11.

She stopped at the head of the stairs, her dark blue eyes shadowing as she studied the house below her. It was quiet, deathly quiet now that the war was on. God in heaven she missed the days before the war, when laughter and music made her house a home. Now? It was just a shell, a building that housed so many memories.

She descended the staircase to the memories of the sounds of her two sons laughing on the verandah. She and Alexis had given up on having children. Their families for ten long years had bemoaned the fact that there would never be a Ferry son to carry on the family name. Why she just had to be less of a woman because she couldn’t get in the family way, but it had never deterred her Alexis. His love stood true. He’d often just laugh and whisper “Hell Darlin, I have all I want right here with you.”

It was that and that alone that had relaxed her. As their lazy life continued along the Mississippi, she finally quit worrying the fact of children and started to enjoy her husband and home. Then and only then, as they contented themselves with their lives had she learned she would have a child. Nine months later to her surprise and her husband’s delight she’d borne twin sons. “One dark, one light, just like you and me Darlin,” had been his happy whisper.

Their lives were made complete with their day and night sons. Although they looked nothing alike, that hadn’t stopped them from forging a friendship that had amazed most people. Where ever Francois was, you would surely find Stephen, through any childhood game or fight they always stood back to back. It was a them versus the world type of thing. They could be fighting like cats and dogs over a toy or a sweet, yet if something came against them, hackles rose and their backs touched as if to say it’s us against you. All of the neighborhood children knew, if you messed with Stephen you had to deal with Francois, and vice versa.

There were times when she even considered the fact that they shared a single soul, so close was their bond. Although they were twins, born bare minutes apart, they were in most aspects as different as night and day; they were always together, always egging each other on, well Stephen more so than Francois, but she knew had it not been for Stephen’s gentle soul, Francois would have been forever lost in a deep seriousness that would have left no time for fun.

Stephen was the romantic one, finding love and romance in the simplest things, from a flower to a song to whichever young lass had his fancy. He often spent his free time simply strumming his guitar and regaling his friends with humorous tales. Francois on the other hand, he was the business man who kept the plantation running even after the death of Alexis. Had it not been for Francois they would have all languished.

She moved gracefully to the front door, her crinolines swishing gently as she took in the emptiness there. Mercy she missed them so. Closing her eyes she opened them only to see her sons as a favorite memory overwhelmed her. One was tall and dark, with deep brown eyes that were always flashing in mirth, the other was slender and a bit shorter, with dark hair but startling blue eyes. Stephen had taken after his father’s side of the family, tall and lanky with dark hair and eyes but Francois he had taken after her side. He was all wiry strength, slender with dark hair that tended to lighten in the Louisiana sun, and bright blue eyes that at times were eerily like her mothers. That gaze of his could see right through you at times.

That is how their life had gone, full of love, laughter and music. There had always been the music, from the time her boys could reach the piano and wrap a hand around a guitar. Compositions of their own, classics, none of it eluded her boys abilities. Her eyes lifted to look over the barren fields of her home, a barrenness caused by war and strife that never seemed to end, the very war that had from its inception caused a rift that she feared would never be resolved. This one war had finally found a way to fracture what she thought would never shatter, the love of brother for brother. As she turned to reenter her now silent home that final day played out in her memory.


“How can you think abolishing slavery is a good way to go Stephen? Damn it man, how can we till the crops? How can we harvest the cane?” Francois had paced in front of his brother, who for all intents and purposes was more involved in a melody.

“You could hire them Francois. Jesus they are people too you know.” Stephen looked up at his brother, his frequent and goofy smile surfacing. “We have enough money to actually do that you know.”

And it had gotten worse from there. The daily arguments grew louder driving wedges between the brothers that would never be resolved. She had often stepped in between the two young men who outstripped her in size just to keep the bloodshed from happening all over her furniture.

