Evening at Brambles Orchard was a chaotic time of day, a flurry of activity as the women prepared dinner and farmhands scurried about to finish the evening chores before darkness fell. The western sky was ablaze with fiery hues of reds and oranges, casting long shadows on the sole figure of a man slowly pacing the porch, boots scraping against the wooden planks, a small bundle held close to his chest, as though it was the most precious thing in all the world.
Caleb Evan Lassiter had made a whirlwind entrance into the world some three months' past, nearly putting an untimely end to his mother's life. All that was behind them now, but even at three months of age, the boy was proving a challenge, much like his father before him. A good baby, for the most part, he always seemed to sense the chaos that came with the approaching dusk, and the boy's father had taken on the task of soothing him until calm once again prevailed. He had been through this once before, after all.
Ever patient, Evan paced the porch, slowly, calmly, the boy's squalls growing quiet as he listened to the sound of his father's voice, soft and low, soothingly familiar.
"I wish I was in the land of cotton; old times there are not forgotten. Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land."
Evan watched as his son found his own thumb, eyes drifting slowly closed, lulled to sleep by his father's voice, the warmth of his embrace, the motion of his slow, even gait, and Evan was reminded of another time, another place, long ago and far away... ~~~~~
Texas, 1862...
"Dixie ain't a proper lullaby for a baby girl. Why don't you sing somethin' else?"
Evan turned to regard the woman who was gently scolding him, a perplexed look on his face. "Don't know no proper lullabys, Ellie," he admitted as he looked back at the baby girl he was holding in his arms. She was just about the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his entire life, save his beloved Ellie.
"Well, then..."she started, blue eyes sparkling with earnest love and affection. "I'll just have to teach you one." She leaned her head close to his, glancing down at the baby girl he held in his arms, their firstborn child, the product of their love.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockin'bird. And if that mockin'bird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."
"You know I can't afford no diamond ring..." Evan broke in, only to have his wife smile softly at him and press a finger against his lips to hush him.
"If that diamond ring turns brass," she continued in a voice as clear as a bell and as soft as rainfall. "Papa's gonna buy you a lookin' glass."
Evan snorted, finding the lyrics ridiculous, but she continued, resting her head against his shoulder and soothing both child and father with the soft sound of her voice.
"If that lookin' glass gets broke, Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat..."
Evan quieted, listening as his wife continued the song, feeling about as content as any man could. His life had been a hard one, but Ellie had always been there for him, just as she was there for him now.
He'd met her a long time ago when he was just a boy, orphaned with no family, no home, and no future. Her family had taken him in and raised him as their own, and they'd been together ever since. The thought of ever being without his Ellie was simply unthinkable. They'd predictably gotten married and started a family, but that was before the war had started and the world had gone mad.
"Evan!" A familiar voice shouted, interrupting the little family's quiet interlude. The voice belonged to a man considerably shorter than Evan with lively, brown eyes and a mop of unruly, brown hair stuffed beneath a wide-brimmed hat. His name was Caleb Miller, and he was the closest thing Evan had to a brother. "Regiment's formin' in town. We got orders! We're movin' out."
"Now?" Evan asked with a startled, wide-eyed look on his face. The truth was he didn't care much for the war or for politics, in general. He just wanted to live his life in peace and be left the hell alone, but like every other able-bodied man between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, he'd been conscripted to fight, whether he wanted to or not.
"Cal, can't it wait 'til mornin'?" Ellie interjected, a sad frown on her face.
"No, ma'am. Evenin', ma'am," Cal replied, lifting the brim of his hat in greeting. "Orders are orders. Captain Richardson sent me to fetch Evan here myself. We're movin' out within the hour."
"I'm sorry, Ellie," Evan said, as he rose to his feet, their baby girl in his arms. His heart felt as heavy as it had ever been. He didn't want to leave, but he wouldn't be branded a traitor and a coward by staying behind either. They'd known this was coming; they just hadn't known when.
"Can't they find someone else to go in your place?" she asked, tears sparkling in her soft blue eyes. "We need you here. I can't run the farm by myself." They'd had this very same discussion more than once. She already knew the answer, and she knew he had no choice.
"You'll be fine," he reassured her for the hundredth time, though he was none too sure himself. He didn't want to leave her, and he was angry that he was being forced to go, but he wouldn't let her see that, not now. She was upset enough already, and it would only upset the baby.
