Chapter Three
When Lee surrendered at Appomattox, Adam and his regiment were with Sherman's troops resting and recuperating after having just burned and razed a miles-wide path from Atlanta, Georgia to Columbia, South Carolina. The men were jubilant at the news but Adam just felt empty. He felt it had all been such a waste—all of it. He had killed countless, unknown men in grey uniforms, some only boys, who were trying to kill him for no other reason except that his uniform was blue. In battle, he had seen his own men blown apart by cannon fire, dropped by rifle fire, heard both horses and men scream in pain and men moan as they died—the horrible death rattle in their throats before they remained forever silent. And there had been Pvt. Mears whose face had been practically blown away by an explosion. Adam had dropped down beside him and Mears grabbed blindly for his captain, Captain Cartwright, trying to speak, the blood bubbling up from what had been his nose until it choked him.
So many people had died and Adam felt old and weary of living but he had been a fortunate one. Other than chiggers, lice and mosquito bites, all he had physically suffered was a bullet crease across his brow and a bullet in the shoulder. He still had a few pieces of shrapnel left behind that the field surgeon hadn't been able to remove no matter how much he had probed. The memory of the pain as the surgeon dug into his wound, pushing muscle and tissue aside to search for remnants of the bullet had faded somewhat but he would always remember forcing himself to lie still. It had taken all the self-will he had to do so and he kept hoping he would pass out from the pain—but he hadn't and endured the agony; the morphine was saved for those in worse condition than he. So although his body was relatively unharmed by the war raging around him, his soul had been damaged-it was ill.
The Army had set up a pay station in the camp in Charlotte; many men hadn't received pay for over a year including Adam but it didn't matter; there had been nothing to buy and now nothing left to buy. The line for the paymaster was long, many men having to sit on the damp ground due to their weariness and Adam looked at them as they waited and decided he had had his fill of waiting while life ticked by. He mounted the large Appaloosa that had been issued to him and rode out. He would forfeit his pay and just head west—head home.
Adam, traveling across the country, would work for a few weeks or a few months at different jobs in different cities or towns. There was reconstruction not just in the southern states but in the eastern ones as well. So many city buildings and streets had been pocked by cannon-fire or been burned by opposing armies and since Adam had a knowledge of architecture and engineering, he found it easy to be hired. Many times Adam was asked to stay on as his knowledge was beyond value to those attempting to rebuild, tempted by more money and a higher position, but he always declined and moved on.
Ii was in Spartanburg, South Carolina, Adam's first leg of his journey home, that he sent a telegram to his father and brothers informing them that he was alive—he did not say "and well," and was going to work his way back home. Adam knew that his father was yearning to have him home, his father loved him and had regretfully let him go when he left, but Adam didn't feel he could go back to life on a ranch—not just yet. Adam's heart was too empty and he often saw himself reflected in the haunted, soulless eyes of the other soldiers who were also searching for home—some of them having no home to which to return. Also lost were the civilians who didn't know how to start again or didn't have the will; it took too much effort just to keep breathing.
But then there were those who pounced at the chance to create wealth for themselves by taking advantage of those who were still suffering. They reminded Adam of the carrion creatures who slunk out of the surrounding forests or swooped down from the sky to make a meal of the slaughtered horses and men on battlefields.
In Ohio, Adam was looking for work when he heard a woman's cries from behind a building. He didn't want to investigate, just wanted to keep on going but somehow he couldn't, so he dismounted and walked down the alleyway. A man was on top of a young woman, her skirts pushed up to her waist and struggling to be free. Two other men were watching and apparently waiting their turns. Adam considered the situation; these were men dressed in cheap suits, men who preyed on the weak. There were three of them and only one of him. The girl meant nothing to him and for all he knew, she was a whore who had tried to cheat them—or she was merely a young woman who had refused their advances. There were always layers to everything and nothing was ever as it seemed; Adam knew that. He also knew that anymore, life was cheap.
"Leave her alone," Adam said in a flat voice. The man on top of the girl stopped his thrusting and looked to see who had spoken. The other two men stepped aside and the woman stared at him.
"You're gonna have to wait your turn, mister," the man on top of the woman said and turned back to his efforts.
"I said, leave her alone. Now." Adam noticed that none of the men had an obvious weapon. He still wore his Union issued revolver and his rifle was in its scabbard. Adam had removed the bars and epaulets from his jacket and purchased himself a gray Stetson to replace his faded Union cap. He wore an eclectic mixture and knew that he would demand no respect from these men due to the fact that he had been a captain in the army.
The man over the woman stood up having lost the desire that had kept him at the ready and buttoned his pants. The girl moved away, scuttling like one of the crabs Adam had seen at the seaside in Maryland. She wasn't very pretty but she was plump and round. She stood and gathered herself together, smoothing her skirts, but there was no way out of the alley except by the men and Adam so she flattened herself as best she could against a wall.
"Now you three just leave. Just walk away and keep on going."
The three men looked at each other and smiled knowingly and one turned his back to Adam and then quickly swung around, a small caliber gun in his hand intending to fire but was a few seconds too slow. Adam pulled his revolver and fired. The man, with a surprised look on his face, stood for a few seconds, wavered and fell with a thud. And Adam felt no emotion.
The other two men put up their hands to show they had no weapons and slowly backed out of the alley. Adam pivoted to watch them and as soon as they were back on the sidewalk, Adam saw them run across the street. A few passersby had looked down the alley at the noise but no one stopped or intervened. So Adam holstered his revolver, tipped his hat at the woman who stared in fear, and left. He remounted and went on to look for work. He never thought of the incident again.
As Adam worked his way across the country, he was often reminded of his first time traveling cross country with his father but then he was young and impressionable but now, nothing was new and amazing—nothing.
The first time Adam had earned enough money to stay in a hotel and have a shave and a proper bath, he was amazed to see his reflection; he didn't recognize himself in this man who stared back. He looked gaunt and haggard, much older than his 38 years. And he wondered how his family was and what they would say when he finally rode into the yard of the Ponderosa. Adam was afraid his father would cry—and that he himself wouldn't be moved at all. Adam was afraid of the yawning emptiness inside himself.