It was still dark when Bill awoke. Mary had suddenly gone rigid in the bed beside him. Help, Lord! he prayed silently. He reached for his wife, and her skin felt cold and clammy. His heart hammered in his chest, and his voice cracked as he called, “Mary, wake up!”
Mary groaned, and as she opened a glassy eye, her face contorted with fear. Seeing Bill, she screamed, “No! Don’t kill me!”
Bill was frantic by now. “Mary! Mary, wake up!” He shook her more vigorously.
The fear slowly passed from Mary’s face as recognition took its place. “Bill!” she gasped. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you so pale.”
“Are you all right?” Bill asked cautiously.
“I guess so. Why?” Mary asked.
“You screamed. Were you having a nightmare?”
Mary closed her eyes and suddenly began to tremble. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was with Mother, and I was in terrible pain. There was no one to help, and I felt so alone. We were at Mother’s place, and we heard someone break into the store downstairs.”
“What happened?” Bill asked.
“Mother and I were hiding upstairs, trying to be quiet, when I felt this terrible pain, and I screamed. That may be what woke you.”
“Do you remember any more of the dream?”
“We heard a boot scrape on the stairs, and I felt someone grab my shoulder. I was so afraid, Bill!”
Bill began to breathe again. He drew the slender woman into his arms and held her tight. “I grabbed your shoulder, Mary,” he whispered. “It was only a dream. You are safe here at home with me.”
Mary buried her head in Bill’s embrace, and the two were silent for some time. Her trembling body began to calm. Suddenly, she pulled from his arms and turned her tear-filled eyes toward him. “Bill, you won’t really leave me, will you?”
Bill let out a long sigh and studied his wife, trying to determine the right words to say. “Even if there is a call to arms, I don’t think they will take everyone. I may be chosen to stay here.”
“You might not have to leave?” Hope lifted her spirits and added sparkle to her voice. “Oh, Bill, that would be wonderful!”
“There is a rumor that Master Johnson will leave some men here for the city’s protection.”
“Oh, I hope you can stay.” Mary sighed, snuggling deeper into Bill’s embrace. They lay in each other’s arms until morning’s light softened the deep shadows in the room. The half-drawn curtain became visible along with the footboard of their bed.
Bill and Mary’s bed was one of the few “nice” items in their house. It was old, having been a wedding gift from Mary’s grandmother Trumbell. It had four huge corner posts and heavy lumber connecting the head to the foot. The head and foot were huge planks, carefully carved with scenes of Amity’s past. In one scene, a preacher was speaking from a pulpit. The next scene showed guards leading him away, and the next showed the same man in prison. The scenes continued until the final one showed a crown placed on the preacher’s head.
Bill had fallen in love with the heirloom the moment he had seen it, so he was thrilled when Mary’s aging grandmother had given it to them as a wedding present. Mary thought the bed was grotesque. She had covered the head and foot with quilts to hide the hideous little creatures who suffered hunger, thirst, and even death. It had remained covered until yesterday.
For some strange reason, she had pulled the quilts from the headboard and had begun to study the carvings carefully. Scene by scene, the story of Amity had begun to wrap itself around her, and strangely, it gave her comfort during the long afternoon while Bill was away in town. One scene troubled her because she couldn’t remember it in the story: the crowning of the preacher. What did that mean?
She noticed the tiny figures in the growing morning light and suddenly stirred. “Bill, what does the crown on the preacher mean?”
Unaware of her thoughts, Bill stirred and looked at Mary. “What are you talking about?”
“The figures on our headboard, silly!” Mary teased, pointing at the tiny figures carved into the headboard. “Josiah Stafford was never crowned king, though his family has continued to live at Stonewall all these years.”
Bill turned to look at the headboard. It was the first time he realized it had been uncovered. A slow smile spread across his face, and he asked, “Why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mary tried to sound flippant. “I was just thinking about it yesterday.”
Bill pondered it carefully and then responded, “Well, some feel the story is not over and that one day a man not unlike Josiah Stafford will be crowned king.”
Though that did not answer all her questions, Mary decided to change the subject, and she clambered from bed to prepare breakfast and pack for her move into town.
The day was still very young when they heard the galloping of horses on the Greenway. Hurrying to the door, Bill watched as several messengers from the Stonewall livery pounded away to the west. Though neither he nor Mary spoke of the riders, tension grew between them until they nearly had a spat over whether to take Mary’s mixing bowl. Mary finally relented, saying, “I know Mother has everything I really need. These will be here when I return.”
