Daphne ran down the dusty road toward the landing, the wind whistling through her hair, her bare legs pumping like pistons. Her brother, Griff, was coming home for the summer from Columbia University on the launch from Atlanta. He had a layover of two hours before catching the launch, but now it was only a matter of minutes and he would be home. Mom was at work and wouldn’t be able to meet Griff at the docks, and dad was returning from Atlanta himself, but wouldn’t be back until late tonight, so Daphne was the family’s welcoming committee.

At the crossroads, Daphne cut across the meadow behind the Brand’s farmhouse, and headed toward the river. The grasses there were waist high, and whipped past her as she flew with her feet barely touching the ground. Her heart was pounding, and her long hair flew over her shoulders. She crossed the river near the bottoms, balancing on the old tree trunk that had lain across the river for over 200 years, some thought. As she neared the pond, she slowed to a walk where the path narrowed. The air hung heavily over her, and silence spread over the woods.

Daphne came around a low-hanging branch, and nearly stumbled over a man lying under the tree. She screamed, and jumped back. The man was dressed in ragged clothing, and had blood all down his front. He moaned and moved slightly, and Daphne stood back and watched him warily. He was a smallish man. She called out to him, and asked if he needed help, but the man just tried to move away.

Daphne could see that he had lost a lot of blood, and most of it stained his shirtfront a dark red. As Daphne came closer, she could see he was very young. He looked up into Daphne’s eyes, and she now saw that he was just a boy, not much older than herself, maybe 14 or 15 years old. His eyes were big, wide open, and filled with fear. He tried to lift himself up to move away, still clutching his stomach, his arms and hands covered in his own blood. Daphne knelt down beside the boy, and gently pried his hands away from his body, and pulled his shirt open.

There were two ugly red wounds in his upper abdomen, still oozing blood. She thought they must be bullet wounds. Daphne told the boy she would run and get help, but the boy grabbed her arm and with pleading eyes said, “No, please don’t leave me alone!” He fought back tears. Daphne put her hand on his shoulder, and said she wouldn’t leave. She tore a piece of the boy’s shirt and folded it into a square and placed it tightly against one of the wounds. She repeated this, and pressed a second square in place. The young boy groaned, and passed out.

The young boy’s head was hot, burning up with fever. Daphne took the bottom of her T-shirt and tore it off. She knelt at the edge of the pond and dipped it into the fetid waters, wrung it out, and taking it back to the unconscious boy, placed it on his forehead. She repeated this a number of times, turning the wet cloth every few minutes.

The boy moaned, and his eyelids fluttered; he opened his eyes, and tried to focus his gaze. Daphne tried to keep him from moving, but he looked away and tried to shift his weight. He moved only slightly and a dull pain shot through his body. He grimaced and clutched at his stomach, then slowly loosened his clenched teeth, and sucked in a deep breath. He was weak from the loss of so much blood.

Daphne asked him his name; “Billie Joel,” this said slowly and barely audibly. “How did you get shot?” asked Daphne, looking curiously at the boy. At first he didn’t answer; then he murmured, “Genrul Sherman’s men.” Daphne looked down at the boy, her mind racing to comprehend what she had just heard. She sat down next to the boy and lifted one of the cloth bandages to check the boy’s wounds. The wound was only bleeding a little now. She looked back into the boy’s eyes, and asked, “Who did this?” The boy closed his eyes, and turned his head away.

All of a sudden, there was a crashing sound through the underbrush near the pond. The boy turned his head, and fear filled his eyes. He grabbed Daphne’s arm, and pulled her down hard behind the tree trunk. The effort took its toll, and the boy fell back against the tree and passed into unconsciousness again.

Daphne looked through the branches above her head, and watched as two young men came crashing through the brush and along the path toward the pond. They were no more than twenty feet away. The two men appeared hot and dirty, and were very angry. They carried long rifles. Daphne gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. The two men wore the uniforms of Union soldiers, and their rifles were old muzzle-loaders, the kind her grandfather had in his attic.

One man swore under his breath, and said they would catch a firestorm of hell from Captain James if they returned without their prisoner. The second man bent down and drank deeply from the pond, then coughed and spat out the brackish water. He leaned back against the rock at the pond’s edge, and agreed that if Captain James didn’t give them heck, Colonel Thomas surely would. Either way, the two men agreed they were in a heap of trouble for letting their quarry get away.

The two men got up, and collecting their rifles, turned and ran past the two hidden figures and along the path toward the road beyond. Silence returned to the woods, except for the shallow breathing of one unconscious young boy.

Daphne watched the boy, his breathing irregular. After awhile the boy opened his eyes, but he was too weak and feverish to move more than a little. Daphne asked the boy what he meant when he said General Sherman’s men had shot him. The boy looked up at Daphne, his steel-grey eyes dim and glazed. He moved his mouth and whispered something, but Daphne couldn’t hear him. She moved her ear close to his mouth.

He said slowly: “Colonel…Thomas.” Then silence, as the effort took a lot out of the boy. His breathing was shallow and labored. He opened his mouth, then paused. “Captain…James.” Again, silence. The boy coughed, his body tight with pain. He looked into Daphne’s eyes, a deep sadness touching his own. He coughed again, then closed his eyes, which frightened Daphne.

