WEN: 2260EE
Exhibitor Name: Jeshua Wickham
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
defeated, forced Cornwallis to retreat back to the “safe” peninsula of Yorktown. There he was besieged by Washington’s forces and surrendered, humiliated, on October 19, 1781. The looked-for help from the English fleet never came. The British were outraged, but the Americans rejoiced. It seemed to them that God had taken up their cause and fought on their side. America would become a haven of liberty and freedom for all, a hope for the oppressed, a refuge for the forsaken. . . . . . Henry walked slowly along the familiar road, his mind a tumult of conflicting thoughts. The war was over, the troops were dismissed, he was going home. Home! How lovely the word sounded! After bloodshed and fighting his soul longed for peace and quiet. No longer was he the fiery youth eager for adventure. He was a man now, with a mind and body matured by his experience. Yet, though he rejoiced at the thought of home, he would miss the friends he had made among the militia. Sober Frank, and his dear friend Randall, with his jovial and buoyant spirit. His heartbeat quickened as he neared the last bend in the road. Would things have changed much? The occasional letter that had made its way into his hands could never tell him all that had happened. Unconsciously, he held his breath as he rounded the last bend. His heart stopped beating. He stood stopped in his tracks. The lovely old farmhouse was gone! A few charred stumps marked the clearing where it had stood. What had happened? Where was his family? Were they?. . . no, he refused to think of it. He broke into a run. Past the ash-filled clearing, towards the town. As he entered the busy streets, he slowed his steps. The town looked the same as always. He turned to a nearby woman. “Excuse me, do you happen to know if, if. . . “Yes? “Well, you see, I’ve been gone for four years, at the war, you know, and. . .” “Yes, by the looks of you you have! Come on, stop gaping. What is it?” Then, at his look of distress, she said more kindly, “I can see you are worried about something. Tell me how I can help you.” He tried again. “My name is Henry Sanders. I’ve just come back, and I-I found my family’s home burned to the ground. We lived down the road apiece. Do you know. . . Can you tell me what happened to them?”
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