The Kunkle Farm
Rush, Pennsylvania
Mid-November 1862
With snow swirling around her ankles and threatening to blow up her skirts fifteen-year-old Rebecca made her way home from the general store with no mail again. Nothing had been heard from her brothers or the Hickok boys for some time now. She felt as if this terrible war was going to go on forever. No one she knew seemed to have any idea of what was really happening. News of this or that battle, all in places she’d never heard of, seemed as unreal as the stories she read in her books…fairy tales filled with dragons and goblins and all kinds of evil creatures. Her family had been informed that her brother George had been captured in August at the battle of Bull Run which was somewhere in Virginia. All the family had heard so far was that he was in some Confederate prison camp somewhere. Of course, they’d been told that prisoners were often paroled so perhaps he had been returned to his unit. Letters were so slow to arrive it was hard to keep a good face. Other families in the small town had received the most dreaded news possible and she prayed every day that neither her folks nor that dear lady, Miss Betsey, who had raised the three Hickok boys, would have to suffer so.
Scuttling back inside after stomping the snow from her shoes, she dumped her few purchases on the table and warmed herself with what was left of the coffee on the stove. Sitting and sipping she reminisced about the day she and her folks had arrived here. Traveling from Kunkletown in eastern Pennsylvania had been a long arduous trip. Her father was a miller by trade and had moved his large family frequently before finally settling in Rush. They’d even lived in New Jersey for awhile. Of course, what mattered most to her Pa was where the rivers were… one can’t be a miller without water to turn the wheel he was always saying. The younger members of the family had arrived at intervals along the way. She fervently hoped Pa would not take it in his head to move again with little Sarah only two years old. She giggled thinking of her father, the only man left in that household of women. It’s a wonder he comes home at all these days…says everywhere he looks it “ruffles ands ribbons.” “Poor man,” she sighed with a grin.
A lot of folks were on the move however, she reminded herself. That Homestead Act the Congress had passed not too long ago was stirring up all sorts of ideas in people’s heads. What ever could be out west that was any different from what they had right here was more than she could imagine. “I suppose,” she murmured as she rocked and sipped the coffee,” being able to acquire that much land for nothing more than the duty to develop it was quite a temptation for those who were wishing for more space to spread out on.” As for me, she thought, smiling and setting her now empty cup aside, I like my little mountain home. From what I hear fur trapping and lumbering are the main money-making occupations out west but I suppose everyone still farms. One does have to eat no matter what.
Rousing herself from her reverie she rose to put the kettle on for the noonday meal and more coffee while glancing out the window. Someone was walking up the road from the village with a haversack on his shoulder and wearing what looked like, from this distance, a broad brimmed hat.
Rebecca hesitated not believing her eyes. Then gasped, “Ma,” she screamed almost choking in her excitement. “Ma, I think that’s David Hickok! Oh, merciful God, he looks exhausted and something seems wrong with his arm but it’s hard to see in this swirling snow.” Grabbing her coat from the peg on the wall, she dashed out onto the front porch and waved. “David? David? Is that you?” She stumbled, slipping on the fresh snow. David hurried forward to catch her before she fell.
“Miss Becky, oh what a sight for sore eyes you are! Of course, it’s me. According to my commanding officer I am no longer needed. Likely this bum shoulder has something to do with that but who am I to question?”
He studied her ruddy-cheeked face and laughed. “We’d better get you back inside where it’s warm before you catch your death. That brother of mine will have my hide if something should happen to you.”
Rebecca blushed an even brighter shade of red. “Which brother might that be?” She dimpled, taking David by his extended arm and leading him toward her house. “You’d better come in for a bit. I know no one is home at your place. They all piled in the buggy and went somewhere this morning. I do hope they don’t have trouble getting back with this snow. I certainly didn’t expect it. You must be freezing. How far have you had to walk? You should have let someone know you were coming. Oh, David, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I can tell you’ve been wounded but tell me, will you be all right? You’re not invalided are you? Have they really let you come home? Are you home to stay or just for awhile?”