It was midmorning when a lone rider came into the yard. “Cotton!” he called. When Bill appeared at the door, he continued, “You are to report for troop selection one hour past noon.”
“Has there been a call to arms?” Bill asked.
“There has!” the rider snapped, wheeling his horse around. “Don’t be late!”
Bill began to fret, as time was short. They would have to leave almost immediately if he had to tote their belongings into town, deposit them at Dolly Trumbell’s house, and still make it to the assembly.
Once packed, Mary began to clean the house. “Mary!” Bill complained. “Why are you cleaning the house? No one is going to see it!”
“I don’t care!” she huffed. “I’m not leaving a dirty house.”
Rather than argue, Bill grabbed a rag and began a poor pretense of dusting the few pieces of furniture their cottage contained. A few minutes later, he was ready to leave again, but Mary was nowhere to be seen. He found her in the bedroom, lost in thought as her fingers slowly traced the crown on the head of the figure at the center of the headboard.
Bill’s anger subsided as he watched his childlike bride. Gently he said, “Mary, we really must be going.”
She turned and smiled. “I’m ready now.”
They hadn’t walked far when they began to meet people headed east: old men pushing carts, children playing tag, and women walking resolutely away from their beloved homes. Only Mary and her cart were headed west into Capri.
People were fleeing to Waterfront, Sebring, or Stonewall. Some of the people they met were from Capri, but many more were from villages farther west. Offers were frequent to take Mary and her cart with them to Stonewall, but with each offer, Mary grew more resolute. Her mind was made up.
She was shocked, however, upon her arrival in Capri. Hundreds of men were milling about the streets, but other than that, the town resembled a ghost town. Houses were empty, windows were boarded up, and people she had known all her life were gone.
When they reached Dolly’s store, they were greeted by the old clerk, Peter. “So, you’ve come to stay with your mother a bit?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mary said politely. “Is Mother here?”
“She’s in the back, getting my pay.” Peter gestured with his head.
“You’re not leaving too?” Mary asked with alarm.
“Yes.” The old man sighed. “If Jabin’s men were to come to town, I’d only be easy sport for them.”
Mary glanced at Bill but continued to address the old man. “But Peter, I had hoped you would stay with us. We could protect each other, couldn’t we?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Mary, but I’m too old to ever handle a weapon again.”
Just then, Dolly bustled into the room. Gliding over to Mary, she threw her arms around her daughter and exclaimed, “Gracious, child, I didn’t think you were ever going to come! Peter has just dealt me such a blow.” She looked coldly at the timid man. “He’s not going to stay with us!”
“I know,” Mary said softly. “He told us.”
“Men!” Dolly said in disgust, eyeing first Bill and then Peter, and then Bill again. “They up and run away at the first sign of trouble, leaving us women to fend for ourselves.”
Bill knew it would be of no use to start a fight. Neither Mary nor her mother would change their minds. Instead he turned to Mary. “I’ve got to report for duty. Would you like to come along? I don’t know how the selection process will work, but if you come, you’ll know how it turns out as soon as I do.”
Hope surged in Mary’s heart. “What will I see?” she asked as they turned to leave.
“Nothing but men and weapons,” her mother called behind her. “Be reasonable, child. Stay here and don’t tire yourself.”
“But Bill might not have to leave,” Mary called over her shoulder. “I’m praying that will be the case.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Bill looked at her in surprise, but her eyes warned him not to say another word.
In silence they walked into the street and headed for the town square. Mary hurried to keep pace with her man. She knew Bill believed in God and wanted her to believe as well, but she didn’t know why it was so important to him.
After about a block, she was nearly winded. “Bill, can you slow down a bit?” she pleaded. “I haven’t hurried this fast for weeks.”
“I’m sorry,” Bill said, slowing quickly. “Are you all right? I’m afraid my mind was miles away.”
They stopped beneath a giant oak tree, which blocked the sun and cooled the air. Mary looked longingly at the man she loved. “Where did your mind go, Bill?”
“I was hoping you had begun a relationship with the Lord.”
There it was! Mary felt the old resentment and anger returning. Was she going to get a sermon today? Her words were sharper than she intended them to be, “I already have a relationship with you, Bill. Wouldn’t you be jealous if I had one with God too?”
Bill stared at his wife in disbelief. “No! What on earth do you mean?”
