Young Writers Society

Chapter 2

Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Perhaps he will still come. He is quite strong-willed but the lad is trouble in every bone in his body.

I reach up and brush a tear away but wince and grumble at the stiffness in me neck that never passed. Even so, I feel me lips twitch and realize though as faint as it is, I manage a wee smile.

Oh, Zack had always given me cause for concern when I saw that smirk of his. Zack’s father, I presume did not favor his boy or paid little attention to him. As such, he made his way to me tent frequently, mostly in the evening or at night. I never knew for certain if he had a mother – and never pried – but that lad took great delight in witnessing me shout or jump out of me skin.

A lesser of the two evils, once I recall I was about to lay me head down and retire for thee night. I was settling in and in doing so, I pulled me coat up to me shoulders.

“Alex!” and then the tent jerked all around me whole body.

I jumped too and snatched me Bess and crawled out of the entrance on me knees, thinking we were under attack from the Redcoats, only to spot Zack, with his palms on his stomach, laughing hysterically.

There was one such incident and the only time I felt necessary to speak down to him. It was evening, just enough light in the sky to see the encampment. Some of the men used their hunting knives to cut leather, others were skinning game for food or their intent was to use the pelts for padding.

I stood outside me tent in the spring air, leisurely looking at the sky and enjoyed all its beauty of the shades of colors. I quite liked moments such as those. It allowed a man to think and clear his own thoughts.

“Alex!” Zack hollered. He clenched his right forearm and ran quickly across the field to me. I took immediate notice to his expression. He appeared in discomfort. “My arm!” he yelled louder.

I reacted like he, and ran towards Zack. When I reached him, there were several strips of cloth wrapped around his forearm. The cloth was very much red.

I grabbed his arm and twisted and turned it frantically. He allowed the motions of inspection. His arm was so red that I could not reason at the given moment why he sought my council and not another soldier nearby.

Not locating any type of wound, I presumed I was too worried for Zack and in doing so, I grabbed the back of his neck and dragged him to hopefully someone that could further assist better than I.

He squirmed and tried to push me away but I was having little to do with his antics. Still, after a few minutes, he fussed and tugged to break free but I held firm.

“Alex, let go,” Zack grumbled.

“No,” I said firmly. “We need to find help for ye arm.”

“But, I am fine. I promise,” and then he pulled backwards harder.

“I think not. Not with that wound.”

“You think with this wound I would have this much energy!” he shouted suddenly.

I halted in mid-step and stared into his face questionably.

“Evenin’,” he smirked.

I dropped his arm and glared.

“Decent gag, aye?” Zack asked.

Frankly, it indeed took a bit of time for clarity to come forth. I only stared, dumbfounded.

“See?” And he tore off the layers of cloth. He rotated his arm. “Not a scratch. I dabbed the cloth in one of the men’s freshly killed game. Someone had managed to trap a coon today.”

I did not comment.

He looked up at me face and frowned.

“There is no such humor in deceiving others.” I paused. “Ye frightened me. Truly.”

“I…,” Zack stuttered.

“No,” I remarked sharply. “We shall have a talk, now.”

*

Outside of me tent, we sat on the ground. Me Bess lied next to me right foot if Redcoats should attack us.

Zack, I remember, sat cross-legged and was fiddling with strands of grass. The joints in me legs would never allow such a position, but with me arms folded against me chest, I waited for him to speak.

It had already been several minutes and the warm, night air stirred.

He glanced up at the stars and shrugged. I waited patiently. Zack only took his thumb and dug holes into the ground instead. More minutes moved on. He looked up, frowned and cocked his head to the side.

“Are you not going to say one word to me?” Zack asked quietly.

Fully prepared of the story I was about to share to, and only him, I merely needed a window of opportunity and Zack supplied it by his question.

“Have I ever mentioned me son?”

Zack shook his head.

“No? Never?”

“Never,” he muttered.

I swallowed, trying to sort through the memories. “I have seen much blood.”

Zack nodded. “Because of this war.”

“No, before it.”

“Oh.”

“It is important that ye know for that stunt had frightened me so. I care for ye, Zack. Ye must know, correct?”

“You have been kind to me, yes.”

“I…” I left the statement hang.

“It is all right. You do not have to share. I see it in your face, Alex. You cannot keep steady eyes upon myself.”

“Me son was killed,” I blurted. Once the words registered, I grabbed the stock of me Bess and went inside the tent, leaving Zack alone.

“Alex?” he called.

“Come inside,” I called back to him.

He crawled on his hands and knees and made his way in. Inside, Zack sat again cross-legged on the grass.

There was a long moment, that much I do recall. How can one person endure such pains and yet carry on in life? I suppose the alternative is what keeps the people progressing despite agony.

Finally, I released a long sigh. It was Zack’s turn to be patient and by God, for a young gentleman, he was, do to his credit.

“I apologize. I have not spoken…” I swallowed. Me throat clenched. “He was a fine boy,” I smiled sadly. “He was alone in thy garden, playing with the hoe.”

Zack gasped. “He did not impale himself on the hoe?”

I shook me head. “Not at all. He was so young – and naive – I suppose to the danger. Gunshots and horses whinnied and much galloping straight towards our tiny garden, I, there was just no time.”

