You never knew what to expect from William Tecumseh Sherman. The old red-head of the scorched earth from Atlanta to the sea was kept on as Commander in Chief of the Army when Rutherford B. Hayes became President. All regional commanders sent a monthly dispatch to Sherman but at his whim he'd ask for a "detailed" dispatch which meant embellishing the same information already sent to about twice the length. Sherman seemed to like volume. Unusual. Old "Chump" Sherman was normally a get-to-the-facts, no nonsense sort of guy.
General John Reid wanted to get the dispatch finished so that the currier could catch the 3:00 train. The old man was still playing war. When he wanted something, he wanted it now - preferably yesterday. There was nothing urgent going on in the area of John's command. With the Sioux and Cheyenne still not completely pacified but were reasonably calm right now. President Hayes, however, wanted more direct communication with the General in the field in Dakotas and Montana. While those areas were still administratively in John's area of command, at John's suggestion General Nelson Miles, highly ambitious and a committed Indian fighter, was directly reporting to the President through Sherman regarding Indian matters. John received copies of Miles dispatches and that information had to be included in John's "detailed" dispatch. Miles reported to John but John did not command him on Indian matters. The President and Sherman were doing that.
Miles was married to Sherman's niece but he was no favorite of Sherman's. Miles repeatedly asked for favors which Sherman refused to grant. He was not fond of Miles' dandyism, unabashed ambition and he had some questions about his military abilities. In 1877 Miles and General Oliver Otis Howard were occupied with trying to contain the Nez Perce in Oregon. Sherman wanted Miles as far from Washington as he could get him.
John was not happy about the situation. John was sure the Indian situation could and should be handled diplomatically and peacefully. But with Sherman being Sherman and Miles being of somewhat the same ilk and eager to make a name for himself, John was sure it would end with dead Indians. It did eleven years later on the banks of Wounded Knee Creek in the Dakotas when Miles led a massacre of Indian devotees to the Ghost Dance.
But there was nothing John could do. His old friend, Ulysses S. Grant was no longer President. John felt that he had the respect of President Hayes but Hayes, an Ohio lawyer and brevet General during the Civil War, did not have the stalwartness of Grant. Sherman had too much influence on him.
Hayes also ran a very different White House most noticeably the lack of alcoholic beverages served at official White House dinners - quite a change after the hard drinking Grant. He was, however, a very competent President. He ended the "reconstruction era" in the south and angered even his fellow Republicans with his impeccable honesty. He was very conservative and committed to the "Christian" duties delineated in Manifest Destiny. He was as committed as was Sherman to claiming the continent for white Christians.
Sherman was still the "Old War Horse" and if John didn't get the dispatches to him when he wanted them, who knows what might happen. Sherman might scorch the earth from Denver to who knows where. John was glad that Sherman wanted the detailed dispatch now. He'd probably not want another for at least two months. That would give John a chance to get to the village. Declan had been after him to go since the first thaw but you never knew about a Colorado spring. Blizzards in April were relatively common. It was now the middle of May and John thought it safe to make the trip. Declan wanted to ride and camp on this trip.
John was doing his final read-through when his aide-de-camp came into his office. He made a quick glance at the pictures of children on the wall. "General, there's a boy waiting to see you. He's been here over an hour. I told him you were working on a very important project and would be busy for quite some time and asked him to come back this afternoon. He asked if he could wait. He seems a little anxious."
"Get his name and find out what he wants. If he's interested in enlisting, send him to the recruitment officer."
"I've asked his name, Sir. He said that he was an old friend and would prefer to surprise you."
John thought, "Ah ha, one of the Ryan boys."
When John had been assigned to Washington, he had rented as house next to the home of Senator Timothy Ryan of Massachusetts. He had loved those four Ryan boys. At first, seeing them hurt deeply because he had just learned that he would never see his own son grow to manhood. But they were so cute, the oldest one about Johnny's age. He loved the baby most of all. He would rock little Timmy every evening. He had not had much opportunity to rock his own son so this would have to do. It must be Timmy Ryan. He must be about fifteen now. John would have to get word to Mrs. Bartlett. If the Ryans were in town, they would definitely have supper with John.
