A Place of Peace Read Free Page A

except a poking green bud here and there, but soon they would be growing fast, and Melinda knew it was then that she would have to be out here every day to fight the endless war with the weeds and the bugs.
    Later in the evening as she drifted back and forth on the old swing tied to the back porch, she looked out over the fields at the spot usually reserved for the tobacco setting.  It was barren now.  Melinda did not have the plants or the resources to set enough tobacco to be worth harvesting.  She would have to make due with what she already had, and that would have to be enough.
    ***
    She heard the familiar rumble of a wagon coming up the road, and she stepped out on the front porch to see who it could be.  Perhaps it was a letter carrier with news from her father.  She tried to hide her disappointment as she saw it was only Frank Johnson coming up to her house.  He had a basket of something sitting beside him.  She knew her father had asked him to check up on her now and then, and he had agreed to it.
    Melinda didn’t mind.  She liked visitors and was more than willing to entertain Frank Johnson, who had been a good neighbor to her and her father now for as long as Melinda could remember.  Frank had been too old to enlist, not that he really wanted to.  In fact, he had tried to talk her father out of enlisting, but in the end, it always came down to the money.  Right or wrong, ethics and morals and the Confederate Cause had nothing to do with it.  Melinda’s father needed the money.
    She waved to Frank as he stopped his horse.  Even from where she stood, she could smell the bread from the basket, and when Frank handed it to her, she was right.  It was still warm, and was a gift from Frank’s wife, Joan.
    Melinda made coffee, and Frank accepted with a faint smile as the two sat on the front porch.
    “You’re getting along okay here, aren’t you?” asked Frank.  There was a touch of concern in his voice that worried Melinda.
    “Sure.  I mean, there’s a lot to do, and I stay busy with the gardens.  So far, my biggest problem has been with the crows.”
    Frank nodded, the fatherly smile not leaving his face.  “Crows, yes.  I’ve had my share of problems with them, too.”
    His voice faded, and Melinda occupied herself with sipping her coffee.  She normally didn’t drink it, but she decided to have some on account of her guest.  But Frank wasn’t saying much else.  He seemed to want to, but instead he just sat there and looked at his wagon and horse parked twenty feet away.
    “Any news of the war?” Melinda slowly asked.  He didn’t seem to want to volunteer information: never a good sign that things were okay.
    “Well,” said Frank as if he suddenly didn’t want to answer.  “According to the paper I saw up in Gallatin, there’s been a battle between our boys and those Yanks down the river a bit.”
    “What kind of battle?”  Melinda didn’t like the way Frank was drawing out his answers with long pauses, as if he was hiding something.
    Frank shrugged.  “Don’t know.  That boy that used to work for me, Luke, the one who came up here all the time.  Remember him?”
    Melinda slowly nodded.
    “Spoke to his father the other day.  They got the official word that he’d been shot by a Yank sharpshooter.  Popped right off his horse.”  Frank’s voice grew tense.  “They didn’t send the body home.  They told them he’d been buried where he got shot.  Couldn’t have a decent Christian burial.”
    Melinda took a deep breath.  Her coffee was suddenly too hot, and Frank’s eyes were dark and shining.
    “Has there been any word on your father?” he asked suddenly.  Melinda grew cold and the steam from her cup gave no comfort.
    “Last letter I got was from Mississippi,” she said.  “Corinth.  He said he was okay and they were moving soon.  That’s all.”
    Frank nodded.   “If you get a chance,” he said.  “Tell that old fool he’s got no business