Mary was angry now, and he’d asked for it. “I hate it when you spend so much time with God! You think more about Him than you do me. Last night I went to bed crying. Did you come and comfort me through my tears? No! You sat up half the night praying. And praying to whom? I didn’t see anyone. Is God a figment of your imagination? Just think: a full-grown man talking to a figment of his own imagination. The idea is absurd!”
“But,” Bill stammered, “only a moment ago you said you would be praying for the outcome of the selection process. What was that all about?”
Mary blushed deeply. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what I was saying. You seem to find relief when you pray. I thought it seemed like the right thing to say.”
Bill’s face softened. “Honey, if you had a problem too big to handle, where would you go for help?”
She eyed him suspiciously but answered, “To you or to someone who could help, I suppose.” She searched his face for a clue to the reason for the strange question.
“Precisely.” Bill grinned. “That is all I do when I pray. If I have a problem too big to solve myself, I go to someone stronger or smarter than I am. I take my problems to my heavenly Father.”
They had begun to walk again, but they slowed beneath an old cottonwood tree. Bill clasped Mary’s shoulders between his big hands. “Mary,” he began. “I love you, and I’ve made some very foolish decisions lately. I’ve created some big problems for both of us, and I am so sorry. I don’t really know where else to turn.”
“But how does talking to thin air help you?”
“I don’t talk to thin air.” Bill led his wife to the trunk of the huge tree and placed her palm against its rough bark. “Who made this tree?”
Mary was at a total loss. “What are you talking about? I suppose someone planted it and watered it a long time ago, and it grew.”
Just then, a woman came to the door of her house nearby and threw some water out the door onto a struggling garden. Bill pointed at the scene and asked, “Who thought of making water? It didn’t just happen. Someone had to make the first batch.”
Mary’s patience was growing thin. Exasperation edged her voice as she asked, “Bill Cotton, what are you getting at?”
Laughing, Bill took his wife’s tiny hand in his own and gently laid it on her burgeoning tummy. “Who made this?”
“I think you and I both had something to do with it,” she said hotly.
“Sure,” Bill said with a grin. “But who is making it grow, and who will give it that precious breath of life when it is born?”
“Isn’t that just the way of nature?” Mary asked.
“Yes and no!” Bill answered. “It is the way nature works, but nature follows a carefully designed plan. Nothing just happens in life; everything follows a plan. Someone made a plan for each of us to follow, and that plan is not always easy. Look at this old tree. It is twisted and bent from enduring violent storms as it grew, but it still stands and gives shade to all who pass beneath its branches. Those hardships were part of our Creator’s plan for this tree. He made a plan for you and me as well.”
“A plan?” Mary asked. “What plan are you talking about?”
“You—” Bill started to say, but his words were cut short by a loud trumpet blast. He jumped. “Wow, I’ve got to report!”
They scurried toward the town square. Soldiers were everywhere. The number of women present surprised them both, for the town had seemed nearly deserted. Unknown to them, most of these ladies were already packed and waited only until the selection process was done before they left town.
Mary noticed that the men were all wearing a funny black hat that had two brass straps running across it. She’d laughed at Bill’s when he’d shown it to her, but now, with all the men wearing them, they looked quite distinctive.
Bill gave her a quick hug and left her in the shade. Each unit had one hundred men, twenty abreast and five rows deep. Bill hurried to find his place.
Master Johnson had committed nearly all the soldiers in his community to the cause. He hoped to leave his town deserted so they could concentrate their efforts elsewhere. Out of twenty-five units, twenty would head for war.
Commander Barker strode through endless columns of men, pausing from time to time to look deeply into some man’s eyes. Did he see eagerness? Dread? When Barker stopped before Bill Cotton, Bill knew that Barker could see a willingness to go—but a stronger desire to stay.
Finally the commander strode to the center of the assembly. “Gentlemen, we have been called to war! Twenty units will march with the army of Amity. The other five will remain in Capri and prepare for a possible invasion. I will number each unit, one through twenty-five, and each fifth unit will stay.”
Bill glanced nervously at Mary as the numbering began. When his unit received number twenty-three, he wondered if Mary understood. He knew he was going to war, but how would Mary respond? There were further instructions about weapon selection and preparations to leave, but Bill thought only of Mary, standing there in the shade, worrying about the baby and the future.
Finally the men were released for their final preparations, and Bill slipped quickly over to where Mary stood expressionless beneath the trees. Slipping his arm about her waist, he said, “Come with me to the armory, Mary. I won’t be able to walk you back to your mother’s, but the armory is on the way.”
As if in a daze, Mary turned and tottered silently along. Her silence bothered Bill, and he stopped and looked her full in the face. “Mary, are you all right?”