“Who were they?” he asked.

“Redcoats,” I swallowed again.

“They shot him?” Zack roared and leapt to his feet.

“Sit down, and no.”

Zack squatted instead.

“Jacob, my son, fell over backwards. The hoof beats, I reason, spooked him so that he jumped back, tripped, perhaps over his ankle or foot.”

“Alex, I believe I understand. The bloody strips of cloth reminded you of your son. That is why you insisted on helping me.”

“No,” I said firmly and shook my head. “Ye comprehend little. The death of Jacob was tragic. Mark my words, it is exceedingly difficult in speaking about him now but I am able to do so with ye, Zack. I… I… am fond of ye, much like me son. He will never be replaced and always has a place in me heart but ye are awfully close.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

I shrugged. “I have not an answer. I just feel comfortable around ye, like another son.”

He grinned, but shortly, Zack frowned. “I scared you awful. I apologize.”

“Ye see the error of ye ways then?”

“It shall not let it happen again. Where is she?” Zack asked curiously.

“She left me within a week after Jacob’s accident.”

“You speak so calmly for such unreasonable circumstances.”

“A father and son shall converse freely to one and another,” I nodded. “Speaking of which, I grow tired. It is time for ye to go visit your sleeping quarters.”

He positioned himself on his hands and knees and began crawling towards the entrance.

“Good night – Zackariah.”

Zack whirled around immediately and grimaced.

“Go on, let me be for the night.”

Obliged to agree, he left me alone, which prompted me to smile faintly at his expression. Zack never much adored his given name.

_____

I want the tears to cease and plague me no more, but they flow, causing me cheeks to burn and ache as the bitter air grips me flesh and rips. The numbness on them is especially unbearable but most of all the faces; their memories are causing me much heartache. I close me eyes and simply cannot cry silently any longer.

Zack’s blond hair; his expression on the nights we engage in good conversations, his eyes beamed brightly, when we discussed life – or Gyle.

Gyle…

Racking sobs. Me ears hear the sounds of meself creating such a disturbance. Moaning. Groaning. Crying. Coughing. Gurgling; the rattle in me chest persists. In unison, all erupt.

Jacob… He enters my mind now. His short, brown hair, young face; he’s giggling and skipping just outside our cottage in Virginia. He is not wearing his waistcoat but is hopping about and frolicking in his bare feet.

“Father! Play with me!” And then Jacob falls down, rolls about on the ground, giggling.

In response to his request, I turn on me left side and grit me teeth and punch the snow. Again, and again, and again. Over and over, until I begin to cough violently. I sit erect immediately and pound me chest. The rattling intensifies. Me insides, especially thee lungs, dig sharply. I cannot gain control. I feel the panic rise and me heartbeat accelerates at an alarming rate. Quickly, I remember the last time I saw me dear friend, me adopted son, Zackariah. His cheeks were a bluish hue, and he coughed just as I am now on our trek to Valley Forge. Here, at the Forge, it has been seven days, and Zack has not fulfilled his vow to me. His fate was sealed, just as mine may be presently.

“No!” I roared, and spat. I clenched me gut and shook me head continuously. “No, no, no.” The coughing graciously leaves.

“Alex.”

“No, leave.” I shiver and then yelp in pain. The coughing fit begins anew.

“But, Alex?”

“Leave,” I cough. “I,” I cough again. “Beg of you, Sam – antha.”

“I did once.”

“I know it,” I whimper.

“Rest, husband. Be at peace.”

“I. Shall,” I gurgle.

Obliged to agree with me wife, I curl into a tight ball, slowly lower me head, curse, shut me eyes and decidingly so, sit motionless. It is best to conserve energy.

The last thought that penetrates me mind, is the act of revenge. One should not capitalize on revenge for the costs are much too astronomical. I enlisted in ‘76’ to avenge Jacob and here I be a year later: Cold, wet – and dying.

*

A soldier gasps, horror-stricken.

Proctor, who represented a human cannonball, is wrapped in torn, smoke-filled, blue wool. He sat silently.

“Private!” General Greene shouts.

Nothing.

Greene looks at the soldier that accompanied Washington and he. “Proceed.” Greene points to Proctor. “See if but the last breathe has departed his soul.”

The soldier stepped quickly towards the body. He presses his head to Proctor’s chest and listens. A few seconds pass. The soldier goes so far as to hold his own breath, just to feel the familiar movement of inhaling. A few more seconds slip by. No sign of life within. He pulls his ear away and examines his comrade. The soldier stares for a moment at Proctor’s worn chocolate brown, tricorn hat. He reaches and unties a blue-checkered cravat but groans afterwards at what he sees. Proctor’s neck, along the sides under his jawbone is a deep, dark purple.

“He lives no longer, sir,” the soldier says softly.

General Greene sighs sadly. “Very well. Find another and assist him in escorting this one to be properly buried.”

The soldier clicked his heels and saluted. “Sir.”

General Greene nodded in response.

The soldier marched slowly away from the two Officers.

He limped alongside General Washington, as the two Officers turned their backsides on Private Alex Proctor. They muttered and exchanged opinions on the melancholy atmosphere of Valley Forge.

“I… live.”

Sadly, no one would be near to witness Proctor’s words.

*

[END]