Tara's Forgotten Son

Tara's Forgotten Son

Lana Mowdy

Published by Lana Mowdy at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Lana Mowdy

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Tara’s Forgotten Son

Chapter 1

There she was. His mother, Scarlett, was looking more frail and pallid than

he had ever seen or could imagine.

Wade knew when he received a telegram from his sister that he had to come quickly. But this sight was beyond anything his mind had conjured while waiting anxiously on the train. He had never expected to see his mother like this. He knew that no matter where she might go, Tara would always be her home. Whenever she felt sad or lonely she would return, and now, in her hour of sickness, she had requested that she

be brought home.

Mother, who had always been so healthy, energetic, and determined, looked weak. Her, once, jet black hair lay limp and tangled around her timid, lifeless face. Her green eyes that had always scared him just a little were closed when he walked into the room. Even her small, delicate hands which had been so powerful when they chose to strike now lay shriveled on the bed. Although he was a grown man, and this was his house, he feared going near her, in case she might wake.

As he quietly laid down his valise, he looked around the room. He had restored Tara to the way it had once looked before the war, but this room was prepared especially for his mother. The heavy emerald green velvet curtains were tied back so the lace sheers could sway lightly with the breeze from the open window. From her bed, she could see the magnificent rows of cotton, the trees, and garden through the picture window. On one table, a large vase stood erect, holding dozens of freshly gathered magnolias, with smaller crystals holding camellias surrounding it. On every table around the room lay varieties of camellias, gathered from Rhett’s beloved Dunmore Landing, and brought especially for her.

Scarlett looked tiny and frail against her green satin sheets. Her huge canopy bed engulfed her shrinking body, and she shivered coldly beneath her large velvet coverlet, fringed with golden bobs. Even the pale pink wallpaper with rose colored flowers did not highlight the flush in her cheeks as it had so many times before. She lay there, motionless, with only the gentle movement of her chest as evidence that she still had

life within her.

Ever so gingerly, Wade sank into a velvety plush chair, and quietly released a

long breath that he had been holding since he walked into the room. As her eyes began to open so slightly, fear gripped his heart. Without warning, suddenly Scarlett’s eyes flickered open. Wade remained seated, emotionless. Her eyes had not changed. They were true green without a hint of hazel. Her eyes seemed to take on the shape of cat’s eyes and they reflected her feelings so genuinely. However, at this moment, the look in her eyes was intriguing. He had not seen this look before, and it baffled him. Although he had seen her display a wide array of emotion, this one was unfamiliar, and although it seemed to drawn him to her, the look was disconcerting. As quickly as the fear began, it suddenly turned to agony as he saw the look in eyes.

Hopelessness.

He began to study her more closely and saw that the fine lines around her

eyes had become definitely more pronounced since he had seen her last. Around her mouth were distinct laugh lines, and small freckles had scattered across her nose. Her swanlike neck was covered with loose skin as if it had grown too big for her body. But, of course she had not lost her sense of fashion as her folded down covers revealed a creamy satin nightgown trimmed with lace around the daringly low neckline and wrists. Wade fought the urge to reach over and pull the covers over her revealing bed dress.

In her hand, she held a locket, and though he had seen it many times before, he felt the need to pry it from her fingers, and lay eyes on the images inside. Those images would revive his contempt for her. They would remind him of all the pain and misery she had caused during his life. Those images would drive out the pity and sadness that he felt and would revive his jealous passion which had fueled so many decisions during his life, most of which had detrimental repercussions. On one side of the locket was a picture of Rhett Butler, whom she had loved for so long, and on the other, a picture of Cat, her daughter with Rhett, whom she obviously loved far more than her other two children. Those two pictures reminded him of the years he had spent wondering where she was, silently pleading for her affection, and seeing that affection lavishly granted to another child.

After years of setting up boundaries around his heart when dealing with his mother, Wade knew that down deep, she still pulled the strings. She still had control and she could see his vulnerability. For years, she had instilled fear in him as he clung to her for protection, and though he fought for many years to break the bonds that hold a child to its mother, he could feel himself being drawn to her.

He reminded himself that in her hand she held what was most dear to her. That locket held her dearest memories and her most important affairs. He had never been her favorite, and he had felt the sting of her abandonment many times.

Almost as if she could read his mind, without a word, she reached her empty hand to him. His eyes followed her movement, but rather than submit to her unspoken request, he stared at her hand, immobile. His lips quivered involuntarily at the irony of the situation. Now, she held out a hand to him. After years of yearning for her comfort and pleading for her affection, she reached out to him, not with armfuls of gifts and trinkets, but an empty hand. What could she want from him that he could possible give?

