The Mourners' Bench

n. A bench for mourners or repentant sinners placed at the front in a revival meeting: “That night I was escorted to the front row and placed on the mourners' bench with all the other young sinners” (Langston Hughes). (from dictionary.com)

Mary stood at the back of the outdoor pavilion like a bride ready to start her walk down the aisle. The sun blessed her knowing face. She held her hands together in front of her, minus the bridal bouquet, and waited to be called to the front of the revival. Mary had been told several times she did not have to be here, but, for her, there was no other way.

Sweat exploded off the Reverend's lips followed by his booming voice, "We have a sinner!"

Several members of the revival shouted, "Amen!" Others raised their hands in the air. All were standing.

"We have someone who has called into question the very faith of everyone here."

Gasps.

"Called into question the very nature of our values."

Shouts of, "No!", spilled from the congregation.

"Bring her to the front", ordered the Reverend. His tongue wet his lips and circled his mouth like a hungry animal about to gorge itself.

Mary started the walk to the front, to the bench. Her bench this day. The mourner's bench to the Reverend and the congregation. Mary began to shout, "I do not support", but the congregation hissed and cursed her leaving the words "this war" on her lips. She made it to the front, but was not allowed to sit on the mourner's bench. She was forced to kneel in front of it.

"She does not support our war" whispered the Reverend as he looked down at her. Mary did not look up. "Our President is a man of our faith", he began. The hypnotic rhythm continued, "Our President is a man of our faith and she does not support his war. Our war is his war. His war is our war. She has sinned against us and sinned against the state."

"Sinner", came from the congregation in chants.

"She has sinned against us and against the state! Sinner! Repent!" The Reverend held his hand up for silence.

Mary looked the pastor in the eye. "I do not support your war!" she shouted. One of the two men who accompanied her up the aisle slammed her head against the bench causing her forehead to bleed.

"Repent sinner", whispered the Reverend. "Repent." His eyes pierced her. Mary simply bowed her bloodied head.

"Just as I thought! Just as we thought! Ungodly and unpatriotic. Sinner, I call on you to reject Satan!"

The congregation did not hear past "unpatriotic" which had left them rabid. The two men standing over Mary moved the mourner's bench to the middle of the aisle. They pulled her up by her hair and pushed her shoulder blades to the bench. Her arms outstretched, they tied them at the wrist to the bench and stood her up.

"Sinner! Sinner! Sinner!", chanted everyone including the Reverend.

The congregation marched Mary to out of the pavilion making her carry the full weight of the bench. They stopped at a large pile of branches, the bonfire for that evening. "Only to scare" thought Mary.

"Don't make us do this", said the Reverend. "Open your mind to our faith and to patriotism."

Tears rolled from Mary's eyes, "I cannot support your war."

The brush pile was doused with gasoline and poured onto the mourner's bench. The gas took Mary's breath and tingled where it evaporated from her skin.

She saw the match and felt the heat. No one outside the revival heard the screams.

The Boy

This afternoon I saw a little boy standing at my glass door looking at me. I had been sitting in the living room, opposite the door, for quite sometime. I was so focused that only the sun streaming through the glass and my book existed. The doorbell never rang and I never heard a knock. I simply looked up with the feeling that someone was watching me and there he stood. Silent and nearly as focused as me.

Our eyes locked as I walked to the door. I could see the hate in them. His hair was black as night and framed in his well-defined face. I had only seen his clothes in old photographs of Native Americans. As he shifted his hands I saw he held a neatly folded blanket.

"Who is this child?", I asked myself reaching out for the door handle. I tried to place him, but couldn't. Other thoughts ran though my mind: Where did he get his clothes? How long has he been standing there? Why does he look so angry?