Mary’s eyes suddenly flashed with anger. “Is this how your God answers prayer?”
Bill held her tight so she couldn’t run away. “The Lord doesn’t always say yes to our desires. Sometimes He asks us to do things we don’t want to do. We must trust that this is His will for us!”
“Trust God?” Mary spat. “You’re a fool, Bill Cotton! Why did I ever marry you?” She gave a violent tug and tore free from his grasp. Turning on nimble feet, she fled down the lane.
Bill watched in shock as his wife disappeared around a corner.
Mary turned the corner and found a bench near the street. Collapsing onto its shaded surface, she gasped for air. This little run and her sudden outburst had left her breathless. She hadn’t done too much lately, for Bill had insisted on doing almost everything for her, including the laundry. He didn’t want her to strain herself in her “condition,” and now she was out of shape.
Flushed and hot, Mary swept hair from her brow and allowed the breeze to cool her face. The anger she had felt moments before was ebbing away.
The sun was still high, but the intensity of its heat had passed, and as she cooled, Mary’s mind began to clear. Her first thoughts were of Bill. She felt a pang of remorse for the angry words she had spoken at their parting.
Bill would have no pleasure or comfort tonight, but neither would she. Thinking of Bill’s arms about her was too much. Her head dropped into her hands, and sobs shook her fragile body. She thought of all the hateful things she had said and done to Bill these last few days.
Is it my own fault? she wondered. Did Bill join the army just to get away from me? Suddenly, alarming thoughts entered her mind. What if Bill should be killed and he never sees his baby? Why did I leave him that way? Will he know I really love him?
Out of habit she began to rub her swollen tummy, a tune on her lips. “Hush now, baby, don’t you cry. You need not worry; your mama’s nearby. Hush now, baby, don’t you cry.” The lullaby had a calming effect on Mary, and her tears ceased to flow.
Gathering her wits about her, she began to plan her next move. Had she heard the instructions Commander Barker had given? Yes—and no. She had been so angry with God for not answering her prayer that she wasn’t really sure what the commander had said. She thought the men were to collect their weapons, food, and supplies and then camp in the square during the night. The army of Amity would march from Stonewall late tonight and camp east of Capri. They would pass through town tomorrow morning, and the men of Capri would fall in behind them.
Maybe, she thought, I can sneak down to see Bill tonight. No! Mother would never let me out of the house. But maybe I can come early tomorrow morning before he leaves.
These thoughts buoyed her spirits, and she dried her tears with a handkerchief. “I mustn’t look like I’ve been crying when Mother sees me. She hates weakness.” She’d spoken out loud, and her voice startled her in the silence. The street was completely empty, and though she had sat there quite a long time, not a soul had passed by.
Slowly she rose to leave, but a sharp pain in her lower back stole her breath away and forced her to sit down again. The pain grew in intensity, spreading around her body and drawing her abdomen tight. She could not breathe! Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Gasping for breath, she sat perplexed, wondering what had just happened.
The next time she arose, nothing happened. She carefully brushed the wrinkles from her long skirt, straightened her hair, and turned toward her mother’s home. Taking her time, Mary strolled down familiar streets, examining each house and dredging up memories of former playmates, now grown and gone.
She smiled as she reached the main road. It was paved with cobblestones from the creek and lined with large, beautiful trees. This was a lovely street anytime, but it was especially so in the fall when the leaves turned their vibrant hues of red, orange, and yellow.
Many businesses along the cobblestone street were now empty. There were no goats or cows at the butcher shop, and the carpenter’s shop was entirely boarded over. She passed the silversmith’s and the dry goods store. Further on there was a tailor shop, a cobbler’s shop, and finally, Dolly Trumbell’s.
Dolly lived in the rooms above her late husband’s toy and craft shop. Mary noted that this was the first building she’d come to that was not fully boarded up. She smiled at the etching in the glass window: Tinker Trumbell’s Toys. Her father had not been a big man. He’d been unable to do the heavy labor common to all industrious communities, so he had turned his hands to craftsmanship. Mary surveyed the laden shelves through the window. Most of her father’s wares had been sold. The store now served as an outlet for others.
Memories surrounded her as she surveyed the handiwork of other craftsmen. She remembered how her father had delicately cut thin sheets of tin and twisted them into toy soldiers, tiny rocking chairs, or entire sets of tiny furniture. She remembered his painstaking labor while carving a miniature horse and cart. The rich smell of wood, paint, and lacquer filled her senses as she climbed the steps.