Within his mind, a battle raged. Eternal love for his mother battled the hardened crust around his heart. Jealousy raged as he looked at her other hand which held her heart’s desire. How he longed to be a piece of her heart, but years of desertion nurtured bitterness within his mind. He tried to consider her a business partner for he had become a shrewd businessman, but his business tactics were no match for hers, and he knew it. He had no control over her, and to open his heart to her opened him up to personal scrutiny. Too many times he had reached to her in faith, giving her the power to devastate his very being.

But, maybe, just this once…

He reached out to her, carefully, slowly, anxiously on guard. Still perplexed by the strange look in her eye, he was startled when he heard her voice which sounded sweetly angelic.

Scarlett clung to his hand, the moment she felt it within hers. She felt that his hands were cold and trembling. Instantly, regret and frustration flooded her mind. For just an instant she was sidetracked from the words she had so carefully rehearsed over the past few months. She had spent so much of her life reminding herself to never look back, lest she become overcome with grief. But she knew that she had to look back, now. This was her last chance to save what mattered most. Only looking back could secure her future, and she knew that her plan would be successful. She had to concentrate, fight back the irritation that she had so often felt with Wade’s timidity, and speak the words that she knew she had to say.

"Wade, my darling, do you remember…?

Chapter 2

Wade did remember…

The first two years of Wade Hampton Hamilton’s life were quite uneventful and rather hard to remember. Vague feelings of safety surrounded him when he thought of those days, and he had good reason to associate pleasant feelings with that part of his life. For the most part, he was loved and pampered by everyone around him. If he whimpered, Aunt Melly held him gently and rocked him to sleep, and the big, strong arms of Rhett Butler held him on occasion.

Very soon, though, those feelings of security faded away. It seemed as if within days, the people that had once pampered him were suddenly occupied. Ladies that had always spoken softly and moved gracefully were suddenly filled with anxiety. They ran around quickly with stern faces, and sharp voices. The look in their eyes relayed their uneasiness as they darted around, carefully observing strangers and shrieking in the midst of danger.

Whispers began to drift through the air, The Yankees are headed this way, but they will never break through Johnston’s lines to Atlanta. Wade’s tiny ears perked. Did you hear about what the Yankees did in Richmond? I heard that they slaughtered the women and children as they ransacked the city. Wade scooted himself back into the corner of the room where ladies had gathered by candlelight to prepare bandages. Without being noticed, he sat quietly listening to tales of brave cavaliers fighting the monsters that ravaged through the great Southern states. Wade soon learned more of war, death, and the Yankees than a young child should ever know. Listening to these conversations conjured images in his mind of devilish looking men that would only partake in evil doings. Yankees murdered friends and numerous Southern men. They enjoyed the massacre of women, and laughed when they ran their swords through young, blond-haired little boys.

Late at night, when the women who had been working hard all day, finally fell into bed at night, he would lie awake in his room. He could hear the explosions far in the distance, and when he listened very hard, he could hear the screams of the soldiers as they fell. He could hear the battle cry of the Confederate soldiers as they rushed to meet the Yankee soldiers, swords drawn and pistols loaded. In his mind, he could picture the battle raging just a few miles to the north of Atlanta, seeing the sneers on the Yankee faces as they tried to plow through the Confederate lines. When he closed his eyes, he could see the Confederate soldiers walking into Atlanta, bleeding and wounded. At night his mind screamed with terror, waking from a nightmare filled with Yankees coming toward him to run their sword through his belly, but no one could hear him. He sobbed quietly in his bed, unable to verbalize his fear.

Soon, his nightmare came became reality. Crouching on Aunt Pitty’s porch, Wade peered through the rails to see a vision more horrifying than he had imagined. Soldiers were pouring onto Peachtree Street, holding each other to keep from falling as blood gushed from wounds. As they passed by him, he saw sun scorched faces and bloody, tattered uniforms. Hoarse voices cried, Water! Can I please have some water? as his mother and the other women of the house dispensed water as quickly as they could and wrapped wounds trying to stop the bleeding. Blood seemed to flow through the middle of the street as wounded soldiers continued to pour into town. The scorching summer sun beat down on the miserable scene, testing the courage and strength of those caring for the soldiers.

