Chapter 11

Benjamin

"Everything changes; everything flows.What we were or are; tomorrow we will not be." ― Ovid

Two years later

Corporal Benjamin Stanton of Company C of the 1st Ohio Cavalry Regiment manoeuvred his horse through a small gap in the trees at the top of the hill. He lifted his field glasses and examined the expanse of wooded fields ahead. From east to west, he scoured for signs of movement. Over there. He sharpened the focus of his lens and looked more closely. Yes, there they were. He stayed where he was for some time, studying the men in the distance with cool, dispassionate eyes. When he had seen enough, he put away the glasses, turned his horse and began the journey back towards his regiment.

Early on in his service, he had distinguished himself for his skill in reconnaissance. His sharp eyes missed nothing. He could identify the approach of enemy forces sometimes days ahead of their reaching their destination. Weaving through enemy territory, using the cover of trees to disguise his movements, he became skilful at obtaining vital intelligence for his commanding officers. He liked this aspect of his work. It felt blessedly peaceful to be alone, away from everyone, just himself and his horse, sleeping under the stars.

He did not trust himself around others anymore, ever since Gettysburg and its carnage, and the mad haze of rage that had driven him to a whorehouse to pound himself relentlessly into one of its whores, only to then cry like a babe on her breast. That day, gentle, considerate Benjamin of yore had been nowhere in sight. He barely recognised the man he used to be. Nowadays, he was quick to become enraged, especially when whisky was involved. Therefore it was best he stay well away from his fellow man.

Some hours later, he rode into camp and found Sergeant Stevens, conveying to him the intelligence he had gathered. He was checked by the sergeant as he was about to leave. "Corporal Stanton, a moment of your time."

"Yes, sir."

"Good news. I have received confirmation from Major Patten that 1st Ohio Cavalry Regiment is to be mustered out of service in the next few days. Consider today your last scouting mission and start packing your bag. You're going home, son."

Benjamin stood rooted to the spot. He had known, of course, that this day was coming, ever since General Lee's surrender last April. And yet the thought of going home after over four years of absence struck shock through him. This peripatetic military life had been all he had known for so long, that he was not sure how he would go about being in the civilian world again.

"You don't seem happy about it," remarked the sergeant.

Benjamin pasted on a smile. "I am sir, just taken aback for a moment."

The sergeant eyed him up and down. "You may wish to consider tidying up your appearance somewhat, Corporal, starting with a visit to the barber. You do not want to give your poor mama a scare when she sees you after all this time."

Benjamin put a hand to his beard, which was untrimmed and wild-looking. He had not been concerned with his appearance for a very long time. Perhaps the sergeant was right. "Understood, sir," he replied.

Sergeant Stevens nodded. "Dismissed."

Benjamin saluted and walked out of the sergeant's quarters, a requisitioned building on Mulberry Street. As he emerged into the bright sunlight, he blinked and shaded his eyes from the sun. For the last four months, his regiment had been on garrison duty here in Macon, Georgia. Not for much longer though. Soon, he would be going home.

Briskly, he set a pace heading down the street. There was a barber shop three blocks away. Best start the process of civilising himself now. A few minutes more and he was entering the premises, all conversation halting at the sight of a Union soldier in their midst, particularly such a fierce-looking man. The barber approached him hesitantly. "May I help you, sir?"

Benjamin stroked his beard. "I need a haircut and a trim to my beard," he said in a clipped voice.

"Of course, sir. Please take a seat." The barber led him to a chair that faced a large mirror. Benjamin sat and glanced at his reflection. He had not had occasion to look at himself in months. The face that looked back at him was that of a stranger. It was not only the dark unruly beard with threads of silver, nor the lank hair that fell to his shoulders. The eyes that looked at him were the eyes of a man decades older, lined from countless hours of squinting into the sun, the skin around them tanned to a mahogany brown. And then of course, there was the scar, a little memento from the Battle of Jonesborough last year. The bullet destined for him had missed his skull by mere inches but gouged a line across the top of his left cheek bone. He looked nothing like the twenty-three year-old man who had left home, bright-eyed and hopeful, all of four years ago. Would Mama even recognise him?

The barber soon got to work, trimming Benjamin's hair and clipping the beard to a much more acceptable length. The end result was not transformative, but at least he looked more respectable. He paid the barber and left, returning to his quarters to start preparing for his departure.

It took a week to complete the journey home, riding on trains and horse-driven wagons full of other delisted soldiers. He kept to himself, unable to join in with the boisterous laughter around him. He was glad, of course, that the war was over. He wanted to see his family again. Beyond that though, he could not contemplate what he was to do with himself in the days to come. Resume his old position of gentleman farmer as if nothing had happened in the intervening years? He recoiled at the idea.

In Ashtabula, he went to the port tavern, his old haunt, and ordered himself a beer along with something to eat. Curious glances were cast his way, but nobody recognised the Union soldier as the Benjamin Stanton of old. He enquired about renting a horse to ride the remaining distance to his home and paid what seemed an extortionate amount for the privilege. An hour later, he was away, riding along the familiar rutted road that cut through acres of wheat and corn fields. A small glimmer of joy seeped into the dark recesses of his mind as he saw familiar sights that told of home.

