April 1865
Will had a uniform coat with holes in it, a boot with a sole flapping, no money, no horse, and no weapons when he tottered out of the hospital in Farmville. Nights were still cold. One of the nurses took pity on him and gave him a loaf of bread, a blanket, and a flint and steel to make a fire. He still felt ill, but the hospital was turning out all Confederate soldiers. The war was over—they were on their own. He’d never been in this country before. He walked west, stopping often, conserving his bread. He camped at night under whatever tree was available. After four days walking, he came upon a gray-bearded farmer mending fence near Appomattox.
Will approached him. “Sir, I’m a stranger here. Can you tell me the nearest town with a good telegraph?”
“Lynchburg, about twenty miles west. You don’t look in much shape to walk it, though. You a soldier?”
“Was. Just got out of the Federals prison. I need to make it to family in Indiana.”
The farmer looked at him kindly. “You look about the age of my son. Lost him at Chickamauga. Wounded myself at Cold Harbor. Come on up to the house. I ‘spect my wife can find you food and a bed. Tomorrow I’ll drive you to Lynchburg, get a telegram sent for you. I don’t imagine you have any money.”
“No, sir, but I’ll fix that fence for you. I can work.”
The farmer waved it off. “You’re in no condition, boy. If my son were wandering home, I’d want someone to show him kindness. But he’ll never come,” ended the farmer sadly, turning away.
Will accepted gratefully. The next day, he sent a short telegram to Julia.
Julia Johannsen,
I want to see you all. In Virginia. Send cash to Lynchburg bank.
Your brother,
Will
✳ ✳ ✳
Julia heard a knock at the door. The servants were busy elsewhere, and Hiram was at the office, so she answered the door herself.
“Telegram, ma’am. Is there a reply?”
Julia read the short note and began crying. She hadn’t heard from Will for months and wondered if he was alive. Despite all her attempts, the authorities wouldn’t let her visit him—and since the last commandant took charge of Douglas, she couldn’t even get a confirmation as to whether he was alive or dead.
“Yes—take this down. Will, funds on their way to First National Bank in Lynchburg stop. Go to Huntington, steamboat arranged, stop. Love Julia stop.”
She signed for the telegram, and the messenger hurried away.
Kirsten entered the room. “What’s all the fuss?”
“It’s Will! He’s alive. He’s coming home.”
“Is that all? That no account Confederate brother of yours would have done better to die in the war. Why, he could have killed Hiram.”
“And I’m just happy they both survived. My brother would have quit years ago if he could have. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see he gets home,” observed Julia with some asperity. She grabbed a bonnet and headed for the stable.
✳ ✳ ✳
Albinia heard the news of Will’s impending arrival and sank to her knees, thanking God. Then she hurried to the barn, where Sara was feeding chickens and Robert mending a harness.
“Ma! Pa! It’s Will! He’s coming home!”
“Praise God,” said Sara. “When?”
“Probably a week or so—he’s in Virginia. I don’t know how he got there or why. Julia is arranging passage for him. Pa, could we make him a room, or build a little cabin or something? I want him to know he’s welcome here. It won’t be like coming home to Lexington, but….”
“Sure we can. I’ll get Ned and some others; I’ll bet they’ll help.”
Albinia hesitated. “Maybe. But Pa, remember, he’s a Confederate, or was. Not all of our black friends are likely to be charitable toward him. Some of our white friends suffered under Morgan’s raid. You know that better than anyone does. Look what almost happened with you and Will. They know you and me, but the gray uniform represents something that tried to put them in chains. They don’t know Will. And after Lincoln’s assassination….”
Robert shook his head. “You’re right, of course. It’s more just than people despising them because of the color of their skin—it’s what’s in a person’s heart that counts. But they don’t know Will. I’ll hire some help from town, not tell them what it’s for.”
“I’ll help,” said Olivia, coming up behind Albinia. She and Jemima arrived from Canada the week before. “And Luther will too, if he wants to eat. Any brother of yours is family to me. I can lift logs and chop wood.”