Through the wails of the dying, he heard his mother’s voice, Go to the back yard, Wade. Go play!, but he was too terrorized to move. What if there were Yankees in his backyard? His mother was here. She could protect him from the coming destruction. He continued to stare, mesmerized by the scene before him, sucking his thumb as silent tears ran down his face. There was no calming himself as he sat staring bleakly as the sun began to fade deep into the night, always keeping an eye on his mother.

Years later, as he looked back on that day, he remembered his sudden onset of hiccups that sometimes lasted for days. When he became frightened or nervous, he would begin to hiccup, and he could not stop until he calmed down by convincing himself that the nightmare would end and the safety would return. However, the terror of this day did not end. These memories lived in his nightmares until he was a grown man, and the hiccups continued to plague him. Innocence of youth was lost at such a young age, and he felt the sting of adulthood too quickly.

Although the bombing slowed at points, it continued for days. With each shell drop, Wade clung to his mother’s skirts, trembling uncontrollably. He tried desperately to stay silent, but every nerve in his body prickled with terror. Against his will, his throat released whimpers and tiny screams until his mother could take it no longer and she sent him away to nestle himself in a corner, wrapping his tiny arms around himself.

Even Aunt Melly could no longer let him sit on her lap and snuggle. Most days, she stayed in bed, tired, pale, and quiet. He would sneak in at times just to be near her. Her weak voice sang through the room as he heard her say, Come sit with me, darling, and I will sing to you. Rest with me, dear, for you shall soon have rooms filled with pastries and jams. She would let him climb onto the bed and lay in her arms as she sang him to sleep. However, as soon as mother came in to the room, she sent him to the backyard to play, without seeing him. Reluctantly, he left after studying her face, chiseled with worry and fatigue. He ran from her presence to his secret hiding place. Under the back porch, he had been exploring one day, and found a small hole. He could barely fit inside, but it was a safe, warm place. He could lie there very quietly and pretend that the bombs were soft, pattering raindrops. The walls were cabinets lined with more food than his young mind knew the names of. He could remember good food, milk, and security. He pictured Aunt Melly rocking him to sleep and his mother’s soft face as she laid him in his crib.

After a few hours hiding in his cave under the porch, he couldn’t stand thinking of the food any longer. He climbed the long steps to the kitchen where the few servants that remained were huddling. He made his way back up the stairs and peered inside Aunt Melly’s room. Although his mind was well developed, his speech was hindered from fright and lack of companionship. Wade hungry, were the only words that he could find as he reached his mother and called to her from behind Aunt Melly’s door. He peeked inside to the dark room. He could tell something was terribly wrong. Aunt Melly was lying in the bed with her enormous belly. Mother was talking incessantly about nothing, but when she saw Wade’s shape in the doorway, she started to follow him. Aunt Melly begged Scarlett to stay and sent Prissy to feed him.

After another meal of hominy, he went to his room, feverishly frightened. The bombs were still exploding, seemingly outside his window, Mother could not be reached, and now Aunt Melly was ill. It seemed as if the whole world had come to an end, and although he did not understand his own fleeting mortality, he understood the severity of the situation. He laid there and quietly cried himself to sleep, dreaming of Yankees, trying to fight them alone.

Suddenly, without warning, a screaming voice could be heard below his window. As he listened to his mother hysterically sobbing, Prissy came into his room to try and get him dressed, but he fought her with everything in him. He held to her skirts, hiccupping, refusing to cooperate, listening for his mother’s voice. Scarlett suddenly appeared in the doorway, ordering them downstairs. Behind him, he could see Uncle Rhett’s shadow. He immediately felt calm, knowing that they were no longer alone. As he followed Prissy downstairs his hiccups subsided, and he nestled himself in the wagon beside his Aunt Melly and her new little baby.

Mercifully, he could never remember the events that followed. He laid his head in Prissy’s lap, closing his eyes, and pretending he was in his safe place under the porch. Even at the sound of explosions, he envisioned fireworks and as the flames licked so near that he could feel the heat, he thought of being cuddled near the fireplace at Aunt Pitty’s while Aunt Melly rocked him to sleep. He knew Uncle Rhett was in charge, and though the wagon jolted, the baby cried, and Aunt Melly whimpered, he knew they would be safe.

Suddenly, he heard Uncle Rhett’s voice bidding Scarlett goodbye as he left them in the middle of the road to Tara. Wade called to his mother. He knew that his hero had left, and he was alone again. Suddenly his heart began to beat wildly as he saw Uncle Rhett ride into the distance toward the explosions. His mind screamed, Come back. We need you! but his voice was not heard above the rain and Rhett continued to ride out of sight.