“Whoa, hold up there, honey…too many questions all at once. Like I said let’s get you inside before you start to freeze. I could use a nice hot cup of your coffee with maybe a drop of your Pa’s whiskey? I have had quite a lengthy tramp. I guess the postman decided to keep his rig in the barn today. I sure didn’t see anyone around willing to drive all the way out here but I wasn’t about to wait. Five miles is nothing after all the roads we’ve traveled this past year. Asa is fine by the way. I did get to see him briefly before the doctors told me to go on home. Our outfit is on its way to the next encounter, I guess, but who knows where that’ll be. He’ll be all right. Turns out he’s a lot smarter than I ever gave him credit for…little brother and all that, but you wouldn’t understand, I guess.”
Rebecca grinned and gently squeezed his good arm. “Ha,” she said, ‘There’s nothing you can tell me that I don’t all ready know about brothers, big or little. Mama,” she called as they came through the door into the hall, “would you pour some of that hot coffee for a weary man? Poor Mr. Hickok is footsore and about frozen to his skinny bones. Looks to me he might need some fattening up.” She giggled at his affronted frown and he grinned back.
Sarah Kunkle hurried forward wiping her hands on her apron before enveloping the cold and tired ex-soldier in her welcoming arms.
“Sit, David, sit by the fire and warm yourself before you take a chill.” She steered him toward the hearth and reached for the whisky jug on the mantle with her free hand. Rebecca quickly placed the mug of hot coffee near his good hand and went to slice some of the still warm bread they had baked that morning.
While David slowly thawed bringing the color back into his face and some sparkle to his eyes, the women fussed over his wounded arm and the condition of his bedraggled clothes.
“Surely you didn’t have to walk all the way from Kentucky?” Rebecca asked with concern. “You appear to have been on the road for days.”
“No ma’am,” David laughed, “but there were times it sure felt like it. I was able to ride the train most of the way. Not too comfortable these days but sure better than being on foot. I had hoped to keep the horse, but too many are getting’ worn out or killed so I turned mine in for the train passage. Truth be known, I think I’ve ridden enough miles on horseback to last me awhile. Sure feels good to just sit back and see a familiar sight like this cozy kitchen.” His eyes roamed over the tidy array of utensils and supplies that spoke of feminine nurturing and domestic peace. The meager fires and cold hillside camps suddenly seemed merely a bad dream. War, in this kitchen, was impossible to even imagine. David felt something in his chest relax. Healing had begun.
He downed his coffee and the warm bread and freshly churned butter with gratitude. Rising to his feet he wanted more than anything to take both women in his arms and cry his heart out, but gathering himself he thanked them with the glimmer of choked-back tears in his eyes. “I must keep on, dear friends. Please, tell me that my grandmother is well and that I will find things at home as they should be.”
Rebecca and her mother exchanged a long look but hastily assured him that most everything was just as he had left it. “Your uncle has managed very well, but you know your grandmother, she is always ready for something new and different. I expect she will have some surprises for you. You’d better get yourself over there, sir. I wouldn’t want her accusing me of waylaying you. Does she know you are on your way? You have been in touch with her haven’t you?”
David looked a little abashed and answered that he had sent word but he had no idea if it had been received. He again thanked Sarah and Rebecca profusely. What he might find to say about George’s predicament that wouldn’t upset them more eluded him. Of course he might have been paroled, but with no way of knowing it would be better to say nothing at all than to make matters worse, Tugging at his coat sleeve, he took note through the window that the snow was falling more heavily. Hefting his haversack, he jammed on his hat, thanked the women again as he made his goodbyes and set out for the last half mile of his journey. He felt as if he was still caught up in some sort of dream. This place he’d grown up in seemed more strange to him than any place he remembered ever being. He trudged toward the lamp lights in the windows of his home. Through his blurred vision and the swirling snow he saw the door open silhouetting the small figure standing with open arms awaiting him.