My hand stopped just short of the handle when I saw the sun shining into the room. He was not casting a shadow! I glanced behind myself to see my own shadow and looked back at the boy. Slowly, but deliberately, he raised the blanket and passed it through the glass. My eyes started watering. I stopped breathing and stood in sheer terror. Only by instinct did I hold my hands out to receive the blanket. I felt his hands brush mine and then felt the blanket with all of its weight. It was cool to the touch. Our eyes were still locked when the boy took a step backwards and disappeared.

I was looking at the place where the boy ghost once stood when I noticed dust tickling my nose. I let out a terrible sneeze. My head bent forward toward the blanket. My nose and lips brushed it momentarily. As I straighted my posture and focused my eyes, I saw the blanket slowly disappear too. Finally, my hands held nothing.

It took me hours to calm down and several weeks beyond that to be diagnosed with smallpox.

Lady Liberty

"Dammit, keep pouring!"

"We don't want to killer her sir!"

This statement was completely ignored. Making sure to push this to the breaking point, Rupert shouted, "5... 4... 3... 2... 1. Stop!" His narrow eyes seared the motionless blue face of the woman in front of him. The officer stopped pouring water on her face and set the bucket on the concrete floor. With white-knuckled fists and protruding jaw, Rupert lifted his shiny black boot and stamped it down near the wet head of the woman who had yet to inhale or exhale. She didn't notice the boot graze her temple.

In the far reaches of her mind she was praying for a break one way or the other. Life or death. What was taking so long? Life or death.

The woman's eyes exploded open and rolled back into her head. Her neck arched, her back arched, her body lifted off the board and only touched it where her hands and feet were tied. Her partly filled lungs pulled the first wave of air in as fast as they could. The oxygen set her nerves on fire. She screamed as she exhaled. Water blew out of her mouth forming a mist. Foam clung to her lips. Snot rolled from her nostrils as she inhaled again.

"You only do what I tell you!", shouted Rupert. "I am in charge here. You are only window dressing and have no say in anything. Do you understand or do we need to discuss this again?"

Lady Liberty's torch lay on the floor, extinguished. Her crown lay near her head, under Rupert's boot. Her stola was torn. She was still coming into consciousness.

"Please", whispered Lady Liberty.

"Another discussion?", Rupert said softly as he knelt to look her in the eyes.

"No", she managed. Although she wasn't sure if she was answering his question or the fact that she was awaking to this nightmare once again.

"Agreed then. You know I'm only doing this for our own good."

"Torturing me?", raced through her mind.

"You must come to me to get permission to think. Do you understand?"

"Yes", she said as she closed her eyes. Once revered, she now felt like an abused animal. Tears rolled from her eyes as she thought, "Where have the sons and daughters of the Founders gone?"

Letter From a Union Soldier to His Wife

Shenandoah Valley
September 28th, 1864

My Dearest Emma,

How I wish my voice could carry this news to you so that you will not be in the position of reading this letter alone. I have been accused of treason and have been sentenced by General Sheridan to be hanged this evening.

Believe me when I write that I fought the Rebels bravely. It is the people of the Shenandoah Valley that I will not fight and it is these people we have been ordered to attack. Emma, they are not the rebel army, I am not guilty of treason. I am guilty of not bringing war to the people of this valley. I refuse to participate in such complete destruction. For this, the general is going to make an example out of me. No court martial, just his sentence.

The indignity that women, children and the elderly have had forced on them and that I have witnessed is beyond vile. Everyone has been torn from their homes and their homes have been burned to the ground. The smell of ash and thick gray smoke hang everywhere. Red embers dot the landscape. These give me the darkest visions since I know they are the red beady eyes of the demons of Sheridan, Grant and Lincoln.

These demons shall surely kill this entire valley too. At this late time of the year, all of the food here has been taken or destroyed. No animals survive. The few able bodied men we have found have been executed for supporting the rebels. Once again, no court martial, just General Sheridan's orders.

My final wish for this country is that President Lincoln loses this election so common sense is restored to our union. I love you and know I will see you in heaven someday.

Please pass my love along to the boys.

Your Husband,
Thomas Brennan