Chapter 9

January 1861

The plantation looked the same, except the vegetation wasn't green. It wouldn't be until summer, and then it would look grand. Smoke billowed out of the chimneys and the house looked more inviting than ever. Cora's rose garden had been trimmed back, and the fences around the property looked to have been freshly painted. Perhaps things weren't as bad as they had been. The door opened before Ezra could raise his hand and knock.

"Ezra," Cora gasped, trying to hold back the tears of joy that wanted to fall. She didn't give him time to react as she wrapped her loving arms around him. "It's been so long."

Ezra embraced her, feeling as though he were home. Here, waters didn't have to be tested, questions didn't need to be asked or answered, and nobody cared about his past.

"Get inside chil', 'fore you freeze ta death," Cora said, pulling on his coat.

"Well I'll be," Samuel said, noticing his nephew had arrived home. He stepped forward and embraced the young man; Samuel tried not to notice the tension in the boy's shoulders. "Your mother know you're here?" he asked.

"No…she doesn't," Ezra answered honestly.

Samuel nodded and then grabbed his nephew's head and messed his hair. "Lets get you something to eat, looks like you could use it."

******

Ezra looked up when the door to the kitchen opened and in stepped a tall black man. It took the younger man a moment to realize it was Benny. He wasn't short and skinny anymore.

"Ezra?" Benny asked, looking at the younger man sitting at the table.

Ezra nodded, slightly shocked by his friend's appearance.

"I'm so glad to see you," Benny moved over to the table and slapped Ezra on the back. "How long you here for?"

Ezra shrugged: "Not really sure," he responded.

"Hey, look at this," Benny's smiled increased and his white teeth shown bright under the lantern light. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder and flexed his muscle. "The girls love it," he snorted, pointing to his arm.

"You haven't changed," Ezra said, laughing at his friend's antics.

"You're still as scrawny as ever," Benny replied, sitting down at the table.

Ezra rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich. "Cora said you're working with the horses?"

"Yeah." Benny grabbed a carrot off of Ezra's plate. "Tomorrow you should come out and I'll show you some of the stock…Master Samuel's got some of the best horse flesh in the state. He even gave me one of his geldings…named him Spook."

Ezra chuckled: "Why'd you give him a name like that?"

"Remember that ol' witch that lived out by Hinds pond?" He waited until Ezra nodded. "Well, after that ol' woman died I was out riding back there and that horse I was on spooked right out from under me."

"Hence the name?" Ezra answered for him.

Benny laughed: "Yep."

******

Ezra and Benny slipped their boots off when they entered the house. Both boys could hear men's voices coming from Samuel's study. Everyone from town seemed to be there, and their voices only escalated.

"Who's here, Momma?" Benny asked, sneaking a slice of bread from the counter.

Cora shook her head: "Just 'bout everyone I ever heard of," she replied, taking another loaf out of the oven. "You boys bes' get warm, don't want ya gettin' sick on me." She smiled and motioned for them to leave the room.

Ezra stepped up to the study door and listened to the argument happening inside.

******

"…the Union is fallin' apart," Jim Horn snapped, scratching his graying beard.

"I ain't ready to give away everything I've been working for to those Yankee bastards." Another man yelped. "We're going to war and nothing can change that."

"We all need to calm down," Samuel said, getting to his feet. "South Carolina is already threatening to secede, it's up to the State of Georgia and those like her to keep the Union together."

"What Union, Samuel?" Jack Humphrey questioned his long time friend. "We know that Lincoln's, Secretary of State, 'Mister' Seward, has been lyin' to us. Thinkin' that us Southerner's wouldn't realize that the Union was building up an army…Hell, look at Fort Sumter, they were supposed to have abandoned it weeks ago," he looked around at the men in the room, "but they're building up its forces."

"Jack's right," Senator Terrell said, stepping forward. "The Bill of Rights was signed in Virginia," he paused, making sure his words hit, "Since the signing its integrity has been subdued, subdued by the very men who swear to uphold it. The South as we know it is perishing under the iron hand of the North. We are not only losing our rights as citizens of this great nation, but as inhabitants of this state."

"So what are we going to do?" Jim asked, although he knew the answer.

"Fight," Samuel replied, slumping down into his chair.

The room went quiet as all the men took into consideration the words spoken.

******

Ezra moved away from the door, unsure of what to think. He hadn't been deaf to all the rumors of war he'd heard. These men spoke the truth, things were changing in the South, and they had been for many years. It was going to take more than politicians arguing on Capital Hill to stop the threats.

Much more.

******

When the bullets started flying at Fort Sumter, the Union believed that the Confederacy would crumble, instead it became stronger. Boys from all over the Southern states enlisted, looking for ways to defend their homes, beliefs, and ways of life. They were not going to give up easily. Mothers, daughters, and wives, stood on their porches watching their men march off to war. Pride and hope fueled their beliefs that everyone would return home.

Cora couldn't pack enough food in the small satchels that Ezra and Benny were taking with them. She sighed, trying to hold back the tears. Her boys were leaving for war. That's all they were, boys, Ezra wasn't a day over fifteen and Benny was just a few months away from turning eighteen.

Boys.

Their decision to enlist hadn't been an easy one. But it was Ezra's decision that pushed Benny's. Once the boy learned that his mother was leaving for New York to escape the hostility in the South, without her son, Ezra decided that he'd rather be in the center of the conflict than on the outskirts. Samuel, devastated by the news, did the only thing he could. He gave both boys a horse and rifle. He didn't want them unarmed. The whole situation tore Cora up inside. She'd never wanted to see this day come, never.

"Momma," Benny said, gently taking his mother's hand. "We got to go," he said softly, looking her in the eye.

"I'll be out in a minute," she said confidently, "I's just got a few more apples to stick in for you's lunches."

Benny nodded and headed outside. Spring's early sun was already turning the lush grasses and trees to blossom into their magnificent beauty.

Cora took a deep breath and grabbed both of the bags. She could do this…she had to. When she stepped out onto the porch she could see Samuel offering some last minute advice to his nephew. She smiled, wanting to be brave for her son.

"There's plenty o' food in here's for you boys, an' make sure you's eat." She handed a bag to each of them. Gently she took Ezra's face in her hands and kissed his forehead. "You brin' my boy back to me," she said, letting the tears stream down her cheeks, "promise me." Her eyes spoke volumes, the eyes only a mother would show. She smiled when Ezra nodded.

"I will," Ezra said softly.

Cora turned to her son and wrapped her arms around him. When she released him she tried to straighten up his shirt. Her chin quivered, and her eyes continued to water. "You make me so proud," she said softly, trying to be strong. She stopped suddenly and patted his chest, just over his heart. "You 'member, dis is where your heart is," she looked up into his eyes, "and dis is where it belongs."

"I know, Momma." He knew what she meant. This plantation was his home, it always had been, and it always would be.

Cora shook her head: "You come back to me, ya hear," she cried, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you boys," she released Benny and looked at Ezra. "Watch out for each other."

"We will, Momma," Benny said, kissing his mother on the cheek.

Cora stepped back, wanting more than anything for her son to tell her he wasn't going. But that wasn't about to happen. She knew that in her heart.

"Come home," Samuel ordered, watching as they each mounted up.

Both boys waved as they trotted their horses down the lane.

Samuel reached over and wrapped his arm around the woman who had been his rock for so long. He knew he couldn't stop the pain Cora was feeling, but he could be there for her, like all the times she'd been there for him.

"They'll come home," he tried to sound confident.

Cora nodded, trying to accept his words.

Samuel embraced her, not worrying about who saw them, not caring at what would happen if someone did.

Chapter 10

Atlanta Georgia

1861

Boys and men from all over the South arrived with only one thing on their minds, stopping the Northern Aggressor. Regiment leaders from Virginia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia were here looking for men, many were regular army and others were volunteers.

Benny followed Ezra around the camp, the younger boy seemed to know how to handle himself in crowds, and Benny didn't. He didn't like the eyes of soldiers that looked at him, or the questioning glares from folks who weren't enlisting. This wasn't anything like working on the plantation.

"You there," an officer called to them, "what are you lookin' for?" He asked, stepping out from beneath his tent.

"We're here to enlist," Ezra responded confidently.

The officer laughed: "You ain't old enough boy, and niggers ain't allowed."

"I'm sixteen, old enough by most standards," Ezra lied, looking up at Benny, "and the nigger is mine." He could feel Benny's anger before he saw it, but in order to save his life Ezra had to lie.

"I don't believe you're sixteen," the officer replied. "When were you born?"

"1844," Ezra responded, already having done the math.

"I'm Lieutenant Peterson, what's your name?"

"Ezra Standish." Ezra didn't look at Benny's expression.

The lieutenant nodded, trying to decide if this boy was worth adding on. "You can sign here," he responded, showing them toward the tent.

******

Once they were out of sight from the officers, Benny grabbed Ezra's arm and forced him around. "I ain't your nigger," he said sharply, his anger was clearly written on his face.

