old.
"When they caught Moses and brought him back here, your father ordered Charles to whip him. Neither your daddy or I knew that A.J. was hiding behind the barn that night and witnessed the whole thing. He came running into the house absolutely hysterical when it was all over. I followed him up to his room and held him as he cried and cried and cried. I was so scared. I really had no idea as to what was wrong. When he finally calmed down enough that he was able to talk to me he told me, "Mama, they whipped Moses. Daddy had Charles whip him and they made all the other slaves watch. Charles hurt him so bad. He almost killed him."
"I held A.J. against me for the longest time that night, just rocking back and forth with him in my arms. I tried to explain to him that this had to be done, that your father had no choice. That he had to teach Moses a lesson as well as show the other slaves the price runaways pay. A.J. just kept shaking his head no, while saying over and over, "It's not fair. They're people. Doesn't Daddy understand they're people? Doesn't anybody understand that? They don't deserve to be hurt like that."
"Your daddy tried to talk to him later, tried to explain, but A.J. would have no part of it. I remember when Jack came to bed that night he told me, "He'll understand someday. He's just a little boy of eight years old. A little boy who feels things too deeply. But someday Cece, when Andrew's older, he'll come to understand." Funny thing is, Rick, I knew that night that A.J. never would understand. And I've spent many a night wondering since that time if that eight year old boy wasn't right. Maybe the niggras don't deserve to be treated as they are. I just don't know."
"Mama, you know as well as I do that this war is about a lot more than just freedom for the slaves. I can go along with A.J. feelin' for the niggras as he does, even if I don't see it that way. It's what makes him who he is. But I cannot accept my brother workin' for Lincoln. I will not accept it. If he chooses not to fight but to stay and protect you and our home I'll back him all the way. Or if he wants to fight for the Southern cause, even though I'd ruther he not fight at all, I'll still stand behind him. I've got some friends who are crackerjack soldiers that will surely head up platoons when this war starts, I can see to it that A.J. serves for one of them, or even for me if I do a little arm twistin'. But I will tell you what I told him this afternoon. If he chooses to fight with, or work for them Yankees, I will not call him brother again."
"Rick......" Cecilia pleaded.
Rick stood, his anger boiling to the surface once again. "I will not, Mama! There's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind either. I vow to you here and now, I will not call him brother again if he goes through with this."
Cecilia looked up at her oldest, saying to him evenly, "Don't make a promise you may someday want to break, Son, and don't ever let your pride stand in the way of you someday making peace with your brother."
Rick was momentarily taken aback by his mother's calm words of wisdom. Before they could weigh too heavily on his mind he turned on his heel and walked rapidly from the house, his anger propelling him out into the December darkness.
The sound of footsteps heading up the stairway that led from the kitchen to the bedrooms wasn't lost on Cecilia. She quickly rose from the table, gathered up her hoop skirt, and hurried up the home's main staircase that wound regally down from the bedrooms to the large open foyer.
The faint glow of an oil lamp shone beneath the closed bedroom door of Cecilia's youngest son. Her first few knocks went unanswered causing the woman to call in a no nonsense tone of voice, "I know you're in there, A.J. I need to talk to you, Son. Please. No arguments, I promise. We'll just talk."
Cecilia was reluctantly granted permission to enter. An hour later she exited A.J.'s room with unshed tears making her eyes full and her vision blur. She rushed down the hall to her own room, shut the door and collapsed on her bed, sobbing softly into her pillow. Cecilia's tears had very little to do with her recent discussions with either of her sons, but rather they were shed over the way this impending war seemed bound to tear her family apart.
Sometime later Cecilia rose from the bed, dried her tears, lit a lantern, and left her room, making her way to the seven step staircase at the end of the hall that led up to the large attic. Entering the large, dusty room, she set the lantern down on the floor next to an old trunk. She opened the lid on that wooden trunk and began pulling out several pairs of warm woolen pants, shirts, and a heavy winter coat unlike one usually needed in Virginia even on the coldest of days.
"These old clothes of Jack's should come in handy for A.J.," the resilient woman said out loud. She gathered up other items of her late husband's as well that she found in the long forgotten trunk, things that she thought might be of use to A.J. in his wanderings. "Now I know we had a pair of warm boots up here somewhere from that winter Jack spent up in New York on business. Where have they disappeared to?"
Despite A.J.'s protests that night, Cecilia helped him pack for his trip to Washington D.C. She might be upset, but she was still his mother as she told him, and she was most certainly not going to send him off without making sure he had everything he needed for a warm, safe journey.
Cecilia Simon tried her hardest that evening to convince her youngest son to stay at least until Rick returned home from wherever he had run off to to 'lick his wounds', as she put it.
"A.J., please. Just wait for your brother. I think if you talk to him one more time you can make him see......."
A.J. stood in his bedroom amidst piles of clothes and other supplies, shaking his head, "No, Mama. He won't listen. I tried to talk to him, so did you. Neither one of us is going to get through to him right now. He's just too angry."
"And what about Janet? Is she angry too?" Cecilia asked knowingly.
A.J.'s expression was one of total surprise.
"I don't have to be a genius to know that's where you were earlier this evening, Son."