“Thank you, Olivia! Bless you!” cried Albinia, hugging her.
Luther walked in from the forge. “Miss Albinia, I remember your brother. He was always kind to me. I admit when I saw him here in that uniform, it fired somethin’ in me. But I thought about it, and what you and the parson talked about—livin’ at peace. My mama been on me about it somethin’ fierce. Guess my sister now too,” he said, grinning at Olivia. “I want to give it a try. I figger we can’t change how everyone thinks. Some folks just gonna hate. But I tried that and it don’t work. I still hope the slave catchers rot in hell. But Mama’s workin’ on me to pray for them. If she can do it, I guess I can. She say we got to love people one at a time, even those that hate us. And Ruth, she say the same.”
“Thank you, Luther. That means a lot, knowing all you and your family have gone through. Let’s get the wagon and go tell Peter. Maybe Ruth would want to come? I think Peter has some things to talk to you two about the wedding. It would be like old times, you driving me. I don’t think we’d have trouble, but….”
“You can count on me, Miss Albinia. I’m pretty good with a revolver these days.”
✳ ✳ ✳
The roads and byways were full of Confederates trying to make their way home. Will saw many of them pass. He got Julia’s telegram and stayed with the farmer for a week waiting for funds, which Julia sent by courier. When the funds arrived, he paid the farmer handsomely and bought a new suit of clothes, throwing away his uniform. He traveled by stagecoach to Staunton, and then by rail to Huntington. Once there, he had to wait two days for an Ohio Zephyr steamboat. When he boarded, the captain showed him to the most luxurious stateroom on the boat. There was feast at every meal. Will could hardly grasp the difference from Point Lookout only a month earlier.
He tried not to think about the future, just living in the moment enjoying his surroundings. From freezing and sweating, hunger and rags, guards wanting to torture or shoot him, to a soft bed with silk sheets, roast beef and pudding, and a steward who jumped at his every wish. It felt like a different world. Will learned from the steward that Ohio Zephyr extended free passage to every soldier trying to reach home regardless of uniform—though not the luxury he experienced. After three days on board, Will felt physically recovered. Mentally, scenes haunted his dreams from battle, and from the camps. He woke more than once in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with fever. He purchased a Colt revolver and a Spencer rifle from the money Julia sent, and he kept them near.
Arriving in Cincinnati, he found Julia and Hiram at the dock waiting for him. There was a throng, many looking anxiously at the boat in hopes of catching a glimpse of a loved one returning from war or prison.
“Will! Over here!” Julia shouted.
Will waved and went to hug his sister. “Thanks, Julia, for bringing me. I owe you.” He looked over at Hiram—still gaunt, with a haunted look in the once friendly eyes. They shared a look of understanding, and then looked away. No words were needed.
Will stayed with Julia a few days, and then made the journey to Madison to see the rest of his family. Julia gave him a big buckskin quarter horse named Dusty, with dark legs, mane, and tail, and all of the tack needed for him. Will rode in and saw that guards still manned the gates at the farm. He gave his name and business, and they let him pass. Before he could make it to the barn, his family surrounded him, laughing and crying. Lydia ran to meet him, but seemed shy and a little reserved. Will couldn’t believe how tall she was at ten.
“Look at you!” he said. “You’re practically a lady!”
“Will—you look thin. And different, somehow. Are you home for good?” Lydia asked him.
“I … I don’t know, Lyddie—seems funny to call you that—you seem so grown up.” He dismounted.
Sara came and hugged him a long time. “I’m so glad to have you home, Son. So glad.”
Robert extended a hand that ended in a bear hug. “I’m glad we made it, Son. Can you forgive me?”
“Sir, there’s nothing to forgive. I’m the one that stands in need of your forgiveness, for my bull headed pride.”
“It’s over, Son. It’s over. Lincoln said it best—’With Malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.’ We need to bind up each other, and others. Welcome.”
