This is from the point of view of Jaspers mother and what she had to go through. It's not very good I couldn't get it to flow properly so if you have any suggestions on how to improve it much thanks.
The Mother
When the war came I knew he would go with them. I knew as soon as I gave birth to him that he was a fighter. He came out kicking and screaming louder than any baby I had ever seen, maybe it was the intensive thirty hour labor or the instinct of a mother but I knew he wouldn't be with me for long. When Jasper was young he was always the defender; the one who would jump in when words failed. Not that words failed him often he had a canny ability of persuasion - some people might called it manipulation but I called it charisma. He could make a crowd of angry people as calm as a flat sea or excite the most lethargic people into action.
Jasper was special and that was why I knew he would leave. The day he told me with an excited air I pleaded and I cried but he refused to hear me. He felt he had a duty to his country and his state. I held him in my arms close to my chest but he didn't waver in his convictions he never bowed his head - not once. He was a proud boy, a beautiful boy, the perfect gentleman; the girls in the town all loved him.
He could have had a lovely life with a lovely wife and a lovely house. Instead he left his betrothed and went off to the war. She loved him from the day she met him and she waited for him to come home to her. I would see her in the house they had bought together across that road. She was always busy always doing something. I think it was her was of dealing with it – keep busy and not think.
I knew He wouldn’t come home, a mother’s instinct about her child, which was why I begged and pleaded so hard. It cut hole through me like all the lost boys cut a hole through the town. The days past as I listened for any news praying for a miracle, praying I was wrong. I could hear the women screaming when they got the news that their men were not coming home.
The day the soldier arrived at my house I was sitting at the piano, not playing just resting my fingers against the keys, a habit I had picked up since he had left. No melody had echoed through the hallways since he had left. No laughter had penetrated the heaviness since he had left. Not until he came home would it ever again.
The young man knocked on my door and I saw him through the window, I didn’t get up. He knocked again harder, more insistently he probably had more households to destroy. I though it would be best if I didn’t keep him.
I opened the door stony faced.
“Ma’am my name’s Jackson O’Conolly I’m from the fifth battalion with he confederate army may I come in?” I nodded not trusting my voice. He stepped inside. I motioned for him to sit on the couch. “I think you know why I’m here. Your son Major Jasper Whitlock was killed in the line of duty.” His voice was flat as if he had given the same news many times. He handed me a small box. “This is all we could find of his belongings the rest was taken by the Unionists. I’m very sorry for your loss ma’am, we all are. The major was a good man...” I hardly heard him. I stared at the box in my hands. The only thing left of my beautiful son.
Jasper was carved into the top. It had been a present for his 16th birthday, a pen and ink set. I turned it over and over in my hands as if looking for some sort of sign that he had left me. It was plain.
The man had gotten up without me noticing. I stared at him; he seemed to grow uncomfortable under my gaze.
“Ma’am I’d better go, I need to get back to my regiment.” I nodded my head. He turned to go.
“Thank you.” I said quietly I was surprised to hear my voice didn’t shake. I had come to terms with the fact I would never see my son again a long time before this. He nodded sadly and walked out the door.
~*~*~*~*~
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