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family had been lucky. Although there were some fence posts missing along the high ridge that ran down to the river, at least the house was still standing, as well as the barn. Evidently the Union army had crossed the river farther down toward Fredericksburg.The missing fence posts were more than likely used to build fires for Union patrols foraging for food. No doubt his father and brothers had been working hard to reclaim fields gone fallow during the conflict. His pa was a good farmer, a hard-working man—Clay was not surprised that the place was looking prosperous once more.
    He wasn’t sure why he hesitated on the riverbank. Maybe it was to permit his mind to realize that he was really home. When he had lain in the hospital bed, with the yellow-green fluid oozing from his battered shoulder, he had rehearsed this scene over and over in his mind, the moment when he finally saw his home again. He told himself that he would let loose with a raucous Rebel yell, and charge across the ford, hell-bent for leather, galloping up to the house to a joyous reunion with his family. Why then, now that the moment had finally come, was he overcome with a sense of sadness and reluctance? He recognized the fact that the war had changed him, and it lay heavy upon his mind. Maybe he had seen too many months of endless marches with shortages of food and ammunition—and too many insignificant little meadows and churchyards strewn with the bodies of men he had marched alongside merely hours before. He had been knocked from his horse by a burning hot shard of shrapnel and left to lie bleeding and unattended at the bottom of a deep ravine for hours before help arrived. Then, after the doctors patched him up, he was ordered to report to an infantry unit, instead of his old cavalry regiment. He was told that he might as well be in the infantry. There were no extra horses to replace the one shot out from under him.
    Before he even realized it, his mind had slipped back to those days of profound sadness that had heralded the death throes of a once-proud army. Afterten long months in the trenches at Petersburg, General Lee was forced to evacuate the town. Clay Culver remembered the night, April second, as clearly as if it were only yesterday—instead of over a year ago. He permitted his mind to recall the night, and soon he was reliving a time when he had ceased to be a boy.
     
    “Sergeant Ivers said to pack up your kit. We’re pulling out of here tonight.”
    Clay looked up to see his friend Wes Fanning striding toward him. “Pulling out where?” Clay asked. They had been occupying the trenches for so long, he was not going to respond quickly until he was sure of the orders. Only the generals knew the whole picture of their situation, but the lowliest of soldiers knew that the Union forces had the Army of Northern Virginia virtually surrounded. There had been some talk among the rank and file about a spring offensive to break through Grant’s armies and push them back. But the poor condition of the horses, and the lack of rations to feed the men were signs enough for Clay that they were in no condition to launch any kind of offensive. “Pulling out where?” Clay repeated.
    “Sergeant Ivers said the captain told him we’d be marching to Amelia Court House to get rations and hook up with the boys from Richmond. That’s all I know.”
    No one was sorry to leave the squalid conditions that had been their lot for the better part of a year. In fact, there was an air of excitement about being out of the trenches and back in the field. It didn’t last long, however. The poor condition of the troops turned the optimistic mood to hunger and fatigue after the first day’s march. To make matters worse, when they reached Amelia Court House, the promised rations were not there. The troops from Richmond hadnot arrived, having been delayed by flooded roads and poor traveling conditions. With Grant’s Union armies following close behind, it was