Chapter 72

Charlotte’s mother’s name was Ruth. Her rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” was crisp, clean, and heartfelt. Each note that touched my ear also touched my heart. As her final refrain echoed off the mountains that surrounded us, the silver clouds parted to bathe her in golden light.

“Bless my other children,” she asked, looking up into its source, “our Charles and Polly. May they, too, find a better life.”

Charles and Polly were older, all of fourteen and fifteen years old, I learned. They had stayed behind in the south, determined to make their own way, separate from their parents.

As our journey continued, the smaller children began to tire. Noticing the trouble Ruth was having with Charlotte collapsing onto her hip, I offered to scoop the child up to ride on my back.