A large hand wiped the tears from Tom's small red eyes. "Don't worry, son," he smiled, "I swear we'll come back." Tom hoped so, with all of his eight-year-old heart. But it still hurt so much to watch his father and brother go off to war. Even though President Lincoln needed soldiers, Tom still puzzled over why it had to be his family.
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They came one day, their green army trucks all in one winding line, rumbling down the nearby road. I'd heard the noise, running to the balcony to look across the familiar swaying fields of sugar cane in our family's plantation, palm fronds bowing gently to the humid breeze. Lazy mosquitoes flicked in and out of the courtyards of the large house, a solid white against the tropical background. Yet there was a difference; at the normally deserted road I could make out a line of trucks with their fluttering white flags and blood-red circles. Soon I heard the rush of running footsteps to find my mom tugging me away from the open balcony to the sheltered curtains within. She was joined by all the other women—the maids, my nanny and my older sister. I looked questioningly at their pinched faces, eyes revealing a fear they dared not voice.
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A large hand wiped the tears from Tom's small red eyes. "Don't worry, son," he smiled, "I swear we'll come back." Tom hoped so, with all of his eight-year-old heart. But it still hurt so much to watch his father and brother go off to war. Even though President Lincoln needed soldiers, Tom still puzzled over why it had to be his family.
Read More →