Mistake

Traveling along the crudely cut wagon rut of a road the next morning, Cordia felt an overwhelming amount of solace. They had been riding along for an hour or so, just entering into Barton County, when Frieda remarked on how peaceful she seemed.
“I am at peace,” she agreed. “And I am happy to be nearly home.”
Frieda seemed putout that Cordia was willing to admit she was no longer beside herself with grief. She “humphed” about it and gave the reins a violent shake.
Cordia’s forehead furrowed in surprise. “What, would you have me bawling all the way home?” she asked.
“No,” Frieda relinquished. “But, still, don’t you think you should be feeling a little distraught, considering what it is we are a’haulin’ here?”
There really was no way that Cordia could explain to Frieda why it was that she now felt such contentment. Ever since she had dreamt of Jaris, she had felt as if her burden of guilt and even, in many ways, her feelings of grief, had alleviated. She wasn’t quite sure what it was about this particular dream that had made it seem so real. She was quite sure that the other visions that had come to her the nights prior were only fabrications of her imagination, but she had an overwhelming feeling that Jaris had actually come to her the night before and released her from her weight of sorrow. It wasn’t totally unheard of, people saying they had been visited by spirits in their dreams. Still, Frieda was not the kind of person who would understand something like that. Perhaps the only one who would believe Cordia was her overly superstitious friend, Susannah. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I am distraught over the fate of our dear Jaris. I am, however, looking forward to the comfort of my family and friends”
Though this answer didn’t exactly seem to satisfy Frieda, she didn’t say anything else. Eventually, they reached the outlying areas of town, and they rode by many familiar homesteads. They agreed that their first stop should be the Adams Farm. Cordia was counting on the fact that her daddy had already informed the family of their loss, and she was eager to get Jaris home. Though she hated putting her father in that position, he was very good at such things, always knowing exactly how to comfort people in their time of need. Still, if he had not gotten the telegraph, she would be the one who had to speak those words. It didn’t even cross her mind to be fearful of her parents’ wrath for sneaking out, considering the conditions in which she was returning. She knew she was likely to receive a lecture about providing for her own safety, but she did not anticipate any sort of a punishment.
In a short amount of time, they approached the lane that led to the farm. Cordia felt sadness welling up in her throat. No amount of relinquishment, real or dreamt, could keep her from feeling the pain of this family who had lost their pride and joy. But, as they approached the hitching post near the road, they were surprised to see a number of wagons and horses already tied up. The gate to the lane that led to the house was open, and Frieda decided to go ahead and drive up toward the house. Then, Cordia saw a great crowd of people gathered in the yard. “They must have come to comfort the family,” she thought. But, as she got closer, she thought it looked more like a celebration than a group of mourners. What could it possibly be? She looked at Frieda, who stared back at her, just as confused.
The crowd seemed to realize it was them approaching now, and they began to run over, Jaris’s younger brothers practically skipping over in delight. Cordia’s eyes fixed on one face though, the face of Margaret Adams. She had been dreading facing that woman since she left Springfield. Now, here she was before her, a wide smile brightening, beaming a path before her.
Cordia could not for the life of her figure out what was happening. Then, Zachariah called from beside the wagon, “Where’s Jaris? Where’s my brother?” The boy also looked confused. He climbed up the side of the wagon and peered in. As if he hadn’t realized what he was looking at, he climbed back down, and looked into Cordia’s face.
Frieda had pulled the horses to a stop. Cordia got a sickening feeling in her stomach. Surely, this could not be what it appeared to be.
Margaret called, “Where is he? Don’t tell me he’s fallen asleep in the back?”
But Cordia couldn’t answer. She now realized her father was standing nearby. He, too, was smiling. She began to shake her head. Finally, her voice made it past the lump in her throat. “You received my telegraph?” she asked.
“Yes,” Arthur said, smiling from where he stood next to his wife. “You said Jaris was coming back with you. Well, is he here?”
“My God!” Frieda gasped beside her.
Cordia’s knees buckled. For a second, she thought she might fall clean out of the wagon. She heard the youngest boy, John, clambering up the back of the wagon now. “What’s this?” he asked his hand reaching for the sheet.
“No!” Cordia yelled, but it was too late. She watched, as if in slow motion, as the little one’s hand pulled the sheet off. His eyes widened in the horror that Cordia was feeling to the core of her soul. He fell backward then, off of the wagon. Luckily, Zachariah caught him. Cordia grabbed the sheet, throwing it back over the remains of the child’s dear brother. Tears flooded her face now, and she asked herself, “What have I done?”
Like a rippling wind, the realization of the misunderstanding seemed to pervade the crowd, until each one stood there, still and silent, keenly aware of the truth. And then, Cordia heard one voice of disbelief. “Where’s my boy?” she heard Margaret say, in the tiniest voice imaginable. Arthur moved to wrap his arms around his wife, but she pushed him away. “No,” she said, walking toward the wagon. “I want to see my boy.”
In her mind, Cordia was moving to stop Margaret from lifting that sheet. But, physically, she could only stand and watch as the woman hoisted herself up the side of the wagon. And as Margaret began to scream, members of her family rushed to comfort her, to keep her from falling. Cordia could not even bear to look. She turned and climbed down off the wagon. Her father’s arms were the only solace she could find, and she buried her head in his chest, sobbing again.
Later, in her own home, she stared at the plate of food her mother had set before her, blankly. How could she eat after what she had done? If only she would have had the courage to tell the family herself, they never would have received the wrong message. Imagine, all of them standing there, waiting for the triumphant return of their soldier boy, off at war. Instead, they were faced with the shocking reality that they would never speak to him again.
Finally, as if reading her mind, her father said, probably for the hundredth time that afternoon, “Cordia, darling, it was not your fault.”
She knew that what he said was technically true. Still, she felt that she should have handled things differently. He had shown her what it was that the old man had sent to Mr. Ward.
August 13, 1860
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. Love, Cordia
If it had been any other word that would have gotten left out, it would not have been half as awful. But her father, assuming she would have said so if Jaris was dead, went and told his parents exactly what Cordia had sent. How happy they had all been! Margaret had spent the entire evening before and much of that morning planning a celebration and letting the folks in town know. And they were all so happy to hear that one of their proud boys was returning. Many of them still didn’t know the condition their own sons and sweethearts were in. They were hoping that Jaris would bring word. Likewise, they were anxious to hear exactly how the battle had unfolded. In Cordia’s mind, her act of cowardliness had taken an entire town from the epitome of glee to the very depths of despair.