~~There will not be two different scenarios in this chapter. Both chapters will have the Barkley lives intertwined briefly.

Warning: Physical abuse of a child

Chapter Seven:Recruiting Officer

Matt Simmons opened the door to Heath's bedroom. The drunken man stood with his fists balled causing his knuckles to whiten. His voice came out in a slurred growl. "I'm gonna teach you now, boy!"

Heath panicked as he saw his uncle heading towards him.

Martha jumped away from the boy screaming. "Matt, help me! Help me!"

She held her dress to her body as if she feared Heath looking at her. He had been forced to see every part of the older woman before. Therefore bile rose in Heath's throat as he realized what Martha was insinuating by her actions.

Heath felt his heart constricting in his chest. His uncle had never hit him before. Martha was the only adult to ever lay a hand on him in violence. That didn't include Hannah's spankings in discipline. Those didn't count as abuse like Martha had given him. It had been months since Martha had smacked him or beat him. Even though her new way of punishing felt much worse.

The fights with other children had stopped long ago thanks to his Aunt Rachel. At the age of eight years old, Heath had taken to calling Rachel Caulfield an aunt because of her kindness. Hannah and Rachel had formed a friendly alliance in their love and protection of Heath.

Heath knew. He knew without a doubt as he stared at his uncle's face contorted in rage. He knew that this beating would be the worst he had ever felt. Heath knew there was no way to ward off the much larger man. Heath thought he'd be sick before the beating even started. He watched in a dazed silence as his uncle Matt's breathing came in ragged breaths as he took one step after the other towards Heath. Then with every sound seeming to be in a tunnel, Heath felt himself being jerked up by the hair of his head. He felt a fist smash against his jaw in a blow that caused twinkling colors to flash in his eyes. Then another and another fist met his soft skin.

He blinked trying to rid the mingling of blood and sweat that ran into his eyes. He felt the taste of copper blood strangling his senses. Heath knew his life would be over soon. He wanted to fight but felt he deserved the beating Matt was giving him. He had done unthinkable things with Martha, Matt's wife. Things he never wanted but was still a party too.

Heath's head lulled to the side right before he started to welcome the darkness, he saw her. He saw Martha's smile of victory. She had planned this. She had broken him as she had tried to since the day he was a child. A child, who could walk, when her son couldn't. A child, who lived, when her son died.

Heath's hatred for her accumulated with each blow his uncle was driving to his ribs, stomach, face.

Then Heath quirked a smile at Martha.

It was the same lopsided smile he used when he was happy in life. Martha's eyes widened as she fell back against a chair. Her hand gripped the chair arm tightly as her knuckles turned red then white. Heath continued the smirk as she stared at him in disbelief. She had lost. The boy was victorious.

As Heath stared at her, his body went numb to his uncle's pounding. The smirk remained on his face as Heath's hand balled into a fist. With a sudden strike, all Heath's fury was unleashed to save himself. He drew his fist back then landed a blow too powerful for a twelve year old boy. As his fist connected with Matt's cheek, Heath knocked Matt backwards. Before Matt could react, Heath picked up a lantern from the night stand. Then he smashed it against Matt's head.

Heath's words were venomous as he stood over the unconscious older man. "I'll see you both dead before I let her touch me again!"

Then the boy ran. He ran to the only one he knew he could trust. He ran to his Mama Hannah's arms.

Hannah held the boy tightly as he clutched her to him. She pushed him back seeing how bruised he was. However, it was what she saw in his eyes that told her the beatings were of little circumstance to her boy. She saw a too familiar pain and shame. She felt herself weaken as her own memories of her former owner and his callous use of her. She was probably near the same age of Heath.

Hannah grabbed Heath and pulled him in to her house. "Jessup, get your gun." Hannah ordered not caring that she was not in any authority to do so. "Shoot to kill if Matt or Martha Simmons try to get to my boy."

Jessup obeyed as he sat a chair on the porch. He perched their stoically holding his loaded rifle.

Hannah pushed Heath down on the sofa. She left him only long enough to get clean clothes and water. She dabbed at his bruises as she spoke to him softly. "I had two brothers, Heath. One was name John and the other James. They was mighty different boys. They was might fine boys too. John was loud and determined to not let the master break him. That boy with all his pride was beat merciless. The other brother was James. He was a thinker. Everyone thought he was meek because it was 'Yes, Massa this and yes, Massa that'. I even thought that. But I realize that James was using his brain to keep us alive as much as John was using his pride to keep us alive. The more John spoke up, the less beatings James got. The more James stayed silent and solved the problem , the less beatings John got. They was a pair. Those two was."

