rested, eyes open, pondering Sarah.
May 18th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia
Removing the stitches was easy and nearly painless. Hixson asked Sarah why she used her own hair to stitch wounds. He instantly understood when she said the stitches never become infected that way.
The scars were still dark red, but they had closed well and caused very little discomfort. Sarah assured him the scars would fade over time. A few scars were of no concern to Hixson. He was still awed that he was alive.
The passing days had brought more strength and better mobility for Hixson. He could move almost as easily as if he had never been hurt. With the return of his health came the return of his sense of responsibility.
He did not know where his regiment was, but he did know he was in rebel territory. He should go find his unit. In spite of his sense of duty, Hixson thought seriously of trying to make his way back to the north and go home.
Hixson helped with those chores he was able to; he was still recovering and tired more easily than he would have liked. His progress was genuinely remarkable, but he had never been seriously injured before. He did not realize how amazing his recovery was.
Sarah thanked him for every chore he performed, which made him uncomfortable. How was a little choring repayment for all she had done for him?
That morning, Sarah picked up her garden basket and a knife and asked Hixson if he would care to take a walk with her. “I want to take some fresh flowers to the cemetery. It’s a pleasant walk and not too far.”
They strolled along the path side-by-side with a few feet between them and chatted.
“I’ve always loved this little walk. In the autumn, when the leaves have changed it is so lovely. It used to be old Towzer loved it, too, but she’s an old dog now and content to lay in the shade most of the time.”
They came to the little cemetery, and Hixson wandered around, reading the headstones. Sarah emptied the crocks that stood at the head of two adjacent graves and walked over to the pump to fill them with water. Then she cut lilacs of different shades from the many bushes around the cemetery. She filled the crocks with sprays of fragrant blossoms ranging from almost white to deep purple. She cut more lilacs to bring home, filling her basket with them.
The peaceful little place was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence. Some of the headstones tilted to one side. They had been standing so long that the ground beneath them had given way. Abundant deer tracks showed the fence was not high enough to keep out everything.
Many headstones had a bit of the story of the person that rested beneath. Others had a poem, or an epitaph that was probably composed by the deceased as a last comment on life --or death.
Near the center stood seven tiny graves, dated only a year or so apart, each one read “Baby Boy Ridenour”. Birth date and death date the same. How sad: seven sons lost on the day of their birth. The seven little graves were over 60 years old at that time, and someone was still putting flowers on all seven. Was the grieving mother still alive? Did one baby live, to remember always the seven who didn’t?
Hixson came upon the graves of a husband and wife. Years before someone had planted a small tree above the two headstones. Now it was a huge tree with two stones imbedded in its trunk. The husband’s last name was grown over, and the wife’s first name. This was a very old cemetery.
Hixson ambled over to where Sarah was standing. He was startled to read the headstones on the graves she was tending:
“Sarah Westbay.
Born 1825. Died 1842.
Beloved Daughter.
She Gave Her Daughter to the Light, and Darkness Overtook Her.”
And standing next to it,
Sarah Cotterman Westbay
Born 1800. Died 1859.
A Grandmother to Mother the Orphan.
Her Light Was in the Life She Saved.
Sarah stood, looking at the headstones, with her sorrow plain to see. “It’s hard to believe Grandma has been gone five years. In some ways, it seems like forever, other ways like yesterday.” She sighed, and turned to Hixson. “Ready to head back?”
They had walked a few hundred yards in silence, when Hixson asked, “Was the other grave your Mother’s?”
Sarah nodded.
“She died in 1842? You must not have had a chance to know her...you can’t be much older than 20?”
“She died giving birth to me. Grandma raised me.” Sarah replied.
“What about your father? No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask; I’m prying.” Hixson said.
“It’s alright, Hixson, it’s no secret. It’s no great love story either, though.” She said. “Two men came through here some years ago, one of them with a broken ankle. They came to my momma for help. My momma set the man’s ankle and gathered the light to keep the pain and infection away. It was a terrible break, I guess, and Momma put a lot of herself into the healing.
