In The Middle of It All

Joab ambled Star down the dark street, pulling his jacket close for warmth. It was quiet in Oxford except for the wind that whistled and blew hard through the limbs of the oak trees. He turned his horse toward The University and slumped in the saddle while Star clopped along on the hard-packed dirt street.
The lamps were turned up to a high flame, standing vigil over the few students who were still out making their way to the dormitories. He rode up on the hill, the little cemetery for Confederate soldiers killed at Shiloh and Corinth. Just when Joab thought that Shiloh held the Balm in Gilead, he found the bitter gall of the tomb, the burial grounds of those who gave a full measure—then and now. He remembered the day he walked the wood planked bridge over the Tishomingo Stream at Brice's Crossroads, the ride up the ridge to Shiloh Hill. And now he was in Oxford where Whiskey Smith under the Union flag had tried to melt down the city. Joab thought Shiloh was his place of peace until he realized there would be no peace until yet a stronger measure of inner healing could take place.

And Joab had scarcely had time to mourn the death of Robert E. Lee, his father's commanding officer. T.G., Jonathan, and Albert Henry had loved Lee with a passion. Joab read it in the Oxford paper just a few days ago. On September 28, Lee suffered a stroke and died of pneumonia just a couple of weeks later in Lexington, Virginia. On October 12, 1870, to be precise. It was said his last words were "Strike the tent!" speaking to A.P. Hill, another hero. Come up and take the tent down, move on—Lee was moving on to better things. And what could be better for a man of faith than Heaven. "Strike the tent, indeed!" thought Joab. Rachel would be grieving along with Jonathan and Isaac. Even young Samuel would be touched by the loss of this great Confederate general. In the middle of it all, Joab wondered how on earth a southern boy could forget.

How could one forgive when it just kept coming?

Jane Bennett Gaddy

Excerpt from JOAB, A Novel of the Old South

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