"I'm about finished here. Wait while I finish looking it over and then you read it over yourself before you transcribe it. It's not that long. You'll have plenty of time to use your beautiful penmanship and get it to Fenton. He needs to be on the 3:00.
Lieutenant McGuire grinned. General Reid loved to tease him about his "girlish" penmanship.
John finished reading and handed the document to McGuire. "Send in Timmy."
The door opened and John sat speechless for a moment and then gasped, "Oh, my God." and was out of his chair and threw his arms around the boy.
"I knew it was you. Since I was twelve, I knew it was you."
The boy was tall and well-built. John knew exactly how old the boy was and he knew that the seventeen year old would not mind the kisses John was spreading all over the lad's face.
They were both crying now. "Johnny! Oh, Johnny!" John could say nothing more. He just held his son and wept.
John finally released his embrace, put his hands on the boy's shoulders and held him at arms length. He looked at him and again, overcome by emotion, pulled the boy into an embrace. They held each other and wept.
Finally John's emotion was spent. "Does your mother know you are here?"
"Mother is here and so are Grandma and the girls."
Johnny saw the confusion on his father's face. "Dad - uh - sorry - I mean Isaac died in February...."
John interrupted. "Johnny, never apologize for thinking of Isaac Martin as your father. He was for thirteen years and I know what a wonderful job he did.
"Your mother is here?"
"She's with Grandma at the hotel. Grandma said you still loved her but she really doesn't know what to feel right now. She loves you. She told me when I was twelve that she loved Dad - uh - Isaac but she could not stop loving you. She couldn't bring herself to just drop out of the sky on you and Grandma wanted us in Denver when you found out."
"Your mother hasn't changed much. Always thinking of other's feelings.
Neither has mine, for that matter. Not bossy but still in control."
"Johnny, what did you mean, you knew it was me."
"I could never forget the way you held me when I was five. When I was about ten, Da - uh - Isaac read us the story, Enoch Arden. At the time, I didn't think anything about it except that it was a sad story. But when I told Grandma he had read it, she had a fit. That made me start thinking. Why would she be so upset about a story? And then, I found a letter she was writing to some Frederick Leichty in Denver. She left it by the addressed envelop on the dinning room table. I was about twelve and I knew I shouldn't but I read it. She told him all kinds of things about Mom and me and the girls. She told him that Isaac seemed to be getting better.
"Who was Frederick? Why was she telling him about us? I just began to put two and two together. Maybe that Enoch Arden story could really happen. Maybe it happened to us. Maybe that's why Grandma was so upset. I never knew for sure but I couldn't get the way you hugged me when you held me when I was five out of my mind. As time went on, I just knew Frederick was you and that I would eventually see you."
John again pulled the boy into an embrace. "Johnny, oh, Johnny. I love you, son. I've wanted to tell you that for all of your seventeen years. I did when you were a baby but not since. I love you! I love you! I love you!
********************************
Dora Martin wondered, "Why her?" She did not let the question consume her but when you've lost two husbands and your parents, you can't help but wonder.
She loved Johnny dearly but he reminded her so much of John. That hurt. Her parents were killed while on their way to see her new-born, now seven year old daughter, Martha. Why had her father chosen to use that horse that day? He was a two year old gelding, newly broken, with a very nervous nature. They had stopped for an approaching train. Just as the train reached the crossing, the whistle blew. The horse spooked and he bolted. Lutty Graber had been waiting behind Dora's parents and saw the whole thing. For seven years Martha had reminded her of that day. That hurt.
As John had been, Dora was an only child. She had her children but if it were not for Sadie Ried, she'd have no family. Isaac had come from an Amish home so when he left the church to marry Dora, he was shunned. Isaac's father was a very stern man and blamed Dora for his son's apostasy. None of Isaac's family would have anything to do with Dora or her children. They had not even come it Isaac's wake nor did they attend the funeral. Sadie had continued to treat Dora as family and she needed Sadie's strength right now.
