Bones

            The once fallowed fields laid bare, frozen beneath the pale sun that stole through the grey. A placid white ocean with no signs of life, save the vanishing tracks of a lone lingering critter. There had once been seasons, long since come and gone, when foxen droves had hounded the pheasants before their winter’s roost, when deer had prodded through the frosts in search of shrubs, and the fading home had once been filled with joy and laughter, even on the most bitter of days. All that now remained of that other time was the aged oak, perched on its small hill facing westward, a lone sentinel daring to defy the horizon.

            Annabelle could not begin to count the number of yearning hours she had spent staring at that old tree. Watching its subtle sway with the soft kisses of the winds. Catching the last of the brown leaves fall only to blossom anew with the tides of spring. Even the few roots that poked up through the soil served as an unfaltering anchor against the tumult of time. For upon its branches had once stood the life that filled her world. Grinning young boys swinging from its low hung limbs, dancing bright-eyed does adorned with laurels of oak leaves, each dreaming such unimaginable dreams without burden nor care. And beneath the boughs of that old oak rested the others, those who could dream no more.

            Even amidst the freshly fallen snow, the headstones of her loved ones stood out amongst the plains of ivory. These were names not so easily forgotten, etched onto her thoughts through both ponder and passing. Names that had endured those who had carried them. Her parents had been laid beneath the oak’s branches, alongside children whose names had hardly been breathed into the world, and a husband who had been taken long before his time. Yet of all the tears that had been shed for those buried upon the hill, none could compare to those shed for the one who had never found his way home. A memory that hung heavy upon her heart.

            Her two loving daughters often came to visit with grandchildren in tow. If not her children, then it was the scowling faced farmers from down the road, those who had helped tend to the fields following her husband’s passing, that found any occasion to drop in. But it seemed that none could shelter her from the hurt nor satiated her soul. For from somewhere over the horizon a boy still called for his mother. A pale face plunged in muddied waters. A face that belonged to a son who had left for a war from which he would never return.

            A quivering sensation suddenly began at her fingertips. It intensified the longer she dwelled on that forlorn thought. She knew better than to pin herself beneath the weight of its ghost, and yet, she so too knew there could be no escaping it.

            Annabelle turned to search for anything that would aid in occupying her thoughts. Gazing about the room, her eyes fell upon the black stove that held what few loose logs waited to be added to its low-lit embers. She reached for the fresh kindling only to find her arms had violently begun to shake. She grabbed her wrist with her free hand, steadying it as she ignored the rising pangs of grief. Once the logs had been added, the shaking had ceased, if only for the moment. It was then that the kettle was found in need of filling. Tea had been one of the few remedies that aided in combating the maladies of her spirit. As she filled it from the cool basin of water in the corner of the room, her hands had begun to shake once more.

            There would be no fighting it once it begun. Even as the kettle was set, and the fire tended to, there came no respite from her weighing sorrows. It was all she could do to withhold the tears as she thrust her gaze back towards the snowclad fields, and that was when she found it, a shifting silhouette pressed against the horizon. Annabelle could not believe her eyes at first, but as the faint figure drew closer, it gained more discernible features. Soon enough, there was no mistaking its shape.

            A thin grizzled man with a hunched and crooked posture trudged through the snow. He was bundled in layers of cotton and fur, with a dusty woolen scarf draped across his face, and a thick beard which had recently begun to grey. Behind him followed a wooden cart pulled by a single mule. It was clear that the stranger’s stead was as weathered as its owner, struggling with all its remaining strength to churn the wheels through the snow-caped peaks.

            Before the stranger could even reach the threshold of her home, Annabelle found herself driven by an unexpected thought. Something was calling her into the white. An all but forgotten whisper resonating from an unseen pale shroud from across the distance. Despite her reservations, she found herself grabbing her husband’s old coat, and stepping out into the frosts. She was not even sure what to say, and for a moment, she was not even sure if she should say anything at all, but Annabelle could not resist the strange call.  

             “Are you lost?” she began. “You are a long way from the nearest town.”

            Just as a startled animal, the strange froze in his tracks, “Good…good day to ya’, Mam. I’m looking for a Mrs. Wallace. Mrs. Annabelle Wallace.”

            Upon hearing her name from the lips of a stranger, a strange shutter crawled down her spine, not one brought on by the cold, but by something wholly other. It had been enough to stop her from moving any further forward. The stranger could see her hesitation from across the fray, so in hopes of remedying her fear, he pulled down his scarf to reveal what few traces of warmth had endured the ravishing cold. What waited beneath revealed the hardened features of a man who had seen his fair share of woe, and yet brought with it a peculiar semblance of comfort.

            “Apologies for the intrusion. I’ve just come a long way to find you,” he removed his hat as he contemplated what to say next. “Hell, I’m not even sure how to say it, but…it’s about your boy. I’ve brought him back. I’ve brought Joshua home.”  

            There was a name she had believed would never be spoken again, save to the wind. The world was rendered silent as the subtle sounds were engulfed by the beating of her heart. An all but forgotten joy began to replace the sorrowful longing, pulsing through her veins, and stirring her spirit. She studied his face for any sign of faltering. The smallest curl in his lips that would reveal it as little more than some cruel joke, the twitch of a finger that would unearth the lie. Instead, all she found was the stalwart sincerity in the stranger’s solemn condolence.

