Page 83 of Always to Remember
“They treated you kindly, did they?”
He didn’t want to talk about his past, especially with Meg standing in the room. She seemed on the verge of forgetting the past. He didn’t want the fires of hatred rekindled. “That’s all in the past. Can’t dwell on it.”
“You can’t because you’re young. I’m old. I’ve earned the right to dwell on whatever I want. My grandson, Robert, told me about Gettysburg. Told me the Union army dug a few big holes and dropped our boys into them.”
Meg gasped from the shadows, and Clay wondered if the war would ever leave these people in peace.
“A mass grave for our men who fought with honor. Do you know if that’s true?” Mama Warner whispered hoarsely, tears welling in her eyes.
Clay enfolded his hands around hers. “Mostly.”
“There’s no such thing as mostly. It’s either true or it ain’t.”
He sighed heavily. “A mass grave was dug, but the men from Cedar Grove weren’t buried there.” He closed his eyes against the memory. Meg’s hatred would grow. The people in town would probably hang him at dawn, and this dear old woman would wish she’d never welcomed him into her house. Opening his eyes, he cleared his throat. “Because I wouldn’t fight, I spent some time as a prisoner at a fort. When they released me, I went to find Kirk, to see if he wanted me to bring any messages back. I got there too late. They’d fought the battle. Bodies littered the ground.” He shook his head. “So many bodies.”
“My grandson died there.”
He squeezed her hands. “Yes, ma’am, but I found this little clearing away from the battlefield. It was so green. It looked as though it had never been touched by war, as though it never would be. I dug the graves and made markers. I buried Kirk and the others beneath the shade of the trees.” He didn’t see any reason to mention that he was unable to locate everyone. He’d given them markers and a place anyway.
“So my grandson has a proper resting place?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She closed her eyes as though too weary to keep them open.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked.
She opened her eyes. “Sorry?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry I didn’t bring them home. I didn’t have a wagon. I didn’t have a horse. I didn’t know how I was gonna get myself home. I know I should have found a way to bring them home. I shouldn’t have left Kirk there. He wouldn’t have left me.”
“Do you know that, Clayton? Do any of us know what we’ll do when the time comes?”
“I should have brought them home.”
“You dug them a grave. You made them a marker. Did you say a prayer for them?”
“Yes, ma’am. Twenty-two prayers.”
“We all pay a price when war comes to call. You’ve paid more than your share. As have I. My dear husband died at the Alamo so we would be free to join the Union. His grandson died so we could be separate from the Union. Which one died in vain?”
“Neither,” he said without hesitation. “They both died fighting for what they believed in.”
She gave him a warm knowing smile. “Maybe you’re a smart one after all.” She patted his cheek. “I have a favor to ask.”
“I’d do anything for you.”
“I know. Meg, bring me my Bible.”
As Meg leaned over the bed, the flame from the lamp cast a yellow glow over her face, and Clay saw the trail of her tears. Without looking at him, she gently placed the worn book in Mama Warner’s hands.
“I want a marker made of stone,” Mama Warner said. “I want the words cut deep so the rain and wind can’t take them away any time soon.” She folded back the cover on the Bible, and a small piece of paper slipped onto the quilt. “Those are the words I want.”
Clay picked up the paper and read the words inscribed in unsteady script. “I lived a life filled with Texas tears and sunshine and never regretted a moment of either.”
“Will you do it for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
