The Promise of Home

"Mom, it's a real war medal! He was only fifteen. That's just six years older than me! Can you imagine being a soldier at fifteen?"

Thomas pressed the medal against his chest.

"Please? I'll keep it in my pocket until recess. Nobody at school has anything like this. Ever since we went to Gettysburg with Kyle, I can't stop thinking about the Civil War."

Darlene glanced at him. "Thomas Edward Miller, we've discussed this. The medal should have stayed home."

"But Mom…"

Thomas looked up at her, his blue eyes wide, his lower lip pushed forward in an exaggerated expression of disappointment. Darlene recognized the look immediately. He had used it countless times before, usually with considerable success. She pulled into the school drop-off area.

"No arguing. Hand it over, sweetheart." Darlene took the medal from his hand, placed it inside the center console, and snapped the lid shut.

"Aww, Mom."

"No, now get moving, Mister." Thomas climbed out of the car. Darlene waited until he reached his teacher, waved goodbye, and pulled away. She merged onto the highway, relieved that the argument was over. She was hosting a meeting that morning and couldn't afford to be late. Then she heard faint singing. She kept the radio tuned to the local news, listening absentmindedly as she kept her eyes on the traffic ahead. On the news? At first, she assumed it was coming from the radio, perhaps a commercial or something playing beneath the announcer's voice. But it sounded like a young boy.

"Sitting by the roadside on a summer's day, Chatting with my messmates, passing time away..." She frowned and reached for the volume knob, turning the radio down. The singing continued.

"Lying in the shadow underneath the trees, Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!"

Her fingers froze on the knob. For a moment, she listened. The voice was soft, almost cheerful, and sounded as though it were coming from somewhere directly behind her. She glanced into the rearview mirror. Something moved across the back seat. It was more than a dark mass, but for one brief instant, she thought she could make out the outline of a boy sitting behind the passenger seat. Her breath caught in her throat.

Without thinking, she slammed down on the brake pedal. The car lurched violently. The brake pedal vibrated beneath her foot as the anti-lock system engaged. Her body pitched forward against the seat belt, and her purse slid from the passenger seat, spilling its contents across the floor. She jerked the steering wheel. The car skidded toward the shoulder, its tires screeching across the asphalt. A loud thud came from somewhere behind her as something struck the floor.

The car stopped, angled with the front on the breakdown lane and the rear still on the road. Her actions scattered traffic everywhere. A horn exploded behind her. Darlene glanced into the driver's-side mirror. A tractor-trailer filled the glass. The rear of her car still protruded into the traffic lane.

"Oh, God."

She ducked as the truck swerved left, but its trailer continued toward her. At the last instant, the rear of the trailer jerked sideways, as though struck by an unseen force. It cleared her bumper by inches. The trailer shuddered as it passed so close that she felt the vibration through the car. Then it was gone. Its compressed air brakes hissed as the driver slowed, eventually pulling onto the shoulder farther down the highway. She froze, her hands around the steering wheel.

Cars passed, horns blaring. A driver shouted something she couldn't understand. Darlene remained frozen behind the wheel, her heart pounding. Her neck ached, and the seat belt had bruised her shoulder. She could have killed herself. Worse, she could have killed someone else. She turned toward the back seat. Empty. She stared for several seconds, searching the dark spaces beneath the headrests and along the floor. Nothing. A nervous laugh escaped her.

"I must be losing my mind," she whispered. The truck driver was walking toward her. What could she possibly tell him? That a boy had appeared in the back seat? That she'd nearly killed someone because she had seen a ghost? He would think she was insane. Darlene checked her mirror, waited for an opening in traffic, and pulled away before he could reach her.

For the next mile, she drove below the speed limit, keeping both hands firmly on the wheel. She switched off the radio. The silence was strangely comforting. Her breathing gradually returned to normal. Then she noticed something lying on the passenger seat. The medal. She looked at it, then at the center console.

"But I put that in the center console when I dropped Thomas off. I know I did." She was certain of it. Yet there it was, resting in the middle of the passenger seat. A deep chill crept up her back to her neck and spread across her shoulders. She looked in the rearview mirror at the empty back seat. Nothing. Then, very softly, a young boy began humming from somewhere behind her. She turned the radio back on and raised the volume, determined to hear nothing but what came through its speakers. "It's stress; it must be stress," she mumbled. Before leaving the car at work, Darlene put the medal inside her purse and zipped it shut.

Throughout her meeting, Darlene occasionally lost track of the conversation, listening for the faint sound of a child singing. She had called Tom during her lunch break and told him about the frightening encounter on the highway. By late afternoon, she had almost persuaded herself that exhaustion had caused the incident. But before driving home, she turned on the radio and checked the back seat in the rearview mirror. She could not bring herself to turn around and look directly. The music remained loud for the entire drive.

