2.

Joseph

The noise of father's guests buzzed into my ears as I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my suit. Never fail, whenever even the slightest occasion came up my father was the first to throw a party. I had not even met our new guest yet, though it seemed I was about to. I really hoped this wasn't another one of my father's matchmaking schemes.

I tugged at my collar once more as I observed it with accuracy. Supposedly, this used to be Henry's. The very thought of wearing his clothes made me sick to my stomach. To think he ever even wore a suit! My brother had always preferred the cowboy getup, complete with gun belt and five gallon hat.

I wiped those memories away. For all I knew and cared, he could be dead. I'd heard when I returned from Oxford how he had returned home with that arrogant smirk that he wore so well. He had bragged to my father on how he was going to the Union instead of the Confederacy, just to mock him.

My father, being the true hearted man that he was, begged him not to do it, told him that he would only hurt himself. He got on his hands and knees and begged Henry to come home, to be his son. He wanted us to be a family again. He told him he loved him and apologized for past transgressions and even embraced him.

What did my brother do? My father told me, with tears in his eyes, that my brother spat in his face. Why, he even went so far as to hit him. Our father, his own flesh and blood! The fool was dead to me.

I gave my clothing one last look over before I turned from the mirror and headed out of my door. Apparently, the guest was staying in the room across from mine. I gave it a slight glance before I walked down the hall. I walked straight over to the stairway and began to run my hand along the banister as I made my way down. With each step the wooden planks creaked beneath my feet. Father really needed to do something about that.

When I reached the floor, I could already hear the noise of father's guests partying. There was sure to be dancing as well as drinking, father never forgot those factors when hosting a celebration. I myself had never been drunk but once, when I was fourteen. Henry took me to the tavern on the left side of town. Besides my protests, he'd insisted I drink and dance with a few of the pretty girls.

I still remembered myself arguing with him, "We should be back at the estate, Henry. What would father say?"

He had taken a huge slurp of whiskey from his mug. "What Edward doesn't know won't kill him."

"But-"

Henry had looked at me with his famous blue eyes and put an encouraging hand on my shoulder. "Little brother, it's time for you to stop being Edward's lap dog and start experiencing life for your self. Now here's your taste of freedom. Don't pass it up."

He had finally convinced me. And you know what? I regretted it. And it was my own fault for listening to the halfwit in the first place. I had a massive hangover and father was wringing his hands by the time we made it home. Of course, my brother laughed and went about his jovial way. Despicable! He couldn't stay sober to save his life.

I realized I had done it again. Lately, all I could was think about Henry and I didn't know why. It was time to join the festivities. I walked straight down the maple brown to the two open double doors. I could clearly see the bright lights from the chandeliers pouring out of the room. Father always loved good lighting. He always said that people with more light had more class.

As I walked into the massive celebration, I saw her. She was standing alone by the punch bowl. Her long, brown, curly hair flowed delicately over her shoulders and her green eyes shown like diamonds. Her skin was pale, probably from being cooped up most of her life. As she turned and caught my eye, I felt paralyzed. Unable to move, unable to breathe. We stared into each other's eyes, both being far too stubborn to retreat first. There was just something about her that seemed to entrance me.

I heard in the background my father announcing my arrival, but I had already begun to make my way over to the punch table, seemingly drawn to the girl.

Once I had finished wading through the crowd, I found my way to the table walked up to her. But even though it had seemed like a good plan at first, I found my self lost for words. When she turned and looked up at me I was just simply standing there speechless.

"Hello," she said in a sweet voice. Just the sound of it melted me to the core.

What is wrong with me? I'm acting like a mad man.

I realized I had to do something so I managed a smile.

She looked at me curiously and said, "So kind of you and your father to welcome me into your home. I'm very grateful.

Dumbstruck, I looked at with confusion in my eyes.

"I'm a guest. Your father's letting me stay here while my father goes to battle." It was a statement, but she asked it like a question, as if wondering whether I was really Mr. Welling's son.

I realized, with great embarrassment, that this was the guest my father had spoken about.

With my face red, I stuttered, "Oh! Y-you must be miss, um….miss-'

"Rachel Basset." Rachel offered a gloved hand. I was unsure whether I should kiss it, or shake it so I just held it there for a moment before clumsily releasing it. This woman had completely turned my brain to mush.

Though I hate to admit it, I found myself asking what would Henry do? I knew it was pathetic, but as much as I hated him he did have his way with women. I myself witnessed maidens swooning at the very sight of him. He always had a charming air about him that women found irresistible.

Not that I was trying to come on to her! Of course not, we'd just met. I really only wanted to keep myself from looking like an idiot.

"What a wonderful party." Her accent was southern with a bit of a British twang that made me wonder about her ancestry.

Though I was still mesmerized by those eyes of hers, I managed to attempt a conversation. "Are you enjoying your stay?"

Her face lit up, as if relieved that I wasn't some babbling illiterate that she had thought I might be. "Yes, quite. You have a very lovely home. My father really appreciated your family looking after me while he's at war."

"Do you miss him?" I realized as soon as the words came out of my mouth what a congenial fool I really was. Of course she missed him! He was her father.

She raised an eyebrow, probably wondering what I was trying to imply. "No, no. I…..Oh, dear. Forgive me, I am such a fool."

I thought she might get angry, most girls would. But all she did was smile with forgiveness. "It's all right. Yes, I do miss him very much. My mother died when I was veery young so he's all I have left." Rachel blinked slightly and turned a little pale. "I….I have no idea why I just told you that. We just met."

I felt a slight pain wrench it's way through my body. "My mother died too. An hour after my birth."