Ezra looked around, making sure nobody was watching. "This is a different place…" he looked hard at his friend, "we have to look and act like everyone else…otherwise you will end up someone's slave."

Benny nodded and then sighed. "Just so you know, I ain't washin' your clothes."

Ezra smiled, and picked a piece of lint off of Benny's shirt. "You think I'd ask?" He responded with a chuckle.

"Why didn't you give 'im your real name?" Benny asked.

"Didn't want to give them any cause to go lookin' for Uncle Samuel…or Cora."

Benny nodded, not really understanding Ezra's words, but unwilling to question his judgment.

******

History books didn't give accurate depictions of what a battlefield looked, or smelt like. How could it? How could white pages filled with small words describe the smell of men that had been dead for days? It couldn't. This was a war unlike any other. Men, born and raised in the same homes of the same mothers were fighting each other, killing each other, for nothing more than their ideals. Ezra never understood how death could change a man, he'd seen his father killed, but he'd never taken a life…until now. Now, he was firing his weapon at men and boys that could be his family.

The war was changing everyone.

Because the Confederacy didn't have the number of men the Union did, the Southern states saw fit to train their soldiers more efficiently. Men, who were willing, trained in everything. Ezra was willing. He was already skillful with a long rifle, his knack for math made him a perfect candidate for heavy artillery, and his love of horses made him perfect for the Calvary. He was every general's dream soldier, except for the fact he looked so young.

It was highly unusual for a soldier to remain in the same regiment for very long. They were usually transferred, depending on the needs of surrounding companies. Because Benny was Ezra's 'slave', the two of them traveled, and trained together. Most officers didn't think it was unusual, simply for the fact that families who could afford to send a slave with their sons, did.

Ezra never stayed too long in any one camp, until he was transferred to one of General Longstreet's regiments. Benny noticed, but never questioned, the fact that his friend never got close to anyone. The younger boy didn't make friends like most kids his age. Oh, he could walk into any situation and make himself look good, telling stories that stole everyone's attention, did card tricks, and played poker like many of the professionals, but he was missing that bond that many of the other soldiers seemed to have.

Benny never left Ezra's side; he was almost an extra appendage. When Ezra got transferred to the sharpshooter's troop, Benny went with him, aiding him and firing along side him. They were quite the team, brothers without the blood ties.

******

Small fires burned in front of tents containing young Confederate soldiers. The smell of salted pork frying filled the air and the sense of uncertainty embraced those who could bring themselves to celebrate their recent win at Second Manassas.

Ezra looked over at Benny, who seemed content looking up at the sky. A year had passed, and the last battle had given the South the push they needed in order to continue their crusade. They actually had a chance of winning this war.

Ezra flipped the cards through his fingers, watching his precise and graceful movements. His fingers moved like dancers over a well-shined floor. His hands and nails were dirty, callused, and cut, from months of digging, shooting, and clearing debris. The small rectangular objects that moved through his fingers were just as worn. They were the only items that could bring him comfort; his only link to his family…his father, and his link to reality.

The battles were all looking the same, it was hard to tell which ones they'd won, and which ones they'd lost. Time seemed to have disappeared, like an hour that never ended. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and unlike before, there weren't any celebrations breaking the time up.

"Can you read that letter from Momma again?" Benny asked, rolling over onto his side.

"You can read, Benny," Ezra replied, never taking his eyes off his cards.

"I don't make it sound so good."

Ezra chuckled and pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket. Cora's writing wasn't grand, and could hardly be considered legible, but she'd written. Something Maude had yet to do. Ezra read the words with the same care that Cora had written them, and Benny seemed to be calmed by her simple vocabulary.

"She worries too much," Benny said, sitting up.

"She has reason to," Ezra responded.

"What 'bout Maude, where's she at?"

"Last I heard, New York, but," Ezra shrugged his shoulders, "she could be anywhere."

"When I's younger," Benny paused, "I's jealous of you." He forced a smile onto his face.

"Me?" Ezra chuckled, slightly surprised by his friends revelation.

"I remember you was always sick, and you was takin' her time." Benny looked up at the sky and then at his friend.

Ezra nodded in understanding, but kept his eyes focused on his cards. He didn't know, or understand, his friend's feelings. How could he?

"Play ya a game of gin?" Benny offered, realizing his friend was uncomfortable.

Ezra lifted his chin and smiled. "Okay."

******

The air was soon filled with dense smoke as weapons continued to be fired. Bullets pierced the ground, trees, and the water as Union troops tried to cross what had been dubbed 'Burnsides Bridge'. Ezra continued to fire at men he could no longer see. Benny sat just below him behind the wooden barrier, their rifles firing as soon as they were reloaded.

This was Antietam.

Ezra and Benny were just two of Longstreet's 600 sharpshooters firing at the enemy, an enemy that wouldn't stop. Antietam creek was turning red from the blood of Union soldiers trying to cross the divide, and the thirsty ground sucked the life giving force from those who could no longer keep it. Soldiers wearing gray and blue fell together, not caring about their beliefs or differences. Men fought for their lives, while boys lost their innocence.

Bodies of the dead lined the fields like snow on a cold winter's day.

Ezra heard the grunt, but he didn't pay it any mind when Benny continued to fire his weapon. Ezra didn't have time to stop. When the order came to retreat, he crouched down and moved closer to his friend.

"Let's get back," he said, gathering up his supplies. He knew that in order to survive they'd have to get back past the artillerymen; otherwise they'd be killed.

Benny fired his weapon again. "I can't," he replied softly.

Ezra grabbed his friend's jacket and pulled. "Let's go!" He ordered. This wasn't a game.

"I can't!" Benny replied, pulling his hand away from his belly.

"Oh, God," Ezra gasped, seeing the bloodied hand.

"I don't want to die," Benny muttered, looking at his friend.

"You're not going to die," Ezra looked into his friend's eyes, and not giving him a chance to object, Ezra pulled him up and started moving him away from the oncoming fire. "We'll get you to the doctor," he gasped, using all of his strength trying to keep Benny on his feet. Ezra struggled under his friend's weight and size, but his determination won out.

Bodies, rolling terrain, rocky outcroppings, and scattered wooded areas made it more difficult for both men to traverse. Benny weakened quickly, relying on Ezra to keep him moving. His legs became uncooperative, and he stumbled, but Ezra was there to pull him along. Benny's vision blurred, his body shook, and sweat soaked his dirty clothing.

He was dying.

Snavely Ford was a narrow patch of land that was clear of the rough terrain the men were trying to cross. And after hours of being on the move, it seemed to be the best route to take. Others thought the same thing. Wounded Confederates, and Yankees moved through the area searching for help. Fields of corn ready for harvest lined the path, and harbored the cowards and those that were dying within its crowded walls.

"St…stop…" Benny gasped, falling to the ground taking and Ezra with him. "I…I can't," he spit up blood and saliva. His brow was covered in sweat, and his eyes seemed hollow, as the pain slowly consumed him.

"We can't stop here," Ezra said, getting on his feet and trying to pull his friend up by his jacket.

Benny remained where he was, unwilling, and unable to move further. The heat of the sun took all the energy he had left, and he gasped for breath in a chest that refused to take more air. "Pl…please...please stop," he cried, grabbing hold of Ezra's jacket sleeve. Benny was dying…and he knew it.

"You can't do this," Ezra argued, shaking off Benny's arm and once again trying to get him to his feet. "Don't do this," he whispered, and then slumped down by his friend's head.

"You best leave 'im," a confederate soldier said, as he started to walk by. "Could take days for a belly wound to kill 'im."

Ezra watched the soldier as he continued down the path, holding his bloodied left arm. "I'm not leaving you," he said confidently, when Benny's hand squeezed his own. "I won't leave you," he whispered to himself.

Benny rolled onto his side and screamed in pain. "Make it stop," he cried, grasping Ezra's hand forcefully.

Ezra rolled Benny onto his back and gently lifted his shoulders so he could drink from the canteen. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, letting his tears stain his dirt-covered cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but only left muddied marks on his face.

Benny weakly grasped at the pistol in Ezra's belt. Ever so softly he muttered, "Please." He continued to pull at the weapon he was too weak to hold. "Please," he said again, trying to get his lips to move around words he could hardly say. If he was going to die, he wanted to die on his own terms.

Ezra shook his head and stood back up. "NO!" He snapped, reaching down to once again lift his friend. "I promised I'd get you home." He struggled with his friend's size and weight. When Benny cried out in pain, Ezra stopped and slumped down in defeat. "I can't," he cried, understanding what his friend wanted.

Benny pulled at the weapon Ezra now held in his hand. Tears flowed from both sets of eyes freely, one set pleading for death, the other, pleading for life. "T…take…take my heart home to Momma," Benny asked, through clenched teeth.

Ezra's chin quivered uncontrollably, and he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. "I can't," he said, looking at the weapon in his hand. "Please don't do this," he pleaded, and then looked up at the soldiers that passed them by.

