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May 5th, 1864
The Wilderness, Virginia
“Why are you here?”
Joe nearly wrenched his neck when he spun around in surprise at the familiar voice. He didn’t think his brother would actually come.
For a moment, they just stood there, drinking in the sight of each other. Joe couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken face to face with his oldest brother. Heck, it’d been a year and a half at least, probably more. He’d joined up right after Gettysburg, and Adam had been fighting even longer than that.
Gosh, that battle must’ve been hell.
He cleared his throat, trying not to focus too much on Adam’s blue, war-torn uniform. “I need you to send a letter to Pa for me. Tell him I’m all right. I... uh… I don’t have any paper left.”
There was that classic raised eyebrow, the one that never failed to drive Joe up the wall. “And you think I do?”
Why can’t he ever make things like this easy?
“You know the Union is much better off than the Confederacy.”
A half-smile, drained of its usual mirth. “Are we, now?”
“Come on, Adam, stop fooling around. Are you gonna send the letter or not?” Joe could feel his anger bubbling inside him, begging to be unleashed in a string of words he would most certainly regret.
A beat. “Why are you here, Joe.”
“I just told you! I need to let Pa know—”
“No, why are you here ?”
Joe paused, his mind suddenly devoid of any possible retorts he could’ve planned.
“Why are you wearing those colors?” Adam continued, his voice level, his demeanor calm. “Do you even know what you’re fighting for?”
“Of course I do!” Joe shot back, his temper rising again.
“Explain it to me, then, because I’ve been trying my best to figure it out and frankly, I’ve come up empty.”
Dang him! Joe didn’t join up to explain himself to his older brother. He joined to…
To…
Dang him!
Before Joe could even try to make something up—some righteous reason for pledging his loyalty to the rebel flag—Adam started up again.
“You’re not fighting to keep slavery legal, are you? And you're certainly not fighting for secession.”
“How do you know what I’m fighting for?” Joe challenged. He could feel his fists begin to ball, his dirt-covered nails digging mercilessly into his chaffed skin
“I know you, Joe.” Adam’s voice was quiet now, so quiet Joe could hardly hear, but he wasn’t about to take a step closer. “You’re fighting for her.” Joe stiffened. “This isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way to honor her memory. In fact, I’d say your tarnishing it. I know you, but I also knew Marie. What would she think if she saw you now, dressed like that?”
“Don’t you talk to me about her! You didn’t even love her!”
“And don’t you talk to me about sending Pa a letter telling him you’re alive tonight when you could be dead before dawn!” Adam snapped, his own temper flaring hotter than the Southern sun they’d suffered through all that day. “You’re on the wrong side, can’t you see that?”
“How do you know there’s even a right side to this war, huh, Adam?” Joe mentally cursed himself for letting his exhaustion seep into his speech.
“I don’t.” Adam’s voice was hoarse now, subdued. A far cry from his earlier rage. He sucked in a breath and looked Joe square in the eye. As if Joe wasn’t already uncomfortable enough. “All I know is this: you can’t walk out on that battlefield tomorrow unless you’re fighting for a cause you’d feel at peace dying for. If you go out there and fight with the rebels for Marie—for the sole reason that Louisiana happens to be a part of the Confederacy—then you can’t win, even if you end up walking away from this war all right. But if you go out there and fight for a cause you know in your heart to be both morally right, just, and long-lasting, you’ll always win, no matter if you live or die.”
Joe didn’t know what to say. What could one say to that ? He blamed Adam’s fancy college education for all those high and might words.
But the worst part was the words were true, and Joe knew it. He just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He’d made his decision; it was too late to turn back now.
For the second time that night, Adam’s voice startled Joe, only this time, it wasn’t the suddenness that got him, but the words.
“I already shot you once.” Joe’s sober face mirrored Adam’s as they were forced to relive the terrible memory of a hot summer day, a wolf, and a hunting trip gone wrong. “I don’t want to do it again. You know how it is out there, Joe. Sometimes you can barely tell the difference between friend and foe. Don’t you dare make me fire even a dozen feet in your direction.”
Not for the first time since this war began, Joe felt lost. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”
“It’s never too late, you know.”
A dry scoff escaped Joe’s throat. “I’m not a deserter.”
“But you are a freedom-fighter. You always have been, and the freedom of thousands of individuals rests upon the outcome of this war. You do know the rebels can’t win if the words of our Declaration of Independence are ever to be realized, don’t you?”
Joe could feel his throat tighten, his emotions taking a firm hold on him. He didn’t know what to do anymore, but he had always been too proud, too sure of himself to ask for help.
Especially from Adam.
But out here, hundreds of miles from home, Adam was all he had, the only person out here who truly knew him.
Who truly cared about him.
“So, you’ll write Pa for me?” he croaked, trying to suppress the oncoming tears for as long as he possibly could.
Slowly, Adam nodded. “Sure, Joe. Sure.”
A nod of thanks was all he could manage as his throat was rebelling against him hard enough to enlist in the Confederacy.
As he forced his feet to turn, to retreat back to his own camp, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Will you at least think about it?” His brother whispered.
Joe didn’t dare glance back for fear the tears he’d so far kept at bay would flood from his eyes like a busted dam.
“I have been thinking about it,” he said finally, his words slow and methodical as he tried to maintain the illusion of control. “But I’ll think about it some more, if you want me to—”
“I do.”
Joe paused to swallow, but the suffocating lump remained lodged in his throat.
“Just,” he went on, blinking rapidly, “promise your regiment won’t ship out before I make up my mind?”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
A light scoff disguised as a chuckle bit the air. “That’s all anybody can ever do, right? But…” At last, he turned to meet his brother’s gaze. “Thank you, Adam. For everything.”