Our story today is called, "The Return of a Private. " It was written by Hamlin Garland. Here is Harry Monroe with our story.
Narrator:
The soldiers cheered as the train crossed the border into the state of
Wisconsin. It had been a long trip from the south back to their homes in
the north.
One of the men had a large red scar across his
forehead. Another had an injured leg that made it painful for him to
walk. The third had unnaturally large and bright eyes, because he had
been sick with malaria.
The three soldiers spread their blankets
on the train seats and tried to sleep. It was a cold evening even though
it was summertime. Private Smith, the soldier with the fever, shivered
in the night air.
His joy in coming home was mixed with fear and
worry. He knew he was sick and weak. How could he take care of his
family? Where would he find the strength to do the heavy work all
farmers have to do? He had given three years of his life to his country.
And now he had very little money and strength left for his family.
Morning
came slowly with a pale yellow light. The train was slowing down as it
came into the town of La Crosse where the three soldiers would get off
the train. The station was empty because it was Sunday. "Ill get home in
time for dinner," Smith thought. "She usually has dinner about one
oclock on Sunday afternoon," and he smiled.
Smith and the other
two soldiers jumped off the train together. "Well, boys," Smith began,
"heres where we say good-bye. Weve marched together for many miles. Now,
I suppose, we are done." The three men found it hard to look at each
other.
"We ought to go home with you," one of the soldiers said to
Smith. "Youll never be able to walk all those miles with that heavy
pack on your back."
"Oh, Im all right," Smith said, putting on his army cap. "Every step takes me closer to home."
They all shook hands. "Good-bye!" "Good luck!" "Same to you!" "Good-bye!"
Smith
turned and walked away quickly. After a few minutes, he turned again
and waved his cap. His two friends did the same. Then they marched away
with their long steady soldiers step. Smith walked for a while thinking
of his friends. He remembered the many days they had been together
during the war.
He thought of his friend, Billy Tripp, too. Poor
Billy! A bullet came out of the sky one day and tore a great hole in
Billys chest.
Smith knew he would have to tell the sad story to
Billys mother and young wife. But there was little to tell. The sound of
a bullet cutting through the air. Billy crying out, then falling with
his face in the dirt.
The fighting he had done since then had not made him forget the horror of that moment when Billy died.
Soon,
the fields and houses became familiar. Smith knew he was close to home.
The sun was burning hot as he began climbing the last hill. Finally, he
reached the top and looked down at his farm in the beautiful valley. He
was almost home.
Misses Smith was alone on the farm with her
three children. Mary was nine years old. Tommy was six and little Teddy
had just turned four.
Misses Smith had been dreaming about her
husband, when the chickens awakened her that Sunday morning. She got out
of bed, got dressed and went out to feed the chickens. Then she saw the
broken fence near the chicken house. She had tried to fix it again and
again. Misses Smith sat down and cried.
The farmer who had
promised to take care of the farm while her husband was away had been
lazy and dishonest. The first year he shared the wheat with Misses
Smith. But the next year, he took almost all of it for himself. She had
sent him away. Now, the fields were full of wheat. But there was no man
on the farm to cut it down and sell it.
Six weeks before, her
husband told her in a letter that he would be coming home soon. Other
soldiers were returning home, but her husband had not come. Every day,
she watched the road leading down the hill.
This Sunday morning
she could no longer stand being alone. She jumped up, ran into the house
and quickly dressed the children. She carefully locked the door and
started walking down the road to the farmhouse of her neighbor, Misses
Gray.
Mary Gray was a widow with a large family of strong sons and
pretty daughters. She was poor. But she never said no to a hungry
person who came to her farm and asked for food. She worked hard, laughed
often and was always in a cheerful mood.
When she saw Misses
Smith and the children coming down the road, Misses Gray went out to
meet them. "Please come right in, Misses Smith. We were just getting
ready to have dinner."
Misses Smith went into the noisy house.
Misses Grays children were laughing and talking all at the same time.
Soon she was laughing and singing with the rest of them.
The long
table in the kitchen was piled with food. There were potatoes, fresh
corn, apple pies, hot bread, sweet pickles, bread and butter and honey.
They all ate until they could eat no more. Then the men and children
left the table. The women stayed to drink their tea.
"Mamma," said one of Misses Grays daughters. "Please read our fortunes in the tea leaves! Tell us about our futures!"
Misses
Gray picked up her daughters cup and stirred it first to the left, then
to the right. Then she looked into it with a serious expression. "I see
a handsome man with a red beard in your future," she said. Her daughter
screamed with laughter.
Misses Smith trembled with excitement
when it was her turn. "Somebody is coming home to you," Misses Gray said
slowly. "Hes carrying a rifle on his back and hes almost there."
Misses
Smith felt as if she could hardly breathe. "And there he is!" Misses
Gray cried, pointing to the road. They all rushed to the door to look.
A
man in a blue coat, with a gun on his back, was walking down the road
toward the Smith farm. His face was hidden by a large pack on his back.
Laughing
and crying, Misses Smith grabbed her hat and her children and ran out
of the house. She hurried down the road after him, calling his name and
pulling her children along with her. But the soldier was too far away
for her voice to reach him.
When she got back to their farm, she
saw the man standing by the fence. He was looking at the little house
and the field of yellow wheat. The sun was almost touching the hills in
the west. The cowbells rang softly as the animals moved toward the barn.
"How
peaceful it all is," Private Smith thought. "How far away from the
battles, the hospitals, the wounded and the dead. My little farm in
Wisconsin. How could I have left it for those years of killing and
suffering?"
Trembling and weak with emotion, Misses Smith hurried
up to her husband. Her feet made no sound on the grass, but he turned
suddenly to face her. For the rest of his life, he would never forget
her face at that moment.
"Emma!" he cried.
The children
stood back watching their mother kissing this strange man. He saw them,
and kneeling down he pulled from his pack three huge, red apples. In a
moment, all three children were in their fathers arms. Together, the
family entered the little unpainted farmhouse.
Later that evening,
after supper, Smith and his wife went outside. The moon was bright,
above the eastern hills. Sweet, peaceful stars filled the sky as the
night birds sang softly, and tiny insects buzzed in the soft air.
His
farm needed work. His children needed clothing. He was no longer young
and strong. But he began to plan for next year. With the same courage he
had faced the war, Private Smith faced his difficult future.
Announcer:
You have just heard the story, "The Return of a Private." It was
written by Hamlin Garland, and adapted for Special English by Dona de
Sanctis. Your narrator was Harry Monroe.
The Voice of America invites you to listen again next week at this same time to another AMERICAN STORY. This is Susan Clark.

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