"War won't last that long. I'll be home before you know it," he said with a soft, reassuring smile, though in his heart he thought otherwise. He'd watched the others go off without him, volunteers eager for adventure and to shed Yankee blood, but he wasn't one of them. He was a farmer, not a soldier, and he didn't want another man's blood on his hands, Yankee or otherwise.
Evan turned to Cal, who was trying hard not to eavesdrop on the married couple, but couldn't really help it. "Gimme a few minutes to get my things together," he told the other man before handing the baby back to his wife and brushing a kiss against her lips that told her how much he would miss her without having to say it. He realized with a heavy heart that they wouldn't even be able to make love one last time before he had to go. "I'll write every day," he promised, brushing the tears from her face, his heart feeling like it was about to break.
"You make sure you do," she scolded, resting her forehead against his, the baby in her arms starting to stir, as if she sensed something was wrong with their little world. "You come home to me, Evan Lassiter, all in one piece, or I'll never forgive you."
"Make sure she remembers me," Evan pleaded, looking into her eyes through a haze of gathering tears. He knew this was farewell, but it wasn't goodbye. He refused to say goodbye. He wasn't going away forever, just for a little while. He'd be back; he had to be. Ellie and Maggie loved and needed him, and that was all that mattered.
How could he possibly have predicted the tragedy that would befall them?
~~~~~
"Dixie ain't a proper lullaby for a baby."
Ellie had been right. Evan had grown to hate the war. He'd seen too much, lost too much. He wanted to forget the war and everything about it.
He brushed a calloused fingertip against his son's cheek. Caleb, named for a man who'd been like a brother, dead and gone like so many others. He'd hadn't told Marin about Caleb. He hadn't told her about a lot of things. None of it seemed to matter anymore, and yet, somehow it did.
The baby in Evan's arms stirred, as if to call his father back from his thoughts of the past, a past Evan had put behind him but could never forget. To forget was to let the past repeat itself, and he'd sworn not to lose Marin the way he'd lost Ellie.
He could hear her inside the house, directing the chaos until it passed and calm was restored. That was Marin's way, it seemed. She had calmed the chaos in his heart, helped him heal the past, and given him purpose. A fresh start and a reason to live. If only Maggie was there to share their love, his life would be perfect. He wondered what she'd think of her half-brother, but could only imagine her loving him, the way he loved them both.
Evan sang again in a voice that was surprisingly soft and sweet for a man who'd been hardened by death and war and hatred.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockin'bird..."
Caleb Evan Lassiter had made a whirlwind entrance into the world some three months' past, nearly putting an untimely end to his mother's life. All that was behind them now, but even at three months of age, the boy was proving a challenge, much like his father before him. A good baby, for the most part, he always seemed to sense the chaos that came with the approaching dusk, and the boy's father had taken on the task of soothing him until calm once again prevailed. He had been through this once before, after all.
Ever patient, Evan paced the porch, slowly, calmly, the boy's squalls growing quiet as he listened to the sound of his father's voice, soft and low, soothingly familiar.
"I wish I was in the land of cotton; old times there are not forgotten. Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land."
Evan watched as his son found his own thumb, eyes drifting slowly closed, lulled to sleep by his father's voice, the warmth of his embrace, the motion of his slow, even gait, and Evan was reminded of another time, another place, long ago and far away... ~~~~~
Texas, 1862...
"Dixie ain't a proper lullaby for a baby girl. Why don't you sing somethin' else?"
Evan turned to regard the woman who was gently scolding him, a perplexed look on his face. "Don't know no proper lullabys, Ellie," he admitted as he looked back at the baby girl he was holding in his arms. She was just about the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his entire life, save his beloved Ellie.
"Well, then..."she started, blue eyes sparkling with earnest love and affection. "I'll just have to teach you one." She leaned her head close to his, glancing down at the baby girl he held in his arms, their firstborn child, the product of their love.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockin'bird. And if that mockin'bird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."
"You know I can't afford no diamond ring..." Evan broke in, only to have his wife smile softly at him and press a finger against his lips to hush him.
"If that diamond ring turns brass," she continued in a voice as clear as a bell and as soft as rainfall. "Papa's gonna buy you a lookin' glass."
Evan snorted, finding the lyrics ridiculous, but she continued, resting her head against his shoulder and soothing both child and father with the soft sound of her voice.
"If that lookin' glass gets broke, Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat..."
Evan quieted, listening as his wife continued the song, feeling about as content as any man could. His life had been a hard one, but Ellie had always been there for him, just as she was there for him now.
