Message
In a very real way, the journey home was, for Cordia, almost as difficult as the initial trip had been. Though she no longer felt the heavy burden on her heart of waiting, she was now fully aware that it would be her duty to inform the Adams family that their proud soldier son was, in spirit, no longer with them. Though she had somehow obtained this reputation of being strong enough to handle most everything, she didn’t know how in the world she was going to find the words to look Margaret Adams in the face and say those few words, “Jaris is dead.”
An idea crossed her mind, and that afternoon, as they neared a small town in Green County, she asked Frieda if they could stop by the post office and see if they had a telegraph machine. At first, Frieda had argued with her, saying how important she thought it was to reach Jasper County, and the safety of some family friends, before the sun went down. However, after a small amount of pressing from a desperate girl who could not fathom looking that mother in the eye and saying those words, Frieda gave in, warning that they probably wouldn’t have a telegraph there anyway.
Luckily, she was wrong. The old man behind the counter was very obliging. Cordia filled out the message, addressed to her father, and watched as he sent it through.
August 13, 1861
Father, I wanted to let you know that we have reached the hospital in Springfield and are returning. Awful. Please tell Julia that Will is wounded but all right. Please inform the Adams family that we are bringing back Jaris’s body. Love, Cordia
“Did it go through all right?” she asked as the man seemed to be finishing up.
He was about as old as anyone Cordia had ever laid eyes on. He was squinting at the paper, but he seemed well skilled on the telegraph machine. “Yes, miss. Been doing this a while, e’en in New York City. Your pa will get the message.” He spit some tobacco juice into a can nearby.
That was by far enough for Frieda. “Miss Cordia, we’ve got a lot of miles to cover and not much time to do it in.”
Cordia nodded, grabbing the copy of what she had sent. “Thank you,” she said before turning and following Frieda back to the wagon.
They made their way back across the same ground they had covered the day before. Cordia could feel those letters burning a hole through her waistband. When Frieda wasn’t paying attention, she plucked them out and stashed them in her bag. But, there was no helping the fact that she would not be able to read them with Frieda next to her. She tried to think of something else, but she couldn’t think about Will without wondering what it was he had to say.
Occasionally, her mind wandered back to Jaris. Thinking of him only left her with an overwhelming sadness. She tried to keep him out of her thoughts, too, but it was very difficult, as she had an overpowering awareness of his lifeless body in the cart behind her. There would be no question they would have to find a place to stop that night. She couldn’t possibly drive the entire distance, having not left Springfield until around noon, and there was no way they could sleep in the wagon under the present circumstances.
Her mind kept going over the events of the day. She didn’t think she would ever be able to lose the memory of walking into that shed, that tomb, seeing those bodies lying there. She had realized as soon as she entered that horrific space that each of those men was wearing the uniform of a Confederate officer. An overwhelming amount of anguish still lingered in her heart for Jaris, and she also felt compassion for the families of those officers and all of the other dead men she had seen that day. It seemed there were just too many people to cry for and not enough tears for each.
Feelings of guilt also pervaded her mind. She had never felt quite right not being honest with dear Jaris, especially not after she realized she had feelings for Will. And now, here she was, playing the part of the grieving fiancée, when she knew she really should only be playing the role of a grieving friend. She felt dishonest. She wasn’t being sincere to their families, to herself, to Jaris. These thoughts tugged at her conscious. And now, she would never get the chance to come clean with him. She was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to feel right again.
Frieda had taken the reins some time ago, and now Cordia could see they were approaching a farmhouse. It was a large, two-story wooden structure, and Cordia could see some little girls playing in the yard. At the approach of the wagon, their mother flew out the door, and the girls ran to her side. “Where are we?” Cordia asked her companion.
“Well,” Frieda said, “This should be the Shaw place, according to your daddy’s directions. It’s getting to be about six o’clock, and I don’t want to drive the rest of the way in the dark.”
Cordia agreed. She could see that the look of alarm on the woman’s face turned to inquiry as the wagon with the women approached. “Hello,” Cordia yelled waving. “Are you Mrs. Shaw?”
The other woman nodded, and as the wagon slowed, she came over cautiously. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Cordia smiled, trying to put her at ease. “My name is Cordia Pike. This is Frieda, my caretaker. My daddy is Isaac Pike, the president of the bank in Lamar,” she waited to see if the woman showed any sort of recognition. She was delighted to see the woman’s face change. Mrs. Shaw did know who they were, and she nodded her head. “We were wondering if you might have some room for us to spend the night. We’ve come from Springfield, retrieving the body of my fiancé.”
“My goodness,” the woman exclaimed, her eyes peering into the back of the wagon. Then, she remembered herself. “Of course we have room. Jessie!” she yelled. The older of the girls came running over. “Go out into the field and find your pa. Tell him we have company.”
The Shaws had taken care of them as if they were family. They had handled the wagon and horses, even the precious cargo, provided them with a meal, and finally, a place to sleep. Cordia was exhausted. Luckily, they had given her a separate room from Frieda, and she was alone at last. Though she could hardly keep her eyes open, she knew she could not rest until she read Will’s letters.
She brought the lantern over to the little bed in the corner of the room and climbed underneath the covers, letters in hand. Setting the lantern down on the nightstand beside her, she pulled the first paper out of its envelope. They were both dirty and wrinkled, some of the ink running a little bit, even a little blood on them, it seemed. But, she knew she would be able to decipher them.
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