Rachel put a hand on my arm and I felt my skin burst into flames. No girl had ever dared do that before. But there was no apology in her eyes. "I'm very sorry, Joseph. I hope you don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

She was indeed the first girl I had ever met that was so bold and outspoken. There was something just so remarkable about. Not just her beauty, though she was very fair. She seemed to…sparkle. There was some sort of air about her that made her special. And I loved it.

Remembering the sensitive topic we were discussing, I replied, "I know it's not. Some people don't see it that way, though. I just wished I could have known her. My father doesn't speak of her at all. Maybe he finds it too painful."

"I should hope he doesn't resent you for her death."

I out my back to the punch table and leaned on it so my body was beside hers as I looked out to the crowd. "No. He's reminded me through the years that I shouldn't blame myself. No one really does resent me for it except…my brother, Henry. I suppose he has every right. He was four when she died."

She looked at me with surprise, "You have a elder brother?"

Oh why, oh why, did I have to bring him up?

"He's serving in the war at the moment." I decided it wasn't best to say exactly what side he was fighting for.

She turned her head toward me. "Are you two close?

I gritted my teeth, "Not really. We used to be, but…complications. The truth is, I haven't spoke to him in over five years." I didn't no why, but it felt like I could pour my soul out to this person.

There was a note of sympathy in her tone as she said, "That's too bad. Do you miss him?"

What was I supposed to say to that? I was about to answer yes, but one look into her eyesmade me give up any attempt at lying. "I'm afraid not. He isn't a very good person."

Henry

I brought a grizzled hand up to my forehead to wipe away the sweat. It was funny, really. In my home town the snow had probably just melted and it was still very cool out. But here, in Georgia, The sun beat down mercilessly. I tried to imagine my home in my head, thinking about those wonderful apple trees I used to climb.

I let out a little chuckle. I would go to the very top and hide and eat as many apples as I liked until Eliza came and found me and swatted me for getting my Sunday best dirty. My brother never was good at climbing trees so I would help him by giving him a boost. He would climb up and pick a dozen or so apples and drop them into the basket I'd lifted from the kitchen.

At that I frowned, remembering the day when the had gone awry. Our father never approved of us climbing the trees. He said it was a waste of time and apples. We still did it, though. One time my brother had decided to go climbing without me. I was in my room, sharpening the knife Grandfather had brought back from the Mexican war. That's when I hear Joseph's cry. I looked out my window to see my baby brother hand from one of the tallest limbs desperately flailing and screaming for help as his fingers began to slip.

I had rushed down the stairs, out the door and into the yard. He was handing by one hand now, tears running down his cheeks. He was only nine and the drop was at least sixteen feet. I ran to the base of the tree and began to climb, shaking at the sound of my terrified little brother begging for my help. I remember feeling so scared. Not for my safety, but for my brother's. When I was only about a few inches away from hi branch, he fell. I had jumped from my roost and grabbed him in mid air. I had pressed him to my chest and landed on my back so that he would not be crushed.

With aches all through my body, I had slowly gotten up while Joseph kept asking I was all right.

Just then my father entered the scene. He was drunk, I could smell it on his breath. With anger in his eyes he had ordered us to tell him which one of us had climbed the apple tree. We both stood there, not saying a word. Edward ripped his horse whip out of his bag leather riding bad he had tied to his belt. I saw my brother's lip begin to quiver and then he started bawling right there.

"Silence!" he'd screamed, snapping his whip on the ground.

I couldn't bare it anymore. I wouldn't let him beat my little brother. I had taken a step forward and announced, my body trembling, that I had been the one who'd climbed the tree. Joseph's eyes had gotten wide, but one look from me told him he was not to say a word. My father gave me a beating to remember that day. I would never forget because of the terrible scar that rippled down my back. That was the only thing my father had ever given to me.

As for Joseph, I was a fool to have taken a beating for that little traitor. When we grew older he began to side with father one everything. He sold me out thousands of times, pinned his own iniquities on me, even made fun of me at times in school, joining the others in calling me the Tramp. What a brother he was.

In return, I had sought to make him jealous by my becoming quite the ladies man. My first girlfriend, Selena, I had very much liked, but even more I liked the fact that I could show her off to my little brother.

My thoughts were interrupted my the sound of an ear piercing scream coming from one of the near by tents at our camp. It lasted for about two minutes before it finally went silent. Then all was quiet until two men exited the same tent carrying the marred body out and throwing it into the pile with the many others. The smell was awful as it wafted from the body pile that was by now surrounded with fresh flies. All around me were dozens of tents for the sick and wounded. Throughout the past hour I had watched over seventy-five people thrown into that very same pile. I was waiting. Waiting to see what would become of Jonathan, my good friend from the gold rush. He hadn't had as much luck as I, but he was a good man that had befriended me while I was in my darkest hour. He had taken a bullet in battle and I stood in the midst of the many tents now, hoping that he would survive.

I'm not a religious man. When my father forced me to attend service, me and my friends would always play some sort of trick on the priest until my father could no longer stand the embarrassment and had me banished exiled from the church. If there is a god, though, he sure doesn't listen to my prayers. And why should he? I'm not a good person. At one point or another I had even done a little work for the James brothers. I was their sharpshooter. Don't get me wrong, John and Jesse are real good guys, but I knew well that there career would end at the bottom of a noose someday. No one knew of my involvement so I 'd gotten away without any warrants. I had only been a wanted man once, in Seattle, but that's a different story.

Either way, I'm pretty sure God didn't really want to hear from me right then, but for my friend I prayed a prayer. Twelve minutes later I saw Jonathan join the others in the pile.