CHAPTER ONE
One Year Earlier:
Early morning sunlight filtered through the window and onto the bed of Sullivan and Sarah Ballou. Sullivan had already risen, collected eggs from the hen house, a slab of bacon from the larder and returned to the kitchen. It was Sarah’s thirtieth birthday, and he wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed.
“Willie, draw some fresh water, would you?” he said to his ten-year-old son, handing him a small pail. He looked to Willie’s younger brother. “And Edgar, tiptoe upstairs and make sure your mother is still in bed.”
The two children immediately went about their chores, glad to have a role in their secret gift to their mother. Willie made sure the door did not bang behind him as he left the house then raced across the yard to the well. Edgar mounted the staircase as if he were walking on eggshells, quiet as a mouse. Peeking through the door to his parent’s room, he saw his mother sitting up in bed. She smiled when he poked his small head in the room.
“Well, good morning, sir,” Sarah said warmly. “You’re up bright and early.”
Edgar did not return his mother’s smile. He felt as if he had somehow spoiled the surprise. Sarah noticed his concern.
“What is it?” she said.
Edgar glanced back down the stairs, wondering if he should alert his father. He looked back to his mother with a worried expression.
“Edgar,” Sarah said. “Come here.”
Edgar did as he was told. Standing next to her bed, he couldn’t quite bring his eyes to meet hers. Sarah lifted his chin so that he had no choice. “Sweetheart,” she said lovingly. “Is there something wrong?”
Edgar moved his small mouth from side to side. “Daddy’s fixing breakfast,” he said quietly.
Sarah nodded. “How wonderful. And why has that upset you?”
“Because it was supposed to be a surprise. For you.”
Suddenly an overwhelming love embraced Sarah. Love for her son, love for her husband, love for the life she and her family were leading. God had been good to the Ballou family. She moved over and patted the bed to her side. Edgar climbed onto the covers next to her.
“Why don’t we do this?” Sarah said softly. “Why don’t you go down and tell you father I’m still in bed. That way, you won’t be telling a fib. I’ll wait here until you come get me for breakfast. How about that?”
A grin spread across the young boy’s face. He nodded his agreement, climbed down from the bed and hurried from the room. Sarah watched as he left, and as always, a little bit of heart broke. Her four-year-old son was born with a mild case of scoliosis; a curvature of the spine that made his walk slightly bent at the waist. Doctors predicted her he had a 50/50 chance of growing out of it, but she had her doubts. As a result of his handicap, Edgar was teased by other children. A teasing that made him feel different, and that difference expressed itself through a painful shyness. The only person near his age that made him feel normal was his brother Willie.
“So, you’re a little crooked,” Willie told him. “Don’t worry about that. Learn to use your head, not your back.”
Edgar loved Willie because he was his brother; but he also loved him because he was his friend.
Once he arrived back in the kitchen, Edgar told his father that his mother was still in bed then scooted out the back door to avoid being questioned further. He knew he couldn’t lie so he decided the best way to avoid the truth was to make himself scarce.
From her bedroom window, Sarah watched her two children in the yard below. Willie was getting so big now. He was almost as tall as her. He had his mother’s hair and eyes but his father’s broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was already a handsome young man and, she noticed at the church social last week, a growing interest in girls.
“He’s got a few years more before he goes down that road,” Sullivan told his wife when she mentioned Willie’s newfound interest in the opposite sex. “I was twelve years old when I kissed my first girl.”
“But that was so long ago,” his wife teased him. “Children grow up quicker now days.”
“So how old were you when you first tasted love?” he asked.
“I kissed a boy when I was six, but really didn’t know what it meant. It was just something I saw my mother and father do.” She laughed at the memory. “The six-year-old boy I kissed didn’t seem to like it at all.”
Sullivan chuckled. “Little boys have other things on their minds at that age. If you’d been a frog or a turtle, he would have been much more interested.”
It was memories such as these that stirred Sarah’s heart as she watched her children outside, Willie toting a pail of water, Edgar walking at his side. But these memories were interrupted by the sound of a distant bugle. Across an open field, she saw a dozen mounted soldiers, dressed in blue, galloping toward town. There was no cause for alarm however. They were only in training, but the news over the past few weeks had been ominous. A potential conflict was brewing, as a group of states in the south grew increasingly impatient over government intrusion into their livelihood, particularly the growing of cotton and the slave trade that accompanied it.
“War?” Sullivan had said to his wife. “No, we’re not head to war. Those gentlemen in the south don’t want it. Neither do we. Lincoln will settle the matter before it gets out of hand.”
As it turns out, Sullivan was both right and wrong. Neither side wanted to fight, but both would. And Lincoln would indeed settle the matter, but not before it claimed the lives of over 600,000 men.
A soft knock on the door drew Sarah’s attention. It was Edgar.
“Mommy, are you awake now?”
Sarah looked to her son and smiled. “Yes, I’m awake now.”
Edgar turned and nodded to someone behind him. The door opened and Sullivan entered the room, carrying a metal tray filled with food. Behind came Willie, armed with a pot of coffee, and behind him came Edgar, carrying a brightly-wrapped birthday present.
The three Ballous sang an out-of-tune version of “Happy Birthday,” after which Sarah hugged each one of them in turn, kissing her husband squarely on the lips.
“Would you prefer that?” she asked her husband with a twinkle in her eye. “Or would a frog be better?”
Sullivan leaned close so that his nose touched that of his wife’s. “Frogs are nice,” he said with a grin. “But I’ll take kissing over gigging any day.”
“Good answer,” Sarah said. “Now, what’s for breakfast?”
This was a wonderful beginning to a wonderful day. And there would be many more like it, but everything would soon change. For on April 12, 1861, the Confederate Navy would fire upon a Union outpost known as Fort Sumter, signaling the beginning the bloodiest conflict the United States would ever know.
The American Civil War was now 243 days away.