Sam MacDonald's Journals
by John Jenkins and Mark Weaver
Reconciliation Press ©2000

Elizabeth
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Christmas Eve, 1863, 3:30 P.M.
Old Mill Crossing, Gettysburg

     "Sam, I don't want you to leave, but it is not appropriate for us to continue living under the same roof."
     Elizabeth's unexpected words last evening pierced my heart. I have benefitted from this arrangement more than Elizabeth. In this world, a woman's reputation is more easily tarnished than a man's. I have taken advantage of her kind hospitality, deceiving myself, I suppose, with the flawed argument that she and the children could not handle the farm without me. I failed to discern how "inappropriate" she has thought my prolonged stay to be, although nothing inappropriate ever occurred.
     O Lord, what is Your will in this matter? It is indeed a delicate situation with Elizabeth. And concerning Angelina, should I adopt her? I know that she desires it to be so.
     Lord, guide me in these matters.
     The December ground is lightly dusted with snow. I am reminded of my wintry heart, made cold by the loss of my dear Victoria over ten years ago. My heart has begun to thaw, warmed by the affections of Elizabeth, Thomas Peter, and that special child, Angelina.
     I see a wagon approaching up the Baltimore Pike, accompanied by what appear to be three Union cavalrymen. Why would they visit our farm today, on Christmas Eve? The images evoke poignant memories of a fall day a little over a year ago, when we learned of John Ezra's death and when You, Lord, tilled the soil of my heart.
     Elizabeth, Thomas Peter, and Angelina call with one voice. What a cheerful racket! I must lay down my pen and see what develops.

The Grace of God

     Twenty-four hours have passed.
     Lord, how shall I compose my joyous thoughts? Should I not let the account of those first moments tell their own story?
     "Sam, Sam, come down right now!" Angelina had clamored, wrestling me from my chair to the top of the stairs.
     What a sight! Framed by the doorway and backlit by the late afternoon sun, I beheld John Ezra wrapped tightly in Elizabeth's arms! Behind him stood a Union officer.
     I bounded down the steps two at a time as she buried her face in his neck with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.
     "We thought you were dead!"
     John smiled as he glanced down at his wife's deliriously happy face. "I thought I was dead, too. But it wasn't God's time for me--as it was not God's time for you. My wife tells me God's grace and a sturdy horse saved you from a life-threatening wound and brought you here."
     For several moments, the room grew quiet. Thomas Peter clung to his father's arm. Elizabeth struggled with a question that would not make its way through her tears. She seemed overcome.
     "What happened?" I inquired, sensing what she wanted to ask. "How could a year pass with no one knowing you were alive?"
     "There was a mix-up, to say the least. The army believed that I had died at Bull Run--blown to pieces by a Confederate cannon."
     John coughed and wheezed. "Instead, I was taken prisoner at Manassas Junction. They took me to Richmond, to Libby Prison where they packed a thousand of us into an old tobacco warehouse.
     The Union officer patted John Ezra on the shoulder and looked to Elizabeth. "Captain MacDonald's a real fighter, ma'am. Most men wouldn't have made it. Then again, seein' what he had waitin' for him I can understand why he didn't give up."
     John coughed again and nodded. The officer saluted him, then turned and let himself out the door.
     I helped Elizabeth get John upstairs to bed, and then retreated to the kitchen.
     A half hour later, Elizabeth came downstairs. She sat at the table beside me and gently touched my arm. "It's a miracle, Sam. The Lord has given me back my husband."
     Her eyes still brimming with tears, Elizabeth drew close, kissed me on the cheek, then rose from the table and went back upstairs to be with John.

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