Lifting the latch, she half expected the same odors to fill the room. She almost anticipated her father’s call, “Greetings, my one and only. Come see my new toy.”
But there was no familiar smell, no laughing voice. All was silent, except for the door maiden’s chime. Dolly called from the back, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Bustling in, Dolly quickly transformed the quiet room into a vision of activity. Dusting the shelves and moving articles from one spot to another, she began an endless tirade of conversation. “Oh, Mary, darling, it’s you. Thank goodness you’re not late. Did your Bill get to stay? Of course not. I can see that in your face. I’m sure not many did. Our good Master Johnson thinks that when there is trouble everyone should pack up and run to Waterfront. Just go and leave all our things here. Well, not us! We’ll show them. We can make it without men for protection. Now, I started some stew for our supper. Run back and wash up dear. My, you look dreadful! Have you been crying? Shame! Shame! You shouldn’t cry over someone who would run off and leave you at a time like this. Well, don’t worry. I’m here. Mama will take care of you now.”
Without stopping for a breath, she gently took Mary’s shoulder and pushed her into the hallway that led to the kitchen. Several rooms branched off this dimly lit corridor, and the first one Mary came to was her father’s old work room. Pausing to glance into the darkened room, she half expected to see her father sitting behind his bench, wiry white hair flying about the fringe of his bald head, his long white mustache drooping nearly to his jawbone, his eyes twinkling with perpetual youth over his wire-rimmed spectacles.
That was how she remembered him. “Ah, my pet,” he would call. “Come see what I’ve made today.” Mary instinctively wanted to run to his embrace. Tears welled in her eyes, for she had not been here the day his heart had stopped beating.
Unaware of her daughter’s thoughts, Dolly became impatient in the hall behind her. “What is the matter, child?”
“Nothing!” Mary dabbed at her eyes and turned toward the kitchen.
“Well, let’s eat before it spoils,” Dolly chided, hustling the girl on down the hall.
The smell of vegetable stew filled the kitchen. Pouring some water in a basin, Mary began to wash her hands and face. A charcoal portrait of her parents hung on the wall nearby.
The man in the picture was older, but with a black mustache and far more hair on his head than Mary could ever remember. The woman beside him was a beauty and much younger than the man. Mary wondered what had drawn the two together.
Settling at the table, she asked, “Mother, how did you and Daddy meet?”
“Gracious, child! What makes you ask that?”
“Oh, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things this afternoon, and I just saw your picture on the wall again.”
Mary learned much that evening. Dolly, more patient than usual, spoke of her past. The time was ripe for the women to share intimate thoughts together.
“Tinker” had been an old and lonely man when Dolly had met him. Dolly had been young, beautiful, and orphaned. Raised by an overbearing aunt, Dolly had sought to escape her seeming bondage.
When Tinker showed the young Dolly kindness, she jumped. The two of them were married before either of them knew what was happening. It wasn’t long, however, before Dolly became impatient with her husband. They seldom went to any social functions together. If Dolly wanted to dance, she went alone, though she was never short of partners. Men would bring her home late at night. This arrangement seemed to work quite well for several years, until Dolly became pregnant. Parties and dances were set aside to care for the new little girl.
Tinker doted on the new arrival, yielding to her every whim, smiling at her tantrums and peevish behavior. Dolly had been little better at curbing her daughter’s behavior, for it mirrored her own.
Mother and daughter ate, chatted, washed dishes, and prepared for bed. Dolly opened her heart to Mary as never before, and when Mary finally slipped under the covers of her old bed, she was exhausted. She had learned so much, but all that information only created more questions. Dolly had remained silent about her pregnancy and Tinker’s reaction to it. Mary struggled with a growing suspicion in her mind. Was that lovable, doting old man her real father? She slipped into uneasy sleep as outside the sky darkened around the tiny store on Orchard Creek Avenue.
The men with John Stafford put in a long march, even though they had not started until late afternoon. Finally they were allowed to stop for the night. They made camp beside the main road in Amity called the Greenway.
Camp was settling quickly when a voice rang out clear in the calm night air. “Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised, in the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness.” Many voices took up the chorus. One song led to another, until a trumpet brayed and silence fell. Still, a rich, sweet sense of peace settled among the tired men, and they slept soundly.
Bill Cotton and Bob Walton lingered over their meal of hard bread, cheese, and raisins and then talked until nearly dark. Upon rejoining their own units, they found their last night in Capri under the stars less than comfortable.