A.J. smiled slightly in chagrin, before admitting, "She's......not happy with my decision, let's put it that way. She cried, then told me she'd wait for me until the war is over."
"Do you expect her to?" came Cecilia's candid question.
It took A.J. a moment to answer. "No......no, Mama, I don't. She says that now,..........and I'm sure she means it...........but no, this war will likely drag on for a long time.........and.......well there will be those who will call me traitor. I know that. I don't expect Janet to have to deal with that. I know it will be best if she forgets she ever knew me."
Cecilia moved to hug her son tightly against her breast. "I will never call you traitor, Andrew. Never. And if anyone dares to call you that in my presence I will surely box their ears."
A.J. chuckled softly as he pulled away from his mother and held her at arms length. "I believe that, Mama. And I guarantee the poor man who gets his ears boxed will long remember his encounter with Cecilia Simon."
Cecilia turned somber. She looked up into the weary face of her youngest son. "No matter how hard things become, A.J., don't ever doubt yourself or your beliefs. It takes a very brave man to stand up for what he believes is right, especially when his opinion is an unpopular one."
A.J. reached out, pulling his mother into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Mama. I will always remember your words. I have a feeling they'll help me through many hard days to come."
It was three thirty that morning when A.J. rode away from his childhood home for what he knew could be that last time. Full saddle bags hung from each side of his horse, as did a satchel of clothes and a cloth bag of food packed by Cecilia. The last person A.J. saw that night was his mother, her tiny form shadowed as a silhouette against the kitchen door by the oil lamp she held in her hand. She raised her right hand, but because of the darkness A.J. couldn't tell if she was waving goodbye, gesturing for him to come back, or wiping at the tears that ran steadily down her cheeks. He chose to think she was bidding him farewell, so raised his own right hand in return. Whether she saw his movement or not, A.J. didn't know. Before long she was completely out of sight as A.J. headed down the long lane that led to the main road. A.J. hesitated for just a moment when he reached the crossroads, then turned north and road on through the blackness.
A.J. Simon was completely unaware that night of another lone rider concealed nearby in a thicket of trees. Long after Rick Simon could no longer see his brother he remained as he was, staring down the road A.J. had taken.
Rick contemplated following his brother for a moment, then his anger and pride engulfed him like a tidal wave again, causing him to spur his horse in the direction he had chosen for himself,............south.
**********
January 1865
"Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton old times there are not forgotten, look away, look away, look away, Dixieland. In Dixieland where I was born, early on one frosty morn', look away, look away, look away, Dixieland.........."
Weary, flat male voices continued to sing without any animation what so ever, songs in praise of the South. Any joy that singing had once brought them had long been beaten out of the Rebel soldiers by days upon days of hard fought battles that were ultimately lost. Food was running low, as was ammunition. The grey uniforms that had been donned with so much pride four years earlier were now ragged, dirty, and torn. Although new clothing had long ago been promised none seemed to find its way to the enlisted men. Many a pair of boots were being held together by a strip of raw hide or a sturdy vine. In the winter of 1865 morale among the Confederates' was at an all time low.
It seemed to Rick Simon that the men surrounding him sang from desperation, sang because it made them forget the fact that they were tired, cold, and hungry. I just don't know how things can get any worse, Rick thought with despair that he kept well hidden from those who looked to him for leadership. We've all fallen into a deep dark hole and I'm afraid there ain't a' one of us that will be climbin' out.
"How are things going, Major?" a deep voice asked softly as a man stepped out of the darkness and came to sit beside Rick on a long, sturdy log.
Rick sat up a bit straighter, unconsciously tugging at the hem of his uniform coat. He looked at the man, offering a small smile and nod of assurance, "Fine, General. Things are fine."
The older man reached into a deep side pocket of his grey jacket, pulled out a pipe, and filled it with just a pinch of tobacco. Even Generals were feeling the effects of this too long war. The man lit his pipe, inhaled, then blew out a ring of smoke. He chewed thoughtfully on the mouthpiece of the favored pipe, then asked, "You know what I've always admired about you, Richard?"
"Uh,.........no, General, I don't," Rick replied.
"Your frankness. The way you tell it like it is. Why I saw you look old Jeff Davis right in the eye last year and tell him the battle of Vicksburg was the most mucked up mess he'd ever gotten the South involved in, and then you told him General Pearson was a horse's ass."
Rick's moustache twitched as he fought to hide his smile. "And I'd tell him that again 'cause it was the truth,.............still is."
The blue eyes of the General twinkled with merriment. "Didn't even cross your mind that General Pearson is Davis's brother-in-law, did it?"
"No, Sir. I didn't really give a damn."
The General laughed. "Yes, Major Simon, now that's what I like about you."
Rick's eyes twinkled now as well. "Glad I can accommodate you, General."
"But now you're letting me down, Rick," the General said in his soft, southern drawl.
"I am?" Rick questioned with surprise.
"Yes, you are. I just asked you how things were and you said fine. Well, Richard, a blind billy goat could see things are far from fine. Now tell it to me like it really is. Without any bull. What are the men saying?"