"Please," Benny's voice was fading, and the pain continued to rack his body. His body that had been so strong, so unwilling to surrender, and so full of life, was now fading. "Please," he pleaded again, as the tremors started to take over.

Ezra looked at the weapon in his hand, and slowly nodded his head. With tears blurring his vision, and lungs that couldn't catch enough breath, he straddled his best friend's waist. The sound of the hammer being cocked back didn't mean anything as Ezra leaned over and grabbed the top of Benny's head, and then he pressed his forehead onto Benny's.

"I love you like a brother," Ezra whispered between gasps of breath. He felt Benny nod his head the sentiments were returned.

"Pl…please," Benny choked, spitting up blood from the wounds on his tongue, his tongue that was being bitten by his own jaws.

Ezra cried: "I…I can't," he gasped, "I can't." His heart burned as though it were lit from the fires of hell.

"Please," Benny whispered past uncooperative lips, "please."

Reluctantly, Ezra nodded and then he carefully positioned the weapon under Benny's chin, and then moved away as he squeezed the trigger. Everything went quiet, as though the world came to a stop. The only sound filling his ears was the beating of his own heart. Ezra released a cry and grabbed the front of his friend's bloodied shirt and rocked back and forth over his body. "I'm sorry," he whispered into ears that could no longer hear, "I'm so sorry."

With newfound determination, Ezra ripped Benny's shirt open, and pulled the long knife from his boot. He'd take Benny's heart home…he had to.

******

Ezra entered the Confederate camp that wasn't far from Sharpsburg. His clothing was stained with the blood of his friend, his brother, his comrade. His face was streaked with tears shed, dirt, and blood. Nobody seemed to notice him; he wasn't the only one suffering. The loss of the battle had insured a somber mood among everyone.

Officers moved around frantically trying to get notes and supplies sent to regiments that needed it. Wounded soldiers cried out in pain as their friends tried to move them toward the medical tents. Guns went off, killing the wounded horses that could no longer support their riders, or themselves.

"Are you wounded?" Captain Miller asked, moving away from the tent where several men had gathered and were now going over maps and other important papers.

Ezra shook his head: "No, sir," he replied softly.

"Standish," Lieutenant Peterson said, stepping up beside Captain Miller. He turned to his superior and started to say something, but the captain's hand stopped him.

"Where's Benny?" The captain asked, already guessing what his response would be.

"Dead, sir." Ezra turned his eyes upward and met the captain's. "I need to take a few days, sir, and go home," his words were soft, and his voice was full of despair.

"You can't," the lieutenant snapped, looking around at the other soldiers in worse shape than the one standing before him, or at least they appeared to be. He returned his gaze to his superior, "You can't let him go because his nigger died."

"As a Southern gentlemen, Lieutenant, it would be in your benefit to understand that all men dying on these once simple fruitful fields deserve the respect they have earned…color is not the dividing character here." His words were strong, and knowing. He met Ezra's eyes, "I grieve with you, son."

Ezra nodded, but didn't say anything.

"I can give you two weeks," the captain said, regaining his composure. He then motioned for Peterson to follow him. "And Corporal Standish, report to me upon your return."

"Yes, sir."

******

Two weeks was not a lot of time for Ezra to get from Maryland to Savannah and back again. But anything was possible for a man with determination. He sold his horse and bought a ticket on one of the few railroads that were still running through the war torn countryside. He received looks from observers, they didn't have to guess where he'd been…it was obvious. His clothing was still dirty and stained, he didn't have time to change, and he didn't have the money to purchase new attire. His appearance wasn't what he was worried about. His mother would be appalled, but she wasn't here, and she didn't know the circumstances.

Ezra had wrapped Benny's heart in a soft cloth and then placed it in a small tin. He covered it with salt, one of the few things soldiers had that was in abundance, to keep it from going bad. He'd made a promise to Benny and he intended to keep it, at all costs. He wasn't sure if friendship was really worth the pain it caused, not if it involved such…heartache. He couldn't even bring himself to shuffle his cards…it all seemed so menial.

The war had continued for a little over a year, but its devastation was evident all over the South. And it was only going to get worse. Little things were valued now, sewing needles were like the gold found in California, meat, no matter what kind, was worthy of the finest restaurants, and wallpaper became home to the news of war.

Everything was changing.

Gone were the large hats and the fancy clothing of proud Southerner's. Women now were consumed with making bullets out of whatever metal they could find. Slaves were left at home to care for the women and children of the masters who went to war. The proud and noble South was being ripped apart, not only on the battlefields, but in the headlines of the papers up North. Stories of brutality, laziness, and insolence filled the minds of Northern men and women.

Perhaps this is what Maude had been trying to teach him. Nothing could ever be taken for granted. Everything came with a price. And life was only worth what you made out of it. People were merely boxes that needed to be filled, and Maude needed to be filled with money. A child couldn't do it, nor could a husband, but perhaps financial gain could.

Ezra looked up when he felt someone gently touch his shoulder. The woman wore an old dress, but her Southern pride kept a smile on her face, and hope in her heart. She handed Ezra a sandwich. Her gloved hands were scared with holes and stains, but she was lady enough to continue with an honorable tradition.

"You look like you could use this," she said softly.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She smiled: "Thank you," she answered, and then moved down the aisle.

******

Savannah had a spirit that few cities, even Southern cities, had. When Ezra stepped off the train car, he was enveloped with the strong force. Gone were the strong scents of spices and perfumes, but the spirit was still there.

Ezra ignored the looks of those who questioned his appearance, and those who feared the blood that had so boldly stained his clothing. He walked down the street, with one thing on his mind…getting home. With his bag slung over his shoulder he headed down the road that would lead to the plantation.

The warm breeze felt good on his skin, and the sound of the trees gently swaying seemed to be a comfort, but the questions remained. How was he going to tell Cora? What, was he going to tell her? That fire that had started in Ezra's heart hadn't stopped, and it seemed to consume his whole being. Did he do the right thing? Could he have saved Benny, if he'd tried harder? Ezra had seen what a belly wound could do to someone. He'd seen and heard the pain that men went through while suffering from the brutality. That confederate soldier that had told him it could take days for Benny to die wasn't lying, it could take days, and those days would be long and without mercy. Was that what he'd done? Shown his best friend a merciful end, or taken his life because it was easier? These were simply questions he didn't know the answer to, questions that would never be answered.

******

Cora stood up from her garden and stretched her back. At thirty-six years of age she was already feeling the tightness in her bones. But she was thankful for it, it pulled her mind away from the hollow feeling in her stomach. She wiped her brow free of the sweat that had gathered there and looked up into the blue sky. The sound of birds singing filled the air, reminding her of a simpler time. She retied the bandana that she'd had around her hair and looked up the road, wishing her son were coming home, wishing both her 'boys' would come home. Quickly, she turned back to her garden and then stopped, as though a voice was telling her to.

She walked to the gate as though an angel were leading her, not understanding why, but knowing she needed to go there. When she saw the lone figure walking towards her, all the blood drained from her face. She knew. Her heart constricted, and her lungs clenched in search for air. She remained frozen in place, as though her feet had suddenly grown roots.

Cora knew it was Ezra, even before she saw his face. He'd grown, and he was still thin, but his walk was just the same. However, it wasn't difficult to tell that the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Benny wasn't with him.

Cora looked past Ezra, praying that her only child was following at a distance. Hoping that he was there, but knowing he wasn't. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw the blood on Ezra's clothing. He hadn't even had the opportunity to change.

"God, no," Cora pleaded, when Ezra stopped in front of her. She grabbed the fence for support, not wanting to fall.

Ezra reached out to support her, but she shoved his hand away. He took a step back, unsure of what to do. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispered. Reluctantly, he tried to hand her the tin box. "He didn't know what hit him," he lied, wanting only to comfort her.

"No," Cora snapped, refusing to take the box. "No," she said again, stepping backwards. She clenched her fist and held it over her chest. "Please, God, no," she cried.

Her son was dead.

"He saved my life," Ezra said softly, not understanding her hesitance. He took a step forward and pushed the tin toward her.

"NO!" Cora snapped in anger, she slapped Ezra across the face, and then stopped suddenly, as though everything unexpectedly became clear. Slowly, she reached up and took the tin, tears running down her cheeks. She knew what was inside it. She didn't need to be told. Cora wrapped her arms around the cold metal container that held her son's heart.

Her son was dead.

Ezra looked at her, watching her grief, and not knowing how much the pain of her loss hurt. He rubbed his eyes, eyes that were now dry of so many tears shed. He looked up when he saw his uncle come rushing towards them from the house. Concern was etched on his face; it was understandable as to why.

"Ezra," Samuel gasped, grabbing hold of Cora's shoulders in support. "Benny?" He asked, looking at his nephew, and sighed when Ezra nodded his head. "Come to the house," he said softly, gently guiding the mother of the child he could never claim.

Their son was gone.