“When she woke up, the men were gone, and so was her horse, what little money she had and everything else of value. And they left her pregnant… with me.” Sarah said, ending softly.
“They attacked her? After she healed that man?” Even the horrors of the battlefield didn’t compare to this.
Sarah’s eyes began to fill and her voice broke as she explained. “Grandpa was working on the railroad that was being built along the Rappahannock River. He’d been gone from home for a few weeks. My grandma was away in the town, to be midwife to the blacksmith’s wife. When she got home, she found my momma. They had cut off her hair, I guess to sell, and taken it and even her clothes with them. She was only 17.”
Hixson was shaken. It was such an agonizing thing for her to have to tell and he was sorry he had asked. With all that he had seen in the war, he never heard of anything so cruel. As it always seemed to be with Sarah, every answer made more questions for Hixson. He felt guilty about it, but could not stop himself from asking more. “Why did you say ‘it’s no secret’ that way? What do you mean?”
“Folks around here only come to me when they need help. Before the war, people brought their slaves to me and the whites all went to the doctor in town. I guess they didn’t want to pay someone to help their slaves. Being a bastard, they thought I was unfit to tend to them and would gladly pay for a doctor’s care for themselves. Now that the doctor is gone, they have to reconsider that.”
Now Hixson was shocked, “It’s not like they gave her a choice! How could people hold that against her? Or you?”
“They say she was asking for it, letting them in when she was all alone. Grandpa had always warned her to not open the door if she was home alone. But no one understands that she couldn’t see the danger. When someone was hurt or sick and came to her, the light began to gather around her and all she could see was their suffering. “It’s very odd when it happens, Hixson. The whole world disappears and suddenly all that is in it is that one person who needs your help. Everyone and everything else is in darkness and light shines only on them.”
Hixson was quick to see the implication. “Do you mean that if someone comes to you for healing, you can’t really see anything else? What if they’re a bad person, or with bad people? You can’t tell where you are, or if there is danger around?”
Hixson seemed to understand exactly what she was saying. Sarah was thunderstruck. Emma, who had stood by her and been a true friend all of her life, didn’t understand. Emma had been her momma’s good friend, and still did not comprehend how all the world narrowed down to one person in need. Unable to say more, Sarah only nodded.
Hixson said nothing as they strolled back to the cabin. He was suddenly very frightened for her. What had happened to her mother was just waiting to happen to Sarah, too, especially in these days of wandering renegades and marching armies. Had something like that already happened to her? His mind reeled with terrifying possibilities, and he wanted to hide her away from the world. He wanted to protect her from the harm he felt sure was lurking just out of sight.
When they returned to the cabin, Emm
a and Caleb were approaching. Towzer saw Caleb, grabbed a stick and ran to him, begging a game of fetch which Caleb happily obliged. Emma carried a basket containing two jars and something wrapped in a cloth. In the sunlight, her hair was bright as polished copper.
Emma smiled warmly at Hixson and hugged Sarah. “Paying a wee visit to your Granny, were you?” The lilacs in Sarah’s basket betrayed where she had been.
“I was. I was. And what delicacies are you bringing today?” Sarah turned to Hixson and said, “Emma thinks I’m too skinny. She’s always trying to fatten me up. I don’t know why it isn’t working; she’s the best baker in the township.”
“Today is currant scones, with lemon curd and a bit of clotted cream.” Emma beamed from the praise, but didn’t deny it. She was the best baker in the township. Even the baker in the village was pestering her for her potato bread recipe.
Caleb was playing tug-of-war with Towzer over a bit of rope. Towzer snarled very unconvincingly as they tugged. They were having so much fun that Caleb begged off of the scones, preferring to play with the old black dog. Anyway, he got to enjoy his momma’s baked goods every day.
When Hixson, Sarah and Emma sat down to scones and tea, Emma realized something was bothering Hixson. He had not completely regained his appetite, but it was the worried way he looked at Sarah that struck her. She suspected the trip to the cemetery had brought up questions. Emma hoped Hixson was not misjudging Sarah.