Joshua Simon - Forgotten Soldiers

He cursed, using a word I didn’t think a boy his age had any business using. He kicked at the dirt, then stooped over, and began picking up rocks off the road. He hurled them down the hill toward the house, grunting and cursing with each of his throws.

After the emotional wave I just experienced, the last thing I wanted was to go through that disappointment again. Despite the hope burgeoning inside me, I approached the situation cautiously.

I slid out from behind the oak and onto the road, staying in the shadows of the low hanging branches.

He finished throwing rocks and stared silently at my old farm. I sheathed my sword. “What’s not there, boy?”

He jumped and spun around, taking a step back in fear. Tears streaked down the dark skin of his crusted cheeks. He wiped them away in embarrassment.

I considered what could have upset the boy. I doubted anyone from town sent him after our wagon.

I asked again. “What’s not there?”

“A wagon.”

That startled me. Maybe I was wrong and someone had sent him after us. “Did someone send you out this way?”

He swallowed, looking nervous. “No, sir. Did you happen to see the wagon?” He paused. “Were you in it?”

I tried to soften my tone. “That depends. Why were you looking for a wagon?”

“I thought there might be someone on it I once knew. Please just tell me if you were on it or if you saw it pass at least.”

My stomach knotted and my mouth went dry. I croaked. “Who were you looking for exactly?”

The boy seemed hesitant. He composed himself. He flicked his head back in a way that made my heart drop and my palms sweat. In that small gesture I suddenly saw how much he favored his mother.

“My pa.”

I stepped out from the shadows. “Zadok?”

“How did you know. .” His mouth dropped as he eyed my military garb.

Zadok had his second name day the week before I left home. I doubted he would be able to recall what I looked or sounded like at that young of an age. Yet, something gave him the reassurance he needed.

“Pa!”

Zadok closed the distance between us and dove into my arms. By the time I picked him up, tears streamed down my face. We both squeezed each other with an intensity that said neither of us wanted to let the other go again.

The loss of my home no longer mattered while I held my son.

Zadok eased his grip and rested his head on my shoulder. “Myra said you wouldn’t be here. But I had to find out for myself when I heard people talking about the wagon with soldiers. I never believed you were dead. I knew that letter was wrong.”

“Dead?” That jarred me from my joyful stupor. I set Zadok on the ground and squatted next to him. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

Up close, I could see the shadow of the little boy I left behind. Though his skin was not nearly as dark as his mother’s, it was far darker than mine. For the most part, he had much of Lasha’s foreign features-thick curly hair, deep brown eyes, full lips. The only parts of me I could see in him were my nose and jaw line. I think the combination worked well. Cleaned up, he’d be a sharp-looking kid.

“What letter said that?” I asked.

“The letter the army sent us. It was about four years ago. It said that Turine had taken heavy losses at Wadlow Hill and it was too difficult to figure out the names of everyone that died there.”

I frowned. That had been true enough, but I hadn’t heard of any letter about Wadlow Hill that went out to the citizens of Turine.

Zadok continued. “It said that if a follow-up letter wasn’t sent within a year, we should assume you died serving your country.”

My head spun in confusion. “No, that’s not right. The letter you should have gotten said that the cost of sending messages had grown too high and that unless a letter specifying an individual’s death was received, families were to assume their husband, father, son, or whomever was alive.”

He wrinkled his brow. “We never got a letter like that.”

“You must have. I read a copy of that letter.”

“I promise, Pa. I read the other letter myself when I got old enough. Ma used to look at it when she thought we weren’t around. Then she’d go off somewhere and cry.”

The thought of Lasha so pained at my death had me shedding fresh tears for her sake. She didn’t deserve that. I wiped my face and forced a smile for Zadok’s sake. “Take me to her. I’ve got a lot of work to do to set that right.”

Zadok didn’t return my smile. He stared at the dirt. “Ma died last year.”

“What?” My legs gave out and I fell back. Numbness threatened to take over. I stared at Zadok.

“I’m sorry, Pa.” His shoulders shook as he sobbed. “I tried to help her, but I’m too small. I couldn’t stop him.”

My body stiffened. The numbness gone, my voice went cold. “Stop who?”

“The man that killed her. He was drunk and just kept hitting her. I tried to hit him back but he hit me too. When I woke up Myra was shaking me awake, crying. Ma was on the floor dead.”

My fists clenched tight. Every muscle in my body flexed as hundreds of questions ran through my head. I wanted to ask them all. Where did all this happen? Who was the man? What happened to him? Why was a little boy trying to defend his mother? Was no one else around? Where was Uncle Uriah? I asked none of them.

Struggling to calm myself in that moment was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I wanted someone’s blood. Badly. My chest ached with the knowledge I’d never have the reunion with my wife I had been dreaming about. However, it ached more for the boy who obviously blamed himself, at least in part, for his mother’s death. The responsibilities of a father that I had been forced to neglect for years overrode the sorrow burdening me as a husband.

Zadok stood head down and hunched forward. I reached out and pulled him to me. He sat on my lap and tucked himself into a ball, weeping.

I rocked him in the middle of the road for some time, thankful no one was there to disturb us. I did my best to console him by telling him it wasn’t his fault and that there was nothing he could have done to stop the man.

He finally began to calm down when I promised him that I wasn’t ever leaving again.

* * *

Zadok eventually recovered enough to fill me in on some of what I had missed during the last decade. He did so as he led the way to his sister. Both had taken work on Jareb’s plantation.

Due to his age, it was difficult for him to convey everything and when certain things had occurred. Most of what he recounted had originally come from Myra, Lasha, or Uncle Uriah.

Each new detail hit me like a spear to the gut. By the time he finished, I realized my son and daughter had more strength in them than many of the men I had fought beside.

The woes started shortly after I left. Because of a drought followed by a locust infestation, crops came in much lower than expected that first year. Money was scarce. Still, Lasha and Uncle Uriah had managed to keep food on the table.

Two hard years went by before they saw improvement. Uncle Uriah had begun to grow bitter because of their hardships, especially since it seemed nearby farms were recovering faster. He got impatient and made a couple of bad business deals behind Lasha’s back. He put the farm up as collateral in order to purchase extra land and new equipment, hoping to recoup their losses at a quicker rate.

I wanted to wring Uncle Uriah’s neck for doing something so stupid. But then again, I’m the one who asked him to stay with Lasha to begin with. I’m sure he thought he was making the right call.

Uriah’s gamble failed. After a couple more years, the bank repossessed the farm. It had gone through two separate owners since then, a third if you counted the couple I met earlier. Some in town considered the place cursed. I filed that bit of information away. If Ezer and his woman couldn’t make things work, I might try to buy the place back at a discount and bring it up to what it had once been. I knew how to get the most out of that land.