Ezra watched them walk away, suddenly feeling as though he didn't belong. He looked around the plantation, at the house he'd played in, been born in, and wanted so much to call home. But he couldn't, not anymore…not after what he'd done. Reluctantly, he turned around and headed back to the train station. He needed to get back to the war…he needed to forget.

******

"Where's Ezra?" Cora asked, looking around the small gravesite.

Samuel shook his head: "He, ah…left," he responded sadly, feeling guilty for not having forced the youth to stay.

"What?" Cora turned and looked at him, not quite believing what he'd said. She turned and felt Samuel grab her arm.

"He's gone, Cora."

"Dear God, what 'ave I done?" She cried, covering her mouth with her hand. "What 'ave I done?" She let her tears fall.

Chapter 11

When Ezra reported back to Captain Miller the youth wasn't expecting a promotion. But he got one, as well as a small unit of men. The captain had said it was because of his skill as a soldier, but Ezra thought it had to do with something else.

Because of his smaller size and youthful age, he could sneak across enemy lines easier than most. The South was in desperate need of medical supplies, mostly ether. The anesthesia was difficult to come by but most Union field hospitals had it in abundance, and therefore they became targets.

Dressed in rags, covered in dirt, and looking more like a farmer than he'd ever imagined he could, Ezra walked through the dense trees and bushes. He didn't look a day over fourteen, and most who saw him didn't pay him any mind. He discovered the easiest time to sneak into the medical tents was right after a battle. Most doctors were out aiding the wounded and therefore most supplies were left unattended.

Ezra hid the small bottles of ether in dolls that the Confederacy made special for just occasions. Nobody thought to look in a children's toy. The ploy worked exceptionally well, until his five foot five inch frame sprouted to five foot ten inches in the course of a year. No longer was he the youthful boy he once was. Now, he was tall, and filling out, becoming the handsome man his father had been.

As the war continued to rage, Ezra was transferred to heavy artillery, and along with that transfer came another promotion. His skill with his men and ability to 'know' what was going to happen before it happened made him the perfect candidate for a position as an officer. And he took that position with pride. All soldiers accepted him, despite his age. He wasn't the only one of extreme youth to be placed in a situation of control. With the dwindling amount of able-bodied Southerner's it became necessary for boys to become leaders, and most took that responsibility seriously.

******

The sound of cannons roaring still rang in Ezra's ears, and the smell of the battlefield continued its hold in his nose. They had won Fredericksburg, at the cost of 5,300 confederate soldiers, but it was worthy of their loss. The Union had suffered greatly, losing more than 12,500 men. The sight had been horrid, but like so many others, it blended into the memories of a sixteen-year-old boy.

"I call," Al Dalton said, tossing in his coins. His dirty fingers clenched the cards tightly.

"Ya can't call, it ain't your turn," John Carpenter replied, slapping his friend on the back.

"It's his turn now," Ezra replied, placing his bet.

"I call," Al said again, replacing his coins.

"What are you gonna do after the war?" John asked, placing his bet.

"Ma's workin' the farm alone, figure I'd get home and find me a good woman and take it over," Al replied, lying his cards face down on the table. He sighed when he noticed Ezra lay his full house down, and then he took the pot. "One of these days I'm gonna figure out how you do that."

"Not unless your aptitude for cards drastically improves," Ezra replied with a grin, and then piled his winnings on the edge of the small log they were playing on.

Al sighed, and then looked at all the men surrounding them. Many were playing cards like they were, and others were writing letters, and some just stared out at the night sky. "How many men 'ave you killed?" He asked, looking at Ezra. Of the three of them, Ezra was the one who'd been fighting the longest.

"What kind'a question's that?" John snapped, picking up the cards that were dealt to him.

"One that needs answered," Al defended, picking up his hand. "So, Ezra, how many men 'ave ya killed?"

"Too many," Ezra replied softly, unwilling to further explain. "Are you going to play, or talk?"

"Hell, Standish, you already 'ave most of my money," John sighed, tossing his cards.

"I take it you're quitting," Ezra chuckled, picking up the abandoned items.

"I want ta go home," Al said softly, more to himself than anyone around.

"We all want to go home," John quipped, making light of Al's comment.

Ezra glanced in Al's direction before returning his attention to his cards.

"No," Al sighed, "I don't think I'm goin' to make it." His voice was soft and almost inaudible…almost.

******

When the 5th of May 1864 arrived, eighteen-year-old Captain Standish held firm his position on Hamiltons Thicket. The Wilderness. The trees and underbrush grew so closely together that squirrels would have a difficult time traversing the terrain. Even the undergrowth became a hindrance as men got their feet stuck in upturned roots and dead trees.

The smoke of cannons and guns filled the air creating a heavy fog over the dense forest. Ezra ordered his men to continue firing. The horses they sat astride stood their ground, and waited patiently as paths were cut into the wilderness.

Like so many battles before, this one wasn't any different. Except now, men were dying slowly by the fires that burned unmercifully throughout the battlefield. Doctors and other soldiers couldn't get out to their friends and comrades. Even through the night the sound of weapons firing and the cracking of fires burning filled the ears of every soldier fighting.

Lee's idea had been grand, but the Union wasn't as willing to quit as the Confederacy had predicted. The Wilderness was supposed to put a stop to Grant's push frontward, but it didn't. Instead, the Union army pushed forward with their unwillingness to give up.

******

Ezra watched as men rushed around the battlefield trying to fight the enemy while officers gathered behind them, trying to come up with stronger plans to stop the Union. Hesitantly, he stepped up to the tent, his tattered uniform covered in dirt and sweat. The determination in his eyes let everyone know he needed answers. His men were dying, and he wanted it stopped.

General Longstreet had sent some of his men north, to help General Hill. The action resulted in weakening the hold Ezra and his men had, allowing US General Hancock to push them back.

"We need those men here!" Cornel Webber yelled, pointing to the position on the map.

"Where do you anticipate finding those men?" Cornel Stevens snapped.

Both men looked hard at each other and sighed when they realized they weren't the only ones in need. Cornel Webber stood up straight and looked at the young captain that entered the tent.

"How long do we have?" Webber asked, looking around at his fellow officers.

"We need to send support to the southern lines…" A lieutenant started to say.

"Is this true?" General Longstreet asked, looking in Ezra's direction.

"Yes, sir," Ezra answered, stepping forward.

"We can't afford to lose General Lee's right flank," the general replied, and then he looked down at the map before him. "Any suggestions?" He looked around the table at his most trusted officers.

"Send reinforcements to the right, and pray that Johnston and Gordon arrive before Sedgwick can take the left flank." Stevens replied, taking a long drink from his coffee cup.

"That's not the plan I was looking for," Longstreet replied bitterly.

Ezra cleared his throat and pointed to the writings on the map. "If you send my men and I further around the right flank we can support General Hill's front," he moved his finger along his plans, "and then we can cut Hancock's regiment in half…and push back Burnside."

General Longstreet scratched his chin and looked up at his men. "Do it," he ordered, looking at Ezra. "Kandice," he yelled, "get me my horse." He watched as one of his captains quickly left the room, and another officer left to retrieve his mount. "The rest of you get back to your positions…and win this damn thing!"

******

Ezra and his men moved through the trees and weeded overgrowth firing at anything that moved before them. The reinforcements to Lee's far right flank arrived just in time as Hancock's men started to take over the Confederate lines. However, Ezra's plan and Longstreet's orders were working, Hancock was being forced back, they were on the run.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, causing horses to stall, and men to fall ill. Shots rang out, and the bullets landed in the trees, dirt, and some unfortunate souls. However, the push forward by the Confederate troops was working, and Hancock and Burnside were suffering the consequences. Ezra and his men were able to split up the Union troops, making their forces weaker and less efficient.

At the cost of 10,000 men the Confederacy won the battle, but the North was winning the war.

******

When the news came of Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox, the hopes and dreams of Southern soldiers were crushed. After four years of combating the Northern Aggressor on battlefields where the Confederates were fighting three to one, it was now over.

They had lost.

It wasn't just losing the war that caused so many Southern men and women to feel animosity towards the Union, but the fact so many rumors and stories had been built up against them. Things that weren't true were taken as gospel in the North, and history was being written by these lies.

Ezra flipped his cards between his fingers, and thought about reading the letter his mother had sent him four months prior. Four months ago he knew what he was going to be doing, where he was going, and who he was fighting. Four months ago he didn't need to read the letter, although, he kept it close. Now, however, he didn't know where his future was leading.

The last four years of his life he wanted to forget. But mostly, he wanted to forget that dreadful day at Antietam…but he couldn't. He'd killed his best friend, taken his life, ripped him from his mother's embrace. How could he have expected Cora to forgive him, when he couldn't forgive himself. He'd tried to put it behind him, but everywhere he went, and everyone he saw, reminded him, in some way of Benny.

