Prologue

Ben sat in his chair staring blankly at the dancing flames. It had been a long day, and made longer by the telegram that had arrived that morning. He had known it was bad news the moment Hoss had walked into the house; the gentle giant's face was etched in pain, and he walked far to slow before setting on the couch and handing the yellow piece of paper to his father. It was from the war department.

"We regret to inform you…." Ben had started reading the telegram out loud, but he'd been unable to finish. The Civil war had torn their home apart and left one brother fighting against another one. Adam had joined the Union Army first and then Joseph had followed, though he had joined the Confederate Army.

Ben stood up and walked over to his desk. He looked at the pictures of all three of his wives and fought to control his emotions. "One son is officially missing in action, and I have no clue to what's happened to the other one." He said as he looked upwards. "Please, watch over my sons. One way or the other, if it's thy will, bring them home."

Chapter One

The sun shone down on the small two-bedroom home that lay up in the hills of Tennessee, miles from other homes and even further from any place that resembled a town. Forty-eight, brown haired Sarah Hunter swept the floor porch while her fifty-year old, balding, husband chopped the wood. The couple were more than self-reliant and, since the war broke out, kept themselves as much as possible. Since they'd never been blessed with any children, it was easy to do. However, they had taken in more than one person through the years and; since the war broke out, they'd helped one solider after another-on either side-with the condition that the soldier understand two things. One, they were Conscientious Objectors; and two, the men promised not to attack another soldier. That is, if the second one did not attack the one already there. If that happened, the men were assured that they would not be the ones asked to leave. However, they had never had that happened, and it had been quite some time since the couple had had to help anyone out.

As Mrs. Hunter turned to her right, she stiffened slightly. She could see a soldier heading towards them…only he staggered every now and then-even leaning against one of the many trees that stood in the area. "Gideon," Sarah called over her shoulder, "We have company, looks like he's hurt."

Gideon put down his axe and turned around. Sure enough, he saw the dark haired soldier his wife was talking about. He shook his head slightly and hurried pass the porch and made his way up the short hill the soldier was now attempting to descend.

"Whoa there," Gideon reached out and grabbed the dark-haired soldier as he started falling to the ground. In no time at all, Gideon was rushing towards the home he'd shared with his wife for the past thirty-three years. By the time he flew up the steps and set foot on the porch, Sarah was holding the front door open.

"I wonder who he is." She said, after grabbing rags, water and other items she and her husband kept in the spare bedroom.

"You and I both," Gideon said as he quickly removed the soldier's shirt and hurried to stop his bleeding. "However, what I wonder even more is how he got hurt, and why isn't he with his unit? There's been no fighting in these parts. Well, not recently."

Sarah had a thought cross her mind, but did not voice it at that moment. Not because she was afraid of anything, she wasn't. She simply thought taking care of the stranger's wound, and hopefully saving his life, was more important than debating just how he got hurt in the first place. Besides, with a war tearing the land apart, she figured she and her husband could be debating that one for hours.

~oOo~

When the flap to his tent opened, Colonel Jason Parker looked up from his desk. He sighed as he saw who had stepped inside, a part of him wishing he had taken the opportunity to go home when he'd had been given the chance. This war; well, any war, cost too many young men their lives or limbs to justify any fighting. And, at sixty years old, the colonel called the majority of the soldiers 'Young soldier'-didn't matter if they were in their teesn, twenties or thirties. For that matter, he'd even called a few of the men in their forties by that term.

"May I help you?" 'How's that for a stupid question' the good general added only to himself, as he didn't really care to hear an answer, any kind of answer.

"I don't suppose you've been able to find out anything?" the soldier sat down on a chair that set next to the long, brown, rectangular table that the general had had set up and rested his arm on the side of it. "Was my brother indeed in the battle? Has he been listed with the wounded, or did he die among the slain?"

Was his brother in the battle? Was his brother alive or dead? How many times had Colonel Parker been asked that question by the men who served under him, or by men who happened to pass their camp? He had stopped counting a long time ago.

"I don't know son." There was a tired look in Colonel Parke's eyes as he answered. "I haven't been able to find anyone who is willing to admit to knowing the answers to those questions."

There was a lightning fast look of anger flash over the soldier's eyes, and then a painful resignation. How could he expect to hear anything different? The battle had more of a small skirmish, one most likely denied by either side. With his brother fighting in one army and him serving in the other one, why would anyone admit anything to the colonel? That is, if they even knew anything in the first place.

"Sorry for bothering you, sir." The weary soldier stood up to leave only to have to be shocked when the colonel began speaking again, and what he was saying wasn't exactly what the soldier had been expecting to hear.