"They're not sayin' much of anything, Sir. You can see that for yourself," Rick gestured with a hand at the downtrodden men huddled close to small fires throughout the camp. Other than an occasional low murmur of voices, all was quiet, even the singing had long since come to an end.
Rick told the General, "They're tired, there's not enough to eat, there hasn't been enough clothing to go around in almost a year, and they've seen too many of their comrades die,.........too many of their neighbors, cousins, and friends. See Keppler over there?" Rick pointed to a dirty, bloodstained soldier sitting off by himself, a steady stream of tears tracking crooked rivets down the man's dusty, ashen face.
"What's wrong with him?" the General asked.
"His little brother died in battle yesterday. The kid was all of sixteen years old. Keppler held him in his arms until the end finally came. It wasn't a pleasant death. The boy had been gut shot and we didn't have anything to give him for the pain. Even after the kid was dead Keppler wouldn't let go of him. He held him, rocking back and forth with him in his arms all night. I was finally able to get him to let go so we could bury the boy this morning."
The General shook his head in sorrow. "We've lost too many good boys in this war, Richard. Far too many."
"I know that, Sir," Rick acknowledged softly.
"I'm sure you do, Son. I'm sure you do," the General intoned while giving Rick's leg a fatherly pat.
The two men sat together quietly for a period of time, the General chewing on his pipe long after the tobacco had run out, Rick lost deep in thought. He recalled vividly that morning kneeling down beside the devastated Keppler, "Come on, Bobby," Rick had urged softly. "You gotta let him go. Let us give him a proper burial."
Tears ran down the twenty one year old's face. He had looked up at his commanding officer.
"I promised my Ma, Major. I promised her I'd look out for him. I promised her that nothin' would happen to Sam. Now look. He's dead. Crazy, fool, kid. I told him not to enlist, I told him this war wasn't no game. But he wouldn't listen. He had to go and join up just 'cause his big brother was a soldier. If I'd only made him listen to me none of this would have ever happened. What am I gonna tell my Ma?"
The young man's words had struck a cord deep within Rick that morning causing him to handle the situation with a quiet gentleness his men didn't often see.
"Now come on, Bobby. It's not your fault. Kid brothers have a way of growin' up, of doin' things their own way whether we like it or not. You can't dwell on that. You gotta remember the good times now. The times you two had together as brothers. The fun times. The family times. Those are the times you gotta hold close to your heart. Those are the only times that really mean anything."
It wasn't long thereafter that that Keppler released his brother to Rick's care, allowing the boy to be buried along side his fallen comrades from the previous day's battle.
A quiet voice broke into Rick's thoughts of that morning. "The South can't win this war, Richard."
Rick studied that man whose face was awash with light from the nearby campfire. "I know that, General," Rick acknowledged sadly. "I've known that for quite some time now."
"I figured you did. You're a smart man, Rick. A brave man. Maybe even a little stupid."
Rick smiled. "How's that?"
"I've seen you do things in battle a complete fool with a brain no bigger than a pea would turn and run from."
"Maybe when a man no longer knows why he's fightin' he doesn't care if he's foolish," was all Rick said in return.
The General offered a piece of advice to the young man he thought of as a son. "Just remember, Rick, there will be life after this war. Don't do anything so foolish as to jeopardize that. True,.....things will be different, but you'll go home to Virginia, back to your family........"
"It won't be the same," came Rick's terse interruption.
"Your family?"
"Yes. It's not the same family I left four years ago."
The older man laughed with age and experience. "And you expected it to be? Son, things change. People change. There's nothing any of us can do to prevent that. I've been a soldier all most all my life, Rick. I learned a long time ago that you don't have to be gone from home more than a few weeks for things to change. Someone dies, someone's born, this one gets married, someone moves away, one of the little ones learns to walk,........change is a natural part of life."
"But sometimes, General, someone changes in a way you'd never expect them to, ya' know what I mean?"
"Your brother?" the man questioned knowingly.
A meaningful pause followed before Rick managed to ask, "How.........how did you know?"
The General shrugged. "People like to gossip. And even a General is guilty on occasion of eavesdropping."
"You've never said anything before."
"Why would I have reason to, Rick? It's your business, no one else's. Did you think I'd condemn you for it? Think less of you because of it?"
"Some do."
"Then those who do haven't walked in your shoes, have they?"
Thoughtfully, Rick said, "No,.........no, Sir, I guess they haven't."
"Rick, it makes no difference to me what your brother does. That doesn't change my opinion of you, it never will. You're one of the finest young men and soldiers I've ever worked with. You're a natural born leader, the men like you and respect you. A person can't buy that kind of devotion. And, as much as you like to try to hide it beneath that hard-as-nails exterior, Major, you're a sentimental old softy. I've seen you handing out socks and gloves to the men, socks and gloves that I know your mother has sent for your use."
Rick shrugged, "I've got enough stuff. I'm one of the lucky ones. Some of these farm boys don't have anything and our Confederate States ain't properly providin' for 'em as promised."
The General smiled. "Sentimental old softy."
Rick chuckled. "Just don't let that get out, okay?"
"I think it's too late, Major. You've already been caught," the General warned as he reached