Chapter 12

It had been over four years since Maude had seen Ezra, and when he stepped out of the train car it took her a moment to realize it was her son, and not an image of Preston. Her son looked more like his father than she ever expected he would. Granted, at nineteen years of age he still hadn't filled out completely, but he'd gotten taller than she ever could have expected.

Maude knew she hadn't been the best mother in world, but she also knew that one of the reasons her son was still alive was because of her independence. Ezra had learned from her, and had taken what she'd taught him to heart. When she received his first letter, telling her about Benny's death, it took her a year to respond. Friends were a handicap, they caused more pain than they were worth, and for the most part they always took advantage of any given situation. She wrote him back telling him so. He hadn't explained how he died, only that his death was…unexpected. Benny was a good boy with a good heart, but he wasn't what her son needed.

"My darlin' boy," Maude gasped, and then kissed her son on the cheek.

"Mother," Ezra responded.

Maude took a step back and looked her son over. "First thing we need to do is get you something decent to ware, this…" she pulled at his jacket, "will not do."

Ezra held out his arm and his mother took it. She hadn't changed. "Where's your newest companion?"

"Mr. Crass was just that, crass, and we divorced a few months ago."

"Divorce?" Ezra questioned, slightly surprised by her statement.

"Don't sound so astonished," she nodded at a handsome man that walked by, "the judge that signed the papers was quite modern, and thankfully, he saw my reasoning's as very palpable…"

"Of course."

Maude sighed and then changed the subject. "You'll have to read some of these Yankee papers," she laughed, "they'd have us believing that Southerner's are monsters with human features. Some of the stories are just horrendous, and utterly disgraceful."

"And your reason for telling me this?" Ezra wasn't blind to her escapades.

"Use it to our benefit…just like everything else." She stepped down the boardwalk and with her son by her side, and then they walked into the tailor's shop. "So, my suggestion to you is…don't let anyone know you fought in that dreadful war." She smiled at the tailor, who let them know that he would be with them momentarily. "That's why, darlin', it's so important to have an untarnished name," she said with a smile. "Now, lets spend some money so we can make some money."

******

New York was short lived for Maude and Ezra who quickly found it necessary to head south for a while. Not the war torn South, but rather, to the lucrative businesses of riverboat gambling. The war hadn't done away with all of the young gamblers in the world, nor had it quenched people's desire to make money. Everyone had to learn a living…somehow.

There weren't many boats on the river. Many had lost their funding over the last four years. It was only those with the well-known names and reputations that had stayed in business. People from all over the world would come to these small moving islands. Many just to see the river, and others to play the game they'd devoted their lives to. Ezra soon found himself embraced by the establishment. All the cultures, languages, and lifestyles fed his imagination. He liked playing poker with men that had wonderful stories to tell about their homeland. He also improved his ability to read people. Ever since he was a child the talent came easy for him. His father had taught him well. However, here, he learned more about his opponents and their tells than he could have ever imagined. Unlike the saloons he'd been raised in, people didn't come here just to drink or play a friendly game of poker. They came here with one intention, to play, and to play well.

Poker tournaments last for days, not hours, and nights were nonexistent. Nobody cared to look at their watches, and nobody dared get caught cheating, that was a sure way to earn a free swimming lesson. However, cheaters quickly learned how to improve their skills…in all abilities. Ezra wasn't any different. Just by watching he learned trick after trick, memorizing it and improving it, making it his own. Half the fun of poker wasn't necessarily the game itself, but those playing it. It was challenging, learning every facial muscle, every ear twitch, every blink of an eye, and even a smile. Everything about a person that Ezra needed to know was in the face, particularly the eyes, every emotion could be read there…good and bad.

******

Ezra had his moments when he could look sixteen and then blink his eyes and look five years older. It wasn't a gift by any means, but rather a curse. The war had changed him…Benny had changed him. Staying up late playing games of poker meant avoiding sleep, because sleep brought with it unwanted dreams and nightmares. The war was over, but not for those who fought in it, and not for those who killed. Four long years of brutality, death, and blood had taken its toll. How could it not?

Poker was an escape route. It was a game of intense skill, thought, and precision. In order to play it, and win at it, every sense and attention had to be paid to it. The cards they were dealt didn't create winners and losers; they were created by the way they were played. And Ezra played well…very well. The more challenging the game the more fun he had. He didn't cheat, unless he had to, and it was usually another cheater at the table that brought on the slight of hand movements. Accusing someone of playing dishonestly was a sure way of getting killed, so the best remedy was to out cheat the cheater. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

This was his life.

Moving from one place to another didn't bother Ezra as much as someone might think. He enjoyed the new territories. One week he was in a fabulous saloon with a beautiful woman on his arm and the next week he was in Chicago, pulling a con with his mother. His name changed from Standish to Smith to Harper…depending on his location.

******

"So, where are you goin' after this?" the young woman asked, tracing the muscle pattern on Ezra's bare chest with her finger. She moved slightly and the bed squeaked, causing her to giggle.

Ezra smiled and ran his fingers through Rachel's light brown hair. "Does it matter?"

"You realize that is the third time you've answered a question with a question, don't you?" She cocked an eyebrow, resting her chin on his chest.

"I figure after your mother finds out what we've done I'd better make my appearances minimal." He smiled, revealing dimpled cheeks and mischievous eyes.

"Don't flatter yourself," Rachel said, sitting up on the edge of the bed, "you're not my first." She let her long hair fall over her shoulders.

"I'm stunned, shocked…overwhelmed," he joked, sitting up against the headboard of his bed. "I do hope you don't intend to wear white at your weddin'."

Rachel threw a pillow at him: "I do intend to wear white." She laughed. "Momma says she wants one of these rich bankers that come on board all the time to marry me…they're so…soft." She crawled back up into the bed and rested her head on Ezra's shoulder. "I don't want to get married," she said flatly.

"Why?" Ezra asked, slightly surprised by her sudden change of demeanor.

"Lincoln may have freed the slaves, but he didn't do shit for women."

"So why are you lyin' in a bed with a Southern cuss?" he asked softly, all the while stroking her hair.

Rachel smiled, looking up into her bed partner's eyes. "I like sex."

"Well," Ezra sighed, "I can't argue with that."

"Momma said that the first time she did it with her first husband, she didn't know what to expect," her eyes smiled bright during the story, "so she laid newspaper on the bed and hid a twitch under her pillow."

Ezra laughed and the muscles on his stomach quivered. "I have a hard time seein' your mother in that particular light."

"Momma is full of surprises."

"That, my dear, is an understatement."

Rachel smiled and slowly slid her soft fingers over Ezra's stomach. "It's a good thing I don't take after her," she said softly, pressing her lips to his.

"Absolutely," Ezra muttered, wrapping his arms around Rachel's tiny waist.

*******

When Ezra stepped off the 'Blue Rose' riverboat, he never dreamed it would be his last. He tipped his hat to Miss Betty Kramer, Rachel's mother. She winked at Ezra and sent him a kiss, and then turned her attention to someone new. Ezra watched as Rachel waved goodbye to him, and suddenly laugh before turning to move back inside the large gambling hall. He wasn't bothered by it, it was part of the lifestyle he'd 'chosen' to live by.

The town of Shaw was located on the west bank of the Mississippi River. It served more for settlers moving west. Horses, wagons, a blacksmith, and general store, filled the muddy streets while street vendors tried to sell their homemade items. Everyone needed money.

Maude would call this place 'ripe for the taking' but Ezra saw it only as a temporary stop along his way. He was going to San Francisco. There, he intended to buy his own saloon with the finest alcohol, and the best gambling.

"If you's headin' West, boy, you best buy up some supplies," a street vender yelled, holding up a woven blanket. His toothless grin scared the little children that were new to the area, and his steely eyes terrified the young women that were looking for a new life.

Ezra ignored him.

"How's about some of Momma's Elixir, proven to cure all ailments, and remove any stain?"

Ezra shook his head and moved passed the man holding up the small glass jars. He was only here for the night, and then he was heading out. Ezra stopped suddenly when a young woman wearing a blue dress stepped out of the General Store in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, trying to gather up her collection of items that had fallen. "I didn't mean to…"

"No apology necessary," Ezra replied, picking up a bag that she'd dropped. "Would you like some help?" he offered, with a dimpled smile.

"That would be most appreciated." She sighed, and pushed some of her items into his arms. "My name's Mary O'Brien."

"Ezra Standish."

The woman nodded and walked confidently down the tattered boardwalk. "My fiancé thought it would be best if I moved west after he did, that way he could get everything settled." She laughed. "We're getting married as soon as I arrive in Portland."

"You're traveling alone?" Ezra asked, slightly surprised.

"No, my brother, Ephraim is traveling with me. I would imagine, that, at this very moment, he's trying to sell my father's horse," she laughed, as though this was a joke Ezra was in on.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh," she laughed again, and her whole face lit up. "I'm so sorry…you see, my father died six months ago, and he raised thoroughbreds. However, on his deathbed, he made Ephraim swear that he'd never sell Double Trouble, his prized three year old colt out of the mare Datmia…"

Ezra nodded, as though he understood where this woman was going with her story.