“Thanks, Pa.”
Finally Albinia, Peter, Luther, Ruth, and Ned came over.
“We waited for you, Will,” said Albinia after a hug.
“Waited?”
She beamed at Peter. “We have a double wedding—me and Peter, and Luther and Ruth. Next week. We wanted to wait for you to be home. I … I’ve never had a wedding with all my family. You will stay, won’t you? Come and see!”
She led all of them over to a modest log cabin, much like the one the family used to have in Kentucky, except it had a real bed in it and three glass windows.
“It’s yours, Will. We want you to know you’re welcome here.”
Will shook his head in disbelief. “That…. That’s kind of you, Binia. I appreciate it. I can’t say I know my plans just yet.”
Luther attempted to take his horse, but Will said he’d care for him.
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved when you came through before,” Luther said. “I know you never meant us harm. Miss Albinia, she’s the reason we’re free. I’d do anything for her.”
Will smiled sadly and offered a hand, which Luther hesitated and then shook vigorously. “You’re a good man, Luther. I hope you find happiness.”
“Well, we want to do the ceremony with Miss Albinia and Pastor Peter—but we’ll likely have to do it again next year. Pastor Peter say the government might recognize Negro marriages next year.”
“Just a reason to celebrate twice,” said Will, grinning.
“You right about that!” said Luther, slapping his thigh.
✳ ✳ ✳
The day of the wedding was bright and clear. They all traveled north to Lancaster, to Peter’s church. A pastor friend from Cincinnati came to marry Peter and Albinia, now Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. Peter officiated for Luther and Ruth’s marriage—no other white minister would do it.
Ruth insisted that Peter read Galatians 3:28: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.” Jemima and Sara took one another’s hands, cried together, and hugged everyone.
At the reception, Will sat apart, under a tree. After a time, Robert came looking for him.
“Anything wrong, Son?” he asked.
“What will you do with the farm in Kentucky, Pa?”
“Sell it most likely, unless you want it.”
“No, you and Ma should get for it what you can.”
“But what about you, Son?”
“I don’t know, Pa. You asked if anything is wrong. It’s me. I’m wrong. It’s like I’m broken inside and I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe I’ll never be right again. But I know I don’t fit here. I can’t go back. Sometimes I wake and I’m in the middle of a battle, reaching for a gun that isn’t there. Sometimes I’m back in prison, listening to the men dying.”
“I know about part of that, but I can’t say I know how you feel. I do know that God provides healing, in time. Keep looking to Him, Son.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, Pa. I keep thinking about the verse that says ‘I lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from?’ I wish I knew the answer, Pa. The war took almost everything—it could have taken it all. I almost killed you. Ma and the girls never would have forgiven me. I could have killed Hiram that night at Ashland, though I didn’t know he was there. Or Luther. I lost Jenny. And I did kill so many. How many wives, mothers, sisters and brothers are looking today for one that will never come home, who died by my hand? I don’t know where my help comes from. I don’t know how to heal my wounds, or the nation’s wounds. I think all I can do is take a stand, to love and be a friend, to never again kill because someone orders me to. But I need some time. I’m thinking of going west, to the mountains. I want to find peace, if it exists. Somewhere it must.”
✳ ✳ ✳
The next day, everyone turned out. To Will’s surprise, even some of Albinia’s Negro friends from Georgetown came.
Lydia and Sara were crying. “Will, you don’t have to go. There’s a place for you here.”
Will smiled and started to tousle Lydia’s hair as he used to, then thought better of it.
“I know you don’t understand. I’m not sure I do myself. But I do know I have to go. I promise to write. I’ll come back if I can, someday. Will you write to me?”
“Oh, yes, Will!” she said, hugging him fiercely.
He watched as the three couples—his parents, Peter and Albinia, Luther and Ruth—stood with arms around one another. Then he mounted Dusty and pointed him west along the river. It was time to look for home.