By the time she arrived home, Tom had already prepared dinner. Darlene entered the kitchen and set her purse on the counter. Tom looked up from the dinner preparations. His smile faded. "You're still thinking about what happened this morning, aren't you?"

She nodded. "I know what I saw, Tom. And I know where I put that medal."

"Perhaps you missed the console, closed it, and didn't notice it was on the seat."

"No, then it would have ended up on the floor with my purse and everything in it. I'm telling you I placed it in the console."

Tom smiled. "OK, OK, I believe you. I'm relieved you're home safe."

He kissed Darlene and pulled her into a hug. When they separated, he gathered the plates while she collected the silverware. "By the way," he asked, "where is the medal?"

"Right here." She searched the purse again, pushing aside her wallet, keys, and other belongings. Nothing. She looked at Tom, then slowly emptied the purse onto the table. The medal wasn't there.

"Thomas! Come downstairs, please." A moment later, her son appeared in the kitchen doorway. Darlene stopped speaking. Thomas was holding the medal. The same medal she distinctly remembered placing inside her purse.

"Where did you get that?"

"Elijah left it on my bed, Mom."

Darlene stared at her son. "Elijah?"

"Yes, Mom. My friend."

"Thomas, is Elijah another one of your imaginary friends?"

"No, Mom. He's real. He was a soldier."

Seeing that the conversation was upsetting, Tom said, "Go put it back in your room on your bed, wash up, and come back here to have dinner, son, OK?"

"Yes, sir."

After Thomas left, Tom said, "There has to be a logical reason for what is happening, baby. We'll get to the bottom of this after dinner."

Darlene nodded. A familiar chill crept along her shoulders. Thomas returned, and they sat down to dinner. "Dad, can I say grace?" Tom and Darlene exchanged a glance. "Sure, son," Tom said. "Go ahead."

"Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this food and for the kindness of those who have provided it. Remember those who hunger, comfort those who suffer, and watch over the souls of our comrades far from home. Grant us courage, Lord, and in Thy mercy, bring us safely home. Amen."

Tom asked, "Son, where did you learn that?"

"I learned it from Elijah, sir." Thomas grabbed his fork and dug into his macaroni and cheese. Tom and Darlene stared at Thomas, then at each other, and Tom mouthed, "We'll talk later."

"Since when do you call me sir, son?" Thomas stopped chewing and looked at his father.

"I don't know, Dad." For a moment, he seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Learn anything interesting in school today, son?"

"Ecosystems! Everything depends on something else. Plants need sunlight, rabbits eat plants, and foxes eat rabbits."

"Sounds interesting," Tom said. "How about finishing your math homework?"

"OK, Dad."

"One thing first. May I see that medal?"

Thomas handed it over. Tom photographed both sides with his phone, then handed it back.

"Now get that homework finished."

"Yes, sir."

Tom stood, held out his hand to Darlene, and she took it and stood. They walked into the study. "Time to do some research, Darlene."

"Research?"

"Yes, let's upload these pictures and work from there. I don't know what we're dealing with, Darlene. A medal should have some way of being traced, and there ought to be a record of it and the owner somewhere." Tom uploaded the pictures, and they put them on the big screen and enlarged them.

"Let's see if we can identify the soldier," Tom said. Tom opened the National Park Service's Civil War Soldiers and Sailors database.

"Read the inscription to me, baby," Tom continued.

"For Courage," Darlene read. "Private E. T. Battz? Bottz? I can't make out the surname."

"Try Bettz."

After several searches, Tom found a matching entry.

"Bettz, Elijah — Confederate — 18th Virginia Infantry."

Darlene stared at the screen.

"Tom, Thomas said his friend's name was Elijah."

Tom glanced at the photograph. "The medal has the initials E. T., and the surname could be Bettz."

"You think that's a coincidence?"

"I don't know what we're dealing with, Darlene."

"I don't care who owned it, Tom. I'm frightened for Thomas, and I want that medal out of this house."

"And where do you propose we take it?"

"Back to Gettysburg. Wherever it belongs."

"Darlene, we don't even know exactly where the boys found it."

"Then we'll find out."

"How will we find out, and what if returning it doesn't change anything?"

They exchanged uneasy glances. Neither could explain what they had discovered. Three hours later, the only additional information they obtained was that the 18th Virginia Infantry came from Danville and Farmville. They were no closer to understanding who Elijah Bettz had been. Darlene glanced at the clock.

"Tom, Thomas was supposed to bring us his homework."

Tom closed the laptop. "I'll speak with Max tomorrow. He is an avid Civil War enthusiast. Maybe he can tell us more about the soldier through his contacts."

Darlene shook her head. "I'm worried about Thomas. That prayer, the way he's been talking—something's changing, and I don't understand it."

