The Man Who Would be Soldier

The Man Who Would be Soldier The man who would be soldier _ Lee Maynard The Ridge above Kiahs Creek Wayne County, Virginia August 9, 1862 The shot that killed his daddy . . . The sound of it rode the heat off the high ridges and rolled down through the heavy timber. It burst out into the thick sunlight and tore through the pole fence and across the open ground and hit the side of the old ridge-top cabin like it had been sent there directly, making a sound against the logs like the raging of the devil out there, waiting. The boy was sitting inside on the rough plank floor, his arms around his knees, rocking slowly back and forth. He could smell the cold ashes in the woodstove, and he knew there was a pan there with hard cornbread in it, but he was not hungry. He thought maybe he would never be hungry again. He was staring at the thick, hand-whittled peg on the wall where his daddy's new blue uniform had been hanging since before sun up, the peg now empty and useless. The boy's momma had made the uniform, the same momma who had stood in the doorway, http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Heritage University of North Carolina Press

The Man Who Would be Soldier

Appalachian Heritage, Volume 39 (3) – Aug 13, 2011

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © University of North Carolina Press
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

The man who would be soldier _ Lee Maynard The Ridge above Kiahs Creek Wayne County, Virginia August 9, 1862 The shot that killed his daddy . . . The sound of it rode the heat off the high ridges and rolled down through the heavy timber. It burst out into the thick sunlight and tore through the pole fence and across the open ground and hit the side of the old ridge-top cabin like it had been sent there directly, making a sound against the logs like the raging of the devil out there, waiting. The boy was sitting inside on the rough plank floor, his arms around his knees, rocking slowly back and forth. He could smell the cold ashes in the woodstove, and he knew there was a pan there with hard cornbread in it, but he was not hungry. He thought maybe he would never be hungry again. He was staring at the thick, hand-whittled peg on the wall where his daddy's new blue uniform had been hanging since before sun up, the peg now empty and useless. The boy's momma had made the uniform, the same momma who had stood in the doorway,

Journal

Appalachian HeritageUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Aug 13, 2011

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