The men chosen to stay in Capri were not idle. While Bill slept, preparations were made to restock the troops passing through town early the next morning. Large quantities of cheese, bread, and raisin cakes were acquired and packaged. Huge containers were filled with fresh water. Extra water skins were collected. Everything was transported to a location east of town. Yet for many, the night passed slowly.
Light had not yet begun to tint the eastern sky when the men of Capri were roused for final preparations and inspection. They ate breakfast and checked packs and gear, and their units were repositioned.
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as the men stood, row by row, unit by unit, awaiting the inspection of Commander Barker.
Barker was a likeable man but aloof to most. Short in stature, he was decisive and abrupt in his actions. He had wiry black hair, intimidating black eyes, and a thick black mustache that made him quite a spectacle to behold. The authority with which he spoke left no question as to who was in charge.
He paced up and down the rows of men, carefully checking their posture and weapons. Occasionally he would order a knapsack lowered to check its contents and the order in which they had been packed.
During inspection, Bill saw Mary out of the corner of his eye. She was pacing slowly around the town square, searching for Bill among the men. Her hair was loose and was tossed by the brisk morning breeze. She was wrapped in a shawl to protect her from the cold.
Finally she found Bill among the men, and she waved. He wanted to break ranks and run to her, but he allowed himself only a smile. Barker was nearing his unit for inspection.
Bill realized that Mary must have slipped out of the house quite early and without her mother’s knowledge. Something about that caused a great peace to settle around his heart. He knew Mary loved him, and her presence here this morning was her way of telling him. If only he could assure her that he understood.
Bill’s eyes strayed from Mary, and he was shocked to see Commander Barker standing in front of him, staring into his eyes. Barker watched Bill for a moment, turned to look at Mary, and quickly looked back at Bill. Bill’s eyes were riveted upon the black and gold helm of the man standing in front of him.
Barker opened his mouth as if to speak. Bill wondered if the commander had seen and heard Mary’s angry display yesterday. Perhaps Barker could read the meaning of Mary’s presence now. Maybe he was even thinking about allowing Bill to say a decent farewell to his wife, but considering all the others who would have liked to say goodbye one more time, Bill thrust aside any hope. As if reading Bill’s thoughts, Commander Barker sighed and moved on down the line.
With inspection complete, the men were set at ease. Bill turned to gaze at Mary, and she could see the hunger in his eyes. She understood that the men could not leave their positions and that she would not be able to hold Bill in her arms, but the look in his eyes told her she was forgiven. Warmth flooded her soul, filling her with a joy she had not felt in many days. She was beginning to realize that although Bill felt driven to do his duty, he had no desire to leave her side.
It seemed like only moments before a rider dashed into town, dismounting at Commander Barker’s side. The two men spoke briefly before the horseman remounted and rode swiftly into the sunrise.
At Barker’s command, the men snapped to attention. A great gray horse bearing a large, gray-bearded man came into view. On his right was a horseman bearing the standard of Amity, a golden cross on a field of black, which fluttered freely in the morning breeze. The horses stepped lively, and close at their heels marched the trained and efficient men of Stonewall.
A rousing cheer broke from the crowd rapidly gathering along the streets. Mary found herself drawn into the emotion of the moment. Black-helmed men, smartly bearing shield and spear, marched rapidly past. Row upon row of leather-clad feet churned the street into a cloud of choking dust. The men farther back in the columns wore a cloth over their noses and mouths to keep the dust from their lungs. Only their eyes showed, giving them a fierce and impersonal appearance.
Mary shuddered. Would it require all of these men to hold back the threat of an invasion? The threat must be far greater than she had imagined.
The last row of men marched past. A trumpet sounded, and the men of Capri stepped into the street. Marching to the cadence call, they turned west into a cloud of dust.
She watched until the last row of men disappeared. The sun had climbed into the morning sky, dispelling the cold, but a chill pressed around her heart that no amount of sunshine could dispel. Turning toward Dolly’s, she knew she was in for a scolding, but still she was glad she had come.
She walked briskly, the boarded homes and businesses bothering her less than they had yesterday. Her thoughts were upon Bill and the countless men she had seen marching through town. What could require so many men? What would they face? And would they ever return?
Mary wondered if all those men had left wives behind, and if those women felt as deserted as she felt. It had never occurred to her that others might be making a sacrifice too. Stung by this revelation, she began to feel very small and selfish.
Lost in thought, Mary found herself at her mother’s door. Stopping for a moment to gather her wits, she grasped the handle, lifted the latch, and stepped inside.