Ever so slowly, they made the journey to Tara. Wade tried to envision his favorite place under the porch, but it was no use now. No pretending could keep away the gnawing hunger, exhaustion, and fear. Darkness was all around him, threatening of Yankees. His mother raised her voice, Stop sniveling, Wade Hampton. I cannot take it anymore! He tried desperately to stop crying as he held onto Prissy’s skirts. He wanted to be a little man. He wanted to be strong and brave for his mother, but his efforts were futile, and with no other warning, he felt his mother’s hand as it stung his cheek. Fear beyond comprehension seized him. He fell completely silent, as his heart broke.

When they finally reached Tara, he followed Prissy inside the house, got a drink of water, and then searched for Aunt Melly. She didn’t hear him or wake up when he crept into her room and crouched in the corner, where he stayed until morning.

Chapter 3

Wade woke with a gnawing in his belly that just wouldn’t subside, but over the next few months he learned to live with the constant pains of hunger. Very often, he grew dizzy from the lack of nutrition and constant fear. His soft brown eyes sunk, resulting from lack of sleep, and his face grew pale because he would not dare walk outside of the house for fear of Yankees. He often woke in the middle of the night with nightmares, and though he screamed, nobody came to comfort him. Every person in the house was either sick or exhausted from a full day’s work. The loneliness claimed his mind and his heart.

Mother needs me to be brave, he thought as he watched everyone scurry around the house. He ran to her, wanting to help, knowing that he could do something.

Go outside and play, Wade Hampton. Scarlett’s eyes blazed as she spoke so sharply that his knees began to quiver. Hanging his head, he walked blindly out of her sight, trying again to be brave. He did not want to make her angry, but every time he tried to help, her reproaches became more and more forceful, so that he tried desperately to stay out of her way. His fear of his mother almost equaled his fear of the Yankees, and he hated the Yankees even more for making his mother so angry.

He had never seen his mother so irate before. She had never been angry, never raised her voice, and had never raised her hand to him before that night when the Yankees came. In his heart, he feared that the Yankees would cut him into a million pieces, but worse than that, whatever the Yankees had done to his mother had made her so mad that he feared she didn’t love him anymore. This thought broke his heart into a million pieces, and try as he might, he could not make her love him again. Late at night, when the house was still, and everyone thought he was asleep, he tried to figure out ways to be a better little boy so she would love him and feed him again. It was useless.

Only in Aunt Melly’s room did he feel loved. He often went there just to talk and listen as she would tell him stories.

Aunt Melly held him in her arms, cradling his dwindling body with her own weak arms. My dearest nephew, she would begin each story with her soft, soothing voice. You look so much like your father. He had soft, brown eyes, just like you. His face was like that of an angel. Charles had the mildest disposition, and yet he became like a schoolboy around your mother. He loved her, and I am sure that she loved him, too.

Wade looked deeply in her eyes, searching for sincerity, and he always found it, for she truly believed that Scarlett would only have married so quickly and been blessed with this child if she had been in love.

You father made the greatest sacrifice just for you. He never wanted to leave you or your mother, but he made the sacrifice for the Cause. He was a brave soldier, and he died before he ever saw you, so that he could save you from pain and misery. He wanted you to have the life that he envisioned for himself, and he could only have it by fighting for it.

These stories brought visions of his brave father fighting bitterly for him. He saw the battle and his father riding a stallion to the front of the lines, yelling the Rebel battle cry. He never knew, of course, that his Aunt Melly embellished just a bit because she wanted Wade to be proud of his father. Although Charles never saw battle, and had actually died of pneumonia while in training, she knew his character. She knew Charles had been brave. He was a fighter, and he rushed to enlist in the army to fight for the Cause that he held so dear. Melanie Hamilton loved her brother, and wanted his son to know him the way she had loved him.

My dearest nephew, on the day you were born, Jonesboro County came to greet you. I heard about you all the way from Atlanta because the celebrations were held across the whole state of Georgia. Your mother was ecstatic as she held her beautiful brown-eyed baby boy in her arms. Then she traveled all over the state just to show you off to everyone she knew. You know, you were named after your father’s commanding officer because he was so brave, just as you are.

As Wade listened to the story of his arrival, his eyes were wide with awe. He never knew that he was named after someone as brave as a Confederate commander. The thought of living up to his name was slightly unnerving. But the reassurance of his mother’s love was doubtful, and only made him question her soon dismissal even worse. To be named after someone so brave, how could he be so frightened of her? And if she was so happy when he was born, why didn’t she love him anymore? What did he do that was so bad?

