Page 6 - Crossing the Deadline

Chapter Thirteen

eating, I lie down with my back to the wall and use my bag
for a pillow. The blanket doesn’t keep me warm enough, so I
sit up, pull all the clothing out, and put on anything I can

wear. Multiple layers plus the blanket do the trick. I finally
drift off to sleep.
I have a horrible nightmare:

Sweat runs down my forehead and off the tip of my nose
like it did on August afternoons at the livery. I swipe my face
quickly with the sleeve of my shirt, only now, my white shirt
has been replaced with a blue Union uniform. Water covers

my bare feet. I’m standing in the middle of Paddy’s Run, a gun
in my hand. Lifeless forms, stacked like cordwood four-, five-,
six-deep, cover the creek’s banks. The war hasn’t made its way
north to Centerville, Indiana, has it?

Four men in Confederate uniforms carry limp bodies
toward Crown Hill Cemetery. I stand perfectly still, exposed
and unable to move, hoping they don’t notice me. The soldiers
go about their work, oblivious to a Yankee standing close

enough to see the ranks on their coat sleeves. Why am I
invisible to them? A cannon rings out from the west, causing
the ground beneath my feet to rattle.

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