Joab

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS Joab woke early, not that he had slept much. The night had been long and warm in the attic room, and he had tossed and turned, torn between leaving his mother and Samuel and following his dream, his calling. He kept reminding himself it would not take forever and it would not be permanent. He hadn’t known about Oxford when the beautiful square was lined with trees and handsome buildings. Six years ago in 1864, the Union Army laid it waste, burned those buildings to the ground, and wrecked the town’s economy. He had hastily blamed it on Sherman. He knew the South would not—could not—make a quick comeback, but he would do his best to encourage its people to rise from the ashes. He was taking nothing but his bedroll, two changes of clothing, and a two-day supply of food. Rachel put the biscuits and ham in a flour sack, tucked in a fried peach pie and a baked sweet potato. Her son was about to learn to fend for himself. “An adventure,” she whispered. “We’ll see. God, if I can hold to my sanity, my emotions, for yet another good-bye!” Tears dropped to her cheeks. Joab swallowed hard, pulled Rachel and Samuel to himself and hugged them both. Then he promptly left in the early morning fog, not wanting to get emotional. He was already there, however. On the verge of tears. There would be many moments like these. He had obsessed with Sarah Agnes Stephens, with her beauty, her grace and charm. He couldn’t get her off his mind. Surely when he saw her, it would help soothe the heartache over leaving his family. And this place called Oxford intrigued him. Its tree-lined trails and hard-packed dirt streets, beautiful old mansions, The University and its peacefulness. In spite of the battle that had raged in 1862 by Grant and Sherman’s invasion, it had stayed intact until Union General "Whiskey Joe" Smith burned the buildings on the square in his 1864 invasion. Joab allowed he had been drunk the morning he burned such a beautiful town. The Yanks couldn’t get enough of the Old South. Lafayette County needs more help with rebuilding than Calhoun, he thought. Grant and Sherman were only interested in key southern towns and Oxford had been one of them. Sarepta was just a one-horse town, so to speak, though it was home to him. Oxford was the seat of learning for Mississippi. But as far as the Union was concerned, the southern dogs were just hillbillies, not university material. They would have no need for such. He took the familiar trail out of Calhoun County and rode across country through Pontotoc to Lafayette, his stomach in knots for two reasons. He had just left his family for heaven knew how long, and he would soon be seeing someone he had grown extremely fond of if only in his dreams.