Southern Fried Sushi (37 page)

“But they fought the war over slavery, Adam. Anybody who wanted to keep slavery is wrong, and I’ll never change my opinion.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Slavery’s always been wrong from thebeginning. But a lot of people who fought for the South disagreed with slavery completely. Like Tim’s family. They fought for their homeland. Their wives and daughters whose farms were invaded and burned. Whose sons were killed by Northern gunmen.

“Most of the battles took place right here in Virginia and elsewhere in the South, and they were the ones who stayed out of the war until their houses burned down around their ears. You’d better believe they grabbed their muskets and joined the Rebels. Regardless of what the Confederacy advocated or didn’t.”

He shrugged, hand on his chin. “I could be wrong, but it’s a different perspective. At least for consideration. There are usually two sides to everything.”

I watched the sea of soldiers across the meadow. They seemed so real now, so human—all of them, both colors. Things weren’t always as clear-cut as I’d imagined.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Shiloh. Slavery was and always will be a terrible evil. The KKK and thugs who harassed abolitionists? The worst. Despicable. People try to defend slavery by showing how well some families treated their slaves, but it misses the point. It’s wrong. Period. And if Southern commerce couldn’t continue without slavery, it deserved to collapse.”

“Well said.”

“It’s not me who comes up with all this. It’s God.”

I pushed my sunglasses up on my head. “Slavery’s in the Bible, Adam! Even I know that much!”

“A lot of things are in the Bible that God didn’t necessarily approve of. But Southern slaves didn’t go free every seven years like Israelite slaves did in the Old Testament, so it’s not really a good comparison.”

Seven years? What on earth was he talking about? I ran my fingers through the grass, feeling like that night on my front porch with Adam.

“If you look at Paul’s letters in the New Testament, he asked the owner of a runaway slave to welcome him back as a brother, not a master. Which speaks more of God’s heart than anything else.”

“But a lot of people claim to be Christians and racists, too, like those KKK nuts.”

“They haven’t read First John.”

“Who?”

“In the Bible. It says if we claim to love God and hate our brother, we’re deceived. You can’t be a racist and love God. Ever.”

“You believe that?”

“Absolutely. The Bible doesn’t address all of our modern social issues directly, Shiloh. God’s left that task up to us. He’s given us His heart and His ways to change the world. But if you wonder about slave traders, First Timothy lumps them with adulterers and perverts.”

I harrumphed. “Well, good.” Finally something in the Bible I agreed with.

Actually I agreed with a lot of things. More than I cared to admit. I played with a dandelion stem, trying to press down the emotions surging within me.

Adam crossed his legs and leaned back. “Be careful judging the gospel by a few loudmouths who call themselves Christians. Jesus warned us a lot of people who think they’re saved, but He’ll say, ‘I never knew you.’“

A chill crept up my arms even in the heat. “Saved?”

“From sin and from hell.” He met my eyes. “It’s real, Shiloh. The wages of sin is death. The Bible says so. And you have to choose.”

Just like the battle on the green field, two sides warring against each other with all their strength. Only one side would win.

“I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life!”

I jerked my head up. The words whispered through my mind like wind tickling my cheeks, pulling strands of hair from undermy baseball cap. I took it off and let the breeze blow through it, wild and free.

“Would you have fought for the South, Adam?” I switched subjects, Kyoko-like, as something like tears welled in my throat.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” I swiveled to look at him. “Are you really a Southerner?”

“Of course I am! I love the South. But I can’t tell you if I’d have fought for the South or not. Even Jesus warned the Pharisees about bragging over what we’d have done in past generations and thinking we’re somehow ‘better’ than our fathers—because we weren’t there.

“It’s a dangerous thing to put ourselves and our modern values back into pasts we know nothing about, especially when we puff ourselves up with pride and say, ‘I would have done differently.’ No. I choose to live now and make my decisions now. This is who I am.”