Anxiously she spoke his name and he slowly opened his eyes, but she could see that he was no longer focusing them. His breathing grew shallower. Shortly his body relaxed, and he stopped breathing. Daphne touched his cheek, but there was no response. She clasped his hand in hers, but his skin was already cold to the touch. Daphne swallowed back a sob, as tears rolled down her face.

She pulled his shirt closed over his body, and touched her fingers to his lips. She got up, and paced back and forth, not sure what she should do. She had never been around a dead person before, and had never been present when someone died. What was she supposed to do? And what if the two men came back?

Finally, she decided she had to go for help. Griff would be waiting at the landing, and she knew if she got to him right away, he would know what to do. Daphne broke several branches off the tree above her head, and covered the boy up to his chin. She turned, and with tears filling her eyes, raced off in the direction of the landing and her brother.

As Daphne ran along the path next to the river, she heard hoofbeats coming up behind her, and she stopped, thinking she would be able ask for help. Her eyes grew big as she watched a huge man dressed in a blue uniform with a shiny sword hanging from his belt ride up on a white horse.

“Good day, miss,” said the rider. “I’ve lost two of my men, and can’t seem to find them anywhere. Perhaps you’ve seen them.” The words were spoken politely but urgently, and something in the back of her mind told Daphne to be careful. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir,” said Daphne. Then, “Pardon me, sir, but are you what I think you are?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in curiosity.

The man laughed, and asked Daphne what she though he was. “A Union officer,” came the reply. The man put his fingers to his hat, and said, “Colonel Nelson Bromwell Thomas, at your service, young lady. And who might you be?” Daphne stiffened slightly upon hearing his name, then cursed herself for having done so. “Daphne Lynn Petrie, sir,” she said.

Daphne’s subtle move had not gone unnoticed by the Colonel, nor had her red eyes, but he made no comment. He explained that his two men were searching for a rebel soldier, who’d been seen in the nearby town, and who was thought to be a spy. The Colonel added that he had sent his captain, one Burton Windham James, in search of his two soldiers, but the three had not been seen for over two days.

“Would your men shoot him if they found him?” asked Daphne innocently. “Oh, of course not,” said the Colonel, his face softening, a twinkle in his eyes. “We just want to talk to him.” Daphne said she had seen nothing, knowing this was a huge lie, and that she was on her way to the landing to meet her brother who was coming in on the launch from Atlanta.

The Colonel smiled; then leaning down with concern in his eyes, told Daphne that her brother best mind where he went today, as General Sherman and his troops were making their way from Atlanta to Savannah not far from here.

Daphne looked into the eyes of the Colonel and held his gaze, and then thanked him. The Colonel looked down at the young girl, and touching his hand to his hat, turned his horse north toward the bottoms and galloped off. He didn’t look back. Daphne turned south, and raced like the wind.

Griff was sitting on his duffle bag on the landing when Daphne came running around the corner of the Post Office. She flew into his arms almost knocking him over. She squeezed him hard, as he rumpled her hair and laughed. Then Griff could see that her eyes were red and puffy, and asked her what was wrong.

Daphne’s words came pouring out like a torrent, as she told of finding the young boy in the woods, and of his dying from his wounds; of seeing the two Union soldiers who were angry and terrible; and running into Colonel Thomas near the river who was looking for Captain James, and of not telling him all. Griff put his hands over Daphne’s mouth, and asked her to slow down.

She pulled on his arm, and said they had to hurry to where she’d left the boy’s body behind a tree. As the two hurried down the street to the edge of town, Griff told her he knew of Colonel Thomas and Captain James. Daphne was surprised, and shot him a quick sideways glance. Griff went on that both were officers under General William Tecumseh Sherman, and were party to the terrible destruction through Georgia on Sherman’s way from Atlanta to the sea.

Colonel Thomas and Captain James were infamous hereabouts, according to legend being the ones responsible for leveling the town on a whim. Captain James’ men pillaged the bank and burned all the buildings along Main Street to their foundations, while Colonel Thomas set troops about putting the town’s church to the torch, reducing it to a pile of smoldering ashes. Twenty-three town’s people died that day.

Daphne turned off the dirt road onto the path leading into the woods. She led Griff along the path and through the underbrush to the quiet pond. The air was still heavy and oppressive, and silence filled the woods.

They found the tree where Daphne had left the young boy under a blanket of branches, but found neither the boy’s body nor anything of the branches she’d use to cover him. The leaves on the ground were undisturbed, and appeared to have been in place for some time; and, there was no sign of any blood on the ground.

Daphne looked around, puzzled and in disbelief. Griff asked if she had dreamed everything, but Daphne bristled at the suggestion that she’d made this all up. She slumped to her knees beside the tree trunk, and frowning, looked up at her curious and dubious brother. She ran her hands over the dirt and leaves, her eyes searching the ground, when her fingers touched something hard. She picked it up, and she and Griff examined it closely.

It was a badly corroded percussion cap, the kind, Griff said, that was used with muzzle-loading rifles during the Civil War. He said that Sherman’s men had moved through this area creating such havoc, and it was likely dropped by one of them. Daphne didn’t believe it for a minute; she knew how it got there under the tree…