Dora and her children sat in Sadie Reid's parlor. They had just come from the funeral and burial. They weren't ready to go back to the house in which Isaac died. For three weeks she had worked so hard to keep him warm; to keep the pneumonia at bay. He was a good man and the thought of now leaving him in the cold, snowy, February, Pennsylvania ground would be harder to deal with in the house where he had been so alive for thirteen years. Even in his less than robust health of the past several years, Isaac had been a loving, caring man. Dora dealt with her own grief by trying to comfort the girls. The twins, now twelve, much like their mother, were teary but not sobbing. Martha, however, would occasionally break down. Her mother and Sadie would cuddle and attempt to soothe her.
Johnny seemed preoccupied. He was, of course, sad. Isaac was the only father he remembered. Or was he? That man who had visited his grandma when he was five had nagged at him for years. He had felt so loved in that man's embrace. In the early years, Johnny would pretend that that man was his father. At about eight, he decided that it couldn't have been. His father never would have abandoned him.
But then Isaac had read them Enoch Arden and Johnny found a letter his grandma was writing to a Frederick Leichty. By age thirteen he was sure that Frederick Leichty was really John Reid VI, his father. The letter his mother had gotten from the army was wrong. Johnny had heard that the army made those kinds of mistakes.
It hurt Johnny to feel that his father was alive and that he could not see him. But if the Enoch Arden plot had come true in his family, he knew why his father had left and he also knew that he could never tell his mother his suspicions. He loved Isaac and would never want to hurt him and he was his sisters' real father. Just as he was sure that his father had not wanted to break up the Martin family, neither did Johnny. When he was older he'd make his grandma tell him where his father was. Then he would go to see him.
They sat as afternoon moved to twilight and twilight to darkness. Sadie stood and moved toward the kitchen. "I'll get us some supper. Do you want to come and help Grandma, Marty?"
Martha snuggled deeper into her mother. Johnny saw that, stood and said, "I'll help." and followed his Grandma into the kitchen.
One of the twins also stood but was told to stay in the parlor by her mother. Dora had seen that Johnny had something more than Isaac's death on his mind. It probably had to do with John's death. Dora knew that Johnny needed some private time with his grandma. It had to be something very important for him to offer to help with kitchen things.
Johnny fiddled with dishes, not really thinking about what he was doing.
"If you can't do a better job of setting the table than that, maybe you better just let me do it."
"Frederick Leichty is my dad, isn't he?"
Sadie was so shocked that she dropped a pan full of pealed potatoes on the floor. "Where did you ever hear of Frederick Leichty?"
"You need to be more careful where you leave your letters lie around."
"John Bennington Reid the seventh, you know better than to snoop into other people's mail."
"Well, what am I supposed to do when I glance at your dinning room table and see my name in a letter you are writing?"
"A young man with proper manners would keep right on walking."
"That must mean that you didn't do a very good job with my dad. You keep telling me that I'm just like him."
"When you act like that, you are, although I don't think John would ever have snooped into my business and if he had ever spoken to me like that, he'd have gotten his mouth slapped."
"The fact that you aren't slapping mine tells me even more that what I said is right. Nothing's ever stopped you before. I love you, Grandma, but if you were a gunfighter, you'd have already killed off everybody in the west. You've got the fastest hands in the world. I'm usually slapped before I see you move your hand."
"You make me sound like a termagant."
"You read too much, Grandma. You're probably the only person in Pennsylvania who know what that word means."
"You think you're so smart. Figure it out."
"I need some kind of clue. It's not like I found a letter with my name in it several times. It's not like you're telling some Frederick Leichty all our family business."
"Did you read the whole letter?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When I was about twelve.
"What is a termagant?"
"It's a scolding, quick-tempered, nasty old woman."
"You're not a termagant, Grandma. You're just Pennsylvania Dutch."