"…needless to say, Double Trouble, or Trouble as we like to call him, is a little on the temperamental side," she laughed again, "Ephraim want's to sell him, but I can't seem to bring myself to do it…unless I were to find someone worthy." She smiled to herself.

"Have you had any offers?"

"No," Mary shook her head. "Most people aren't willing to spend the amount of time a horse like Trouble needs, despite his breeding."

"What do you plan to do with the animal?"

Mary's face fell for a moment and she sighed: "You wouldn't happen to be looking for a horse at the moment, Mr. Standish?" It was in her voice, the sadness of the idea of selling the animal Ezra had yet to see.

"Matter of fact, I am."

Mary laughed: "You're extremely kind to offer…"

"Really, Miss O'Brien, I am."

The woman stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and looked hard at the man carrying some of her purchases. "In that case," she said with a smile, "follow me."

******

The large chestnut reared up and kicked out, not to be mean, but out of fun. His ears perched forward on his head and his kind eye told Ezra just that. However, the animal's handler thought differently.

"I've had it, Mary!" Ephraim yelled, releasing the lead rope, letting the big horse run around the arena. "If we can't sell him, we'll have to shoot him. He's too much trouble and we'll never get him on a train," he pleaded, hoping his sister understood.

"Ephraim," Mary announced, "this is Mr. Standish, and he's here to take a look at Trouble."

"You know much about horses, Mr. Standish?" Ephraim rested his arms over the corral fence.

"Enough," Ezra answered honestly.

"What kind of a horse you looking for?"

"Something with adequate speed," Ezra replied with a grin. "He broke?" He pointed to Trouble.

"That depends on who you ask," Ephraim chuckled, "the horse or me."

Ezra laughed, he'd been around horses long enough to know what that meant. Slowly, he crawled through the slats in the fence and made his way toward the large beast. Trouble snorted and tossed his head around, the rope flung in the air with every movement he took. He watched as the strange man stuck his hand out. He snorted again and stepped forward, more than willing to meet someone new.

"He's definitely got the speed you're lookin' for," Ephraim said. "However, controlling that speed is a different story."

Ezra laughed: "I take it you're not a gambler, Mr. O'Brien?"

Ephraim laughed, he understood Ezra's meaning. "No, but I'd be willin' to wager that you are."

Ezra nodded: "How much to acquire this animal?" he asked, rubbing his hand over the horse's lean neck.

Ephraim shook his head: "Way I see it…you reimburse me for all the trouble he's caused, that should cover it."

"Sounds like I own a horse." Ezra chuckled when his new equine pushed his head into him.

"He seems to like you," Mary said with a smile. It wasn't easy for her to watch as her father's horse was sold, but she knew that animal wouldn't make it to Oregon with them.

"Mary's dream is to raise thoroughbreds with her fiancé, after they marry." He pointed to the four horses that were tied to the hitching post outside the barn. "I wish Trouble could have been a part of that, but I'm afraid he needs more attention than I can give him for the time being."

"I wish you luck," Ezra said, admiring the horseflesh. "I hear the road north is a treacherous one." He reached into his pocket book and handed the payment for the animal to Ephraim.

"Ephraim will get us there," Mary said with a confident smile. Her long auburn hair glistened in the sunlight.

Ezra nodded and shook Ephraim's hand. "Thank you for the pleasure." He motioned with his hand to the horse attached to the lead rope.

"I hope he works out for you," Ephraim responded.

Ezra tipped his hat in Mary's direction and led his new horse through the front gate. He had a saddle to purchase, and supplies to stock.

******

Double Trouble knew more about knots than Ezra did. The horse could untie himself from whatever hitching post he was attached to. While Ezra was inside the store, Trouble went for a short exploration, just wanting to welcome the new horses into town. When he discovered the apple stand at the general store all hell broke loose.

Trouble dug his nose into the lush red pile of sweet smelling apples, and the thin legs that the stand was being held up by, broke, and crashed to the floor. People jumped back as small red fruit rolled down the boardwalk, into the stores, and onto the muddied ground. Trouble stood glued to his place, munching contently on his discovery. The storeowner came rushing out of his establishment waving his broom. The big horse stuck his tail in the air and grabbed one last apple before being chased down the street.

Ezra exited the saddle shop with his newly purchased tack weighing heavily on his arm. He shook his head when he saw his horse trotting down the street looking like a kid who'd just played the world's greatest prank. Ezra debated claiming the animal as his own.

"Trouble!" Ezra yelled, and then whistled sharply.

The big horse stopped, as though he'd been caught with his nose in a feedbag. White foam from the apples he'd eaten gathered at his lips, and spittle had landed on his chest and legs. He lowered his head and cocked his hind foot. He knew he was in trouble.

Ezra walked up to his horse, slightly surprised the animal had stopped and acted in the manner he had. There wasn't any doubt that Trouble was a smart horse…no doubt at all. Ezra grabbed the lead rope and led his horse to the stables. If the animal couldn't be tied, then he'd be stabled, until his training could begin.

*******

As usual, morning arrived too early. While the sun pried its way in through the rustic curtains, Ezra tried to ignore it. It wasn't working. Today was the day he was heading up north to meet up with his mother again. Her last conquest hadn't worked out like she'd planned, so she'd notified her son. And Ezra, always searching for her approval, agreed to join her.

He rolled out of bed and ran his hands over his face. He needed to get going. He could hear a commotion down on the street and he quietly wondered what was going on. Hopefully his new horse hadn't gotten out and decided to rampage through town. Ezra chuckled to himself. The animal was bored not aggressive or unruly, he just needed more to do, and Ezra had a lot of tricks to teach him.

*******

"That poor child's been murdered," an elderly woman gasped, standing with three of her friends. Together they stood on the boardwalk a short distance away from an alley that was now crowded with people. "Just a young thing, couldn't be over seventeen."

"She and her brother arrived here two days ago," another woman spoke up, "they were going west together."

"A murder in Shaw…I can't believe it."

Ezra furrowed his brow listening to the whispers and watching the people he past down the boardwalk.

"Closest lawman 'round these parts is Sheriff Burger in Jonestown," Mark Sands, the storeowner, replied.

"Mary!" Ephraim yelled, rushing for the crowd from within the livery. Someone had told him that his sister was the victim. "Mary!"

Ezra forced himself through the commotion trying to see what had actually happened. He could see Ephraim shoving, and pushing people aside trying to get to his sister…or what he thought was his sister. The sound of voices echoing through the air caused confusion, fear, and uncertainty. Women cried, and men stood protectively around the form that lay motionless on the dirty ground. Ezra paused when he saw the sight. Ephraim cried out when he realized it was, in deed, his sister.

Mary had been murdered.

The sight had caused even the hardest of men to turn their eyes. Fathers rushed their daughters away, husbands comforted their wives, and brothers grew angry at the injustice. Ezra's stomach turned and he had to spin his head from the view. Blood had soaked through the blue dress Mary had been wearing the day before. Her face had been battered, her bodice ripped…she'd been raped.

Death happened all the time, and for most people, it wasn't a strange occurrence. Death wasn't avoidable, but when it occurred unnaturally it affected everyone differently, particularly when it happened to someone so innocent. Anyone that could take a life in such a manner wasn't human. How could they be? To take a life of someone so defenseless, so willing to brutalize, and so unnaturally spiteful, wasn't even conceivable to those witnessing the killers accomplishment.

Two men moved in beside Mary, and with Ephraim's approval, they carefully placed her on a flat board, covered her in a blanket and moved her toward the undertakers. Her muddied dress hung towards the ground, and like a ghost waving goodbye, her delicate hand fell from its place on the board. Ephraim continued to sit on the ground, unable to move. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Ezra sighed, and tried to take a deep breath. Perhaps the old witch that lived behind his uncle's plantation had been right. Perhaps Death did walk close to him.

******

Ezra knew that women weren't the epitome of everything that was good. But they were the gentle souls that men cried out for while they lay dying. Who did Mary cry for? Such brutality wasn't deserving of such a person. Nobody deserved the fate she had received.

How could such a monster walk around and not be noticed?

There wasn't much of an investigation. A few questions had been asked, but nothing ever surfaced about the killer. Ephraim was outraged. He wanted the fiend that had done this, but like the mayor of the town had said, the murderer was probably gone.

Ezra saddled his new mount. He was hesitant to leave, while at the same time he couldn't move fast enough. Trouble tossed his head, eager to get going as well. He nickered softly when the barn doors opened and Ephraim walked in carrying his belongings.

"Thank you," Ephraim said, and then pulled his four horses from their stalls, "for finding the preacher that said those nice things over Mary's grave."

"It was the least I could do," Ezra responded softly. He wished he could do more. "What are your intentions?"

"Mary had a dream to start a horse ranch in Oregon…I figure I'll see that it gets done."

"You have my sincerest condolences," Ezra said softly, stepping forward. "Your sister seemed to be a very exquisite person."

