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The war is over, and the confederates are coming home...but there are always loved ones who don't make it.

Submitted:Aug 11, 2009    Reads: 272    Comments: 3    Likes: 3   

Savanahh could hear her mother crying again from the other room. One year had passed, the war had ended, and there was still no word from her father. Her mother clung to the desperate hope that the precious letters he had written them had simply been lost, but Savanahh knew deep down that the war had taken his life. She prayed every night, for her mother's sake, that she was wrong.

All was quiet on May 23, 1865, in the state of Alabama, as the Confederate heroes trudged their way home. The war had been lost, and Savanahh's hot southern blood boiled at the thought of the Yankees parading and partying up north. She could not help but feel animosity toward the Union. They had forced her to conform to their style of life, and forsake her own; rich in tradition and history. Savanahh's proud family did not own slaves, and those up north never seemed to grasp that it was not about slavery at all. It was about her freedoms and her loyalty to the soil on which she grew up. More so than that, they had taken her father away; killed him for believing differently than they did. What right did they have to commit such crimes?

Savanahh's father was Lt. Walter Harris. He served under Brigadier General Joseph E. Johnston: one of the greatest heros to fight for the confederacy. The last letter that Savanahh had recieved from him had told her of promising plans of attack from Pickett's Mill against the 4th Army Corps. Savanahh had later heard that the battle had been won with a brutal victory, but she and her mother never heard from her father again.

The door across the hall opened, and Savanahh watched her tear-stricken mother glide down the hall like the ghost of her once perfect life. Savanahh followed at a distance, carefully watching so ther her mother did not fall again. The war's demands and grievances had played a cruel trick on the woman before her. The lively 35 year old from two years ago had aged incredibly fast, and was now fragile and fatigued.

There was a knock at the door, as her mother reached the bottom step of the staircase. Savanahh held her breath as a wave of excitement washed over her weathered mother. Savanahh watched her launch for the door and fling it open. Standing outside was a young confederate soldier, a sorrowful look on his face and a letter in his hand.


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