Sadie said nothing while she picked up the potatoes, rewashed and put them on the range. When Johnny finished mopping up the water, he looked at his grandmother, obviously expecting an answer. "I will not lie to you. Yes, Frederick Leichty is your father."
"And it was him who came here when I was five?"
"Yes, that was your father. Do you understand why he didn't stay?"
"Yes I do. At first I was angry with him but the more I thought, I understood his sacrifice, his kindness and I loved him more. Where is he?"
"You must say nothing to your mother now. She's not ready for this. He's a General in the army living in Denver."
"I want to go to him."
"Johnny, if you are really like your father, you'll respect the feelings of your mother and your sisters. Your father loves all of you. He's never stopped loving your mother and you and he's learned to love the girls. He wants to see you but too many shocks even for a woman as strong as your mother - well - do you understand?"
"Yes, I guess I do. But how long do we have to wait?
"I want all of us to be in Denver when John finds out. You know that travel to the west is hard enough. Winter travel is almost impossible. Let's plan to go out the middle of May."
"But, Grandma, that's three months!"
"It's been twelve years, Johnny. Three more months won't kill you."
"Probably not but it will make me almost as impatient as you are."
Sadie saw the smirk on Johnny's face. They had the same honest, free give-and-take that she's had with her son. She playfully slapped his cheek with the wooden spoon she was using to stir the gravy. She then kissed the gravy off his face and with her apron dabbed it off his shirt.
For Johnny, it was an interminable three months. Dora noticed the usually happy, gregarious teen to be preoccupied, almost withdrawn. She thought it to be a 19th century case of senioritis. He would finish high school and had not heard yet if West Point had reviewed his nomination. Perhaps it was the facing of too many changes. The only father he'd known had died. He would be leaving home, leaving his mother alone with the girls. Even while Isaac was still alive, his frailty had caused Johnny to assume more of a man-of-the-house identity. He was, however, a wise boy. He never allowed Isaac to feel less than the head-of-the-house. He just quietly, unobtrusively did what Isaac's health would not allow him to do. Perhaps Johnny's current mien had to do with concern at leaving his mother alone with the girls.
Dora tried to reassure him. She, as was her wont, was facing the reality of Isaac's death quite well but she too, as would a mother in any situation, dreaded the thought of her child leaving home. It wasn't loneliness she feared. It was amazement at the passage of time and the ubiquitous motherly conviction that her child, regardless of age, needed her.
Johnny had thought he was behaving normally. He was not aware of the affects of his preoccupation until his chemistry teacher warned him that if he did not give better attention to his school work, he would receive the first grade other than an A in his high school career. Johnny shaped-up but then it was only a month before they left for Colorado. He was more and more excited but was able to control it better. He graduated high school with his straight A average intact.
It had been the custom for years for the Martins to take Sunday dinner with Sadie. Dora and Sadie were comfortable with each other. They were good friends, actually more friends than mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. "I declare, Sadie, I don't know what's gotten into Johnny. He seems to be on another planet. He isn't paying any attention to the planting. Last year he was giving orders to Jonas like I don't know what. Plant this in that field. Remember that you had wheat in that forty last year. Leave the alfalfa go to hay. I saw Jenny riding Bell this morning. You better get her to a bull. I'd use Spud. She had a nice heifer with him last year.
"That boy just went on and on. Jonas was good about it. Jonas is fifty years old. He's been managing your land since Five died and my land for five years since Isaac got so poorly. But he let the boy boss him and acted like he would have been lost without Johnny's orders. That man's smart enough to be a preacher and he has such a good heart. He sure knew how to make Johnny feel like a man.
"Sometimes Johnny just sits and grins and he can get as flighty as a Humming Bird. He didn't even act all that excited when he got word that the Point accepted him. I sure hope he gets his head out of the clouds before next fall.
"You'd think he was in love but he never says anything special about a girl. He takes Laura Graber to Young People's meetings but I don't think he's mooning over her. I just don't know what's come over him."
"I wouldn't worry about him. He's a good boy."
"I'm not worried, Sadie. It's just that he's so different. He's even stopped teasing the girls. They acted like they hated it but you can sure tell they miss it now."