Melanie never knew these thoughts, though. She expected that since he was still a small child, he should still act and think like a child. She never knew of his fear of the Yankees or his mother. She never knew that her stories would evoke such powerful thoughts from a young child. She only knew that she wanted to comfort him and shield him from his mother’s sharp tongue. She never knew that on the night they left Atlanta he had aged beyond his years, and he would never again retrieve his innocence. He had faced reality far too soon, and the only comforting words would be to hear from his mother say that the Yankees were all gone.

The days at Tara were the longest that he could remember. Everyone seemed to be working all the time and no one had time for him. His Aunt Careen and Aunt Suellen were still in bed and sick. He had heard his mother yell at them from time to time, so he had to stay away from their room, and he didn’t want to wake Aunt Melly when she was sleeping. So he would roam around the house, making plans in case the Yankees came.

There was scarcely any furniture in the house, and what was left had been scratched, broken, and damaged when the Yankees came through the house. The rugs on the floor were faded and bare. The trinkets had all been stolen, and the house seemed to whine with emptiness. The few chairs that had not been burned for firewood had been stabbed with sabers, and Wade would spend hours trying to very deliberately and carefully use his fingers to gently stuff the cushions back into the holes made by looting soldiers.

The most interesting treasure in the entire house was a very large painting. He would sit in a wooden chair, staring at the picture, and imagining the great woman who was represented. He knew that it was not his mother, but it resembled her. The woman’s eyes were fierce and scary, but they drew him in to imaginary stories surrounding her. He envisioned her to be a woman that would love and protect him. He wished he could crawl up in her lap, and she would fight off the Yankees and his mother. No one could hurt him while he was near her.

After another sharp word from his mother, he grasped his aching tummy and headed for the room with the picture. Maybe he would talk to her, and she would come for him.

Who are you, young man? Grandpa Gerald’s voice came booming from the wooden chair. Wade startled, not expecting to see another person in the room. Wade felt slightly uncomfortable in the man’s presence because he usually did not speak to him, and he didn’t always make sense.

Wade Hampton Hamilton, Wade replied softly.

Come, sit here with me, lad, Gerald’s eyes did not denote recognition.

Wade went to him, and climbed on his knee, and looked to the painting that was hanging before both of them.

That, my boy, is your great, grandmother Robillard. She was your grandma’s mother. Quite a great lady, she was. Certainly not as great as your grandmother, but she was interesting.

Wade turned to look at Grandpa Gerald. He was excited that he was being addressed and recognized, and he had always wanted to know more about the lady in the picture. Now to know that she was actually related to him made him even more interested.

She hated me, you know. She never thought I was good enough for Mrs. O’Hara, but I think I showed her pretty well. I built this house, and cleared this land. A fine plantation, it is. If Mrs. O’Hara wouldn’t mind, I might invite them stay, so they can see how well I have done.

Wade stared at him, wondering what was happening again. Mrs. O’Hara, his grandmother had died before they had come back from Atlanta. He had heard his mother say so. Sometimes he just did not understand grown-ups, but he stayed very still, hoping to hear more about his Great Grandmother Robillard.

Wade pointed to the picture unable to voice his desire to know more about her.

Grandpa Gerald seemed to understand his request and continued, Well, boy, the old lady was just about as racy as great ladies can be. I have heard many tales, but I don’t think I should repeat them to young Scarlett’s boy. Run along, now, I must speak to Mrs. O’Hara.

Wade climbed down, and hung his head as he walked slowly out of the room. He was truly enjoying the attention. He needed someone to talk to, and he needed to know about that lady. He knew that if he could find her, she would love him. She would protect him, and he would feel safe. Even the Yankees would be afraid of those eyes, he said to himself as he decided to find another place to hide, trying to subdue his hiccups.

He tried to fit in various cubbyholes throughout the house, trying to find a place where he could hide in case Yankees came back. In his mind, he would imagine the entire scenario and plan an escape to his secret hiding place, where he knew they would never find him. Sometimes he would sit for hours in one spot, checking to see if anyone would find him, and when no one seemed to notice his absence, he would be satisfied with the spot.