The day came though when Stephen had finally had enough and had ridden off on his horse, sending word back that he’d joined the Northern army. When Francois received the word his eyes lifted to his mothers, torment in their gaze as he finally whispered that he could do no less than stand up for his convictions. On that very day she’d lost both sons, to a war she knew would never do anything more than deprive them all.

~~~

The day was humid, too humid for decent God fearing men to be out on a field screaming and waving guns. Everywhere he looked there was carnage as his friends were felled one by one. God he regretted ever joining this idiocy, didn’t even remember now what had gotten him to make such a foolish decision. Damn him, Francois could always make him so mad, always about the work or making plans for the future and never taking time to just enjoy things. That’s what his aim in life had always been, soothing his brother, teasing him into enjoying things, if only for a little while. He’d always thought they’d live their lives out on the verandah of the St. Joseph watching their families grow but that wasn’t to be it seemed. Damn he was stupid for joining this war, and the longer he had to trudge through blood and bodies the more sure he was that he should have just let his brothers anger show him the truth, because now he had no doubts that Francois had been right all along.

He had left and went North when the war had started, joining the side that had seemed right in the beginning at least. He’d made a pretty good soldier, even moving up in rank as the war escalated. He wasn’t sure why, unless it was because he never left his men to just co-ordinate in the safety behind lines. Holding his bayonet aloft he called out in his raspy as whiskey voice for his men to forge ahead, and watched as each one rallied and streamed over the field.

He had long ago forgotten exactly why they were fighting, day in day out all he knew now was blood, death and mayhem, and for what? To abolish something that had been an institution for centuries? The South hadn’t come up with the idea of slavery; they had just perfected its use. So many claimed it was because slaves were treated badly, but he knew better than most that the bad slave owners were a scarcity. Good plantation owners knew that their success lay in the health of their slaves and took big steps to keep them happy.

Dammit Francois had been right. They needed their work force to plant the cane and harvest it. He’d heard enough of the factories of the north, and the pittance those people worked for equated to slavery in his weary mind. He should have stayed home, taken more of an interest in the plantation and stayed out of this excuse for a war.

He winced as the heaviness hit, startled brown eyes glancing down to see red blooming on his blue uniform as he fell from a horse no longer able to move. Well hell they’d shot his favorite horse from beneath him. He rolled quickly and tried to stand only to fall to his knees. As his eyes dimmed his heart screamed in frustration. He wanted to tell him he was sorry, wanted to make things right. He didn’t want to meet his maker before things were right with his brother. His tall gangly body slipped into the mud and gore of the field in Gettysburg, his brother’s name upon his lips as his eyes closed a final time.

~~~

He sat his horse, back ramrod straight as dull blue eyes surveyed the battle raging just beyond the valley. It was all so stupid. The North was winning, the South was being pushed to its final legs and out there somewhere in the mass of blue clad soldiers his brother was probably laughing and joking, urging his fellow soldiers to take that final stand.

Why had he pushed him that day? He should have known he’d take a stand. He always did. Usually that stand was beside him, or at his back protecting him, but no longer. Dammit Stephen, we were supposed to go old on the porch of the St. Joseph! He shook his head, trying to clear the threatening tears as he barked out the final orders of the day.

He urged his horse forward, his bayonet flashing as he cut a swath through blue clad bodies. He’d long ago quit thinking of them as men with families or humans, he had to or he’d never survive the damned war. As each blue body fell it simply meant he’d get home sooner, to his brother, to his mother and to the plantation which ran so deep within his blood.

He felt the shudder as his horse stumbled, his quick reflexes flinging him from a sturdy horse felled in the line of duty. Blinking sweat and dust from his eyes he pushed up from the ground, startled blue eyes falling on a body that was lying next to him. Dear Jesus no, it couldn’t be! He crawled swiftly to the body and turned it over, a roar of pain blasting from his heart as he looked upon the visage of someone he’d despaired ever seeing again. A shaking hand reached out to gently brush stubborn brown bangs from the non seeing eyes of his brother. “Oh Stephen!” As the tears began to fall the pain in his chest intensified. Putting his hand to his chest he looked up only to see the rabid eyes of a blue coated soldier leering his way.

“Southern scum, trying to raid the body of my fallen comrade.” As the stream of rancid tobacco juice streamed his way, Francois lifted a hand in an entreaty. “It’s my brother for God sakes. I just wanna move his body!”

The Rebel snorted and leveled his gun. “Fuckin’ Yankee. Think I believe that? You leave my colonel’s body be.”

He felt the bullet before he ever heard it, the stain of red gathering as he slumped over the body of his dead brother, their blood mingling in the heat of the humid summer’s day. His final fading thought a simple wish to be home, with his brother and mother, and whole.

~~~

A small hand fisted over a heart now broken as a double shaft of pain pierced the soul of Josephine Ferry, and she knew in that instant that her boys would not be coming home. Falling to her knees her hand reached out to settle over Stephen’s favorite guitar, her eyes closing. She’d never had a chance to help them repair their rift. She’d never had a chance to bring them together. It was over and the stupid damned war had won.