He'd met her a long time ago when he was just a boy, orphaned with no family, no home, and no future. Her family had taken him in and raised him as their own, and they'd been together ever since. The thought of ever being without his Ellie was simply unthinkable. They'd predictably gotten married and started a family, but that was before the war had started and the world had gone mad.
"Evan!" A familiar voice shouted, interrupting the little family's quiet interlude. The voice belonged to a man considerably shorter than Evan with lively, brown eyes and a mop of unruly, brown hair stuffed beneath a wide-brimmed hat. His name was Caleb Miller, and he was the closest thing Evan had to a brother. "Regiment's formin' in town. We got orders! We're movin' out."
"Now?" Evan asked with a startled, wide-eyed look on his face. The truth was he didn't care much for the war or for politics, in general. He just wanted to live his life in peace and be left the hell alone, but like every other able-bodied man between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, he'd been conscripted to fight, whether he wanted to or not.
"Cal, can't it wait 'til mornin'?" Ellie interjected, a sad frown on her face.
"No, ma'am. Evenin', ma'am," Cal replied, lifting the brim of his hat in greeting. "Orders are orders. Captain Richardson sent me to fetch Evan here myself. We're movin' out within the hour."
"I'm sorry, Ellie," Evan said, as he rose to his feet, their baby girl in his arms. His heart felt as heavy as it had ever been. He didn't want to leave, but he wouldn't be branded a traitor and a coward by staying behind either. They'd known this was coming; they just hadn't known when.
"Can't they find someone else to go in your place?" she asked, tears sparkling in her soft blue eyes. "We need you here. I can't run the farm by myself." They'd had this very same discussion more than once. She already knew the answer, and she knew he had no choice.
"You'll be fine," he reassured her for the hundredth time, though he was none too sure himself. He didn't want to leave her, and he was angry that he was being forced to go, but he wouldn't let her see that, not now. She was upset enough already, and it would only upset the baby.
"War won't last that long. I'll be home before you know it," he said with a soft, reassuring smile, though in his heart he thought otherwise. He'd watched the others go off without him, volunteers eager for adventure and to shed Yankee blood, but he wasn't one of them. He was a farmer, not a soldier, and he didn't want another man's blood on his hands, Yankee or otherwise.
Evan turned to Cal, who was trying hard not to eavesdrop on the married couple, but couldn't really help it. "Gimme a few minutes to get my things together," he told the other man before handing the baby back to his wife and brushing a kiss against her lips that told her how much he would miss her without having to say it. He realized with a heavy heart that they wouldn't even be able to make love one last time before he had to go. "I'll write every day," he promised, brushing the tears from her face, his heart feeling like it was about to break.
"You make sure you do," she scolded, resting her forehead against his, the baby in her arms starting to stir, as if she sensed something was wrong with their little world. "You come home to me, Evan Lassiter, all in one piece, or I'll never forgive you."
"Make sure she remembers me," Evan pleaded, looking into her eyes through a haze of gathering tears. He knew this was farewell, but it wasn't goodbye. He refused to say goodbye. He wasn't going away forever, just for a little while. He'd be back; he had to be. Ellie and Maggie loved and needed him, and that was all that mattered.
How could he possibly have predicted the tragedy that would befall them?
~~~~~
"Dixie ain't a proper lullaby for a baby."
Ellie had been right. Evan had grown to hate the war. He'd seen too much, lost too much. He wanted to forget the war and everything about it.
He brushed a calloused fingertip against his son's cheek. Caleb, named for a man who'd been like a brother, dead and gone like so many others. He'd hadn't told Marin about Caleb. He hadn't told her about a lot of things. None of it seemed to matter anymore, and yet, somehow it did.
The baby in Evan's arms stirred, as if to call his father back from his thoughts of the past, a past Evan had put behind him but could never forget. To forget was to let the past repeat itself, and he'd sworn not to lose Marin the way he'd lost Ellie.
He could hear her inside the house, directing the chaos until it passed and calm was restored. That was Marin's way, it seemed. She had calmed the chaos in his heart, helped him heal the past, and given him purpose. A fresh start and a reason to live. If only Maggie was there to share their love, his life would be perfect. He wondered what she'd think of her half-brother, but could only imagine her loving him, the way he loved them both.
Evan sang again in a voice that was surprisingly soft and sweet for a man who'd been hardened by death and war and hatred.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockin'bird..."