Before Lawrence: September 30 -- Abandonment
Chapter nineteen of Before Lawrence, the town of Osceola is finally abandoned.
This is the nineteenth chapter of Before Lawrence. To learn more about the purpose of writing this story, check out the “Forward.” Before Lawrence is part of The Missouri Chronicles. Follow the story by subscribing on Substack, contribute your thoughts, and check out the added resources.
Mary Lewis looked out from her front porch down Market Street at the charred remains of Osceola. Up the hill a bit and across the street stood the ruin of the school house. Downhill was the vacant lot where once the Johnson estate stood, now only four chimneys remained. For the first time in days, the air had cleared, but the stench of doom still shrouded the town. Her home had been for many days crowded with people. Everyone was desperately hungry. But in the past few days, one family, then another, left. Even Charles Saunders and his wife left to stay with relatives in Columbia. As the days proceeded, many took the ferry with the wagons borrowed from the folks in Warsaw. From there they would trickle to Warsaw or Clinton. The barge was readied for transporting several people down the river. Included in the group were Judge Rickman and Daniel Morgan, preparing to confront the federal authorities in Jefferson City about the total destruction of their town. She could only wonder how many would return. All the people that had been staying at her home had left for surrounding farms, neighboring towns, or to St. Louis. Her husband had tended to the wounded as best as he could. Two still remained.
It was considered a sign of your prosperity by numbering the chairs one had about the house. She had many chairs in the house, but the chairs they once kept under the shade tree were gone. Where once they could relax in the summer evenings, she now could only sit on the steps, put her face into her hands and begin to weep uncontrollably. She calmed herself and began to count the dead. Of the nine men that were executed in front of the bank, Micayah Dark had miraculously survived. Two militiamen had perished, and four Red Legs had met their end. Yet she knew that out there, in the charred remains, were the bones of women and children who failed to escape the flames. She knew not how many.
She was totally exhausted, as was Lawrence. She recalled her life ten days previous. Their house was their home, not a hospital. They had a private life. And she missed Alice and Missy. She was now doing the work of three women. It was then she recalled Cindy. Since no one was around to observe, she figured she could check on the ice house where Cindy had hidden the family silver. Mary found a gunny sack and headed down to the ice house that resided at the base of the hill. With a long ice hook she clawed away the straw at the rear of the shed and, true to Cindy’s word, she found the silver. She transferred the silver to her sack and returned to her home.
Later that day she once again returned to the front porch and looked out. This time Lawrence came out and put his arm around her. “Mary, the town will come back. Farmers around here need a place to purchase supplies. People need schools and doctors.”
“Lawrence, I know what I want. I can’t look at this. We must pack up and leave. Find a place that needs a doctor. I don’t want to come back here again.”
“I understand. We may have to move so I can continue to practice medicine. We need to find food and there is none here.”
The Andersons also had to make a decision. The Thompsons were very generous, but their home would not serve as a permanent residence for them. Samuel asked if they could stay in the area. “David, I know our little church could not provide you with all you needed. But there is plenty of work to do around here. The town may be gone, but the farms are still working. Most of the church members remain. I say rebuild the church. My guess is that it’ll be as lively as it was before the Jayhawks came. It may spring some life back into Osceola.”
“I see what you are saying. I think what really matters is Paula. She is in no condition to travel cross country. But where can we live?”
“I am sure we can find somethin’ for y’all.”
David had spent the previous days attending to the needs of the refugees. Like Mary, he saw families leave the town. For him, it was a relief. There simply was nothing left to offer. He could only hope that folks would return. He worked alongside John Weidemeyer. They became friends. John was grieving.
“I’ve lost just about everything, David. I have my wife and children. I know what I have to do. There is nothing to tie me to this place. I am going to wait till I receive word from General Price. If he heads back down this way, I am goin’ to join up.”
“What about Lelia and the two babies?”
“We are staying at the Crutchfield farm. I expect they could stay with them, but she does not get along well with her mother. Lelia is a very determined woman.”
John chuckled, “Wouldn’t be surprised if she joined up as well.”
As the sun crept toward the western horizon, David Anderson stood by his horse, holding the reigns, looking upon what was once his home. He had long ago searched the ashes for anything of value, but mostly what he found were tearful reminders of life before September 22nd. He found his books, their bindings still in place, but the pages blackened and unreadable. His worn leather bible lay on the ground next to the charred remains of the small desk that once rested next to his favorite rocking chair. He found the dresser with the blackened threads of his children’s clothes. He saw a small fragment of Paula’s favorite dress.
He looked about him and saw nothing but desolation. Scanning the horizon to the west and looking up the hill, he saw the remains of the school which only ten days previous had been filled with the sound of children. Looking downhill a bit he saw the Lewis house where Lawrence and Mary were standing under the porch. He still could not absorb the horror of what lay between the Lewis home and himself. What once was a thriving village was utterly erased from the face of the earth. He had been so enwrapped in the crisis of personally surviving that he had little time to reflect on what had just happened. This was not the America he knew. Were Americans so barbaric? He could only shake his head. Yes, we could. Slavery attested to it.
© Copyright 2024 to Eric Niewoehner
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