Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) by Erica Graham

private’s
voice had a southern twang to it.
    Flynn turned his head.  “Al?  Al Hawkins?”
    “Who wants to know?”  Hawkins stuck his thumbs into
his belt.
    “It’s me.  Rob.  Rob Flynn.”
    “Rob!”  Hawkins ran down the steps of the porch and
stuck out his hand.  He whistled and stared up at Flynn’s chin.  “When did you
turn into a bean pole?”
    Laughing, Flynn clasped Al’s hand.  “Last year.  I
just kind of shot up.  How are your folks?”
    “Pa lost his job as overseer after—“  Al stopped
speaking and looked away. 
    “After my father lost the plantation?”
    Al nodded.  He turned back to Flynn.  “We traveled
around a lot, looking for work.  He died of cholera two years ago.”
    Flynn nodded solemnly.  “I’m sorry.”
    “What about your folks?”
    Flynn swallowed hard.  “Both dead.  My father died
on the way out here.  My mother died two years ago.”
    Al sighed.  “I’m sorry.  Listen.  Let me buy you a
drink and we’ll talk a little treason.”
    “Treason?”
    Al nodded.  “Yup.  If it does come to war, I’ll be
fighting for the south.  What about you?”
    Flynn looked westward, toward the place where the
soldiers burned his village.  He looked back at Al and nodded.
    *  *  *
    On the way back to the cabin, Flynn was unusually
silent.
    Ridgeton waited until they were inside.  “Penny for
your thoughts.”
    Flynn sighed.  “Do you think it will come to war?”
    Ridgeton hesitated.  Then, he nodded.  “It’s been
coming almost since the beginning.  John Adams wanted to abolish slavery when
they wrote the constitution.”
    Flynn blinked.  “How do you know that?”
    Ridgeton grinned.  “My grandfather was a delegate to
the Second Continental Congress.”  His grin faded.  “My father fought in the
Revolution.  He lost three toes when the Continental Army wintered in Valley
Forge.  That didn’t stop me, though.  I fought in Mexican-American War, all
filled with idealism.”
    “What happened to change your mind about war?”
    “War, son.  That’s what happened.  I saw things, did
things...”  His voice trailed off, and he shuddered.
    Flynn looked out of the window.  He watched as the
sun set over the western rim of the valley.  “I still see the village.  At
night.  When I close my eyes,” he said in Lakota.
    “And I still see the dead inside the walls of the Alamo.” 
Ridgeton sighed.  “Well, the South hasn’t declared war yet.  Maybe President
Lincoln will back down.  Or at least compromise.”
    Flynn nodded.  But a part of him hoped that war would come.  A part of him hoped he would have a chance to fight the men in blue
uniforms who murdered his people.
    That night, he could not sleep.  He went to the
shelves he had built for Ridgeton’s books.  He took down a battered copy of
Shakespeare’s Henry VI and began to read.
    *  *  *
    Spring came, and the two men rode to Fort Leavenworth. 
Ridgeton bought the latest newspaper.
    “Confederate Army seizes Fort Sumter!” the headline
read.
    Flynn snatched the paper from Ridgeton’s hands and
read the article.  The South, it seemed, had the superior Army.
    “Rob?”  Ridgeton’s quiet voice broke through the
storm of emotion that swirled inside Flynn.
    Flynn looked away from the paper.  “Yes sir?”
    “May I have my newspaper back?”
    “Sorry, sir.”  Flynn felt his face redden.  He
handed it back.
    A week passed, and Flynn could not sleep.  Ridgeton
talked about the places he wanted to see on this trip, but he hardly listened. 
“And in August, we’ll stop at the moon.”
    “Um hm,” Flynn replied.
    “Son?”  Ridgeton laid his hand on Flynn’s shoulder.
    Flynn’s head jerked up.  “Sorry?”
    Ridgeton smiled sadly.  “You haven’t heard a word I
said, have you?”
    Flynn sighed and shook his head.
    Ridgeton’s smile faded.  He walked to the window and
looked out.  “Well, I guess every young man has to learn about war for