And at that moment, a great respect for Adam Carter welled up inside me. Adam might be stuffy and odd and serious, but he was real. Just like any of the men down on that field, gray and blue, believing to their dying breath.

We looked down over the valley as a bugler on a horse led another blue cavalry into the fray. A wall of Southern gunners disappeared into a puff of smoke. Horses reared up, and troops scattered over the clatter of artillery fire.

“What a messed-up world,” I whispered, blinking fast to hide my tears. I hurt for Tim’s brave warriors, cut down in their prime. For the ranks in blue, wanting to preserve the Union. For slaves torn away against their will, never again to breathe the air they once called home.

For everyone who’d ever suffered and bled and forced himself to stand again against great odds, like the outnumbered Confederates in the field below.

Like Mom.

And also like me.

“So much bloodshed. So much fighting.”

“You’re right, Shiloh,” said Adam gently. “We live in a fallen world. The only way to free yourself from those evils comes through Christ. He cleaned people up back then, and He still does it now.”

Those words seemed to carry across the centuries like an urgent whisper. I need Him. It caught in my throat like a sob, the way I’d felt when Jamie begged me to tell God I wanted to believe. That I wanted Him for a Father.

I leaned back in the grass, and my fingers barely touched Adam’s. They were warm among the green. He didn’t pull away.

I sat up quickly, face flushing, but a strange quiver coursed through my veins. Hugged my knees and looked out over the smoky valley, strewn with men who had given their last.

I didn’t need a new battle. I was sick of battle. I needed the whole war to end. To surrender and accept His terms. To discover that instead of death, I’d find a whole new life. A whole new Father. A whole new love. The way I’d always longed for deep inside.

My prayer rose up like a puff of musket smoke, dissolving into clear sky overhead. Invisible, yet spreading out into eternity.

I want to believe, God. I don’t know why, or how, but I want to. I need to. Help me believe in You.

I turned to find Adam’s blue eyes looking at me with an expression I couldn’t describe. Without a word, he gently brushed a strand of my hair out of my eyes and tucked it behind my ear.

“Say yes,” he whispered. “To God.”

My cheek burned where his fingers had touched my skin,

ever so slightly, as if unwilling to forget.

The sun dipped low and golden when we rejoined Randy and Tim’s family, taking pictures and talking with other reenactors.

The next reenactment was the Battle of Stanardsville in Greene County, and everybody couldn’t wait to trounce General Custer and ride alongside the famous JEB Stuart. A Confederate victory!

I’d actually felt disappointed when Union General Philip Sheridan surprised the troops with two fresh divisions of cavalry, forcing the strong Confederate lines to sway and eventually break. Cocky Sheridan, waving his hat and proclaiming victory even before the battle ended, made me despise him.

Sheridan, people told me, burned and laid waste to the beautiful Shenandoah Valley. Oaks whispered golden leaves against a distant ridge, joining in his condemnation.

Victory was victory, but as I helped Becky roll up the blankets and pack Tim’s gear in the trunk, I couldn’t forget those fallen gray coats—exhausted after struggling valiantly with an enemy more than triple their size.

I knew exactly how they felt.

We were still loading up when I noticed my purse didn’t jingle like it normally did.

“Has anybody seen my keys?” I dug through my purse frantically, finding nothing, then dumped it upside down on the seat. Pawed through cell phone, sunglasses, and cap.

“Didja lose ‘em?” Becky looked worried, peering around Tim Senior’s now dust-stained uniform. “We got your spares at home.”

“Yeah, but Mom’s keychain.” I could get another one probably, but I wanted hers. The one she held. Tucked in her purse.

I pressed my hand to my lips in thought then groaned. “I know where they are. I took them out at lunch when I was talking to that woman.”

“The one who knew yer mama?”

“Yep. I’ll be right back.” I tossed my purse on the seat.

“Wait! I’ll go with you!” Randy trotted forward excitedly, giving me an eager grin.