Hannah pulled off Heath's blood soaked shirt and replaced it with a blue tattered shirt that had been mended and made bigger with extra cloth. She pushed Heath's sweaty hair from his forehead. Then she continued her story.

"John was sold. He didn't want to leave us so he tried to escape. He died trying. But he tried. James still was the quite thinker like I told you afore. That stopped one day when he caught the master..." Hannah paused as she cupped Heath's face in her hands. "He caught the master with me."

Heath felt his throat constrict. He knew exactly what his Mama Hannah meant. "Weren't your fault. Was it, Mama?"

"No. My boy. It weren't my fault." Hannah felt tears well up in her eyes. "It weren't your fault either. You understand?"

"Yes, Mama." Heath gasped for air as a sob escaped from way down deep in his lungs. "What happened to James, Mama?"

Hannah brushed a tear from her eye then reached to wipe a stream of tears from Heath's cheek. "Well now that boy did something either really stupid or really brave, he fought for me. He fought like I never seen a colored man fight with a white man. Some other slaves grabbed him. They all knew if they didn't, they'd be beat right along with James. Then the master strung him up for all to see. The master took a whip to him over and over. You know what James did?"

"No, Mama." Heath shook his head as he swiped his hand across the tears on his bruised cheek.

"He never made a sound. He never let the master see his pain. He looked at me with pride in his eyes. The same pride I saw in John's eyes when he was beat. I knew right then and there what I had to do. I had to keep on fighting. I had to fight until I was free from that place. Because James and John had put their lives ahead of mine. I knew it. They both balanced each other out because they had to. I chose the name James because John would've insisted on it. But neither of my brothers made me prouder to be their sister. You have to keep on fightin', Heath. You have to know when to be like James and when to be like John. You have to so this world won't take another man I love. You'z my boy, Heath. You is my world. I love you with everything in me, boy."

Heath fell forward and grabbed Hannah. He shuddered against her as his body wracked with sobs. Hannah could hear mumbled talking from the porch. The words couldn't be made out by her. She squeezed Heath tighter to her as she allowed the child to let loose of his pain and guilt for something that was never the child's fault.

Soon, Jessup stood over them. "I don't think they're coming tonight, Hannah. But they will come. Jethro came by just now. Heath went and knocked Matt real hard. The doctor is stitching him up."

Hannah peered up at Jessup. "What can I do for my boy, Jessup?"

"I'm going to fetch Miss Caulfield to help you fix up the boy's wounds. Then I have an idea. I know you're not going to like it, Hannah. But this is the only chance Heath will have. If Matt or Martha get a hold of him, he's good as dead. No one will stop them. This way, he may survive. It is risk but that boy may just pull through this." Jessup rustled Heath's hair. He noticed the blood had mingled with the blonde tendrils.

Jarrod Barkley sighed out as he looked over the line of people gathering. His dark blue eyes scanned the area in front of him. His handsome features stood out amongst the worn down miners who were forming a line in front of him. The twenty two year old officer sat in a dignified manner. Jarrod Barkley never allowed his posture to show anything but a pride in himself or the Barkley name. Even admist those, who had less than him, Jarrod's pride still was second to his compassion for justice for the fellow man.

Jarrod set up a tent on the edge of town. He watched the bustling of the mining town from his distance. It was dry and beginning to die. His father had once owned a mine here. He remembered his mother saying that Strawberry was the place that began their climb to fortune. It was the beginning.

He wiped at his forehead due to the sweat accumulating. His father had sent him a telegraph telling of Nick's joining the army. Nick was barely eighteen years old. Jarrod knew that his father and mother had tried to talk the boy out of joining the war. He also knew his stubborn brother would never listen. Nick thought he was a man doing what a man should do. Perhaps Nick joining the war was why Jarrod asked for this particular assignment. Jarrod wouldn't be allowed this assignment long as he would soon be needed for tasks that required his intelligence as an officer. Jarrod would take this short lived opportunity to do as he felt he needed. He wanted to make sure that other young men knew exactly what they were getting into joining the fight.