"Well, it's ready.
"Come on children. Sit at the table and, Johnny, you say grace."
Sadie Reid's pot roast could probably raise the dead. It surely made Johnny come alive. The women wondered about Johnny. He ate like a thrasher but retained that Reid physique. He had become quite muscular in the last year or so. He was a well-built, handsome young man. He looked a lot like his father and that made Sadie proud and occasionally made his mother nostalgically melancholy.
Between mouthfuls Johnny said, "I really love these carrots cooked in a pot roast. I'm surprised we have any carrots left. Weren't they all shriveled up?"
"They wouldn't have won a prize at the fair but they cooked up good."
The twins ate like farm wives but, they too, maintained appropriate proportions. They were quite attractive girls. Marty was a little chubby but all of the children had been at her age. All that to say, there were no left-overs. Johnny even finished the last piece of cream pie.
"You girls get the dishes together and just go ahead and wash them up. Johnny, hitch up Pacer and give him a workout. Start him out slow. He hasn't had a good run for a week. I've been so busy. Keep him out for about an hour and rest - - "
"Grandma," Johnny interrupted, "I'm not ten. I know how to handle a horse."
"Well, I guess you do. So you still don't think I'm bossy?"
Johnny wrapped his arms around his grandma. "You can't help it. You have that incurable disease so common around here. You were born with the Pennsylvania Dutchites. Nothing you can do about it but I love you. Actually, I hope you never get over it. Might take your cooking ability if you do."
"Change your clothes so when you get back with Pacer, you can throw the horses down some hay."
"I'll be glad to throw some hay down for the horses, Dutchy."
"You keep making fun of the way I talk, you won't get any more of my cooking."
"I'm not worried. You love me. You'll feed me."
"Don't be so sure. Go on with you now."
Dora and Sadie sat in the parlor and chatted, nothing important, just good conversation between two good friends. After about twenty minutes Sadie casually asked, "Dora, have you ever read Tennyson's Enoch Arden?"
"No, but Isaac loved that story - that and Hawthorne's The Great Stone Face. I'll tell you, Sadie, once that man got away from his father, he couldn't get enough reading. He was a very intelligent man."
"Many of the Amish are very intelligent."
"Isaac certainly was. The children liked that story too, especially Johnny. He asked for that story almost every time Isaac read to them. When he got old enough, he read it often himself."
"Do you know what the story's about."
"The girls told me some of it. Something about a sailor who was reported lost at sea but he wasn't lost. When he came home - - - "
The color drained from Dora's face. It looked as if she might swoon. When she had collected herself, she sat several minutes thinking. "Are you trying to tell me something, Sadie? Sadie, is John alive?"
"Yes."
"That man - right after the twins were born - the man Johnny went on and on about - that's was John, wasn't it?"
"Yes, that was John. He - - "
"You don't have to tell me why he left. I can tell you. He said something like I had already grieved him. No need to break up a family and make more people grieve. That what he said, isn't it?"
"Yes, it was something like that."
"Has he remarried?"
"No. He is still legally married to you and he loves you. He cannot think of another while you're living. He told me that when he left and has told me that in almost every letter."
"You get letters from him? We're here all the time. How could you keep the children from finding the letters?"
"Actually, when Johnny was twelve he did find one."
"He never said anything to me."
"I didn't know it either until the day of Isaac's funeral. Before he left, John and I devised a scheme. He used the name Frederick Leichty. I don't know what he told the people who handled the mail in Washington and Denver but it worked."
"Has he been happy?"
"Not really but you know John. He made a life for himself by helping a clan of Arapaho Indians adjust to "white" culture. He's proud of them. He also adopted one of the Orphan Train children. That's helped. He's gotten by but he is so in love with you that he can never be completely happy without you."
"Where is he? What is he doing?"
"He's in Denver. He's the army General commanding most of the western half of the country."
"Sadie, what shall I do?"
"Do you still love him?'
"You shouldn't have to ask. I've never stopped."
"Then we must go to him."