I shot up a hand. “I’m fine! It’ll just take a minute!” And I sprinted off.

Ugh. I certainly didn’t need some creepy cousin coming off into the nearly deserted hillsides with me for so-called protection. Give me a break! We’re in Winchester, Virginia, not New York!

Besides, the hillsides dazzled with honey-colored sun, and I could see perfectly.

I skirted the area, hill after hill, coming around the lightly wooded glen where the food area peeked between trees. It stood deserted now, and cicadas creaked in the woods, swelling up with a dizzying sound.

Fallen twigs crunched as I ran down the path, veering off at the edge of the woods where we’d eaten lunch. One more bend and the tree should …

Wait a minute. It didn’t look right. My oak stretched into the sky, towering, and I didn’t remember any pines nearby.

I paused in the middle of the pathway, pulling my sweaty hair off my neck. Crunched a few more steps through the leaves. Checked at the base of another tree and found nothing. Stood there with my hands on my hips, wishing I’d brought my cell phone. The food area was a lot farther from the parking lot than I remembered.

I closed my eyes and retraced my steps. Then hurried down a smaller side path, wrapped in forest, a few bends just out of sight. A giant oak. I recognized its spreading branches.

I pushed fallen green leaves aside, digging around the roots. And, to my relief, snatched up my precious VSDB keychain. Held it up in the fading light and jingled it just to hear the sound.

Winchester was cooler than Staunton, farther north, and a chilly snap descended as the sun lowered, turning the glen pale blue. I sat back on my heels to rest, wishing I’d brought a jacket.

Something flickered through the trees. A sound, a movement. A ripple of wind in the leaves. I stood, one arm against the oak.

Then again, a flash of lighter color. Sure enough, several figures lurked in the shadows near the empty food buildings, all closed and boarded up. Probably cleaning people or something.

I tied my shoe and started quickly back toward the main trail. And scuffed to a stop on the leaf-covered earth.

Two guys blocked the path, looking in my direction.

I backed up a few steps then headed around the food area the long way, into the woods, hoping to throw them off. But as soon as I ventured beyond the buildings I heard laughter, low voices, and footsteps. And a whistle. Calling something in low tones.

The sun slipped another notch, turning everything an eerie dusky color, just like a scary movie. Summer crickets began their night calls.

I walked faster, pushing overzealous branches and leaves out of my way. But when I came around the next bend, there stood the guys again, still blocking the path. Closer this time, so I could see the leering grin of the tall one, shining dimly in the dusky twilight.

And I was farther away from the parking lot than ever.

Someone bird-called through the trees, rustling branches, and I stepped back, swiveling my head at a twig snap in the other direction.
Probably just some dumb Boy Scouts clowning around, Shiloh! Chill
. I wiped sweaty fingers on my jeans and surveyed my options, determined to walk out calmly, head up.

But on the trail behind me emerged another silhouette, too big for a Boy Scout. Or a boy anything. Barring my access back to the main path. The two guys in front of me whispered and sidled closer.

Instinctively I shrank behind a clump of pines, ready to scream.

No! Don’t do it! You’ll give away your location, and besides, nobody up in the parking lot can hear you anyway
.

My heart thudded, and I slipped through the pines and off the trail. Dark woods closed in around me, drowning the foliagein darkish blue-gray. The color of battle uniforms under smoke. The color of dread.

Angular shadows slithered closer. Footsteps crackling twigs, muted whispering. That silly bird call and the shiver of leaves as a tree branch wobbled.

I was hemmed in, just like the Confederates at the Battle of Opequon. And even more outnumbered.

Great. I pressed cold fingers to my cheeks, crouching under a leafy maple branch.
Think, Shiloh! How on earth did you get yourself in this mess?

I ducked through a thick shrub and into shadows, breath coming fast. Sweaty hair sticking to my forehead. If I could just make it to the food buildings, their dusky outlines still visible through a gap in the trees, I could hide there—and slip up the trail when the guys left.