"She was."

Ezra nodded and then tipped his hat before leaving the barn. Trouble followed close behind him, ready to leave and discover new exciting things. His ears perked forward and his eyes grew wide. He was unaware of the tragedy that had occurred. Ezra slipped into his saddle and took one last look around the town before gently nudging Trouble's sides. The animal seemed to know his new master's thoughts, and like a child yearning to please, he took each step carefully. His long strides were a comfort to the man aboard.

It was the least Trouble could do.

Chapter 13

April 1873

Over the past few years Ezra learned that he didn't like pulling cons. However, Maude thought differently. Whether it was the cotton gin investment, falsifying land deeds, or preaching the gospel with 'unreligious' intentions, cons always seemed to be the easy way out. It wasn't necessarily the lying, or the taking of someone's money that bothered Ezra so much. It was, however, the false pride he felt after the swindle was over. Maude 'pretended' to tell him how proud she was of him. But it was only after these cons were pulled that she would tell him such things. And deep in his heart he wanted his mother's approval, he wanted it more than anything.

Maude never took the time to think about anything other than her next move. Like a chess champion, every move was calculated, methodical, and entrusted only to her. Her mind wasn't centered around her son's feelings or thoughts, not that she didn't know he had any, but rather, they were a handicap that needed to be ignored.

******

The stagecoach rocked back and forth as the wheels seemed to find every hole and crevasse in the road. A dull wind had picked up and Maude did her best not to be bothered by it. Cards flew through her fingers as she watched her son sleep in the seat across from hers. She could hear the sound of the horses' feet striking the road as they headed for their destination.

Ezra's head lolled to the side, jarring him awake. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "What?" he asked, meeting his mother's eyes.

Maude smiled before turning her attention back to the cards that soared through her fingers. "You look like your father." She sighed, realizing how much her son had matured in the last few years. No longer gangly and thin, he'd filled out, taking on the appearance of a man. She wasn't going to tell him the things a mother would normally say to their son. She wouldn't tell him that she'd been jealous of Cora and his relationship, or that she'd been terrified that he was going to die after he'd been born. These things would make him weak, and weakness could get him killed.

Ezra nodded, but didn't say anything as he returned his gaze out the window of the coach.

"What are your plans?" Maude asked, knowing he had no intention of going with her to New Orleans, and she'd learn long ago that there wasn't a point in arguing with him. He was as stubborn as his father.

"There's a game in Topeka, I'd like to attend."

"I do hope you intend to do something more…"

"Some of the best players are going to be there, and…"

"I wasn't discounting you intentions, but I think it's important to realize that there are bigger things to accomplish." Maude shook her head, knowingly.

Ezra fingered the curtain that was blocking out the sun. He wondered how his horse was doing, having taken the place of the left rear coach horse. For some reason, Trouble had taken the place of a close friend. Trouble didn't care what Ezra did or said, and the only rewards the horse asked for was affection, and, on occasion the core of his apple.

"I suppose you still have the intentions of purchasing a saloon?" She looked at her son, anticipating an answer, but she didn't get one. "I hope you remember, Ezra, that there are certain appearances that must be maintained."

Ezra rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Maude waved her hand in front of her face and sighed. The dust was driving her mad, and she would much prefer the comfort of a busy city. "You can reach me at The Grand Hotel," she said, picking through her purse, "I've made plans to meet a Mr. Jack Sanford." She smiled as though he had already been caught.

"Isn't The Grand a little…extravagant?"

"I'm not paying." She smiled mischievously. Maude looked out the window and noticed the small town coming into view. She was planning on catching the train, a much more respectable way to travel, and then she'd be gone from her son's life…again.

Ezra pulled his jacket sleeve down and situated himself on his seat. He knew they were getting close to their destination, and he wanted to look presentable. He was looking forward to a bath, a shave, and a hair cut. The past week had been hard on him. Not just with his mother's unusual quirks, but the thoughts of uncertainty filled his mind. He always tried to act unaffected by people's opinion of him, particularly his mother's, but every word and question of his character hurt. He rebuffed the insults, false accusations, and lack of trust, with his quick wit and big words. But they all stung, but what caused him the most pain was his mother's lack of acceptance. And once again she was leaving to find another gold mine that she'd lose, only to turn around and ask of him what he couldn't give her. His devotion.

The horses came to a stop and Ezra sighed. It was times like these when he missed Cora, and her unconditional love. He missed Benny, and he couldn't bring himself to forgive himself for what he had done. No matter if he'd been right. Ezra missed the life he could never go back to.

He missed home.

******

The saloon bustled with activity. Saloon girls moved through the maze of tables and customers like rats to cheese. An old man tried to make the even older piano sing, but its out-of-tune keys deafened those that were already hard of hearing. Voices grew louder as the noise in the room escalated. Poker chips flung across tables and landed with the slight twang that sounded like music in Ezra's ears. Money was being folded and stashed away, coins were being dropped for glasses of libations, and boots scraped across the floor indicating that someone had too much to drink.

Ezra moved through the labyrinth like a pro. His clothing and hat let everyone know he was a gambler. The tails of his coat brushed against the back of his thighs, and his weapons hung perfectly from his body. He knew how to reach them, and how to use them.

"Gentlemen," Ezra said with a warm smile, "may I join you?"

An older man wearing a ten-gallon hat looked Ezra over before nodding. The man's face was covered in old scars and his beard and mustache had come in completely white. "It's a two dollar ante," he said, and then started shuffling the cards.

"You a riverboat gambler?" Another man asked, and then took a drink of his beer.

"Not anymore," Ezra replied with a grin.

"Just so's you know…we might not be able to toss ya overboard, but we's can still shoot ya."

"I'll take that under advisement," Ezra said, removing his hat.

"Five card draw, duce's wild," the dealer said, before dealing.

"Name's Hank," a young kid said. His blonde hair stood up on end and he hardly looked old enough to be there. "That," he pointed to the dealer, "is Bobcat Jones…"

"Interesting moniker."

The kid shrugged his shoulders and continued, "That's Big Duke, next to him, and finally the Cap."

Obviously nobody has a real name, Ezra thought, while handling his cards. "Ezra…Ezra Standish."

"I'll take two," Big Duke said, lying two cards face down on the green felted table.

Ezra watched each man carefully. Bobcat Jones liked to pull at his mustache when he bluffed, and when he thought he had a winning hand, he'd scratch his left eyebrow. Big Duke had a tendency to play with his beer glass, when he bluffed he drank more, and when his cards looked good he'd tap the table top next to the bottom of the glass. Ezra smiled, each man was different, but at the same time, they were all the same. The Cap had the hardest tells to discover, but they were there. And Ezra, like a wolf caught in a trap, continued to gnaw at the problem. It was near the end of the first hour when Ezra caught it, the slight twinge of Caps nose. When he knew he had a solid hand, he knew he didn't have to bluff, so he scratched his nose out of relief. But when he did bluff he held his cigar in his fingers until the hand was finished. Hank was the easiest to discover, he didn't have a poker face at all, but Ezra wasn't going to take advantage of a kid who was only there to learn. This was part of the game. It wasn't just knowing the cards, but rather, the players.

The game was a relatively friendly one, until a table not far from where Ezra and the others were sitting, started to grow loud with an argument. Hank ducked when a bottle of Red Eye was thrown across the room. The glass shattered and contents sprayed in all directions, and like a bomb ready to explode, the room erupted.

Tables were upturned, and chairs flew across the room landing nowhere in particular. Glass shattered, and customers were thrown through the windows. Alcohol soon covered everything from bodies to the floor, and spittoons were emptied unceremoniously on unsuspecting targets.

Ezra hit Duke who was trying to strangle Hank, and then he felt strong arms grab him around his middle. There wasn't anything quite like a saloon brawl. Fists connected with jaws and stomachs, while heads connected with the floor and walls. Ezra wiped his nose and sighed when he saw blood on his fingers. If it wasn't for the fact that his coat was new he would have thought this to be a good fight. But he hated losing his jackets and vests to blood, and more importantly, his blood. The red stains were permanent.

When the back of a chair connected with the right side of Ezra's jaw he flew backwards and landed with a thud against the bar. He grabbed his jaw and rolled onto his back. He saw stars for a moment, and then, without much thought, he crawled out the back door. His head felt as though his head weighed a ton, and his mouth was on fire. He could hear the fight inside continuing and it wasn't long before a shot rang out and everything stopped.

Finally.

Ezra sat on the step debating on whether or not he was going to stand. Blood trickled down his chin landing on his sleeve. Carefully, he placed his handkerchief on his jaw and cringed. His mouth was on fire…or at least he felt like it was. He looked up when he saw several patrons moving haphazardly down the boardwalk. Ezra took a deep breath and decided to get back to his room. He needed to know what the damage was to his face…and even worse…his teeth.

******

Dr. Owen Carter took a step back from his patient and sighed. "That tooth needs to be pulled," he said, knowing the news wasn't going to be good.