            Just as Annabelle took her first step forward, feeling the frost biting at her ankles as she sunk into the snow, a sharp whistle called her back. The kettle had begun to boil.

            “Please,” she turned back towards the house. “Won’t you come in. The kettles ready and it’s sure to chase the chill from your bones.”

            The stranger stroked beard as he considered the offer. After a moment, he conceded before placing his hat back atop his head.

            “You can find a place for your mule just around back.”

            The stranger only nodded, tilting his hat, and holding his sombre regard for the woman he had travelled so far to find. It was not until they were inside that Annabelle began to take note of his finer details. A scar that remained nearly hidden beneath his beard, a dozen scrapes and bruises cut into his hardened hands, and a patch of scorched skin left by gun powder.  It was clear he had broken his nose at some point in his life, and not once did he smile, both of which only added to his grizzled demeanour. He appeared more broken in the warmth than he had in the bitter cold. But even his scars did little to diminish the comforting warmth radiating from his ebony eyes.

            It was not until she handed him a warm cup, and he had settled atop a chair none had used since before the war, that she addressed the matter at hand. “So then, Joshua is dead, isn’t he?”

            There came only a long drawn out nod as his grave reply.  

            Some part of her had always known, but to hear the words was another matter, “And you…you brought back his body? Thank you for that.”

            Once more, the stranger only nodded as he sipped from his cup.  

            The next question stuck in her throat, but she knew it was one she could not live without having answered, “Can you me tell me then, how did he…how did he die?”  

            “He was shot.”

            “In battle?”

            “Down in Virginia. Battle of High Bridge,” he replied while taking another drink. “Fought valiantly and what not. You should be proud.”

            “Oh, I see,” she did her best to feign a smile. “It’s good to know he had friends like you.”

            He turned his eyes away, unable to hide the shame, and yet, found no words to bring it life.

            “It’s a kind thing to do. Virginia is a long way from here. Why, you must have crossed through at least two or three states. You two must have been close.”

            “Something like that.”

            “Nevertheless, I’m…happy…Joshua didn’t die alone. To think, he almost made it through. The Union was so close to victory. I suppose he didn’t die in vain, considering his sacrifice won us the war.”

            The stranger turned his eyes further away, “Not all of us.”

            Annabelle could feel the thick sullen silence pervading the room. The stranger offered little in the way of conversation. There was no denying the fact something was odd about him, all as if he did not quite belong. The slight twang in his voice, the worn brass buckles on his boots, and the faded colour of his coat that revealed more than he had hoped to share.

            “Your jacket, I couldn’t help but notice it’s grey,” she observed.

            Their eyes met across the silence.

            “You fought for the South, didn’t you?”

            “Ye…yes, Mam.”

            Despite what he had done for her, Annabelle could not help but shift in her seat, “Then why did you help a Union soldier? He was your enemy.”

            “Them Bluecoats weren’t all bad,” he smirked. “Besides, I promised your son I would.”

            “Oh,” pondered Annabelle. “If it wasn’t during the war, then how did you know him?”

            It was then that the man paused before putting his cup aside, a hand playing with his greying beard as he took a contemplative breath, “Knew Joshua Wallace from before. We had worked the fields together.”

            “Strange. I don’t recall Joshua ever taking work that far south.”

            “He didn’t. We worked in Kanas. Tended the fields further north just before the start of it all. Sad the way it went, but the war turned a lot of friends into enemies.”

            “That it did,” she agreed. “Joshua never mentioned any friends from Kansas.

            No words followed as he brushed his hand through his hair and hung his head low.

            “Well, indifferent of the facts, I’m still glad you brought him home so that he could be laid to rest beside those he loved. You have my eternal thanks, Mr…?”

            The question had been startled the southern stranger, “Pardon me for hurrying the matter, but I better start digging if I want to get back on the road.”

            “You’ve brought him this far. Preparing his grave isn’t your responsibility. There’s no need to go digging through the frost and snow. Especially by yourself.”

            “I made a promise Mrs. Wallace. I intend to see it through. Jobs not done until its done.”

            Annabelle could not accept such a notion after he had done so much, “Surely, Joshua would understand. You don’t need to go….”

            Two defiant eyes struck her words down before they could hit their mark, “A promise is a promise, Mrs. Wallace.”

            With that, the stranger stood from his place and made for the door. Not a word was spoken as he marched back out into the snows to fulfill the promise he had made upon that blood-stained bridge in Virginia. It was a sad and stoic procession that carried her son to his final resting place, and yet, more than the grieving mother felt she deserved. There were no tears that stained her cheeks, no hoarse moans, nor choked whispered prayers, there was nothing save silence.

            From the moment he arrived upon that hilltop, and until the sun went down that day, the stranger dug without delay. Stopping for neither rest, nor respite, he stopped for nothing all through that long night It was not until some time after dawn that the final heap of dirt was laid in place. A wooden cross was tied together above the mound that would forever mark the final resting place of Joshua Wallace.