However, when the time came to employ his plans, they failed him. As he heard the horse’s hooves on the lawn, his arms, legs, mind, and tongue failed him. Frozen speechless, he could only stare blankly at his mother as she raced around the house trying to hide the few treasures she had been able to find. When she saw him crouched by the banister, she called to him, and he ran to her and tried to cling to his mother, but she flung him away. She cajoled him with calmness, persuading him to follow Mammy and Melly to the swamp, but he didn’t hear a word she said. The room was growing dark, and his legs were weakening. He didn’t feel right, but he pretended there was a steel rod in his spine, and his mother’s strength seemed to strengthen him. He would not leave her to the Yankees. He would stand right here beside her. He would stand.

When the Yankees entered the house and swarmed around them, finding anything they could steal, he held tightly to his mother. He did not notice his own shaking, but he willed strength into her, as he clutched her trembling legs through her skirts. He felt her legs go weak, but he tightened his grip, and stifled his hiccups.

No! Scarlett screamed. You can’t take that! Wade looked up to see his mother pleading with the Sergeant to return Wade’s sword.

Anger raged through Wade’s body as he witnessed Yankee hands holding the sword that had been his father’s and grandfather’s. Mine! he screamed. He would fight them to the bitter end to keep that sword. It was the only link he had with his father. It was the only thing that his mother had given to him, the only symbol of kindness shown in the months they had been at Tara. That sword represented the only good things he could remember in his short life, and he would never let that Yankee soldier take his happy memories. He held tighter to his mother, as the soldier handed the sword back to his mother. Anger still raged throughout his body, and he began to tremble. Pride swelled his heart as he felt he had fought and won that sword himself.

After the Yankees had gathered all they could find, they filed slowly out of the house, and Wade could feel Scarlett release a long breath. Suddenly she turned and flung his hands off of her. Smoke began to fill his nostrils as he realized that the kitchen had somehow caught on fire.

Exhaustion crept over him, as he gripped his sword and slid down in the corner of the hall. Though he had never said prayers with his mother, he had heard Aunt Melly, and he knew it was time to pray. He watched his mother scream, flying through the house looking for water. He could feel the warmth of the flames as they leapt out of the kitchen. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember the words that Aunt Melly had said. Lord in Heaven, keep us safe… Forgive us of our trespasses… forgive those who trespass against us… Stop the burning… Give us our daily bread…Keep Mama safe… He knew the words weren’t right, but he knew of the power being released, and as Scarlett ran back and forth trying to put out the fire, Wade felt peace flow through his body. He had saved his sword, Mother was putting out the fire, the Yankees were gone, and he did not have a sword run through his belly. He had met the Yankees head on, and he protected his mother and his home, just as he knew his father would have done if he had been here. He let himself fall into a deep, deep sleep.

With a new sense of pride, Wade began to face each day with more strength than he had felt before. He had conquered Yankees, and his prayers were answered. Of course he told no one about his prayers, but they became more frequent. They were not the constant silent prayers on bended knee like those of Aunt Carreen, but they were heart-felt pleas for help from the silent lips of a frightened boy.

Wade’s face remained sunken from lack of nutrition, but the color began to come back as he ventured out of the house little by little. In the mornings, he bravely took a basket and went outside to gather sticks and twigs to start the fire. Sometimes he would follow his mother silently with his own little basket to gather any vegetables he could find in the garden, and when the cotton grew, he plucked cotton until his little fingers began to bleed, never complaining, becoming a little man when other four year old boys played in the house, oblivious to the destruction surrounding them.

Strangers began to straggle through the countryside, stopping at Tara, hoping to find company and food. Wade stood by Mammy’s side, helping her. He ran to get water by the buckets to wash the soldiers and their clothes. He gathered any blankets he could find, and made pallets in the floor for the soldiers to rest. He would sit by their side, listening as they told stories of the war and the families they were traveling to see, hoping to hear stories of his father. And though no one had a story to tell him about his father, visiting with these soldiers made him feel closer to his father because they had experienced the same thing his father had, and in each face, he saw his father’s face, fighting the Yankees, dying honorably in battle, and he hung on every word they uttered, claiming the information as if it was his own.

The soldiers enjoyed the presence of the young boy with soft brown eyes. He sat quietly, listening intently to every word they spoke, and so they embellished a little, keeping it light-hearted, as if they needed to shelter this young boy from the atrocities of war. They would tell funny stories, reveling in the giggles that would emerge, tiny at first, then busting out into full guffaws, as he became more and more amused at Yankees who fell off their horses, mud flying in all directions splattering faces, and tumbles down the hillside. The soldiers felt like heroes as they gained the admiration of a young boy with a tan, bony face, dark hair, and emerging muscles.

Wade especially loved Will, a soldier that came through one afternoon, ill with pneumonia. Wade would sit by his side