Ezra sighed, not the information he wanted to hear. "Is there nothing you can do?" he asked, trying to keep himself seated.

The doctor looked around his clinic. Nobody was there. Being a dentist was hard enough; most people would let their teeth rot out of their heads before they'd come to him. And when they finally did come, it was usually too late. In turn, this caused his income to be on the…small side, to say the least.

"From what I can see, the tooth is still secured…however, it won't be long before it turns…"

"So I'm going to lose it no matter what?" Ezra asked, already knowing the answer. He'd taken care of his teeth ever since he was a young boy. Most of the men in his ranks would tease him about it during the war. While others were out looking for food and clothing, Ezra was searching for tooth powder.

"There is a procedure I can do…"

"How much?" Ezra asked, before allowing the doctor to finish.

"Forty dollars," he sighed, knowing the price was too high.

"What does it entail?"

Doctor Carter's eyes glistened. This was the first patient he'd ever had that was even willing to listen. "I'll cover the tooth in gold by pounding and heating layers onto the existing incisor…it's a painful process, but well worth it." The hope in his voice was obvious.

Ezra clenched his jaw and nodded. He couldn't go around without a tooth, and even worse a tooth that would turn black after it had gone bad. "I try and avoid pain as much as possible, however, in this case I don't think there's any way around it." Ezra leaned forward in his chair and pulled out his pocketbook. He didn't think he'd be willing to pay the man after the procedure, so it was better to pay him now.

The doctor smiled and took the cash. "I'll just get my instruments."

Ezra leaned back in his chair, hoping and praying that he didn't end up crying like a little boy getting his first hair cut. Appearances were everything, and he needed to keep a certain façade. Unconsciously, he gripped the handles on the chair when the doctor entered the room with a case of supplies.

This was going to hurt.

Chapter 14

1874

Trouble bit down on the blanket that was covering the still sleeping form beneath. He pulled the object away from Ezra's body and shook his head. It was time to get up.

Ezra reached for his cover. "Trouble!" he snapped, and then covered himself again.

The horse stood over his master and stomped his foot. The warm sun was out and he wanted to get going. He reached down again and pulled the blanket from Ezra's form and then quickly backed away. He wouldn't get it this time.

Ezra sat up in a huff and looked at his horse that seemed to be laughing at him. "I can still sell you," he said plainly.

Trouble shook his head and then lifted his upper lip.

He was definitely laughing.

Ezra stood up and slowly started a fire for his coffee. He watched as his horse moved around the campsite, looking for something to do. Trouble was more like a dog than a horse, and he was just as loyal. Ezra had given up trying to tie him, opting to just let the horse walk around free. He never went very far, and he always responded to Ezra's whistle or call.

The gold watch glistened in the early morning sun and Ezra shut the cover. It was 7:00 a.m. too early by any standards. Trouble munched quietly on the grass near the creek, and Ezra poured himself a cup of his coffee, spiked, of course with a touch of fine Kentucky whiskey.

*******

Fort Laramie could hardly be called a fort at all. Since its original formation the military post had expanded. It was now a busy town with stores, homes, a school, and of course a church. It was a large place that held people of all kinds from everywhere. Traders, travelers, merchants, and soldiers walked the streets, and called this place home.

Ezra entered the busy saloon and seated himself at a table near the rear door. He was tired, hungry, and in need of a drink. People talked, some argued, glasses hit tabletops splattering beer and whiskey in all directions. Spittoons continued to ring as they were pushed across the wood floors and filled with chew and spit, sometimes more. Poker chips rang like Christmas bells as they were tossed into the center of the table, and cards passed through air. This was the kind of place Ezra felt most at home.

"Ezra?" a familiar voice asked, stepping closer to the table.

Ezra looked up from his plate of food and furrowed his brow. "Can I help you?" he asked, unsure of what to expect.

"John," the man said, "John Carpenter." He stuck his hand out for Ezra to shake. "We served together durin' Fredericksburg."

Ezra smiled and willingly shook the man's hand and then motioned for him to take a seat at his table. "I seem to remembah you had a friend, John?"

John nodded: "Yeah, after the war we rode togethah for a while, but, well," he shook his head, unsure of how to finish, "he always said he wasn't goin' to live long. He got run ovah by his plow."

"Sorry to heah that, he seemed to be a good sort." Ezra pushed his plate away, no longer hungry as images of his past filled his mind. "So, what are you doin' so far north?"

"Huntin' the Yankee bastards that killed my pa," John said angrily. "They strung him up like a dog and burned our farm to the ground."

"Have you found any of them?"

"Not as yet," John shook his head, "but I will." The determination in his voice left no room for doubt.

"I'm lookin' for a few men from Hooker's regiment…"

"How do you know?" Ezra asked, slightly surprised by John's bitterness.

"My sistah was there…she told me everythin'," he leaned over the table top, "they took her." His eyes pleaded for understanding, and he received it. "She died a few months ago, that's why I'm here lookin' for the monstah's that did it."

"I'm truly sorry, John."

"Are you still gamblin'?" John asked, changing the subject.

Ezra grinned, exposing his gold tooth. "Certainly."

John smiled and leaned back in his chair: "You ever think about the war?" he asked, suddenly solemn.

"I try not to," Ezra admitted.

John nodded and cracked his knuckles. "How about a game of cards?"

Ezra shook his head, John wasn't any different that himself. He changed his mood like a green horse's desire to buck. Ezra removed his playing cards and quickly began shuffling. A friendly game of cards, what else could they do to ease the tension?

*******

Trouble walked patiently toward their next location. Another town, more nameless faces, and, characteristically, another place they wouldn't be able to call home. The hot sun beat down on the pair and Ezra had given up wearing his jacket, opting instead for his crisp white shirt. He flipped his cards between his fingers as though they were an extension of his hand, a part of himself. He stared at the ace of spades, wondering why he was drawn to it. Just like his father had been.

Had his father been a wanted man as well?

Ezra took his hat of briefly to run his fingers through his auburn hair and then he quickly replaced it. He'd jumped bail in Fort Laramie, something he'd never 'expected' he'd do, but something he was capable of doing. The crime wasn't anything serious. He'd simply paid the twenty dollars to be released from his incarceration, and then fled, before he could be sentenced for a diminutive crime. He hadn't done anything wrong. Well, that was an understatement. He'd pissed off the wrong judge by placing a bet on whether or not Judge Travis had enough nerve to sentence a man to hang for killing his wife.

Obviously the judge hadn't been amused when he heard about the wager.

Judge Orin Travis had jailed Ezra for contempt of court. The gambler didn't find the charge viable, so he paid his bail money and left. He'd been in several towns, seen several court cases, and he knew what the punishment was for a man who killed his wife.

A slap on the hand, sometimes it was worse and a fine was included, but that was usually it.

Ezra'd had it, plus he'd seen a way to make a little extra cash. What harm was there in that? Except for the fact that the judge hadn't found it amusing. What did the short man with pudgy fingers know anyway? Nothing, as far as Ezra was concerned. John had thought the bet appropriate, but he'd managed to get out of town before being arrested.

Trouble perked his ears forward when a town started to appear in the distance. Ezra sighed, perhaps he could acquire a drink, something to eat, and possibly some cash. Surely there were some cowboys there looking for a good game of cards, and if worse came to worse, he could always resort to the blanks in his saddlebag, and pull a con.

It wasn't going to be his first choice, but at least he had one.

In the years he'd had to think about his past, he had never thought that this would end up his life. His dreams of San Francisco had, somehow, been reprioritized, and in the process he'd lost sight of it. The hope and anticipation of owning his own saloon still rang true in his heart, but for some reason he didn't think he'd make it to California. He missed home, the deep rich smells of the Southern winds, and the soft subtle changes of the color green.

He'd fought hard for his country, and lost. He'd killed his best friend, and over the years that day had become a haunting memory, one that would never leave him. No matter what he did to twist and turn his ideals and beliefs, the only constant he had in his life was himself. His ability to play cards, his ability to con, and his desire to keep moving. Perhaps that was his punishment, his hell on earth, forever wondering and never being invited to stay…like the Devil himself.

Perhaps one day, when he'd be brave enough he'd face those Southern Crosses, those uninvited burdens that he carried. Maybe…just maybe, he'd make it home to see Benny…and possibly he'd visit the place where his father had died. And then possibly, he'd build two simple white crosses to mark those two graves. But until he was ready to face his past, he'd fall into his future.

The End

Notes: Insurance policies, though not common, were available. Approximately 60,000 slaves were insured prior to the Civil War. For less than $20.00 a year, and for as much as $1000, a master could insure his slave, and like today, there were conditions for a pay out on the event of the slaves death.

The information I acquired regarding the position the South had during the Civil War I obtained through two books, both of which I highly recommend to anyone more interested in the subject matter.

The Men In Gray: by Robert Catlett Cave

The South Was Right: by James Ronald Kennedy and Walter Donald Kennedy