The Mockingbird's Ballad

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Lou laid aside the first three pages of Solon's letter. Before she began the last page, she conjured up a picture of the general with four young children underfoot and that little wife. New Orleans, too, intrigued her - a strange and different place from Chattanooga or Nashville with all sorts of people and sights. Might be worth a visit someday. Solon's newsy letter had been a delight to read. His views and humor invoked good feelings.

She began the last page . . . "couple weeks in Mobile and then back to Birmingham on my way home to you. My best regards and warmest wishes. Solon."

Her thoughts and feelings were suddenly in a jumble, a jumble like the ones she'd felt in the cavalry, at the creek in north Georgia, and at the Lincoln County courthouse over two months ago when she had truly looked at him and Solon smiled at her.

That night she had a hard time getting to sleep. More than an hour after going to bed she got up and, in the markedly cooled kitchen, lit the lamp, sat at the table, drank some buttermilk and reread Solon's letter. She then smiled and giggled as she put the folded letter in her housecoat. She got up to return to bed and left half a glass of buttermilk on the table.

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"Dellrose, Tennessee Feb. 20, 1871 Solon, Your letter came several days ago. I've delayed writing hoping to sort out my thoughts and feelings. Come home soon.

Lou"