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                                         To Honor You, My King

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Excerpt 

 

Riverview Plantation

Near Princeton, Mississippi 

Late May 1863 

 

Dr. Sam Elliott stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light in the hallway. His pulse quickened upon hearing his wife’s voice coming from the kitchen. He stared forward only to stop abruptly when he caught the tone of her words.

“Hurry up! Can’t you move any faster? And where is that boy? If he doesn’t get here soon with Mandy we’ll lose them both!”

Suddenly Moses burst through the kitchen door, a pot of boiling water in his hands and Victoria close on his heels. Both stopped short at the sight of a Confederate soldier standing by the door.

Moses was the first to recognize him. “Doctor Elliott, sir!”

Almost before Sam could respond, Victoria shot forward and gripped his arms.

“Oh, Sam! Thank God you’ve come! Mel’s in labor! I can’t find Mandy anywhere. Moses can’t even seem to get the water to boil! I’m so afraid she’s going to die, Sam or lose the baby!” A sob caught in her throat, “I just can’t bear to lose another one!”  

Sam didn’t have time to ponder his wife’s uncharacteristic behavior. If Melinda was in labor, he was needed immediately. Taking the stairs two at a time, he prayed he wasn’t too late.

Melinda’s dark curls hung wet and limp, in stark contrast to her pale face. “How on earth did you know to come?” 

He hadn't.

“My furlough came through,” Sam answered, wiping her brow with a damp cloth, “thought maybe you ladies could use some help around here for a couple of days.”

Another contraction hit and few words were spoken for the next hour as doctor and mother fought to bring a new life into the world. When Mandy finally did arrive, she was greeted by the hearty cries of a newborn. Sam handed the baby over to her without a word; the blood soaked sheets and silent bed indicated the real fight for life had just begun.

Hours later, the sound of metal scraping against wood roused Sam from where he slept slumped in a chair. He opened his eyes just enough to make out the figure of a Union soldier kneeling beside the bed. 

His brother had come home.

 

 

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