He rode into the gravelled entrance of Stanton House and stopped at the stable. A boy, no more than sixteen, came out, looking enquiringly at him. Benjamin dismounted and studied his face, trying to place him. Giving up on the effort, he grunted, "Who are you?"

The boy gave a contemptuous snort. "Never you mind. Lost your way, soldier?"

Benjamin's lips tightened into a grim line, but he declined to answer. Instead, he threw the reins at the boy and turned to walk towards the house.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" called the boy after him.

Benjamin ignored him and walked on, taking the steps up to the deserted porch two at a time. He was checked by the unmistakable cocking of a shotgun and a strident female voice calling, "Stop right there!"

He halted, arms up in the air in the universal sign of surrender.

"If you've come thinking you can steal from here while the men are away, think again," continued the voice. "You just turn around now and go back the way you came."

"Ma," he called out, his voice gritty from lack of use. "It's me."

There was a pause, then, "Benjamin?"

"Yes, Ma." The nuzzle of the gun was lowered and disappeared from the gap in the window. A moment later, the front door flew open, and his mother rushed to him.

"Benjamin!" Charlotte Stanton may have been short in stature, but she hurled herself at him with the force of a hurricane, clutching wildly at his jacket. His arms encircled her, and he held her tight as she wept with joy. "My boy! My boy is finally home!" she cried over and over.

The commotion had alerted others in the household and those next door in the house that belonged to Uncle Jasper. Soon, he was surrounded by a bevy of females exclaiming at his return and embracing him. He heard a voice, which he recognised as Auntie Ruth, call to the stable boy, "Go get the men, quick. Tell them Benjamin's home."

Eventually, he was ushered inside and made to sit, the women fussing over him, plying him with drinks and offers of cake, his mother exclaiming at how thin he had become. Questions came at him a mile a minute, until Auntie Ruth told everyone to stop pestering him. She shooed his cousin Beth away, who was twittering excitedly at his side. When the din had quietened down, he sat, hands trembling in his lap as his mother took an inventory of the changes that had occurred to him. She pointed to his cheek. "What happened?"

Ah. He'd forgotten how the scar must look to those around him. He rubbed the edges of it with his finger. "A stray bullet at Jonesborough. I suppose there won't be any more doubt now that Daniel is the handsomer of the two of us," he replied whimsically.

His mother scolded in annoyance, "As if that matters!" She placed her small hand to his ravaged cheek. "You will always be beautiful to me, my darling boy." Then, he was embracing her again, unable to stop the trembling in his body and the wetness of his eyes.

"I love you, Ma," he mumbled.

"And I love you, dear boy. Precious, precious boy."

A door slammed and there was the sound of brisk strides in the hallway. Benjamin pulled away from his mother and looked towards the parlour door. There, stood his father, staring at him with dark, burning eyes so like his own. He got to his feet. "Papa," he said, with a touch of uncertainty.

Frank, Earl of Stanton, approached his son with slow, deliberate steps, never taking his eyes off Benjamin. He came to a halt a mere breath from him, still staring. "Son," he finally ground out in a roughened voice. "Welcome home."

Then Frank Stanton took his beloved son into his arms and held him so tightly that he nearly squeezed the breath out of his chest. Both men stood in this tight embrace for a long time, neither wanting to let go. The moment was broken by the sound of Jasper's amused voice behind them. "That's all well and good Frank, but now may I have my turn to welcome Benjamin?"

With a gruff sound, Frank dropped his arms from around his son and stepped back, letting Jasper come forward and clasp his nephew warmly. "Welcome back, Benjamin. We have missed you," he said.

"And I you," responded Benjamin, before turning to greet his cousin John. He was overwhelmed, surrounded by such warmth and love after being deprived of affection for so long. It felt foreign. He wished he could be alone in the quiet of his room to re-order his frazzled emotions.

As if sensing this, his mother remarked, "You must be tired from your long journey, darling. Would you like to go rest for a while? I'll have some hot water sent up so you can wash."

He nodded gratefully and with an awkward smile, addressed everyone, "I will see you all later. We can talk more then." He stood and made his way to the door. There, he paused and turned, addressing his mother. "Is there any news from England? How are Daniel and Isabella—and the Cranshaws?"

She smiled, her eyes brimming with love. "They are all well and constantly ask about you. Your papa will be sending word to them today that you are home. I am sure they will want to visit here as soon as they can."

"It will be good to see them," he agreed and walked out of the room, a light sweat forming on his brow. Up the stairs he went, along the corridor, second door on the right. He opened it and went inside. His room was pristine, all his belongings in the same place he had left them four and a half years ago. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, taking in deep gulps of air, anxiety engulfing him. God help him, what was he to do with himself now? All of a sudden, the future felt too overwhelming. Soon, his siblings would come, and they would see the change in him. No more was he the happy-go-lucky Benjamin of before. What he was now was… something else. And before long, his pa would expect him to resume the work he had done before on the estate. It was all just too much to think about.

He took another deep breath and recalled those words he had once said to Sarah: "True happiness is to enjoy the present without anxious dependence on the future." He should take things a day at a time and not worry about what would come next. It was easier said than done.