Lost

by Leah Anders

At first, no one seemed to notice the two small boys covered in dirt and soot wandering aimlessly down the center of the street. Townsfolk were milling around on the boardwalks and in front of buildings. Normal activities had been suspended; the people huddled in small groups with somber faces, talking in low voices. Word had already reached the town that several small farms in the outlying areas had been attacked by Bushwhackers out of Missouri. Men had been sent out to access the damages and bring the dead in for proper burials. By all accounts, a total of four farms had been destroyed, their inhabitants slaughtered. No survivors had been reported.

A woman standing at the edge of a group situated near the street was the first to see them. At first she didn’t recognize either boy but then her eyes widened in shocked realization. She gasped out loud and gripped the arm of the man standing next to her. One by one, the other people gathered in the street turned to look. Silence fell over the men and women assembled there. No one moved except for the boys, still walking slowly down the center of the street, seemingly unaware of the crowd of people who now watched their progress with unwavering eyes.

Finally, one woman broke free from her trance and slowly approached Hannibal and Jed. As they got closer, she knelt down in front of the boys. Hannibal met her eyes and they locked glances for several seconds, neither one speaking. Jed stared quietly over her left shoulder, face impassive, lips moving silently in what might have been a childish prayer.

The two boys had walked all night. Hannibal had tried to get Jed to lie down and rest a couple of times but the boy wouldn’t co-operate. Even when he lay down, Jed’s eyes were fixed open and unblinking. Hannibal was worried, not understanding what was wrong with the boy and not knowing how to help, so he had decided the best thing to do was to get to town as quickly as possible and find help. They had walked together, Hannibal’s arm draped protectively over the younger boy’s shoulder, guiding and encouraging him all night.

“Can you help us? I think there’s something wrong with Jed.” Hannibal’s voice came out small and weak, his eyes were red and swollen from lack of sleep. But there was still a strength in those eyes that amazed the woman who knelt before him staring back at him.

“Yes, Hannibal. I’m going to help you.” Miss Fletcher called for one of the other women to help her get the boys to Doc Bennett’s office. Gently, she took Hannibal’s free hand in one of her own and placed her other hand on his slim shoulder to guide him. He slumped against her side, grateful for her help and exhausted from the events of the last day and night.

Mrs. Connor went to Jed’s side and did the same. His body did not respond to her touch. He allowed her to take the hand that had been hanging limply at his side, but he did not show any other sign that he knew she was even there.

Moving slowly, they led the boys down the street towards the doctor’s office. Townspeople on every side moved out of their way as they passed, still struck dumb by the sight of the boys who had already been counted as dead at the hands of the guerilla fighters.

The doctor looked up from his desk, responding first to the tinkling of the bell attached to the top of his door. Then his eyes turned to take in the sight of the two boys standing before him. His eyes widened in surprise and concern as he rose from his chair. “Hannibal? Jedediah? My God—we all thought…” His words trailed off as Hannibal’s eyes sharply focused on his own. Looking at Miss Fletcher, he asked, “What happened? Did they tell you anything yet?”

She shook her head sadly, tears glistening unshed in her eyes. “No. They just wandered into town a few minutes ago. They must have walked all night.”

Doc Bennett rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and cleared his throat noisily before approaching the boys. He got down on one knee and studied Hannibal and Jedediah in turn. “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with them.” He stared at Jed a moment longer. The little boy’s eyes had not met his own even once, preferring a focal point somewhere over his left shoulder. Doc Bennett raised to his feet and gently lifted Jed in his arms.

Hannibal spoke. “My ma and pa are both dead. Jed’s too, I think. He ain’t said much about it.” The tremor in his voice and the troubled look on his young face betrayed the fear and sadness Hannibal was trying to conceal from the adults in the room. Miss Fletcher laid her hand on his shoulder protectively. She had been his teacher at the school since the first day he attended. From the very beginning, he had impressed her with his intelligence and quick wit in the classroom. Unlike some of her other students, he was always eager to learn. She had lent him many books to read over these past few years and he surprised her over and over again with what he got out of them.

And outside the classroom, she had watched him as he played and talked with the other children. He was a natural leader. The other children looked up to him, even the older ones most of the time. There was something about Hannibal Heyes that made people like him and respect him. Some indefinable quality that she hadn’t quite been able to lay her finger on. Of course, it might have just been that he was an uncommonly kind child, but she always thought there must be more to it than that.

Doc Bennett carried Jed to the long narrow examining table in the corner of the room and carefully laid the boy down on it. Jed didn’t resist the doctor’s touch, but lay limply on his back, hands relaxed at his sides. When Bennett tried to look into Jed’s eyes, the boy averted his gaze towards the wall behind him.

Miss Fletcher asked, “What’s wrong with him, Doctor?”

“Nothing physically.”

“Well, something must be wrong. This is not the boy I see everyday at school.”

“I didn’t say nothing was wrong, Miss Fletcher, I said nothing physical is wrong. I believe what we are seeing here is an extreme case of emotional shock. Whatever this boy saw has caused a trauma to his mind.” He gestured for her to come closer. His voice took on a practiced clinical edge but his eyes revealed the compassion he felt towards his young patient. “Look at his eyes. They haven’t focused on any of us since you brought him in here. He’s not able to deal with whatever happened to his family so he’s dissociated himself from reality.” He took one of Jed’s hands in his own. “Feel how cold and clammy his skin is. Watch his respiration. See how shallow it is. All symptoms of shock.”

Miss Fletcher studied Jed for a moment, then turned to look at Hannibal. He was standing a few feet away, rooted to the spot he had been when the doctor first picked Jed up. His eyes were clouded with worry and he was absorbing all the doctor was saying without saying a word.

“Well, can you do anything for him?” Miss Fletcher asked in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Doc Bennett frowned and rubbed his stubbly jaw again. He wanted to assure Miss Fletcher and young Hannibal that Jedediah was going to be just fine, but if he was honest with them and with himself, he would have to admit that he just didn’t know. “Abigail,” he began, calling the teacher by her first name, “These types of things are hard to treat. Some folks, a lot of them, come out of this sort of trauma just fine…some others—well, some just never get over it.”

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