            Annabelle had stolen up beside the stranger just as he finished his errand task. It was not the sad spectacle she had expected. In fact, seeing her loved ones resting beneath that withered oak brought an odd sort of comfort. Her family was together once more. Before Annabelle could voice her sincerest appreciation for what he had done for her, the stranger had already turned to make his way home.

            “Wait!” she shouted down the hill. “Please, just wait! I wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done.”

            The stranger only turned his head and tilted the brim of his before continuing homeward.

            But it had not been enough for Annabelle, “You can’t just go like that. Stay for a bit. I’ve got a warm bed, food, and plenty to spare, now that it’s just me out here. It’s the least I can do.”

            This time, he stopped in his place, curling his hand into a fist as he fought against the words. All the while, making sure to hide his hardening features, “You don’t owe me anything.”

            “Yes, I do. I truly owe you more than you could ever know. I’ve only ever had the one son and I never thought I’d see him again. But now I get to visit him every day, smile at the foot of his grave, plant fresh flowers, and maybe spare a prayer or two for the man who brought him home.”

            “Well don’t,” he bitterly replied.

            “And why not?”

            The stranger finally turned with a fury in his eyes, “Just don’t!”

            Silence sundered their parceled comforts, and with it, there came a truth the stranger could no longer allow to burden his soul.

            “Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you before,” the fist only grew tighter as he stared at the mother of his fallen charge. “I’m…I’m the man who killed you son.”

            The words had cut like a bullet, “What?”  

            “You heard me. I’m the man who killed Joshua.”

            “You can’t be,” Annabelle was unsure of what to make of the revelation. “You brought him all the way here though? You pushed through the cold, through the rain and mud. You dug up his grave, and laid him down in it. Why would you do that for someone who you once called your enemy?”

            “Because with his dying breath he made me promise I would.”

            Each word made less sense than the one before, “But why? You’re a Greyback? How many Union soldiers did you kill during the war?”

            “Too many to count,” he confessed with grimacing clarity. “Maybe even more than should have died.”

            “Did you do this far all the men you killed?”

            The southern soldier could only shake his head as he turned towards the cold.

            “Then why Joshua? Why my son instead of the others?”

            There was no denying it was a question he had asked himself countless times before. Pressing through the storms with the body of a Bluecoat weighing him down every step of the way. Stomaching the smell and rot of his corpse each time he stopped for rest. Hearing the buzzing of the flies as they circled his lifeless body. Even upon first hearing the Union had won the war, that single moment that had encapsulated the futility of everything he had lost and almost died to defend, the question remained, and with it, always came the same answer.

            “Your son was the first man I had to look in the eyes as I killed.”

            It was Annabelle’s turn for silence as she watched his hardened features grow soft.

            “I mean, I looked him right in the eyes, and I seen him as the boy he was. It’s one thing to pull the trigger and watch a man fall, but it’s another to be there to watch the spark fade. Sure, there had been battles where others fell into the mud beneath my bayonets, young kids hardly able to grow hair on their face, dropping like flies in the trenches. It was different with your son.”

            The tears were already rolling down Annabelle’s cheeks as she suffered through the horrific account of her son’s final moments, and all the while, holding to her silence.

            “We had been pushed pretty far back. We were being overrun at every turn. I ended up separating from the rest of my battalion, hell, maybe I had run away. Hard to tell when you think back to the chaos. Nevertheless, Joshua tracked me down, but he couldn’t get the best of me. I fired a bullet into his belly, but that hadn’t been enough. When I got close enough…when I pulled out my blade…that stubborn boy had just enough fight left in him to pull me close. That was when I looked into those damn blue eyes of his, and he just…he just saw me. Not as a soldier, or as the enemy, but as another human being. And in that, he only asked for one thing, he asked me to bring his body home. That was it.”

            It had been a difficult story to hear, but Annabelle could see it had been far harder to tell.

            “That’s it,” he muttered. “Another boy dead in another war.”

            The Stranger turned to leave once and for all. Annabelle could only watch as her son’s killer readied his things for the journey ahead. There was not enough courage in him to turn back as he prepared the mule and fixed his cart. It seemed he had unburdened himself of one weight, and had managed to replace it with another. One far greater than any deed nor thing brought back from the war. It was the heaviness of a thousand regrets, of things that could not be undone, and whose stark veracity had remained hidden until their lustrous façade had faded, and ever too late. But for the first time since Annabelle knew her baby boy, Joshua Wallace, was truly dead, she found herself feeling happy. For only then had she realized what horrors death had spared him.

            Just as the stranger took his seat, taking the reigns in hand, she shouted across the white fields, “Thank you. Whoever you are, thank you for bringing my boy home.”

            With a slight tilt in her direction, he nodded before urging the mule forward. It took him some time before he cleared the horizon, setting off towards whatever unintended destination would take him next, as all the while, Annabelle watched. There was no forgiving him, and yet he had already been forgiven. It was the way things worked out sometimes. So, with a final smile, she spared a parting thought to her son’s killer and made her way home. Finally, her family was back together again.