"Then let's go check on him."

They climbed the stairs and heard a conversation ongoing. Thomas's bedroom door stood slightly ajar. They stopped and listened.

"But why didn't General Lee just wait?" Thomas asked.

A second voice answered, deeper than Thomas's and carrying a soft Southern drawl.

"I've wondered that myself, Thomas. We marched so far, and the men were mighty tired. Had we waited and chosen our own ground, maybe things would've been different."

"You mean you could've won?"

"Maybe. I reckon we'll never know for certain." There was a pause.

"Maybe I'd have made it home to Danville. Maybe some of the other boys would've seen their folks again, too."

Darlene caught Tom's arm.

"Back home, my ma used to holler for me come supper time. I'd be out by the creek, fishin' or foolin' around, pretendin' I couldn't hear her. And my pa... he'd be sittin' on the porch after a long day's work, waitin' for me to come home. She'd call two, maybe three times before my pa would come out on the porch and holler himself. I reckon I never gave much thought to how good I had it."

Elijah's voice faltered. Several seconds passed before he continued.

Thomas laughed. "Sounds like my dad."

"Thomas, when I went off to soldierin', my ma cried somethin' awful. I told her there weren't nothin' to fret about. Told her I'd be home before the leaves turned. My pa shook my hand, then pulled me close and held on so tight I could hardly breathe."

The voice grew quieter.

"I remember my ma standin' by the gate, wipin' her eyes with her apron. I kept turnin' around to wave at her, long as I could still see the house."

Darlene felt Tom's hand close around hers.

"I promised her I'd come home, Thomas. Looked her straight in the eyes and gave her my word."

"Did you know you weren't coming back?"

"No, sir. Didn't reckon any of us thought much about dyin' when we first marched away. Thought ourselves mighty brave in them uniforms." He fell silent.

"Then came the fightin'. The cannon fire, the smoke, the screamin'. Even grown men were callin' for their mothers. Some weren't hardly more'n boys themselves."

His next words were barely above a whisper.

"I heard a fella callin' for his ma once. He was hurt somethin' terrible. I stayed with him awhile, but there weren't nothin' I could do. He kept askin' me to tell her he was sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Thomas asked.

"He didn't say, Thomas. I reckon he had things he wished he'd done different. We all did." Another silence followed.

"Elijah, do you miss your mom and dad?"

There was no immediate answer.

"Every blessed day, Thomas."

The boy's voice wavered.

"I'd give most anything to hear my ma callin' me home one more time. To sit at her table, eat her biscuits, and hear my pa fuss about the work waitin' for us come mornin'. Funny thing is, I used to complain about them chores somethin' awful." He gave a small, unsteady laugh.

"Now I'd gladly chop firewood from sunup till sundown if it meant I could see 'em again."

Darlene tightened her grip on Tom's hand.

"Do you think they missed you?" Thomas asked.

"Oh, Thomas..." The boy stopped. When he continued, his voice was thick with emotion.

"I reckon my ma watched that road every day, hopin' she'd see me comin' home. And my pa... well, I expect he told her not to worry, same as I did." A long pause settled over the room.

"But I never did make it home. Never got to tell 'em I was sorry for breakin' my promise."

"Maybe they knew you tried."

"Maybe so, Thomas. I surely hope so." For several moments, the hallway remained quiet.

Thomas asked, "Is that why you helped my mom today?"

"That's right, Thomas. That big ol' truck would've crushed her. I heard it comin', and I knew what was about to happen. I gave the back of that truck a mighty hard shove, Thomas. Knocked it just enough to make it miss your ma. Didn't rightly know I could do such a thing till I'd gone and done it myself."

"But she got scared."

"I know, son. I didn't mean to frighten her none. I just couldn't stand by and let her get hurt." His voice became firm.

"I couldn't make it home to my own ma, Thomas. But I could see to it that yours made it home to you."

Darlene pressed her free hand against her mouth.

"Your ma loves you, Thomas. Your pa does too. When they fuss over you, don't get sore about it. When your ma calls you for supper, come runnin'. And when your pa asks about your day, you tell him."

"I will, Elijah."

"And don't you ever get too big to hug your ma. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir." There was another pause.

"'Cause there ain't a thing in this world I wouldn't give to put my arms around mine just one more time."

Tom stood motionless beside Darlene.

From inside the bedroom, Thomas spoke again. "Elijah?"

"Yes, Thomas?"

"I'm glad you're my friend." For several seconds, there was no answer. Then the boy spoke, so softly that Darlene nearly missed his words.

"I'm glad you're mine too, Thomas. Mighty glad."

Darlene turned toward her husband. Her eyes were wet, and her hand trembled in his. She had climbed the stairs determined to take the medal away. Now she wasn't sure she could.

"Did you hear that?"