Letter from the Kisatchie Forest

I spent several days in Louisiana last spring living in "1864".

Dearest Aunt Beth,

We thought we had found ourselves in a god-forsaken wilderness in our makeshift homes here in the Kisatchie. One glance at the brilliant stars in the night sky and we were assured of God’s omnipresent love and protection. We will need His strength and guidance. Word of General Banks activities has been spreading, homes and buildings in Mansfield are being burned to the ground. Good Christian people left with nothing at all.

 

Before we had been here long, our quiet little community began to bustle with comings and goings. Preacher comes often. We soon learned that we would value his conversation and his smiling countenance far more than the ginger snaps he brought to the children or the foodstuffs and monies he pressed on us for “hard times.” I have to admit, I mistrusted the clergyman when he first came upon our doorstep. In time, I learned that he was truly a man of God. Sometimes he brings us packages or letters from home; sometimes he brings news of the armies. Sometimes he brings Mr. Bruce a sip from his little canteen.

 

We seem to be a stopping place for lost souls out here in the middle of nowhere. One night we had preacher, the wagon master and an English journalist stop over for supper. After the meal, we sat for hours in the front room, listening to readings and conversations. The journalist read a passage from one of Shakespeare’s martial plays that was truly befitting the times before us. Preacher quizzed us on the Bible. Thank goodness for Miz Lawson at her spinning wheel in the corner. She knew every answer and didn't even hardly pause long enough to look up. Preacher then read the saddest letter. It had been written from a young wife to her soldier husband. Knowing that the young man had perished in battle, probably before he even read his letter, brought tears to my eyes.

 

The other day, a group of our ladies in the settlement walked down a forest trail to the creek. My hair surely needed a good washing. As we left our dresses, petticoats and stockings hanging from lower limbs we thought about the nearby armies. We wondered where they were and hoped earnestly that they were not headed in our direction. Not today anyway.

 

There was a small waterfall down a sharp bank at the creek. It may have been a foolish act to climb down the bank in chemise and drawers, but the water was so cool and refreshing. When Uncle John finds out I slipped off with the others—well, old as I am, he’d surely whip me.

 

Preacher visited later. He brought us a cabbage and a wounded, federal private. Poor fellow, suffering from exhaustion and probably mal-nourished. We took him in. Men are men and we hope that way up North some Christian woman is tending to our brothers and sons.

 

Young Travis leaves soon with the wagon master. The deal was made last night. Travis will work with the old man for a year to learn his trade. We’ve been bustling around getting the boys bed-roll ready. Packing a sack with some extra food: hard-boiled eggs, ginger snaps, dried apples, and whatever else we found laying loose that we could pack in.

 

More soldiers have come. Broken down, limping, shaking, used up men on our doorstep. One man isn’t well enough to take broth. Sarah has been sitting by his side most of the afternoon. We will endeavor to send him back to his family restored and well.

 

We hear both armies are closer. Preacher thinks they’ll meet not far from our camp. We’ve been hearing the distant thud of cannon for days, long before we heard reports of soldiers in the parish.

Sister’s calling. I’ve got to get some water on to heat. Supper’s not long off and with all these extra mouths to feed. Well, I’ll write more later. Give my love to all. Don’t tell Uncle John what I’ve been up to.

 

 

Affectionately yours,

Emily

Reviews

[AK]

My wife and I drove through a little slice of Virginia a year ago... near and around Falls Church. We took the back roads and saw many battlefields, still preserved much as they were way back then I suppose. Your letter is a stark reminder of the horror that this nation once knew. Brother killing brother, families at odds with their own. I do pray we don't come to that again. Sound impossible? Perhaps God will come again before this nation takes up arms for a fight within... I do hope so.
Thank you Emily. This piece moved me, truly.

[Gandré]

Glad to see, that organized religion is experience and perhaps that's why people stick with it. I love your ur ur ur ur American voice! I learn,too. much love!! 100p !

[Ed Hart]

oh, em...very serious play, this

[...]

. wow ... beautifully written ... your matter of fact rendition makes the account of the excesses of war even more powerful and moving ... my father was in the indian air force for more than 33 years ... and in accident investigation ... in the last few years ... the tales of those he unearthed in aircraft wreckage ... high in the himalayas ... years after they went missing ... still make my heart sink ... wars are good for nobody ... and yet hardly anyone in a decision-making position realizes that ...

[Phibby Venable]

this is full of life & excellent in details & emotion.

[JessicaPatton]

I enjoyed this. Did you have to do research for this story? It seems so authentic.

[Dezaraye]

Emily, I love reading your historical pieces, they are my favorite. You bring these people to life and draw me in with the strength of your words. This is wonderful.

[Blue Sky]

A truly remarkable story penned with such excellence
one so touching to soul and heart, the love and aid
that these people of God gave and did is one to remember
for all times, a truly wonderful story which I really enjoyed
will have to read the next chapter, hopefully when chance finds me,
by tomorrow, thank you for sharing this wonderful heart felt story!

[Antony]

Wow, this is great, you put me right there in the scenes that you created with your descriptions and language, a magnificent start to a story that I hope you continue with.
Tony

[TL Boehm]

I love this, it breathes, it is real....eloquent yet simply stated...like sneaking into someone's journal entry. Well done!