We'll go out as Fighters

St. Paul, Minnesota; 1861

Along the frosty pale road limped a young man with a crooked cane in his hand and wooden leg that jabbed roughly into the gravelly ground. He smelled like gunpowder and ash. One of his ears was completely gone, but the bloody hole on the side of his head was mainly covered with his unkempt, tangled brown hair. Lisbon winced with every step as he continued to approach the nearby white-washed house which was framed by the overhanging branches of the flaming autumn maple leaves. Most of the scarlet, golden, and amber leaves had already left the abode of the graying tree branches to blanket the earthen field. Most of the grass and weeds were becoming a pale-yellow and blended easily with the golden maple leaves that fell.

The house in the midst of the gray-barked maple trees was a comforting sight. It's white paint was becoming a dull, slate-color in the waning light. A brunette tall, broad-shouldered woman in her late twenties stood on the porch of the house expectantly, clad in a warm indigo dress and her long hair was swept up into a careless bun. Her face was tanned bronze and expressively enhanced by her high cheekbones and her stoic, level eyebrows. Beside her stood a man of similar height --if not shorter than the woman-- who was well-groomed and dressed smartly in black and white. A welcoming smile played on his face, but beneath his azure eyes was an vague gaze of concern and worry. The woman raised her eyes; her emotions remained difficult to read, but she ran forward from the porch and embraced Lisbon tightly, as if afraid he would dissolve if she would let go.

"Brother," She whispered in a deep voice.

"Franny." Lisbon returned, smiling in comfort.

Reluctantly, she released him and looked into his weary, bloodshot grey eyes. Lisbon gave a weak smile, but it flickered as he bit his lip.

"Pap's dead." He said.

Frances's dark eyes fell but she set her jaw stiffly.

"I got the letter," She said quietly in her deep voice. "I know. But thank the Lord you're alright."

Frances looked down at her brother's false, wooden leg with pain in her eyes.

"Come on inside. I bet you're tired, coming all the way up from Missouri." Frances said distractedly gesturing towards the house. Lisbon nodded and steadied himself with his wooden cane as he followed Frances and her husband, Elmer inside.

The fireplace inside was welcoming, and a couple of armchairs were soon occupied by the one-legged Lisbon, Frances, and Elmer.

"The Confederates are getting stronger. Worse. More brutal." Lisbon sighed as he took his seat and held his hands out to the crackling flames.

"What happened?" Elmer asked.

Lisbon shook his head uneasily, placing his hands back on his lap, "We were outnumbered. There were six hundred of us against some four thousand Confederates. After the battle, it was difficult to even collect the bodies. Papa's body was found after dark."

Elmer grit his teeth, swallowing back anger.

"Elmer," Frances said, placing her hand on his arm.

Elmer sighed through his teeth.

"This war has only been about for, what... six months? I already feel like it will never end! We have to do something!"

"Already tried that." Lisbon said, gesturing towards his wooden leg.

Frances looked over at her husband's eyes curiously, recognizing the fiery, eager look in Elmer's eyes and knew all too well what it meant.

"Don't go." Frances said firmly, but her lip was quivering. Beneath her stoic facade was concern and fear.

Elmer narrowed his eyes. "Someone will have to."

"Don't go!" Frances said again, but with more vigor. "You can't leave me! Not now! Not after Papa and Lisbon!"

Lisbon glanced grimly between the two.

"I would fight again if I could, but you see; I can't. The Union needs as many troops as we can get."

Frances glared at Lisbon. She looked ready to slap him, but stiffly gripped her husband's hand beside her.

"Don't you dare encourage that!" She demanded in her deep, forceful voice. "You men get to go off and fight and defend our country but keep on forgetting; It's my country too! I don't get to do anything! I-- I can't just sit here peacefully with knitting needles or whatever while good men that I know are picking up rifles and killing each other!"

"Frances, you need to know your place." Elmer said.

"Yeah, I do!" Frances said. "And it's beside you! If you want to go off into battle to protect this country and get yourself killed, then I-- I'll fight beside you!"

Lisbon shook his head, closing his eyes. "Hold on, Franny. Women can't do this."

Frances balled her fists and glared. "Sure we can. Just most women would be standing around balling their eyes out at times like this, while others like me-- we can fight!"

She looked over at Elmer for support. Elmer gave a weak half-amused grin. He gave Frances's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I know." He said quietly. His eyes were flaming and his grim half-grin grew.