American War Short Story

50
War
Cherokee Co, Alabama
April, 1861

“War? What war,” asked Nancy. “Why haven't heard about this before?”
Aaron looked at her as if he was wondering if she were dense or just plain stupid, then said, “Why the war with the Yankees, of course- have you had your head under a rock!”
“No,” Nancy yelled. “I just haven’t heard about it and wondered why.”
“Prolly because y'all stuck out here in the wilderness and men folk didn't see no use in filling you women’s heads with talk of war,“ stated Aaron. “Anyhow, it was just talk til now!”
“I want ever get a husband now,” Nancy suddenly wailed. “They'll all be off playing war! Why do they want to fight anyway?” she asked, and then remembered hearing something about freeing slaves. “Why don’t
“It's already mid-April,” said Henry. “Before this war gets to going, if it gets to going, I wanted to plant a good vegetable garden for y’all to eat out of come summertime.”
“Yep; you wait too much longer and the crops won’t make anything and it‘ll all be for naught,” Jeremiah said, somewhat sadly, as the talk of war caused him to remember what Charity had told him years earlier, about Aaron dying in a great war- he wondered if she had also told Henry, and if that was why Henry was staying home- just in case she broke down once Aaron left.
He wanted to ask Henry if she had told him, but reckoned it’d be best to keep his mouth shut and wait and see- he’d know soon enough, because that day had come… thinking himself all grown up, Aaron was running off to war...
***
After Aaron and Nancy had left, Charity dressed in her riding britches, packed her paints and canvases and then mounted Kagali and rode off to be alone. She could not stand all their questioning eyes on her, watching her as if they were waiting for her to
Aaron was no longer a child; he was a man who has made his own decisions in life. If she had told him when he was six that he would die when he was nineteen, he would have been afraid to live his life; he would have missed living…
Taking her paints, pencils, and accessories from her haversack, she outlined her vision of the hills in the distance- filled with the pungent smoke of a war that was on the horizon. As soon as she finished the outline, a vision of her son lying in her arms, staring into her eyes as he took his final breath was more than she could bear. She grabbed a handful of paint and smeared it across the canvas, and then fell to her knees and wailed, “Why? Why does it have to be like this?” she asked the sky above.
Warm tears stung her eyes as she looked at the small tintype photo of Aaron he‘d had made while in town. Staring across the haphazard hills to the northeast, she had a vision- from there, they would