Some recruiters didn't care what age a child was when signing up. As long as the child claimed to be eighteen, it was legal. They wanted to meet their quota and go on with it. It didn't seem to matter to them that some boys could barely fit the uniforms they were given. The same thing was happening with the South. The war wasn't a war among men now. It was a war filled with boys on both sides.

Jarrod had seen too many boys signing for a chance of adventure. He was determined to try to save a few of those boys. Jarrod admitted to himself he had quickly moved to being an officer, which saved him from the most recent battles. He had seen a couple of small battles, if one could call any battle small. His intelligence had him moving up in ranks quickly. Thus, he was taken away from the battle field. Jarrod felt guilt for that even though it was not his own doing. After all, he had fought brave and hard when called upon to do so. However, Jarrod was told his intelligence was needed elsewhere. He wasn't given a choice in the matter. He knew Nick would be in battle due to his will to fight. It frightened Jarrod for his younger sibling. He'd rather be in the one fighting than his younger brother or any child. His hands were tied on that subject. The only thing he knew to do was pray for his younger brother and try to dissuade those younger boys from signing their lives away.

"Name?" 2nd Lieutenant Ralph Edwards called out from beside of Jarrod.

Jarrod watched as a young boy stepped up in front of them. All Jarrod could see was the tattered blonde hair that hid the boy's face. Jarrod shook his head. The boy had to be no older than twelve or thirteen.

"How old are you, boy?"

Jarrod heard in a low southern drawl. "Eighteen."

The boy kept his head down as he spoke. It wasn't uncommon to hear different dialects in mining towns. Many people traveled across the country in search of finding a fortune. They brought along their own accents along the way. Those speech patterns were often passed down to the children in the mining towns. Jarrod find the young boy's own southern drawl rather endearing.

Jarrod rolled his eyes. He called loudly."Who are this boy's parent?"

"I don't have no Pa." Heath's voice was still low as he spoke. He was careful not to finish his thoughts of being the word his mama Hannah hated.

Jarrod noticed an older gentleman standing near watching the boy. "Are you with him?"

"I ain't no relation. If that's what you mean." Jessup stepped up. He nodded his head towards Hannah and Rachel. "His Ma is over there though."

Jarrod stood and walked the few feet to the two ladies standing to Jessup's side. He addressed Rachel. "Ma'am, do you realize your son is signing up for a war?"

"I realize that but he isn't my son. But if he was, I understand why he is doing what this child must do." Rachel nodded to Hannah. "He's her son."

Jarrod's brow creased as he turned to the colored woman. After getting past the impossibility of the young boy being the colored woman's, he cleared his throat. "Ma'am."

"I know what it seems, Mister." Hannah looked at Jarrod with tears brimming the edges of her eyes. "But I's got no choice. My boy has to have a way out of this town before it kills him. Look at my boy, Mister. I don't want this. But this way, he's got him a chance."

Jarrod turned to look at the boy in question. This time, Heath was staring directly at him. He swallowed the queasiness at seeing the discolored bruises covering the child. Jarrod could see the proud behind the bruises that covered the majority of the blonde boy's face. One of the boy's eyes was swollen shut and his lip was split. Jarrod had to grab the edge of the table at the sight of the boy. The blue eye that stared back with fierce pride cut deep to Jarrod's heart. His confusion of what to do gnawed at him. He promised himself he'd not let a child sign up under his watch.

Jessup spoke trying to convince the army officer. "You put that boy with a bugle. He ain't never played before but that boy rides a horse like he was born on one." Jessup rubbed his beard. "Iffin' that ain't possible, give him a rifle. Boy Howdy, can the boy shoot. Never seen the likes of a shooter like the boy. He's a might special with horses and a rifle."

"Mister, I'm eighteen." Heath's drawl carried through the air. "If you don't let me sign here. Then I'll just have to find the next town that has a recruitin' place. I wont' take my mama's last nickel to get myself there. Ain't no son gonna do that. That means I'd hafta walk. Now, if you look real close at me, you'll see there isn't much a place on me that ain't bruised exceptin' my feet. Will it make a big powerful man like yourself feel that more powerful to have taken my feet too?"

Lieutenant Ralph allowed a chuckle to escape his lips. The future lawyer had just been outtalked by yellow haired con artist. Ralph came to Jarrod's rescue by taking the decision from his hands.

"Name?" Ralph picked up his pen after dipping it in an ink well. "Sign it here or make your mark."

Heath leaned over the table. Writing his name, Heath glanced up saying proudly. "My name's Heath James."